Horse of Fire

by Lari Don

  The king was so impressed with the gift that he made the boy his cupbearer.

  That evening, the boy groomed his colt in the royal stables. “Now my brothers won’t laugh at me or at you! So that feather has brought me luck, not pain and worry.”

  But the former cupbearer, who had lost his job so the king could favour the boy, was angry and jealous. He crept up behind the throne and whispered in the king’s ear that a boy who had one golden feather would probably have the whole golden bird. “He must be keeping the bird for himself, rather than giving it to you, like any true loyal subject would.”

  The king summoned the boy to the foot of his throne. “I want the bird that feather came from. Either you have the bird yourself or you know where it is. Fetch the golden bird for me or I will cut off your head.”

  The boy said that he’d found the feather lying on the ground and he’d never seen the golden bird.

  The king shrugged. “You found a golden feather, you can find a golden bird. Bring me the bird or lose your head.”

  The boy ran to the stables and told the colt about the king’s demand. “You were right, that feather is causing me worry and fear, and I suppose there will be pain too, briefly, if he cuts my head off. I’m sorry I didn’t follow your advice, wise colt.”

  “If you follow my advice now, we might be able to save you.”

  “Do you know where the bird is?”

  “I know where it can be found. Bring a net.” The boy found a net and they galloped out of the palace.

  The colt carried the boy over fields and hills to a walled garden. “There are hundreds of apple trees in there, but the bird roosts in the same tree each night. Search the orchard for the tree with feathers under it. Pick up one of the feathers, climb the tree, wait for the bird to settle down to sleep, then capture it.”

  The boy nodded and entered the walled garden.

  Inside the walls, the scent of ripe apples was sweet and warm. He searched under the branches of all the trees and in the very centre of the orchard he found a scattering of golden feathers. He put one in his pocket and climbed the nearest tree.

  By the time he reached the highest branches that would hold his weight, his fingers were grazed and bleeding. “I hope that’s the most pain these golden feathers cause me,” he whispered, as he perched uncomfortably on a branch.

  He waited and waited.

  As the sun sank below the top of the high wall, leaving streaks of colour behind it, the boy heard the most beautiful sound. A high, long, swooping song. He sat in the tree, gazing at the pink and orange sky, smelling the sweet apples, listening to the entrancing song. He felt tears run down his cheeks.

  Then the bright golden-feathered bird landed on a branch, sang its last verse, tucked its golden head under its golden wing and fell asleep.

  The boy looked at the bird, free to fly among the clouds, sing in the open air and roost high in the trees. He thought of the king’s palace, with its stone walls and echoing corridors. He didn’t want to capture the bird.

  He didn’t want to lose his head either.

  So he threw the net over the bird and bundled it under his arm. He tried to soothe its panicked struggles with gentle words, as he climbed back down the apple tree and returned to his wise colt outside the walls.

  They rode back to the palace, in silence.

  The king thanked the boy for the golden bird and locked it in an iron cage. But the displaced cupbearer whispered, “The bird is beautiful, but surely it came from a golden cage. Probably that new boy has kept the valuable cage for himself, rather than giving it to you, like any true loyal subject would.”

  The king summoned the boy to the foot of his throne. “I want the golden cage that bird came from. Either you have the cage yourself or you know where it is. Fetch the golden cage for me or I will cut off your head.”

  The boy said that he’d caught the bird sitting in a tree, in the open, after hearing its song, and that he had never seen the bird in a cage.

  The king shrugged. “You found a golden bird, you can find a golden cage. Bring me the cage or lose your head.”

  The boy ran to the stables to tell the wise colt about the king’s new demand. “You were right, that feather is still causing me worry and trouble. I’m sorry I didn’t follow your advice.”

  “If you follow my advice now, we might be able to save you.”

  “Do you know where the golden cage is?”

  “I know where it can be found. Bring the feather you picked up in the orchard.”

  The colt carried the boy over fields and hills to a dark castle. “Enter the castle and you will find rooms full of golden objects. Do not touch any of them or you will be turned to gold yourself. In the last room you will find a golden cage. Put the bird’s feather inside the cage, then it will be safe for you to lift the cage and take it to your demanding king.”

  The boy entered the windowless castle and pulled the golden feather from his pocket. The feather lit the darkness, and he saw golden tables, golden chairs, golden apples, golden tapestries, golden suits of armour, golden dogs, golden swords, golden men and golden women. He remembered the advice of his wise colt and he didn’t touch anything.

  He walked through the cold glittering castle until he reached a room with only one object. An intricate golden cage, with a perch inside for a bird and curving sides of woven gold wire.

  It was beautiful, but it was a prison.

  He dropped the feather inside and the feather dimmed. He picked the cage up and ran back through the castle to his wise colt outside the door.

  They rode quietly back to the palace.

  “Here, Your Majesty, is a golden cage fit for the golden bird.”

  The king thanked him, and had the bird removed from the iron cage and put in the golden cage. The bird sat on the perch, silent and still.

  The former cupbearer whispered in the king’s ear, “Why does the bird not sing for you? That new boy controls the bird, and he won’t let it sing for you, like any true loyal subject would.”

  The king summoned the boy to the foot of his throne. “Make the bird sing for me. You told me about its beautiful song, I want to hear it. So make the bird sing or I will cut off your head.”

  The boy sighed. He looked at the bird, hunched and silent in the cage. He didn’t need to ask the wise colt for advice this time, because he knew what he had to do, even it if cost him his head.

  He said to the king, “The bird does not sing, because the bird is sad. The bird is trapped in a cage in a palace, rather than flying free in the wind and clouds. If you want to hear the golden bird’s beautiful song, allow me to let it go.”

  The king looked at the bird, then at the boy, and he nodded.

  The boy opened the cage. The bird flew out and circled the throne room, singing its sweet, swooping song. Everyone in the palace started to sob, as they heard the beauty of the song.

  Then the golden bird fluttered out of a high window and flew away, forever.

  After hearing the song, the king sent the ex-cupbearer away and kept the boy by his side as his trusted advisor. When he grew old, the king named the boy his heir.

  When the boy became king in his turn, he always listened to the advice of his wise horse. Though he never entirely regretted ignoring the colt’s advice on the day he found the golden feather…

  Fire and Clay

  Indian tribal tale

  The creator made the first woman and the first man out of clay. As they dried in the sun, all the first animals came to look at them.

  The first horse, a fiery stallion with flaming wings, saw that future men and women would work horses hard. Horses without fire or wings would be forced to gallop far and fast, pull heavy weights and fight in dangerous battles. The first horse wanted to protect his grandchildren from the hard work ahead.

  So he rose into the air on his burning wings and he kicked the two clay figures to dust, which floated away on the wind.

  The horse snorted and galloped off.
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  The creator thought the world wasn’t complete without people. So the creator decided to make another pair of clay figures. But before moulding them, the creator made the first spider and whispered to the spider what her first job would be.

  Once the creator had made the clay woman and clay man, the spider wound strong silvery cobwebs around them.

  When the fiery first horse came galloping past again, and saw two more figures threatening a future of work and danger, he kicked out at the new clay man and the new clay woman. But the spider’s web held the drying clay together and the figures stayed solid and firm.

  Soon the flaming stallion gave up. He wasn’t keen on hard work for himself either.

  When the figures were dry, the creator breathed life into them. And those two clay people became our first grandmother and our first grandfather.

  And they did work horses hard, to build this world for us.

  So that is how the first horse tried to destroy us, and how the first spider protected us.

  And that is why we should always be grateful to spiders.

  Selling the Goddess

  Tibetan tale

  Goodheart was a kind and generous young man, who was always in trouble with his rich father for giving money to the poor, rather than making money from them. So Goodheart left home and wandered the world, accepting charity from strangers when he had nothing, and giving generously to strangers when he had something.

  One evening, he lay down to sleep under a tall pine tree on the edge of a great green forest.

  In the night, he heard the tree sigh and felt the trunk shiver. In the starlight, he saw a tall slim woman step down the tree from the highest twigs to the lowest branches, as if she was walking down a staircase. The young woman jumped to the ground and sat beside him.

  She was wearing a long green dress, with a green silk scarf over her long black hair. She smiled at Goodheart and asked what he was doing in the forest with no horse, no pack, no money and no food.

  He told her about his arguments with his father, and his wanderings. She told him about her life, as goddess of the trees in the forest.

  After they’d chatted most of the night, the goddess said, “I’ve seen many men pass through the forest, but none of them have been as kind and generous and goodhearted as you.”

  He sighed. “My family didn’t approve of my generosity.”

  The goddess shrugged. “I have a difficult family too. But you are the kindest and best man I’ve ever seen, so I wonder… would you consider… do you think…?” But the goddess didn’t reach the end of her question before the sun came up.

  As the sun rose, a small bush trotted towards them and said, “My Lady, your father wants to see this young man and set him a task.”

  The goddess of the trees frowned. “My father is the giant of the forest. He wants to test you, to see if you’re worthy of being my husband.”

  Goodheart blushed. “Your husband?”

  She nodded. “If you’d like to marry me, you’ll have to complete this task. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to. My dad is quite scary.”

  “Oh yes, I’d be happy to. If you’d like me to, that is.” Goodheart was blushing even more.

  The goddess smiled. “I would very much like you to. But to complete the task you’ll need this.” She slid a sharp bronze axe from her sleeve. “He’ll ask you to chop wood, because that’s how he judges a man, and this axe will help you.”

  So Goodheart followed the bush to the centre of the forest, where a huge bristly green giant asked him to chop three piles of wood with three blows of the axe.

  The piles of wood were as high as Goodheart’s head, but he lifted the axe and brought it down – one, two, three times – and the axe sliced each pile into little sticks of kindling. Then he put the axe down.

  The giant laughed. “You are indeed worthy of my precious girl. But her mother won’t be so easy to persuade.”

  The goddess appeared beyond the heaps of kindling. “My mother, the witch of the forest, has also summoned you. I’ll take you to her cave.”

  As they walked, the goddess slid another blade from her sleeve. A bright silver dagger. “My mother can be frightening. Hold this blade between you and her at all times. And if necessary, use it fast to defend yourself.”

  Goodheart’s hand trembled as he took the dagger. Then he stepped into the cave.

  In the shadowy corner was a hunched figure. “I hear you want to marry my daughter.”

  “Yes, I do. And she wants to marry me.”

  “What can you offer her?”

  Goodheart held the blade casually in front of him, as he considered his answer. “Um. A good heart, I suppose. And willing hands to build a life for us both.”

  “Can you offer her kingdoms and empires, riches and power?”

  “No, not really. But I don’t think she wants that.”

  “I want it, for her!” The figure in the corner leapt at him, changing in mid-air into a grey serpent with a tongue of flame.

  Without thinking, Goodheart lifted the blade. As the snake struck at his face, the dagger pierced her throat.

  And the goddess’s mother fell to the cave floor.

  Her tongue of flame flickered out.

  The witch was dead.

  Goodheart was horrified. He walked slowly out of the cave and said to the goddess, “I’m so sorry, my dear, I’ve done something terrible.”

  The goddess glanced into the cave, then turned away, her face pale. “My poor mother. And my poor Goodheart. I’m sorry she attacked you. It was her nature. She has killed and eaten most of my friends. That’s why I gave you the dagger. But my father will be angry. We must leave the forest right now.”

  They started to run, but the ground behind them was already shaking. The giant was chasing them, with an army of green leafy warriors.

  The goddess said to Goodheart, “This is not your fault. This is not your family. I should never have involved you. Run and save yourself, my Goodheart. I’ll try to stop my father. If I succeed, I’ll follow you.”

  She gave him a quick kiss, slid a long golden sword from her sleeve and turned to face her father.

  Goodheart lifted the dagger. “I will fight beside you.”

  She laughed. “You have a good strong heart, but you’re not a warrior. If you love me, then run from the forest and keep running. Now!”

  So he ran. And he kept running.

  Behind him, the goddess fought. She fought on foot and cut down hundreds of leafy warriors with her long golden sword. Then she rose on a white cloud into the air and cut down hundreds more.

  Her father whirled the sharp bronze axe. But the blade didn’t come close to the goddess, because she was nimble and she swung her sword faster than a lumbering giant could swing an axe.

  Finally, the giant stood still among the shredded leaves and broken twigs of all his warriors.

  The goddess said, “I’m sorry about the witch. But she did attack first. Now I’m going to leave the forest and be with my Goodheart. Could we have your blessing?”

  Her father screamed, “No!” and threw the axe at her. It broke the blade of her sword and she tumbled off the cloud. As the goddess fell, she turned into a white horse. Then she galloped away faster than the giant could run.

  The white horse galloped far from the forest and eventually caught up with Goodheart. The white horse slowed down so that she could trot beside Goodheart as he ran.

  Goodheart said, “What a splendid horse. Though I wasn’t hoping for a horse, I was hoping for my beautiful, wise, brave goddess of the trees. So I won’t ride you, lovely horse, in case we go too fast for her to catch up.” He turned to look at the forest in the distance. “Perhaps I’ve already been running too fast. I should slow down now, and hope she reaches me soon.”

  The horse nuzzled his shoulder. Goodheart said, “We’d better find you something to eat.”

  He led the horse to the next village and asked politely for hay and apples for his friend th
e white horse. Then he found her a warm stable, while he slept on the ground.

  The next morning, he looked back at the empty road from the forest and sighed. “Perhaps I’ve lost her forever…”

  The horse nuzzled him again, but Goodheart kept gazing at the forest.

  They walked to the next town, where a magician saw the white horse, and thought there was something magical about her. “Is this horse for sale?” he asked Goodheart.

  Goodheart replied, “I don’t have the money to keep a splendid horse like this as she deserves, so if you promise to be kind to her, I will sell her for the price of a bed, a bath and a hot meal.”

  The horse whinnied and stamped on the ground.

  The magician quickly threw three gold coins at Goodheart and took the white horse away.

  Goodheart left the town and kept walking slowly away from the forest.

  The magician led the white horse to his house. “Let’s see what you really are,” he said, as he pushed her deep into the flames of a large bread oven.

  Before the magician could close the door, the horse changed into a tiny white bird and darted out of the oven.

  The magician chased the bird, who changed into a white cloud, floated into the sky and floated away from the town.

  Then the cloud hovered above Goodheart and rained heavily on his head.

  The goddess changed back to her human form and stood in front of him, with her arms crossed.

  “My darling, you survived!” He gave her a hug.

  “I survived,” she said. “And then you sold me! For three gold coins!”

  Goodheart said, “Oh! Were you the splendid white horse? I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.”

  The goddess smiled. “Now you’ve seen me as a tree, and a woman, and a horse. I was the cloud who rained on you too. You’ve seen me unable to change out of my horse form, after using up so much energy in battle, until I drew extra power from a fire. And you’ve met my father the giant and my mother the witch. Do you still want to marry me?”

  “Of course! But you’ve seen me run away, and fail to recognise you, and sell you to a magician. Do you still want to marry me?”