Steve Shilstone's Blog, page 8

THE WISH KING’S DAUGHTER

The Wish King’s daughter watched her father cross the Great Hall to select a wish from the wish bowl. Eyes narrowed, she studied his kind face. He reached into the bowl and plucked up a single scrap. He read the scrap and turned to the assembled villagers.

‘Damon, the harp maker,’ announced the Wish King.

‘Here! Here, Your Honor, Sire, Sir!’ piped up a little fellow, leaping forward, tripping, scrambling, grinning in his haste to crawl before the Wish King.

‘What is your wish, harp maker?’ asked the Wish King.

‘I would gaze on The Great Tree of The Snow Mound in Dazzle Pool and secure happiness everlasting,’ said the harp maker.

‘Ah, you have thought this through most thoroughly well, harp maker,’ said the Wish King. ‘Amelina, take this harp maker where he would go.’

The eyes of the Wish King’s daughter widened. Her name was Amelina. She had not the slightest idea where The Great Tree of The Snow Mound in Dazzle Pool could possibly be. However, the last thing in the world she would ever do was admit her ignorance.

‘Follow me, harp maker,’ she said.

When the pair had passed over the drawbridge, Amelina said, ‘You have a name, I suppose.’

‘Yes,’ said the harp maker.

‘Good. Keep it to yourself,’ said Amelina.

It took weeks for them to reach the Mountain of Ever Snow. Amelina had cleverly decided that a Snow Mound might likely be found on Ever Snow Mountain. They were fed and pampered all along the way. After all, Amelina was the Wish King’s daughter. She never asked anybody anything, but led on as if she knew exactly what she was doing. Up the snow slopes they went, through forests, by pools, along mounds. But not once did a great tree, a mound, and a pool gather together in harmony.

‘Are we almost there?’ asked the harp maker. ‘You know. I don’t really have to see it. Let’s go back.’

Amelina was about to shrug and say ‘Suit yourself’ when the harp maker fell to his knees and shouted, ‘Look!’

There through a row of spider leg trees was a mound of snow in the center of a round pool of dazzle. On the mound a single great pine tree reached high.

The harp maker danced around shouting, ‘Happy! Happy! Happy!’

Amelina’s face displayed a look of serenity. She thought, After all, I am the Wish King’s daughter.

PLUMLY COVER

My new story will be coming soon. The cover will look like this.

THE OLD FENCE POST

Two little men, neither the one nor the other of ’em taller than a jar of jam, came out from the hollow under the tree where they lived and started off walking along the road, arguing furiously all the while.

‘You can’t, I tell you. You can’t, and that’s the end of the bargain,’ said Red Cap, chopping the air with a hand for emphasis.

‘I can, and I will,’ was the stubborn retort of Shaggy Boot.

And so, red of hat and shaggy of boot, they continued on with many a gesture and contortion until they arrived at their destination, an old fence post all by itself by the side of a good sized pasture.

‘There it is, then,’ said Red Cap. ‘Go on and make your puny effort. I’ll wait in that length of grass yonder.’

So saying, Red Cap marched off into the tall patch of grass, leaving Shaggy Boot standing defiantly in a stiff straight up pose by the old fence post.

‘All right, here it happens now,’ muttered Shaggy Boot, and he untethered a plump brown pouchbag from his tunic belt. He shook its contents over the post, and a cloud of sparkles shimmered.

He hurried to the stand of grass and joined Red Cap, saying, ‘Now we wait. You’ll see.’

Red cap snorted and folded his arms.

It was dusk before a cart pulled by a pony rolled slowly down the road. Its driver, half asleep, chewed idly on a long straw.

‘Halt! Pay the tariff!’

‘Huh?’ said the cart driver, looking around and seeing nobody anywhere.

‘Me! Here! The fence post! Pay the tariff! It’s 4 pennies to pass!’ said the fence post.

‘4 pennies?’ repeated the confused simpleton. ‘All right, I guess. Where do I put ’em?’

‘On top of my head! And hurry up!’ snapped the fence post.

The cart driver dug into his pocket, found four pennies, climbed down, placed the four in a neat row on top of the fence post, resumed his perch on the cart, and drove off.

‘Well, knock my head with a thimble. You did it. We split the money, right?’ said Red Cap, removing his red cap and scratching his bald head.

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Shaggy Boot with a toss of his triumphant head and a wave of his triumphant hand.

THE THREE WANDERING TREES

High on a snowy mountain, three trees, neighbors for hundreds of years, exchanged complaints.

‘All we ever talk about is eagle this, hawk that, or oh the bear has twins this year. I, for one, would like to go over to the other side of the valley and see what’s beyond the glacier,’ said the tallest, bushiest tree.

‘You and me both. I think I’ll scream the next time an arrow of geese passes by overhead. Just exactly how are we to go about seeing beyond the glacier, being rooted and all? Tell me that, oh tall and bushy,’ said the thinner of the short twins.

The chubbier twin chuckled.

‘What if a sorceress spells us with the ability to walk?’ said the tall tree, not really believing anything like that could happen, but saying it just to have something to say.

Right then is when a strange thing occurred. A sorceress in a sky sleigh pulled by eight pelicans and four swans sailed to a landing in front of the three trees. Her long purple silk scarf lifted in the breeze, and she regarded the trees with her flash golden eyes.

‘You spoke. I heard. I grant your wish,’ she said, and without another word, she was swept off into the sky and away by the eight pelicans and four swans.

‘Uh, did that just happen?’ said the thin twin after several moments of silence had passed.

‘I don’t know,’ said tall and bushy.

The chubbier twin chuckled.

Hardly daring to dare, the tallest tree strained to tug and take a root step.

‘I did it! I can do it!’ said the tree, staggering in circles.

The twins followed the tall tree’s example, and soon the three of them were dashing about, giggling madly.

‘Wait!’ cried the tall tree, suddenly slamming to a halt of stillness. ‘The glacier. Let’s go see what’s beyond the glacier!’

And they did.

THE DISSATISFIED BROOM

‘I’m going to leave,’ said the broom, wiggling for emphasis. ‘See if I don’t.’

‘You’ve been saying that for years,’ said the cauldron from its comfortable position above the warmth of embers in the fireplace. ‘And yet you never go. You complain a lot, but you’re quiet as Obadiah when the witch is around. Isn’t that so, Obadiah?’

A small gray mouse nodded.

‘Well, this time it will be different. Just you wait,’ said the broom.

The cauldron sighed and rolled its imaginary eyes. The mouse darted into its crevice. The cottage door swung open, and the witch entered. Muttering nonsense and bobbing her head, shrugging and twitching, she circled the room aimlessly.

‘Now what was I about? I knew I was supposed to do something. What … Oh, I have it!’ she said. ‘Collect fresh henbane.’

She snatched the broom and flew out the door and away. The mouse poked its nose from the crevice. The cauldron, looking forward to burbling up a new henbane recipe, began to sing.

Time passed, and the witch returned, tossing henbane onto the table and propping the broom in the corner. She worked hard for the next few hours on an invisibility brew, stirring and adding ingredients to the happy cauldron. When the completed potion had been properly bottled and stored, she climbed to the attic to sleep.

‘I’m going to leave. See if I don’t,’ said the broom when all was quiet.

‘You’ll never leave. You’re all talk and no action,’ said the cauldron, basking in a rosy glow.

The cauldron was wise. The mouse was quiet. The broom knew in its heart that what the cauldron said was true.

‘You’ll see,’ said the broom. ‘Just you wait.’

NONSENSE POEM

Larks perch on my pillowcase.

Eels occupy my shoes.

I’ve nothing further to report.

There is no other news.

THE SUMMER SNOW

Yardith, daughter of the sorceress, sat baking on a rock under heavy hanging heat. The sun burned in the sky. Drops of sweat fell in steady patient rhythm from her nose, enlarging the dark purple blot on her violet satin tunic.

‘Can’t you cast some spell to make it cooler? This is the worst,’ said Yardith to her mother, who was gathering scraps of sage nearby.

‘All things in season, each to its own, my pet,’ answered Fomilla, for that was Yardith’s mother’s name.

Yardith muttered something under her breath.

‘I heard that,’ said her mother. ‘You know my hearing is keen.’

Yardith thought something.

‘I heard that, too, young lady,’ said Fomilla. ‘I am a sorceress, you know.’

Yardith decided to give up and torture herself by walking away and probably dying for all her mother cared. She got to her feet, sighed the loudest, most accusing sigh she could, and trudged off. An hour later, when she passed over a dry muddy stripe that should have been a stream, a snowflake settled on the back of her hand. She looked up. Snow fell. For twenty minutes it fell, unhindered by even the slightest breeze. Yardith returned to where her mother was waiting. Inwardly, she rejoiced in the bliss of winter cool defeating summer heat. Outwardly, she sat on the rock where she had formerly been baking and said, ‘It’s a dry snow. I like moist. You can make snowballs out of moist.’

Moral: Ah, teenagers.

THE WALL

No one noticed when Temulon left the village. They were all too busy preparing the new ship for launch. Temulon trudged through snow up the steep hillside to the trees, where she rested, gasping little puffs of mist. She was determined to find the Wall, to get through it, to see for herself if what her grandmother had told her was true. Rested, she moved on.

For weeks, search parties fanned out in all directions to find her. When, in time, a full moon had twice sailed the skies, even her brother Karlek gave up. The village mourned, believing Temulon had been dragged off and devoured by wolves.

When the moon grew fat for the third time since Temulon had left the village, a tiny figure throwing a tiny blue shadow staggered through snow blanketed trees toward a tremendous wall at the crest of the highest peak. Temulon’s overjacket and highboots had become collections of tatters. Her long pants and full shirt were hardly in better condition.

‘So, you are true,’ said Temulon, and she placed a hand on the great wall.

A terrible cracking and grinding of earth sounded. The wall stood firm, and all that was left at its base where Temulon had been standing were her footprints in the snow. Temulon herself was cutting a piece of cake for her grandmother.

Karlek stood at his grandmother’s grave. Wolves howled at the moon.

REGINALD SPOONMERRY

Reginald Spoonmerry went off to swim

wearing a hat with a vastly wide brim.

The hat, it was blue where it fit on his head,

but the rim all around was immensely quite red.

Shouting ‘Hurrah!’ and ‘Bumpeddy bump!’

Reginald Spoonmerry did in the sea jump.

His hat floated off and sailed out of sight.

Reginald sulked all through the night.

Then he got up and out of the water,

went home and complained to his unsmiling daughter.

‘Oh, daddy,’ she cried. ‘Don’t fret. Our pet spider

has woven a hat with a brim even wider.’

Reginald Spoonmerry leaped all in glee

and nevermore swam with a hat in the sea.

THE VALLEY OF MIST

There once was a palace standing all alone on top of a high mountain. The valley below it hid under a motionless blanket of mist. To descend into the mist was a crime, and nobody cared to defy the law, for legends of the horrors waiting in the mist below were more than enough to keep the mountain top dwellers within the the palace walls. A tribe of pelicans flew all the supplies needed to the mountain in exchange for songs and dances performed by the weaver and his daughter, Klopka.

One day in the palace kitchen, Klopka, who was apprenticed there in addition to her weaving and singing duties, hurried to fetch this or mix that in response to the cook’s shouted orders. Klopka was distracted, trying to memorize a new song to be sung for the pelicans that evening, and she bumped into the cook and dropped the bowl of grain she carried. It shattered on the floor, and the grain flew everywhere.

‘Pick up every little bit of that, and twice fast, or there will be trouble for you, Clumsy Klopka,’ said the cook.

Klopka curtsied, as she was expected to do, and sank to the floor to gather the grain. With each piece of grain collected, her resentment grew until it erupted in silent fury, causing her to race up the stairs, through the Grand Hall, out the door, and straight down the mountain toward the valley of mist.

‘What happened?’

‘Come back!’

‘Oh, look!’

Klopka heard nothing. Red anger boiled in her brain. Why must I always … Why can’t others … It isn’t fair … I’ll show them … I …

Klopka suddenly realized she was in the mist. She stopped running and stood terrified, not believing what she had done.

‘Finally,’ said a voice. ‘I’ve been waiting ever so long.’

The mist creature wrapped its arms around Klopka.

‘You’re safe now,’ it said, ‘if you can sing.’

Klopka sang her new song then and there so sweetly that the mist creature wept tears of dew and gave Klopka all the cake and money she desired.

Moral: If you do one thing, learn to sing.