War from Gloam Grows

War from gloam does grow, doom from deep.
At the edge of daylight, darkness creeps.
White Lady shines when’s time to sleep.
On down on ground forever lie
Beneath the light of bright forever sky.

Ago, ago, began the flow of power
And strength: opposed in dusk an’ opposed in dawn.
And thence that eddying, estuarial bower
All earthly life did spawn and flower.
Yet, mixed betwixt the beats of blood and breaths,
‘Twas also the birth of diametric strife
Created through inherent frictions’ depths
In balancing and driving life with death.
So up through those ebullient waters sneak
Tentacles, occluding with elation
To snuff the spark in inky darkness’ beak
And deep aphotic devastation wreak.

War from gloam does grow, thinkest not
Vorpa’s disrobing matters aught.
White Lady cools what burns too hot,
An’ tamed in flame forever vie
Beside the lights of bright forever sky.

On up, on up, come bubbling tears of earths;
Then down, then down, they pour forever lower
Together, seeking more and more ‘til curse
Of drowning deaths does froth and roar—a hearse
Borne swiftly out to sea. Yet warmth does rise,
Out of drowning depths, the resonating dew,
Which waters life upon all life from skies
A-dimmed by seeming gloam, a rude disguise—
Or ‘haps a truth revealed by lack of Sol.
Too much of one, too little the other, takes
The same in course whichever source: control.
Beware, it’s bits of both that makes us whole.

Soul from Sol does glow, hope from strength.
Forever’s measured in moral lengths.
White Lady comes to forge the links
Of He of She forever tied,
Become the lights of bright forever sky.

Skazka

There once was a young man just grown, who was neither ugly nor handsome but just so, neither thin nor fat but just so, neither weak nor strong but just so, and neither meek nor bold but just so. His father, a merchant-man, died and left him a small fortune. Now, he and his father had lived shrewdly to build up that inheritance, and the young man said to himself, "Why should I go on and suffer now that I am alone in the world?"

So he set about to spending his money on fancy clothes in which to strut about town, lavish things by which to live comfortably, beautiful horses on which to ride about the country side, and warm drinks under which to revel and carouse. Soon he found himself friend of all in the town and welcome wheresoever he traveled in the kingdom. He bought fine jewelry and dresses for beautiful girls who strolled about town on his arm, laughed and lounged with him in his comfortable house, shrieked and whooped upon horseback in the country, and blushed and leaned in close to him in the cool evenings. He even kept company with the Princess herself on occasion, and gave to her a cottage in the woods.

And so he enjoyed himself for quite some time, for his father had been as shrewd and prudent a steward as the son was not. After many years, however, the man -- who was no longer young -- had spent all to the last copper coin. Without his purchase of flowing beer and wine, his friends no longer came round to make merry with him. Without his purchase of sparkling jewels and gifts, the lovely maidens no longer paid any mind to him. And without his patronage of their wares, the merchants and artisans no longer tipped their hat when they passed him on the street.

So the man knew that it had come time to make something of himself in the world. He sold his comfortable house, used the money to pay part of his debt for the cottage he had gifted to the Princess (who had been married to a Prince in another country), and bought himself a single-room shack which did little to keep out the winter's cold. Then he rattled the doors of all the shops he had once patroned, looking for work. Yet he had learned no useful skills in his years of merrymaking, and time had made him more ugly than handsome enough for barking, more weak than strong enough for hard labor, more fat than thin enough for royal service, and more meek than bold enough to press on in his search.

In the same town there lived a woman the same age, who was also neither ugly nor beautiful but just so, neither thin nor fat but just so, neither flat nor buxom but just so, and neither shrewish nor pleasant but just so. Her parents had been poor and left her no dowry. She set about to find herself a husband in the town, but none could be interested in the prospect. "Wait some more and some man will come along," said the townspeople. And though she waited for a man to make her his wife, year after year they passed over her for others. In the meantime, the woman, whose name was Skazka, dedicated herself to acquiring skill in cooking, cleaning, spinning, and weaving, through which she made a living and built up a dowry on her own.

Now the man cast his eye about town and it fell on Skazka for the first time. "Ah," he said to himself, "Here is a fine lass with which to be serious, and grow old pleasantly." And so he set about wooing the woman, in hopes that she would marry him. But he bought her no fine jewelry or wedding gown, because he had already spent his money during his youth. "And a good thing, too, for a good wife should not be so concerned with such material things."

Poor Skazka had longed for a suitor to come knocking at her door, and at first felt that her perseverance had finally fruited. But then she remembered the years and years in which the man had never invited her to stroll about town on his arm, nor lounge within his comfortable home, nor fly about the countryside on horseback, nor warm at his side in the cool evenings. "Oh, whatever will I do?" Skazka asked herself, and others in the town, who all agreed that it was good and just that she should settle down with the man. "After all, isn't that what you wanted?" they said. "And aren't you a perfect match for him?"

But Skazka could not console herself with this, and she wept bitterly all the night. Then she got up early and set out on the road to beseech the King for advice. The palace being some ways off, she was still traveling as the day wore on. She came upon where the great Snake had lain himself down across the road to warm himself in the afternoon sun, and could not make her way around him.

"Please, sir Snake," she said, "Move out of my way so that I can go to see the King."

"And why do you want to see the King?" asked the Snake.

"A man who did not want me now has little choice than to marry me, and I go to seek the King's advice on my dowry."

"Would you make a good wife?" asked the Snake. "Can you cook, clean, and sew?"

"I can host a party with nought more than hock and stale bread, laid out to eat off a dirt path, with a tablecloth made from the grass of the field," Skazka replied.

"So you say," Snake said, "but I shall see for myself, and if true I shall bring a husband worthy of such a prize. First, make me a slicker of leaves to keep off the rain." And he thrashed his tail to knock over a tree.

Skazka sat down by the roadside and used the tree to spin its leaves into thread, from which she made a splendid jacket. It was woven tighter than the Snake's scales; not a seam could be seen on it. After putting it on, Snake was well-pleased, and said, "Next, clean out my home. You shall find it not far yonder in a cave in the woods. I shall come along at sunset to sup."

Skazka went to Snake's cave and swept it clean until not a speck of dust remained. Then she polished and shined all the rocks until they sparkled like fine jewelry. But there was not even a rind to cook for the Snake's supper! So she looked about in the woods for something to make into a meal. "If I don't find something for him to eat, he will like as not gobble me up myself!"

Spying a nest up in a tree, she climbed up to see if there were any eggs. The mama woodthrush, seeing that her clutch would be lost, begged Skazka not to take her eggs. "Please spare my children, and I will do you a good turn."

"But what good will it do me if I am eaten up by the Snake?" asked Skazka, and she considered taking the eggs anyway. Again, the mama woodthrush said, "Please spare my children, and I will do you a good turn." So Skazka relented.

She walked on in the woods and came upon a boar who had become trapped under a fallen tree. "Ah ha," she said, "Now I have found supper." So she began to sharpen a stick with which to kill the boar. But as she was doing so, the boar begged for his life. "Please spare me, and I will do you a good turn." He kept on and on, and Skazka used her stick to free him from the tree trunk instead.

She walked on and met a mountain goat with a kid. Skazka sat down to milk the mountain goat, but she implored Skazka, "I need my milk for my young. Please, spare him, and I will do you a good turn."

"But what good can you do me if I am eaten up by the Snake?" asked Skazka. But the mountain goat begged her again, and her kid bounced around with vigor, and Skazka relented.

"Now I am in for it," Skazka said, "for it is almost sunset. Oh well, there is nothing for it." Fetching water from a nearby stream, she went back to Snake's hole and stirred the ashes of the stove into a roaring fire. Then she put a cauldron on the fire.

Out of the fire popped a little man! He asked Skazka what she was doing in Snake's house.

"I am making supper for him," Skazka said. "But I do not have anything to cook!"

"Ah, simple," said the man. "Make button soup!" And then he hopped back into the fire.

So Skazka cut the buttons off her dress and plopped them into the cauldron. About that time the mountain goat came clopping by the door. "Here are some carrots for the soup." And the kid was carrying onions. So Skazka put them in the cauldron. The mountain goat and her kid left and about that time the boar came grunting by the door. "Here are some mushrooms for the soup." So Skazka put them in the cauldron. The boar left and about that time the woodthrush came chirping by the door. "Here are some fine herbs to flavor the soup." So Skazka put them in the cauldron. The woodthrush left and about that time the Snake came slithering through the door.

"My my," the Snake said, flicking his tongue out to smell the soup. "But you have cleaned up this place and made a supper that does better than a Russian smell." The Snake ate up the soup. "Well, you did not lie. So I shall keep my promise, and I shall keep you as my wife!"

Now Skazka set to trembling, but she smoothed her skirt and said only, "Supper has surely made you feel warm. Let me make your bed for you." And she put hot stones from the stove all around the bed. The Snake slithered in and went fast asleep. Then Skazka took the stick she had sharpened for the boar and drove it into the Snake's head. And so the Snake was defeated. But as he died his body thrashed and Skazka had to flee from the cave.

Now it was dark, but the road was clear of the Snake so Skazka walked on. Suddenly, behind her, there came a clip-clip-clop of a horse. Skazka stood to one side and turned to look. There, in the moonlight, came a man riding on a fine horse, much finer than any that her potential husband had ever ridden. He came a-galloping down the road, but when he saw Skazka standing there he stopped.

"What are you doing on the road at this hour, all alone and with your buttons missing?" the man asked. So Skazka told him. "I am going to visit the King, but I was delayed by the Snake."

"What luck!" the man said. "I am going to the King, and I will give you a ride." He hopped down from his horse, but then he pushed Skazka into the ditch, tore her clothes, and left her there as he galloped on.

Skazka picked herself up, wrapped her torn and button-less clothes about her, and walked all night to the palace. When she arrived at the gate, the guards stopped her, thinking she was a beggar. But Skazka said, "I have come to report the condition of the King's roads," and they let her pass. At the palace door, the guards stopped her, thinking she was a beggar. But Skazka said, "I have come to report the condition of the King's roads," and they let her pass. At the King's court, the guards stopped her, thinking she was a beggar. But Skazka said, "I have come to report the condition of the King's roads," and they let her pass.

When she entered the King's court, all eyes turned to see her, for her clothes were torn and stained all over with mud, yet she entered the court with the bearing of a queen. She walked directly to the King's throne, the people parting on either side of her, and there she bowed deeply before the King, who spoke to her.

"How is it," he asked, "that you have come to the King dressed as a beggar?"

"I set out on the King's road to ask the King's advice on my dowry, but I was waylaid by the Snake. After I passed his tests, I set out again on the King's road, but I was waylaid in the night by a man on a fine horse, and he wronged me so that now I cannot even work as a scullery-maid, but must live by the road-side all my days. I have come to report on this to the King."

Upon hearing this, the King sent everyone out of the court. And he questioned Skazka as to the man on the fine horse, how he was dressed, and where he was going. After she answered all his questions, he sent her to work in the palace as a scullery-maid. "Take care that no one troubles you," he said, "because you have the King's favor."

Skazka devoted herself to her work in the kitchens; soon the head cook trusted her with all of the King's dishes. In time, she gave birth to a boy whom she named Ivan. Then the King moved her to nursery to work as a nursemaid for the princes, where Ivan grew up with the King's own sons (heirs to the throne after the old Prince died). Ivan kept so closely with the princes that many in the palace did not know that he was not a prince himself. Meanwhile, Skazka was well-regarded in the palace, and she came to oversee the royal weavers, seamstresses, maids, and kitchen staff. So she and Ivan lived for many years under the King's favor.

Then there came a time when the kingdom went to war with the Morskoi Tsar. All the princes and young men in the land left to fight, and Ivan went with them. All of the mothers in the kingdom waited for their boys to return home, but none did, for great and powerful was the Morskoi Tsar. And Skazka waited with them, until she turned old and broken with grief.

Then the King gave to her a cottage in the woods, one of the best in his kingdom, which had once been owned by the Princess (until she became Queen of another kingdom). She lived alone but for her servants, and the cold of winter hurt her.

One day, a messenger of the King brought word that many of the kingdoms' sons had returned home, freed from the dungeons of the Morskoi Tsar. Skazka heard the news as she lay on her bed, for she was dying. She begged the messenger to return at once and search for her son Ivan, that he might come and see her before she died. "If I can but see his face once more, my precious son, I can die happy."

But when the messenger returned, he said her son Ivan could not come, and that the King was coming instead. Skazka turned to the wall and wept bitterly, for she would end life the same as she had begun. She said to the King's messenger, "Send my thanks to the King, who has treated me better than the husband I waited for in my youth. But tell him to turn back and not worry over this old woman, unless to find my son and send Ivan to see me before I die."

The messenger left, but word came back that the King's procession was still on its way to Skazka's cottage. So Skazka had the cottage cleaned and swept and prepared to receive the King. But she could not rise.

Trumpets sounded, for the King had arrived. Skazka sat in her bed and faced the door. In came Ivan! He wore a crown upon his head, as did the beautiful woman at his side. Skazka received them both into her arms, weeping tears of joy. Ivan had defeated the Morskoi Tsar and become King, but he was still her son, and so had come to pay his respects. He introduced his Queen, one of the Morskoi Tsar's swan daughters. And the King and Queen stayed at the cottage with Skazka until her time. After, the whole kingdom mourned for the loss of its Mother. They brought her back with them to the King's chapel, where every citizen attended her funeral dressed in black. And never did they mourn so before or since, because Ivan and his Queen ruled the kingdom wisely and well.

The Bandit's Beard

(A snapshot from a much larger tale.)


Like a flock of their namesake, the Crows descended upon and blackened the countryside. Strange it was for brigands to be making camp so openly, but then it was likewise strange for bandits to move in numbers more closely approximating an army. As the sky darkened to match their raven dress, glimmers of fire began to blink forth throughout the encampment in a scattering as random as the stars and streams above. Crows gathered around the firelight for warmth, and company, and the challenge of bettering their peers in tallness of tale.

"He's queerer than three-ounce doubloon, I tell ya." The declaration came from a man with skin wrinkled and darkened by Lux's rays, and the firelight cast his winding scars and patchy stubble into stark relief. "But Crows wouldn't follow a fairy around. So's he grows a beard."

"Puck's fire!" was the response of one of the man's three companions, a younger lad with lighter, unmarred skin and a darker, unbroken brow. "We all know the stories. He's famous for wenching. All the brothels loved him!"

”So’s he’s grown many a beard. Great stories, they are.”

"Aye, Triv, the legend runs that he pinned all the fancy flowers in his hat," said the oldest brigand there, stocky and white of hair, and wearing dilapidated gentlemen’s clothes, "but also that he never paid for any favors. Peke's claim isn't impossible."

A cheer went up a couple of campfires over, where a veritable bonfire had been raised, its flames licking at the moonstreamed sky. As the random cacophony of voices died down, a steady clapping continued, accompanied by the music of an impromptu band. Figures could be seen dancing in a carousel of shadow and flame.

Triv snorted. "Hear that? He's dancing with her right now. You've seen how he jigs."

"Dancing's different on your feet than in your bed, boy," Peke said. He emphasized his point by poking a long yew pole at the branches crackling in front of him. "It's all just a show for Crows. 'Sides, his skill at prancing about like a city dandy proves my point. Even ol' Mac agrees."

"Not necessarily," the white-haired Mac demurred. "I merely stated that the original proposition wasn't entirely devoid of merit. I can't agree that I find the fast waltz unmanful."

"But he claimed her on sight! And, did you see her? What man wouldn't?"

"Aye, Triv, I saw the stripes on her back. A slave girl ain't much a prize to claim. Better for sharing, 'less there's a reason he thinks taking her for himself would better keep the Crows following."

Mac coughed. "There could be the logistical problem of there not being quite enough to share for so many of us...."

"Them's as wanted her and could still make use, old man."

"See, Peke's just upset because he wanted her." Triv laughed. "And who can blame him? Slave girl or no, that hair, that shape, those eyes! She looked like a dream, like a princess, like... like a...."

"Fay," said the fourth man at the fire. Though he spoke softly, his voice resonated with power, a quiet confidence that instantly commanded the silent attention of the others. The flickering light smoldered in his dark eyes and danced over the ink carved into every inch of his visible skin -- from the knuckles of his hands to the top of his shaved pate. Tendrils of smoke drifted about his nostrils, but not from the fire: he held a hand-carved pipe in one hand. He was a thick-boned man, neither muscular nor fat, but nonetheless heavy and imposing of body. He wore leather garments, soft leathers built for comfort rather than protection, with an apparently random assortment of feathers, jewelry chains, and cut stones sewn into the raiment, so that even as he sat silent and unmoving the eye was drawn to his sparkling presence.

"C'mon, Proff, you don't really mean--"

Peke punched Triv in the arm. "Shaddup and let the Shahman speak if'n ya wanna learn something."

Proff looked up past the others. Everyone turned, following the shaman's eyes to a pair of silhouettes passing in the moonlight, just beyond the fire's radiance, as they made their way from the bonfire. The first was willowy enough to pass as a woman, if not for the clomping boots, the broadness of his shoulders, and the make of his hat. The flamboyant billowing of the tails of his long jacket could be seen even in silhouette, while the fluffy white feather in his hat glowed as it bobbed in the moons’ light. He reached a tent, the largest representative of the few of its kind in the brigands' encampment, and lifted its flap, patiently holding it open for his companion.

She, arrayed in a white blouse and skirt, not only passed as a woman but could not be mistaken for anything else, except perhaps a spirit. The length of her hair -- no slave's crop, this -- floated behind her like dark, wispy clouds chasing the full moon of her face. The actual light of the moonstream bounced off her clothes and pale skin with such intensity that she seemed almost otherworldly, an angel of light in this reality of darkness. No, it was the opposite: she was more real, and the light of her reality caused the rest of the landscape to dim in comparison.

She hesitated a moment at the tent's entrance, long enough that the gentleman rolled a hand in insistent but pleasant invitation for her to enter. After she disappeared into the tent, he followed, letting the flap drop after him.

"Understand," Proff rumbled, "the truth runs in the middle. It is all a show, but he also claimed her because he loved her on sight. He's not queer, but queerly bent. Broken, some might say."

Triv's eyes grew round and wide, enhancing his nonplussed blink. "Broken?"

"His heart's like a pot with a crack in it. It'll hold meal, but leaks water."

Peke scowled. "You're speaking in riddles again, Shahman."

"Long ago, before there were Crows, he cracked himself upon a Fay."

"Right. Fairies. And if it was before the Crows, how would you know?" Triv asked.

Mac cleared his throat. "Proff here goes back further than the Crows. He knew him when he was a lone thief."

"I did." Proff nodded. "And I witnessed him court the pixie."

"Ha ha, even I do not believe the pixie story!" Triv shook his head, smiling. "The Fay are just fodder for campfires and old wives."

"Just so. And we sit now at such a campfire."

"I mean they're not real!"

"Just so. Fay are creatures of fantasy. And that is why he cracked."

Proff leaned back and puffed on the long stem of his pipe. He exhaled a cloud of tobacco smoke, but did not speak again. His companions exchanged looks.

"Er, um, Proff, good sir," Mac said, "Perhaps you could explain better how you think an unreal being of fantasy could break a real, flesh-and-blood man."

Proff sat in silence for a few moments more. The embers in the fire snapped and popped, their color matched by the bowl of the shaman's pipe, the orange light of both appearing as twin sparkles in his dark eyes as he stared at nothing. The smoke of his pipe hung in a haze about his head.

"Well--" Triv began, before Peke rapped his shins with the stick. "Ow!"

Triv rubbed at his legs, frowning at Peke. For his part, Peke remained focused on Proff with an uncharacteristic air of respect. Mac's eyes were also on the shaman. Triv leaned back and sighed, then also turned his eyes to the fourth man. The fire snapped and popped again.

Finally, Proff spoke. "It is the nature of Fay to fool men to fall in love with them, but the pixie also fell in love with the fantasies he created for her, because such things were real to her. Together, they created a fantasy whereby he could win her hand, but to claim his prize would be to make the fantasy real. She would be undone. The pixie would not become mortal for a mortal, and so the game ended.

"But it was too late for him, and so he did the only thing that he could to be able to stay with his beloved: he, too, became a fantasy, a legend among men, a Fay who moved among humans and received their hearts but knew them not. Since his reality had shattered, he simply slipped through the cracks and left reality behind." Proff tapped the contents of his pipe out onto one of the stones ringing the fire. The others looked back and forth from the shaman to each other.

"So's I'm right," Peke said. "He is a fairy. And she's his beard."

Proff chuckled. "Yes. And no. For she is more than that; in his eyes, she is his beloved."

"So he lives his pixie fantasy out with the slave girl." Mac tutted to himself.

Triv glanced at the tent. "The slave girl alone is enough of a fantasy for me." Peke loosed a lewd snort and nodded agreement.

Proff, however, shook his head, and slipped his pipe through a loop on his shirt so that it joined his dangling assortment of ornaments. "He performs the role required of his fantasy, and loves the girl on sight as his beloved, but he won't become real for her. Nothing is as it seems with the Fay."

"Wait. I think I understand now," Mac said. He leaned forward, his eyes glowing in the firelight. "He seeks from her not the writhing and rolling of reality, but the twisting and turning of his fantasy. In other words, to him, she's not so much a fleshly beauty as an essential plot device to his tale. And so he gravitates toward her because she spins within his universe; he's as fixed upon her as Terminus in his moonstream above. He loves her as himself, as part of his fantasy that he weaves. He doesn't need her to serve as a marker for his manliness, no, for that's already been established in the previous pages. Instead, he acts the chivalrous knight and saves her from his very own band of thieving cutthroats. That means she's not his beard, a ploy to keep the Crows following, as much as she's his -- oh my. Oh dear."

The white-haired old man stared at Proff.

“It can’t be. Can it?”

The shaman cocked an eyebrow at Mac.

“He didn’t. Did he?”

Proff gave a slight nod that served both as a confirmation and a compliment. He stood.

Mac stood with him.

"Wait," Peke said. "What?”

"You shaman and your arrogant mysteriousness! How long,” Mac said, “were you going to just sit there while you knew such changes were afoot?”

The shaman shrugged. “Long enough to leave my friend’s fantasy unbroken.”

Triv looked around at everyone, baffled.

“There’s no more time for dilly-dallying.” Mac raised a hand to his chest. “I'll back you, Proff. You can keep the Crows from becoming a scourge upon the folk, and you have power and seniority."

"Thank you, old friend,” Proff said. “And you are right: There is little time left for wonderment and the ceremony of surprise. We must act now. Marlbough must be caught off guard. Only by our foresight can we outflank that sly fox and stack the odds against him."

Peke stood up, squinting. "I didn't tag along to polish Marlbough's boots. What do ya need from me?"

"Tork will be a problem," Mac said. "Same for Derril and his men. Round up men that you trust, then buzz those factions out. Quietly."

In response, Peke rapped his heavy yew pole against the ground. "Sure, I can do that," he said. "But I didn't quite understand the point of all yer five-ducat words before. Why are we acting as if our fairy god-bandit leader will be buggering off?"

"Because," Proff replied, "he already has."

"WHAT?" Triv said. He didn't jump to his feet as much as stumble backwards from the fire.

Peke hissed at the boy. "Fool boy, never shout. Not in this line o' work."

"But we just-- he's in his tent. With the girl! We all saw them go inside. Everybody did! He can't be-- can he?"

Triv looked at the faces of the older men. Peke rolled his eyes. Mac lowered his. But Proff met his gaze for a few moments, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "I am sorry, son."

The boy took a few halting steps backwards. Then he turned, mindless of Peke's quiet curses grasping at his back, and sprinted over ground as invisible and infinite as the night above, racing toward the tent belonging to the leader of the Crows. He did not slow, but burst through the entrance with a loud slap of body against leather, plunging into the even greater darkness within.

He immediately froze. What if it had all been a prank? An elaborate setup to embarrass him into bursting in on his commander like this?

Nothing but a void, black wall met his eyes. He stilled his shuddering breath and listened, but heard no sound other than an occasional, erratic flapping of fabric. He sucked in a deep gulp of air. "Sir? Uh, the men were, uh, worried about you and sent me in to check on, uh, things." His voice came out as a whisper. He swallowed, and spoke louder. "Sir?"

Nothing. Triv edged around the tent, keeping one hand on the fabric of the wall to orient himself until he bumped into a wooden obstacle. He fumbled blindly on the surface of the table, then found what he was looking for. He struck a match and lit the lamp. An oversized cot dominated the center of the tent, its pillows and covering unruffled. Beyond this, a thin vertical slit had been cut into the back of the tent, its loose edge rasping in the night breeze. Triv fell to his knees.

The bandit and the slave girl were gone.

A Wrong About Rainbows

Oh, rainbows follow stormy skies:
Or is it storms that follow them,
From the many-colored wraith the tempest flies?
Oh, when it rains, my love, I think of you,
And when I think of you, my love,
Then torrents pour and water drops anew.
I knew the sun awaited dreary's end...
But I was wrong and now I long for my rainbow back again.

Oh, rainbows bear a promise, love,
On which you firmly can depend.
Yet if you forward rush, retreat it does:
Forever out of reach, it moves apace
And shares itself tantalizingly.
Adults no longer give the sprinklers chase;
For children, though, it thrills without end,
And poets' songs sing on and on of their rainbows' magic bend.

Oh, rainbows can't corrupted-be,
My love, nor forced to others' ends.
Their subtle glory ineluctably
Belongs to dreamers' dreams and lovers' schemes
And fairy tales of hidden wealth
For the foolish wise to realize, reclaim, redeem....
And though it illusion might have been,
I'll be ever wrong and ever long for my rainbow back again.

The Boxes

The children stared wide-eyed at the four boxes on the coffee table. Plain brown packaging paper wrapped individually over cardboard bottom and lid, bound tight with plain brown twine, and small enough to rest on two hands: the boxes possessed nothing impressive by outward appearance.

Yet the boxes called to them. The demure toggery only enhanced the mystery of the boxes’ importance, tantalizing the children’s imaginations with the prospect of what fantastic gifts might lie within such humble containers.

After all, Grandfather’s insistence of staid attention before receiving them meant something was different about these gifts in comparison to the others they had received at birthdays and Christmas. And also, today was nobody’s birthday, nor did the scent of pine and cloves hang in the air—only the sickening-sweet and ever-present smell of his pipe. Mother and Father disapproved of Grandfather’s old ways, not the least of which was his pipe; still the children would forever picture him with it hanging from his whiskers, and whenever in life they smelt pipe tobacco, they would remember his eyes sparkling from beneath bushy white eyebrows.

Even now, Grandfather sent a puff of tobacco smoke up toward the ceiling, as he sat on his easy-chair throne and regarded his subjects with a kind smile and a stern eye as they in turn stared at the boxes on the coffee table before him. He picked up one of the boxes, displaying it on two hands before the children.

“I told you these gifts were special,” Grandfather said. “And they are. They may be most precious in all the world.”

Little Mary, her hair up in ribbons and curls, gasped in appreciation.

“But,” Grandfather continued, his glittering eyes meeting each of his four grandchildren in turn, “they are also special because they are unusual. They are not for you to open.”

“What?!” cried Johnny in dismay. “What kind of stupid gift is that?”

“It is a gift that you give to someone else,” Grandfather said.

“Who?” asked Sally.

“The person you choose to love more than anyone else.” He smiled down at his grandchildren. “Do you understand?”

The children all nodded. They all eagerly reached forward with their hands, then flinched back self-consciously, unsure of how to accept a gift they were not going to open. All except for Billy, who patiently held his hands out in front of him.

Grandfather gave each their box, and dismissed them to go put it away and play childish games while the day was still young, and then retired to his study for his regular afternoon nap.

Johnny thought this idea of giving the box to someone else was rubbish. It was his box and he was going to open it. As soon as he was away, he cut the twine and tore off the lid. Inside lay a crystal ball, its surface lacking any defect. With breathtaking beauty, the ball captured whatever light shone on it, nearly dancing with scintillating sparkles and beams.

The crystal ball became Johnny’s toy. He learned to juggle with it. He mesmerized girls with staring into its interior and told them their fortune. Sometimes, he used its heavy weight as a weapon against other boys who threatened him. All this marred the perfectly smooth surface with scratches and chips until the crystal ball no longer caught and danced with the light, but lay dully on his bedside table. And Johnny grew old, having never fully given his gift to anyone.

Mary knew of Johnny’s crystal ball, and wondered if her box contained the same. One day she carefully worked at the twine around her box, loosening the knot ever so gently, and lifted the lid a smidge to peer inside. Inside lay a cake. Mary dipped her finger into the frosting and found its taste extraordinary. Her heart pounding, she slapped the lid back on the box and reworked the knots of twine so that no one would ever know that she had opened it.

A while later, Mary again loosened the twine so that it slipped right off the box. She tried out a full piece of the cake. Still later, she shared a piece with her boyfriend, and the boyfriends that followed after him. Each time, she carefully rewrapped the box so that no one would know that she had opened it at all. But when the day came for her to give her box to the person she chose to love most in all the world, only crumbs remained.

Sally shook her box, trying to guess what lay inside. She knew Mary had secretly opened hers, and wanted to be better than that—but at the same time, she did not want to be surprised when her own box was opened. She wanted to know what to expect. She wanted to be ready. She listened to stories of people opening their boxes. She went to the library and read books on boxes and what treasures they held. She learned that most boxes contained jewelry of some sort.

Sally loved jewelry. She shook her box again, wanting to ascertain what sort of jewelry it might be. She pinched its sides to feel its contents through the cardboard. She squeezed and bent and warped the box—but she was careful never to actually open it. (After all, she was better than Mary.) And through all her finagling, she decided that her box contained a pearl necklace.

The day came when Sally gave her gift to the person she chose to love more than anyone. He opened the box. Inside lay no pearl necklace. Shocked, Sally saw only a tightly wound rope with frayed edges. It had once been a sash, woven with the finest materials and brilliantly colored with intricate patterns—a grand symbol of respect and position. But it had been smashed and frayed and tangled and twisted through Sally’s prodding, and in her mind it could never be more than a ratty rope in comparison to a pearl necklace. Disappointed, Sally used the rope to fetter the person she chose to love more than anyone.

But Billy took his box and put it away in the back of his closet. He found that if he kept the box out of sight, then it also stayed out of mind. Of course, sometimes he would sit innocently minding his own business and the box would appear out of nowhere in his lap. At those times he would remind himself that the box was not his but someone else’s, and return it to its place in the closet; and he would puff on his pipe until his nerves calmed.

He shrugged off whatever he heard of others doing with their boxes. He laughed when he heard people say keeping the box unopened was impossible. He did not worry when his friends made foolish taunts or remarks, even when they hurt. He thought of the person he would choose to love more than anyone else, and he went out and bought expensive red paper and silk ribbons and wrapped up the box even more.

The day came when Billy gave his gift to the person he chose to love more than anyone. Her eyes sparkled as she unwrapped the box. Inside the box lay another, smaller box. The smaller box was hinged on side, its outside velvety soft and inside—Billy took the box from her hands. He knelt down and opened it before her, revealing the most beautiful diamond ring that the girl had ever laid eyes on. And she accepted his gift.

A Squadron with One Pull

In submission to the April Greater Challenge, a re-telling of one of my favorite fairy tales in a sci-fi setting. Alternatively titled "the Brave Little Repairman."

Once upon a time a spacedock worker was flitting about in his repair craft. Having just fitted a new custom propulsion and pulley into his ship, which was no larger than a taxi-craft, the worker was in high spirits as he performed flips and loop-de-loops. Then a division of Imperial Fighters docked at the shipyard. The worker’s boss told him to re-panel all four of the much larger space ships, as well as run maintenance on their pulleys.

“That is not fit for someone with so great a craft like this one,” said the ship repairmen to himself. “Fighter pulleys are bulky, only interested in pulling large asteroids to crash into enemy ships. They do not have the finesse of my craft.”

Nevertheless, he set about his work. “I know, I will make challenges for myself!” He pulled panels and slung the new ones two, three, even four at a time. “I wonder how many I can do?” he asked himself, hoping to stretch the limits of his skill and his craft’s new pulley system. Gathering a dozen panels, he lined them up carefully and then glided his craft back and forth before them like a general rallying his troops.

“You are my Squadron,” he told them. “With you I will repair this Fighter.”

And activating his pulley, he slung all of the panels into place. He zipped over to the Fighter and found not one joint out of place.

“Aren't you someone?” he said to himself, surprised at his own bravery. “The whole system shall hear about this." Leaving his work, he docked his repair ship and designed a new V-RFID for it, A Squadron with One Pull (the words glitzy and animated with sparkles and spinning letters). “The system?” he said further. “The whole galaxy shall hear about this!” And his heart flamed up within him like a comet’s tail.

The repairman installed the V-RFID into his repair craft and set forth into the universe, for surely a fringe system dockyard was much too obscure a place for a man of his bravery. But before leaving he looked about his hangar for something to take with him. Finding nothing, he decided to strip a Fighter of its impact rod. Then, he hitched his craft onto a passing comet to escape without his boss or the Imperial pilots noticing him.

Having saved much of his ship’s energy reserves by latching onto the comet, he figured that he could travel three systems further before refueling. Reaching the edge of the comet’s orbit, he decided to pull it along with him. Since it was not dense, it did not slow him down at all.

The second system was a mostly-abandoned sector of fringe space, with a dull red giant at its center. At the edge of the system drifted an immense freighter class ship, with a large pirate vessel beside it.

The repairman flitted straight up toward the pirate ship and hailed them, saying “Good day, friend. Can you see the whole wide galaxy from here? I am on my way out there to prove myself. Do you want to join me?”

The pirates looked at the little repair craft and sneered. “Lolwut? Wut a nub! Where you gonna go in that little blip?”

"I would scan my V-RFID before saying something like that!" said the repairman. “And then you will find out why my craft is called the ASOP.”

The pirates accessed the V-RFID on their screen and saw A Squadron with One Pull (the words glitzy and animated with sparkles and spinning letters), and thinking that the repairman had destroyed a full squadron of fighters with one asteroid, they gained some respect for the repairman and his little craft. But wanting to put him to the test, the pirates fired up their engines and rammed a drifting piece of debris that had broken off the freighter, destroying it.

“Let’s see your little ship do that,” the pirates messaged the repairman, “if it is as awesome as you say.”

“Is that all?” said the repairman. “That is child's play for a ship like the ASOP.” He spun and loop-de-looped and performed all sorts of dizzying theatrics and then charged an even larger piece of debris: a drifting fuel cell. The repairman slung the impact rod at it, and then he slung himself beneath it, but to the pirates it looked like the ASOP had punched through the cell and caused it to explode. “I did you one better, didn’t I?” said the repairman.

The pirates could hardly believe their eyes. “Hax!” they exclaimed. They pulled a nearby meteor and slung it toward the red giant at the system’s center, so expertly that it took up orbit about the star, until after the sixth revolution it fell into the burning surface. “Now, let’s see you do that.”

“A good pull,” said the repairman, “but it fell into the star. I'll pull one that will break away after three or four turns.” Pulling the comet that he had drug along with him, he tossed it expertly at the red giant. The heat of the star melted away from of the ice so that on the third revolution it suddenly broke off back out into the universe. “How did you like that, friend?” asked the repairman.

“You can pull well enough,” replied the pirates, “but can you tow? If your ship is strong enough, then help us tow this freighter to our base in the center of the system.”

"Gladly," answered the repairman. “But my craft is custom-built and tows by pushing. You tow from the front, and I will lock onto the back and fire my engines as if they were the freighter’s itself.”

The pirates towed from the front of the freighter, but the repairman just latched onto the rear end of the immense ship and the pirates, who could not see him, had to tow the entire freighter plus the little repair craft.

The pirates, after towing the heavy freighter halfway across the system, began to run out of fuel. Hailing the repairman, they said, “Stop pushing. We’ve oomed, we’re gonna have to respawn and come back later.”

Zipping around the ship, the repairman responded, “What, such a big vessel and you already are running out of fuel? I’ve hardly used any myself.”

They moved on together until they came upon a pair of nearly planet-sized asteroids. The pirates pulled the asteroid and slung it into the red giant, then waited expectantly for the little repair craft to throw the other. “Lawl! Can’t your little ship throw this ‘roid?”

“It sure can,” answered the repairman. “Do you think that that would be a problem for a ship named ASOP? I was just looking for something that might be a challenge, instead. But the most I can see is that smallish star over there.”

And with that, he gave a tug on the pirate ship so that it looked like the red giant had suddenly been pulled toward them. So the pirates remained astonished at this mighty little repair craft.

The pirates said, "Dock for the sleep with us at our base."

The repairman agreed and followed them into port. Several other pirate ships were docked, each in their own hangar. “Come inside and we’ll drink space grog!” said the pirates, hoping that they could kill him and take his leet ship, but the repairman refused.

“I am sleepy, I will catch up with you after I wink,” he said.

The pirates directed him to his own hangar. But the repairman needed to refuel, so he left the hangar and went to another to siphon energy. Seeing no reason to go back to the first, the repairman latched his craft to the second hangar’s ceiling and went to sleep. The pirates, thinking that the little craft was still where they had put him, initialized the first hangar’s purge code, incinerating its contents. Then they sang space shanties and toasted grog to one another, thinking they had put an end to the grasshopper.

After they woke up and got over their hangovers, the pirates set off in their ships back to the freighter, having completely forgotten about the repairman. Suddenly, he flitted up to him in the ASOP, hailing them cheerfully and boldly. Fearing that he would destroy them all in one pull, the terrified pirates burned thrusters and left the system, never to return.

The repairman continued on his way, going wherever whim pulled him. After wandering a long time, he came to the central system of the Galactic Empire, and having exhausted his fuel cells, he docked his ship at commercial hub. While he was refueling, everyone about the hub saw his V-RFID, A Squadron with One Pull (the words glitzy and animated with sparkles and spinning letters).

“Oh,” they said, “what is this great fighter doing here in the midst of peace? He must be a famous prized mercenary.”

They sent word to the Empress, thinking that in the Empire's efforts to rule the galaxy they should in any case have this incredible hero on their side. The Empress was pleased with this advice, and she sent one of her Imperial Cruisers to draft the repairman into her fleet.

The Cruiser pulled up into the commercial hub, dwarfing the little repair craft, and then hailed the repairman with the Empress’s offer.

“That is precisely why I came here,” answered the repairman. “I am ready to enter the into the service of the Empire.” Thus he became a valuable asset in the Imperial Army.

However, the flyboys in the Imperial Fleet did not like the little repair craft or its mercenary pilot, and wished that he was light years away. “His allegiance is only to money,” they said amongst themselves, “and so he has no honor. What if he turns on us because our enemies offer him a greater bounty? Whole squadrons will be destroyed with each pull! A fleet like ours can’t stand up to that.”

So they made a pact with one another, and all together they reported to the Empress and asked to be released. “We were not born,” they said, “to fly with mercenaries who destroy squadrons with one pull.”

The Empress was angry that she was going to lose all her devoted fighters because of one man, and she became resentful of the repairman. She wanted to get rid of him, but she did not dare insult him by commanding him to leave, because she was afraid that he would destroy her fleet and then set himself on the imperial throne.

So she schemed and schemed, and finally hit upon a plan. She sent an imperial missive to the repairman, in which she honored him with a special opportunity. Out on a fringe sector there were two great pirate dreadnoughts who were a thorn in the Empire’s side, raiding settlements and plundering freighters. Not even the Imperial Fleet had been able to engage these massive battlecruisers. If he could destroy them, then the Empress would give herself to him in marriage and he would rule along with her. Furthermore, ten full Imperial Squadrons would go with him for support.

“Now I have gained the recognition I deserve,” thought the repairman. “Not just every man gains the attention of the Galactic Empress and is offered her hand in marriage.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I shall destroy these two dreadnoughts, but I do not need the ten squadrons of fighters. Anyone who can take a squadron in one pull has no cause to be afraid of two.”

And so the repairman set out in his little craft, and the Imperial Squadrons followed him. At the edge of the sector, he hailed them. “You all maintain position here. I shall take care of the pirates myself.”

Entering the asteroid field in which the pirates were known to hide, he zipped about with ease, looking hither and thither. Soon he came upon the two dreadnoughts, orbiting just inside the belt. The repairman latched his crafted to an asteroid, and then gathered many smaller rocks about him. Then he began pulling the stones at one of the dreadnoughts.

For a long time the pirates did not notice the debris hitting their hull. Then an instrument panel was struck. Assessing the damage, the pirates hailed their companions. “Why ru trolling us? You broke an array!”

“You must have a broken array,” replied the other pirates. “We’re not hitting you.”

Then the repairman pulled a meteor at the second dreadnought.

“What is this I don’t even…” they exclaimed. “Why ru pull rocks at us?”

“Lawl, nubs, we aren’t pulling nothing,” the other pirates responded.

Further angry words followed between the two groups of pirates, but finally they made peace with one another, for they had long worked together to dominate this sector. They sent out teams to repair the damage to their respective ships. Then the repairman continued his fun. Choosing a rather large meteor, he pulled it directly at the main bridge of the first dreadnought. The rock struck true, denting the blast hull and causing the pirate captain to believe himself lost.

“That’s it!” shouted the pirate captain, then commanded his men to open fire on the other dreadnought. The other ship responded in kind. An epic space battle ensued, with the two pirate ships pulling asteroids from the belt at one another, until finally they both managed to rupture the other’s power containments, and the dreadnoughts were destroyed in massive explosions only seconds apart, killing all of the pirates.

Then the repairman detached his little craft from the asteroid. “I’m rather lucky that they did not pull the asteroid to which I was latched,” he said, “or I would have had to flip away in time and onto another. But the ASOP could’ve handled that.”

Then he went back to the waiting Imperial Squadrons and hailed them. “It is done, my friends. I destroyed them both, but it was quite the battle. In their desperation to destroy me, they pulled nearly the whole asteroid belt to defend themselves! But little good it did them, against me and my ASOP that can handle a squadron with one pull.”

“Is your ship not even damaged?” asked the fighters.

"Everything is all right," answered the repairman. "They did not so much as scratch the paint."

Finding this too much to be believed, the Imperial Squadrons went into the sector and inspected the asteroid belt where the dreadnoughts were known to be. Rings of blackened debris, all that remained of the two pirate vessels, spun in the void.

The repairman returned to the central system in order to receive his promised reward. Regretting her offer, the Empress once again began to scheme for a way to get rid of him. “It is a tradition in Imperial weddings,” she said, “for the guests to dine on roasted space worm. So we cannot be married unless you capture a worm for our wedding dinner.”

“I am even less afraid of a space worm than I was of two dreadnoughts. A squadron with one pull, that is my thing.”

Furling up a massive solar sail, the repairman set off in his little craft to where the space worms are known to burrow. Once again he told the Imperial Fighters accompanying him to wait at the edge of the sector. It did not take him very long to find a space worm: one soon appeared, attempting to swallow the ASOP in one gulp!

The repairman spun the solar sail into a cylinder, and flitted about at the open end. “Come on now,” he said. “Time to thread the needle!” The space worm lunged, chasing him into the cylindrical tube of nano-reinforced fabric. Exiting out the other side, the repairman drew the sheath taut and tied up both ends, the space worm wrapped up inside.

“The early pull gets the worm,” remarked the repairman, and he pulled the captured space worm back to the Empress.

Having no other way to put off the repairman, the Empress was forced to go through with the wedding. At the altar, had she known that it was not some powerful mercenary but a dockyard worker who had once stolen an impact rod from one of her Imperial Fighters, she would have been even more chagrined. The wedding was thus held with great ceremony but little joy, and a repairman became a Galactic Emperor.

Soon after, one night the Empress overhead the repairman speaking in his sleep, “I need to hurry, hurry, if I am to re-panel a full squadron of Imperial Fighters!” From this she determined where the repairman had come from. The next morning she arranged for her Imperial Guard to get rid of him, because he was nothing more than a dock worker.

“I will leave our chamber door unlocked, and you will stand outside. After my husband falls asleep, come inside, bind him, and we’ll put him on a ship set adrift to the Black.”

The Guard Captain agreed. However, his lieutenant, who had a liking for the new Emperor, stole away and told the repairman everything.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, eh?” said the repairman. “I can fix them!” That night he behaved as any other night, bedding down with his wife. When she thought that he had fallen asleep she got up and opened the door. Then the repairman, who had only been pretending to sleep, spoke out as if he was talking in his sleep. “I need to hurry, hurry, if I am to re-panel a full squadron of Imperial Fighters! Because next I will re-fit my Imperial chambers to hold the ASOP, so I won’t even have to leave my pajamas to be battle-ready! I handled a squadron with one pull, destroyed two dreadnoughts, and captured a space worm, and I am supposed to be afraid of a few Imperial Guard standing just outside the bedroom!”

When those standing outside heard these words, they became so terrified that they ran breakneck down the hallway and out of the Imperial Palace, not stopping until they reached the hangar and burned thrusters to another sector. None dared return to the central system ever again.

And so a dockyard repairman was Emperor, and so he remained as long as he lived.

Perfect Day

Green-mottled sunlight warms my cheek and paints her skin in eddying umbras. I lay, one hand in hers and the other on my book, its various chapters heralded by chimes of ice ringing in my lemonade and tracked by the whispers of the trees, whose murmurings rise and fall like states of consciousness, here buzzing blithely, there lulled into lovely languor, until, humming, I am pulled to my feet. And we dance.

Hansel and Gretel v. Agatha Hexe

This was a fractured attempt at a fractured fairy tale. Maybe I should have gone with my other idea, "the Little Siren" and her quest for stealing a human soul. Too late now! Court is in session.

“All stand. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Honorable Judge Richter presiding. God save the King and this honorable court.” With the bailiff’s announcement, the stern-faced judge entered the courtroom and strode quickly to his seat on the raised dais. After settling into his chair he peered at the documents on the wooden lectern before him, lifting up the top sheet to glance at some of the details on the next beneath, then squinted out at the persons in the court.

The plaintiffs were too young adults, a muscular boy who might be thought a man if not for the sparse and irregular nature of his short beard (if one could call it that), and a fetching young girl just recently blossomed into womanhood. Their similar faces, matching flaxen hair, and piercing blue eyes hinted at their relation. Next to them sat their barrister, a bald man with a sharp hooked nose. His name was Klager, the judge knew.

Judge Richter glanced at the defense attorney, a dark-haired man with angular edges to his jaw and an intense nature to his stare. Richter knew him also; he was a man by the name of Gerech. He represented the Crown.

The judge sighed in anticipation of the oncoming tedium of court business, and intoned, “Now hearing the matter in the case Hansel and Gretel Holzfaller v. Agatha Hexe. I have reviewed the petition filed by the plaintiff and wish to dispense with opening remarks. Call your first witness.”

“The plaintiff would like to call Hans Holzfaller, the father of Hansel and Gretel, to the stand.”

A stout man with a rich reddish-blond beard timidly made his way to the witness stand. After swearing to testify truly, he stared meekly at the ground while slowly wringing his hands. He would glance up sharply when asked a question, then shift his gaze back at his feet to quietly give his answer.

“Your name for the court, please,” began the attorney.

“Hans Holzfaller.”

“And what do you do as an occupation, Mr. Holzfaller?”

“Well, I’m a woodcutter.”

“Do you do well as a woodcutter, Mr. Holzfaller?”

“Not so well, no, sir. I cut wood as much as I can but it’s hard to sell enough to pay for bread enough to feed the family. Many nights we just go hungry.”

The defense attorney shot up from his seat. “Objection, Your Honor! What does this line of questioning have to do with the matter between Madame Hexe and the plaintiffs?”

Mr. Klager raised his hands defensively. “I am merely expositing for the court the situation that brought my clients into the Deep Woods, of which the issue of hunger plays a primary role.”

“Fine, Mr. Klager,” Judge Richter said, rolling his eyes, “but please get on with it more quickly.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Holzfaller, how many are in your family?”

“I have two children by my first wife. First, little Hansel, my boy, and then Gretel, my darling, named after her mother Margaret. Margie died giving birth to Gretel. A few years ago I married my wife Frieda.”

“And the money that you make from the sale of firewood is not sufficient for feeding the four members of your family?”

“No, sir. I can barely cut enough to feed two as ‘tis.”

“How does your wife, Frieda, feel about that?”

“She don’t like it none too good. She’s always tellin’ me that I need to put the kids to work to help with the cuttin’.”

“Your wife advocates child labor, Mr. Holzfaller?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained,” nodded Judge Richter.

“I’ll rephrase the question, Your Honor. How do you feel about her suggestions, Mr. Holzfaller?”

“It’s too dangerous, I say. Even if not for the evils in the woods, they might injure themselves cuttin’ the wood. ‘Sides, I think kids should have a chance to be kids.”

“And your wife accepts that?”

Hans wrung his hands and looked off to the side. “Well, she did, but then we’s doin’ real bad for several weeks, an’ so she insisted we take them out into the woods to help with the cuttin’.”

“And did you?”

“Yup, twice. Second time’s the one where they’s got lost.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holzfaller. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Gerech stood up for his cross examination.

“Mr. Holzfaller, your son Hansel is now how many years of age?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“Sixteen. Many young men have an apprenticeship by that age. At what point do you believe he might be old enough to take on duties in your work?”

“Well, when he’s a bit older.”

“How do your neighbors feel about your son?”

“I don’t have many neighbors. We live way out on the edge of Finn Wood.”

“But surely there’s others who come in contact with your family. Have they ever complained to you about Hansel?”

“Yeah, a couple.”

“What did they complain to you about?”

“Oh, any time somethin’ goes wrong ‘round there they blame it on poor Hansel. Somebody’s window done broke? Hansel did it, they say. Somebody’s sled gone missing? Hansel stole it, they say. I don’t understand it.”

“You don’t think your son could do any of those things?”

“Well, no sir. My Hansel is a good boy. You should see how sweet he is to his little sister. He looks out for her.”

“One more question, Mr. Holzfaller. In your view, is your son violent?”

“Why, no,” exclaimed the woodcutter, looking up with wide eyes. “Hansel wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Thank you for keeping it short, Mr. Gerech,” said Judge Richter. “Do you have a counter-witness?”

“Yes, Your Honor. The Crown calls Frieda Holzfaller to the stand.”

An middle-aged woman with black hair and pearl skin approached the witness stand. After taking her oath, she turned her wide face, marked well with lines from sun and age, toward Gerech, waiting expectantly for the first question.

“Mrs. Holzfaller, could you please share with the Court the situation that led to Hansel and Gretel becoming lost in the woods?”

Frieda took a deep breath and her gaze fell down into her lap. She set her jaw and then looked back up sternly. “Hans spoils the children. He always has, and I’ve always told him so. Did the best I could to establish some order in their lives, but I get no support. The two of them run amok in the woods, getting into all sorts of trouble, but Hans never lays a hand on them. Meanwhile, we’re all starving. It’s only reasonable, says I, that children nearly grown as they help out with the business. My husband doesn’t seem to see how old they are; they still sleep in the same bed they have since I married Hans, for heaven’s sake! But at sixteen, Hansel’s a terrible strong lad, he could chop as much or more than his father even without the experience my husband has at woodcutting.

“Not that Hansel ever would. I know that for certain because the first time we took them out in the woods he never lifted a finger. He spent the whole morning arguing with us. Telling us the work would be too taxing on Gretel. Not that he offered to help carry any of the tools. Spent the whole trip tossing rocks at the trees to scare squirrels and birds.

“When I asked him to stop, he just smiled at me. Said he was looking for his little white bird.”

“His little white bird?” asked Gerech. “Does he own a pet bird?”

“He used to. A little songbird my husband bought for Gretel and him. Then one day it turned up missing. We found some blood spatters and white feathers in the woods. Reckoned that it got loose and the animals got it. I wasn’t sure at the time, but I got the distinct impression that at the mention of the bird he was threatening me.”

“That you would end up like the bird?”

“Exactly. It freaked me out a little. Hansel can be intimidating. So I left him alone. When we got out to where Hans would be working for the day, Hansel just sat down in a clearing with his sister and refused to work. He even took some of the first logs we cut to make a fire for the two of them while we kept working. By the end of the day the two of them had fallen asleep. I’d had enough of it. Figured they deserved a night out in the woods, so I refused to let Hans wake them when it was time to go. Just left them there in the clearing. They showed up the next morning, angry as hornets. We got into an argument. Hansel slapped me then left. He kicked open the gate and broke the latch on his way out.

“After that, we did all right for a few weeks. Even scraped enough wood together to trade the smith for a new gate lock and a matching one for the door. Felt more secure at night with those. But we still didn’t have enough money for food. So one day I convinced Hans to try to get the kids to come out and help us again.

“Hansel kept hanging back the whole way, casually tossing pieces of bread along the path. We had argued that morning about needing him to work to get more food. So wasting food was his way of defying the importance of the bread. Even though that was the only meal the damned fool and his sister would be getting that day. When I confronted him about it, he leered at me and said he was just looking for his little white cat.”

“Like he had said with the bird earlier?” inquired Gerech again.

“Yes. A while after the bird, my husband gave the children a little white kitten born to the neighbor’s rat-catcher. In a few weeks it also turned up missing. We found its remains in the woods. Hans said it had been torn apart by animals, but that never sat well with me. I think Hansel and Gretel tortured it.”

“That’s a heavy accusation, Mrs. Holzfaller. What makes you say that?” interrupted the judge.

“Animals eat the things they kill,” replied Frieda. “And the way he leered at me when he talked about looking for it. It seemed like he was threatening to have me end up like the cat. I didn’t like it one bit so I spent the rest of the hike up front with my husband. Like the first time, Hansel and Gretel simply stole from the day’s work to build a fire in a clearing while we chopped wood. They fell asleep and we left them out in the woods again as a lesson to them. When they didn’t show up the next morning, Hans was worried to death. He went out looking for them, but never found them.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Holzfaller, for your testimony. No further questions, Your Honor.” Gerech returned to his seat.

Hansel and Gretel’s lawyer rose for the cross-examination. “Mrs. Holzfaller,” he began, “did you suggest to your husband the evenings previous to the two trips out in the woods with my clients that he force them to join you in the woods so that you and your husband would not starve?”

“Yes. I figured that with their help we could chop enough wood to feed all of us.”

“I see. And do you have any proof other than your own suspicions that my clients could in any way be responsible for the death of their pets?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Thank you, Mrs. Holzfaller. Our next witness is Hansel Holzfaller.”

Hansel looked relaxed in the witness stand. A slight smile played about the corner of his lips as he looked at the faces in the courtroom, the sort of grin one makes when enjoying a private joke whilst not wanting to tip off the straight man.

“Hansel, I’d like to give you an opportunity to explain to the court how you ended up in Agatha Hexe’s cottage.”

“Well, it’s all rather simple, really. After Frieda forced us to march out into the woods with Father, my sister was crying something terrible. Like me, she had heard Frieda tell Father the night before that it would be better for us to leave so they could have enough food for themselves. So she was afraid we’d be abandoned again. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, and built her a little fire against the cold.

“I guess we fell asleep, because when we awoke it was dark. Father and Frieda were no where to be found. I started to lead Gretel back home, but I must have gotten turned around in the dark and the next thing I knew we were wandering around lost.

“About mid-morning the next day the woods still weren’t looking familiar, and we were very hungry. We hadn’t eaten anything the day before.

“Then all of a sudden, we started smelling gingerbread. It smelled so good it made our stomachs growl loudly. We laughed and started following the smell to see where it came from. And we found this creepy old cottage there in the woods. We didn’t know who owned the cottage but we were so hungry we decided to see if they’d give us some food. We were so tired and hungry, and the smell of gingerbread so great, that it was almost as if the wood of the cottage were gingerbread. I have to admit, I gnawed on it a bit just in case, and Gretel licked a window to see if it was made of sugar.” He smiled sheepishly as some titters rippled across the courtroom, then continued his story.

“About then we noticed a plate of cakes and cookies on the porch. We were so hungry we just dug right in. We probably shouldn’t have, but after having not eaten and trudging through the woods all day, our stomachs were doing the thinking for us.

“Then the old witch came out on the porch. She invited us in for tea and more cakes. She was a scary looking lady and Gretel didn’t want to go, but I thought it’d be grand to get some more free food. Didn’t realize the old hag didn’t just look like a witch but was one. When she got us inside around the table, she cast some sort of spell and I blacked out. When I woke up she had me locked in a cage. Kept me imprisoned there while she made Gretel cook more food. Said she was fattening me up to eat me, the old hag, but whenever she asked to feel my arm to see if I was getting good marbling, I’d just give her the finger.” He grinned, jutting his chin out defiantly.

“Just when I’d about given up hope of ever getting out of there alive, Gretel burst into the room yelling that she’d trapped the witch in her oven. She broke me out of the cage. We grabbed the witch’s jewelry box on the way out, figured it payback for attempting to eat us. And that way we could feed Father and Frieda, too. And then we just ran like the dickens to get out of there.

“But a woodsman stopped us not far into the forest. Said he’d gotten a message from the witch that she had been robbed, and forced us to return to the cabin with him. When he found her dead in the oven, he marched us to the local magistrate. But Gretel and I hadn’t done anything wrong, so we filed suit against the magistrate to get back the jewels he confiscated. The old woman owes us damages after all the suffering she put us through, making Gretel slave in that kitchen for weeks and scaring me near to death with threats of eating me while she kept me in that cage.

“That witch was gonna kill and eat us both. She should at least pay for us to eat now that she’s dead.”

Krager nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Hansel. I believe it’s clear to the court that you and your sister defended yourself as you must, and deserve not only recompense for the physical and emotional damage you suffered under Agatha Hexe, but also the commendation of this kingdom for ridding Finn Wood of a dangerous witch. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Gerech stood and cleared his throat. For a moment he stood staring darkly at Hansel. Then he asked the first question of his cross-examination.

“Hansel, how tall are you?”

“Six feet and a bit, sir,” replied Hansel, lifting his chin proudly.

“And how much do you weigh?”

“Almost thirteen stone.”

“I see. Then can you explain to me how Agatha Hexe, a woman of over three score years and a height of less than five feet, who suffered a terrible limp that forced her to walk with a cane, forced and locked you into a cage?”

“She was a witch, sir. She used a spell to knock me out. I don’t know how she moved me.” He shrugged. “Maybe she levitated me or something.”

“But you never saw her cast any spells?”

“Didn’t need to. Felt the effects well enough when I woke up in the cage. And the house was full of all sorts of evil objects and books. The whole thing should be burned down.”

Gerech pounced on the opportunity Hansel had presented him. “That being the case, after your sister freed you, why did the two of you poke about looking for jewels? If it had been me who had just spent a week locked in a witch’s cottage, I think I would have run as fast as my legs can carry me.”

Hansel glowered at the attorney for a brief second, then looked at the ceiling. “I guess so would I, but when you’re right there in the situation sometimes you do something stupid. I don’t know, but at the time, the main thing on my mind was that I couldn’t show back up at Father’s house without something to help out with feeding the family, and that the witch ought to pay for holding us.”

“You weren’t concerned that she would get out of the oven and capture you again? A powerful witch who can knock you out and levitate you across the room?”

“I, uh… I knew she was dead.”

“How’d you know that?”

“She screamed something awful when Gretel locked her in the oven, but then she stopped. What else should I think? We grabbed the jewels and got out of there.”

“How long did she scream?”

“I don’t know. A while.”

“Was she still screaming when you picked up the jewelry box?”

“Yes. A little.”

“So you felt it was safe enough to go looking for jewels, while Agatha, trapped in a heated oven, screamed in agony from pain as she died?”

“The witch got what was coming to her,” Hansel growled. “She would’ve cooked Gretel the same way. The way I see it, she still owes us.”

Gerech nodded. “No further questions, Your Honor. As our counter-witness, I would like to call to the stand the woodsman that Hansel mentioned, Mr. Martin Dexmachten.”

Martin Dexmachten turned out to be a swarthy man in leather clothing. He was obviously a man of the outdoors.

“Martin Dexmachten,” Gerech began, “you are a recipient of the King’s Medallion, are you not?”

“I am, sir.”

“Could you please tell the court briefly how you came to receive that honor, as a reference to your character?”

“I try to look out for people in Finn Wood. A couple of years ago this man tried to rape a little girl. He had spotted her walking in the woods wearing her bright red cloak. He befriended her on the trail and found out she was going to her grandmother’s cottage. Then he ran on ahead in order to accost the grandmother and bind her up in her closet. Then he dressed up in the old woman’s clothes, the pervert. I overheard the girl’s screams when he tried to assault her in the cabin and busted in to defend her. He came at me with a knife and I ended up killing him with my hatchet. After setting the grandmother free, I reported the incident to the authorities. Turns out this wasn’t his first time at raping little girls, and he killed them afterwards. I was proud to have stopped a wolf of a man like that. I was nominated for a Medallion and later honored by the King.”

“So do you still see yourself as a protector for those in the woods?”

“Well, I do what I can for those in the places I wander. I look in on people and make sure they’re doing all right.”

“Had it been your habit to look in on Agatha Hexe?”

“I’ve known Mrs. Hexe for several years now. She’s a wonderful lady. She always invites me in for tea and hot scones. She makes ‘em fresh, and they’re real good after a morning’s hike out to her remote place. I took to bringing her any mail she had from town, and she started giving me bags of goodies to bring by the orphanage or any kids in Finn Wood. She loved children and the delight they have in sweets. She even left fresh cookies on the porch in case children ever came by. I always joked with her that way out in the woods nobody but me and the birds ever got to enjoy those cookies, but then she’d get a far-off look in her eyes and would talk about how her grandchildren had loved eating cookies on the porch. I don’t know for sure, but the way she talked about them I don’t think they’re living anymore, or maybe they left the country. I know she doesn’t have any family in the region.”

“Tell me how you ran into Hansel and Gretel Holzfaller outside of her cottage.”

“Well, I had given Mrs. Hexe one of my pigeons in case she ever needed to get a message to me in a hurry. So a couple days before the incident in question, I stopped by my own little cabin and found that she had sent a note. It read, ‘Help! Come quickly my house was invaded by robbers but I captured one of them.’ Here, I brought it for the court.” He reached into his vest and produced a small strip of paper. He handed it to Judge Richter, who read it, and then nodded for the woodsman to continue.

“So I grabbed my pack together as soon as possible and headed out to her cottage to help. It takes a day and a half to make it all the way out to her place. Just as I was getting there, I bumped into those two kids. They were carrying some things I knew belonged to Mrs. Hexe, so I stopped them. They claimed they had been attacked by her and she had plans to eat them. I knew that had to be nonsense so I made them go back with me to see if she was all right.” He paused.

Gerech gently pressed him, “Was she all right?”

Martin shook his head. “No. When we got inside, I smelled burned flesh. I followed the stench into the kitchen where I found her charred body in the oven. She had been roasted alive. The kids tried to make a break for it but I grabbed them and marched them back to the magistrate.”

“So you didn’t think that Agatha Hexe had attempted to fatten up and eat Hansel and Gretel?”

The woodsman stared incredulously at Gerech before slowly replying. “No, I think Hansel and Gretel Holzfaller killed Mrs. Hexe in order to rob her.”

Gerech smiled at his opponent on the other side of the courtroom. “Your witness, Mr. Klager.”

“Mr. Dexmachten, we pay respect to the honor due you as a recipient of the Medallion, but aside from that recognition, are you an official representative of the Crown in any form?”

“No, sir. I’m just a simple woodsman.”

“How long ago was it that you received the Medallion?”

“Six years ago, sir.”

“People mention it much when they see you?”

The woodsman shook his head. “Well, no sir, I think most people have forgotten about it by now.”

“Ah. Now, do you have any way of proving that Agatha Hexe wrote the note on your carrier pigeon?”

“Well it’s in her handwriting and has her name on the bottom.”

“But how do we know that you didn’t just fabricate the note to make it look like she wrote it?”

“Because I didn’t. I don’t see why I would have any reason to do that.”

“But for all we know, you might have. We have to take your word on the matter. It’s your word against my clients’. The word of a forgotten hero whose fifteen minutes of fame are long passed versus the word of two frightened children with no reason to lie. Speaking of which, did you actually see or hear any of the interaction between my clients and Agatha Hexe?”

“No, I only ran into them as they were running from the cottage.”

“So you don’t know of anything that happened in the cottage?”

Martin Dexmachten frowned at the attorney. “I know that Mrs. Hexe is dead in her own oven, and that she died slowly,” he said.

Klager coughed. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

“You are dismissed, Mr. Dexmachten,” announced Judge Richter. “Mr. Klager, do you have many more witnesses?”

“Just one, Your Honor. I would like to call Gretel Holzfaller to the stand.” After Gretel took her oath, she looked timidly up at her lawyer. Mr. Klager smiled reassuringly. “Gretel, I know it’s hard, but if you could please tell the court about your experience with Agatha Hexe, it would do much to settle this matter.”

Gretel nodded, her thin hair bouncing about her shoulders and back. She took a big breath, which thrust out her newly burgeoning chest. The corners of her eyes glistened with tears as she parted her rosy lips.

“J-just as Hansel said, we were so hungry we just began eating the cakes on the porch. Then the old lady comes out, I was scared to death she looked so mean. But she invited us in for more food and Hansel just followed her. Then when we were eating she knocked us out with her spell. When I woke up she had Hansel in the cage and me in the kitchen. I was so scared!” Tears began flowing out of her eyes. “She said she was going to eat my brother, but I had to fatten him up first. So she made me bake all sorts of scones and cookies to feed him. The way she looked at me, I figured she’d cook me, too, after she’d eaten him.” She sniffled. “So the next day the wood in the oven won’t catch fire. I tell her about it and she starts cackling and starts talking about a ‘pilot light.’ Says I should poke my head into the oven with a match to kindle the ‘pilot light.’ I knew she was just tricking me into getting far enough into the oven that she could cook me, so I told her I couldn’t fit. So she says, ‘Nonsense! I can fit just fine and so can you!’ and I ask her to prove it. ‘I’ll light it myself,’ she says, taking a match and leaning into the oven.” Gretel began bawling. Mr. Klager pulled out his kerchief and handed it her. She dabbed her eyes and then blew her nose before blubbering, “I didn’t know what else to do! She was gonna eat Hansel and me! I was in fear for my life and just wanted to make her stop! So I pushed her in and then latched the oven door shut. I figured she’d just be trapped while me and Hansel escaped, but apparently her match lit the oven because she started screaming. I just ran out to free Hansel. I just had to get him out of there.”

She broke down crying again, burying her face into her hands. Her lawyer nodded to the judge that he had finished. The Crown’s attorney indicated that he had no questions, and so Judge Richter dismissed Gretel from the witness stand. She walked back to her plaintiff’s seat, still sniffling and dabbing her eyes with Mr. Klager’s kerchief.

“Very well,” began Judge Richter, “Since we’ve heard from all the parties involved, I will—”

“Just one moment, Your Honor,” interjected Gerech. “I have a counter-witness.”

“A counter-witness, Mr. Gerech?” asked the judge, blinking. The Holzfallers’ lawyer also looked completely surprised.

“Yes, Your Honor. Up until now we have only heard the version of the events that took place inside Agatha Hexe’s cottage from the mouths of the plaintiffs. Agatha Hexe is dead and cannot defend herself. But there was one other in the cottage: her pet cat.”

“I warn you, Mr. Gerech,” said Judge Richter sternly, “do not make a mockery of these proceedings.”

“I beg the leniency of the court, Your Honor,” Gerech replied with a bow. “Please allow me to call to the witness stand Agatha Hexe’s familiar, Boots.”

A black cat with white paws bounded down the aisle of the courtroom and hopped up onto the wooden banister that formed a box about the witness’s chair, the silver bell hanging from his neck tinkling a bit from the leap. He turned and sat, his yellow eyes staring out into the courtroom.

Mr. Klager stood up and shouted, “Objection, Your Honor! This cat cannot give a testimony!”

“Why?” hissed Boots. “Because you think I cannot speak, or because what I have to say will be damaging to your clients?”

The barrister turned as white as a sheet and then slumped back into his chair. Judge Richter stared at the cat in disbelief. After a few moments, his eyes never leaving Boots, he motioned with his right hand for Gerech to proceed.

Gerech cleared his throat. “Boots, could you please relate to the court your version of the events that took place in the cottage between the Holzfallers and Mrs. Hexe?”

The black cat’s tail twitched back and forth while he spoke. “I was actually the first to see the two of them. Hansel and Gretel Holzfaller, I mean. I was pleasantly sunning myself in the window when they interrupted my nap by stomping all over the porch.

“They were eating the snacks Agatha leaves out for children. I sniffed haughtily, thinking that her silliness had finally paid off in attracting rapscallions onto the porch. I was just about to relocate myself to a quieter place to continue my nap when I noticed the girl staring into Agatha’s window. ‘Hey, Hansel,’ she cried, ‘Look in here. There’s all sorts of jewels and expensive-looking things.’ The boy looked at her and said, ‘Do you want a pearl necklace, my dear? Just say the word and I’ll get one for you.’ The girl’s eyes got all wide and she cried, ‘But what about whoever lives here?’ He just shrugged in response and said, ‘They won’t be living here if they’re dead.’

“My old lady’s a smart one and, though she may be frail and white of hair, her hearing’s nearly as good as mine. She had heard everything they had said out there on the porch, and so she decided to move things into a more favorable position.

“She came out onto the front porch and pretended to be all friendly to the ruffians, inviting them in for some hot tea and scones. The girl and the boy sat down at the table, exchanging secret smiles between the two of them whenever she wasn’t looking. They didn’t think to hide them from me.

“I followed Agatha into the kitchen, curious as to what she was up to. The clever old witch spiked the tea! She brought out a tray laden with all sorts of baked goods, sugar and honey for the tea, and her finest teaset. Nothing spared for her friendly image; the boy and the girl should have gotten suspicious at this, but they probably figured everything was just going their way. They broke right into the food and began downing great gulps of tea. Agatha was quick to refill their cups. Sure enough, after a minute or two they started looking about all bleary-eyed, and a few moments later they both collapsed onto the floor.

“I advised the old lady that she toss the two of them out on their ears, but she disagreed. She thought they’d surely break in and exact revenge when they woke. She insisted on holding them until our friend the woodsman arrived to take them away.

“It took her nearly half an hour to drag that boy across the room into her bird kennel. Before locking him in tight, then took out the only current resident—well, the only avian one, anyway. I was hoping she was finally gonna let me play with that pigeon, but she quickly wrote a note, rolled it up, and tied it to the bird’s leg. After tossing it out the window, she turned her attention to the girl.

“Since the bird kennel wasn’t big enough to hold the both of them, she decided she’d just have to keep the girl busy with cooking in the kitchen. Said the girl could make up for the goodies they’d stolen on the porch by cooking some more. She also had her cook up the meals for herself and the boy while we waited for Martin to show up.

“It all seemed like a good plan until the pilot light went out in the oven. I was sitting up on the windowsill when it all happened. I saw the girl push my old lady into the oven and lock the door. My old lady yelled and banged on the door begging for help. The girl just shouted some obscenities and kicked the oven door in response, then ran out of the room.

“I tried to unlock the door but these paws aren’t any good for that sort of thing. I couldn’t do anything but listen to Agatha scream in pain as the oven grew hotter and hotter. Then I heard the two ruffians coming back so I hopped down off the oven and hid under the table.

“The boy was very pleased with the situation. He laughed and started taunting Agatha from the other side of the door. The girl joined in. Then they both grew quiet for a moment and the table shifted as someone put their weight against it. I peeked my head out and peered up at them and they were kissing. Passionately. My old lady screaming in the oven all the while.

“Then the girl grabbed the boy’s hand and said, ‘Come on, let’s get those jewels out of the bedroom.’ He said, ‘I’ll be happy to take you to the bedroom, sister,’ said it just like that, and then she pulled him out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t see anything after that. If the ruffians would burn my old lady alive like that, then there’s no telling what they’d do to a cat. I decided to take off while I had the chance. I hopped out the window and hid up in a tree the rest of the day.”

Gerech nodded. “Thank you, Boots. Your testimony is most enlightening.” He crossed his arms in satisfaction. “Your witness, Mr. Klager.”

“No, not my witness! Not anyone’s witness! This animal is an unnatural aberration and unable to take an honest oath before God in this court. His testimony should be struck from the record and the cat itself should be drowned!”

Boots hissed at the rat-faced lawyer and quickly jumped off the stand and made a beeline for the door. The bailiff lunged after the black streak but failed to stop him.

Meanwhile, Gerech shot up out of his seat. “What? Boots’s testimony provides the only other perspective of what went on in that cabin!”

Judge Richter looked down sternly upon Gerech. “Be that as it may, the cat’s testimony is inadmissible as evidence, being a familiar to a witch, and so at the end of the day his ability to speak merely corroborates the plaintiff’s case that Agatha Hexe was a witch. Therefore, this Court awards the plaintiffs damages in the amount of half of the jewels they had taken from the late Agatha Hexe’s cottage, the rest of the witch’s possessions to go to the Crown.”

And with a bang of the judge’s gavel, Hansel and Gretel’s version of the story was declared the legal record. Many, many years later another pair of siblings were rummaging through old court records when they happened upon the case file for Hansel and Gretel v. Agatha Hexe. “Oy, Wilhelm,” said the one. “Here’s a case with a witch in the woods who tempted some children into her cottage with sweets so she could eat them. And it’s got a happy ending!”

“Good find, Jakob,” replied the other. “We’ll have to include that one.”