One day a maid went to draw water out of an old well. As she lowered the bucket, she heard a croaking voice coming from the deep dark hole below her.
“For a coin,” said the voice, “I’ll get rid of anyone you ask.”
“My father who rapes me,” said the maid as she dropped a coin into the well. The next morning, her father was found trampled to death by his horse.
Some time passed, and again the maid went to draw water out of the old well. As she lowered the bucket, she heard the terrible croaking voice coming from deep in the darkness below her.
“For a coin,” said the voice, “I’ll get rid of anyone you ask.”
“My mother who beats me,” said the maid as she dropped another coin. The next morning, her mother was found burned to death in her oven.
More time passed, and the maid went again to the old well to draw water. As she lowered the wooden bucket, she heard the croaking voice calling to her from the dark stone throat of the well.
“For a coin,” said the voice, “I’ll get rid of anyone you ask.”
“My brother who steals from me,” said the maid as she dropped a golden coin into the well. The next morning, her brother was found torn to pieces by his dog.
By then, the whole village suspected the maid of having had a hand in the deaths of her family. She caught wind that a party was coming with torches to burn her for a witch inside her house. She fled to the old well and peered inside.
“I need your help again,” she said. “The village wants me dead for what we've done.”
“Jump down to me,” said the eerie voice, and the maid thought she saw large clawed hands reaching out of the darkness to catch her. She climbed into the old stone mouth of the well and let herself fall, and she was never seen or heard from again.
There was once a beautiful princess who was engaged to a prince from a faraway land. The match was arranged from their birth, and the princess’s whole young life was spent preparing for the marriage. But when she finally met the prince, only a week before their wedding, she found him intolerably arrogant and cruel.
“I would rather marry the devil,” she said to herself, and that night, a devil appeared at her bedroom window.
He swept into the room on a gust of air and stood there as tall as the ceiling, a great big beast with long sharp claws and teeth, wide leathery wings and a tail that whipped back and forth with feral excitement. He fell to his knees on the floor before her, and took her little hands in his.
“I’ve come to steal you away,” he said.
“To where?” demanded the princess.
He scooped her up in his enormous arms. “To my castle,” he said with his fangs at her ear.
He took her to the open window and launched back into the night, catching the air with his powerful wings and carrying the princess away.
They flew through the night for many miles, until they came to a beautiful palace carved from soft white stone, its spiraling towers gleaming with moonlight against the dark mountains. They went in through a tall tower window and landed in a bedroom decorated with dark wood and soft white silks. The devil laid the princess down on a soft bed, where she fell asleep.
The next morning she woke up alone in the beautiful room, and waited for the devil to come to her, which he did before long.
“How did you know that I wanted you last night?” she asked.
“The devil always comes when he is called,” he replied. “I’ve brought you here to make you my bride, lovely one. Will you accept?”
“I will accept,” said the princess, “but only if you court me according to the customs of my people.”
“Tell me what I must do,” said the devil.
“On the first night,” said the princess, “you must bring me a beautiful jewel.”
“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there came the sounds of a commotion outside. They went to the window and saw an army of a hundred men at the castle gates, led by the cruel and arrogant prince.
“He’s come to take you back,” said the devil.
“Don’t let him,” said the princess.
“Yes, my lady,” said the devil. He spread his wide wings and flew down from the tower window to meet the men at the gates. All day long, the princess watched through the window as they did battle. The human men were no match for the devil’s terrible claws and teeth. By sunset he had driven them all away. The princess was glad, but she saw that he’d had no time to collect any jewels for her.
“Where is my jewel?” she asked coyly, when the devil returned to her room.
“Here it is, beautiful one,” said the devil. In his hands was a perfect round orange that he’d plucked from a tree in the garden, with a dark green leaf still attached. He peeled it open in his great claws to reveal the segments of soft flesh, faceted and sparkling like gems. The princess was delighted, and she allowed the devil to feed her the soft sweet slices.
He returned to her the next morning, ready for his second task.
“What next, my lady?” he asked.
“On this second night,” said the princess, “you must serenade me with a beautiful song.”
“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there was another great commotion at the castle gates. They went to the window and saw that the prince had returned with an army of a thousand men.
“So many this time…” said the princess.
“I won’t let them take you,” the devil said to her. He leapt out the bedroom window and flew down to face the army of men. All day long, the princess sat at the window and watched the ferocious battle taking place. This time the devil summoned mighty winds full of dust and hale, and jets of fire that shot up out of the earth, and he cut through through shields and armor with fiery swords. By the end of the day, he had driven the army away yet again. The princess was very impressed, but she knew he’d had no time to tune his instruments or practice his songs.
“Where are your instruments?” she asked, when the devil returned to her room.
“Let me take you to them,” he said, and gathered her up in his arms. He leapt out of the window with her—a thing the princess was somehow getting used to—and they flew away from the castle, to a hidden gorge tucked between two mountains, where a little winding brook burbled through a meadow of soft grass spotted with trees.
The devil set the princess down on her feet in the grass.
“I see nothing,” she said.
“You must listen,” said the devil.
She listened, and she noticed that the chuckling babble of the brook was almost like a soft little song, and the crickets hidden in the grass all around were rubbing their legs together like bows on strings, like a tiny little orchestra. And when the wind blew, it whooshed deeply through the walls of the gorge, rustling the leaves of the trees, and every so often an owl hooted too. It was as lovely as music, and they stood together listening for most of the night, until the devil carried her back to the bedroom so she could sleep.
He returned to her the next morning. “What must I do next?” he said.
“This is the final night of our courting,” she said, "and you must prepare a grand feast.”
“It will be done,” said the devil. But they both listened for the telltale sounds of swords and marching feet, and heard them, and going to the window they saw that the prince had arrived at the gates once again, leading an army of ten thousand men.
“Let them take me back,” said the princess, looking over the vast army. "You'll be hurt."
“Don’t be afraid,” said the devil, “for I cannot be felled by mortal men.” He went out through the window and flew to meet the oncoming army. And as he flew he grew, twenty feet tall, fifty feet, one hundred, one thousand feet tall, until he landed on the battlefield with a thunderous crash, towering over the terrified army. Many men turned and fled right then. But the arrogant prince would not be dissuaded, and he led the remaining men against the beast. Their swords and arrows were practically useless, their horses were wild with terror, and their morale drained away like sand through a sieve.
The battle finally ended in the evening. The prince had limped away in secret, defeated for the final time. Many men lay dead, while those still living scattered into the mountains. The devil slowly returned to his original size, lying down in the dirt among the dead, unharmed but exhausted from his great transformation. The princess left the palace and went to him, and took his large clawed hand in hers.
“Forgive me, lovely one,” he said, “for I have prepared no feast for you.”
“No?” asked the princess, looking around. Hundreds of ravens had descended upon the battlefield, already tearing into the fresh corpses, and wolves and lions were emerging from the woods to join them. “I think the feast is already under way,” said the princess, “and the guests are enjoying it very much.”
The devil laughed wickedly at that. “I think you might be a bit of a devil yourself,” he said. They were married on the next evening, and they are still living happily to this day.
Once there was a day when the sun did not rise. All the people of the earth were very afraid, and hid inside their homes. But one young maiden, full of courage, set out to discover the cause. She followed the trail of the sun down into the earth, into a deep cave carpeted with moss and spotted with shallow pools, where she found the sun lying on his deathbed.
“O Sun,” she said, “why have you not risen?”
“Because,” said the sun, “I have grown tired of the world and its ugliness. I do not wish to look upon it any longer, for the sight brings me nothing but sorrow and pain. I wish only to rest under the earth forever.”
“But without you,” said the maiden, “all of mankind shall perish.”
“What does it matter,” said the sun, “when mankind sets about destroying each other every day?”
The maiden was surprised by his answer, but could not deny the truth of it. She thought long and hard of other things the sun might cherish, anything that might draw him out of this listless melancholy.
“But won’t you miss the sight of the mighty trees?” she asked.
“In time they will all be felled and broken to bits,” said the sun.
“But won’t you miss the sight of the austere mountains?” she asked.
“In time they will all crumble down into dust,” said the sun.
“But won’t you miss the sight of the endless seas?” she asked.
“In time they will all boil away into bitter wastelands,” said the sun.
The maiden felt pity for the sun in his great despair, and wept for him, and for all mankind, and could argue no further. “O Sun,” she said, “we cannot keep you where you do not wish to remain. We will give ourselves up to darkness, so that you may rest and find peace.”
The sun was touched by the maiden’s compassion, and he realized that as long as there was human kindness in this world, there was still something beautiful to cherish. With renewed vigor, he left his deathbed and rose back into the sky. On the head of the maiden he placed a crown of a thousand stars, and he made her the queen of heaven.
The labyrinth is thick with mist, and fallen leaves have collected on the path in little drifts that crunch beneath your feet. The tall green hedges that make up the maze seem endless, and the thick thorns concealed between the leaves make them impenetrable. You’ve lost all track of time here; you can’t say if you’ve been wandering for hours or days or weeks. There’s nothing to eat, but you never feel hungry. You think you might be dead.
Sometimes you come across features that interrupt the endless monotony of the maze: wide squares centered around crumbling moss-covered statues, or chipped old fountains gently burbling with clear cool water. Sometimes there are stone benches covered in twigs and dust. You always sit for a while and stare into space, thinking about nothing. There’s a lonely sort of peace to this place. It’s not what you expected from the afterlife.
You never see another living thing, not even birds or insects. But sometimes, in the middle distance, you hear the sound of heavy hooves clop-clopping along the path, in another branch of the maze, hidden from view by the tall green hedges. You hold your breath as they pass, caught between longing and terror. You don’t want to see whatever beast is stalking this forgotten place.
But eventually, you turn yet another corner and find yourself facing the yawning doorway of a ramshackle hut, built in the center of a small square. You’re shocked to your core by this sudden sign of life. You’re sure that the beast must be close by. You can hear the clop-clop of the hooves, slowly approaching through the maze, and then you hear the heavy snort of a thick wet snout right behind you.
You turn to find a large figure stepping off the misty path and entering the square. He’s wearing a long dark robe over a bulky body, and a large, unwieldy pack is strapped to his back. His head is covered by a deep hood, but it pokes up into little tents over the shapes of his horns, and in the darkness under the hood his soft cow’s nose is just visible. He’s carrying a lantern in one hoof-knuckled hand, and beneath the long robe are the heavy hooves you’ve heard clopping along the path so many times.
“Are you lost?” he asks. “I can lead you to the exit.”
There begins another stretch of endless time. You follow the minotaur down an endless series of long green empty paths, with the grey mists swirling around you and the dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. He navigates the mist-riddled maze with ease, and you wonder how long he’s lived in this lonely place.
You turn one final corner, expecting another row of hedges, but the hedges end abruptly, and beyond them is spread a wild, rolling meadow. Clusters of white sheep are grazing in the green grass, and in the distance you see smoke rising from the chimneys of houses.
“This way will return you to the land of the living,” says the minotaur, solemnly.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” you say, almost laughing, and then suddenly there are tears in yours eyes, and you weep as you stare out into the living world.
“You don’t have to go,” says the minotaur, gentle and shy from beneath his hood. “You can stay here with me until you’re ready.”
You nod your head and dry your tears with your hands, and when the minotaur turns to go, you follow after him, back into the peaceful grey-green simplicity of the maze.
One day you are visited by a being from another world—an alien prince from the planet Pluto. He says you are his soulmate and his destined spouse, and he’s come to take you away to his castle at the edge of the Solar System.
You don’t believe in soulmates, but you decide that you don’t really care. Things haven’t been going so well for you on Earth. What would you even be leaving behind?
You give him permission to spirit you away. He places a golden ring on your finger, set with a beautiful jewel sparkling in a rainbow of colors. Then he carries you onto his spaceship, and together you leave the Earth.
You are married on the Moon, in the shimmering halls of a crystal cathedral. You’re both dressed in voluminous black robes sewn with thousands of tiny diamonds to resemble the night sky. The priest invokes strange and ancient gods to bless your union as the prince grips your hands in both sets of his.
The people of the Moon have soft whispering voices and long diaphanous bodies that float on the wind. They bring you many strange and fabulous wedding gifts. You can’t even tell what most of them do, which makes your new husband laugh fondly. He promises to teach you all of their uses.
After the ceremony you return to his ship. “Your ship now, too,” he reminds you. The inside of the ship is like a living ecosystem. The rooms are all brimming with plantlife, flourishing in different shades of blue and green under the powerful lamps simulating sunlight. Colorful insects drift between the vines and trees, and the little furry creatures living in the undergrowth allow you to stroke their soft warm bodies.
A robotic arm emerges from the wall to serve tea while you examine a holographic projection of the Solar System. Your husband points out the route you’ll take for your honeymoon. First you’ll visit Venus, then Mercury, Mars, and finally Saturn before reaching Pluto. You won’t visit Jupiter or the other giants this time around—they’re too far from your route—but there will be plenty of time for that in the future.
Venus is an ocean world, with all its cities built upon a series of volcanic archipelagos. The air is heavy and humid, and the golden sky is streaked with long glimmering trails of rainbow colors: Venusian clouds. Little rain showers occur without warning throughout the day, the heavy drops glittering like crystals as they fall into the wide golden waters surrounding your island. But you barely have the time to appreciate all of this beauty, as you and your husband spend most of your time on the low soft bed in the little grass hut, feeding each other exotic fruits and learning each other’s anatomies.
You’re reluctant to leave the soft lovely shores of Venus, but your husband assures you that Mercury offers many pleasures as well. Mercury’s towering cities exist in a world of night, moving slowly along colossal tracks to keep their inhabitants out from under the blistering, slow-moving sun. These mobile cities offer every kind of entertainment you can imagine. Your husband takes you to concerts played on outlandish instruments; glamorous restaurants where you eat delicious, expensive foods; operas performed by actors with every type of voice and body. You enjoy your time there, but the pace of life on Mercury is a little exhausting, and you hope that the next planet affords more time to relax.
You get your wish in that regard. Mars is a vast, quiet, and empty place. The people there are tall and contemplative and reserved, speaking a delicate language in hushed little voices, and they travel between their sparse cities by way of long aerial trains pulled by dragons across the sky.
At first, the endless red desert looks like so many miles of wasteland to you. But as you watch it unfold beneath you, watching out the wide window of your train car, you start to see the beauty of the raw, whorling landscape, the incredible scale of the mountains and valleys and the muted rainbow of colors in the red dust.
Your next stop is Saturn—specifically Saturn’s largest moon, the forest world of Titan. Titan’s cities are built into its enormous trees, towering like sky-scrapers, the branches carefully tended and grown into the shapes of little globe-like homes, broad platforms, winding staircases and dizzying walkways. By day you explore the treetop mazes of shops and gardens and museums, and in the evenings you eat soft warm bread and flavorful meats on the little open-air balconies of small restaurants. Large red and white birds fly from tree to tree, singing beautiful songs in eerie soprano voices, and Saturn’s colorful rings are huge and breathtaking in the twilight sky overhead.
All too soon your honeymoon is over, and the spaceship takes you and your husband to your final destination, your new home on Pluto. It is by far the coldest place you’ve visited, a world of deep snows peppered by sparse forests of rugged blue-green trees. But your husband’s little castle is warm and cozy inside, and the people of Pluto welcome their prince’s bride with warm joy.
Looking back into the Solar System from Pluto is like looking down from the top of a tall mountain. Bleak and cold the peak may be, but the view from up there can’t be matched. All the beautiful worlds you visited are spread before you, spiraling around the sun in their intricate dance. You’ll visit them all again someday, and maybe the ones you missed this time around too. But for now, on this snowy little planet, all you have to do is enjoy the effortless company and love of your soulmate.
(this story contains references to illness, death, and grief)
The village folk call you cunning. You know the uses of all the herbs in the forest, and you know how to cure illnesses and lessen ailments. One day a fairy man comes down from the mountains to visit you in your cottage. You’re frightened at first, but he’s only come seeking your services. He wants a potion for his sick wife.
“I don’t know fairy medicine,” you tell him.
“My wife is human,” he says.
You agree to make the potion. He waits outside in the garden, where the daffodils and tulips are just beginning to bloom. He pays for the potion with a handful of strange seeds, which you accept without question. It’s best not to offend the fair folk.
He returns once a week for more medicine. He always wanders through your garden while he waits, looking otherworldly as he strolls among the flowers. He pays you with baskets of eggs, or bolts of beautiful cloth, or unfamiliar coins; a handful of glittering jewels; a set of old bones; a bottle of blackberry wine. You accept all of his gifts without discrimination.
Then his visits cease without warning. You mark his absence with disappointment; the foxgloves are in full bloom now, and you were looking forward to watching him walk among them.
The last of the asters are already fading when you see him next. He shows up again one day out of the blue, looking handsome and ethereal as always.
“Did your wife get better?” you ask, but as soon as you ask the question you already know the answer.
You sit together on your porch, watching the leaves fall from the trees.
“I’m sorry the medicine didn’t help,” you say.
“It helped a great deal,” he tells you. “Her last weeks were spent in comparative comfort.” He stares down at his long hands folded in his lap. “I’m sorry to take up your time. I don’t know why I came here. You were kind to me and my wife, and your garden was always lovely.”
“Why don’t you stay the night?” you say. “It looks like it's going to snow.”
You put him in the spare room, and he stays for many weeks. He’s listless with grief; he needs some looking after. You believe manual labor is good for people with emotional wounds, so you put him to work. There’s much to do to prepare for the winter, and you slowly lose your fear of him as you watch him chop wood and pickle vegetables. He hasn’t had much practice at these things, but he’s a quick learner, and he likes to use magic to speed things along.
Despite your reputation as a witch, you have no experience with magic, and the spells make you nervous at first. But before long you find yourself asking for enchantments for your own chores, and he obliges you with a knowing smile. You collaborate on potions and poultices, creating cures that could not be crafted by human hands alone. You enjoy working with him, and you think he enjoys working with you too.
The villagers begin to call him your familiar, which makes you both laugh. But you aren’t laughing for long. Suspicion and mistrust grow in the village. The fair folk are strange and sometimes cruel, and your companion frightens your neighbors.
“Will they try to drive you out?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you say, worried.
“If they attack the house, I’ll protect you.”
“I’d rather it didn’t come to that.”
“Then enough of this foolishness,” he says. “I’m going home. Come with me.”
“For how long?” you ask.
“Indefinitely,” he says.
“What? Forever?”
“Yes, forever.”
Or until sickness takes me too, you think, but don’t say. It would be nice to live a happy life, however long, by this strange man’s side. He sees your bittersweet expression, and he gives you a knowing, tender look.
“Say goodbye to your garden,” he says. You bid the last of the blooms adieu, and he spirits you away.
You live by yourself in a little cottage on the edge of the woods. One fine spring morning, while you’re out in the woods gathering flowers, you come across a rabbit caught in a trap. You’re about to pass on by when the rabbit calls out to you.
“Please set me free, kind stranger,” it says. “I’ll be cooked into a stew if you don’t.”
A talking rabbit! You realize it must be a fairy in disguise. You cut the creature loose and it scampers away into the woods.
The next morning, you find a wicker basket on your doorstep. There’s a note attached to the basket which says:
Please accept this token of thanks.
The rabbit you saved was my steward.
Sincerely,
The Lord of the Woods
Inside the basket is a little red chicken which lays a bright red egg filled with rubies. You gather up the rubies and head into town to buy yourself some fine sugar and spices. But on your way into town you meet some poor beggars, and you feel so sorry for them that you decide to buy food for all of them instead.
The next day you receive a strange visitor. There’s a knock on your door at the crack of dawn, and you open it to find a beautiful man with pointed ears and a starry crown set on his brow.
“I am the Lord of the Woods,” he says, “and I’ve come by to see how you’re faring.”
You invite him in for breakfast. You try not to show it, but you’re a bit embarrassed that all you can offer him are little coarse seedcakes and bitter tea.
“I’m sorry they’re not very sweet,” you say.
“That’s quite alright,” says the fairy lord, “but couldn’t you have bought yourself some sugar and spices with the rubies I sent?”
“Perhaps I could have,” you say, “but I get by well enough. There are many others who are less fortunate than I.”
The Lord of the Woods concedes that this is true. And what’s more, the seedcakes are filling and the tea refreshing, for all their want of sugar. Shortly after that he takes his leave.
Many weeks go by. Then, on a warm summer day, while you’re out in the woods gathering herbs, you come across a polecat caught in a trap. You’re about to pass on by when the polecat calls out to you.
“Please set me free, kind stranger,” it says. “I’ll be turned into a pair of mittens if you don’t.”
You realize that this must be another fairy in disguise. You cut the creature loose and it races away into the woods.
The next morning, you find another wicker basket on your doorstep. There’s a note attached to the basket which says:
Please accept this token of thanks.
The polecat you saved was my bailiff.
Sincerely,
The Lord of the Woods
Inside the basket is a little green chicken which lays a bright green egg filled with emeralds. You gather up the emeralds and head into town to buy yourself some fine linens, and laces and ribbons and buttons. But on your way into town you meet some poor beggars, and you decide to buy new clothes for all of them instead.
The next day there’s a knock at your door, just as you’re sitting down to lunch. It’s the Lord of the Woods, come to check on you once again, looking even more handsome than the last time you saw him. You invite him to join you for lunch, and though you set out your best tablecloth and napkins, you’re a little ashamed of how plain they are.
“I’m sorry the napkins are not very soft,” you say.
“It’s no trouble,” says the fairy lord, “but you could have bought yourself some finer fabrics with the emeralds I sent.”
“Perhaps I should have,” you say, “but I still get by alright. There are many others who are less fortunate than I.”
The Lord of the Woods concedes that this is true. And he notices that your table linens, while coarse, are all neatly made, and your clothes are all tidily mended. Shortly after that he takes his leave.
Many more weeks pass by. And then, on a brisk autumn day, while you’re out in the woods gathering mushrooms, you come across a fox caught in a trap. You’re about to pass on by when the fox calls out to you.
“Please set me free, kind stranger,” it says. “I’ll be sewn into a winter coat if you don’t.”
So you cut the creature loose, and it slinks away into the woods.
The next morning, you find another wicker basket on your doorstep. There’s a note attached to the basket which says:
Please accept this token of thanks.
The fox you saved was my chaplain.
Sincerely,
The Lord of the Woods
Inside the basket is a little blue chicken which lays a bright blue egg filled with sapphires. You gather up the sapphires and head into town to buy yourself a fine house with a large garden. But on your way into town you meet some poor beggars, and you decide to buy a house for them instead.
The next day, just as the sun is setting, there’s a knock at your door. It’s the Lord of the Woods once again, come to see how you’re getting on, and looking more lovely than ever. You invite him in and serve him a simple dinner of bread and stew, and the two of you talk for a long time by the fire. It grows very late this way, and he asks if he may stay the night. You let him use the tiny room in the attic, furnished with nothing but a chipped washstand and an old bed.
“I’m sorry about the room, it’s not much,” you say.
“It’s really no bother,” he replies, “but surely you could have purchased a nicer house with the sapphires I sent.”
“It would have been nice,” you say, musing, “but I’ve managed with what I have. There are many others who are less fortunate than I.”
The Lord of the Woods concedes that this is true. And though your cottage is small, it’s very neat and well-kept, with a pretty little garden. But he still wishes to thank you somehow for the many services you’ve done him. As he departs in the morning, he says, “If you are ever in need, come find me in the woods, and you will be provided for.”
In the meantime, the townsfolk have begun to wonder how you are always coming by handfuls of rubies and emeralds and sapphires. They begin to suspect that you are in league with the fairies, which is not very far from the truth, and driven by envy and fear, they decide that you must be punished.
On a cold day in late autumn, you return from a walk in the woods to find that your little cottage has been burned to the ground. Dismayed, you search through the wreckage for anything you might salvage, but everything has been utterly destroyed. Even your colorful little chickens are nowhere to be found. But after calling and calling for them, the chickens eventually emerge from the nearby woods where they were hiding.
You remember the fairy lord’s instructions to search for him in the woods if you were ever in trouble. You’d rather not impose, but a cold snow begins to fall, and with nowhere else for you and the chickens to go, you wander into the woods.
You walk and walk through the quiet woods, followed by your chickens. For a long time you see nothing but the towering trees and the snow collecting in drifts around you as the sky grows progressively darker. Just as you’re beginning to truly worry, you spy a light in the distance. There’s a little rabbit standing on its hind legs, carrying a lantern and beckoning for you to follow. You wonder if it’s the rabbit you rescued from that trap all those weeks ago.
You follow the rabbit through the cold dark woods until you reach a little cabin in the center of a clearing. The rabbit ushers you inside. No one is home, but a hot bath has been drawn, and some warm clothes have been laid out, and a soft bed has been made. Rushes have been piled in the corner for the chickens to sleep on. They snuggle into the rushes while you have your bath, then you tuck yourself into the little bed and fall into an exhausted sleep.
You wake up to a knocking at the door, and for a moment you forget where you are. But then you remember your terrible ordeal. You answer the door to find the Lord of the Woods standing there in all his splendor.
“I’m so sorry about your little cottage,” he says. “Are you alright?”
You intend to tell him that you’ll be fine, that you’ve always managed before, but instead you start to cry. He gathers you into his arms and tells you that you can live with him if you want, and that he’ll take care of you from now on. You tearfully confess that you’d like that very much.
The townsfolk continue to fear the forest and the fairies that are said to haunt it. But there’s a rumor that if you’re ever in trouble, you need only lose yourself deep in the woods, and a mysterious couple will appear to lend you their aid.
You are betrothed to a prince from a faraway land. You've only met him once, and though he was handsome and charming enough, you’re not very eager to marry a man you barely know. You're on your way to his castle for the wedding right now, and you find yourself praying for any interruption that might delay your arrival. Your prayers are answered, unfortunately, when you are separated from your escorts and captured by bandits.
The bandits carry you back to their hideout, a ruined old fortress deep in the mountains. As the prince’s betrothed, you could be worth a fine ransom, so the bandits lock you up in a tall tower room while they decide what to do with you. You’re alone and afraid, but not for long. There’s a sudden great commotion outside, a lot of shouting and screaming and terrible roaring, and then an enormous green dragon appears at the tower window, offering to help you escape. You climb out the window and clamber onto the dragon’s back, marveling at his powerful wings and glittering scales, and he flies you far away from the bandits.
He agrees to escort you the rest of the way to the prince’s castle. The journey takes many days, even with the help of a dragon. He carries you on his back by day, and by night you rest beneath the cover of the trees. You keep warm lying pressed against his broad side, and he eases your homesickness with his long, amusing tales. By the end of your journey, you think you’ve fallen quite in love with him, but you keep your feelings to yourself.
When you finally reach the castle, all rejoice over your safe recovery. Your husband-to-be treats you with particular kindness and concern, but despite his attentions, you can’t help longing for your dragon instead. The wedding is delayed just long enough for you to recover from your ordeal, and then you are married. You go through the motions as best as you can, but in the back of your mind you think of the dragon, wondering if you’ll ever see him again.
In the meantime your husband makes every effort to gain your affection. First he gives you a chest full of sparkling jewels. They’re lovely, but they only serve to remind you of the dragon’s beautiful scales. Then your husband gives you a magnificent library full of books. The stories inside are interesting, but they pale compared to the wild tales the dragon would tell you when you made camp at night. Finally your husband gives you the keys to a wonderful garden. You love the fragrant flowers and the delicate trees, but this manicured park leaves you pining for the untamed forests where you traveled with the dragon.
Your husband sees that his latest gift still hasn’t made you happy, and his pain and concern are plain on his face. Unable to bear his disappointment, you turn and flee into the woods, but he chases after you.
“Is there nothing I can do to win your love?” he asks.
“You’ve given me everything I could possibly want,” you say, “and my heart would be yours if it didn't already belong to another.” Trusting him, and wanting no secrets between you, you tell him all about the dragon who rescued you from the bandits.
You expect him to be angry or upset, but instead his features light up with relief. He steps away from you, and before your eyes he transforms into the beautiful green dragon. He explains that he followed your traveling party in secret, looking out for you in his true form, and that's how he was able to rescue you from the bandits so quickly. All this time, your gallant dragon and your loving husband were one and the same. Overjoyed, you throw your arms around his long scaly neck, and he hums contentedly into your ear. You live happily with him from then on, and every so often, you sneak off together for another adventure.
You’re staying overnight in a dark forest, huddled by the campfire, when the creature approaches you. A ghostly white shape appears against the black backdrop of the trees, and at first you don’t understand what you’re looking at. Then you realize that it’s an enormous horned skull, hanging perfectly still at the edge of the clearing. Terror grips you like a vice, freezing you in place. What is that? What is it?
The skull glides into the clearing and the darkness seems to come along with it, pulled behind it like dark cobwebs or long spidery limbs. It has a long dark body, long arms and legs corded with lean muscle, enormous clawed hands. The sockets in its enormous skull are empty black pits. By now you have moved past fear into a sense of complete unreality, and you watch with dreamlike fascination as it steps toward you. It towers over you, but when it reaches your seat by the fire, it sinks slowly onto its haunches until you’re staring into its horrible empty sockets. Are there eyes inside those holes, watching you?
It sinks even lower, stretching out its long, long limbs and settling itself in the dirt beside you. Then it pushes its skull under your arm and settles the weight of its heavy head in your lap. Dazed, you carefully lower your arms back into place, with one hand on the long bony snout, conscious of the sharp teeth inches from your fingers. Your other hand sinks into the dark fur of its large shoulder. Its body is warm beneath the rough fur, and the bone of its skull is cold to the touch. The dreamlike feeling still hangs over you, muffling the night around you. You let the creature rest with you by the fire. You don’t dare do anything else.
You are the strongest warrior in the land. The king of the gods, impressed with your power, summons you for an important task: The primordial giants of the bygone era—enemies of both god and man—have all been destroyed save one.
“Defeat this final beast,” he says, looking down from his throne, “and his reign of terror will end forever.”
You bow low before the king and promise to obey his command.
You travel to a range of mountains by the sea, to the top of the tallest peak. At its center is a deep crater filled with bubbling lava. Scraggly brown grass crunches beneath your feet as you approach the lip of the volcano, and you call a challenge down into the burning liquid below.
You stagger back as a black hand shoots out of the fire. A terrifying giant pulls himself from the mouth of the volcano, rising higher and higher until he looms over you. His skin is the color of coal, lanced through all over with long veins of smoldering red heat. His eyes are like twin suns burning in the center of his face, and his long hair and beard are composed of sweeping tongues of fire threaded with streams of thick grey-white smoke.
“What do you want from me?” he thunders.
“I’ve been sent by the King of the Gods,” you say, unsheathing your sword, making your intentions clear.
The giant closes his terrifying eyes. “So my son has sent you to slay me,” he says. “So be it. I grow tired of this world.” He turns his head to gaze out over the sea. “I no longer recognize it, and nothing ties me to it. The god-king betrays me and his mother is already dead.” He turns to you then and leans in closer, and you can feel the enormous heat rolling off of him. He points to a spot on his chest that glows huge and red-hot. “Here is my heart. Pierce it through with your sword and be done with your task.”
His unexpected speech touches your heart. How can this broken old man be the dangerous beast from the tales? You stay your sword.
“I cannot kill you,” you tell him, “or your sadness will haunt me forever.”
“There are worse things to be haunted by,” says the giant, but still you refuse. He bows his enormous head. “Will you be punished for failing your quest?”
“I’m supposed to return with your heart,” you admit.
He nods, and bends down to reach into the lava pooled at his knees, then straightens with a red-hot rock bigger than your head clutched in his fist. He reaches over the lip of the volcano, and you step back as he drops the rock onto the ground nearby. The scraggly grass beneath his enormous hand burns instantly to blackened crips. You marvel again at his size. You could sit in the palm of his hand if his molten skin wouldn’t roast you alive.
“Take this rock once it cools,” he says, “and tell the god-king it’s my heart. He won’t know the difference.”
You take a seat in the dry grass. “Will you speak with me while I wait? I don't know much about your kind.”
“As you wish,” says the giant. He tells you stories from an ancient age when the giants ruled the earth, and the new gods were not yet born, and the humans were barely more than animals, though all of that would change with time.
When the rock is cool enough to touch, you carry it back to the king of the gods, and offer it up as the heart of his father. The king is fooled, and you receive your reward.
And even though you’ve finished your quest, you find yourself returning to the peak of the volcano again and again, to hear more stories from the fire giant. He seems to enjoy your visits, though his melancholy is never entirely dispelled. You long for a way to comfort him. You wish you could touch him, but his burning skin would wound you too terribly.
One day you bring him unsettling news: The king of the gods has discovered your ruse, and he knows that his father still lives. You’ll be killed for deceiving him once you’re caught, and he’ll send more warriors for the head of the giant.
“If only we could hide, or flee,” you say.
“There may be a way,” says the giant, leaning close, his burning hair crackling around his face. “Far away over the sea is the land of the giants, the place where I was made long ago. The gods can no longer find this place, but I still know the way. In all these years I’ve never wanted to return, but now it could be a haven for us.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” you ask, impatient to be gone and beyond the reach of the king.
The giant leans closer still. “It’s not a place where humans can survive. In order for you to accompany me, you must be destroyed and transformed.”
“Then destroy me,” you say. “I want to go with you, however it must be.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
So the giant seizes you in his burning fist, and before the shock of the pain can make you scream, he plunges you into the liquid fire at his feet. The pain you feel then is not physical, but something deeper. It’s not just your skin and your flesh and your bones that burn but your very soul, melted down into liquid and reformed into something harder and stronger, transformed into something alive with fire.
When he pulls you out of the crater, he holds you up in the palm of his hand, and steam rolls off of your marvelous new body. You’re made like he is now, molten black skin marbled with streaks of burning red. It is no longer blood, but fire, that runs hot and alive through your veins.
“I’m still small,” you say, and the giant laughs—a sound you’ve never heard before.
“You will grow larger with time,” he says. You stroke the skin of his palm, immune now to its immense heat. He leans in closer and you touch the skin of his face too, and run your hands through the flames of his hair. Cradling you against his chest, he carries you away over the sea, striding heedless through the waves, powerful enough to withstand the dark waters, steam billowing off of him in great clouds, taking you away to the land of the giants.
You are betrothed to a powerful dragon. You’ve known of your engagement since you were young, but all your years have not been enough to prepare you for your wedding day. The tales describe dragons as enormous, terrible beasts, and you think of your future husband with a great deal of fear. You take courage for the sake of your parents, who rely on this alliance for the good it will do the kingdom.
Only your parents are allowed to attend you at the ceremony, held in the deep shaded gorge between two mountains. You meet your husband at the center of a circle of standing stones. He is everything you feared—enormous, alien, built of strange angles and dangerous points. There is a beauty and an elegance to his long form and his glimmering scales, but they only serve to make him more intimidating. You tremble as you stand beside him, dwarfed and overwhelmed by his presence, barely listening to the priest’s benediction.
When the ceremony is concluded, attendants strap a sturdy wicker gondola to your husband’s underside. The inside is lined tightly with thick furs and blankets. This tiny carriage will allow your husband to carry you for long distances in the freezing air of the night sky.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, in his deep rumbling voice. You admit that you are. He bows his enormous head. “It’s not a long flight. Try to get some sleep.”
You doubt that will be possible. But once you’re tucked inside, the gondola is not as claustrophobic as you feared. It’s large enough for you to sit up if you choose. It’s perfectly warm inside from the tightly laid furs and the heat that radiates from your husband’s belly. The slow, rhythmic whooshing of his great wings soon lulls you to sleep.
His castle is built right into the high peak of a mountain. Everything is enormous to accommodate his large size—the wide halls, the towering ceilings, the strange draconic furniture. But he has set aside a little room for your use, furnished in the human style. He can’t even fit through the little doorway; a hiding place, if you want it. And you do want it, at first. Your husband leaves you to get settled and returns to his chambers alone.
The next day you search for him, determined to become better acquainted with your husband. You find him in a place you did not expect: a vast library, filled with shelves upon shelves of enormous books. Some are bigger than you are. Some are just small enough for you to carry with an effort in both arms. Your husband is coiled up at a giant desk, reading one of these smaller books. You ask him how he manages to turn the delicate pages.
“With the tips of my claws,” he says, and he lets you run your fingers over the sharp tips.
Examining the book more closely, you ask him how he can read such small print.
“My eyesight is very good,” he says, and he bends his head so you can look into one of his large, bright eyes.
Looking around at the towering shelves, you ask him how he came by such a vast number of books.
“I’ve collected them over many years,” he says. “Dragons are curious creatures, and we love to learn.”
Seeing your interest, he has his servants place a smaller desk beside his own, so that you may read as well. You spend many hours together like this. You carry the smaller books to your desk by yourself, and when you want to read one of the larger ones, your husband happily retrieves it for you. Many of the works you look over together, discussing and debating and getting to know one another in the process.
That night you join him in his bedchamber. It’s a big room with a big soft nest at its center, and large piles of sparkling treasure rising against the walls. You approach your husband, curled up in the middle of the nest, and the last of your fear melts away as you settle yourself between his enormous forepaws, and he lowers his head to gently nuzzle you. You live with him in health and happiness for the rest of your days.
(this story contains descriptions of abuse and stalking by the villain)
One day on a long walk through the woods, you find a fairy caught in a trap. There are men who set traps to catch such things, though frequently at their peril. This trap is a cage with iron bars, big enough to fit a horse. The creature inside fixes you with his large black eyes. He is shaped like a man, but he is not human. His skin is spotted like a fawn’s coat. A pair of branching antlers emerges from his wild head of hair. His body is stretched too tall and too thin, and a long tail grows from the base of his spine.
You feel sorry for him, but you're frightened of him too. He looks wild and angry and dangerous, with his long claws and pointed antlers. If you pick the lock and set him free, will he take his revenge on you?
You pick the lock anyway. You can’t walk away from him like that. You brace yourself as he steps out of the cage, but he makes no move to harm you. He falls to one knee before you in a long, low bow.
“I owe you a great debt, human,” he says. He gives you a small bag with three objects inside: a little copper nail, an old silver compass, and a heavy golden key. “If you’re ever in trouble,” he says, “use the nail first.” Then he disappears in a gust of wind and golden leaves.
You don’t see him again for a long time, but you think about him often as you go about your everyday life. There’s not much else good to think about. You’ve lived with your cruel uncle since you were young. He treats you like a slave, and he beats you furiously if you disobey him, or sometimes when he just needs to vent his frustrations.
He has a bad habit of gambling, and one day after losing a small fortune at cards, he comes home in a terrible rage. He blames you for his losses, claiming he wouldn’t gamble if he didn’t have another mouth to feed, and he beats you so hard that you’re sure he means to kill you. You reach into the bag you received from the fairy and take out the little copper nail. It flies straight into your uncle’s eye. He falls to the floor, clutching his face, and you realize that this is your chance to escape. But where will you go? You pull out the old silver compass next. The little dial spins and spins, then points in a direction that is not north.
The compass leads you deep, deep into the woods, to an enormous, gnarled old oak tree, nearly as big around as a small cottage, and crowned with a head of thick wild branches and blue-green leaves. Set in one side of the trunk is a wooden door. There’s a piece of paper nailed to it, reading as follows: “I must be away for a time. There's a guest room on the second floor. Stay as long as you like, and help yourself to anything.”
The door is bolted shut, but the heavy golden key fits the lock. You step inside and find yourself standing in a cozy little half-circle room, fitted with chairs and tables arranged around a crackling fireplace. Beyond this room is a little kitchen, likewise built into the rambling circumference of the tree, with shelves of spices and preserves, and hanging bundles of dried herbs. Little windows fill both rooms with warm sunlight, and at the center of it all is a winding wooden staircase leading up to a second floor.
You climb the stairs to a small landing with two round doors. The one to your left is locked—it must belong to the master of the house—so you try the door to your right. It opens into a cozy little nest of a room, with a big soft mattress, a stack of thick blankets, and a chest full of simple, sturdy clothes.
Upon exiting the room you notice that the central staircase travels all the way up to a trapdoor in the rounded ceiling of the little hall. It opens, you are astonished to discover, onto a tiny garden nestled in the crown of branches at the top of the tree. The garden is carpeted with mosses and ferns, threaded through with all manner of flowering vines and creepers, and butterflies and bees drift through on the breeze. All in all it's an amazing little house; it must belong to the fairy you freed from the trap all those months ago.
You drift back down to the guest room, feeling dazed and listless. You’re beyond thankful for this haven full of comforts, but it’s still a strange place at the end of a trying day, and despite what you’ve suffered you’re painfully homesick. You tuck yourself into bed and let a few tears escape before falling asleep.
In the morning you go downstairs and find parcels of fresh food on the kitchen table. You’re certain none of it was there the night before, and you feel a moment’s unease, but your hunger soon overcomes your trepidation. There’s a cold jar of milk, a wedge of soft cheese, a fresh loaf of bread full of herbs and seeds, eggs in a variety of colors and sizes, thick bunches of wild vegetables, and a basket of bright red strawberries. There’s also a pitcher of cool water that never runs out, no matter how much you pour. Similar fare appears there in the kitchen every day, and the little stack of wood next to the stove never dwindles. Your laundry is always washed in the morning, and the bedsheets are freshly changed before you go to sleep. You quickly grow used to these many conveniences, but you leave out a little bowl of milk every night for the elves who might be doing the work while you sleep.
You spend your days in perfect comfort and safety inside the tree. You never leave. You’re too afraid you’ll turn around and find the door disappeared, with no way to get back in. But you spend your time between the gentle warmth of the sitting room and the light breezy air of the treetop garden, reading or sewing or simply sitting and doing nothing. You can’t remember when you’ve ever had the luxury to do that.
You’re lonely. You wonder when your strange benefactor will return, and you frequently think of the event with anticipation. But you remember too how wild he looked when you found him in that cage, and sometimes fear creeps into your recollections of him. You remind yourself that he’s been a kind and generous host to you, even in his absence.
One day something happens to alleviate your boredom. You glance out your little bedroom window and see your uncle prowling around outside. You duck out of view, afraid you’ll be seen, but he doesn’t look up at the window. He doesn’t seem to see the front door either; it must be invisible to him. He wanders around and around the great tree, glowering out of his single remaining eye. He must have followed your tracks, and now he’s trying to figure out why they stop at this tree.
You spend the next few days in anxious misery, terrified that your uncle will find a way inside and finish what he started. Sometimes he disappears, following some false lead or another, but he always makes his way back to the tree.
One night as you sit by the fire, waiting for your dinner to cool, your worst fears are realized. The knob on the front door jangles loudly. Someone is trying to get in. You snatch up the fire poker, holding it like a weapon and panting with fear. But when the door swings open it is not your uncle, but the long-awaited master of the house who enters, ducking his long frame and antlers through the little door, then straightening and brushing leaves from his coat. He goes still when he sees you holding the poker.
“What a welcome into my own home,” he says with a sigh, and you find that no trace of your fear of him remains. The poker falls from your trembling fingers, and you throw yourself into his arms. He seems shocked, but after a moment he recovers and pulls you close, awkwardly patting your back and trying to still your trembling.
“Now, could this have to do with the man who’s been skulking around outside?” he asks. You admit that it’s so as he sits you back down by the fire and drapes his warm coat over you. Then you haltingly explain how you ended up here. He kneels before you as you speak, watching you intently with his strange black eyes, and giving your knee an occasional clumsy pat with his enormous clawed hand.
“Well I’m glad my gifts were of use,” he says. He pushes himself to his feet, towering over your seated form at his full height. “I’ll deal with your uncle. Stay here and don’t open the door.” Then he turns around and goes right back outside. You watch the lock bolt shut behind him.
You sit stunned in your chair by the little fire. It all happened so fast, you could almost believe you imagined it, except his warm coat is still draped over you, smelling like soil and old leaves, like someone just in from the garden. You intend to wait up for his return, but for the first time in days you feel safe, and your exhaustion soon catches up with you. You fall asleep by the fire.
When you wake up it’s still dark, but the birds are starting to chirp in the branches of the tree. The fairy stands silent before the fire, stirring the embers to life with the poker. He looks like something out of a dream in the ghostly dim light, too tall, too thin, inhuman with his whip-long tail and his crown of antlers. He hears you stirring and bends down to kneel at your feet once again. Something dark is spattered across his chest.
“Is he dead?” you whisper.
“No,” he says softly, “but he won’t be coming back.”
He goes upstairs to clean himself off, and you take a candle to the kitchen to make tea and breakfast. You notice that the table is laden with twice as much food as normal. You cook a whole basket of eggs and a whole loaf’s worth of toast. He might be hungry after… whatever he did.
When he comes back downstairs, he helps himself to a plate of the food and sits down with you at the table, easy and familiar, for all the world like he’s been here all along and breakfasting together is a normal routine.
“I see you repaired some of my torn linens,” he says.
“I wanted to do what I could to thank you,” you say, a little shyly. “For letting me stay.”
“Ah," and his gaze turns soft and gentle, "but letting you stay was my thanks to you.”
“Well now you’ve helped me a second time,” and some cheek slips into your voice, “so I owe you some thanks after all.”
“Is that how it works?” he asks, laughing softly. “I have some more things you could fix, if it would ease your conscience.”
“I’ll have to remain in the guest room while I work.”
“Of course,” he replies, with the smile still in his voice.
You mean to smile back but instead you put your face in your hands and start sobbing. So much has happened so quickly, and you’re filled with such a mixture of relief and regret and lingering fear. You think you must have shocked your host—you certainly surprised yourself—because he doesn’t react at first. But then he slides his chair closer to yours, and he folds you into his arms; a little awkwardly, but affectionately.
“There now,” he says, teasing, “I won’t actually put you to work,” and you laugh wetly into his shoulder. More gently, he says, “Just get some rest for today, alright?”
You do as he says. And you live with him in the tree from then on. You find each other quite agreeable as companions, and before long you give up the guest room, and start sleeping with him in his bed instead.
You’re walking through a forest grey with mist, hungry and weary from days of travel, then cold and wet too once the mist turns to rain. You pull your ragged cloak more tightly around yourself, but it doesn't do much to keep out the chill. Shivering, you press onward, looking for any kind of shelter.
You’re quite deep into the woods by now, so you’re surprised when you come across a little cottage in a clearing. Does somebody live out here?
The cottage is surrounded by a low fence and a garden thick with wildflowers. You smell smoke from the chimney and picture a warm fire on the hearth. It all looks so welcoming and neatly-kept that you’re sure the owner won’t mind if you rest here for a while. But when you approach the door, you realize that it is very large, nearly twice your height. The person who lives here must be very tall indeed.
You knock on the door, but no one answers. You’re too cold and tired to think of your manners, so without waiting another moment, you open the door and step inside. The cottage is cozy and clean, and a large fire is crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. You peel off your wet cloak and seat yourself in the chair next to the fire. The chair is enormous—much too large for a normal person—but it’s quite comfortable, and you barely notice its unusual size as the warmth of the fire seeps into your weary bones.
As the fire takes the edge off the chill, you start to think of your empty stomach instead. A pleasant smell floats over from the little kitchen, and you rise, sneezing, to investigate. On the table sits a big bowl of porridge, with nuts and dried berries mixed in like little bright jewels. It’s just the right temperature, and you help yourself to the food with gusto, but the bowl is so large that you barely make a dent in its contents before you’re full. Sneezing and sniffling, you carry yourself up the wooden set of stairs, looking for someplace to lie down.
Upstairs is a little room dominated by a gigantic bed, covered with soft sheets and big warm blankets, and it looks so inviting that you can barely resist climbing right in. You take off all your damp clothes first, and put on a shirt that you found in a drawer, so big that it falls past your knees. Then, coughing and sneezing and sniffling, you crawl under the covers and fall right to sleep.
When you wake up, throat-sore and bleary-eyed, there is a large figure sitting next to the bed. It’s a bear. No. It’s a man. It’s a bear wearing a homespun suit, sitting in a big chair and frowning as he holds his huge paw to your forehead. You mumble an apology and start to sit up, but he shakes his head and pushes you gently back down into bed.
“You’re running a fever,” he says. “Were you out in the rain?” You nod your head. “Stay here,” he says, then he gets up and lumbers out of the room. He returns in a bit with a cup of strong, strange-smelling tea. There’s lemon and honey in it, whatever it is, and when you take a few feeble sips your throat starts to feel a bit better. You apologize for imposing, but again he shakes his head.
“There’s no rush,” he says. “You can go whenever you want.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” you admit, and your throat closes up around the words.
“Oh…” he says. He’s silent for a minute, then he says, “Then why don’t you stay here with me for a while? I could use a hand with some things around the house. And I certainly wouldn’t mind the company.”
You accept his offer, and thank him profusely, until you’re interrupted by a fit of coughing. He leaves to get you more tea and something to eat. While he’s gone you stare sleepily out the window. It’s still raining, droplets pattering gently against the window panes, turning the world outside into an ocean of grey. The rain was miserable while you were trudging through it. But now that you’re tucked away inside, all cozy and toasty, there’s something peaceful about it instead. You drift gently back to sleep.
You work as a lowly scullion in a great castle. You don’t see much beyond the kitchens and the gardens, but one day while running an errand, you happen to catch the attention of the king’s cruel and lascivious brother. He attempts to lure you into his bed, but when you resist his advances, he has you thrown into the dungeon instead. You sit and weep in your dark damp cell, lamenting your sudden change of fortune, and you’re so distraught that you don’t even notice your cellmate at first. But soon a low scuffling and snuffling draws your attention to the darkest corner of the room.
An enormous, shaggy-haired lion is crouched there, watching you with his luminous eyes. You’re frightened at first, but as you watch him limp around, looking thin and morose, and heaving great sighs, you begin to feel sorry for him. “Poor thing,” you whisper. He hobbles up to you and shows you the underside of his huge paw, where a silver pin is stuck deep in the pad. You pull out the pin, and he gratefully licks your fingers with his big rough tongue. Then he speaks.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’ve been down here for a long time, and that pin kept me silent.” He explains that he is no ordinary lion, but a forest fairy ensorcelled by a wicked enchantress and imprisoned by the king at her behest. He wants to make a bargain with you: He will free you from this cell if you agree to help him regain the full use of his magical powers. You agree to the terms. The lion says a few words in a mysterious tongue, and with a great crash, the wall of the cell falls away, and the two of you escape into the night.
You ride on the lion’s back for many miles, and when you grow tired, you find a small cave in which to rest. The lion whispers a magic spell and conjures a soft bed of moss on the stone floor, and you lie side by side and sleep.
The next day you travel deep into a dark wood, and approach a crumbling wooden house. This is the house of the ogre who can see, but cannot hear or smell. Inside the house is a bag of emeralds which you must take without being caught. The lion covers you in a thick mat of leaves, so that when you hold still, you look like nothing more than a pile of leaves and twigs.
You creep into the house and pass the ogre. “Who’s there?” he says, and you freeze in place. When the ogre looks your way, he sees nothing but a pile of leaves, so he shrugs and returns to his work. You snatch the bag of emeralds and run back out of the house without being seen. Safely outside, you upend the bag and behold the beautiful, sparkling emeralds. The lion snaps them up in his great jaws, swallowing every last one.
You travel for many more miles on the lion’s back, and when the two of you grow tired, you again find a little cave to rest in. Whispering another magic spell, the lion conjures a warm straw mattress, and you lie side by side and fall asleep.
The next day you travel even further into the dark woods, and approach a crumbling house made of brick. This is the house of the ogre who can hear, but cannot see or smell. Inside the house is a bag of rubies which you must steal without being discovered. The lion ties soft rags around your feet, so that when you move you make no sound.
You creep into the house and pass the ogre. “Who’s there?” he demands, sensing a presence. But he hears nothing but the birds and the leaves in the wind, so he shrugs and returns to his work. You snatch the bag of rubies and run back out of the house without being heard. Outside, you spill the glittering red gems on the forest floor. The lion laps them all up and crunches them to dust in his strong jaws.
You travel together for many more miles, and when you grow tired you find another little cave to stay in. The lion says another magic spell, this time conjuring a full feather bed piled high with soft blankets. You lie side by side in the bed and sleep peacefully.
The next day you travel into the deepest and darkest part of the forest, where you come upon a crumbling stone house. This is the house of the ogre who can smell, but cannot see or hear. The lion covers you with a thick layer of mud and dung to disguise your human smell, so you can steal the bag of sapphires inside.
Into the house you go, creeping past the terrible ogre. “What’s that smell?” the ogre shrieks, but he smells only mud and dung, so he warily returns to his work. You fetch up the bag of sapphires and leave as quickly as you can, but as you pass the ogre one more time, even under all of the mud and dung, he catches a whiff of your human scent.
Outside you pour the lovely sparkling jewels onto the forest floor, and the lion gobbles them up. But as he swallows the last one, the ogre comes crashing out of the house with an enormous axe, and chops off the lion’s head.
The ogre returns to the house as you fall to your knees, weeping over the lion. You take his enormous head in your arms, and your tears fall into his wild mane. A small whispering voice creeps out of his open mouth.
“There’s no need for tears,” says the head of the lion. “Take my head and carry it three days to the north, and you will come across an old well in the woods. Throw my head into the well and I will return to you good as new.”
You do as the lion commands. You carry his head through the dark woods for three days and nights, until you come across an old well ringed with stones. In goes the head of the lion. You listen for a splash but hear nothing but the wind in the trees. Then you wait, and wait, and wait, until you fall asleep in the soft grass. When you wake up you are still alone, so you decide to climb down into the well and find out what happened for yourself.
At the bottom of the well is a little room, and in the middle of the room is a stone slab, and on the stone slab is the lion, asleep on his back, body restored, paws crossed over his chest, wearing a splendid princely suit, and with a golden crown tangled in the curling hairs of his mane. As you approach him, you are stopped by the sudden appearance of a beautiful woman with a cold expression. It is the wicked sorceress who stuck the silver pin in the lion’s foot, and had him imprisoned in the king’s dungeon.
“Foolish human,” she says. “I have trapped him once again, and now he will sleep here forever.”
You stand dismayed beside the sleeping lion, and you press a gentle kiss to his mouth, and your tears fall into the soft fur of his face. He suddenly opens his eyes, and he rises to his feet, standing tall on two legs like a man. He opens his mouth and bellows a loud and terrible spell, and the sorceress disappears with a shriek and a burst of flame. Then the lion takes you into his arms. Your rags are transformed into beautiful clothes, and the room at the bottom of the well becomes a wonderful castle. He asks if you’ll stay there with him, and you say that you will, and you live happily with him for the rest of your days.
