The Wood

This story was originally written for the NYC Midnight Short Story Contest with a prompt of Fairy tale/a rumor/a helicopter parent

There are certain things that a prince must do.
    He must maintain his dignity in public. He must train with his knights and, while he must get to know them, he must never become too close with them. He must smile at all the ladies. He must speak of the wellbeing of the kingdom with those ladies’ fathers, but he must never let one man think himself more important than the others. He must dance perfectly and fence properly and ride expertly.
     And when a maiden has been said to be taken into the Wood, a prince must go to rescue her, no matter how terrifying he finds the Wood.
     Prince Sigmund felt his heart pounding as he stood in the throne room and announced his intention to rescue the maiden. He ignored the cries of his mother, begging him not to go. He ignored the calmer words of his father and brothers, telling him he should take time to think on this action. He even ignored the plea of the very merchant who had brought the news, saying it was only a rumor that the maiden had been taken; nothing was sure. Sigmund knew what he must do.


     The Wood was not a place for the faint of heart. Situated on the southeastern border of the small kingdom Sigmund was heir to, the Wood was steeped in rumor and legend. It was said that the Wood had been born not of seeds and earth but of magic and rage. Once upon a time, the small kingdom had been fighting a war against a significantly larger kingdom. For years the bloodshed and death had haunted both nations.
     Then a magician lent his strength of magic on the side of the small kingdom and it seemed that the end of the war might finally be in sight. In retaliation, the larger kingdom sent an assassin to kill the magician’s lover. His lover’s death sent the magician mad and he used his magic, all of his magic and thus his life, to destroy the larger kingdom and raise the Wood from its ashes.
     His time alone had given Sigmund the space to consider his actions, and to doubt them. It wasn’t certain that a maiden had been taken, nor was it even clear who had supposedly taken the maiden. Trolls, maybe, or a sentient tree.
     Sigmund eyed the nearest tree and shivered. As a child one of his nursemaids had loved to torment him with tales of what would happen if he was bad and was sent to the Wood. Her stories were so realistic he’d had nightmares for years after she left.
     Who was he kidding? He still sometimes had nightmares about the Wood.
     Yet even as his breath felt as though it would freeze in his chest, Sigmund rode forward.


     Hilga didn’t like being in the Wood any more than Sigmund did, and she made sure to let him know it as he made camp.
     “Shhh, it’s okay, girl.” Sigmund stroked Hilga’s nose and wished he believed his own words. He’d not seen any signs of a struggle along the path, nor had he seen any other paths branching off. It was just another reminder that the Wood was steeped in magic and the unknown. The thought had Sigmund stepping even closer to Hilga’s side.
     Then a sound, sudden and loud, like a branch breaking, rang through the clearing. The blood froze in Sigmund’s veins. No one knew quite what lived in the Wood, but everyone agreed there must be terrible, maybe even magical, monsters. Trolls were a popular theory, but there were other, darker stories told at night to scare children into good behavior and give the adults listening a thrill.
     It was less of a thrill, Sigmund thought, reaching slowly for his sword, when one was waiting for the ravenous jaws of a half-wolf, half-raven monster to come seeking his heart. Sword in hand, Sigmund stood tall and waited to die.
      Suddenly, he realized minutes had passed and nothing happened.
     “I know you’re out there!” He railed against the dark; fear crushing his ribs. His words seemed to echo, though he knew they could not, and then there was a rustling from the undergrowth behind him. He swung around and lifted his sword, ready to meet his doom…
     “Drat. I thought I’d managed to keep you from noticing me,” Sigmund’s mother stood there, for all the world looking like it was natural for her to be brushing leaves off of her cloak in the middle of the Wood.
     “Mother?” Sigmund’s sword clattered to the ground. “What…but…why?”


     There are things a queen shouldn't do.
     Favoring her eldest son was one of them. Another was constantly reminding him of her love, long past the age when such things were appropriate to say in public. Completely embarrassing him in front of his knights was never good. But letting him go into the Wood to save maidens was rather something she should do, Sigmund thought.
     “I was worried about you and I was right to be. You’ve been going about this all wrong, Siggy. You should have stopped at the border town. They’re probably the ones who saw the maiden taken in the first place.”
     “And then you could have used a truth spell on them for verification, right?” Sigmund sighed.
     “Well, it is one of my better spells, if I do say so myself.” The queen bit into the bread she had pulled from her pack and buttered, as if she hadn’t just crashed her son’s first true quest.
     “Mother--”
     The queen didn’t even let Sigmund finish. “No. We have no idea what is going on or if there even is a maiden to be rescued. You took off on your silly horse—yes, you,” the queen said pointedly when Hilga snorted at her, “practically before the messenger even finished talking. You know nothing about the Wood or the maiden or the monster you might be facing. I thought you’d need some help.”
     “I don't,” Sigmund’s indignant yell once again seemed to echo impossibly. Both he and the queen stilled for a moment.
     When nothing happened, the queen continued. “You could die in these woods, Siggy. That’s why I followed you.”
     Well, there was nothing Sigmund could say to that, so instead he set up his bedroll and went to sleep.


     The next day dawned silently, without the birdsong or rustling of small animals that one might expect of a forest. Instead there was simply Hilga, who snuffed impatiently in Sigmund’s hair to let him know that it was time to get up now. He woke with the feeling that something awful had happened, but it wasn’t until he heard his mother yawn that he realized what it was. The memory of her predicting his death made him shiver as he packed up his camp.
      He thought of trying to get his mother to return home, but one look at her face as she stood next to Hilga made him think twice. Instead, Sigmund accepted his fate and rode forward into the Wood to save the fair maiden, with his mother as his sidekick.
     Still the path led straight on through the Wood, with no branches or cross roads, as though some giant had rolled a great boulder straight towards the heart of the wood and no other creature had walked through since. Sigmund followed the path, not sure why he was doing this but unwilling to stray from his course. There had been something about the merchant’s story, about the idea of a maiden taken against her will, that had spurred him on this quest from the start.
      Sigmund knew he was considered the perfect prince; handsome and just, he did everything a prince must. And yet he was always scared; scared he would fail, scared he would let his father down, scared someone would see how scared he really was. That was why this quest was so important to him. Sigmund needed to prove that he could do what he must and rescue the maiden. Anything less than that would prove all his fears true.


     It took two days to reach their destination. Not that Sigmund knew they had a destination, but when they reached it he knew this was the place. They were at a manor house, he thought, or maybe a merchant’s house. Something built of stone that had been toppled and crumbled by the growth of the Wood. Ivy covered what walls were left and trees grew, displacing flagstones on the ground and, in some cases, roof tiles up above.
     “This is it. She’s here,” Sigmund breathed. All the fear he faced, the nightmares of lake monsters and giants crunching his bones, had been worth it now that he was at this place. He’d do what a prince must and rescue the fair maiden. Maybe he’d even survive.
     “Siggy—”
     “No, mother, I have to do this. Promise me you will stay out here.”
     There were Promises that could be made between magicians that couldn’t be broken. Though Sigmund had never learned magic (the queen had deemed it too dangerous for her baby boy early on) in this case it didn’t matter. If she gave her word she couldn’t follow him.
     “I Promise, Sigmund. But please, please be careful. And take this bag. There’s a few spell tokens in there that might help. They’re labeled and—”
     “I’ll be fine, mother. I promise.”
     The queen smiled sadly at his words as Sigmund took the small bag she held out. No more words passed between them because no more needed to be said.
     Sigmund headed inside.


     There are things one expects of evil.
     Darkness. A witch cackling over a cauldron or a magician with an ancient tome. A troll crunching human bones.
     What one does not expect, what Sigmund didn't expect, was a young woman wearing a sensible grey dress with her hair in a braid, who looked not at all surprised to see him.
     “Oh good, you’re here. I thought it might take you a few days longer.” The maiden, who was a witch, bustled around a bubbling cauldron.
      “I don’t…” Sigmund had his sword in his hand but it dipped low, close to resting on the floor.
     “No, I suppose not. You’re here because I gave a potion to a merchant so that his words could call a fair prince to me. I’m making a potion that requires a drop of your blood, you see.”
     “A fair…” Sigmund still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what was happening.
    “Indeed. I thought it was a strange ingredient too, but who am I to argue with the potion book. Do you mind if I get that drop of blood now? I’m on kind of a strict schedule.”
     “What? I thought you had been taken into the woods. You needed to be rescued. And I was going to…”
     “Oh, that is darling of you, really. That’s probably why the potion brought you. You just heard a maiden was in trouble and you leapt to help, even though you didn’t know…any details? Wait, did you really come to rescue me without any knowledge of what happened?” As she spoke, the maiden took Sigmund’s hand and lead him closer to her cauldron. Before he realized what she meant to do, she quickly and efficiently pricked his finger with a small knife and held it over the cauldron, allowing a drop to fall in. “I’m not sure fair is quite the word I’d use to describe that. The potion shouldn’t have completely hypnotized you like that.”
     “And what, exactly, was the potion supposed to do to him, hmm?” The queen’s voice was like ice, emanating from the bag of spell tokens on Sigmund’s hip.
      The maiden made a hum of pleasure as her potion turned from murky grey to a bright, clear red and began to put into glass vials. “It was supposed to be more of a gentle nudge than a desperate need. I thought maybe he’d feel the need to go for a hunt. I certainly didn’t expect the merchant to make up such a story either.”
      “This Wood is dangerous,” the queen began but the maiden spoke over her.
     “The Wood is harmless. Just because a thing was created by magic doesn’t mean it is evil. Same as people, really. Just because I can brew a potion and you can cast a spell, that doesn’t make us bad people.” There was a haunted quality to her eyes when she said that last part, a fear that Sigmund recognized.
      “You live alone, here? In the Wood?” Sigmund sheathed his sword.
     “I might’ve been run out of a few towns, your highness, but it’s no trouble. I made a good home for myself here.” Someone, probably the maiden, had erected wooden walls under part of the intact roof. It did make a cozy room.
      “It must be lonely,” he said, looking around at the bare walls and floor.
     “Well, that’s my business if it is. You’ve done your part and I thank you for it. You may leave now.” The maiden began to pack up her vials of red potion.
     “You know, the capital is very accepting of magic these days,” Sigmund said, not quite able to meet the maiden’s gaze.
      “Due to the queen.” The maiden gave a pointed look towards the bag on Sigmund’s hip. Sigmund looked at it and sighed. Fear was a staccato beat in his chest, but he knew what the right course of action was.
Quickly he took the bag from his hip and threw it out the door, ignoring his mother’s shriek of protest as he closed it.
      “There is need for someone of your talent, to call me all the way from the capital to the Wood. The queen cannot cast spells for the people.”
      “The people tend to decide they don’t like a witch in their midst,” the maiden sounded less sure of herself.
      “Then come to the castle. A witch with a royal blessing is harder to turn against.”
     “You would trust me to brew you a potion, even now?” The maiden turned and took a green potion off of her makeshift shelf. She turned back to Sigmund and smiled slyly. Sigmund felt his heart stutter in his chest        “Maybe I could brew you some common sense, to keep you from haring off into the Wood again, chasing after a rumor.”
    “Well now,” Sigmund began to defend himself, but the maiden threw the green potion at the ground and vanished in a puff of lime scented smoke.
     “Well now,” he said again, in a different tone.
     He didn’t know her well, but there was something about her… Maybe he’d get the chance to find out more about her. After all, a prince must always treat local witches with the utmost respect and kindness.