The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything

by Susan Skylark

  ~Psalm 139~

  Swansong

  Beauty, immortality, freedom, what more could one want under the mortal sun? Odette ruffled her feathers in irritation, what indeed! Perhaps wisdom and contemplation were far more desirous virtues. The offer seemed too good to be true, which meant it likely was, but little did she heed the uneasy, questioning thought that started back at the very notion. She had walked that path through the woods a thousand times in her life and never had she met anyone or anything upon it that was not commonly found in wood or river, until her last fateful walk three months ago when she met that startlingly beautiful woman who offered her more than she had bargained for. The woman was possessed of uncanny magical abilities, this and her dark beauty drew the unwitting girl inexplicably to her. They wandered along the river, the girl silent in awe and wonder, as a worshipper in the very presence of their god and the woman now and then speaking some word of deep insight or hidden knowledge. Finally, the sorceress stopped and looked out upon the broad expanse of the river, saying thoughtfully, “would you be mistress of your own destiny? Free of the constraints of death and care? Beautiful and free?”

  The girl’s eyes were wide with wonder and delight, “oh that it could be so!”

  The woman’s smile was not comforting but Odette was too excited to notice, said the woman, “you wish to go through with this then?” The girl nodded exuberantly, forgetting to ask what exactly it was she was agreeing to. The woman’s cruel smile deepened and a malicious delight played in her eyes as she spoke words incomprehensible and vanished. Odette’s world suddenly went dark and when she came to herself, she found the world awash in a grey fog with the river’s song loud in her ears. She blinked in perplexity and wondered what had happened. She gained her feet and slid easily into the river, only then realizing her strange fate.

  The woman had spoken truly, she was beautiful, swans were considered quite comely creatures. She was free, she could fly or swim whither she would. She also knew somehow that she would neither grow old nor become ill while trapped in this form but it also meant remaining forever a mere bird, unless a way could be found to break the spell. She had had her fill of immortality, beauty, and freedom these past three months and was quite ready to return to what she had formerly thought was a rather drab existence. She had flown hither and yon, swum where it pleased her, but she was far from free, imprisoned as she was in this foreign body. The river nymphs were cordial, greeting her as she floated past with a sad smile, but never accepting her as friend and companion. She could not go back to human society nor was the company of other swans acceptable, being only silly beasts. Odette had never been truly lonely before, not to mention bored. She had no purpose, no interest, nothing to do except float down the river and mourn her ill fate. So great was her heartache that often as she drifted down the misty river in the cold starlight she would bemoan her fate in haunting whistles and eerie trumpets, making a fey music that caused its hearers to both shudder and weep in grief and horror, though none knew from whence the song came.

  The year was growing old, the cheerful skies of summer grew hoary and grim, brooding pensively like a miser over his hoard. The miserable swan knew she should flee to warmer climes, for there was no place for her among the ice and snows of winter, but she had grown despondent and little cared what the future might hold. The only concession she would make towards the oncoming season was to float down the river towards the distant sea, wondering if her bitterness could lose itself in the undying echo of its disconsolate roar. Leaves fell as she passed, brown and dead, like all her hopes as she floated silently through a grey land.

  He stood on the battlements and stared stonily upon the dismal scene: grey sea, grey castle, grey sky, grey stones, grey hair, all of it suited his abominable mood. He had been a fool, and now he would have all the rest of time to contemplate his folly. He had met the sorceress upon the shore one sleepless night when he had gone out to pace up and down and stare at the stars. She was a beautiful creature, but distant and cold as the stars overhead. He had spouted some nonsense about envying the undying stars in their solitary splendor. She had asked if he would like to live forever. Curious, and utterly foolish, he had said that he would. Her laugh had been as chill as the wind that night but only afterwards did he realize it, and only too late. She asked again if he were certain and he had readily agreed. The waves had been fretting all night, but suddenly one great specimen engulfed the sleepless knight and the lady vanished like sea spray. A wan dawn had found him lying on the stony shore, soaked and frozen, but he knew he would live forever. His triumph however died aborning, for no sooner had this certainty arisen in his heart than he glanced at his wrinkled and withered arm and knew that with his immortality had also come a curse. He was a bent and wrinkled old man, lost were his vigor and youth; he must endure an eternal old age.

  Such was his despair and rage that the few servants remaining to him soon fled. He had not been a kind master, but there were those who needed bread more than compassion so had been willing to overlook this minor flaw in his character, but his changed appearance and ensuing wrath were too much for even these desperate creatures. So he was left alone in the great, aging castle with winter coming on and old age suddenly thrust upon him. He laughed bitterly and turned back into the keep.

  Odette finally came to the end of the river where it rushed headlong into the sea. She took wing before the rival forces of tide and stream clashed and glanced about her for a place to land. It was a grim land of stony ground, iron sea, and lowering sky with a hulking castle staring forlornly upon it all. Ungainly on land but curious for the first time in months she felt the first stirrings of something besides despair; she landed in the courtyard of the seemingly abandoned ruin. She glanced about with all the impertinence of the uninvited guest too dull to know the aggravation they have caused their unwitting host. There were some signs of recent habitation, but no one seemed to be about until a hunched old man emerged from a small alcove with desire burning in his eyes. The swan drew back, spread her wings, and hissed at the intruder who suddenly stayed his approach and studied the creature momentarily before falling to his knees with a grievous cry, the knife he had been clutching fell unheeded to the ground. The swan was too astonished to flee, but rather cocked her head and studied the miserable creature before her; he sounded as dejected as she felt, his anguished cry a startling echo of her own morose song.

  Not knowing exactly why, she folded her wings and waddled over to the wretched man, who lay sobbing on the paving stones, and rubbed her cheek against his. He reached up, almost mechanically, and cupped her feathered cheek with his hand, weeping all the more. His misery stirred the uneasy echoes in her own soul and soon they were both keening together in an unearthly chorus. Exhausted with grief, the pair at last studied one another, each strangely content in the company of the other. The man shakily stood and looked upon the peculiar bird with a grim smile, “do you know how close you came to death lass? That vile witch would have loved nothing more than to add murder to my wretchedness! But I saw such a look of despair in your eyes as never dwelt in those of a foolish fowl that I knew you must be something more. She that laid this curse upon me said I could be free of it if only I’d bathe in swan’s blood. Ha, swan’s blood! There has never been a swan in these parts since my forefathers built this castle five generations ago. What is your own sad tale? Are you a victim of this heartless sorceress as well?”

  The swan whistled in agitation and flapped her wings emphatically. The man smiled wryly, “I should have guessed as much. I was once a young knight, if you can believe it, but she appeared and offered me life unending and I like a fool asked no questions. I have life unending all right, but also became an old man and am ever cursed to be. I suppose the same is your plight, save you are cursed to go about in feathers?” The swan moaned her agreement and the man nodded, but a weak smile tinged his lips, “well, you can stay here if you’d like.
I’m all alone else and it seems you are too. Neither of us may be much in ourselves, but it is better than nothing.” The swan keened in interest, as if to say, ‘we have nothing to lose.’

  So it was that the bizarre pair passed the winter together and at last found solace from their grief and loneliness. Though the swan could not talk, she found ways to make her intentions known and soon they could communicate, if roughly. The castle was well stocked for winter but the man knew little of the domestic arts; the swan was a good housekeeper but had no hands, thus they were forced to rely on one another to accomplish all those daily tasks that went into making life livable, and in so doing, each was severely put to the test, for neither had been either very patient or forgiving in their previous lives. But such had been the ache and grief and horror of this new existence that they were loath to part with one another, strange as such companions were, it was far better than the aching loneliness each had previously known. So it was they worked and labored together, even learning to laugh at their little mistakes and the awkward dance that was often life. The man had to lay aside his pride and learn to do tasks he had previously thought beneath him; the lady could no longer rely upon her own skills and ingenuity and had to depend upon another for her succor.

  So it was that spring returned to utterly change the face of that grim land, so too did she find the once miserable pair likewise transformed. As the merry sun returned, the wind no longer held a bitter chill, and a creeping green shadow swept over the land, so too had warmth and joy crept back into the hearts of an aged man and his avian chatelaine. The spring hills resounded with his hearty laugh and her gay whistles as they left the grim keep to explore the verdant countryside. Of an evening they would sit by the fire and he would read or tell some tale, perhaps an adventure of his own or one of the stories passed down from his illustrious forebears. On one such night, a tremulous knock sounded upon the kitchen door. The swan keened in wonder, for never had she seen or heard of another human person in the months of her residence there, for word had spread of the cursed castle and its grim master so none ventured thither. The ancient man shakily grasped an old sword that was never far from his side and went to investigate this summons.

  The sea writhed in the grip of a furious spring storm and rain and thunder shattered the usual peace of the night. Upon the kitchen step, shivering in the wet and black of night, stooped an old woman garbed in rags. The man smiled ruefully as he hurriedly tossed aside the sword to help the aged dame into the relative comfort of the keep. The swan stood on a table and snaked her neck around the corner, watching in interest and dread. She whistled in dismay to see it was a needy guest and that she was unprepared; Odette hastened from the room to make ready. Six months previous, the poor beggar would have been turned out with nothing more than a bread crust if she were fortunate or a scolding if she were not, but now she was treated as if she were a visiting monarch, for each remembered their own days of bitterness and could not stand to see one of their fellow men in similar straits so did all they could to alleviate her misery. She soon found herself clad in dry and comfortable clothing, sitting before the fire, and eating the very same meal of which her hosts partook. Her eyes twinkled in secret joy as she broke bread with her strange companions.

  They wished greatly to speak with their guest, but it was obvious she was weary from her journey and they must content themselves with waiting for the morrow. She gratefully accepted a sleeping place in one of the many empty rooms the castle boasted, far better accommodations than the stable or under a hedge which might otherwise fall to one of her lot. But they were not to speak with the dear woman in the morning, for she had vanished, but they were not left long alone to ponder this strange occurrence, for another visitor demanded their attention. The sun shone merrily upon the dripping world, washed fresh by the previous night’s storm and upon their doorstep stood a most curious fellow. Said he, with perplexity in his voice, “I was bidden by a great and noble lady to hasten hither that I might unite a lord and lady in marriage.”

  The aged knight stared in wonder at the wandering monk that stood outside his door, but quickly hastened him inside and invited him to join them at breakfast. The man stared from the ancient lord to the great bird and back in even greater astonishment and the knight could not but laugh, “your own perplexity is no greater than my own. Who was this strange lady of your acquaintance? As you can see, there are none here save a man too old for such concerns and a bird too wise for her kind.”

  The brown robed man shook his head but with a wan smile, hinting at a hidden sense of humor, said, “I know her not, but she wakened me from a sound sleep in the middle of the night and ordered me to this place. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever gazed upon and I dared not disbelieve nor disobey such a summons.”

  Said the man grimly, “was there aught of cruelty, scorn, or deceit about her?”

  The cleric shook his head adamantly, “nay lord, she was all joy, mirth, and compassion.”

  The knight stroked his jaw in thought while the swan whistled a query. Slowly the aged man smiled and turned to the feathered lass, said he with a rueful laugh, “will you have me lady?” She whistled her amused affirmation and the peculiar pair stood before the friar who was a little aghast at the idea. Said the knight solemnly, “fear not that this be an unholy union sir, for we are both of us children of men and should be of a young and joyous age, but alas you see us in other guise. Perhaps there is a cure in the union? If not, I shall still have the lady to wife, even if she wears feathers.” The priest nodded sadly but cheered slightly as he proceeded to hear their vows. As he finished the ceremony, the sun’s light shining gaily down from a high window suddenly intensified to a blinding brilliance and all hid their eyes. When they could again see, man and maid stood before the priest as ever they were wont to be, save with a warmth and wisdom neither had possessed ere their strange adventures. They all laughed for very joy, each embracing the others.

  Again came a knocking upon the kitchen door, but this time there was no hesitancy or timidity, but rather an exuberant joy, after which the door burst asunder and the vibrant lady of the monk’s brief acquaintance stood in the doorway like sunshine incarnate. The lord and lady of the keep recognized her immediately as their guest of the previous night, though as changed in visage as the weather between their two meetings. Said she with delight, “well met, I say! Well met indeed! Now let us to the wedding feast while I tell you all the tale.” They exchanged startled but eager looks and accompanied the lady into the long unused banquet hall where an extravagant feast awaited them. While they dined, she spoke thus, “I chanced upon my sister in my wanderings the other day and we sat for some time speaking of our adventures in the wide world. We are of rather opposite persuasions, she and I, but as sisters we must occasionally feign interest in one another and we share a common profession so there is also that to consider. She takes great joy in causing mortal men much heartache and grief, in tricking them into accepting a curse and laughing at their misery thereafter.

  She especially enjoys trapping those of a proud and independent mien, as their misery is the most acute when they realize how utterly wretched they have become. She laughingly told of such an accursed pair, having intended the one to kill the other, but somehow they had found companionship in their wretchedness and pity one for the other. She laughed all the more at the strange situation that would be theirs until mornings ceased altogether. So she went on her way laughing while I hastened to this place to see if there might not be some cure to the curse. I was the poor beggar upon your doorstep last night and you treated me with all the kindness you would a queen, so I knew there was hope for your plight. Had you been still wretched and small of heart, not all the magic in the world could have freed you from your bondage, for though your outward appearance might be restored, your hearts would still have been as small and miserable as ever and so would you remain, for it is not in my power to lift such a
curse. But with that blight already lifted from your souls, it was a small matter to restore your physical forms. Now use your newfound love to make this stony land bloom and flourish, too long has it lain fallow under a winter of scorn and pride.”

  The newly wedded pair exchanged a joyous and eager smile and soon enlisted the monk in their conspiracy of joy. Word soon spread of the lifted curse and the far more astonishing change wrought in the once grim lord. It was not long before summer invaded many hearts thereabouts that had long lay dead and cold, as if in winter’s grasp. And so did that land flourish and prosper in the sixth generation as it had not done in the five before it. The cruel sorceress muttered under her breath about meddling sisters, but did not interfere as there were plenty of other men yet in the world to be made aware of their own misery, for they were already wretched at heart, she simply had the talent of bringing it to the fore.

  Dickery, dickery, dare,

  The pig flew up in the air;

  The man in brown soon brought him down,

  Dickery, dickery, dare.