Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Read online

  © 2015 by Rooglewood Press

  Published by Rooglewood Press

  www.RooglewoodPress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This volume contains works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of each author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Book design by A.E. de Silva

  Cover illustration by Julia Popova

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  ESPRIT DE LA ROSE – Kaycee Browning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

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  WITHER – Savannah Jezowski

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  STONE CURSE – Jenelle Schmidt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  ROSARA AND THE JUNGLE KING – Dorian Tsukioka

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  THE WULVER’S ROSE – Hayden Wand

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Foreword

  WHEN MY TEAM and I first began discussing ideas for the second annual Rooglewood Press writing contest, we unanimously agreed that “Beauty and the Beast” would be the perfect topic. After all, I thought, does a better-loved fairy tale even exist? Always one of my personal favorites, this story stands out as one of particular loveliness, ripe for the retelling. So we went forward and announced the contest, with me blithely referring to our chosen theme as “the most beloved fairy tale of all time.”

  I was wrong.

  Indeed, I was shocked to discover how truly polarizing the story of “Beauty and the Beast” can be. While many would claim it as their favorite, many more derided it as a glorified tale of Stockholm syndrome, while others composed harsh critiques of the Disney version (as though the movie were an accurate representation of the original, which is far from the truth).

  This derision in no way hindered the success of the contest, however. Many of the same writers who disliked the fairy tale sent in excellent retellings, using the contest as an opportunity to “correct” those aspects of the tale they disliked. But as I read the submissions and pondered anew the age-old story, I began to consider what quality makes this fairy tale appeal to me as one of the most beautiful and most profound. Ultimately, the best explanation I found for my own love of this story was a short line written by G.K. Chesterton in his famous essay, “The Ethics of Elfland.”

  “There is the great lesson of ‘Beauty and the Beast’; that a thing must be loved before it is loveable.”

  Ah! There it is at last. This is not a tale of Stolkholm syndrome, though modern readers have been quick to jump to this interpretation. The original intent of the story—the core truth that makes “Beauty and the Beast” bloom so brightly in the garden of Grimm’s and Perrault’s collected tales—is simply this: It is a tale of redemption. It is a tale of the unloved being loved and, miraculously, becoming lovable.

  “Beauty and the Beast” is a story of grace offered to the undeserving, of Beauty giving herself to the ugly and despised Beast not because he compelled her, nor even because he asked. For in the end, Beauty herself realizes the Beast’s need and returns to his side just in time, even as he lies dying, offering him her heart and her hand. So is the Beast redeemed.

  Is the tale a perfect one? By no means. Allegory dressed as a romance will always face certain difficulties. But the profound themes captured in this narrative remind the reader that there is hope for all. Yes, even I, at my most beastly, may be offered love and grace at the last. So will this story continue to be cherished—and sometimes despised—by readers for generations to come.

  “Beauty and the Beast” will also continue to be retold, as new authors explore its various facets and interpretations. As the Five Enchanted Roses contest progressed, writers found much room for individual creativity, exploring the classic themes and inventing new ways to express them. The volume you now hold is the result of many months’ worth of reading, sorting, discussing, and culling, both by me and by the fine readers who served as judges. Together we selected these five stories, each a unique reflection of the individual author who wrote it.

  To open the collection, I give to you “Esprit de la Rose,” a story which, when I first began to read it, made me scratch my head in curiosity. Beauty and the Beast . . . and pirates? What a crazy notion! And yet, as I read Kaycee Browning’s swashbuckling tale, I could not help but smile and turn pages quickly to find out where she would take this mad idea of hers. As I read on, I watched her neatly fit all the important themes of the original fairy tale into their places, while simultaneously keeping the whole story so fresh, vibrant, and completely unusual, I could not predict how it would turn out. A madcap adventure with plenty of spooky thrills along the way, this first story opens the collection by dashing all reader-expectations to the ground and building them up again into something new.

  But when you turn the page and progress to the next story, you’ll find another mood entirely. Savannah Jezowski paints a gothic adventure with broad strokes of contrasting lights and darks. “Wither” is sometimes a truly frightening tale, and sometimes truly comical. Striding through a forest of ghouls, zombies, and blood-sucking monsters is our intrepid heroine, Lilybet, whose feminine name belies her practical, sturdy nature. As I read her story for the first time, she won my heart completely—more easily, perhaps, than she wins the heart of the Beast. Savannah’s story is a close match to the original, but set in a world so unlike any I have ev
er seen before that I could have believed the plot to be entirely of her own invention.

  It was Jenelle Schmidt, however, who truly turned the fairy tale on its head in her clever retelling, “Stone Curse.” At every opportunity, this talented author reversed the familiar storyline. Unlike the Beauty of the fairy tale, Jenelle’s heroine begins her adventure at the Beast’s castle, setting out from its cursed grounds on a quest to rescue her father. Our Beast is not terribly beastly either, and is in fact a kind, sympathetic character, who does not deserve the fate that has befallen him. He may not even be the true beast after all, for it is not he who needs the redemptive grace that is at the heart of the original. But I cannot say more for fear of giving away a wonderful plot full of the unexpected. This is an adventure peopled with endearing characters, and its ending can bring a tear to the eye.

  An enthusiastic message sent by the judge who read it before me raised my expectations high before I even began to read “Rosara and the Jungle King” for the first time. Those expectations were not disappointed. Dorian Tsukioka’s beautifully written story deviates furthest from the source material, at times reading more like an original South American myth than like “Beauty and the Beast.” At its core, however, the themes remain true—the brave beauty, the humbled beast, the sacrificial act of love under the looming shadow of death. The atmosphere of the Amazonian jungle is redolent with magic and mystery in a retelling that will surely linger in readers’ imaginations long after they have set the book aside.

  Standing in stark contrast to “Rosara” is the final offering in this collection. Throughout the contest, I wished to find a story that communicated the same mood, tone, and feel as the original fairy tale. A story that, while still a retelling, followed the pattern of “Beauty and the Beast” near to perfection. I found that story in “The Wulver’s Rose.” Though this last story cleaves closest to its source, Hayden Wand manages her share of surprises. She gives her Beast a motivation even more compelling than that of his traditional predecessor, so that readers are desperate to see him succeed in his bid to win his Beauty’s heart. The eighteenth-century Scotland setting is lightly touched upon, given just enough authentic detail, but never so much as to distract from the truth—that this story is a fairy tale. A true fairy tale with a heart of gold.

  These five authors have each poured a bit of themselves into these variations on the ancient theme, thus becoming part of an ongoing literary legacy. “Beauty and the Beast,” whether your favorite or least favorite of the popular fairy tales, must certainly leave its mark. It is my wish that these new interpretations found in Five Enchanted Roses will impress upon you the truth of the original story: hope for the hopeless, grace for the graceless.

  For Beauty must ultimately redeem her Beast.

  Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  To Grandad: For living a life filled with adventure, laughter, and love.

  And to Mimi: For shining Christ’s grace and hope wherever you go.

  I love you!

  Chapter 1

  SHE CLUTCHED THE rail with white-knuckled fingers, straining every sense yet hearing only the snap of sails and rush of water. Though it was midday, the Sister Wench’s wake looked like spilled ink spreading beneath a veneer of broken glass. Fingers of shadow seemed to stretch toward the gray horizon, shifting beneath the water, growing angrier . . . and stronger.

  Cecilia quickly turned her back to the rail and leaned against it, breathing hard as her stomach roiled. Every crewmember within view gaped at the ocean, stock-still in the midst of forgotten duties, leaning against rigging high above or kneeling on the deck with rags clutched in their motionless hands. The clouds were angry too. They seemed to be shoving and pushing each other, vying for the darkest seat in the sky in order to watch the ship below.

  Cecilia was no sailor, but even she knew that something uncanny was going on. Across the quarterdeck, Captain Lester gazed out across the blackened sea, one hand limply gripping the tiller. He did not move. She opened her mouth to shout but reconsidered. Instead, holding her cap to her head, she picked her way through shrouds and rigging to approach him. “Father.”

  He glanced at her from the corner of a red-rimmed eye. Cecilia leaned to the side to glimpse his other hand. A nearly empty wine bottle threatened to slip from his lax hold. She shifted to stand in front of this stranger who was her father, forcing him to see her. “Why is the water black?”

  “It can’t have . . .” Captain Lester murmured. He looked her full in the eyes for a moment, and his chin firmed. His hand clenched the tiller. “Mr. Walker!” he shouted. “To the quarterdeck, if you please!”

  Mr. Walker, the quartermaster, stumbled onto the quarterdeck, pointing wildly at the black ocean. “Captain! Captain, why . . . ? I thought—”

  “I know. Take the tiller, Mr. Walker,” Captain Lester replied. “Cecilia, come.” He strode to the companionway and descended its steep steps. Cecilia scurried after him, following her father into the captain’s quarters, wincing as he let the door slam against her. She shut it quietly.

  Captain Lester stormed across the room and sat down at his desk, staring at a thick, lumpy mound of cloth on its surface. He looked as though he might be sick.

  Cecilia approached the desk to get a closer look. At first she saw only cloth. Then lightning flashed outside the paned window, and something simultaneously flashed between the folds. Part of the cloth fell aside, revealing the edge of a beautiful mirror. Its glass reflected perfectly, almost too perfectly, revealing crisp and harsh images. Pear-shaped diamonds adorned its frame, glittering even in the murky light allowed by the storm clouds.

  Such a mirror must be worth a fortune.

  “What is this, Father?” Cecilia asked. Why had her father not sold it when they restocked in Tortuga only a week ago? They had met no ships since leaving Tortuga’s port, so he must have possessed it while they were there.

  “It’s why the sea’s turning black,” Captain Lester said. “I stole this from the Fee, and now they’re coming for me. They might be coming for my whole crew. For you.” A light seemed to dim in his red-rimmed eyes. He turned his back to the mirror and stared out the window, watching the dark ocean begin to throb and pulse with the shifting of the shadows. “I unwrapped it only to make sure . . .” His voice trailed off into hopeless curses.

  Lightning flashed again, and a myriad of colors momentarily beamed from the mirror’s diamond edge, dotting the cabin walls. When the colors vanished, the darkness seemed even deeper.

  “The Fee,” Cecilia repeated. She did not know the word, but somehow the way her father spoke it filled her heart with terrible foreboding. “What are the Fee? What are you talking about?”

  Captain Lester gulped. “They’re monsters. Vicious, ruthless . . . they punish those they deem wrongdoers but reward those who help them.” He glared at the mirror. “I swore I’d never get into religion, and then I go and work for them. Same thing, really. And it’s hellish.”

  The more he explained, the more confused Cecilia felt. “I don’t understand, Father! You worked for them? Why? How? Exactly what is that thing?” She pointed at the mirror.

  “It summons them. I stole it, and now they’ve been called . . .” Captain Lester ran his hand over his thinning hair, knocking his battered tricorn hat askew. Cecilia opened her mouth to ask another question, but the captain’s low murmur stopped her. “That’s what we do, Cilla. The crew and I. I’m no privateer for England; I’m a privateer for the Fee. Ah!” With this exclamation, he turned a stricken glance her way but could not meet her eyes for more than a breath. “I should’ve left the mirror on land when I had the chance! But you see, Cilla, the Fee have gold and riches, and lots of it, too . . . I had to keep it, don’t you see?”

  Cecilia could only shake her head. “No, Father. I don’t see.” His ramblings made little sense, and she was too confused to decipher them.

  A strangled yell broke through the silence on deck as another lightning flash illuminated the stern window.
The crew’s shouts and screams echoed with the thunder. Without another glance at Cecilia, the captain rushed from his cabin.

  She stepped to the window and peered upward. The ocean was completely dark, empty, like a throbbing void barely visible against the expanse of gray skies. A thorn of lightning split the sky, and once more the tiny rainbows repelled the darkness then vanished.

  Cecilia felt her eyes flooding, blurring her vision of the ocean and sky until all swirled together into a dark, writhing fog. Her father had his faults—so many that he would hang if certain people caught him! But Cecilia believed that, deep down, Captain Martin Lester must be a good man. He cared for this creaky old ship and for his men. From what little she had seen and heard, he was (mostly) fair when he dealt out wages to the crew. He was even willing to ferry his impertinent daughter across the ocean to England.

  Or so he said. At present, weeks after leaving Bermuda, they still sailed the Caribbean Sea. She gave her head a quick shake. No, he would not lie to her. She would not believe he was a bad person.

  Blinking away tears, she again glanced at the mirror. Would the Fee—whoever and whatever they were—would they kill her father?

  Almost without thought, she wrapped the mirror firmly in the cloth, clutched it to her chest, swung the door open, and bolted up the companionway steps, stepping on her skirts and nearly falling more than once. “Father!” Her voice could not be heard above the shouting crew. “Father, please!”

  He stood beside the tiller, a spare man of medium height, feet braced, chin high. “Please, you don’t have to die!” she said, and held the wrapped mirror out to him.

  Mr. Walker yelped and leaped backward, eying the lump of cloth as though it were a death sentence. Captain Lester stared blankly at the proffered mirror.

  Cecilia rushed on, her words spilling out so quickly she might almost choke upon them. “Return the mirror to the Fee. Apologize. If they disapprove of wrongdoers, surely they will forgive you if you take the right course of action!”