Rapunzel: The One With All the Hair Read online

  I shake my head but Elkin says, “Yes, please.”

  The hermit reaches behind him and dips a small metal cup into the bowl of water. He hands the water to Elkin, who gulps it down. I must admit it does look refreshing. But my throat is too tight to eat or drink anything.

  “How long have you been here?” Elkin asks.

  “I have lost count,” the hermit says. “Since well before either of you were born.” As he talks, I notice he is stroking something next to him. A rat? No, a hare. It might be the candlelight playing tricks with my eyes, but I think it has a brown spot on its rump!

  “And it was you who started the rumor of the troll?” Elkin asks. My head is spinning too fast to form questions — a problem Elkin does not appear to suffer from.

  “Yes,” the hermit answers. “I needed to find a way to keep marauders and bandits and even the good king’s knights away from my door. I am a very private man, you see.”

  “I can see that,” Elkin says.

  “Cat got your tongue, Prince Benjamin?” the hermit says, turning to me. “You are awfully quiet.”

  “How do you know who I am?” I ask. Due to the tightness of my throat, it comes out squeaky.

  Elkin laughs and I hurry to clear my throat.

  “Oh, I know many things,” the hermit answers cryptically. “One cannot live alone in the forest without picking up a few skills.”

  “Why do you live here?” Elkin asks. “I thought the forest was cleared of hermits at the same time the bandits were all gathered up.”

  “We hermits are a stubborn lot,” the old man says with that strange half smile. “We know how to hide. Come, I’ll show you.” He stands up, grabs a candle from its niche on the wall, and moves aside one of the fur pelts hanging on the wall. To my surprise, there is another cave behind it. And then another cave behind THAT one. Finally we wind up in a large cavern and I am wishing I had my cloak, because it is very cold in here. The hermit uses his candle to light others all around the room. When my eyes focus, I can’t believe what I see before me. The walls of the cave are completely covered in spectacular artwork. Someone has painted pictures of animals playing, men and women dancing, mountains and lakes, and everything under the sun. I turn around in a circle. There is not one inch left uncovered.

  “Wow!” Elkin exclaims, echoing my thoughts. “Did you do all this?”

  The hermit nods. “This is my life’s work. This is why I could not leave.” He tells us to take all the time we want, and heads back out. Elkin and I walk around the room, pointing out things to each other and lightly touching the beautiful renderings.

  “This is the most amazing place I have ever seen,” Elkin says, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye.

  I look away out of politeness. Who would have thought that my brutish cousin would be moved by art? Clearly, there is a lot I do not know about him. “I cannot imagine its equal,” I say in agreement. “But we’d better go.” Even so, it is quite a while before we can drag ourselves away.

  I watch out the window as the witch disappears behind the tower. Then I pull my hair back in and let it pile up on the floor behind me. What do I do now? I have no vellum to write on, no Steven to commiserate with, and no food. Once again, Sir Kitty has resorted to licking the dew off the walls. I remember what Grandmother said about singing when times were bad. Well, times don’t get any badder than this.

  I clear my throat a bit and then launch into the songs Mother taught me. I alternate between “The Lovely Lass,” “The King of the Wolf People,” “Dipsy Doodle,” and “Mitsy the Wonder Dog.” At first I feel silly and self-conscious, even though the only ones who can hear me are the birds and Sir Kitty. But there is something about having my voice sail out on the breeze over the treetops that is bringing some life back into me.

  We find the hermit out by the fire pit, sitting on a moss-covered log and puffing away on a pipe. He has changed his clothes. Still rags, but not tomato-covered rags. “What do you think of my work?” he asks.

  Elkin answers first. “You could be paid your weight in gold to share your talent with the world. You could have a home, and real clothes. Why hide out here?”

  “This is how I like to live,” the hermit explains, taking the pipe from his mouth and resting it on his knee. “We all have our place in this world. This is my place.”

  A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. The old man looks up. “What is it, sire? What troubles you?”

  I look down at my feet and figure I might as well tell him the truth. Somehow I imagine he knows it, anyway. “I had hoped to use the bandits’ treasure to help a villager to find his place. And … well … I thought maybe someday, someone somewhere might sing a song about me afterward.” I blush as I say that last part, and expect to hear Elkin laugh at me again. When I don’t hear anything, I finally look up to meet the hermit’s eyes. He is watching me intently. I begin to squirm under his gaze. It is as though he is seeing right through me.

  “You will find other ways to help your friend,” he tells me. “You have only to use your eyes. As for your song, someone will indeed be singing for you. But you must listen hard for it.”

  “I’ll sing for you, Benjamin,” Elkin jokes. “You may not like it, though!”

  The hermit smiles his crooked smile and sticks the pipe back in his mouth. “The song I speak of is for Benjamin alone. Yours, young Prince Elkin, is an easier path.” And with that, he stands and walks back into his cave without a backward glance. We stand by the fire pit for another minute, not sure what we should do.

  “What do you mean, use my eyes?” I call into the cave. “What do you mean, someone will be singing for me?”

  But the only thing that comes out of the cave is silence.

  “Well, I guess that’s that, then,” Elkin says. “We REALLY must go now.” When I don’t budge, he grabs my arm and drags me back toward the horses.

  As we ride back out to the main trail, the hermit’s words keep playing in my head over and over, like one of Annabelle’s nursery rhymes. How could I hear a song if I’m not listening? Can one hear and not listen? Has the hermit gone batty from living in that cave for so long?

  “Um, Benjamin?” Elkin calls from behind me. “Are you watching for the red marks? I don’t remember seeing this grove before.”

  I snap to attention and turn Snowflake in a circle. Uh-oh. Where are we? Nothing looks familiar to me, either. We try retracing our steps but only wind up in the same spot. I close my eyes and try to remember how far apart the marked trees were from each other. Maybe that will help. With my eyes closed I am aware of Snowflake’s breathing. I hear the rustling of the leaves, which means the wind is picking up. I’m about to open my eyes and tell Elkin that it’s hopeless, when I hear something else. It sounds like a faint singing. My eyes flutter open. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Elkin asks, glancing worriedly at the rapidly setting sun.

  “It sounded like a girl’s voice,” I say, twisting around in my saddle. “Wait — there it is again! She’s … she’s singing!”

  “Sorry, cousin, but I hear nothing,” Elkin says. “Are you certain you’re not imagining it?”

  I tilt my head … and there it is again. I hear a melody riding on the wind, but I cannot make out the words. “I swear by my father’s kingdom I am not.”

  Elkin squeezes his eyes shut and turns one ear up to the sky, then the other. He opens his eyes again and shakes his head. “Perhaps this is what the hermit meant about hearing someone singing when you listen?”

  “But you were just listening — why wouldn’t you have heard?”

  Elkin shrugs. “Perhaps I am not meant to hear. The hermit said this was your story, not mine. What does the singing sound like?”

  I lead Snowflake a few yards to the right, and the singing gets louder. But then it fades again until I back up a few steps. “She sounds — I don’t know — sad or something. I think I need to find her, but I cannot tell where the singing is coming from.”