“But you love Storm.”
“I love all of you,” he said, then added when a look of horror crossed her face, “Not in a polygamous way. I love Sun like a sister, Storm like a daughter, but I love you like the queen of my heart.”
“But when you saw Storm naked. . .”
“I’d seen her naked a thousand times. I just couldn’t believe she’d come out like that. I thought we’d gotten her past that stage along with bed wetting.”
“But you called her ‘Lady’ . . .”
“I was trying to convince her to grow up and mature."
“But her Glamour spell. . .”
“I’m King of the elves. It comes with perks like being able to see through that kind of crap.”
“But you bought her a car . . .”
“I was hoping she’d drive away or at least become independent. We really shouldn’t have spoiled her so much,” he said, shaking his head.
“Allen, truly?” Shadow asked, searching his handsome face.
“Sit in my lap and see,” he told her. So, they went back to the hall where everyone was waiting, and she sat in his lap. And his heart spoke to her heart, and they came to an agreement that they would be each other’s shadows and each other’s suns, and that together they would weather every storm.
“To your health and health of the one who walks on the ramparts of your heart,” the king’s fiery heart said to Shadow’s in the Elvish tongue.
And Shadow’s equally fiery heart answered, “That is no one but you.”
The elders bowed deeply at their marriage vow and said, “When we saw the rain, we knew the king of Elfland had returned to us (as it never rains in Elfland). When we saw the hail, we knew the King of Elfland was a master of Magick and an awe inspiring power. When we saw the twin tornadoes, we knew he had found his Queen. All Hail, the King and Queen of Elf Land. May the Eternals guard us from your love and madness!”
Sun smiled and comforted Storm as she wept.
Laurillien married Darthvader (Allen, too, was allowed to choose his own Elfin name), and they became King and Queen of Elfland. They made many changes in the laws, including that parents had to stay with their children on Earth for however long it took them to grow up. Laurillien and Darthvader had lower popularity after this but didn’t really care. They also released, as was their pleasure, one manticore, two unicorns, three small dragons, four fairies, five goblins, six will o’ the wisps, seven trolls, eight tree spirits, nine sprites, and ten witches into Central Park in order to bring magic back to Earth (but that is another crazy story.)
Sun married the eldest of Laurillian’s brothers, who was a proper elf lord and wanted a proper elf wife. They were appointed Lord and Lady of a Thousand Business Deals. Together they acquired for Elfland many lucrative holdings on Earth. It meant nothing to the elves. They only used them to cause gas prices to rise and fall for no reason but their own Elvish amusement.
Storm’s Glamour faded in Elfland, and she was seen by all there as a very plain looking elf, who mostly resembled her father. So, instead of taking that to heart and cultivating true beauty that rests in the soul, in goodness, in laughter and in joy, she moved back to earth and married rich guy after old rich guy and stayed a selfish child all her life.
That is the end of Sun, Shadow and Storm, and this is the end of my story. May the light of your love forever burn bright like the heart of an Elfland King. Ay-el-wal!
Voel and the Rose Princess
What do you give a king who has everything?
Voel Iversfore was the greatest King of the Eight Lands. Under his clenched fist the lives of the green world dwelt. From his castle in Imparda he could look out his four windows and not see a place as far as the horizon that was not his. But when he was newly King, he spent few days in the tower, for his eye was long and his heart yearning. He went out with his army, but soon he could go no farther because all the land was vanquished. Now, all Voel had was his tower, and his longing heart.
Yet, in the lands there was noise of joy, and noise of prosperity and homecomings, the sighing of mothers and wives. Peace had won the hearts of Voel’s wandering soldiers, and they had come back to stay. Even louder than the clamor without the castle was the one within: the trains of tribute so long that no matter where he looked in his tower Voel could see no end to them. Everything was full of sound, but Voel’s heart; that was empty and he saw nothing in those long trains full of silk and clothes, gold and women that could fill it.
One day, Voel sat on his close-fitting throne listening to the tales of his father’s life sung by a bard. They were not so great as his own, for his father had only set his hand upon one land, had only one wife, and storehouses that were often not full. And when the bard came to the end of Voel’s father’s life, the King of the Eight Lands laughed.
Seven of his counselors asked what of his father’s death had brought joy to his heart, as it seemed disrespectful to the memory of the beloved king. When Voel turned his black eyes to them, they trembled, adding:
“We are glad to see the lord of the Eight Lands smile once again. Teach us how we may please you so that you are always happy.”
“Fools. I was not laughing at my father but at myself.”
When the counselors heard his words they trembled more, and when the king dismissed them they gathered elsewhere to speak of Voel, his black eyes and black mood. And the first said:
“The lord is ill.”
The second said:
“He must be dying.”
The third shook his head, while the fourth and fifth stroked their beards. The sixth and seventh whispered together so the others could not listen, but the eighth was a wise man full of years.
“The King’s heart is white as death. He has conquered the land, but has not found what he searches for. I do not think he even knows what he seeks, but it must be found, for the land is the King and the King is the Eight Lands. A proclamation will be sent throughout the realm, and the man who can tell us what the King desires and how he shall acquire it, will be greatly rewarded.”
The proclamation was nailed to every tree and home as far as the King’s power reached, and many a grasping man came to court to stand before Voel. One after another, they came with their schemes.
“The king desires the fire diamond of Gin-Ra that gives a man eternal life,” a Teriban of Ogaran said, bowing with arms full of maps.
“Kill him with a hot flame,” Voel demanded, sighing. Men died and yet the king felt no relief.
Finally a Boudar of the hills was brought in. He was white bearded to the floor and ripe with hoary old age. His hobbling gait and tattered robes filled all with hope that the search was now at an end.
“The King of the Eight Lands’ blood runs hot for the. . .”
“Ha! Ha! And Ha again,” a pale fool rushed the guards and slipped like an eel between them to stand before the old Boudar.
The contrast was appalling. The fool was mad, twisted and double humped with a crooked leg and crookeder smile, but his voice was still like moonlit water as he capered around the old man. He grabbed the illustrious beard and pulled, singing, “You will die! Your beard will grow no more.”
“My lord! Is this how you treat your guests?” the old man cried to the king. Voel gestured and his guards advanced.
The fool spoke again, falling before the Voel.
“Do you wish to kill this old man, King of the Eight Lands? He knows not what you want and his next utterance will doom him.”
Voel looked at the Boudar, saw him trembling because of his old, cold, heart. He knew then that this wise man knew nothing of what burned; but when he looked into the fool’s smouldering eyes, yellow and red, he knew he had finally found his man.
“My lord, this fool insults,” the Boudar said, his voice quivering.
“This fool saves,” Voel said, waving him away. “Go in peace.”
The wise Boudar bowed and ran more swiftly out of th
e room than he had run in his last hundred years.
“Now. You. Fool,” Voel growled. “Do not disappoint.”
“Oh no, my Lord,” he crowed, sitting cross-legged in the presence of the king.
“Scoundrel!” the fifth counselor shouted at the disrespect.
“Kill him,” yelled the second.
“He does not disappoint,” said the eighth.
Again Voel smiled, “Tell me what my heart desires.”
“A rose.”
At his answer, Voel lost his smile. His heart shouted ‘cheat!’ and his hand moved to his sword Greython, the master of death.
“Wait! Do not be hasty, my lord,” the fool said, “Haste will not win you this prize. No. It is no ordinary rose, and no ordinary man can possess it. It is the color of honey, and its scent is the scent of a woman, and the petals are of skin. I speak, and only in reverence and whispers, of the Rose Princess.”
The fool touched his head to floor. Voel left his narrow throne and took a step closer to the fool, his sword in hand.
“I have a thousand wives, women of unparalleled beauty, what do I need with another?” The King asked.
“Do you love any of them?” the fool inquired. “Is any worth dying for?”
Voel hesitated then raised his foot.
“Wait, King,” the fool said, leaping up. “I have one leaf from a flower. A leaf from her garden that she merely touched in passing, without thought or artifice. It simply brushed her cheek, then in ecstasy leapt to its death, but a wind saved it from a mundane grave by bearing it to me.”
The fool flung the leaf into Voel’s face. It touched his lips. He dropped his sword, then dropped to his knees because of the sudden desire that filled him, and overflowed him. Voel raised his head, his grey eyes met the fool’s and he said:
“This I want.”
The fool clapped his hands and danced with joy, his white limbs shining like marble.
Now the fool told Voel of a land that was beyond the horizon, a land that he must conquer. And if the leaf of the Rose Princess, which now abided by his heart, had not been enough to move him, the idea of conquest would have. Voel outfitted fifty ships, tore his sleepy soldiers from their wives and lovers and filled the boards with them. As he sailed away across the water, he did not look back at the Eight Lands that were under his clenched fist, but toward the horizon. The fool stood beside him, twisting in the winds that filled the sails.
“O King, great King of the Eight Lands, know that the princess is not easily won. You may not even lay hands on her. One touch and she is gone. There is also a deal of three drops of blood to be shed and her old father to kill.”
Voel seized the fool by throat, “What is this you say?”
The fool laughed and laughed until Voel threw him down. Though Voel thought him wicked, he would not turn back now. The leaf had grown into his skin, setting roots that could not be broken lest he die.
“You are an evil fool, but tell me what I must do.”
“I will take you to the garden wall. You will enter by the door that is made for you alone. She will know why you are there. She will try to trick you. She does not wish to leave her father. He loves her more than everything that lives and cannot bear to lose her in marriage while he breathes, so he has both cursed and blessed her. She is the wisest of women, a monarch in her own right. She is his right hand, his most precious possession. So be wary and wise and you may win her, her father’s kingdom and his wisdom, then you’ll be the happiest man on earth.”
“I have a kingdom, and I am wise enough to rule Eight Lands. I want only her.”
“But you can only have her if her father is dead. It is not as easy as it sounds though he is an old man, a cripple in his bed.”
“What do you think I am that I would kill a helpless old man?” Voel cried.
“I think you are a man in Love, Voel. Love is no a gentle god, Love is jealous,” the fool shouted, his lips foaming, “Love demands its sacrifices!”
The land of the Rose Princess was like no other Voel had seen. It was spring there though all around it was winter; he could smell it even as his ships rocked along the icy coast. A thick cloud of flowers and greenery swelled the swells and was borne out to him like a siren’s song. He leaned against the rail of his ship, his body straining the wood, his arms tense, ready to fling himself forward. The land beckoned to him and he dreamt he saw the Rose Princess with pale open arms and the face of his fairest wife.
“It is not her,” the fool whispered in his ear. “You cannot imagine her. She will take you by surprise. She will take your breath yet let you live. Jump if you want foolish King but it is for naught. The water is full of lipped eels that will kiss your flesh away while your bones sink to the bottom of the sea.”
“But I see her.”
“You see the land who is her maidservant, a wretch compared to her mistress.”
Voel blinked and the image faded. The mist lifted and he saw white cliffs and violet mountains ahead, a town of white stones and a castle of crystal wrought by a skill beyond his imagining. Voel let go of the rail, unclenched his hands. They were bleeding.
“You have passed the first test; the rest are much harder,” the fool said, shaking his head.
Voel’s ship docked at a port paved in emeralds. Everything was still and everything was new as if it had just been built and no man had yet set foot on the stones.
“Where is everyone?” a soldier whispered, stepping from the ship.
“They are waiting,” the fool said. “For what I cannot tell.”
“For me,” Voel said, stepping down. “I claim this land as my own.”
The fool winked. “It is not that easy. Come with me, Voel, and leave your soldiers behind. None will resist you.”
Voel looked the wicked fool up and down. His mind shouted mistrust, but his heart did not care if he died: it had to have the Rose Princess. Without her life was nothing. So, Voel followed the fool.
The streets of the city were new, and all the trees and plants were in bud though no flowers were seen. Greens and blues and yellows waited everywhere. The streets were lined with stillness. If the noise of the Eight Lands had been maddening to Voel then this silence was twice the worse.
He and the Fool entered the castle gate and none stood against them. They entered the castle proper and only their footfalls followed them. Inside all was gilded and shone brighter than snow under the sun. The furniture was encrusted with gems enough to overflow all of Voel’s ample storehouses, making his hoarded treasures appear trifling. They left the castle of silence and reached a high-walled garden covered in vines. There were seven doors by which to enter.
“Choose,” said the fool. “I can no longer help you. By your wits alone you must win her. I do not know the way and many men have died trying these doors. You must find the one that fits you.”
Voel stepped forward. He passed one and then another. They all seemed the same. Not in height or width did they differ, nor in style or quality. Voel stood a long moment, then a bitter look crossed his face and afterwards a rueful smile.
“None of these ways suits me. A man enters a lady’s garden only when invited. I am not invited. These doors mock me for what I am, a thief sneaking in to steal what is not mine. Thieves do not go by doors; they scale walls.”
Voel hitched up his rich robes and clutched at the stones to haul himself to the top. He did not look into the garden when he reached it but turned back to the fool, “I may be only a thief now, but by my eight crowns I swear that I shall leave by the seventh door like a man.”
Voel leapt down into the garden of the Rose Princess. She did not look up from her book though he made a great noise. She sat on a richly embroidered and be-pearled white satin cushion, reading at the feet of her aged father who rested on his golden throne. She took Voel’s breath without raising her eyes.
“So it was that I was born father, and you named me ‘Rose Princess’ b
ecause where I lay sweet roses grew and when I laughed they bloomed,” she finished reading and closed her book.
For every evil thing the fool was, still he had been honest. She was beyond describing. Voel felt the leaf that grew into his heart burn and burst sending out runners over all his limbs that took root and bound him. Her skin was the color of honey, and her hair dark with ringlets like sea waves that glisten twice as bright when the sun is full upon them. Her lips were full of promises like the new moon. The top was shaped like a notched bow, and when she turned to him she moved her mouth ever so slightly, sending dart after dart into his heart, though it was already hers. She laid her book down and came to him with open arms as he had dreamed she would.
“Welcome my lord. I am your servant.”
Her sleeves were short and so he could see her golden skin in the light, filling him with hunger. O to caress her, to hold her! It was what he wanted–-and he opened his arms also–-to hold her forever, but the fool had said one touch and never again. He forced himself to place his arms at his sides.
“I am not your lord yet, and I do not want you as my servant.”
The beatific look left her face. She raised her head, and he saw that she was shrewd and wise, a match for any man.
“At least, Voel, come and sit with my father and me and rest yourself, your journey must have been a long one.”
“That would please me.”
“Then follow me. I will give you a rich robe that will put yours to shame, and you can lay down your sword and sit in peace with us.”
“I will wear your robe, though I do not think mine brings me any shame, but I will not part with my sword.”
“You will not sit in peace?” she asked archly.
“I will sit in peace but with my sword.”
She raised her brow, “There is no peace with swords.”
The Rose Princess threw off her pale pink robes, exposing white armor and a sword which she drew on him, “Meet Valkim, the manslayer. She has never failed.”
Fairy Tales For Sale Page 11
