Fairy Tales For Sale

by Rosamunde Lee

  “But I do not love you,” she told him. “In those shapes you were like me, but now you are just a man.”

  “I am not just a man, but whatever I am, I am better than a beast!” he cried, climbing to his feet.

  “To you perhaps, but not to me. To me a blue rabbit is better. There is none like it in the world, and I could share my loneliness with it. A white deer spotted with gold is as rare as I, and a purple bird is my heart’s desire. But you are a wizard like all other wizards.”

  A small storm started within the suitor’s robes. The flapping of the cloth was like the breaking of trees. “I am unlike any wizard you have ever heard of as the winds and the sun obey me, and so should you. Beware of what you say to me. I am not some floppy prince that will run home to sob and die. I will not suffer alone while you look for beasts in your garden to waste your heart on!”

  “It is my heart, and I will do with it what I like,” she said, rising to go.

  “No, princess it is not your heart alone but mine as well that you waste, and that I will not allow.” He raised his arms and a terrible shadow filled the throne room. The king, the guards all stood still as stone. “Acrea, you are as cold as the moon. You are her worshiper, her disciple on this earth. But you are also a flame, living and tormenting, to which men are drawn to their deaths. Though you will not be my wife, you will still share my fate, and since you love low creatures so much, you shall have the shape of one.”

  Acrea felt her body begin to change and the pain was the first of its kind she had ever known. Her mantle became part of her. Her body grew small, but her eyes remained large. She tried to flee, to run but her legs had become tiny and frail and blue along with her body. Her desire for flight went to her arms, and she took off, fluttering around the audience room as a white-winged moth covered with blue stars. The wizard caught her in his hands.

  “In this form perhaps you will understand what it is to be drawn to fire though it kills you. You have eyes to see and ears to understand, but no mouth to eat or speak. Ten days there will be to soften your heart. Then I will come to you and ask for your hand, and only then will you speak yea or nay. Ten days you have, but at the end if your answer remains unpleasing, you will keep this shape and plague me no more, for a moth’s life is very short.”

  The wizard opened his hands and Acrea flew out. Her terror of him sent her beating toward the bright dancing torches, but before she could reach them everything went dark. She fluttered toward the windows, for the moon now shown in full force. She flew against the panes with all her might until she found a broken one. Then she was gone.

  Acrea had never known the night as it was at that moment, full of frightening noise and lights that beckoned. Messages of fear and flight filled her like waves fill the ocean. She flapped frantically in the cool air night away from the castle, away from her terror.

  Acrea began to understand the farther she went that the wizard had not only changed her form but her intelligence as well. Colors had a taste, smells beckoned to her like the arms of men. She had never known the arms of men, but in this creature shape she began to yearn for them. She had never been so alone, so unprotected. Slowly, she began to notice other moths coming to her. At first she was frightened by their fluttering and closeness as they brushed her, but her desolation made her susceptible to them in their mute courting.

  They filled the air around her. Wonder began to waken in her as she saw the others. They were all so lovely, like rainbows in the night. Some moths were larger, others smaller. She began to weigh them as she would knights at a tournament. Only the boldest and bravest caught her eye. There was one more beautiful than the others with white wings like her own, and speckled with azure. She forgot everyone else and allowed him to drift toward her. With his great wings he scattered his rivals and enfolded her.

  She ceased to fear and flew with him. The night became beautiful to her because of him. The leaves of trees were the corridors of an endless castle that led to more beautiful rooms, never ending. The night filled her heart nearly to bursting. She surged away from her companion suddenly, too full of inexpressible joy. He kept near her, guiding and protecting as she found her wings. Acrea had never felt so alive, so free. The little world of her garden shrunk before the grandeur of the endless night.

  As she slowed to touch wings with her lover, there was a sudden high-pitched squeal. The moths in the wood erupted into panic, dropping away all around her. Only the white moth stayed by her. “Fall,” her heart screamed, “fall!” though she could see no danger. She listened to her inner voice only at the last moment. Diving, she saw a brown bat scrape the sky above her and catch in its mouth her would be lover.

  Horror stricken, Acrea darted away, fled out of the wood. If she had had a mouth she would have wailed. She could not even weep. No tears would form. She could only fly and fly on. Finally, exhausted, she floated down to a stone wall and lay still and sorrowing for her lost love. Slowly, she became aware of a voice nearby. Clumsily, with fluffy legs she moved forward to see who was making the noise. A young girl sat weeping softly on the wall.

  “Too late, too late,” she cried. “If I had not been so wise, if I had shown my heart more. . . but it is too late. He thinks I do not love him and will marry another.”

  The girl sobbed and sobbed, and Acrea’s heart turned bitter toward her, but she had no mouth to speak. “Foolish girl! What have you to lament? My lover is dead, and no more can I tell him that I loved him than I can chastise you. You at least have a mouth to speak. Go, to him or not, but dry your silly tears.”

  The girl looked up, “Who speaks?”

  Acrea looked around, but seeing no one, said, “The dull maid is going mad.”

  “Who speaks?” the girl asked again, standing up, but she got no answer. She searched the garden and soon caught sight of Acrea. “Lovely moth, nine o’clock’s child. If I only had an ermine cloak as lovely as yours, my lover would come back to me.”

  “If you had not been so prideful you mightn’t have lost him,” Acrea thought.

  The girl blinked at her a moment, turning as pale as the fur on Acrea’s breast.

  “What devil has sent you to torment me?” she cried and ran off.

  It was then that Acrea realized that she could be understood. Tired as she was, she fluttered after the girl who had run into a house and closed the door.

  “Help! Please, help me!” Acrea cried.

  The door opened again and a bent old woman stumbled out. “Get thee gone, clothes eater!”

  She waved a broom at Acrea, nearly striking her before she could turn and flee. Acrea did not know where to go. She just fluttered on without rest. Only toward morning did she stop her fierce flight and land at the base of tree. An undeniable sleep overcame her as the sun rose, but she awakened suddenly to the sound of a horse’s hooves and whistling. Acrea tried to fly away, but then realized that she had no wings. She was herself again. She got to her feet, tried to cry out, but found she had no voice. She hurried to the nearby road and waved her arms.

  The whistler pulled up just in time to stop his nag from running Acrea down. The handsomest youth she had ever seen came toward her.

  “Fair maiden what ails thee?”

  Acrea could only stare.

  “Are you lost and far from home?”

  She nodded.

  “Is that all?” the youth laughed, lifting her easily onto his horse. “I will take you back. Young girls like yourself are always getting lost in the wild wood, going where they should not. And may young men always be there to safeguard you home.” The handsome youth whistled a tune as he went. “What is the name of your town, did you say?”

  Acrea shook her head.

  “Well, you must come from somewhere around here. I’ll take you as far as I can. You see, I’m on my way to my wedding and cannot be late. But no one will ever say that Garrin left a lady in distress.”

  Acrea sighed at the news of his impending nuptials.
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br />   “Ah, you would congratulate me, if you only saw my lady. She is fairer than the sea,” he said dreamily. “Much fairer than me, I’m afraid.”

  She would have to be quite fair for that, Acrea thought.

  “Oh, but she is fine, with skin smooth as honey,” Garrin continued. “I know men are foolish when they are in love and think their beloved is the fairest there is, and no other woman her equal on the earth, but my beloved is.”

  Acrea blushed with jealousy. That any man would prefer another woman to her. It had never happened. It was almost more than she could bear. Garrin started to whistle again. He never once glanced back at her. She was not used to this. Slowly, Acrea began to wonder if the wizard had not done something to her beauty. What if he had changed her into some hideous creature, and that was why Garrin did not even notice her. She tried hard to think of a way to discover the truth. She thought of an idea after they passed a stream.

  She made signs that she was thirsty and hot and that she wanted to climb down to drink and bathe her face. Garrin helped her out of the saddle. She went to a place where the water pooled and there she knelt. She saw herself peering back as beautiful as ever. Garrin came near her and looked down at her reflection as if seeing something for the first time. Was that it? Did her reflection hold true while her face was not?

  “Ah look,” he said reaching past her into the water, “someone has lost a ring.”

  He picked it up and looked at it, “It looks as if it were made for my lady’s small fingers,” he said, pocketing it.

  Acrea had only a glimpse of it but it was one of the fairest things she had ever set her eyes on, made of spun gold like woven hair. She wanted it.

  “Come let us go,” he said, returning to the horse.

  Acrea allowed him to once again seat her on his horse. As they were riding along quietly with Garrin’s whistling only to break the silence, robbers jumped out from the shadows of the trees and blocked the road ahead of them. Acrea could not even scream.

  “Is that the fairest of princesses I see?” shouted one robber.

  “Is that a fat ransom, I smell?” called another.

  Then the leader leapt out. “Is that my wife you have there on your horse, boy?”

  Garrin drew his sword. “What I have here is your death!”

  A pitched battle ensued, and Acrea at first feared for Garrin. It was three to one, but soon the others lay as dead as stones. Her heart clapped in her breast at the youth’s bravery, until she discovered that he had been wounded in the battle. Acrea hurried to tend to him.

  “My thanks, gentle Lady,” he said, softly. “Your touch makes a man forget all pain.”

  He took her hand, drew it to his lips and kissed it. Acrea blushed.

  “You must let me take you to my bride,” he laughed suddenly, “she will be so grateful to you.”

  Acrea hung her head.

  “Well, then we best be getting you home then,” he said, rising. “My bride is waiting, and I can no longer delay, for my heart is bursting.”

  Once again they mounted the nag, and Acrea was glad that her face was hidden from him, for she was sure her expression would have told him how sad she felt. They went along smoothly enough until sunset was nearly upon them. Then the road turned west and ended abruptly at the feet of a great boulder.

  “Where did that come from?” Garrin murmured.

  They rode on only to discover it was a giant sitting in the road and contemplating them.

  “You there, grasshopper, give me the beautiful princess, or I shall smash in your brains. A little man like you could never keep one so lovely,” the giant shouted.

  Garrin leapt from his horse and again drew his sword, “You talk bravely giant, but we will see who takes and who gives!”

  The giant swung his club and the horse under Acrea shrieked and ran off with her before the club cracked the earth. Off into the woods they raced. Acrea could not stop it no matter what she did. She heard earth shaking thumps of the giant’s club. The ground gave way under the horse, flinging them both down a chasm. Acrea screamed as she fell, but suddenly she was born aloft. The sun was setting, and she had wings again. She tried to flutter back to Garrin, but the giant’s blows made trees fall. The wind and quaking buffeted her in all directions. She had to fly fast and far just to keep her life.

  Acrea stayed away from the other moths this night, too heavy with her losses, and strayed deeper and deeper into a dark forest. She fluttered on, sad, hungry and tired. Finally, she saw a light in the wood. She flew toward it. The light was from a tiny lamp in a window, but it seemed to her the light of heaven, the dance of a thousand angels, magically warm and inviting. She came closer and two hands clasped around her.

  “Got you!” a man cried.

  Acrea froze until he opened his hands again and set her in cage.

  “Now aren’t you the beauty!” He declared.

  When her eyes became used to the light, she saw that she was in a room full of dead moths.

  “Oh, you are so pretty. You will go well in my collection,” the man sighed.

  “Oh no!” cried Acrea.

  “What is this?” the man shouted, falling back.

  “I am only a moth now,” Acrea explained, “but wait until day. Spare my life until then, and you will see my true form.”

  “What will you give me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There is usually a deal of wishes to be had in these cases.”

  “There are no wishes in this case, only a human life. Spare me until morning and you will see.”

  The man scowled heavily, tossed her cage in a corner and stalked away. In the morning, once again a powerful sleep fell on Acrea, and she was transformed into herself, breaking the moth cage to pieces. The wicked man saw her sleeping and at once wanted her. He woke her rudely with his foot.

  “You will stay here with me. You are now my wife. No one can help you anymore. No one knows you are here. Never forget that you are in my power. I am life and death to you,” and he pulled her to her feet and threw her into the kitchen. “Now make me breakfast! And it had better be ready by the time I get back, or you’ll get a beating like you have never known. And if you have a mind to set a foot outdoors, know it will be torn off by the wolves I have as my guards!”

  He stormed out. Acrea fell weeping on the floor. She had never cooked in her life and did not know how to begin. She was not long crying when the door was flung open. She was about to beg the pardon of the man, when he fell before her. Garrin stormed in behind him. He ran to Acrea and helped her up.

  “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she sobbed, “but he said he would beat me, and keep me prisoner.”

  Garrin comforted her, stroking her hair. “How will I punish him, tell me. Speak freely what is in your heart?”

  It was then that Acrea realized that she could speak. “Kill him, Garrin, for I believe he is the evil wizard who has driven me from my home.”

  “The evil wizard?” Garrin asked, letting her go.

  “Yes,” Acrea said, “he changed me into a moth, and sought to force me against my will to marry him, and he said that only in his presence could I speak as I am doing now. They must be one in the same. Do not hold back you sword. Hurry before he bewitches you!”

  The man cringed before Garrin, begging for his life. “I am no wizard. I love the girl but knew she could not love one as old and ugly as I am, so I threatened her. I am a wretch. It is true, but I know not of what she speaks. Spare me!”

  “Kill him, for I fear him greatly!” Acrea cried.

  Garrin raised his sword, “If I kill him, I must kill myself too. For I am no better than he.”

  Garrin drove his sword into the ground, and he was enfolded in a dark motley robe and princely uniform. He was even handsomer than ever.

  “I am the wizard who loves you,” he admitted. “I changed you into a moth in hopes that you would be
humbled and open your heart. I hoped to teach you a lesson, but I have learned one myself. I battled the thieves and the giant for you and thought to win you over with my prowess. All my power was concentrated on defeating my foe, so that I lost you in the wood. I came here with fear in my heart when I thought this man might harm you, but I see that I am he, the man who has truly harmed you. I have used force and trickery to try and win you so that I no longer deserve you, nor will I ask for your forgiveness. Go home, Acrea. Your old father awaits.”

  Before she could say a word, she was back in her castle. Her father and the court had slept the whole time she was gone so that they had never missed her. There was great rejoicing throughout the land but also great uneasiness should the wizard return, but he did not. Soon things went back to the way they were before. Suitors even came again. But a strange sadness had crept into Acrea’s heart.

  She wandered in her garden, but it gave her no more pleasure lest for a moment she thought she glimpsed a deer, but it was always only the old tree dappled with golden light reflected from her pond. At times a rabbit broke the ground, but it was never lame and never blue. Her garden had grown small, and she grew thin. Her father asked her many times what ailed her, but she would not say, and no physician could find anything wrong. Inwardly, he cursed the wizard, thinking that Garrin had cast some wasting spell on her as his last act of vengeance.

  One day, when Acrea was sitting amongst the flowers, looking fairer than any bloom, a red rabbit hopped up to nibble the clover at her feet. Acrea dried her eyes to look at it.

  “How now, cottontail?” she asked, “Have you brought me news of my love, who has surely forgotten me, and whose name I cannot say even in lament, lest my father disown me?”

  “Your love lies dying,” the rabbit said.

  Acrea had seen too many strange things of late to be put off by the rabbit speaking. “How is this?”

  “The giant’s club was poisoned,” Cottontail said. “Garrin received one scratch, but it will not heal and saps his power and his strength. He might not have succumbed at all to the Giant’s poison if his heart had not been broken. But now, he has no will to fight its effects. He lies in his bed, facing the wall, waiting for death. All his advisors do not know what to do, and his physicians have tried all the cures, but none work. It is because they must first cure his broken heart, and they cannot do that.”