The Halcyon Fairy Book

by T. Kingfisher

  Nobody suspects … the firewood!

  Then she whispered, “This is how I shall get them: As they come through this forest, the three men with their brides, I shall send on them a terrible hunger. Then they shall come suddenly on a table spread with tempting food. One bite of that food and they are in my power, he he! Ay, sisters, tonight Suyettar will have a fine supper! Nothing can save them unless, before they touch the food, someone make the sign of the moss three times over the table. Then table and food would disappear and also the ravening hunger. But even if that happens, Suyettar shall still get them!”

  “How, sister, how?” the other two asked.

  “Then I should send on them consuming thirst, and then put in their pathway a spring of cold sparkling water. One drop of that water and they are in my power, he he! Nothing can save them from me unless, before their lips touch the water, someone make the sign of the bark three times over the spring. At that the spring would disappear and also their thirst.

  “But even if they escape the spring, I shall still get them. I shall send great heaviness on them and a longing for sleep, then let them come on a row of soft inviting feather beds. If they cast themselves on the beds, they are mine, he he! to feast on as I will! Nothing can save them but that someone make the sign of the tree top three times over the beds before they touch them.

  “Oh, sisters, I shall get them one way or another for there is no one to warn them. If there was anyone to warn them, he wouldn’t dare tell them what he knows, for he would also know that if he told them he would himself be turned into a blue cross and have to stand forever in the cemetery.”

  There is a lot to digest here.

  What are the sign of the moss, bark, and tree? And what a novel punishment that last is. Suyettar is certainly novel.

  [Author’s note: Some research from a Finnish reader indicates that this whole sign-of-moss thing is a later addition (and in fact, there are a lot of peculiar translation liberties taken with this story). It was probably originally the sign of the cross, and the moss/bark/tree was a retrofit to make it seem more pagan.]

  As Log knew now all the dangers that threatened, he slipped away from the woodpile and, when he was outside, took his own shape and hurried back to his comrades.

  … this seems to imply that he can move as firewood.

  The mind boggles. Are little barky bits wiggling along like millipede legs? Is he hopping? Is he rolling down stairs and over the neighbor’s dog?

  “Away!” he cried. “We are in great danger!”

  They all spurred their horses and rode swiftly on until Three Bottles suddenly cried, “Hold, comrades, hold! I am faint with hunger!”

  “Me, too!” cried Six Bottles.

  At that instant a great table, laden with delicious food, appeared before them. “Look!” cried the one of them.

  “Food!” cried the other.

  They flung themselves from their horses and ran towards the table; but quick as they were, Log was quicker. He reached the table first and, raising his hand, made the sign of the moss three times. The table disappeared as suddenly as it had come and with it the strange hunger that had but now consumed them.

  Sign of the moss. Still baffled. I am wavering between crossing oneself and shining the Moss-signal over Gotham. “He’ll be here as soon as he can, Commissioner! Which is about an inch a season, unless we treat the Joker with buttermilk!”

  “Strange!” Three Bottles exclaimed. “I thought I was hungry, but I’m not!”

  “I thought I saw food just now,” Six Bottles said. “I must have been dreaming.” So they mounted again and pushed on.

  “Danger threatens us,” said Log. “We must hurry and not dismount no matter what the temptation.”

  They agreed, but then one of them cried out, and then the other, “Water! Water! We shall soon perish unless we have water!”

  At once by the wayside appeared a spring of cool sparkling water and it was all Log could do to reach it before his fellows. He did get there first and made the sign of the bark three times, so that the spring disappeared and with it the thirst which had but now consumed the mall.

  “I thought I was thirsty,” Three Bottles said, “but I’m not!”

  “Why did we dismount?” Six Bottles asked. “There’s no water here.”

  So again they mounted and went forward, and Log, warning them again that danger threatened, begged them not to dismount a third time no matter what the temptation.

  They promised they would not, but soon, complaining of fatigue, they wanted to. Their brides, too, swayed in the saddle, overcome with weariness and sleep.

  “Dear Log,” they said, “let us rest for an hour. See, our brides are drooping with fatigue! One hour’s sleep and we shall all be refreshed!”

  At once beside them on the forest floor they saw three soft white feather beds. Log leaped to the ground, but before he was able to make the sign of the tree top over more than one of the beds, his comrades and their brides had fallen headlong on the other two.

  And that was the end of poor Three Bottles and Six Bottles and their two lovely brides. There was no way now of saving them from Suyettar. She had them in her power and nothing would induce her to give them up.

  Well, that was abrupt and depressing.

  I hope they slept peacefully and dreamed of head-scratches.

  As Log and his bride sadly mounted their horse and rode on they heard an evil voice chanting out in triumph, “I’ll fall on them with a thud, he he! I’ll pick their bones and drink their blood, he he!”

  … doesn’t bode well. I note that he doesn’t even try to fix it, though — nope, not happening, very sad, time to go home, I guess. Clearly Suyettar was a tough customer.

  “Poor fellows! Poor fellows!” Log said, and the princess wept to think of the awful fate that had overtaken her two sisters.

  Well, Log and his bride reached home without further adventure and were received by the king with great honors.

  “I knew my heroes were succeeding,” the king said, “when first the dawn appeared again, and then the moon, and last the mighty sun. All hail to you, Log, and to your two comrades! But, by the way, where are Three Bottles and Six Bottles?”

  “Your Majesty,” Log said, “Three Bottles and Six Bottles were brave men both. By their prowess they released the one the dawn, the other the moon. Then in an evil adventure on the way home they perished. I can tell you no more.”

  “You can tell me no more?” the king said. “Why can you tell me no more? What was the evil adventure in which they perished?”

  “If I told you, king, then I, too, should perish, for I should be turned into a blue cross and stood forever in the cemetery!”

  “What nonsense!” the king exclaimed. “Who would turn you into a blue cross and stand you forever in the cemetery?”

  “That is what I cannot tell you,” Log said.

  The king laughed and pressed Log no further,

  Ha ha, everybody else is dead and the god like heroic kind gentle beautiful strong sexy hunk of were-firewood is depressed and appears sworn to silence! I’m so amused!

  but the people of the kingdom, scenting a mystery, insisted on knowing in detail what had happened the other two heroes. So the rumor began to spread that Log himself had done away with them in order that he might gather to himself all the glory of the undertaking.

  I guess maybe everybody didn’t love Log.

  The king was forced at last to send for him again and to demand a full account of everything.

  Log realized that his end was near. He met it bravely. Commending to the king’s protection his lovely princess, Log related how the three mighty serpents whom they had killed were sons of Suyettar, and how in revenge Suyettar had succeeded in destroying Three Bottles and Six Bottles together with their brides. Then he told the fate about to overtake himself.

  Oh god, it really is Old Yeller! “He’s my log, ma. I’ll do it.”

  He finished speaking and as the king and the cou
rt looked at him, to their amazement he disappeared.

  Log, nooo!

  “To the cemetery!” someone cried.

  They all went to the cemetery where at once they found a fresh blue cross that had come there nobody knew how. There it stands to this day, a reminder of the life and deeds of the mighty hero Log.

  *sniffle* I hope they put up a nice plaque, the jerks.

  The king was overcome with sorrow at losing such a hero. He took Log’s bride under his protection and he found her so beautiful and so gentle that soon he fell in love with her and married her.

  Ah … huh. How nice for her. I’m sure that wasn’t awkward at all.

  Well. It was no twenty-four-headed-otter tale, perhaps, but if you had told me that the most sympathetic hero we’d find in a long time was a piece of sentient firewood, I … would probably have believed you, actually. But still. Nooo! Log! We hardly knew ye!

  Clearly Log needs to be resurrected in fanfic. Dr. Who crossover, maybe. My Little Log. Team Log! LOGS DO NOT SPARKLE. THEY ARE TOO MANLY TO SPARKLE AND ALSO THEY ARE LOGS.

  … still kinda weirded out by the head-scratching thing, though.

  Tatterhood

  I’ll be honest with you — I love this one. It’s very short compared to some of the drawn-out sagas we’ve seen and never once devolves into “East of the Sun, West of the Moon,” which is sort of the go-to fairy tale for dragging things out. So this’ll be a quick little afternoon amusement instead of a lengthy epic. Still!

  It’s also one of the very, very, few fairy tales that has a kick ass female hero who isn’t just there in an advisory capacity. (Seriously, why was the Master-maid not just killing everything in her path? Why did she even need the prince around?)

  I do rather resent the ending, though.

  A little digging turns up that this is Aarne-Thompson type 711, “Beautiful and Ugly Twin.” Apparently this is common in Norway and doesn’t come up much elsewhere. Go figure.

  This is from Popular Tales from the Norse translated by George Webb Dasent (New York: G. P. Putnam Sons, 1908).

  ONCE upon a time there was a king and a queen who had no children, and that made the queen very sad. She seldom had a happy hour. She was always crying and complaining, and saying how dull and lonesome it was in the palace. “If we had children there would be life enough,” she said. Wherever she went in all her realm she found God’s blessing in children, even in the poorest hut. And wherever she went she heard women scolding their children, and saying how they had done this and that wrong. The queen heard all this, and thought it would be so nice to do as other women did.

  We only have the kids on alternate weeks, and let me tell you that the scolding bit is about as much fun as chewing your leg off in a bear trap. Seriously, why are there dirty socks on the windowsill? Seriously? Again?

  At last the king and queen took into their palace an adopted girl to raise, that they might always have her with them, to love her if she did well, and scold her if she did wrong, like their own child.

  Ironically, she will vanish without a trace one paragraph from now.

  One day the little girl whom they had taken as their own, ran down into the palace yard, and was playing with a golden apple. Just then an old beggar woman came by, who had a little girl with her, and it wasn’t long before the little girl and the beggar’s child were great friends, and began to play together, and to toss the golden apple about between them. When the queen saw this, as she sat at a window in the palace, she tapped on the pane for her foster daughter to come up. She went at once, but the beggar girl went up too; and as they went into the queen’s apartment, each held the other by the hand. Then the queen began to scold the little lady, and to say, “You ought to be above running about and playing with a tattered beggar’s brat.” And she started to drive the girl down the stairs.

  The queen is setting herself up for one of those classic fairy tale comeuppances here. Always be polite to beggars and always follow directions.

  Also, I hope you enjoyed the adopted girl because we will never hear from her again.

  “If the queen only knew my mother’s power, she’d not drive me out,” said the little girl; and when the queen asked what she meant more plainly, she told her how her mother could get her children if she chose. The queen wouldn’t believe it, but the girl insisted, and said that every word of it was true, and asked the queen only to try and make her mother do it. So the queen sent the girl down to fetch up her mother.

  “Do you know what your daughter says?” asked the queen of the old woman, as soon as ever she came into the room.

  No, the beggar woman knew nothing about it.

  The kid’s nuts, Your Majesty. She keeps trying to tell me that it’s fairies leaving dirty socks on the windowsill.

  “Well, she says you can get me children if you will,” answered the queen.

  “Queens shouldn’t listen to beggar girls’ silly stories,” said the old woman, and walked out of the room.

  This right here is proof that the old woman has magical powers. She just told off the queen and walked out. You don’t do that unless you’re pretty confident that you can turn everybody into toads if the issue comes up.

  Or you’re fireproof. Fireproof is also good.

  Then the queen got angry, and wanted again to drive out the little girl; but she declared it was true every word that she had said.

  “Let the queen only give my mother something to drink,” said the girl, “when she gets tipsy she’ll soon find out a way to help you.”

  Possibly this is a seriously clever two-woman con designed to get Mom’s drink on.

  The queen was ready to try this; so the beggar woman was fetched up again, and treated with as much wine and mead as she wanted; and so it was not long before her tongue began to wag. Then the queen came out again with the same question she had asked before.

  “Kids? Whadya want kids for? It’s all dirty socks and dragging me in to talk to queens. Seriously, get a goat. Goats are useful. And they don’t wear socks.”

  “Perhaps I know one way to help you,” said the beggar woman. “Your majesty must make them bring in two pails of water some evening before you go to bed. Wash yourself in each of them, and afterwards throw the water under your bed. When you look under your bed the next morning, two flowers will have sprung up, a beautiful one and an ugly one. Eat the beautiful one but leave the ugly alone. Be careful not to forget this last bit of advice.” That was what the beggar woman said.

  All those who think the queen is going to listen, raise your hand. No, keep ’em up so I can count them.

  Right. You have failed Fairy Tales 101. Report to the old well to be assigned whatever horrible thing will fall out of your mouth whenever you talk from now on. Ask for earthworms, they’re easier to hide than toads. And good in the garden.

  Incidentally, that’s a lot of water to dump under the bed. If I did that, I’d expect a leak in the living room.

  Yes, the queen did what the beggar woman advised her to do; she had the water brought up in two pails, washed herself in them, and emptied them under the bed; and when she looked under the bed the next morning, there stood two flowers; one was ugly and foul, and had black leaves; but the other was so bright, and fair, and lovely, she had never seen anything like it, so she ate it up at once. But the pretty flower tasted so sweet, that she couldn’t help herself. She ate the other one too, for, she thought, “I’m sure that it can’t hurt or help me much either way.”

  Remarkably, the queen will not learn from this mistake.

  Well, sure enough, after a while the queen was brought to bed. First of all, she had a girl who had a wooden spoon in her hand, and rode upon a goat.

  There is almost no way to interpret this that does not involve the queen giving birth to a riding goat. I am guessing there was a lot of screaming and a lot of head-scratching on the part of the midwives — and how do you even explain that to the king? “Say, Your Majesty, you aren’t aware of any … err … odd shoots o
n the family tree, are you? You know … extra limbs … maybe with hooves …?”

  It’s even more disturbing if you take the literal interpretation that she rode out on the goat, under her own power. I am not entirely sure that dilation in centimeters is what’s called for here. Presumably the queen had like three epidurals and maybe some laudanum.

  She was disgusting and ugly, and the very moment she came into the world she bawled out “Mamma.”

  “If I’m your mamma,” said the queen, “God give me grace to mend my ways.”

  Last time I take advice from drunk beggar women. Let me talk to the goat. Technically the goat’s mine, too.

  “Oh, don’t be sorry,” said the girl on the goat, “for one will soon come after me who is better looking.”

  I dunno, that’s a fine figure of a goat. Come to Mamma, goatikins! Lookit those liddle hoofie-woofies! Wooo, this is good laudanum!

  After a while, the queen had another girl, who was so beautiful and sweet that no one had ever set eyes on such a lovely child. You may be sure that the queen was very well pleased.

  This is even better than a goat!

  The elder twin they called “Tatterhood,” because she was always so ugly and ragged, and because she had a hood which hung about her ears in tatters.

  Incidentally, she’s the only character in the entire story who gets a name.

  The queen could hardly bear to look at her.

  Because she’s ugly or because they had to invent a new scale for vaginal tearing after that whole riding-goat incident?

  The nurses tried to shut her up in a room by herself, but it did no good. She always had to be where the younger twin was, and no one could ever keep them apart.

  One Christmas eve, when they were half grown up, there arose a frightful noise and clatter in the hallway outside the queen’s apartment. Tatterhood asked what it was that was making such a noise outside.

  “Oh,” said the queen, “it isn’t worth asking about.”

  But Tatterhood wouldn’t give in until she found out all about it; and so the queen told her it was a pack of trolls and witches who had come there to celebrate Christmas.