Cinderella, Zombie Slayer
by Heather
Ella:
It was late, and I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after an unsatisfying dinner of cold baked potatoes, when the all too familiar groaning from outside the house aroused my attention. Grabbing the sharpened spear that was leaning against the cold fireplace, I raced up the stairs to the main level, where my stepsisters were cowering on the lavender divan, huddled together like a pair of quivering newborn calves. My stepmother was also there, but unlike her daughters, she was prowling around the room looking out the windows with a hawk-like glare.
“Ella,” she barked, not looking toward me but continuing her feral prowl, “My staff, I left it in the dining room after dinner.”
She turned to see my exasperated expression. She carried that thing with her wherever she went, it was always clutched tightly in her white bony grasp. And of all the times to have left it behind…“Fetch it!” she bellowed.
But I didn’t have time to obey her command. The large front window shattered and a tattered-looking zombie dropped the long tree branch which it had used against the window and started crawling over the broken glass. It didn’t make it far before I had positioned myself to aim properly with my spear. The shaft left my hand with a satisfying whoosh, and penetrated the zombie’s skull directly through the soft portion of its right temple. It crumpled in a heap over the window sill, its fragile bones breaking as the source of their strength, the infected brain, was severed from the rest of the body.
I stood there for a minute, watching with curiosity as dust rose from the heap of dry bones, when suddenly my stepmother wrenched the spear from the corpse’s skull, using her foot as leverage to pull it free. She then launched it with a ferocious heave into the dark of the night outside and I heard a distinctive crunch as it made contact with another zombie skull. She stood breathless in the window, waiting for signs of any other invaders. All was quiet.
My stepsisters watched from the divan as my stepmother and I hoisted the crumpling corpse out the window and drew the drapes tightly closed. My trusted spear would have to wait until the safety of morning to be retrieved. We then proceeded to finish the nightly ritual of checking windows throughout the bottom floor of the house, drawing the drapes closed, and extinguishing all flames or sources of light. At the base of the grand staircase we secured the iron barricade that my father had constructed the previous year, hoping to ensure our safety from the prowling vermin outside until the light of dawn erased the need for enclosures. He had only lived long enough to see it finished before he was taken from me in the middle of a violent zombie attack.
My father was an expert marksman. He had hunted on our family estate for as long as I could remember, and had left his beautiful bow and quiver of arrows to my care. Some of my fondest memories were spent at my father’s side, his hand guiding mine as he showed me how to place the arrow just right and feel the perfect amount of tension in the string as I pulled it tight.
When the plague hit our kingdom five years ago, my father, the Colonel, was one of the front-runners in fighting off those who had become infected and were threatening the lands surrounding us. He bravely fought alongside the king himself, King Stephen, as even the royal guard became infected and dwindled in numbers. By the time my father succumbed to one of the most vicious attacks on the palace by the undead vermin, the royal guard was practically nonexistent. The queen was also lost, and the kingdom spiraled into a panic. The royal family barricaded itself in the palace’s soaring towers, and have not been seen this entire last year.
We were now on our own, myself and my stepmother, along with her two daughters. With no contact from the palace, many doubted that there were any who survived. Although my relationship with my stepmother was never very genuine before, after the death of my father it turned into something akin to poison. She despised me. I knew it with every look she gave me. She looked on me with the kind of irrational hatred that can only come from one who has lost too severely to make sense. Every time I pulled out my father’s bow, her look shot daggers to my heart, as though she blamed me for his untimely death.
My stepsisters, who were my same age and should have been completely capable, were nonetheless completely useless. I began to take care of everyone simply because no one else seemed willing to try, and my father would never forgive me if I let something happen to them. My stepmother’s rage toward me rubbed off on her daughters, and they began to treat me as a servant, despite the fact that they would have no food on the table or have the peace of mind to sleep at night if I wasn’t there to cook, clean, and guard the house.
The next morning I was up before anyone else in the house stirred. I began my morning routine, scouring the main level floor of the house for any possible stragglers from the night before, starting the fires in the cold, ash-filled fireplaces until they crackled pleasantly, and finally retrieving my spear from the front grounds. Since the infestation five years ago, it was no longer safe to have any fires lit during the dark hours of night, so I did all of the cooking during the day, to ensure that we had at least one hot meal. The scent of seared meat was a sure way to get your place crawling with vermin at night, not that we had a lot of meat to spare. I would have loved to do more hunting, but the presence of the undead had scared away most of the live game, so we mostly ate what root vegetables I could coax out of our meager little garden.
I boarded up the window which was broken the night before, another sad loss of healing light sacrificed for the necessary blockade which protected our family, then set to work burning the remains of the crumbling corpses in a bonfire at the side of the house. I was just finishing up when a man approached me from the road. He was dressed in what appeared to be faded royal golden robes, the fabric fraying on the edges. The once lustrous sheen was now lost and resembled a bruised piece of fruit rather than the stately finery it once had been.
“Good day to you, ma’am,” the man said primly, giving me a brief bob of his head as his heels clicked firmly together.
“Good day, sir,” I said, astonished, and offered a slight curtsy. Looking down at my ash-covered, tattered work dress, my face flushed with the heat of embarrassment. I must have been quite the sight.
The man handed me a tightly wound scroll with a beautiful red ribbon wrapped around it. I tried to wipe my sooty hands onto the front of my apron before reaching out for the impossibly white scroll of parchment.
“A message for the lady of the house, Lady Tremaine, and her fine daughters, from King Stephen and the royal family,” he said in an official tone. Then he turned and proceeded to march off.
I turned the scroll curiously in my hand, fingering the fine ribbon. This was very important, indeed, if the king suffered to part with such finery. I immediately went into the house to give it to my stepmother.
Philip:
Ever since the death of my mother at the hands of the vermin scourging our land, my father, King Stephen, had been beside himself with grief. He locked himself in the palace’s tallest tower, refusing all but the barest amount of food and water, proclaiming that his beloved kingdom was lost and he along with it.
I wasn’t that ready to completely give up hope. I was determined to find the way to rid our land of the infestation and see my father healthy again.
I left the castle in the dead of night on hunting parties, for that was when the corpses were out doing hunting of their own. My party was small, only two or three men rode with me each night. My intention was to scout out where the unmentionables were hiding, discover if they kept camp, and try to ascertain if there was a possibility of launching a full attack.
One night I became separated from my party. We were hunting in the thickest, most dangerous section of the woods, and had split apart to cover more ground.
I heard a sound. It was only a small snap, but my ears were instantaneously tuned in to the direction of the sound. I dismounted my trusted dark steed, Sampson, in order to proceed in silence. There was another snap and the sound of slow shuffling footsteps. Sampson startled and ran into the dark of the trees.
“Fine steed, indeed,” I muttered under my breath. I drew my sword and prepared myself for what was about to come out of the thicket.
A few moments passed and the shuffling grew nearer. I could hear a distinctive rattling breath, and my skin began to crawl at the thought of what was coming my way.
“Aww, Prince Philip, I was wondering when you would find your way to my humble little home.”
A woman who looked to be as old as time itself emerged from the darkness. She was covered in a thick green cloak, with her long hooked nose barely peeking out from under the hood.
I was too stunned to speak.
“Come with me, Your Highness,” she beckoned, and then turned to shuffle back into the darkness.
Curious, I followed her into the thicket, passing through brambles that tore at my already fraying coat. Finally we came to a clearing, with a squat little hut built in the center. A thin trickle of smoke escaped the stone chimney piece, which beckoned me into the cozy interior of her home.
The old woman went to the fireplace and gave a few stirs in the huge black pot that sat over the fire. She looked back at me, assessing my appearance from top to bottom, gave a little grunt, and began to mutter to herself as she drug a flat bowl from the shelf above the fire and proceeded to ladle a large scoop of the liquid into the bowl. I could not understand what she was saying.
“Please, you don’t need to feed me,” I tried to say, but she just waved me off, and carried the flat bowl over to her dusty table. I hoped that she didn’t intend for me to actually eat what was in the bowl. It was a muddy brown color, and had a foul sort of smell.
The old woman placed the bowl firmly on the table top, and rotated it a few times. She seemed dissatisfied, so she grunted again and shuffled over to her cupboard and pulled out a few bottles of strange-looking ingredients. I looked on with horror as she proceeded to dump what looked like a healthy dose of hairy black spider legs and emptied another bottle of something that resembled some sort of squishy eyeballs into the steaming bowl of liquid. Good gracious, she couldn’t expect me to stomach this concoction!
The woman gave the bowl a swirl, dabbed her finger at it tentatively, and then gasped a raspy intake of air.
“What? What is it?” I asked, stepping reluctantly forward.
Just then the door was flung open with a crash and three of the undead vermin started to shuffle into the single room of the hut. I swung around, pulling my sword from its sheath as I moved, but the old woman was even faster than I. Raising a bony finger, she pointed at the first walking corpse and chanted something under her breath. It immediately froze in place and stood silent. She pointed at the other two and they likewise froze. Then, with a sudden swish of her arm there was a deafening crack and the three corpses crumbled to the dirt-packed ground, now only a pile of bones and ash.
I stood there dumbfounded.
“You’re a…a witch!” I finally croaked, stepping back involuntarily.
“What?” she squawked. “Of course I am, boy! How else could I live this long out here in the wilds!” The old woman shook her head, muttering to herself as she turned back to the bowl of stinking brown goop on the table. “I thought you might have a little more brains in that head of yours. They don’t make royalty like they used to…”
“There now, there’s no need to insult me!” I exclaimed, stepping closer to the steaming bowl again. “You just took me off guard, is all.”
The witch took a twisted twig and poked at the ingredients of the bowl again. Finally, with a satisfied sigh she said, “Ahh, yes. Now I see.”
“What? What do you see?”
“The secret to your success,” she answered in a low, crackling voice. Turning toward me, she leaned in and whispered, “You want to learn how to rid this land of these foul creatures, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I retorted, surprised. “Yes, more than anything!”
“Very well.” The old woman looked back into the bowl, directing her gaze into its murky darkness. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she proceeded to talk, as though in a chant.
“To free the land of death and decay, there is one who can inspire the way.
Find the one with the bow of gold, her arrows are true, brave and bold.
Attempt it alone and you shall fail, but together your strength shall prevail.
Victorious conquerors for your land, united together, hand in hand.”
Ella:
“What is this?” my stepmother asked, as I handed her the pristine roll of parchment. She did not wait for me to answer, instead quickly ripping the precious document open.
“Oh my! It is from the king!” she cried, and her daughters immediately bolted to attention, crowding around her feverishly.
“What is it, Mamma? What does it say?”
“To her honorable Lady Tremaine,” the lady began,
“It is with great solemnity that you and your household of eligible daughters are requested to attend a royal assembly this evening in the Grand Hall of the Illustrious Palace. His Royal Highness Prince Philip will select a bride whom he deems most worthy of fighting by his side to secure the certain future of our great kingdom. Please arrive at the gates by dusk, as they will be locked and fortified immediately upon sundown until the light of dawn on tomorrow’s day.
His Most Imminent Highness,
King Stephen.”
We all stood dumbfounded, our mouths hanging open, as we tried to digest this incredible bit of news. The king was still alive, and now the prince was looking for someone to stand beside him in his wage against our kingdom’s infestation of zombies.
The part of the prince seeking a bride seemed to hit my stepsisters first and foremost.
“The prince will select a bride!” Drusilla exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was the younger of the two sisters. A little short, with a waistline of copious girth, her red curls sprung on her head with each eager bounce. She spent more time attending to her toilet than anything else, although her mother tried her best to infuse a knowledge of the arts in her daily routine.
Her sister Anastasia, although older and much more like her mother in appearance and demeanor, was no more immune to the exciting prospect of becoming the prince’s bride than her sister.
“A royal assembly!” she cried, clasping her long bony hands together in eager anticipation. “I have longed for the chance to meet Prince Philip!”
“Yes, but…” I couldn’t help but interject, astounded at their seeming obliviousness to the qualification mentioned in the letter. “Prince Philip will select a bride that he deems most worthy to fight by his side. I don’t think that I can remember the last time you two threw a spear or drew a sword.”
My stepmother’s eyes seemed to bore into mine, her icy glare chilling me to the bone.
“I don’t suppose,” she said slowly, as though savoring the sting she was about to let loose, “that the groomsman who made this delivery was all that impressed with the fineness of your appearance this morning, my dear.” The girls began to giggle as they looked at my filthy, tattered dress, covered in soot. My face reddened but I stood my ground. “You may be quick with a spear, but that will never make you a lady. And trust me when I say this, although the prince may profess his desire for a bride to fight by his side, when all is said and done, his eyes will do his choosing. He will only choose a lady, and my dear, you are no lady.”
The girls snickered loudly, until Drusilla couldn’t resist herself anymore. “You a lady? You’re all covered in soot. We may as well call you Cinderella!”
Anastasia made an ugly guffawing sound, contorting her long face until it looked like that of a horse sneering. “Cinderella!” she repeated after her sister, and the two of them clung to each other in fits of laughter as they exited the room.
I waited until the sound of their laughter drifted up the stairs.
“I am going to that assembly,” I said in a low voice, trying to return the steely look that my stepmother had perfected.
“Don’t you have work to do, Cinderella?” she said pointedly, and then swept out of the room after her girls.
It was a long day of anticipation. I got my work done, made our meals, spent much-needed time tending to the garden, and even prepared the old coach which was sitting in the carriage house, getting moldy with disuse. To be proper, the coach should be drawn with four horses, and with a driver and coachman to assist. We only had two horses, and counted ourselves lucky to have retained both of them these last five years, and had no driver or coachman. I figured that we would have to make do.
At last the sun was starting its slow descent on the horizon, growing round and rosy, and I knew that I should prepare myself to leave for the assembly. Despite refusing to acknowledge it to anyone else, I was quite mortified to be seen in such a filthy mess as I had been that morning. I promised myself that I could make a better impression than that. I also knew that I had some fairly impressive skills with the spear, and especially my father’s bow and arrows. I knew that I could put on a show for the prince, and that my stepmother could simper and seethe all she wanted, but the prince was going to make his own decision tonight.
Looking through my own selection of frayed and worn dresses, my heart sank. I had nothing to wear. Finally, I closed the door to my room as softly as I could and climbed the stairs to the attic. There, hidden in the back, was a chest that I hadn’t opened in many years. It was covered in a thick coating of dust and cobwebs. Obviously, my stepsisters had failed to discover my secret treasure trove. Opening it slowly, a puff of dust escaped the latch, and in its wake rose the sweet scent of lavender and lilac. My mother. A tear threatened to spill from my eye. It had been so long since I had touched these treasures, these belongings of my mother. She died when I was a small child, and so my memories of her were still soft and dream-like, as if looking through a frosted glass.
I pulled out a long gown of silk brocade. It was ice blue, with golden threads embroidered into delicate flowers and cascading trellises. The fashion of the sleeves betrayed its age, but the cut was purely classic. It was perfect.
Moments later I was floating down the stairs, feeling as feminine and ethereal as I ever had in my life, wearing my mother’s gown. My stepsisters spluttered out gasps of complaint when they saw me, but my stepmother did not say a word. Doing my best to ignore them, I crossed into the library, where I kept my father’s bow and arrows locked in a cabinet. The cabinet door was open, and it was empty.
“Looking for these?” my stepmother breathed behind me, taunting me until I turned.
She was holding my father’s hunting set in her hands, a triumphant smile teasing her lips.
“How dare you touch those,” I said in a low and dangerous voice. “They were my father’s, and now they belong to me.”
She let out a tinkling laugh, as though she was explaining something to a silly child. Suddenly her laughter stopped and her voice became cold and sharp.
“I think not,” she said, walking closer to me. “I am Lady Tremaine, lady of this house, and everything in it belongs to me.”
I tried to laugh off the ridiculousness of the situation. “Do you honestly think that one of your girls will be able to win the prince?” I asked, incredulous. “Do you honestly think that they will tempt him with their simpering and whining and fretting about, just because they hold a weapon in their hands?”
Cold fury shot through the lady’s face and she lashed out at me with one of my father’s arrows in her hand. The quickness and ferocity of her movement caught me off guard, and she managed to slice through the bodice of my mother’s dress in an ugly slash, shredding the fine silk until it was hanging from my breast.
I stood there aghast, looking down at my mother’s ruined gown, and feeling her death afresh.
Lady Tremaine spun around and exited the house, with her daughters quick on her heels. A few moments later I heard the crack of a whip and her commanding voice as she called to the horses. The sound of the coach crossing the gravel drive finally awakened me from my stupor. I ran toward the door, but was too late. The coach was already down the road, my stepmother at the reigns, and there was no way she would be turning back for me.
I had to get to the palace. I could not bear the thought of staying behind.
The horses were gone, the palace was miles away, and I had no weapons. I searched high and low for my spear, but eventually decided that my stepmother had taken it as well. I placated myself with a pair of knives strapped to my legs under cover of my gown, hoping that there would be no need to have such close hand to hand combat with a zombie tonight that would require the use of my short blades.
Although the road was safest, it wound through the country in a zigzagging pattern, adding miles to my journey that I could not afford. I opted to make my way through the forest instead. I was used to walking through the wooded trees, I often did as a young girl with my father, so I was not afraid of getting lost.
The sun was beginning to set even faster now. If I did not hurry, then I would be too late. The gates to the palace would be barred and locked, with no possible entrance. I quickened my pace.
I suddenly found myself in a dark thicket of trees that I did not recognize. The air felt cold and heavy around me, and I tried to move faster. My thoughts began to race as I thought I heard the sound of a shuffling gait behind me, crackling through the dried underbrush. I began to run, my heart pounding in my ears. Zombies were slow-moving creatures. Surely I could outrun whatever was following behind me. I ran faster. A moment later I was sprawled across the ground, having tripped over an exposed tree root. I tasted blood in mouth. I must have bit my lip during the fall. But before I could scramble back up and continue to run a hunched figure emerged from the thicket. It was an old woman. Very old, by the looks of her. And very much alive.
The old woman let out a dusty-sounding cackle as she approached me still laying on the ground.
“Thought you could outrun me, huh, little miss?” she said, offering me a withered hand. I took it warily, and found myself surprised at the strength in which she was able to assist me in rising. “I am faster than I look,” she continued, a spark twinkling in her dark eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked, bewildered to come across an old woman in the forest.
“Never you mind,” she replied mysteriously, and turned back toward the thicket which she had emerged from. Evidently expecting me to follow, she continued to talk as she moved away, “You are in a bit of a hurry, are you not? You must get to the palace before sundown.”
I was startled.
“How do you know....” I started, but she interrupted me.
“Do you want my help, or don’t you?”
“Umm, yes, if you can…”
A few moments later we cleared through the dense branches and foliage of the thicket and came upon a small clearing. There was a round hut in the center of the clearing, with a beautiful black horse tethered to a stake near the door. I gasped.
“His name is Sampson. He will take you to the palace. He is friends with the prince,” the little old woman croaked, waddling past the horse toward the hut in a nonchalant manner, as though he wasn’t the most perfect creature I had ever seen.
I stopped to pat Sampson’s neck. He nickered and bobbed his head, giving me permission to caress the smooth silk of his nose.
The old woman appeared again in the doorway.
“You’re going to need more than a horse tonight, my dear,” she said, as she shifted a long leather satchel toward me. “Here you go, dear. Open it up.”
I obeyed and loosened the leather string that held the satchel closed. For the second time in the last few moments I let out an involuntary gasp. There in my hands was the most beautiful bow I had ever seen. It was made of pure gold, and the length of it was covered in intricate carvings of exotic birds and trees. The arrows were also of gold, the shafts as straight as anything I could imagine. Even the feathers which were set into the shafts were a luminous golden color. I wondered what sort of bird would have feathers made of gold, and who could have possibly made this hunting set.
I could hardly speak. “It’s beautiful,” I finally spoke in a reverent whisper.
“Try it out,” the old woman prodded, and I readily complied.
I set the arrow into its place, sliding the notch into the silky smooth string. As I lifted the bow into position to draw the string back, my hand perfectly molded to the smooth grip, I was amazed at how light the bow was. It was made of pure gold, but felt as light and comfortable as a bow made of young and supple wood. The tension in the spring moved so smoothly that I was able to pull it back with ease. Aiming at a distinctive knot in a tree on the far side of the clearing, I released the string and with a melodic singing twang the arrow flew straight and true, hitting the knot dead center.
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
The mysterious woman chuckled softly. “Oh yes, my dear. Magic of the oldest kind.”
I looked into her eyes, searching for more.
“Magic from the ancients only returns into the world of the present when there is a dire need. This is not the first time that the earth has been scourged with the undead vermin. It is a plague as old as time, from the darkest magic of all. Magic this dark can only be combated with magic which is pure. If you want to save this kingdom, you must use the magic of the ancients to wipe it clean from the filth of the undead.”
“What do I need to do?” I asked.
“The bow will draw the undead to it with its magical song. Once they are gathered as one you will be able to attack. Scourge them with fire and the undead will not be able to return.”
I nodded my head.
“But you must remember, the magic will only work if wielded by one who is true of heart. Magic this ancient and powerful requires the purest conduit. If it is used by someone unworthily, there is no telling what may happen.”
“I must get to the palace. I must talk to the prince!” I cried, ready to jump on Sampson’s back right then and ride off.
“Not so fast, my dear,” the old woman placed her hand on my arm to stop me from leaving. She looked me up and down pointedly, especially at the ruined front of my gown. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You don’t want to be seeing the prince in this state.”
I couldn’t help but blush. In my hurry to get to the palace I had forgotten about the condition of my gown, and what the prince might think of me with my underclothes hanging out.
“Don’t you worry. I know exactly what you need.” The old woman gave a wink and left me again as she entered her hut.
There was a scraping sound, followed by the woman’s croaky voice muttering what sounded like a chant, and last a brilliant flash of blue light. I began to creep up to the door to have a peek at what she was doing but she was already coming back out when I got there. In her hands she held a beautifully tanned bustier made of leather, with matching arm bands to strap a number of weapons to.
As I wrapped the leather around my body I was amazed with how perfectly supple it was. At first it didn’t seem like it would fit, but then I started to feel a warmth pass around me and the leather seemed to meld perfectly to the shape of my body.
“There is one more piece,” the old woman said, and she pulled out a matching face mask. The leather now felt like it was part of my own skin, it fit so well.
I looked down at myself, seeing the setting sun cast a golden sheen across the surface of the leather, and making my new weapons alight with a fire of light. I was ready for the assembly.
Philip:
I stood at the top of the stairs, watching anxiously as our guests entered the palace through the reception hall. After listening to the witch in the thicket I was nervous, wondering if this mystery girl, this girl who was supposed to help inspire our entire victory, this girl that I was possibly meant to even fall in love with, this girl with a bow of gold would come tonight. My eyes scanned the faces, the gowns, but especially the weapons that came through the front door, hoping that they would catch sight of a glimmer of gold.
After my meeting with the witch I thought long and hard about how would be the best way to find my golden girl. Gathering all the girls in the kingdom together seemed like the quickest solution. Gaining my father’s blessing on the event was easy. He thought that I was merely trying to make a match for myself, and I didn’t feel the need to correct his assumption. He happily agreed to the arrangement, and even took over the majority of the planning himself. It had been an entire year since I saw him so happy and so engaged. It felt like I was beginning to get my father back again.
Women of all ages were now pouring through the doors. Young and old, short and tall, petite and portly, all were making their way into the grand Assembly Hall. Swords, cimeters, spears, shields, bows, all manner of weaponry came through the doors as well. But there was no golden bow.
The assembly began and so started the long procession of female warrior hopefuls.
Miss Clemens started it off pretty well with her energetic sword fight with one of the royal guard, that is until she broke one of her nails and started throwing a tantrum, unbecoming to any lady.
Miss Gaudry surprised everyone when she pulled out a mace from behind her back and started smashing pumpkins all over the floor of the Assembly Hall. I applauded her efforts, but she kind of scared me a bit.
Miss Jaques was an impressive knife thrower, hitting her straw target square in the forehead every time. However, at the end she seemed put out that I didn’t fall down and beg her to marry me right then and there. She walked away with a disgruntled flounce of her skirts.
Next up were the daughters of my father’s royal commander, Colonel Tremaine. After seeing his prowess in battle I was surprised to discover the girls had received little to none of his remarkable talent and skill. Miss Anastasia tried her hand at archery, unable to hit the target even once. And Miss Drusilla, the pudgy one, attempted to throw a spear, failing to notice that it was positioned backwards. Upon hearing the tittering of poorly concealed giggles throughout the assembly, in a sudden violent outburst Lady Tremaine wrenched the knob off the top of her staff and threw the projectile full force into the head of the straw target, the power of the hit pushing the target support back a full ten feet.
The Assembly Hall grew silent, unsure of whether to applaud her marksmanship or politely ignore her outburst.
All of a sudden there was the noise of a disturbance going on behind the entry doors. There were shouts of my men outside, a banging against the door, and then suddenly it was flung open. There standing in the open doorway was what I could only describe as a vision.
She stood there strong and beautiful, with a stance that said she was ready to fight. The moon light shone from behind her, casting a pearly sheen on her entire form. Her long golden hair was left unrestrained, and it fluttered around her face from the breeze that was coming in from the cool night air. Her exquisite blue gown was tattered and dirty at the hem, exposing practical riding boots and a peek at her leg. She had multiple leather straps attached to her body, with weaponry and gear ready to be tested. Her face was hidden with a brown leather mask, but I could see that she was beautiful.
Finally, in her hand was a golden bow.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, she insisted on entering, even though it is clearly beyond the hour,” one of the guards from outside shouted as he attempted to grasp the golden girl by the arm. She turned to look at him with an exasperated expression, and looked toward me for help.
“Stop!” I cried. “Let her enter!”
The guard reluctantly let go of her arm and she began to step inside.
Another guard came running inside. “She rode in on Your Highness’ horse!” he spluttered.
“Sampson?” I asked, incredulous. I looked at the girl and she gave me a shrug. I shook my head and laughed. As if the witch thought that I would need any more signs!
“He is a magnificent animal, Your Highness,” the golden girl spoke for the first time. Her melodic voice was soft and warm. I felt transfixed, my only desire to hear her speak again. She stood waiting for my response, but I felt slow and stupid.
Before I could gather my wits about me there was another crashing sound coming from outside and the echo of shouts and running feet.
One of my young guards from the gate ran up to us at the door. He gave his breathless report.
“Your Highness, we are under attack. The creatures appeared to have followed the woman in. There are about twenty of them, and they seem especially ferocious tonight.”
I turned to look at the golden girl. Her eyes were wide, but she had a resolute and determined look on her face. She nodded her head.
“I will fight with you,” she said, and I knew that I had found the one. Together we raced outside to the outer courtyard.
Ella:
As I approached the palace I could see that the doors to the front gate were already closed tight. The sun was completely set now and the moon was beginning to rise over the top of the trees. I urged Sampson on, digging my heels into his sides, but was still unsure how I was going to get through the gate.
Once I reached the gate I could see a guard on top keeping watch. I called up to him.
“Ho there, sir!” I cried. “Please open the gate! I would like to attend the royal assembly this evening!”
The guard looked down at me, seemingly unsure of what to do. Clearly his orders were to keep the gate locked at sundown, but I did not in any way resemble one of the undead wandering in the night.
“Please, sir! I must see the prince! I have information that is vital to the future of the kingdom!”
He seemed to think a little harder about that bit.
Suddenly I could hear the familiar groaning of approaching zombies. This time there was a difference, however. As I turned, I could see that there were two fast approaching. Instead of their usual slow movements, with the halted and laborious gait, they were running at full speed and were almost upon me.
The guard saw them as well.
“Please, sir!” I cried up to him. “Don’t leave me out here!”
He seemed to finally make his decision, ducking behind the gate. A moment later I heard the slow, rattling creek of the gears spinning to unlock the heavy wooden doors. He was moving too slowly. Two of the undead were already upon me.
Still on Sampson’s back, I loaded the golden bow with one of the perfect golden arrows. It shot almost instantaneously into the skull of my closest attacker, practically moving on its own accord. The zombie crumpled to the ground, a pile of dead bones. A second later and its companion had joined it on the earth, an arrow through its eye socket.
The gate finally opened and Sampson did not wait for me to prod him through the door. We galloped past the guard, heading straight for the palace. Several guards followed me shouting to stop, but I paid them no heed.
At the entrance I slid off Sampson’s back and pounded up to the front door, but a guard surprised me from the side. We scuffled at the door until finally I was able to wrench it open.
I did not have to look far. There he was, walking into the entrance hall from the room beyond. I would have recognized him anywhere, even without his royal golden coat. I had often seen him playing in the courtyard when we were both children. I frequently visited the palace when my father was on duty training the royal guard, bringing him his lunch or finding any other excuse to come spend time with him while he worked. I would spy on Prince Philip as he played pirates with his companions from the royal staff, or as he was practicing his fencing skills with his tutor. I was shy, so I never approached him, but I dreamt from afar about the day that I would march right up to him and make myself known. I wished that I had done that long ago, and joined him in his fighting adventures.
It was time to start a fighting adventure of our own now.
As he stopped the guard from throwing me out, I thought for a moment that he recognized me. The look in his eyes was so intense, that it took my breath away.
I would do anything for this man, and to be looked at in that manner by him again.
The shouts from outside were insistent and loud. The zombies had breached the outer wall and were in the courtyard, attacking the guards.
“I will fight with you,” I said, returning his intense gaze.
As we turned to join the battle, I caught sight of my stepmother standing in the doorway to the entrance hall, her long staff in hand. She was looking at me with undisguised fury, obviously not fooled by the cover of my mask. I quickly turned away. She was not my concern right now.
Outside the battle was becoming intense. The guards were doing their best to destroy the attacking zombies, but the creatures were fighting with a stronger intensity and a vicious strength. More and more of the men were falling, their screams piercing the air as the undead ripped at their flesh with inhuman strength. More creatures were entering through the main gate. I knew this battle would not end well in this enclosed place.
I started letting arrows fly, their deadly accuracy quickly taking down my foe. Prince Philip drew his sword and launched himself at an attacker that had its arm around the throat of one of his guard, just about to clamp its black mouth over the man’s ear. A zombie rushed at me from the side, taking me by surprise, and my arrow found its way through the creature’s neck. The brain not completely severed from the body, it continued to advance. Suddenly there was a quick swishing swipe, and the head dropped off the body, landing in the dirt. Philip stood there, panting, pulling back his sword.
“Thank you,” I croaked.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
We returned to the battle.
There were even more creatures pouring into the grounds. I could hear the cries behind me from the palace from the women who were not quite ready to join in the fight. Some were out among us, however, slashing swords and throwing spears.
This wasn’t going to work. There were too many people here with too many possibilities of casualties. We were outnumbered. There was no way to contain the creatures enough to destroy them with fire, as the old woman had advised.
As I watched a young woman succumb to a violent blow from an attacker much larger than her, her lifeless frame crumpling to the dirt, a cold sickness swelled from inside me. This was my fault. The song of my bow had lured these creatures here, instilling in them an unearthly drive to attack. Instead of being ready for their onslaught, I had handed them a palace full of living flesh and blood. I had to draw them away.
“Your Highness!” I cried, running to the prince’s side. He swept the lock of dark hair that was falling into his eyes aside with the back of his bloody hand.
“We cannot win this here!” I said. “I will draw them away from the palace. You must secure the gates behind me.”
The prince’s eyes grew wide. He grabbed my arm, pulling me closer to him.
“No! What are you talking about?”
“You must trust me,” I begged, placing my hand on his that was still firmly grasped around my arm. I drew it gently from his grasp.
I placed my fingers in my lips and whistled a long note out, ending it in a pattern of three short chirps. It was the call my father used to signal his horses.
Sampson rounded the corner and was by my side in a moment, snorting and shaking his head in agitation at the creatures that were surrounding him.
I mounted him with ease, the prince looking at me in bewilderment.
“You must secure the gates,” I directed again, hoping that he would do as I say.
Pulling the reins, I directed Sampson toward the doors to the gate. He immediately complied and we flew on. I hoped that it would be enough, and the zombies would follow us out of the courtyard. Just then I thought that I heard a gentle thrum vibrating in the air. The golden bow was strapped across my shoulder and I could feel a subtle hum emanating through my body. The quicker we rode, the more intense the thrumming sounded through me.
By the time we crossed the outer gate, I could hear the wailing and screeching of the undead creatures attempting to follow. We rode harder and harder. I could only hope that Sampson could outrun these new and intensified vermin of the night.
Philip:
I stood there dumbfounded as the golden girl mounted my own horse.
“You must secure the gates,” she told me firmly, and then she was off.
Within moments of her leaving there was a strange unearthly sound that resonated around the courtyard. I call it a sound, but really it was more of a humming vibration in the air that I could feel in my chest and into my bones. This sound seemed to catch the creatures’ attention. They shook their heads, trying to cover their ears, but soon they all turned and left the blood and gore of the courtyard, following the girl and horse.
“Secure the gate!” I called to the guard who was stationed at the large metal gears, and he began to close the great doors.
A glint of gold caught my eye lying in the dirt. As I approached it I saw that it was one of the girl’s golden arrows. I picked it up and felt the same thrumming run through my arm, but it quickly dissipated, leaving behind a warm sensation.
I looked up as the gates closed upon the last of the fleeing vermin, and I could just make out the girl and horse riding in the distance before they were blocked from my view.
Who was this girl? I had to find her. She mustn’t fight these creatures alone.
I called to the closest guard that I could find.
“Prepare my horse…I mean, another horse. I must leave at once.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, and ran off toward the direction of the stables.
Ella:
Although the zombies were quick, Sampson was faster. We rode hard and fast, heading toward my family estate. As we rode I began to formulate a plan. If all went well, we would be free of these creatures by daybreak. If things did not go well, maybe Philip would find the golden bow and end the nightmare afflicting our kingdom on his own.
I would have rather done it by his side. I abruptly stamped down my longing for a connection with the prince. Who knows how many lives were already lost this night, all because I had not understood the full power of the golden bow. Now that this bow was in my possession, there would be no turning back. It had to end here.
Upon reaching our estate, I ran through the house collecting as many oil lamps as I could find. I didn’t know how many I would need, or if this was even going to work. But it had to work.
I carried the lamps out to the stable where our animals were kept. The horses were gone, still at the palace with my stepmother and stepsisters, but there was our cow and a handful of chickens pecking about. I quickly led the cow around to the side of the house. I didn’t tie her up, in hopes that she could escape if the zombies decided to attack. The thought of losing our one cow almost brought tears to my eyes. Without her milk every day we surely would have starved these last few years.
I made my way back to the stable and chased the chickens out to fend for themselves. I then began emptying the oil from the lamps around the dry hay on the ground. I knew that the creatures would be here any moment, they were following us at such a quick pace.
A sudden flash of black pain erupted across the back of my head, quickly circling around my skull until the darkness overtook my vision and I collapsed to the ground.
I woke up lying face first on the hard packed earth, bits of gravel and wood chips digging into the tender skin of my cheek. Involuntarily I let out a groan. Shifting slightly, I tried to sit up but my vision was spinning and out of focus. The back of my head was on fire with an intense pain. Someone, or something, had attacked me from behind.
I opened my eyes again, trying to focus, and saw the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway to the stable. I blinked again.
It was Lady Tremaine, my stepmother, and in her hands was the golden bow, ready to fire and aimed directly at me.
“You think that you are so clever,” she said in a low voice, practically spitting out the last word. “The Colonel always did love you best. I tried everything to please him, arranging for his favorite foods, ensuring the house was just right, even adorning myself in whatever fashion I thought would please him most, but it was never enough. One look from you, his precious little angel, and he would melt. You could do no wrong. You were his little princess.” She paused and I was surprised to hear the venom in her voice suddenly disappear as she choked out her last words, “My love was never enough.”
I sat there blinking, unsure of what to do. I never saw my stepmother with much emotion other than a demanding anger, but now she almost looked fragile. I came very close to feeling sorry for her.
“My lady,” I said hesitantly, but my words seemed to break her out of her melancholy. She returned to her spiteful glare, and positioned her stance to get a better aim at me with the golden bow.
“I am not going to let you steal the prince away from my girls, with your bewitching ways and showy weapon skills.”
“No!” I cried, reaching my hand out toward her.
Lady Tremaine pulled the string back as far as her arm would extend. She looked at me down the length of the straight golden arrow with one last hateful glare.
“Good-bye, Cinderella,” she said and released the arrow.
Multiple things happened at once. In an instant I had thrown myself to the side, trying to avoid the flying arrow, and at the same time there was a loud crack that shook the ground and made the walls of the stable tremble and creak noisily. Lady Tremaine was thrown back in a violent explosion, sending her flying out the stable doors and into the darkness of the night outside. Before I could even register what happened I heard a blood-curtling scream and the savage snarls of the plagued creatures.
I stumbled to my feet and ran to the door. Lady Tremaine was in the midst of at least fifty zombies, who were ripping at her limbs and tearing at her flesh in a maniacal frenzy. I picked up the golden bow, which she had dropped at the door, and began shooting and shooting. Two down, four down. Her screams were getting quieter and more garbled. She didn’t have much time. Five down, eight down. I was going to run out of arrows. Ten down, twelve. More zombies approached from the woods. There had to be more than a hundred now.
It was too late. Lady Tremaine’s lifeless corpse dropped to the ground, her skull crushed and mutilated. Hungry for more, the creatures then began to turn to me. I slowly backed into the stable.
The golden bow began to thrum again, the intensity increasing with each moment. Many of the creatures covered their ears, groaning and wailing. But slowly, they trudged toward the stable. I backed into the far wall and climbed up the ladder that led to the loft above. I had to get them all inside. If only I could keep them there long enough. Some of them began clumsily attempting to climb the ladder after me. It wouldn’t be long and one of them would succeed and I would be attacked.
I only had three arrows left.
The air in the stable was stifling as it was filled with the pungence of the undead creatures. Their cries and wails echoed off the wooden walls and I prayed that they were finally all contained.
One of the zombies stumbled over the top of the ladder, making its way onto the creaking floor of the loft. Shuffling toward me, its black mouth agape and snarling, I let one of my precious arrows fly into its skull. But even as it crumpled to the floor, another was in its place, advancing toward me at the front of the loft. I backed up until I was next to the small window that was on the front wall. Then suddenly I heard a series of whistles coming from below, a long one flowed by three short chirps.
Surprised, I turned to look out the window.
“Philip!” I cried, forgetting myself and calling him by his given name. Prince Philip was below the window, sitting astride a chestnut horse, which sweating and snorting from its intense ride from the palace.
He didn’t seem to mind my impudence. “My lady! You must come down this way! The stable is completely overrun, there is no other way out!”
Suddenly I felt the sting of a clawed hand ripping at the flesh of my arm. I screamed, trying to pull back. The creature loomed forward, reaching for my throat. I ducked down and grabbed the knife that was strapped to the outside of my leg. Slashing the creature wherever I could, I tried to wrench my arm free from its grasp, but the tears of my blade did nothing to stop the ferocity of the zombie attacking me. With a lunge it grabbed my skull, trying to draw it near to its gaping mouth. Out of desperation, I wrapped both hands around my knife and plunged it up under the creature’s jaw as hard as I could. The blade sunk deep into its throat and into the brain. A puff of putrid dust escaped the black mouth and it slid to the floor, a heap of rattling bones.
“My lady!” Prince Philip called out again. He sounded desperate. “Are you alright?”
I drug myself up to the window again, trying to wipe the filth of the creature from me and managing to just smear it instead.
“I am here,” I said.
“Jump down. I will catch you,” he called. I looked at him uncertainly. “You must trust me,” he said, repeating what I had told him earlier.
“Alright,” I said finally, and I climbed over the edge of the window and dropped down to Philip’s waiting arms. His horse snorted upon the sudden extra weight, but he bore us well.
We sat there for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, and he gently swept his hand across my cheek, wiping away the zombie filth.
Prince Philip’s horse trotted around anxiously, arousing our attention. The creatures wouldn’t stay in the stable for long.
I reluctantly slid down to the ground and Philip quickly followed.
“I need fire,” I said, pointing toward the stable. “I placed as much fuel in the stable as I could. We must burn them before they escape.”
Philip gave me a beaming smile.
“You need fire?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “I am just your man.”
He pulled out from his coat a torch that looked like it was made of pure gold. It was covered in ornate carvings, just like my golden bow. I caught my breath.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
Philip began ripping some cloth from the end of his white shirt.
“I got it from the witch in the forest,” he replied, and handed me the strips of cloth. “Wrap these around your arrow.”
I obeyed, wrapping the soft woven fabric around the tip of one of my remaining arrows.
Philip touched the end of the golden torch to the fabric on the arrow. A white hot flame immediately flared on the end of the torch, igniting the fabric with a round ball of a flame much hotter than any fire I had ever seen. I loaded the arrow onto the golden bow and let the fiery shot loose into the stable.
I wrapped the last arrow and Philip lit it in the same manner. All of a sudden one of the zombies came stumbling out of the door, heading toward us. I shot the last arrow straight into its chest and the creature erupted into a white consuming flame. The creature fell back into the stable.
Without any warning, there was a crashing burst as the flames hit the fuel and the dry straw. The entire stable was engulfed in flames so white hot and intense it could not have been of this earth. The inhuman cries that came from within the fiery inferno sent chills up my spine. Within a matter of minutes, there was nothing left but a smoldering heap of ash.
The creatures were gone.
“What if there are more of them out there?” I asked Philip, looking at the still crackling mound. The night breeze was already picking up bits of ash and it was swirling around in the air, covering us with its sooty residue.
“Then we will destroy them, together,” Philip said resolutely.
I turned toward Philip and he stepped close to me.
“May I?” he asked, as he tilted the leather mask from off my face. I had forgotten that it was even there.
“You are Colonel Tremaine’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked, dropping the mask on the ground and taking my hands in his. “I recognized the whistle call.”
“Yes,” I replied, breathless.
He stepped in closer, and I could feel the warmth of his body close to mine.
Looking down at my filthy, tattered dress I smiled and said, “You can call me Cinderella.”
He took me in his arms and spoke close to my ear.
“No, I would rather call you my Cinderella.”
As the glorious warmth of the sun began to peek over the tops of the trees, welcoming the beginning of a beautiful new day, his lips touched mine and I was delighted in the tender surprise of our first kiss.
THE END
It was late, and I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after an unsatisfying dinner of cold baked potatoes, when the all too familiar groaning from outside the house aroused my attention. Grabbing the sharpened spear that was leaning against the cold fireplace, I raced up the stairs to the main level, where my stepsisters were cowering on the lavender divan, huddled together like a pair of quivering newborn calves. My stepmother was also there, but unlike her daughters, she was prowling around the room looking out the windows with a hawk-like glare.
“Ella,” she barked, not looking toward me but continuing her feral prowl, “My staff, I left it in the dining room after dinner.”
She turned to see my exasperated expression. She carried that thing with her wherever she went, it was always clutched tightly in her white bony grasp. And of all the times to have left it behind…“Fetch it!” she bellowed.
But I didn’t have time to obey her command. The large front window shattered and a tattered-looking zombie dropped the long tree branch which it had used against the window and started crawling over the broken glass. It didn’t make it far before I had positioned myself to aim properly with my spear. The shaft left my hand with a satisfying whoosh, and penetrated the zombie’s skull directly through the soft portion of its right temple. It crumpled in a heap over the window sill, its fragile bones breaking as the source of their strength, the infected brain, was severed from the rest of the body.
I stood there for a minute, watching with curiosity as dust rose from the heap of dry bones, when suddenly my stepmother wrenched the spear from the corpse’s skull, using her foot as leverage to pull it free. She then launched it with a ferocious heave into the dark of the night outside and I heard a distinctive crunch as it made contact with another zombie skull. She stood breathless in the window, waiting for signs of any other invaders. All was quiet.
My stepsisters watched from the divan as my stepmother and I hoisted the crumpling corpse out the window and drew the drapes tightly closed. My trusted spear would have to wait until the safety of morning to be retrieved. We then proceeded to finish the nightly ritual of checking windows throughout the bottom floor of the house, drawing the drapes closed, and extinguishing all flames or sources of light. At the base of the grand staircase we secured the iron barricade that my father had constructed the previous year, hoping to ensure our safety from the prowling vermin outside until the light of dawn erased the need for enclosures. He had only lived long enough to see it finished before he was taken from me in the middle of a violent zombie attack.
My father was an expert marksman. He had hunted on our family estate for as long as I could remember, and had left his beautiful bow and quiver of arrows to my care. Some of my fondest memories were spent at my father’s side, his hand guiding mine as he showed me how to place the arrow just right and feel the perfect amount of tension in the string as I pulled it tight.
When the plague hit our kingdom five years ago, my father, the Colonel, was one of the front-runners in fighting off those who had become infected and were threatening the lands surrounding us. He bravely fought alongside the king himself, King Stephen, as even the royal guard became infected and dwindled in numbers. By the time my father succumbed to one of the most vicious attacks on the palace by the undead vermin, the royal guard was practically nonexistent. The queen was also lost, and the kingdom spiraled into a panic. The royal family barricaded itself in the palace’s soaring towers, and have not been seen this entire last year.
We were now on our own, myself and my stepmother, along with her two daughters. With no contact from the palace, many doubted that there were any who survived. Although my relationship with my stepmother was never very genuine before, after the death of my father it turned into something akin to poison. She despised me. I knew it with every look she gave me. She looked on me with the kind of irrational hatred that can only come from one who has lost too severely to make sense. Every time I pulled out my father’s bow, her look shot daggers to my heart, as though she blamed me for his untimely death.
My stepsisters, who were my same age and should have been completely capable, were nonetheless completely useless. I began to take care of everyone simply because no one else seemed willing to try, and my father would never forgive me if I let something happen to them. My stepmother’s rage toward me rubbed off on her daughters, and they began to treat me as a servant, despite the fact that they would have no food on the table or have the peace of mind to sleep at night if I wasn’t there to cook, clean, and guard the house.
The next morning I was up before anyone else in the house stirred. I began my morning routine, scouring the main level floor of the house for any possible stragglers from the night before, starting the fires in the cold, ash-filled fireplaces until they crackled pleasantly, and finally retrieving my spear from the front grounds. Since the infestation five years ago, it was no longer safe to have any fires lit during the dark hours of night, so I did all of the cooking during the day, to ensure that we had at least one hot meal. The scent of seared meat was a sure way to get your place crawling with vermin at night, not that we had a lot of meat to spare. I would have loved to do more hunting, but the presence of the undead had scared away most of the live game, so we mostly ate what root vegetables I could coax out of our meager little garden.
I boarded up the window which was broken the night before, another sad loss of healing light sacrificed for the necessary blockade which protected our family, then set to work burning the remains of the crumbling corpses in a bonfire at the side of the house. I was just finishing up when a man approached me from the road. He was dressed in what appeared to be faded royal golden robes, the fabric fraying on the edges. The once lustrous sheen was now lost and resembled a bruised piece of fruit rather than the stately finery it once had been.
“Good day to you, ma’am,” the man said primly, giving me a brief bob of his head as his heels clicked firmly together.
“Good day, sir,” I said, astonished, and offered a slight curtsy. Looking down at my ash-covered, tattered work dress, my face flushed with the heat of embarrassment. I must have been quite the sight.
The man handed me a tightly wound scroll with a beautiful red ribbon wrapped around it. I tried to wipe my sooty hands onto the front of my apron before reaching out for the impossibly white scroll of parchment.
“A message for the lady of the house, Lady Tremaine, and her fine daughters, from King Stephen and the royal family,” he said in an official tone. Then he turned and proceeded to march off.
I turned the scroll curiously in my hand, fingering the fine ribbon. This was very important, indeed, if the king suffered to part with such finery. I immediately went into the house to give it to my stepmother.
Philip:
Ever since the death of my mother at the hands of the vermin scourging our land, my father, King Stephen, had been beside himself with grief. He locked himself in the palace’s tallest tower, refusing all but the barest amount of food and water, proclaiming that his beloved kingdom was lost and he along with it.
I wasn’t that ready to completely give up hope. I was determined to find the way to rid our land of the infestation and see my father healthy again.
I left the castle in the dead of night on hunting parties, for that was when the corpses were out doing hunting of their own. My party was small, only two or three men rode with me each night. My intention was to scout out where the unmentionables were hiding, discover if they kept camp, and try to ascertain if there was a possibility of launching a full attack.
One night I became separated from my party. We were hunting in the thickest, most dangerous section of the woods, and had split apart to cover more ground.
I heard a sound. It was only a small snap, but my ears were instantaneously tuned in to the direction of the sound. I dismounted my trusted dark steed, Sampson, in order to proceed in silence. There was another snap and the sound of slow shuffling footsteps. Sampson startled and ran into the dark of the trees.
“Fine steed, indeed,” I muttered under my breath. I drew my sword and prepared myself for what was about to come out of the thicket.
A few moments passed and the shuffling grew nearer. I could hear a distinctive rattling breath, and my skin began to crawl at the thought of what was coming my way.
“Aww, Prince Philip, I was wondering when you would find your way to my humble little home.”
A woman who looked to be as old as time itself emerged from the darkness. She was covered in a thick green cloak, with her long hooked nose barely peeking out from under the hood.
I was too stunned to speak.
“Come with me, Your Highness,” she beckoned, and then turned to shuffle back into the darkness.
Curious, I followed her into the thicket, passing through brambles that tore at my already fraying coat. Finally we came to a clearing, with a squat little hut built in the center. A thin trickle of smoke escaped the stone chimney piece, which beckoned me into the cozy interior of her home.
The old woman went to the fireplace and gave a few stirs in the huge black pot that sat over the fire. She looked back at me, assessing my appearance from top to bottom, gave a little grunt, and began to mutter to herself as she drug a flat bowl from the shelf above the fire and proceeded to ladle a large scoop of the liquid into the bowl. I could not understand what she was saying.
“Please, you don’t need to feed me,” I tried to say, but she just waved me off, and carried the flat bowl over to her dusty table. I hoped that she didn’t intend for me to actually eat what was in the bowl. It was a muddy brown color, and had a foul sort of smell.
The old woman placed the bowl firmly on the table top, and rotated it a few times. She seemed dissatisfied, so she grunted again and shuffled over to her cupboard and pulled out a few bottles of strange-looking ingredients. I looked on with horror as she proceeded to dump what looked like a healthy dose of hairy black spider legs and emptied another bottle of something that resembled some sort of squishy eyeballs into the steaming bowl of liquid. Good gracious, she couldn’t expect me to stomach this concoction!
The woman gave the bowl a swirl, dabbed her finger at it tentatively, and then gasped a raspy intake of air.
“What? What is it?” I asked, stepping reluctantly forward.
Just then the door was flung open with a crash and three of the undead vermin started to shuffle into the single room of the hut. I swung around, pulling my sword from its sheath as I moved, but the old woman was even faster than I. Raising a bony finger, she pointed at the first walking corpse and chanted something under her breath. It immediately froze in place and stood silent. She pointed at the other two and they likewise froze. Then, with a sudden swish of her arm there was a deafening crack and the three corpses crumbled to the dirt-packed ground, now only a pile of bones and ash.
I stood there dumbfounded.
“You’re a…a witch!” I finally croaked, stepping back involuntarily.
“What?” she squawked. “Of course I am, boy! How else could I live this long out here in the wilds!” The old woman shook her head, muttering to herself as she turned back to the bowl of stinking brown goop on the table. “I thought you might have a little more brains in that head of yours. They don’t make royalty like they used to…”
“There now, there’s no need to insult me!” I exclaimed, stepping closer to the steaming bowl again. “You just took me off guard, is all.”
The witch took a twisted twig and poked at the ingredients of the bowl again. Finally, with a satisfied sigh she said, “Ahh, yes. Now I see.”
“What? What do you see?”
“The secret to your success,” she answered in a low, crackling voice. Turning toward me, she leaned in and whispered, “You want to learn how to rid this land of these foul creatures, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I retorted, surprised. “Yes, more than anything!”
“Very well.” The old woman looked back into the bowl, directing her gaze into its murky darkness. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she proceeded to talk, as though in a chant.
“To free the land of death and decay, there is one who can inspire the way.
Find the one with the bow of gold, her arrows are true, brave and bold.
Attempt it alone and you shall fail, but together your strength shall prevail.
Victorious conquerors for your land, united together, hand in hand.”
Ella:
“What is this?” my stepmother asked, as I handed her the pristine roll of parchment. She did not wait for me to answer, instead quickly ripping the precious document open.
“Oh my! It is from the king!” she cried, and her daughters immediately bolted to attention, crowding around her feverishly.
“What is it, Mamma? What does it say?”
“To her honorable Lady Tremaine,” the lady began,
“It is with great solemnity that you and your household of eligible daughters are requested to attend a royal assembly this evening in the Grand Hall of the Illustrious Palace. His Royal Highness Prince Philip will select a bride whom he deems most worthy of fighting by his side to secure the certain future of our great kingdom. Please arrive at the gates by dusk, as they will be locked and fortified immediately upon sundown until the light of dawn on tomorrow’s day.
His Most Imminent Highness,
King Stephen.”
We all stood dumbfounded, our mouths hanging open, as we tried to digest this incredible bit of news. The king was still alive, and now the prince was looking for someone to stand beside him in his wage against our kingdom’s infestation of zombies.
The part of the prince seeking a bride seemed to hit my stepsisters first and foremost.
“The prince will select a bride!” Drusilla exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was the younger of the two sisters. A little short, with a waistline of copious girth, her red curls sprung on her head with each eager bounce. She spent more time attending to her toilet than anything else, although her mother tried her best to infuse a knowledge of the arts in her daily routine.
Her sister Anastasia, although older and much more like her mother in appearance and demeanor, was no more immune to the exciting prospect of becoming the prince’s bride than her sister.
“A royal assembly!” she cried, clasping her long bony hands together in eager anticipation. “I have longed for the chance to meet Prince Philip!”
“Yes, but…” I couldn’t help but interject, astounded at their seeming obliviousness to the qualification mentioned in the letter. “Prince Philip will select a bride that he deems most worthy to fight by his side. I don’t think that I can remember the last time you two threw a spear or drew a sword.”
My stepmother’s eyes seemed to bore into mine, her icy glare chilling me to the bone.
“I don’t suppose,” she said slowly, as though savoring the sting she was about to let loose, “that the groomsman who made this delivery was all that impressed with the fineness of your appearance this morning, my dear.” The girls began to giggle as they looked at my filthy, tattered dress, covered in soot. My face reddened but I stood my ground. “You may be quick with a spear, but that will never make you a lady. And trust me when I say this, although the prince may profess his desire for a bride to fight by his side, when all is said and done, his eyes will do his choosing. He will only choose a lady, and my dear, you are no lady.”
The girls snickered loudly, until Drusilla couldn’t resist herself anymore. “You a lady? You’re all covered in soot. We may as well call you Cinderella!”
Anastasia made an ugly guffawing sound, contorting her long face until it looked like that of a horse sneering. “Cinderella!” she repeated after her sister, and the two of them clung to each other in fits of laughter as they exited the room.
I waited until the sound of their laughter drifted up the stairs.
“I am going to that assembly,” I said in a low voice, trying to return the steely look that my stepmother had perfected.
“Don’t you have work to do, Cinderella?” she said pointedly, and then swept out of the room after her girls.
It was a long day of anticipation. I got my work done, made our meals, spent much-needed time tending to the garden, and even prepared the old coach which was sitting in the carriage house, getting moldy with disuse. To be proper, the coach should be drawn with four horses, and with a driver and coachman to assist. We only had two horses, and counted ourselves lucky to have retained both of them these last five years, and had no driver or coachman. I figured that we would have to make do.
At last the sun was starting its slow descent on the horizon, growing round and rosy, and I knew that I should prepare myself to leave for the assembly. Despite refusing to acknowledge it to anyone else, I was quite mortified to be seen in such a filthy mess as I had been that morning. I promised myself that I could make a better impression than that. I also knew that I had some fairly impressive skills with the spear, and especially my father’s bow and arrows. I knew that I could put on a show for the prince, and that my stepmother could simper and seethe all she wanted, but the prince was going to make his own decision tonight.
Looking through my own selection of frayed and worn dresses, my heart sank. I had nothing to wear. Finally, I closed the door to my room as softly as I could and climbed the stairs to the attic. There, hidden in the back, was a chest that I hadn’t opened in many years. It was covered in a thick coating of dust and cobwebs. Obviously, my stepsisters had failed to discover my secret treasure trove. Opening it slowly, a puff of dust escaped the latch, and in its wake rose the sweet scent of lavender and lilac. My mother. A tear threatened to spill from my eye. It had been so long since I had touched these treasures, these belongings of my mother. She died when I was a small child, and so my memories of her were still soft and dream-like, as if looking through a frosted glass.
I pulled out a long gown of silk brocade. It was ice blue, with golden threads embroidered into delicate flowers and cascading trellises. The fashion of the sleeves betrayed its age, but the cut was purely classic. It was perfect.
Moments later I was floating down the stairs, feeling as feminine and ethereal as I ever had in my life, wearing my mother’s gown. My stepsisters spluttered out gasps of complaint when they saw me, but my stepmother did not say a word. Doing my best to ignore them, I crossed into the library, where I kept my father’s bow and arrows locked in a cabinet. The cabinet door was open, and it was empty.
“Looking for these?” my stepmother breathed behind me, taunting me until I turned.
She was holding my father’s hunting set in her hands, a triumphant smile teasing her lips.
“How dare you touch those,” I said in a low and dangerous voice. “They were my father’s, and now they belong to me.”
She let out a tinkling laugh, as though she was explaining something to a silly child. Suddenly her laughter stopped and her voice became cold and sharp.
“I think not,” she said, walking closer to me. “I am Lady Tremaine, lady of this house, and everything in it belongs to me.”
I tried to laugh off the ridiculousness of the situation. “Do you honestly think that one of your girls will be able to win the prince?” I asked, incredulous. “Do you honestly think that they will tempt him with their simpering and whining and fretting about, just because they hold a weapon in their hands?”
Cold fury shot through the lady’s face and she lashed out at me with one of my father’s arrows in her hand. The quickness and ferocity of her movement caught me off guard, and she managed to slice through the bodice of my mother’s dress in an ugly slash, shredding the fine silk until it was hanging from my breast.
I stood there aghast, looking down at my mother’s ruined gown, and feeling her death afresh.
Lady Tremaine spun around and exited the house, with her daughters quick on her heels. A few moments later I heard the crack of a whip and her commanding voice as she called to the horses. The sound of the coach crossing the gravel drive finally awakened me from my stupor. I ran toward the door, but was too late. The coach was already down the road, my stepmother at the reigns, and there was no way she would be turning back for me.
I had to get to the palace. I could not bear the thought of staying behind.
The horses were gone, the palace was miles away, and I had no weapons. I searched high and low for my spear, but eventually decided that my stepmother had taken it as well. I placated myself with a pair of knives strapped to my legs under cover of my gown, hoping that there would be no need to have such close hand to hand combat with a zombie tonight that would require the use of my short blades.
Although the road was safest, it wound through the country in a zigzagging pattern, adding miles to my journey that I could not afford. I opted to make my way through the forest instead. I was used to walking through the wooded trees, I often did as a young girl with my father, so I was not afraid of getting lost.
The sun was beginning to set even faster now. If I did not hurry, then I would be too late. The gates to the palace would be barred and locked, with no possible entrance. I quickened my pace.
I suddenly found myself in a dark thicket of trees that I did not recognize. The air felt cold and heavy around me, and I tried to move faster. My thoughts began to race as I thought I heard the sound of a shuffling gait behind me, crackling through the dried underbrush. I began to run, my heart pounding in my ears. Zombies were slow-moving creatures. Surely I could outrun whatever was following behind me. I ran faster. A moment later I was sprawled across the ground, having tripped over an exposed tree root. I tasted blood in mouth. I must have bit my lip during the fall. But before I could scramble back up and continue to run a hunched figure emerged from the thicket. It was an old woman. Very old, by the looks of her. And very much alive.
The old woman let out a dusty-sounding cackle as she approached me still laying on the ground.
“Thought you could outrun me, huh, little miss?” she said, offering me a withered hand. I took it warily, and found myself surprised at the strength in which she was able to assist me in rising. “I am faster than I look,” she continued, a spark twinkling in her dark eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked, bewildered to come across an old woman in the forest.
“Never you mind,” she replied mysteriously, and turned back toward the thicket which she had emerged from. Evidently expecting me to follow, she continued to talk as she moved away, “You are in a bit of a hurry, are you not? You must get to the palace before sundown.”
I was startled.
“How do you know....” I started, but she interrupted me.
“Do you want my help, or don’t you?”
“Umm, yes, if you can…”
A few moments later we cleared through the dense branches and foliage of the thicket and came upon a small clearing. There was a round hut in the center of the clearing, with a beautiful black horse tethered to a stake near the door. I gasped.
“His name is Sampson. He will take you to the palace. He is friends with the prince,” the little old woman croaked, waddling past the horse toward the hut in a nonchalant manner, as though he wasn’t the most perfect creature I had ever seen.
I stopped to pat Sampson’s neck. He nickered and bobbed his head, giving me permission to caress the smooth silk of his nose.
The old woman appeared again in the doorway.
“You’re going to need more than a horse tonight, my dear,” she said, as she shifted a long leather satchel toward me. “Here you go, dear. Open it up.”
I obeyed and loosened the leather string that held the satchel closed. For the second time in the last few moments I let out an involuntary gasp. There in my hands was the most beautiful bow I had ever seen. It was made of pure gold, and the length of it was covered in intricate carvings of exotic birds and trees. The arrows were also of gold, the shafts as straight as anything I could imagine. Even the feathers which were set into the shafts were a luminous golden color. I wondered what sort of bird would have feathers made of gold, and who could have possibly made this hunting set.
I could hardly speak. “It’s beautiful,” I finally spoke in a reverent whisper.
“Try it out,” the old woman prodded, and I readily complied.
I set the arrow into its place, sliding the notch into the silky smooth string. As I lifted the bow into position to draw the string back, my hand perfectly molded to the smooth grip, I was amazed at how light the bow was. It was made of pure gold, but felt as light and comfortable as a bow made of young and supple wood. The tension in the spring moved so smoothly that I was able to pull it back with ease. Aiming at a distinctive knot in a tree on the far side of the clearing, I released the string and with a melodic singing twang the arrow flew straight and true, hitting the knot dead center.
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
The mysterious woman chuckled softly. “Oh yes, my dear. Magic of the oldest kind.”
I looked into her eyes, searching for more.
“Magic from the ancients only returns into the world of the present when there is a dire need. This is not the first time that the earth has been scourged with the undead vermin. It is a plague as old as time, from the darkest magic of all. Magic this dark can only be combated with magic which is pure. If you want to save this kingdom, you must use the magic of the ancients to wipe it clean from the filth of the undead.”
“What do I need to do?” I asked.
“The bow will draw the undead to it with its magical song. Once they are gathered as one you will be able to attack. Scourge them with fire and the undead will not be able to return.”
I nodded my head.
“But you must remember, the magic will only work if wielded by one who is true of heart. Magic this ancient and powerful requires the purest conduit. If it is used by someone unworthily, there is no telling what may happen.”
“I must get to the palace. I must talk to the prince!” I cried, ready to jump on Sampson’s back right then and ride off.
“Not so fast, my dear,” the old woman placed her hand on my arm to stop me from leaving. She looked me up and down pointedly, especially at the ruined front of my gown. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You don’t want to be seeing the prince in this state.”
I couldn’t help but blush. In my hurry to get to the palace I had forgotten about the condition of my gown, and what the prince might think of me with my underclothes hanging out.
“Don’t you worry. I know exactly what you need.” The old woman gave a wink and left me again as she entered her hut.
There was a scraping sound, followed by the woman’s croaky voice muttering what sounded like a chant, and last a brilliant flash of blue light. I began to creep up to the door to have a peek at what she was doing but she was already coming back out when I got there. In her hands she held a beautifully tanned bustier made of leather, with matching arm bands to strap a number of weapons to.
As I wrapped the leather around my body I was amazed with how perfectly supple it was. At first it didn’t seem like it would fit, but then I started to feel a warmth pass around me and the leather seemed to meld perfectly to the shape of my body.
“There is one more piece,” the old woman said, and she pulled out a matching face mask. The leather now felt like it was part of my own skin, it fit so well.
I looked down at myself, seeing the setting sun cast a golden sheen across the surface of the leather, and making my new weapons alight with a fire of light. I was ready for the assembly.
Philip:
I stood at the top of the stairs, watching anxiously as our guests entered the palace through the reception hall. After listening to the witch in the thicket I was nervous, wondering if this mystery girl, this girl who was supposed to help inspire our entire victory, this girl that I was possibly meant to even fall in love with, this girl with a bow of gold would come tonight. My eyes scanned the faces, the gowns, but especially the weapons that came through the front door, hoping that they would catch sight of a glimmer of gold.
After my meeting with the witch I thought long and hard about how would be the best way to find my golden girl. Gathering all the girls in the kingdom together seemed like the quickest solution. Gaining my father’s blessing on the event was easy. He thought that I was merely trying to make a match for myself, and I didn’t feel the need to correct his assumption. He happily agreed to the arrangement, and even took over the majority of the planning himself. It had been an entire year since I saw him so happy and so engaged. It felt like I was beginning to get my father back again.
Women of all ages were now pouring through the doors. Young and old, short and tall, petite and portly, all were making their way into the grand Assembly Hall. Swords, cimeters, spears, shields, bows, all manner of weaponry came through the doors as well. But there was no golden bow.
The assembly began and so started the long procession of female warrior hopefuls.
Miss Clemens started it off pretty well with her energetic sword fight with one of the royal guard, that is until she broke one of her nails and started throwing a tantrum, unbecoming to any lady.
Miss Gaudry surprised everyone when she pulled out a mace from behind her back and started smashing pumpkins all over the floor of the Assembly Hall. I applauded her efforts, but she kind of scared me a bit.
Miss Jaques was an impressive knife thrower, hitting her straw target square in the forehead every time. However, at the end she seemed put out that I didn’t fall down and beg her to marry me right then and there. She walked away with a disgruntled flounce of her skirts.
Next up were the daughters of my father’s royal commander, Colonel Tremaine. After seeing his prowess in battle I was surprised to discover the girls had received little to none of his remarkable talent and skill. Miss Anastasia tried her hand at archery, unable to hit the target even once. And Miss Drusilla, the pudgy one, attempted to throw a spear, failing to notice that it was positioned backwards. Upon hearing the tittering of poorly concealed giggles throughout the assembly, in a sudden violent outburst Lady Tremaine wrenched the knob off the top of her staff and threw the projectile full force into the head of the straw target, the power of the hit pushing the target support back a full ten feet.
The Assembly Hall grew silent, unsure of whether to applaud her marksmanship or politely ignore her outburst.
All of a sudden there was the noise of a disturbance going on behind the entry doors. There were shouts of my men outside, a banging against the door, and then suddenly it was flung open. There standing in the open doorway was what I could only describe as a vision.
She stood there strong and beautiful, with a stance that said she was ready to fight. The moon light shone from behind her, casting a pearly sheen on her entire form. Her long golden hair was left unrestrained, and it fluttered around her face from the breeze that was coming in from the cool night air. Her exquisite blue gown was tattered and dirty at the hem, exposing practical riding boots and a peek at her leg. She had multiple leather straps attached to her body, with weaponry and gear ready to be tested. Her face was hidden with a brown leather mask, but I could see that she was beautiful.
Finally, in her hand was a golden bow.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, she insisted on entering, even though it is clearly beyond the hour,” one of the guards from outside shouted as he attempted to grasp the golden girl by the arm. She turned to look at him with an exasperated expression, and looked toward me for help.
“Stop!” I cried. “Let her enter!”
The guard reluctantly let go of her arm and she began to step inside.
Another guard came running inside. “She rode in on Your Highness’ horse!” he spluttered.
“Sampson?” I asked, incredulous. I looked at the girl and she gave me a shrug. I shook my head and laughed. As if the witch thought that I would need any more signs!
“He is a magnificent animal, Your Highness,” the golden girl spoke for the first time. Her melodic voice was soft and warm. I felt transfixed, my only desire to hear her speak again. She stood waiting for my response, but I felt slow and stupid.
Before I could gather my wits about me there was another crashing sound coming from outside and the echo of shouts and running feet.
One of my young guards from the gate ran up to us at the door. He gave his breathless report.
“Your Highness, we are under attack. The creatures appeared to have followed the woman in. There are about twenty of them, and they seem especially ferocious tonight.”
I turned to look at the golden girl. Her eyes were wide, but she had a resolute and determined look on her face. She nodded her head.
“I will fight with you,” she said, and I knew that I had found the one. Together we raced outside to the outer courtyard.
Ella:
As I approached the palace I could see that the doors to the front gate were already closed tight. The sun was completely set now and the moon was beginning to rise over the top of the trees. I urged Sampson on, digging my heels into his sides, but was still unsure how I was going to get through the gate.
Once I reached the gate I could see a guard on top keeping watch. I called up to him.
“Ho there, sir!” I cried. “Please open the gate! I would like to attend the royal assembly this evening!”
The guard looked down at me, seemingly unsure of what to do. Clearly his orders were to keep the gate locked at sundown, but I did not in any way resemble one of the undead wandering in the night.
“Please, sir! I must see the prince! I have information that is vital to the future of the kingdom!”
He seemed to think a little harder about that bit.
Suddenly I could hear the familiar groaning of approaching zombies. This time there was a difference, however. As I turned, I could see that there were two fast approaching. Instead of their usual slow movements, with the halted and laborious gait, they were running at full speed and were almost upon me.
The guard saw them as well.
“Please, sir!” I cried up to him. “Don’t leave me out here!”
He seemed to finally make his decision, ducking behind the gate. A moment later I heard the slow, rattling creek of the gears spinning to unlock the heavy wooden doors. He was moving too slowly. Two of the undead were already upon me.
Still on Sampson’s back, I loaded the golden bow with one of the perfect golden arrows. It shot almost instantaneously into the skull of my closest attacker, practically moving on its own accord. The zombie crumpled to the ground, a pile of dead bones. A second later and its companion had joined it on the earth, an arrow through its eye socket.
The gate finally opened and Sampson did not wait for me to prod him through the door. We galloped past the guard, heading straight for the palace. Several guards followed me shouting to stop, but I paid them no heed.
At the entrance I slid off Sampson’s back and pounded up to the front door, but a guard surprised me from the side. We scuffled at the door until finally I was able to wrench it open.
I did not have to look far. There he was, walking into the entrance hall from the room beyond. I would have recognized him anywhere, even without his royal golden coat. I had often seen him playing in the courtyard when we were both children. I frequently visited the palace when my father was on duty training the royal guard, bringing him his lunch or finding any other excuse to come spend time with him while he worked. I would spy on Prince Philip as he played pirates with his companions from the royal staff, or as he was practicing his fencing skills with his tutor. I was shy, so I never approached him, but I dreamt from afar about the day that I would march right up to him and make myself known. I wished that I had done that long ago, and joined him in his fighting adventures.
It was time to start a fighting adventure of our own now.
As he stopped the guard from throwing me out, I thought for a moment that he recognized me. The look in his eyes was so intense, that it took my breath away.
I would do anything for this man, and to be looked at in that manner by him again.
The shouts from outside were insistent and loud. The zombies had breached the outer wall and were in the courtyard, attacking the guards.
“I will fight with you,” I said, returning his intense gaze.
As we turned to join the battle, I caught sight of my stepmother standing in the doorway to the entrance hall, her long staff in hand. She was looking at me with undisguised fury, obviously not fooled by the cover of my mask. I quickly turned away. She was not my concern right now.
Outside the battle was becoming intense. The guards were doing their best to destroy the attacking zombies, but the creatures were fighting with a stronger intensity and a vicious strength. More and more of the men were falling, their screams piercing the air as the undead ripped at their flesh with inhuman strength. More creatures were entering through the main gate. I knew this battle would not end well in this enclosed place.
I started letting arrows fly, their deadly accuracy quickly taking down my foe. Prince Philip drew his sword and launched himself at an attacker that had its arm around the throat of one of his guard, just about to clamp its black mouth over the man’s ear. A zombie rushed at me from the side, taking me by surprise, and my arrow found its way through the creature’s neck. The brain not completely severed from the body, it continued to advance. Suddenly there was a quick swishing swipe, and the head dropped off the body, landing in the dirt. Philip stood there, panting, pulling back his sword.
“Thank you,” I croaked.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
We returned to the battle.
There were even more creatures pouring into the grounds. I could hear the cries behind me from the palace from the women who were not quite ready to join in the fight. Some were out among us, however, slashing swords and throwing spears.
This wasn’t going to work. There were too many people here with too many possibilities of casualties. We were outnumbered. There was no way to contain the creatures enough to destroy them with fire, as the old woman had advised.
As I watched a young woman succumb to a violent blow from an attacker much larger than her, her lifeless frame crumpling to the dirt, a cold sickness swelled from inside me. This was my fault. The song of my bow had lured these creatures here, instilling in them an unearthly drive to attack. Instead of being ready for their onslaught, I had handed them a palace full of living flesh and blood. I had to draw them away.
“Your Highness!” I cried, running to the prince’s side. He swept the lock of dark hair that was falling into his eyes aside with the back of his bloody hand.
“We cannot win this here!” I said. “I will draw them away from the palace. You must secure the gates behind me.”
The prince’s eyes grew wide. He grabbed my arm, pulling me closer to him.
“No! What are you talking about?”
“You must trust me,” I begged, placing my hand on his that was still firmly grasped around my arm. I drew it gently from his grasp.
I placed my fingers in my lips and whistled a long note out, ending it in a pattern of three short chirps. It was the call my father used to signal his horses.
Sampson rounded the corner and was by my side in a moment, snorting and shaking his head in agitation at the creatures that were surrounding him.
I mounted him with ease, the prince looking at me in bewilderment.
“You must secure the gates,” I directed again, hoping that he would do as I say.
Pulling the reins, I directed Sampson toward the doors to the gate. He immediately complied and we flew on. I hoped that it would be enough, and the zombies would follow us out of the courtyard. Just then I thought that I heard a gentle thrum vibrating in the air. The golden bow was strapped across my shoulder and I could feel a subtle hum emanating through my body. The quicker we rode, the more intense the thrumming sounded through me.
By the time we crossed the outer gate, I could hear the wailing and screeching of the undead creatures attempting to follow. We rode harder and harder. I could only hope that Sampson could outrun these new and intensified vermin of the night.
Philip:
I stood there dumbfounded as the golden girl mounted my own horse.
“You must secure the gates,” she told me firmly, and then she was off.
Within moments of her leaving there was a strange unearthly sound that resonated around the courtyard. I call it a sound, but really it was more of a humming vibration in the air that I could feel in my chest and into my bones. This sound seemed to catch the creatures’ attention. They shook their heads, trying to cover their ears, but soon they all turned and left the blood and gore of the courtyard, following the girl and horse.
“Secure the gate!” I called to the guard who was stationed at the large metal gears, and he began to close the great doors.
A glint of gold caught my eye lying in the dirt. As I approached it I saw that it was one of the girl’s golden arrows. I picked it up and felt the same thrumming run through my arm, but it quickly dissipated, leaving behind a warm sensation.
I looked up as the gates closed upon the last of the fleeing vermin, and I could just make out the girl and horse riding in the distance before they were blocked from my view.
Who was this girl? I had to find her. She mustn’t fight these creatures alone.
I called to the closest guard that I could find.
“Prepare my horse…I mean, another horse. I must leave at once.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, and ran off toward the direction of the stables.
Ella:
Although the zombies were quick, Sampson was faster. We rode hard and fast, heading toward my family estate. As we rode I began to formulate a plan. If all went well, we would be free of these creatures by daybreak. If things did not go well, maybe Philip would find the golden bow and end the nightmare afflicting our kingdom on his own.
I would have rather done it by his side. I abruptly stamped down my longing for a connection with the prince. Who knows how many lives were already lost this night, all because I had not understood the full power of the golden bow. Now that this bow was in my possession, there would be no turning back. It had to end here.
Upon reaching our estate, I ran through the house collecting as many oil lamps as I could find. I didn’t know how many I would need, or if this was even going to work. But it had to work.
I carried the lamps out to the stable where our animals were kept. The horses were gone, still at the palace with my stepmother and stepsisters, but there was our cow and a handful of chickens pecking about. I quickly led the cow around to the side of the house. I didn’t tie her up, in hopes that she could escape if the zombies decided to attack. The thought of losing our one cow almost brought tears to my eyes. Without her milk every day we surely would have starved these last few years.
I made my way back to the stable and chased the chickens out to fend for themselves. I then began emptying the oil from the lamps around the dry hay on the ground. I knew that the creatures would be here any moment, they were following us at such a quick pace.
A sudden flash of black pain erupted across the back of my head, quickly circling around my skull until the darkness overtook my vision and I collapsed to the ground.
I woke up lying face first on the hard packed earth, bits of gravel and wood chips digging into the tender skin of my cheek. Involuntarily I let out a groan. Shifting slightly, I tried to sit up but my vision was spinning and out of focus. The back of my head was on fire with an intense pain. Someone, or something, had attacked me from behind.
I opened my eyes again, trying to focus, and saw the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway to the stable. I blinked again.
It was Lady Tremaine, my stepmother, and in her hands was the golden bow, ready to fire and aimed directly at me.
“You think that you are so clever,” she said in a low voice, practically spitting out the last word. “The Colonel always did love you best. I tried everything to please him, arranging for his favorite foods, ensuring the house was just right, even adorning myself in whatever fashion I thought would please him most, but it was never enough. One look from you, his precious little angel, and he would melt. You could do no wrong. You were his little princess.” She paused and I was surprised to hear the venom in her voice suddenly disappear as she choked out her last words, “My love was never enough.”
I sat there blinking, unsure of what to do. I never saw my stepmother with much emotion other than a demanding anger, but now she almost looked fragile. I came very close to feeling sorry for her.
“My lady,” I said hesitantly, but my words seemed to break her out of her melancholy. She returned to her spiteful glare, and positioned her stance to get a better aim at me with the golden bow.
“I am not going to let you steal the prince away from my girls, with your bewitching ways and showy weapon skills.”
“No!” I cried, reaching my hand out toward her.
Lady Tremaine pulled the string back as far as her arm would extend. She looked at me down the length of the straight golden arrow with one last hateful glare.
“Good-bye, Cinderella,” she said and released the arrow.
Multiple things happened at once. In an instant I had thrown myself to the side, trying to avoid the flying arrow, and at the same time there was a loud crack that shook the ground and made the walls of the stable tremble and creak noisily. Lady Tremaine was thrown back in a violent explosion, sending her flying out the stable doors and into the darkness of the night outside. Before I could even register what happened I heard a blood-curtling scream and the savage snarls of the plagued creatures.
I stumbled to my feet and ran to the door. Lady Tremaine was in the midst of at least fifty zombies, who were ripping at her limbs and tearing at her flesh in a maniacal frenzy. I picked up the golden bow, which she had dropped at the door, and began shooting and shooting. Two down, four down. Her screams were getting quieter and more garbled. She didn’t have much time. Five down, eight down. I was going to run out of arrows. Ten down, twelve. More zombies approached from the woods. There had to be more than a hundred now.
It was too late. Lady Tremaine’s lifeless corpse dropped to the ground, her skull crushed and mutilated. Hungry for more, the creatures then began to turn to me. I slowly backed into the stable.
The golden bow began to thrum again, the intensity increasing with each moment. Many of the creatures covered their ears, groaning and wailing. But slowly, they trudged toward the stable. I backed into the far wall and climbed up the ladder that led to the loft above. I had to get them all inside. If only I could keep them there long enough. Some of them began clumsily attempting to climb the ladder after me. It wouldn’t be long and one of them would succeed and I would be attacked.
I only had three arrows left.
The air in the stable was stifling as it was filled with the pungence of the undead creatures. Their cries and wails echoed off the wooden walls and I prayed that they were finally all contained.
One of the zombies stumbled over the top of the ladder, making its way onto the creaking floor of the loft. Shuffling toward me, its black mouth agape and snarling, I let one of my precious arrows fly into its skull. But even as it crumpled to the floor, another was in its place, advancing toward me at the front of the loft. I backed up until I was next to the small window that was on the front wall. Then suddenly I heard a series of whistles coming from below, a long one flowed by three short chirps.
Surprised, I turned to look out the window.
“Philip!” I cried, forgetting myself and calling him by his given name. Prince Philip was below the window, sitting astride a chestnut horse, which sweating and snorting from its intense ride from the palace.
He didn’t seem to mind my impudence. “My lady! You must come down this way! The stable is completely overrun, there is no other way out!”
Suddenly I felt the sting of a clawed hand ripping at the flesh of my arm. I screamed, trying to pull back. The creature loomed forward, reaching for my throat. I ducked down and grabbed the knife that was strapped to the outside of my leg. Slashing the creature wherever I could, I tried to wrench my arm free from its grasp, but the tears of my blade did nothing to stop the ferocity of the zombie attacking me. With a lunge it grabbed my skull, trying to draw it near to its gaping mouth. Out of desperation, I wrapped both hands around my knife and plunged it up under the creature’s jaw as hard as I could. The blade sunk deep into its throat and into the brain. A puff of putrid dust escaped the black mouth and it slid to the floor, a heap of rattling bones.
“My lady!” Prince Philip called out again. He sounded desperate. “Are you alright?”
I drug myself up to the window again, trying to wipe the filth of the creature from me and managing to just smear it instead.
“I am here,” I said.
“Jump down. I will catch you,” he called. I looked at him uncertainly. “You must trust me,” he said, repeating what I had told him earlier.
“Alright,” I said finally, and I climbed over the edge of the window and dropped down to Philip’s waiting arms. His horse snorted upon the sudden extra weight, but he bore us well.
We sat there for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, and he gently swept his hand across my cheek, wiping away the zombie filth.
Prince Philip’s horse trotted around anxiously, arousing our attention. The creatures wouldn’t stay in the stable for long.
I reluctantly slid down to the ground and Philip quickly followed.
“I need fire,” I said, pointing toward the stable. “I placed as much fuel in the stable as I could. We must burn them before they escape.”
Philip gave me a beaming smile.
“You need fire?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “I am just your man.”
He pulled out from his coat a torch that looked like it was made of pure gold. It was covered in ornate carvings, just like my golden bow. I caught my breath.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
Philip began ripping some cloth from the end of his white shirt.
“I got it from the witch in the forest,” he replied, and handed me the strips of cloth. “Wrap these around your arrow.”
I obeyed, wrapping the soft woven fabric around the tip of one of my remaining arrows.
Philip touched the end of the golden torch to the fabric on the arrow. A white hot flame immediately flared on the end of the torch, igniting the fabric with a round ball of a flame much hotter than any fire I had ever seen. I loaded the arrow onto the golden bow and let the fiery shot loose into the stable.
I wrapped the last arrow and Philip lit it in the same manner. All of a sudden one of the zombies came stumbling out of the door, heading toward us. I shot the last arrow straight into its chest and the creature erupted into a white consuming flame. The creature fell back into the stable.
Without any warning, there was a crashing burst as the flames hit the fuel and the dry straw. The entire stable was engulfed in flames so white hot and intense it could not have been of this earth. The inhuman cries that came from within the fiery inferno sent chills up my spine. Within a matter of minutes, there was nothing left but a smoldering heap of ash.
The creatures were gone.
“What if there are more of them out there?” I asked Philip, looking at the still crackling mound. The night breeze was already picking up bits of ash and it was swirling around in the air, covering us with its sooty residue.
“Then we will destroy them, together,” Philip said resolutely.
I turned toward Philip and he stepped close to me.
“May I?” he asked, as he tilted the leather mask from off my face. I had forgotten that it was even there.
“You are Colonel Tremaine’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked, dropping the mask on the ground and taking my hands in his. “I recognized the whistle call.”
“Yes,” I replied, breathless.
He stepped in closer, and I could feel the warmth of his body close to mine.
Looking down at my filthy, tattered dress I smiled and said, “You can call me Cinderella.”
He took me in his arms and spoke close to my ear.
“No, I would rather call you my Cinderella.”
As the glorious warmth of the sun began to peek over the tops of the trees, welcoming the beginning of a beautiful new day, his lips touched mine and I was delighted in the tender surprise of our first kiss.
THE END
