Sugar Addiction

Rewrite. Version 2.2

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A Sequel to Hansel and Gretel

(Important Note: Going back and rereading the first chapter is highly suggested. It has gone through several revisions.)

Chapter 2

No words could describe how thankful Hansel was when the first bleeding streaks of red and orange sliced across the dawning sky. Sleep was not a luxury he allowed himself in the company of strangers, and he wanted to hurry home. Vira was courteous enough to stay awake with him for the night, talking almost endlessly in that strange way of hers, he occasionally tossing his own word in or answering one of the many questions she asked him.

Trust was not something that came to him easily, he was always wary and slightly suspicious of others, but the night spent with Vira was enough for him to at know she was an honest woman. Were it not for the fact that she was a witch, he would have considered her harmless. He wasn’t that naïve, however. He was aware of the darkness and hardships that slithered in the world and burned villages to the ground and turned mountains on their sides with quaking terror. Children were supposed to be harmless, but when one lived in the day and age of war even a child would sneak up from behind and stab a man in the neck with a pair of sharpened chopsticks.

The witch stood beside him, watching the dawn through the lemon-colored sugar-glass. The sun rose in glory, bright and yellow and full like a peeled nectarine. He bit at his fingernails, anxious for the dangerous animals of the night to evaporate into the shadows so he could head for home. The three moons, one broken across the sky like giant stars, vanished between the trees and earth.

Vira yawned widely beside him, and he suppressed a flinch as her face contorted, an ugly, fleshy mask.

“Long night, ne, dear boy?”

He continued staring at the sky and nodded, accidently swallowing a sliver of fingernail.

Finally, the sun rose high enough, shedding its layers of heat enough to chase away the morning fog. He refused Vira’s offer of sweets, yet again, and insisted upon gathering his cloak and weapon so he could leave for home. It was rather obvious that the witch was reluctant to see him leave however she tried to hide it. He, on the other hand, was eager to leave, though not because he disliked Vira. On the contrary, he was rather glad he didn’t have to kill such a kind-hearted old woman, but the fact that she was not the witch he was hunting set him back, putting his goal of revenge even further from his reach.

He hefted his sack over his shoulder, the leather strap ruffling the mustard yellow velvet cloth of his cloak. Vira’s wine eyes were intense on his back and he turned to face her. “I’m off,”

She smiled contortedly. “Take care, young man.” He nodded at her in response and stepped out of the gingerbread house and into the forest. “Don’t go kissing any fairies now, it brings about bad luck, you know!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned, “What-?” but the house was gone. His breath caught in his throat, and he turned and ran, afraid of the magic that took the house away and left him in the middle of the forest.

The trees very nearly seemed to be closing in on him, suffocating, trying to hinder his hurry to flee. Heavy, lichen-covered braches brushed against his face, clung to his hair, soil-covered roots catching his legs, determined to trip him, slow him down to let him be caught and devoured by some unspeakable monstrosity of evil that prowled after him like an animalistic demon of the night.

His instincts screeched at him in a blind panic while the logical part of his mind told him to stop, there was no point in running, but his legs refused to slow down, carrying him far away from the sugar-coated cottage and back the way he came. His heart was illogically stuck in his throat, mind scattered like falling autumn leaves, he could hear the birds taking to the skies as the screamed their terror, their wings flapping loudly and furiously right next to his ear, his feet flying ahead of him-too far!

The ground fell out from under him, leaving nothing but sky, and he cried out as the entire world shifted under his feet and hurled him crashing into the mishmash of browns, greens, and reds that covered the rapidly returning ground. He hit the dirt hard, forcing the air out of his body and came to a skidding stop at the bottom of the small slope and crashing into a knotted bundle of roots. He groaned, the world spinning at a sickening tilt and gasped for air, his mind finally calming.

He tried to stand up at first, but his feet would not stay- slippery! - and he fell back to the forest floor. His clothes squished uncomfortably- when had he gotten wet? - and he settled for sitting still until his senses came back. Slowly, his chaotic thoughts settled and he could think clearly once more. The reason for his soggy clothes became evident when he realized he was sitting very nearly in a stream, his trousers splattered with mud and upturned leaves of grass. His rubbed his hands over his face, as if that would help give his running thoughts pause.

He didn’t let his mind travel back to whatever it was that had caused him to run off so recklessly like that. All he knew was that it was magic, the kind of magic to be feared, and he did not want to think about what it could have been.

The forest was full of life around him, the stream crackling and unseen birds chirping more vibrantly than crickets and he wondered if the sound and feel of terrified birds around him had just been a figment of his panicked state of mind. He could feel the adrenaline that coursed through his body wear off, leaving his limbs feeling tired and weighty.

He sighed heavily. “Damned magic… why would I kiss a fairy?”

-

The small village of Gitu was famous for its wide variety of orchards and fruit. Nearly every type of fruit east of the Girogu Ocean could be found somewhere in its vast, sweet-scented orchards, famous for their unique and exotic wines. Kiiu Apples with their silver skin, Blood Oranges, the banana-shaped grapefruit known as Shimiro, the orange, syrup-producing Mumi grapes that were grown specifically for soft candies, dragon fruit of several different breeds, and even the rose magnolia, which was a specialty of this region only.

However, being so closely located to the ancient Koroko Forest, the only true forest left in the eastern part of the world, Gitu was also somewhat infamous. The very trees seemed to hold a strange hostility against all humankind, harboring all sorts of dangerous creatures, plant and animal alike.

There were fewer and fewer woodsmen these days, especially after one particularly gruesome incident involving a glowing, yellow flower, the man’s saw, and an extremely old, gnarled, red-grained oak tree; its very boughs heavy with the dense, ancient magic of the forest that clotted out any sound. Why the forests tolerated the people of Gitu no one knew, but travelers who came through the village never stayed for long and were often plagued with strange dreams for several days afterward.

It also happened to be the village Hansel called home. The thick, sweet smell of magnolia nectar was in the air, the snowy white petals scattered under the trees as a result of the harvest. He kneeled, and his eyes smiled softly as he took up a generous handful of petals. It had taken a day and a night to reach the village, and it was good to be home.

The walls carved into the hillside were a welcome sight. Most houses in this fruit-laden country were root-cellar style dwellings, to ensure that the stored fruits and wines would not rot. Hansel’s home was no different, save for being smaller than most other homes. The smell of dried, spiced apples filled his nose as he stepped into his house. It was easy for Hansel to make his way through the pitch darkness of the underground dwelling; he knew every inch and grain of wood, having built and nailed the walls together himself.

A small form pressed up against his leg, bringing a soft smile to his face. “Well hello, Yukie. Glad to see you too.”

Flint clashed, striking sparks that nestled and blossomed into flames in the fireplace, filling the house with light and warmth.

“Miaou!”

He lifted the lanky white feline into his arms, scratching behind its ear affectionately. Yukie purred thunderously and licked the salt from Hansel’s fingers.

“Have you been a good mouse hunter while I was away? I sure hope so; don’t want anything going and easting up our stores, do we? Such a good girl you are, Yukie.”

He poked at the logs in the fire, making sure they were hot and lively before taking a small sack of dried apricots out of his cabinet and walking back outside. The wild grasses were wet with dew and he plopped his bottom on the hillside, legs crossed and one hand behind his head as he laid back. Yukie curled up on his chest and dozed.

The stars glittered in the sky, white like spilled salt. The skyline in the west was slowly blushing from black to pink as the sun neared. His four acres of fruit tress were dark blue silhouettes against the black shadows of earth. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, feeling fatigue setting in. He hadn’t slept since leaving the village, unless he counted the moment Vira knocked him unconscious. His brow furrowed. He didn’t like the idea of not being able to defend himself. He was a full-grown man, if he couldn’t protect himself, how could he protect a family when the time came for him to marry? These days were not periods of peacetime.

The clouds formed thin, lazy streaks across the heavens, their bellies bright gold as if they were being prodded by hot pokers. Birds were clearing their throats, getting ready for the morning symphony. Yukie sat up suddenly, eyes wide and alert, and leapt away, vanishing into the grasses.

“Han!”

He sat up at the sound of the woman’s voice, smiling lightly. Unlike his hair, which had darkened over the years, hers was still the fine gold of a lion’s mane and just as unruly, pulled in a tight braid draped over her shoulder. A woven grass basket was held securely in the crook of her arm; a pale green robe knotted itself around her, a perfect match to her eyes.

“About time you returned, I was beginning to worry!” He stood as she approached and embraced her.

He kissed her cheek and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “You needn’t worry about me, Gretel! I told you, I just had to go back and make sure!”

She knotted their fingers together. “Come to town with me. I’m just on my way to pick up bread.”

He pressed his lips together. “Sister, I just got back…”

“Please,” she insisted, “You can tell me all about it on the way there.”

Hansel sighed and relented. His sister was the one person he could never deny. Mentally shaking off his weariness, he allowed her to take his arm.

-

This chapter is not finished. I am not happy about that. At all. It's way overdue, but for some reason I'm just having one hell of a difficult time getting Hansel and Gretel to the main hub of the village. I've rewritten it no fewer than six times. It is beyond frustrating, and only serves to make me more reluctant to work on this novel-in-progress I have been working so hard on for the past five years and love so much.

Suggestions are more than welcome.

Read, review, and all that jazz,

Megii