brothers were near. The guards had dressed Eliza in coarse sack cloth. Her lovely hair was straggly, and her face was gaunt and pale. Even up to the square, she continued to work on the eleven coats of flax. The mob cursed her and jeered, and rushed forth to tear her and the coats into pieces, when suddenly, eleven swans alighted into the square, and rushed up to Eliza. The crowd, shocked, drew back.
“A sign of innocence from God,” said the crowd. But the executioner had Eliza ready to be bound to the stake. As he grabbed her, she threw the eleven coats of flax upon the swans, and immediately, the eleven swans became the eleven princes, her brothers, but the youngest had a swan’s wing, for Eliza had not quite been able to finish that coat of flax for him.
At last Eliza could speak!
“I am innocent,” said Eliza. “My brothers and I were under a foul enchantment, and I was not permitted to speak until the spell was broken. Our evil stepmother turned my brothers here into swans, and to break the spell I had to weave them eleven shirts out of flax. In all that time, I was not to speak a word of my task to anyone, or they would die.”
“She is innocent,” said the brothers, and they related their stories also to the King, who listened attentively. While the people bowed to Eliza as to a saint, she collapsed, fainting into her brothers’ arms. And on the wood pile, roses bloomed out of nowhere, as if to celebrate the end of the evil Queen’s spell. Doves flew high into the air above Eliza’s head, and there was great joy in the air, as the King proclaimed Eliza’s innocence, and the wedding bells rang out once more.
The Elf Knight
On a lonely moor in Scotland, the hills they say are haunted by the Elf Knight. Rumor has it that those who disappear have been taken away with no mercy by the Elf Knight. The Elf Knight is said to wander the moor, looking for unwary prey of passengers out past midnight.
John MacAvoy, a Chicago native, was hiking across Britain that summer. His friends Jim Pike and Gerald Johnson were with him, and they were ready to backpack halfway across the country and to bike the rest of the way. They had reached the hilly southern tip of Scotland and had stopped at a local pub for a pint of ale and a pub dinner. John ordered Irish lamb stew and ale, while his friends had the Shepherd’s Pie and Roast Beef with Yorkshire Pudding.
“Well, well, British food isn’t half bad, after all,” said Gerald.
“Think we can make it to the next village to the hostel there?” asked John.
“I don’t think we should push it tonight. We should stay in the pub,” replied Gerald.
“Nah, are you wusses? We can make it to the hostel.” Said John.
“I wouldn’t go out alone again,” said the waitress, coming nearer. “The Elf Knight they say may find you, and you’ll never be heard from again. Folk go missing about these parts.”
“Come on, that’s ridiculous,” laughed John and his friends. “There’s no such thing.”
“Suit yourself,” said the waitress with a shrug, and walked off.
“Well, I’m up for a walk to the hostel,” said John. “You guys wusses?”
“No,” said Jim. “All the same, John, is it wise to push it? It’s already so dark outside.”
“We can make it. It’s just down the road.”
“Ok, ok, I’m in,” said Gerald.
“Yeah, me, too, I guess.” Said Jim finally.
This would prove a great mistake.
The lads finished their dinner, and shouldered their backpacks.
“Cheers,” said the waitress, as they left the pub.
The night air was dank and chilly. The three men had anoraks on that protected them against the cold, but the cold wind made them shiver. High above, the moon was obscured by white, luminous clouds. A barn owl hoo-hooed in the night.
“Ahem,” coughed Jim, “which way, McDuff? You’ve got the map, John.”
“We head down this street til it reaches a public footpath over the hills and to the next town,” said John. “Right, boys, you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” said Jim. “I wish we had stayed at the pub, just the same. I was in the mood for a cozy bed.”
“Stop your griping and walk, bro.” Said Gerald.
The three young men walked down the street, their feet making loud sounds on the paved road in the still quiet of the now deserted, sleeping town. There were gardens with flowers, lovely hydrangea bushes and roses growing over the hedgerows.
“You have a torch?” asked Jim, using the British word for a flashlight.
“Yep,” said Gerald, “right here.”
“Let’s turn it on when we get to the fields,” suggested Jim.
The lads walked on in the eery silence, until finally they reached the end of the paved road, and came to a public footpath, marked with a sign atop a long wooden pole that read “public footpath, 2.3 miles.” There was another note for bird watchers to watch for herons, hawks, and several small birds.
The lads plunged past the sign and onto the small, winding footpath that was flanked by shrubs and bushes and hedgerows of different trees, mostly hawthorn and small rowan trees.
Gerald turned on the torch, but it didn’t really do much good in the misty, close confines of the narrow little footpath through the countryside. A few night birds called in the air, and the lads heard a cricket chirping alone.
They tramped on through the fields and woods, and finally came to a break in the pathway that opened into a tiny country road. Suddenly, they heard a horse whinny as if from a great distance.
“Who do you suppose comes all the way out here in the middle of the night?” John wondered.
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out,” said Jim.
Again there was a sudden noise, this time of horse hoofs galloping near.
A shadowy figure in tattered, noble, and ancient Kingly dress appeared on the horizon, straddled across a large war horse that shone a radiant white.
“John, look!” screamed Gerard.
The three lads turned to look at the shadowy figure on the horizon on the little road. The stranger, whoever he was, also shone a radiant white in the dim moonlight.
Did you shine your torch that way?” asked John, his voice wavering.
“No,” said Gerald. “I didn’t.”
“W-who do you suppose he is?” asked Jim, his knees knocking together suddenly.
“I don’t know, but… I don’t want to find out! Let’s hurry on,” said John.
They tried to cross the road, but the stranger on horseback galloped towards them, and gave a quick, sharp shriek that didn’t sound human.
“Run!” shouted Gerald. Without a word, the three lads ran to the other side of the street. As they did, the strange knight galloped close. Gerald turned, and saw his face. On his head was the coronet of a prince, and his ears were large and pointed, while his face was sharp and angular, his eyes small and narrow. He looked every inch a prince, but no mortal prince was he. He seemed like a man out of ancient lore, an elf of no human birth. Gerald was paralyzed looking at him.
“Where’s Gerald?” asked John, sensing that Gerald was no longer behind him. He turned around, and saw no one.
“I don’t know, I thought he was behind you,” said Jim.
“No, not anymore,” said John. The two of them had escaped a safe distance.
They turned around, but there was nothing along the path, no sign of Gerald, or of the strange, shadowy glowing figure.
“You suppose he tripped and fell?” asked John.
“I don’t think so, but, he might have. Shall we go back to look for him?”
“I don’t relish it, but we have to,” replied John. They turned around and headed back towards where Gerald had disappeared.
They walked and walked until finally they reached the road where the stranger had appeared. However, there was no sign of Gerald, nor of the strange ghostly knight.
“Well, where do y
ou suppose he got off to?” asked Jim.
“Do you suppose…” John said, with a gulp.
“What?” asked Jim, standing dumbfounded.
“That waitress was right?” finished John. “What was it she told us about, some Elf Knight in the hills, and people who are never heard from again?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jim, “Gerald is probably in the next town already. He probably got ahead of us somehow.”
“No, I don’t think so,” said John with a shiver. “I think Gerald is gone.”
Jim said nothing, but his face was grave.
“Let’s go to the hostel and see what we can see,” said Jim. “Maybe Gerald is waiting for us there.”
They turned around finally once more and headed to the next town over the public footpath. An hour later, they reached a small town lit by iron lamplights. They trooped in, targeting the hostel from a distance and heading straight for it. They went inside, and asked if a young man named Gerald had signed in for the night.
“No, no one by that name,” said the hostel hostess. “We got plenty of free beds, and few guests here the night,” she added. “Will you be staying long?”
“Tell me about the Elf Knight,” said John forcefully, his eyes staring dead straight at the hostess.
“Oh, you seen him I guess!” she said with a sharp, fearful whisper. “One of the dead fairy folk he is, always seen round these parts. Isn’t safe to go out at night after dark, you know. Folk go missing and are never heard from again.”
“Is it true, really?” said Jim, feeling faint suddenly.
The hostess nodded. “True, certain, I’m afraid.”
The Book of Bird and Fairy Stories Page 3