The Halcyon Fairy Book

by T. Kingfisher

  The queen is incredibly blase about this. I am gonna go with serious laudanum habit, because otherwise having packs of trolls and witches in the hallways is completely commonplace. “Not worth asking about. Just witches and trolls again. It’s Tuesday, you know that’s witch-and-troll-in-the-hallway day. Sheesh, go play with your brother the goat or something.”

  So Tatterhood said that she would just go out and drive them away. In spite of all they could say, and however much they begged and asked her to leave the trolls alone, she just had to go out and drive the witches off.

  She begged the queen to be careful and keep all the doors shut tight, so that not one of them would open the least bit.

  Anyone who thinks the queen listens, raise your hand. Nobody? Good.

  Having said this, off she went with her wooden spoon, and began to hunt out and drive away the hags.

  The two-handed wooden Battlespoon is used to this day by an order of warrior nuns found only on a small island off the coast of Norway. The name is chock full of umlauts and is believed to have been the Viking word for “Just keep rowing, dude.” The nuns have artfully ragged habits and keep a flock of exceedingly handsome goats.

  All the while there was such a commotion out in the gallery that the like of it had never before been heard. The whole palace creaked and groaned as if every joint and beam were going to be torn out of its place. Now I can’t say exactly what happened,

  Oh, it was so totally the queen.

  but somehow or other one door did open a little bit, and her twin sister just peeped out to see how things were going with Tatterhood, and put her head a tiny bit through the opening. But, pop! up came an old witch, and whipped off her head, and stuck a calf’s head on her shoulders instead; and so the princess ran back into the room on all fours, and began to “moo” like a calf.

  The next time somebody pulls out that ancient astronaut crap about how primitive societies were so much more advanced than we are, I’m pointing to this story and claiming that the old Norse could do head transplants.

  When Tatterhood came back and saw her sister, she scolded them all, and was very angry because they hadn’t kept better watch, and asked them what they thought of their carelessness now that her sister had been turned into a calf.

  Great. Now my siblings are a goat and a calf — and I am still gonna be third in line to the throne. This family has issues, even leaving aside Mom’s increasing opium dependency.

  “But I’ll see if I can’t set her free,” she said.

  There’s only room for one farm animal in this family!

  Then she asked the king for a ship with a full set of sails and good load of stores, but she would not have a captain or any sailors. No; she would sail away with her sister all alone. There was no holding her back, and at last they let her have her own way.

  We will also never see the parents again. I would hope that they went back to their adopted daughter, but at this point, I think she’s well out of it. I like to think she ran off with the beggar girl and her mother and learned witchcraft.

  Tatterhood sailed off, and steered her ship right up to the land where the witches lived. When she came to the landing place, she told her sister to stay quite still on board the ship; but she herself rode on her goat up to the witches’ castle.

  C’mon, bro, let’s go get our sister’s head back …

  When she got there, one of the windows in the gallery was open, and there she saw her sister’s head hung up on the window frame; so she jumped her goat through the window into the gallery, snapped up the head, and set off with it. The witches came after her to try to get the head back. They flocked around her as thick as a swarm of bees or a nest of ants.

  I want Pixar to do this movie, just so I can see Tatterhood with a severed head under one arm, riding her war goat, beating the crap out of people with her spoon.

  The goat snorted and puffed, and butted with his horns, and Tatterhood beat and banged them about with her wooden spoon and so the pack of witches had to give up.

  We may be witches, but a goat AND a spoon? That’s just crazy talk.

  So Tatterhood got back to her ship, took the calf’s head off her sister, and put her own on again, and then she became a girl as she had been before.

  I like to think that they tacked the calf-head on the front of the ship as a figurehead. And then became pirates. “STAND AND DELIVER OR YOU GET THE GOAT AND THE SPOON!”

  After that she sailed a long, long way, to a strange king’s realm.

  Well, I’ve terrorized all the other pirates until they just hand me money as soon as we pull alongside. Now I’m bored and the deck is ankle deep in goat crap.

  Now the king of this land was a widower, and had an only son. When he saw the strange sail, he sent messengers down to the beach to find out where it came from, and who owned it;but when the king’s men came down there, the only person they saw on board was Tatterhood, and there she was, riding around and around the deck on her goat at full speed, until her strands of hair streamed in the wind. The men from the palace were all amazed at this sight, and asked if more people were not on board. Yes, there were; she had a sister with her, said Tatterhood. They wanted to see too, but Tatterhood said no.

  “No one shall see her, unless the king comes himself,” she said; and so she began to gallop about on her goat until the deck thundered again.

  I think we should take up barrel racing next, bro. We could make a killing on the pro-riding circuit!

  (Incidentally, I told you guys about how my great-grandfather ran off with a trick rider from the rodeo, didn’t I? True story. Piece of family history. She was always described as “mannish” but of course all parties died long ago so all we know is the one line “he ran off with a mannish trick rider from the rodeo.” I have always wished we had some context on that.)

  When the servants got back to the palace, and told what they had seen and heard down at the ship, the king wanted to set out at once to see the girl that rode on the goat. When he arrived there, Tatterhood brought out her sister, and she was so beautiful and gentle that the king immediately fell head over heels in love with her. He brought them both back with him to the palace, and wanted to have the sister for his queen; but Tatterhood said “No,” the king couldn’t have her in any way, unless the king’s son would take Tatterhood. That, as you may guess, the prince did not want to do at all, because Tatterhood was such an ugly hussy. However, at last the king and all the others in the palace talked him into it, and he gave in, promising to take her for his queen; but it went sore against his grain, and he was a very sad man.

  I am torn here, because I’d feel for anybody being emotionally blackmailed into marrying against their will, but his reasons are so dreadful. She’s an ugly hussy? Dude! Have you seen what she can do with a spoon? This woman is a force of nature!

  The goat does not apparently get any marital prospects.

  Now they began making preparations for the wedding, both with brewing and baking; and when all was ready, they went to church. The prince thought it the worst church service he had ever been to in all his life.

  That’s because you were born several centuries before the Satan-is-every-where-in-popular-music sermon common in the mid-eighties.

  The king left first with his bride, and she was so lovely and so grand, all the people stopped to look at her along the road, and they stared at her until she was out of sight. After them came the prince on horseback by the side of Tatterhood, who trotted along on her goat with her wooden spoon in her fist. To look at him, he was not going to a wedding, but to a burial, and his own at that. He seemed so sad, and did not speak a word.

  In fairness, I can understand the prince being a teensy bit intimidated. She’s carrying the Battlespoon and he’s got to know she can take him with the goat tied behind her back.

  “Why don’t you talk?” asked Tatterhood, when they had ridden a bit. “Why, what should I talk about?” answered the prince.

  Please don’t hurt me. They s
ay some of those trolls turned up in Greenland. And they scream whenever they see silverware.

  “Well, you might at least ask me why I ride upon this ugly goat,” said Tatterhood.

  “Hey,” said the goat, “No need to get nasty about it. I thought we were a team.”

  “Why do you ride on that ugly goat?” asked the prince.

  “Is it an ugly goat? Why, it’s the most beautiful horse that a bride ever rode,” answered Tatterhood; and in an instant the goat became a horse, the finest that the prince had ever seen.

  “If you could do this all along, sis, I wish you’d mentioned it. I totally would have had a shot with that hot Clydesdale babe back home.”

  They rode on a bit further, but the prince was just as sad as before, and couldn’t say a word. So Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and when the prince answered, he didn’t know what to talk about, she said, “Well, you can ask me why I ride with this ugly spoon in my fist.”

  “Why do you ride with that ugly spoon?” asked the prince.

  Oh god, please don’t hit me with it. I like all my limbs.

  “Is it an ugly spoon? Why, it’s the loveliest silver fan that a bride ever carried,” said Tatterhood; and in an instant it became a silver fan, so bright that it glistened.

  Because it was Tatterhood, I assume it was one of those razor-edged iron fans from the kung-fu movies.

  They rode a little way further, but the prince was still just as sad, and did not say a word. In a little while Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and told him to ask why she wore the ugly gray hood on her head.

  “Why do you wear that ugly gray hood on your head?” asked the prince.

  Actually he figured out what was going on by now, but he’s afraid that if he breaks the sequence, he’s gonna end up with a calf ’s head. If he’s lucky.

  “Is it an ugly hood? Why, it’s the brightest golden crown that a bride ever wore,” answered Tatterhood, and it became a crown at once.

  Now they rode a long way further, and the prince was so sad, that he sat without making a sound or uttering a word, just as before. So his bride asked him again why he didn’t talk, and told him to ask now why her face was so ugly and gray?

  “Yes,” asked the prince, “why is your face so ugly and gray?”

  “Am I ugly? You think my sister beautiful, but I am ten times more beautiful,” said the bride, and when the prince looked at her, she was so beautiful, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. After that it was no wonder that the prince found his tongue, and no longer rode along with his head hanging down.

  I dislike this. Tatterhood is a badass and deserves better.

  I think it needs another section:

  Now they rode an even longer way, and the prince was still sad and also slightly concerned because the former goat was trying to put the moves on his horse. So his bride asked him again why he didn’t talk.

  “You might at least ask me why you’re such a shallow douchebag.” “Why am I such a shallow douchebag?” asked the prince.

  “Upbringing, I expect,” said Tatterhood. “You should meet my mother. Anyway, you’re not shallow. You’re a caring decent human being who would not judge me for my failure to conform to conventional beauty standards.”

  And the prince discovered that he had previously undisclosed depths and said, “Honestly, I still think this arranged marriage thing is a little weird, but I’m willing to get to know you better. Incidentally, what kind of music are you into?”

  So they drank the bridal cup both deep and long, and, after that, both prince and king set out with their brides to the princesses’ palace, and there they had another bridal feast, and drank once more, both deep and long.

  Absolutely no response from the king or queen. I blame the laudanum.

  There was no end to the celebration. Now run quickly to the king’s palace, and there will still be a drop of the bridal ale left for you.

  That is a nice little end-phrase though. One of these days I’ll have to note down all the endings. Most of them are so much better than “happily ever after.” Except maybe the one with the pebbles.

  The Seven Doves

  This is an Italian fairy tale, of the “brothers turned into birds” variety. Most of these involve the sister not speaking for years and years, and frequently there’s magic shirts. There was a lovely book called Daughter of the Forest based on this story, and there’s a bunch of fairy tales based on it. I have included a few choice bits at the end from some of the others.

  This one has none of these elements, and is just sort of bizarre. It is from The Pentamerone translated by John Edward Taylor (London: T. Tisher Unwin, 1894).

  THERE was once in the county of Arzano a good woman to whom every year gave a son, until at length there were seven of them, who looked like a syrinx of the god Pan, with seven reeds, one larger than another.

  This image took me a minute, but it’s kinda neat when you get down to it. Except that jeez, seven boys in seven years ... I don’t even want to know what their bathroom looked like. I mean, we’ve only got two in the house and it’s still like having a pack of wild dogs in residence.

  And when they had changed their first teeth, they said to Jannetella their mother, “Hark ye, mother, if, after so many sons, you do not this time have a daughter, we are resolved to leave home, and go wandering through the world like the sons of the blackbirds.”

  Some of these stories, the father is like “No more boys. Gonna have to kill everybody,” for no apparent reason. And some of them, the boys want a sister really, really, really bad. The reasons for this are never adequately explained. My guess is that it has something to do with fielding their own hockey team, and once you’ve got six players and a spare in case of injury, anything more just upsets the family dynamic.

  Presumably girls did not play hockey in Italy. I don’t know either.

  When their mother heard this sad announcement, she prayed Heaven to remove such an intention from her sons, and prevent her losing seven such jewels as they were. But the sons said to Jannetella, “We will retire to the top of yonder hill or rock opposite; if Heaven sends you another son, put an inkstand and a pen up at the window; but if you have a little girl, put up a spoon and a distaff. For if we see the signal of a daughter, we shall return home and spend the rest of our lives under your wings; but if we see the signal of a son, then forget us, for you may know that we have taken ourselves off.”

  We flatly refuse to train another goalie.

  Incidentally, I can’t help but think that the notion of having seven boys spend the rest of their lives at home might be a little more than Mom can bear. Seriously, you’re nine months and some change pregnant, and suddenly your seven sons are nagging you about the sex of the kid and how if you have a girl, they will never ever leave you alone. I ... I might do a little soul searching in these circumstances.

  On the other hand, if the bathrooms were as bad as I am imagining, maybe the thought off adding one more questionable aim to the mix is too much for the boys. And y’know, there’s something to be said for that.

  Soon after the sons had departed it pleased Heaven that Jannetella should have given her a pretty little daughter; then she told the nurse to make the signal to the brothers, but the woman was so stupid and confused that she put up the inkstand and the pen.

  “Confused.” Sure. That’s what we’ll tell the priest, anyway. Hot damn, I have my sewing room AND my guest bedroom back! Burn the bathrooms down, we’ll tell the priest it was stuffed full of heretics anyway.

  As soon as the seven brothers saw this signal, they set off, and walked on and on, until at the end of three years they came to a wood, where the trees were performing the sword-dance to the sound of a river which made counterpoint upon the stones.

  This is a truly marvelous image. I’m just seeing a tree doing the whole Russian saber dance, roots flying, while the other trees cheer and the river bangs on the drums. How can you not love that?r />
  In this wood was the house of an ogre, whose eyes having been blinded whilst asleep by a woman, he was such an enemy to the sex that he devoured all whom he could catch.

  This is the sort of tidbit that makes me go “Wait-wait-stop with the kids who won’t leave home, I want to know THIS story! Were they an item? Was this a lover’s quarrel gone horribly wrong? Was she an ogress? Did he kidnap her and she bided her time and decided to hell with waiting for a rescuer and got him in the eyes with a sharpened chicken bone in the middle of the night?

  This is important stuff!

  Anyway, the ogre’s still a jerk. Just because everyone who’s ever broken my heart has been male, you don’t see me killing and eating them, now do you? Because that would be overreacting.

  When the youths arrived at the ogre’s house, tired out with walking and exhausted with hunger, they begged him for pity’s sake to give them a morsel of bread. And the ogre replied, that if they would serve him, he would give them food, and they would have nothing else to do but to watch over him, like a dog, each in turn for a day.

  Seeing-eye dog, in this case. “No, this is a service human. I’m allowed to bring him inside.”

  The youths, upon hearing this, thought they had found mother and father; so they consented, and remained in the service of the ogre, who having gotten their names by heart, called one time Giangrazio, at another Cecchitiello, now Pascale, now Nuccio, now Pone, now Pezzillo, and now Carcavecchia, for so the brothers were named; and giving them a room in the lower part of his house, he allowed them enough to live upon.

  This is the only time that the brothers will be named. No word as to the number of bathrooms they will be forced to share, but they are living in the woods, so essentially the world is now their bathroom.

  Also, they just replaced both parents with a blind cannibal monster. That’s gratitude for you.

  Meanwhile their sister had grown up; and hearing that her seven brothers, owing to the stupidity of the nurse,