“Please don’t go so fast!” Frederic called as he followed in a sloppy zigzag. “This saddle really chafes!”
Over the years, Frederic had met his fair share of other princes. None of them were anything like this prince of Sturmhagen. Gustav was so gruff. He had no patience, no manners, and ridiculously poor communication skills. Frederic could only presume the man’s flamenco dancing was just as awkward. He wasn’t at all surprised that Gustav hadn’t been able to hold on to his relationship with Rapunzel. But considering his own fiancée had run off, who was he to judge?
As the two princes rode across the countryside in search of Ella, Frederic began to grow frustrated with Gustav. For one thing, the big man always insisted they camp outside. Anytime Frederic suggested they look for an inn, Gustav would respond with, “Bah!” Or sometimes, “Pah!” Or even, “Pffft!”
Every night, Gustav would contentedly sprawl out on bare grass, and then mock Frederic for attempting to curl up on a trio of spread-out handkerchiefs.
“Cleanliness, Gustav,” Frederic would say defensively. “I’m doing what I can in the name of cleanliness.” Dirt, of course, ranked fourth on King Wilberforce’s list of “Enemies of the Nobleman,” just below nose hair, but above hiccups.
As the days rolled by, Frederic also began to doubt Gustav’s skills as a tracker. He watched Gustav sniff the air, cup his hand to his ear to “listen to the wind,” and occasionally dismount from his horse to nibble the edge of a leaf. He couldn’t imagine how any of that would help them locate Ella.
And in reality, none of it would. Gustav had no idea what he was doing.
Eventually, Gustav took them off-road, into the thickest stretches of Sturmhagen’s pine forests, where the trees were so tall they blocked almost all sunlight. Every flutter of a bird or skitter of a mouse made Frederic flinch and drop his reins. The path was nearly nonexistent, and he and Gustav had to squeeze their horses between trees to get by. More than once, Gustav pushed aside a large branch and let it snap back into Frederic’s face.
Hours later, they finally spotted shafts of daylight ahead. “Aha,” Gustav said. He stopped his horse and hopped down. “Now I know where we are.”
“Now?” Frederic asked. “You mean we’ve been lost all this time?”
“Look there,” Gustav said, pointing out into a small clearing beyond the trees, where they could see a solitary stone structure. “Zaubera’s tower.”
“Zaubera? Is that the witch?”
“No, she’s some other old lady who has a tower in the woods,” Gustav quipped sarcastically as he rolled his eyes.
“This is where you led me?” Frederic asked in disbelief. “To one of the most dangerous places in Sturmhagen? And the one place Ella is guaranteed not to be? This is the tower Rapunzel escaped from. Why in the world would Ella come here to look for her?”
Gustav ignored his protests. “Let’s check it out,” he said, and stepped out into the clearing.
Frederic grabbed the bigger man’s arm and yanked him back into the trees. “What if the witch is there?” Frederic asked.
“Witch, are you there?” Gustav called out. He paused for a second, listening for a response. “She’s not there. Let’s go.” He stepped into the clearing, and Frederic pulled him back once more.
“Wait,” Frederic said. “This witch—Zaubera—she’s pretty powerful, right?”
“She’s an old lady,” Gustav tossed off. “I’m not afraid of old ladies. Are you?”
“Ones who can pick me up and throw me, yes.”
“Look,” Gustav said. “Here’s all you need to know about Zaubera.”
Zaubera was possibly the most powerful witch in the world. She hadn’t always been, though. There was a time when she wasn’t even evil. Zaubera was just a farmer woman living by herself in the small town of Jorgsborg. She was a dabbler in the magical arts, just as every member of her family had been for generations. But she never used her talents to do anything more than grow the tastiest turnips the world had ever seen. Still, the magic freaked out her neighbors. Despite her many attempts to befriend her fellow Jorgsborgians, Zaubera was always ignored—or worse, mocked. One particular group of local children used to stand at the edge of her property and call her names like “worm lips” and “hedgehog hair.” Discouraged, Zaubera gave up and retreated to her cottage to live the life of a hermit.
Then came the fateful day when one of the local hunters managed to capture one of Sturmhagen’s giant, fire-breathing beavers. The man brought the creature back to town to show off his catch—big mistake. The beaver broke loose and went on a rampage, setting nearly every home in Jorgsborg ablaze. As the fire raged out of control around her, Zaubera projected a magical force field around her farm, keeping herself and her home safe from the flames. But she noticed a trio of children trapped by the flames, the same children who insulted her daily. Zaubera dropped the shield around her home and protected the children instead. She lost everything she’d worked for, but, she thought, at least the townspeople would finally appreciate her.
Suddenly, a hero arrived. The armored Sir Lindgren galloped into town on his white stallion and quickly slew the beaver. He then rode up to Zaubera and told her to release the children. Confused, she dropped her shield. Sir Lindgren scooped up the kids and rode away.
As the town began to rebuild and people returned to their homes, the townsfolk didn’t thank Zaubera. In fact, they shunned her more than ever. And then she caught wind of a new bard song, “The Ballad of the Knight and the Beaver,” in which the hero knight not only slays the beast but rescues three children from the clutches of a wicked witch. It was at that point that something in Zaubera snapped.
Fine, she thought. If they want a villain, that’s what I’ll give them. She got her gnarled hands on some ancient spell books and taught herself some dark magic. Then she wreaked havoc on the town. She used fireballs to blast down every cottage that had been rebuilt. She tore up gardens with sorcerous winds. She shot bolts of mystical lightning at the very children whose lives she’d saved earlier, sending them running, screaming and crying. Everyone fled. And no one ever returned to Jorgsborg.
Zaubera had gotten a taste of what it felt like to be truly feared. And she wanted more. The whole world should be trembling in fear of her, she thought. She’d heard about other witches that had become notorious for deeds that weren’t even remotely impressive. Putting someone to sleep? So unoriginal. Trying to cook a couple of kids? That didn’t even require magic! No, Zaubera deserved to be more infamous than all of them. She needed word of her wickedness to spread across the kingdoms. And for that, she couldn’t rely on a few sizzled kids. She’d need to go big. She’d need to get the notice of the bards.
On the day she caught a wandering peasant swiping some turnips from her newly replanted garden, she came up with the perfect plan. Instead of simply frying the man where he stood, Zaubera offered to let him go in exchange for his young daughter. The peasant was surprisingly quick to agree to this (he was not a very good dad), and that was how Zaubera ended up with Rapunzel. The witch locked the girl away in an impenetrable tower and then waited gleefully for some heroes to try to rescue the fair maiden. She knew they would come. Heroes just can’t stay away when they hear about a person in danger; heroes crave the glory that gets heaped upon them when they pull off a rescue. Oh, how Zaubera hated heroes. And when some stupid heroes showed up to storm her tower, she planned to blast them into nothingness; the levels of pain and destruction she would cause would simply be too great for the bards to overlook.