Fierce, Fearless and Free

by Lari Don

  But the girls refused to eat the food the cannibals brought them. They refused to eat human flesh. They even refused to eat brains, which the brothers said was the tastiest bit.

  The brothers allowed the girls time off to fish, in order to feed themselves. So the girls could go down to the beach on their own, but they couldn’t escape, because there were no canoes on the island. The brothers didn’t own any boats, because they could fly from island to island.

  The girls worked hard, cleaning the cannibals’ cave and sharpening the cannibals’ knives. But they were never allowed to sharpen, or even go near, the cannibals’ two red stone axes.

  The girls’ final job at the end of every day was to display any new skulls on rock ledges lining the cave walls. One day the cannibals brought two of the girls’ neighbours home to eat. That evening, the girls folded their arms, shook their heads and refused to display the new skulls.

  One brother muttered, ‘These servants are more trouble than they’re worth. They’re picky eaters, they need time off to catch and cook disgusting fish, now they’re refusing to put skulls on our souvenir shelves.’

  The other brother nodded. ‘Perhaps it’s time to eat them?’

  But the girls’ families had heard rumours, whispers on the waves, that the cannibals had two new female servants. The families hoped the servants were their own stolen girls, so they offered a huge reward – betel-nut trees, porpoise teeth, tusked pigs and strings of shell money – to whoever rescued their daughters.

  A fleet of one hundred canoes, rowed by lots of strong young men, set off to rescue the girls. When the one hundred canoes reached the small island, the cannibals laughed. ‘Our food is delivering itself!’

  The brothers ate a huge feast that day. The girls spent all night displaying fresh new skulls. Only a handful of the one hundred canoes and their warriors escaped to return home.

  The whispering waves carried word of the huge reward to the island of the warrior women. Their fearless leader, Riina, decided she would rescue the girls.

  Riina navigated just one canoe, rowed by her warriors, towards the cannibals’ island.

  When they got near the shore, Riina ordered her warrior women to lie down flat in the bottom of the canoe, so they were hidden. Riina stood up tall and straight, so she could be seen from the island.

  The brothers watched a lone woman float towards the shore.

  One brother grinned. ‘Another snack, coming straight to us!’

  He picked up his axe and flew to the canoe to grab Riina. He swooped down, reaching for her throat.

  But the warrior was faster than the cannibal. Riina grabbed his hair and flung him into the bottom of the canoe.

  When he crash-landed, he let go of his red stone axe.

  And Riina stepped over the axe.

  It was taboo – in those islands, in those days – for a woman to step over a sacred object. When Riina stepped over the sacred red stone axe, all the power drained from the axe. When his axe become powerless, so did the cannibal. Suddenly he had no strength and no power to fly.

  He couldn’t fight off the warriors as they tied him up in the bottom of the canoe.

  Riina and her band of women rowed to the beach and leaped out, dragging the bound cannibal with them.

  ‘Let my brother go!’ screamed the other cannibal. He flew out of the cave towards the warriors, ready to slash and bite and kill.

  Riina threw her favourite boomerang towards the cannibal’s hand. Her perfect aim knocked his red stone axe from his fingers. It hit the ground and one of the other women warriors stepped over it.

  The sacred axe lost its power, so the second cannibal fell out of the air and crashed on to the sand.

  As soon as both brothers were powerless, the two girls ran from the skull-lined cave and jumped into the canoe. Riina and her warriors rowed them away, towards safety and freedom, leaving the cannibals on the beach.

  The girls were welcomed home with a huge feast. Riina was given the huge reward.

  And the two cannibals were trapped on an island with no power to fly and no canoes. I wonder if they ever learned to catch and eat fish?

  MEDEA AND THE METAL MAN

  GREEK MYTH

  This is the story of an ancient getaway after a mythical robbery.

  Jason, his companions the Argonauts, the Golden Fleece they’d just stolen from the king of Colchis, and the girl who’d helped them steal it, were all sailing from Colchis to Greece on Jason’s ship the Argo. They were running out of fresh water, having left the scene of the crime in a bit of a hurry, so Jason decided to land on an island to stock up.

  The nearest island was Crete. But Crete was guarded by the first robot in history. (The first robot in mythology, at least.)

  Hephaestus, the god of metalwork, had forged a giant man out of gleaming sheets of bronze. This huge metal warrior was called Talos and he was powered by ichor: the golden blood of the gods. Hephaestus had filled Talos’s single vein by pouring ichor through a hole in Talos’s left ankle and he’d stoppered the hole with a tight-fitting iron nail. Then the god had given the robot to the people of Crete.

  Talos’s job was to guard Crete by patrolling the island’s shores. The giant metal man ran round the shoreline three times every day, watching for invaders. If he saw an invading ship, it was his duty to throw rocks at it until it sank or sailed away.

  But the first-ever robot was starting to malfunction. Perhaps Talos was overdue a service. Perhaps a cog or wheel had come loose. Whatever the reason, he no longer just attacked invaders, he now threw rocks at every ship that came close, driving traders and travellers and tourists away from Crete.

  So when the Argo sailed near the coast, Talos threw rocks at it.

  The Argonauts were expert sailors and they dodged the rocks flying towards them by tacking and swerving, zigging and zagging. But they couldn’t keep that up forever and they still needed to reach land, because they were all thirsty.

  ‘We come in peace!’ shouted Jason. ‘We just want fresh water. Please, shiny metal man, let us land.’

  ‘No one may land on my island,’ Talos yelled back. ‘Sail away or I will sink you!’

  He threw another rock and the Argo jerked out of the way again.

  ‘Let me deal with this metal monster,’ said Orpheus, whose magical music had lulled the king’s guard dragon to sleep so Jason could sneak past to steal the Golden Fleece.

  As Orpheus tuned his lyre, the girl watched, leaning against the mast and shaking her head.

  When Orpheus started to play, the Argonauts put wax in their ears so they couldn’t hear his dangerous music. But Talos couldn’t hear it either, past the splashing of rocks landing in the sea. He heard occasional notes, but not enough of the beautiful lullaby to make him sleepy.

  So the rocks kept flying towards the ship.

  Orpheus put down his lyre, the Argonauts unplugged their ears and Jason said, ‘Let’s do this the traditional way. Let’s just kill him.’

  The girl leaning against the mast smiled, and shook her head again.

  A handful of Argonauts kept steering and sailing the ship; the rest picked up their spears and bows and arrows, and aimed at the burnished bronze heart of Talos.

  Even though the ship was jerking and tacking to avoid the rocks, the Argonauts were all excellent warriors, so they hit their shiny target every single time. But their spear-points and arrowheads just made a small ting noise as they struck the robot’s metal skin, then fell to the ground. Talos was too well made to be damaged by such tiny weapons.

  And the rocks kept flying towards the ship.

  ‘Stop wasting your arrows!’ said the girl, whose name was Medea.

  Medea had helped Jason steal the Golden Fleece from her own father, the king of Colchis. Medea was clever and brave and powerful, but not particularly good at family loyalty.

  ‘Stop wasting your arrows,’ said Medea again. ‘I’ll deal with this metal man.’

  ‘How?’ asked Jason. ‘You don’t h
ave any weapons.’

  ‘I don’t need weapons. I just need my words and his weakness.’

  ‘What weakness? I only see strength and size and shiny metal muscles…’

  But Medea had already dived off the Argo and started swimming to shore.

  As she stepped on to the beach, she flicked her wet hair out of her face and saw a huge dark shadow around her on the sand. She rubbed the water out of her eyes. The shadow was getting bigger.

  Medea looked up. She saw a massive metal foot crashing down towards her.

  She jumped out of the way as the foot thumped on to the beach.

  Then the other foot crashed down. She jumped out of the way of that too.

  Just like the ship had been zigging and zagging out to sea, Medea had to zig and zag across the beach as Talos stamped his heavy bronze feet down, trying to crush her.

  Talos stamped, left right left right…

  Medea dodged, right left right left…

  And Talos just missed her, every time.

  Finally Talos yelled, ‘Stand still, small human! Stand still so I can step on you.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Medea gasped, as she kept running.

  ‘Because I’m going to step on you eventually,’ shouted Talos, as he kept stomping. ‘So you might as well save us both all this effort. Then I can get back to sinking that sneaky ship.’

  But she kept dodging and he kept missing.

  ‘Stand still! It would be a glorious end to anyone’s story, to be crushed by the first metal man in history!’

  Medea leaped to the right. ‘It would be a memorable and heroic way to go, crushed on a golden beach by a bronze robot. Probably better than any other way I’m likely to be remembered. But…’

  ‘But what? Stop dodging, stand still!’

  Medea leaped to the left. ‘But if that was to be the end of my story, it would have to be a flawless metal man who crushed me. Anything else would be embarrassing, not glorious. I can’t stand still for you, because you aren’t flawless.’

  ‘Of course I’m flawless. I was created by a god. Look at me!’ He flexed his bronzed biceps, then crashed his right foot down.

  ‘You’re quite impressive, but you do have one small flaw.’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ He crashed his left foot down, even harder.

  Medea dodged out of his way. ‘Yes you do! That nail, on your left ankle. It’s not bronze, like the rest of you, so it doesn’t gleam in the sunlight. That nail is iron, so it’s grey and dull and I can even see a spot of rust.’

  ‘Rust! Where?’

  ‘On the underside of the nail. I see it every time you try to squash me with your left foot. That’s your flaw. That’s why it would not be a glorious end to be crushed by you. That’s why I won’t stand still.’

  ‘If I didn’t have that nail in my ankle, you’d stand still?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m sure I would…’

  Talos bent down to pull out the nail. But his bronze fingers were big and the iron nail was small, so he couldn’t get a firm grip.

  ‘Would you like some help?’ asked Medea.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Then you stand still.’

  Talos stood perfectly still, while Medea walked to the giant metal foot which had been trying to crush her. Medea wrapped her hands round the nail (it was tiny to Talos, but huge to Medea) and used all her strength to haul it out.

  As the nail slid out, ichor dripped down Talos’s gleaming skin. The ichor trickled out, then flowed, then gushed…

  Medea stepped away from the fountain of golden blood.

  Then she stepped further back, as the huge metal man crashed to the sand.

  Once all the ichor had drained out of his single vein, Talos lay still. Empty and hollow. Just a shiny statue lying on a beach.

  The Argo landed, and the Argonauts cheered Medea back on board, stocked up on water, then sailed away in their getaway ship, with their stolen Golden Fleece.

  Once everyone heard that Talos was lying motionless on a Cretan beach, the traders, travellers and tourists could sail to Crete again. All because Medea had noticed the first robot’s one small rusty point of weakness.

  BRIDGET AND THE WITCHES

  IRISH FOLK TALE

  Bridget and her mother knew that their cottage must be clean and tidy before they went to bed. Sweep the floor, wipe the plates, scrub the table, bank the fire, pour out the feetwater, lock the door… Bridget, her mother and all their neighbours did these chores to be virtuous and respectable.

  And, of course, to keep the witches out.

  Because a house that isn’t clean and tidy gives witches the means (and, some would say, the right) to enter overnight.

  So every night, Bridget and her mother tidied up, cleaned up, locked up. But one Friday, tired from their day’s work in the fields, exhausted from their evening’s work spinning and baking, they forgot just one thing.

  They forgot to throw the feetwater out the door.

  They left the tub of warm water by the fireplace, where they’d soaked their sore feet at the end of a long day.

  When Bridget and her mother were falling asleep, there was a scratch at the door and a voice called, ‘Feetwater, feetwater, open the door.’

  The feetwater sniggered, full of the unruliness of dirt. ‘I’d be happy to open the door.’

  The feetwater slopped over the side of the tub and slithered in a winding path to the door. The feetwater flowed up the door, flicked the latch and dribbled back to its tub.

  The door swung open and in came three witches, with long sharp fingernails, sour creased faces and dusty green cloaks.

  The witches stomped over to the fireplace, sat on the stools by the fading warmth, got out their spindles and started to spin.

  But they didn’t spin their own wool. They grabbed handfuls from the family’s bag of wool. They warmed themselves by throwing the family’s firewood on the fire. They filled their bellies by chewing on the family’s bread and butter.

  Bridget and her mother cowered in their narrow bed in the corner of the cottage, hugging each other tight.

  ‘They might not leave,’ whispered her mother. ‘Now they’re inside, they might stay until they’ve taken all our wool, burned all our firewood and eaten all our food. Then we’ll have nothing between us and cold starvation.’ She shivered.

  ‘I’ll get rid of them,’ said Bridget.

  She tied her shawl round her shoulders and plaited her hair. As she tidied herself up, she gathered her courage and her wits.

  Then she stood up and said, ‘Hello, ladies. Can I help you at all?’

  All three witches stopped spinning and turned to look at Bridget.

  The first witch snarled at her.

  The second witch licked her lips and rubbed her belly.

  The third witch smiled, showing her sharp teeth. ‘No, thank you. We have everything we need.’

  ‘What about a cup of tea? It’s thirsty work, spinning, especially beside such a hot fire. And surely you’d like something to wash down all the bread you’ve been eating. Would you not like a cup of tea, ladies?’

  The first witch snarled again, the second witch laughed and the third witch frowned, then nodded. ‘Spinning is thirsty work. We would accept a cup of tea.’

  Bridget smiled. ‘I’ll nip out to the well for fresh water. All the water indoors is nasty and dirty and unwholesome.’ She glared at the feetwater, then grabbed a bucket. She pushed the door open and ran out to the well.

  As she filled the bucket, Bridget looked around her, hoping for inspiration. How could she get rid of the terrifying witches who’d invaded her home? What would make them leave while there was still wool and fuel and food to steal?

  She looked up at the hills, lit white and grey by the moonlight. Each hill had a different story. Fionn mac Cumhaill slept under one hill, the fairies danced inside another. The highest hill was called Sliabh na mBan, the hill of the women, and it was rumoured to be the home of the witches.

 
Bridget would do anything to protect her home. Perhaps the witches felt the same about their home.

  So Bridget dropped the bucket with a crash, ran into the cottage and screamed, ‘Fire! Flames! Fire! Ruin! Sliabh na mBan is burning! The hill of the women is on fire!’

  The three witches leaped up, yelling, ‘Our children, our meal chests, our brooms, all burning! Our butter kegs, our wool cards, our hats, all burning!’ Then they ran out of the cottage.

  Bridget grabbed the tub of feetwater, threw the filthy liquid outside, slammed the door and locked it.

  Then she sat beside her mother, who was trembling on the bed.

  ‘How can a hill be on fire?’ whispered her mother.

  ‘It’s not on fire, Ma, I just said that to get them out the door.’

  ‘When they realise you’ve tricked them, will they come back, angrier and hungrier than before?’

  ‘Let them come back,’ said Bridget. ‘They’ll not steal any more of our food or wool or warmth, because they won’t get through that door.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked her mother.

  Bridget didn’t answer.

  They both sat, silent and shivering, staring at the locked door.

  And they waited.

  Then they heard sharp nails scratching.

  They heard a harsh voice demand, ‘Feetwater, feetwater, open the door!’

  And they heard a damp voice whimper, ‘How can I open the door? I’m under your feet, soaking into the cold ground. I’m locked out too.’

  The three witches stomped off, to look for another house with forgotten feetwater inside.

  After that night, Bridget and her mother occasionally forgot to sweep the floor or scrub the table, but they never ever forgot to pour out the feetwater. And the witches from Sliabh na mBan never bothered them again.

  PETROSINELLA AND THE TOWER

  ITALIAN FAIRY TALE

  Once upon a time, there was a beautiful garden, filled with fruit, flowers, herbs and no weeds at all. This garden was owned and tended by an ogre, who loved the beautiful plants because she couldn’t see any beauty in herself. She was taller than the cherry trees in her garden, with skin as green as the leaves on the rosebushes, claws as sharp as the thorns, and teeth as long and yellow as the parsnips in the vegetable patch.