Just Another Red-Headed Chosen One

Chapter 3 Symbol

"Rose-Red, are you okay?" My mother stepped from behind a group of fallen trees.

I arranged the death shroud over Hanna. "They stole his body. I'll find him, and we'll give Wicker a burial."

"Yes, you must do that. Wicker has become a symbol for the kingdom, but you might die. I don't want you to." My mother approached me, her hair still red despite her advanced age. Her face appeared older than the weeks before. She was thirty-nine when she gave birth to her oldest, and fifty-two when she gave birth to me. Father's first wife died in childbirth, and their only daughter possessed real magic. My dear, sweet sister. At least she was safe.

"We're not going to allow magic hunters to desecrate Wicker." She stared at the chosen one's body. "Make sure you don't remove your disguise until you reach the cave with him."

"No, I'll need to change at least twice, and I have my tools. It wasn't Wicker's fault that he was born with magic. I miss him."

"They must be attempting a wooden puppet spell. They claim they don't cast magic, but the Beating Heart Carnival lies." My mother hugged me again. "You're in love with him, and I understand this is hard on you."

"Yes, it is." My face hardened. "He wasn't fake nice like the other princes. But even if they allowed him to marry, I wouldn't be an accepted bride, but I didn't know how much I adored him until his family chose Hanna and not me to protect him. I feel sorry for her, but..."

Hanna's wooden hand fell from underneath the black and stardust cloth, and a gasp of air left my lung. She became more and more puppet-like, but couldn't stand up or move other than twitch.

"Magic Hunters wanted to create a zombie puppet." Mother grabbed my arm. "You're the only hope we have. We will pick a new king and queen from the survivors, for the kingdom will refuse Wicker's brothers when they return."

Strong aromas of rancid magic hit my lungs. My heart beat faster, and my eyes watered. I tried to remember the scent.

Scents of cinnamon, sage, and rotted food repulsed me.

Thousands of years ago, pretend godly men hunted women with hair like mine to kill them for magic they didn't possess.

Their sin angered Snow White, and she gave adult women magic to defend themselves against the fallen queen's magic hunters. They had attempted to remove her heart. I wondered if the hunters and carnival members always used hateful magic.

We hid our kingdom.

My mother left, and I was on my own.

I yanked off my backpack, removed the blond wig, and pinned the blue curls on my head. I changed my appearance with cosmetics and latex.

My gloves won't leave fingerprints, not that the evil magic hunters will search for me. They only look for magic and physical imperfections. And no dog will help them identify me by scent. Our dogs attack them. Another spritz on my backpack. It transformed into a yellow bag, but I replaced the straps and added small decorative pins.

I moved past the battle scene and into the woods. My heavy boots cracked the dry mud. The sound would've been beautiful if not for the horrors that waited for me. Air escaped my lungs, and I stepped forward.

I notice imprints of boots and sandals and an imprint of a cane. Maybe Wicker was still alive. He had to be alive. I ran in short sprints. It meant they were making a spectacle of his death.

"It's Hanna's fault," I said.

The magic hunters came back and controlled the evil carnival. The painted symbol of a human heart hung above the entryway. I looked like the other beautiful carnival attendees.