by Barbara Becc
New Tales From Old Yarn
An Anthology
Fairy tales and myths, rewritten and re-imagined
by writers on tumblr
New Tales From Old Yarn
Copyright © 2017 by the participating authors.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
newtalesoldyarn.wordpress.com
Cover design by Sébastien Bélanger
sebastienbelanger.ca
First Edition: July 2017
CONTENTS
Introduction....................................................................................2
A Fable Of Truth............................................................................3
Any Other Name.............................................................................9
Beautiful Anomalies....................................................................36
Border Songs................................................................................58
Cinder and Blood.........................................................................81
Clockpunk and the Vitalizer....................................................112
Collector's Edition.....................................................................143
Rapunzel.....................................................................................160
The Substance of a Shadow.....................................................178
The Way Down...........................................................................183
Three Golden Arrows...............................................................197
About the Authors....................................................................220
Introduction
An Anthology by writers on tumblr
A beautiful experiment. As everything in life, it took much longer than we anticipated.
Some people may not know it but there is an active and inspiring writer community on tumblr. We love writing, we share stories and we help each other to become better writers. One of our fellow "writelrs", Lorna Davidson, brought up the idea of combining our abilities and doing what we love – write. It took a long time and the project had to change hands but here we are now. A collection of fairytales and myths, re-imagined by some of the talented writers on tumblr.
We hope you’ll like what you’ll find in here.
A Fable Of Truth
Mari-Anne Copeland
Since I was a child, I have always loved fantasy and fairy stories the best, especially animal stories and tales of transformation. This poem is based on one of my favourite stories growing up, Beauty and the Beast. Of the many versions I have encountered of the story, it never ceases to be intriguing, and can be examined through the lense of so many genres.
It is with this thought that I wanted to explore the nature of genre and of different perspectives, and with it I've tried to pay homage to my favourite childhood Stories With A Moral by making one of my own.
I have not written a poem since 2006, but I always enjoy a challenge.
~~~
Thirty years ago, when the townsfolk first told
Of the girl who married the prince,
They altered the ending and embellished the start
And they have in all the years since.
.
These days there are few who were witness that day
To confirm or deny any fact,
And so stories were told in the markets and inns
To more than make up for the lack.
.
Some said that the match was politically wise,
That the two of them married by force,
Others claim that her family sold her for gold
But she fell for his charms in due course.
.
The favourite theory that folk like to tell
Is the one of love at first sight,
How her kiss saved him as he died in her arms
And they married the very same night.
.
However the circumstance of it may change,
One thing that all gossipers know:
That no one has seen hide nor hair of them since,
Locked away the last decade or so.
.
Thus the story became a bedtime tale,
And that tale fell out of style,
And the people moved on as they are wont to do
Only telling it once in awhile.
.
Then one stormy evening at the bustling inn,
The door blew open with a groan.
There stood a woman, all dirty and ragged
And soaked through right to the bone.
.
“What’s wrong?” asked the innkeeper as she came in,
“How on earth did you travel here?”
“From the woods,” she replied, “I escaped from that beast!”
They could see she was trembling with fear.
.
“Be calm, it’s alright,” one man tried to sooth,
“Just tell us what has occurred.”
So she took a deep breath as the patrons all stilled
And recounted it in her own words:
.
“At first it was wonderful, like a childhood dream
We lived happily within that grand place.
He said that he loved me and offered me gifts
And treated me with a fair grace.”
.
The townsfolk all murmured as she choked out her tale,
For they realised who she must be,
The long missing girl who had married the prince –
No figure of mythology!
.
“But then,” she continued, “many summers ago
He went for a walk in the woods,
He returned with his sword stained with blood, and a book
From which I knew would come no good.
.
He’d lock himself up in his tower most days
And hardly would join me to dine!
All he consumed were the words in that book
And a copious quantity of wine.
.
I begged, I implored him to put down the tome
For I feared it would alter his spirit.
But he shouted and raged ‘til I cowered with fright
And he forbade me even go near it.
.
But I could not just watch as this malicious text
Tore my kind and gentle prince apart,
So I snuck it away from him one fateful night,
And I saw it was a book of Black Arts.
.
He caught me red-handed, and violently roared
So mightily that it caused a storm!
The magic he’d read had taken too strong a hold
And before my eyes, he began to transform!
.
His nails became talons, he
grew ten foot tall,
And he sprouted thick fur and a tail.
I ran for my life but he was too fast for me
And since then I have lived in the gaol.
.
For years I held hope that my love might return
But the things that the beast has done,
I know truly my husband could never commit
And I am certain now that he is gone.
.
So last night I grieved for the loss of my prince
And made my escape at last.
I wandered the forest and came to this town,
Desperate to forget all that’s passed.”
.
The patrons were silent as the woman broke down,
Stirred deeply by the heart-breaking tale.
This woman so ragged and tortured for years,
Now alone and afraid and so frail.
.
“We’ll kill him!” somebody cried to applause,
“We’ll punish that creature of malice!”
So they gathered all the men, and their wives waved them off
And they marched through the rain to the palace.
.
They pounded the gates ‘til they burst at the hinge
And they hunted the monstrous beast.
When they found him and dragged him from his hiding place,
He was not what they expected in the least.
.
His face was disfigured and mouth full of teeth
His body bore a dreadful stink,
But instead of a roar, he begged for his life:
“Have mercy, men, she’s not what you think!
.
The woman’s a sorceress, a killer and a thief,
It was she who turned me like this!
My wife caught the witch trying to steal from our halls
And she killed her with a poisoned kiss.
.
When I saw what she did, I stabbed at her heart
But it had no effect on her!
She vowed her revenge and promised my death
And then cursed all my body with fur!”
.
The townsmen heard his account with unease
And dismissed it as a monstrous lie,
For his face was so cunning and the woman’s so sweet
That they knew that he deserved to die.
.
So they killed him right there and burned the whole place
And returned to the town with his head.
They marched through the streets singing out as they went:
“The terrible beast is now dead!”
.
But when they had scoured the town for the woman
That they had killed the beast for,
There was no trace of her to be found
And their homes had all been robbed poor!
.
When the men asked the wives what had happened that night,
The poor women only shared confused frowns.
For not a single one among them could even recall
That any woman had come to the town.
.
And to this day they could never be sure
If they had done the right deed.
It was best to pretend and adapt what they must,
“Happy ever after” they all agreed.
.
But guilt then on served as a nagging reminder
To search a little harder for proof,
“There’s always three sides to a story,” they’d warn,
“There’s yours, mine and the truth.”
.
Any Other Name
R White
Any Other Name - based on the version written by French author Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont - is a retelling of classic fairy tale Beauty and the Beast. As punishment for attempting to steal one of a hideous Beast’s prized roses, a merchant must send his daughter, Belle, to live in the Beast’s castle. But when Belle arrives at the castle, she discovers that the flower was in fact a human girl named Rose: the Beast’s daughter, and realises that her time in the castle may not be at all what she had expected.
~~~
It is a beautiful day to be kidnapped, but Belle isn’t sure ‘kidnapped’ is quite the right word for it when she’s got to make the walk herself.
Belle’s father walks beside her in silence, staring down at the dry twigs crunching under his boots, and what little daylight can filter through the gaps in the trees illuminates the devastation in his expression. She’s never seen him like this, not even when their family came close to losing everything - he’d always put on a brave face for his favourite daughter, and now his openness only serves to show how much this is destroying him.
Belle looks away before tears can form, trying to find beauty in the cold pines surrounding them as they make their way through the woods, but lingering memories of childhood fears taint every gnarled branch and shadow. When she was a little girl, her older brothers would tell her stories about woods like these, where you could go mad with hunger and fear, or be eaten by hideous creatures of the night. It had terrified her, but her father was always there to reassure her that there were no monsters - not in the dark, not in the woods.
Now, neither Belle nor her father are so sure.
By the time they’ve walked far enough to finally be able to see their destination, Belle feels as though a lifetime has already passed, silent minutes blurring into years, punctuated only by birdsong from somewhere too high up to see. Even then, all they can see of the castle are the tops of turrets, the brick stark against the sky; as they draw closer, the dark trunks thin out, and Belle can finally see the high stone wall separating the castle from the outside world. In the centre of the wall is an ornate iron gate, the only window to what lies behind - through the bars, the castle itself can be seen in all its glory, aged and elegant and, admittedly, beautiful. More beautiful still is the vast garden surrounding it, and this, more than anything, is what catches Belle’s attention - it’s just the right sort of overgrown: not so wild that it looks unkempt, but not pristine enough to be purely for display. Flowers of all colours spill and climb and stretch over whatever space they can find, while brick paths proudly walked keep whatever order they can manage, an effortlessly perfect balance. It looks lived in; it looks alive.
Belle approaches the gate calmly, and her presence of mind allows her to notice the hesitance in her father’s movements - he’s been a couple of paces behind her for their whole journey, but his reluctance to come closer is even more obvious now that she is standing still. It seems to take all of his strength to come and stand by her, and when he does, he can’t bring himself to look at the garden, and stares instead at the grass at his feet. Belle isn’t sure she can blame him.
It doesn’t feel like yesterday that her father returned home with nothing but sorrow and the scent of flowers. He’d blamed his depression on debt, the repossession of his cargo, and the excuse had seemed to satisfy her sisters, but their concerns centered more around the lack of gifts he’d brought with him. Belle could have believed it too, had he been able to look her in the eyes when he told her. He had looked at her as if she was dying in front of him, and she had known that something far worse must have happened.
Belle had had no problem being told of the hospitality of an unseen host, who had allowed the poor lost merchant food and shelter while lost in the woods. She hadn’t been prepared to hear that the price of her father taking advantage of such generosity was for him to send a daughter to stay in the castle indefinitely, or meet his own end. How exactly he’d caused offense, she didn’t know - all he’d said was something about a rose.
He had said rather considerably more about a beast.
Belle, thinking rationally, still finds it hard to believe that ‘beasts’ exist, but Belle has always thought that her father is as rational as she is, and the fear in his eyes as he looks out over the garden is hard to ignore. Just standing here
at the gate is making him nervous, and the next seconds pass in a silence even more strained than before until finally-
“You don’t have to-”
“No.” Her father stares at her. It came out faster, more violently than Belle had intended it to. “It’s safer this way,” she explains, and it’s only half a lie.
Her father doesn’t look any less concerned. “But not for you.”
“I’ll be alright. I promise.” The slight wobble in her voice on promise makes his face crumple, and without hesitation, he leans in to pull her into a hug. Belle returns it without question, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’ll be alright,” Belle says again, and then, quieter, “I’ll miss you too.” She pulls away after the first sniff, since the last thing she wants to do is cry in front of him. She gives him the best smile she can manage, but it comes out watery and weak. “I’ll be okay from here,” she tells him, and her father realises, as she’d hoped he would, that this is her way of telling him to go. He hesitates, but doesn’t protest, and turns wordlessly back to the woods - Belle is glad that he didn’t say anything, but the guilt in his eyes makes her chest ache as she watches him go. She tells herself that it’s better this way: she doesn’t want his last memory of her to be behind bars.
Once her father’s form has disappeared into the trees, Belle turns back to the gate - it’s heavy and stiff with disuse, but it’s not too difficult to move, and she ventures into the motionless garden - now that she’s in it, it feels a lot more sinister than peaceful. Iit seems unnatural for something so alive to be so still, even threatening, almost like it’s lying in wait; for what, she doesn’t want to think about.
As she nears the castle, Belle feels the prickling of foreign eyes watching her, and her head jerks towards one of the windows just in time to see a figure dart out of view. She pauses for a moment before continuing towards the main entrance, moving considerably slower. The feeling of being watched has left her, but as she comes to stand before the dark, imposing main doors, a sickening dread has taken its place: dread for what will become of her, and for what she’ll see on the other side of the door. In this state, she’s far more willing to believe any story.
Summoning what remains of her nerve, Belle raises a shaking hand, and knocks on the towering door as many times as she dares. She doesn’t know how long it takes before the door swings open, and it does so far faster than a door of its size and probable weight should be able to, at least by a human hand. She is not left wondering - when she sees what has opened the door, she understands, and immediately regrets her decision.
