by Peter Beagle
“Golden Eyes?”
Yeh-Shen!
I allowed myself to pour out of the tree in a soft, gold haze. “Yeh-Shen, my dear child. It is spring, and the world is beautiful. How may I help you?”
“You are right to say it is spring, and there is a festival, oh, a wonderful gathering, in the village. I want to go so much, but I have nothing to wear! If I could go, I know I would find a husband. It is the very point of it, you see.” She looked at me pleadingly.
“Yeh-Shen, lift the stone you placed upon my grave and look under it.”
She did so, and found a package wrapped in heavy cloth.
She blinked, unwrapping it with trembling hands.
The dress she took from it was made of the finest silk the color of the brightest late spring sky, and, even more impressive, underneath the dress was a cloak of kingfisher feathers wrapped around jade sticks for her hair and shoes for her feet.
“This…this is fit for an empress!” she said, her eyes looking a little more damp than usual as she gently stroked the feathers: celestial blue, azure, ultramarine, every shade of blue that was possible to dream.
She carefully put up her hair, adorning it with ornate sticks of jade carved like flowers. Finally, she took out the shoes, made of gold and patterned to look like scales. “The shoes are the most important part of all,” I said, “Do not lose them, or you will never see me again.”
She placed them on her feet reverently, and then looked up at me.
I caught my breath, and softly answered her unasked question. “You look like a queen.”
She walked swiftly and lightly away in the enchanted shoes that lifted her just slightly off the ground. They would get her to the village quickly, but still I watched over her, an invisible breeze that lifted her gently and pushed her forward, until finally, not a fleck of dirt on her and not one whit tired from her journey, she entered the village.
It is not hard to predict what happened. How could not all eyes fall upon the most beautiful girl in the village? Especially when she is dressed so beautifully, so royally?
Even the king, sitting on a fine throne set at the end of the bridge, visiting not to find a wife, but to watch the ceremonies, was taken utterly. He did not leave his throne, but his eyes did not leave her.
Under the king’s eyes, the people had formed a circle, leaving space for those who could dance or play or sing to come and show their talents to the king and their future spouses.
Yeh-Shen took her place in the center, bowing slightly, as befitted a woman wearing a cloak of kingfisher feathers. There was nothing but silence as she posed, her hands outstretched in front of her, as if she were offering water in her cupped hands to the king. We all held our breath, waiting, and finally someone began to pluck a soft, sweet tune from the lute, and she danced.
As she danced, she sang.
I have longed for you
since the world was old,
I have waited for you
since before the leaves knew their color,
I long to drink from your lips,
they are sweeter than plums,
sweeter than rice wine,
but will you ever return
the love of this maid,
this maid?
Her shoes made her seem as if her feet never touched the ground, and in fact, there were indeed several moments when her feet hovered an inch from the stones.
And when she was done, she knelt prettily, her head bowed.
The silence of the moment was broken. I heard someone complain loudly, and all eyes looked.
Yeh-Shen’s stepmother pushed her daughter to the front.
They wore the old dresses of the first wife, cleaned and mended by Yeh-Shen’s own hand.
Yeh-Shen used the confusion, as the younger woman was pushed out into the court yard, to get away.
I felt badly for Yeh-Guo for a moment, as she stood, trapped, in the center of all our attention. She wasn’t terribly bad to look upon, not as ugly as her mother, nor as bitter, but between the extremes of her mother and Yeh-Shen she disappeared. She did not have elegance in the best times, and she did not have enchanted shoes.
She sang a sweet little children’s song in a nervous voice, but no one paid attention, least of all her own mother, who had recognized Yeh-Shen and was trying to catch her, pushing through the press of the crowd.
When I found Yeh-Shen she was running through the forest wearing only one shoe. No one followed, for no longer did she wear the cloak of magic blue feathers or the clothes of a princess, but the rags of a servant.
I was pleased. Everything was falling into place.
The king sent his servants to find the girl, but I knew they would not, so I searched for the shoe.
A man picked it up and put it in his sleeve, so I caused him to trip, and he went flying, the shoe falling far from his reach.
A little girl looked at it shyly, so I threw butterflies at her, gold and green and pink, and she followed them.
Finally the man I wanted to find it came, the same guard who had spoken to the prince on that first day, but he was looking for a girl, not a shoe, so I flicked a tiny pebble at his knee. He picked up the shoe and ran off with it, such a tiny thing that it fit easily in one hand; his fingers could close around it.
When they could not find the lady to fit the shoe, the king placed it on a low pillar at the mouth of the bridge, guards all around it.
I knew I must encourage Yeh-Shen to go and fetch it, but I had told her that she could not lose the shoes or she would not see me again. I did not do this to be cruel, but to make sure that if she did lose it, which of course was my intention, her desperation to have it again would outweigh her fear and caution.
So, I had to wait.
I waited while others tried the shoe.
I waited while Yeh-Shen endured the screams of her stepmother.
I waited while Yeh-Shen gathered the courage to go and try to steal the shoe back.
It took many weeks before she finally snuck away from the cave and by this time everyone’s guard was down. Her stepmother was unlikely to miss the girl and the guards were drowsy with boredom.
When the sun went down, she crept out of the shadows like a deer, until she crouched by the pillar. I could not believe she had made it that far. Was it possible the guards were blind from standing out in the sun for so many days?
She reached her small hand up and took the shoe, and that was when the guards grabbed her.
She struggled for a second, but then bowed her head and allowed herself to be led across the bridge and to the island, not noticing the leaf that followed her, bumping across the stone at her heels.
He frowned when he saw her. “What did you think to accomplish, child?”
“It is my slipper, your majesty.”
Her words made everyone laugh, even the king smiled slightly.
“I am sure that you wish it were so, but I am afraid we shall have to deal with you as with any other thief.” He looked at her, and I thought I saw longing in his eyes. I willed him to recognize her. It would be nice, for once.
“I beg of you, let me try the slipper on.”
She was so brave, so earnest, I felt my own cold heart leap, and I crackled impatiently.
He nodded to the guard, who gave her the tiny slipper. He even put a hand out to steady her, but she did not need it as she slipped her dainty foot into it like a rain drop slipping into the sea.
She took the other shoe out of her sleeve, and placed it on. Just as she did, I cast a spell and her rough spun clothes became azure silk and feathers.
He came down from his throne, knelt at her feet, and kissed her hands. I laughed with joy, even though part of me always wished…
But we have what we have. And that was not ever for me, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.
I thought I had finally seen my happy ending, but lo, it was not so.
A year later, Yeh-Shen, sweet, dutiful Yeh-Shen, would visit her stepmother an
d her sister to give offerings to her father and mother. The evil woman convinced her to climb to the top of the highest Areca tree to fetch betel nuts. It was an old tree, though it looked strong. The stepmother had a sharp axe, so it did not take much to chop it to the point where it would fall, throwing her in the very pond where we used to spend so much time together. Trapped in the branches of the Areca tree, she drowned in the shallow water.
They say she became a bird and watched over her husband. I do not know. I was not there. But I can tell you that her stepmother and sister died not long after. The cave collapsed on itself, the mountain crushing them and swallowing their remains. It is not an easy spell, to make stone become dirt, and it made my bones ache for many moons.
I visited the King’s gardens, and I called her name softly. I hoped, desperately, that she was the nightingale that sang so sadly in the king’s garden.
“Call as much as you wish. She will not come back.”
The king was sitting at the base of a tree, his face tearstained, his hands cupping a tiny, dark form. I touched the tiny bird with my finger, but could not tell if the rumors had been true or not, for there was no life inside of it. I said a word and the bird became a ribbon of blue smoke that faded against the semi dusk.
Like an unwinding ribbon, I saw the possibilities. She was dead. I could not help that, or her, and here he was, at my feet. It would be so easy. I kissed his forehead with great tenderness, and he sighed and relaxed. The pain left him, at least the newness of it, becoming a memory as he fell sideways, asleep. I caught him as he fell and knelt next to him, my hand on his head and tears on my cheeks.
He would marry, yes. He would kiss other women and he would have children. But not with Yeh-Shen, and not with me.
The story filled me with fierce longing that hung upon my heart long after I left Eleanor to her chores. I felt anguish well in my chest like a boil that needed to be lanced. I was becoming weak, weaker than a dust web. I tried to breathe past it. I closed my eyes and let my feet take me where they would.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a church courtyard. Gregory was sitting on the steps, looking tired, his head bowed. I could see it all, that since I’d given him the cart, he’d redoubled his work, his help for the poor. I put my hand on the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
He looked up. “Why?” he asked, as I sat down beside him.
“You can’t tell me that you weren’t happier before you met me. You’d be out in your fields right now…my gift to you was worse than any punishment could have been.”
I’d been telling Eleanor the old stories, poring over them in the hope that I would see a way to repair the mistakes of the past, to help her reclaim her rights and give her a well deserved happily ever after, but all I saw was disappointment, pain, and hardship. Over, and over.
“I have all the magic there ever was, and I still can’t do anything right.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he put an arm, lightly, around my shoulders. “Well, my dear, you’re only a fairy, you’re not God.”
His mouth curved into a half smile, and I started to laugh. When I laughed myself into weeping, he rocked me while I sank against his sturdiness. He should have been born an oak, I thought. If he had been, I would have sunk inside him and never have come back out, even for the end of the world.
When I recovered, I made us dinner, of bread, tomatoes, olives and cheese. I made fun of him for ignoring the olives until now, and he laughed and teased me back.
It made me feel I could face my dear Eleanor again the next day and I met her to walk through the market.
I gave her one of Gregory’s oranges, and she broke it open, breathing its scent, just standing in the middle of the road, her expression absolute bliss.
I wanted to tell her about Gregory, I wanted to tell her that she knew him, that she had met him at least twice before.
I was trying to puzzle it out, if it was coincidence or if he meant something to my quest, but so far nothing came to mind that made sense.
“I am buying trim,” she said. “I’ve been working on my sister’s dresses for the ball. It’s tomorrow night.” She grinned at me. “She told me I could go! If I have the gown, I can go!”
“I am so glad!” I grinned back, as she told me how she would fix her mother’s gown up for the occasion, though I knew her hope was useless.
When we got back to her house, we sat in the kitchen. I took out a needle of gold that threaded itself, and started sewing new lace around the hem of the youngest sister’s dress.
“I have one last story to tell you,” I said, for I had realized that this story was the key to all. “Would you like to hear it?”
“I would,” she said sincerely, “I just…why do you tell me these stories? Is it to keep from speaking of your life? Is it because you seek to warn me? Only a fool would not see the similarities. All of your stories are the same.” She blushed, and then, hastened to add, “In a couple of places. Not really noticeable…I…”
I laughed. “You’re right. They are. Like the refrain of a ballad. But someday, the story will change, and the song will be over.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
I smiled a little, and nodded. “To answer your question, it is a warning, because stories are always warnings. It is to remind you that there is good and evil in the world, and that things are not always what they seem.”
She thought this over, frowning over her stitches. “I think I understand. I would love very much to hear your story now, if you don’t mind.”
“Never in life, my dear.”
And so I began the last and most important tale.
Once, there were three sisters. The eldest was named Fair, for fair she was, in face at least, but not in deed. Then there was Brown, who looked much like her sister, save her colors were brown like Autumn, and finally there was Trembling. Trembling and Fair were summer colored, blue eyed and golden haired. The youngest sister was sweet, but you know that by now, good and pure in her nature.
They were equals, all princesses, all daughters of a widowed, doting father who never remarried for he was a king who liked his battles, and his freedom, and though he had loved his wife very much, he was not interested in getting another. He was, however, interested in getting an heir, and if he could not produce one himself, he would be happy enough to get one by marriage.
And so it was, that the son of the king of Omanya came riding to their lands, to make a marriage with the eldest daughter. Prince Aodhan, whose name means fire.
I was a henwife, then, tall, deeply cloaked and hooded. One eye bore a patch. Sometimes I would switch the patch to see if anyone dared to comment, but oddly, no one ever did. People came to me in fear, and if I could, I helped them. Mostly, though, they were looking for the wrong type of magic. I am ever amazed at how many people are convinced that love is still love, even if it’s forced.
By then I had known Trembling for three years and had been waiting for him, I would have known him from a thousand leagues away, and indeed, I had monitored his approach, listening to the winds as they spoke of him, closing my eyes and feeling him come to us, like the dawn bird waiting for the warmth of the sun.
I wondered, sometimes, if it was right of me to take him from one sister to give him to another, if it was not as cruel a sin as the one I had committed at first, but I also knew Fair’s nature. At first she would be like summer honey, sweet and just a little wild, the taste of her something you could not get enough of, but nor could you define. It would intoxicate him, enchant him.
Then, when the claws were in deep, she would slowly strangle the life out of him, leaving nothing but a husk. I knew she practiced spells she should not, and created potions that she tested on the servants, and though I could stop much of her mischief, I did not think it morally right to allow them to wed.
Besides, Trembling would love him, and he her. What was wrong with that?
By this time, Trembling lived in the castle kitche
ns. Her father did not notice, for he was a careless sort who did not seem to rightly know whether it was Fair or Trembling he passed in the corridor, and I long suspected Fair was doing something to help that along.
Brown was the King’s favorite. She rode like a man and hunted like Artemis. She read with such a calm, rolling voice that I often hid myself in corners to listen. Brown knew that Trembling was forced to live in the kitchen because of her sister, but her idea of help was to tell Trembling to stand up for herself.
Trembling nodded, smiled, and stayed in the kitchen. I did not blame her, for it was easy to tell someone to stand up for herself. It was not so easy to do when one’s eldest sister had a nasty sense of humor and a cleverness for traps.
Fair kept away from the kitchen. We—the servants, Trembling, and I—always said it was because she felt it beneath her to enter the room, but I knew there was something about me that bothered her. She did not like being in my presence for long.
The day after Aodhan arrived was the Sabbath, and all and sundry were gathered together for church. Trembling was preparing dinner for the family all alone, for the servants had been given the day off.
“Don’t you wish to go to the church and see this handsome young prince for yourself?” I asked, stealing a slice of raw potato; eating it as I awaited her answer.
“I would if I could,” she said sincerely. “But I have nothing to wear, and besides, if my eldest sister saw me she’d probably have me killed.”
“You can’t live in fear all your life.” I mimicked Brown’s voice perfectly, and Trembling threw a peel at me. “But truly, I could give you a dress. Think of a dress that you would like to wear and the type of horse you would like to ride, and I shall give it to you.”
She looked at me, half in hope, half in disbelief. “Very well…I…I’ll have a dress as white as snow, with green shoes. And a milk white mare, with a golden saddle and bridle.”
“I thought that you would give me a wee bit more of a challenge.” I took my cloak and pulled it around myself until I disappeared, and went and found myself a horse, and made it the purest white, and fitted it with the finest gold. The horse, a dun mare from the field, seemed to be pleased by this transformation, and cheerfully allowed herself to be led to the kitchen.
