The Diamond Tree

by Michael Matson

  “I can see,” said Prince Dall, “the old woman who told me the story left out one or two details. What about Bone?”

  “Bone is her father. Good King Bone, he was. The sorceress got him with the same enchantment. Took away his voice and his kingdom,” the short, heavily bearded man snapped his fingers, “just like that. Some disagreement over rose bushes started the whole thing, I think. Or was it a grape vine? Anyway, now he tends the tree and waits for the spell to be broken.”

  The short, heavily bearded man leaned back against the wall of the inn. He pulled a pipe from one sleeve of his robe. Casually, but with one eye on Prince Dall, he filled his pipe, tamped it down carefully and fumbled in his other sleeve for a match.

  “But if everyone knows the tree is a princess, what good is the riddle?” asked Prince Dall.

  “Ah!” happily puffed the short, heavily bearded man. “The riddle is good because there is more to it. Four more lines, in fact. Whoever learns those lines solves the riddle and breaks the spell. Everyone knows that, too.”

  “Everyone seems to know an awful lot,” sniffed Prince Dall. “Does everyone also know where to find the four lines?”

  “Now, now,” said the short, heavily bearded man. “No need to be testy.” He looked right and left quickly to see that no one was within earshot, then leaned across the table once again. “Since we’re practically old friends…”

  Prince Dall sighed. He pulled his purse from his belt and set it down on the table, noting that it had grown considerably lighter since he had first met the short, heavily bearded man. “If you can tell me how to find the four lines,” he said, “the rest of my gold is yours.”

  “Done and done again,” said the man. He whisked the purse off the table and dropped it into one sleeve faster than a gambler could palm an ace. “I will do better than tell you. I will show you. But we had best hurry. You have considerably less than your original twenty-four hours left.”

  The short, heavily bearded man was off his bench and off down the road in a wink and at such a pace that Prince Dall, for all his advantage in height, had to trot to keep up.

  “Where are we going?” asked Prince Dall. “And how did you know about the twenty-four hours?”

  “Twenty-four hours is standard in these matters,” shrugged the short, heavily bearded man. “As to where we’re going, we are going to check the book. Every incantation, curse, riddle and spell has to be registered, you see.” He thumped his book so hard it almost fell out of his hand. “It’s the rule. The wizard who keeps the registry for this kingdom lives in a wonderfully wild woods not too distant from here. If you can persuade him to look up the Prince of Rage’s riddle, your problem is solved.”

  “Not entirely,” said Dall, still struggling to keep up. “I also have to find a sack full of laughter. I don’t suppose your wizard can help with that, too, can he?”

  The short, heavily bearded man shrugged again. “Who knows? We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Or it comes to us,” he reflected. “One can never be sure with wizards.”

  The road climbed out of the valley onto a plateau of rolling fields, which soon turned to scattered trees and then to woods. The daylight folded itself in half and then divided again to become a faint mystical glow that hung about them like a gray and gloomy net. Strange, unseeable creatures flitted and scurried along dark branches overhead or darted furtively from dim moldering log to shadowy trunk, always at that exact moment when the two travelers were looking somewhere else and could only catch some sudden movement out of the corner of an eye. A glimpse of fur. The flash of a yellow eye.

  At one point in their journey the trees seemed to close ranks before them to block their progress. At another, the forest appeared to invert itself so they were walking with their feet in leaves and their heads toward the ground. At still another, the path turned to water and they were threatened with drowning. At each of these obstacles, the short, heavily bearded man waved his hand and repeated a strange phrase three times and the way was immediately cleared.

  “Chapter three,” he said smugly each time. “’Apparitions, Hallucinations and Other Impedimenta.’”

  At last they arrived at a large cave in the densest and dimmest part of the woods. The entrance to the cave was sealed by massive wooden doors on which hung iron rings. Above the doors, carved in the rock, was a legend which, even if it hadn’t been overgrown with four-hundred years of moss, would have been impossible to read, since it was written in a language everyone except wizards had long forgotten.

  With some effort Prince Dall lifted one of the iron rings and let it fall. It struck with a sweet, hollow boom that echoed around their heads like the sound of kettle drums and slowly died away among the trees on all sides.

  There was a moment of silence so deep it hurt the ears. Then the doors swung open and Prince Dall found himself face to face with a tall man dressed in a robe that shimmered with the colors of distant suns. It was impossible to guess his age, for although his beard was as white as chalk, the skin of his face and hands was as smooth and unblemished as that of a youth of twenty. And although there were faint lines at the corners of his eyes, his eyes themselves were as clear and youthful, as innocent of guile as a child’s. He could have been as young as the new year or as old as the moon.

  “My name is Star,” said the man. “Star, star, star,” said the walls behind him. “Welcome to the Cavern of Echoes.” “Echoes, echoes, echoes,” said the walls.

  “How do you stand it?” asked Prince Dall.

  “It has its uses,” said Star. “Uses, uses, uses,” said the walls. “But if it bothers you, follow me.” “Me, me, me,” murmured the walls.

  Prince Dall and the short, heavily bearded man followed Star across the Cavern of Echoes, past row upon row of wooden barrels each labeled in the same mysterious language that marked the exterior of the cave. Single-file, they passed through a narrow stone passageway and into a second cavern.

  “Now then,” Star whispered, “how can I help you?”

  “Why are we whispering?” whispered Prince Dall.

  “Because we are in the Cavern of Whispers,” Star whispered. “It is impossible not to. There are seven caverns. The Cavern of Echoes, the Cavern of Whispers, the Cavern of Records, the Cavern of Requests, the Cavern of Spells, the Cavern of Monsters, and the Cavern of Darkness, the inside of which no one has ever seen, since only the purest magic can light its walls and frighten away its shadows. Now tell me, why have you come?”

  Prince Dall explained about Y’ruf’s riddle, about the diamond tree that was really a princess, about the old man who was a king, about the princess’s tears, which turned to diamonds and about the sack full of laughter. For good measure, he explained about Slither and the crack in the castle floor.

  The wizard listened sympathetically, but when the prince had finished he shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help. You are a prince and your short friend is an apprentice. No one but a certified wizard in good standing can look into the Book of Records. And even then there are certain clearances, written requests in triplicate, waiting periods and that sort of thing to be dealt with.”

  “There must be exceptions,” whispered Prince Dall.

  “There is always a rule that contradicts the rule. Lesson Two,” hissed the short, heavily bearded man, a bit offended at being referred to as short.

  “You are right, there is one,” Star admitted. “The rule is this: if you can light the walls and frighten away the shadows in the Cavern of Darkness, I am obliged to grant any request you make. But I’m afraid that’s quite hopeless. Even I can’t do it and I’ve been trying for three hundred and eight years.”

  It did seem hopeless. For the first time since he had met the old woman under the oak tree nearly four years earlier, Prince Dall felt he might not succeed in his quest. And that made him feel very unlike himself. He was not angry. Instead, he felt sorrow for the young princess who would remain forever locked within the circle of her spell. He felt sa
dness for her father, the good king, who would never regain his voice and never again be king.

  Prince Dall, you see, beneath all his bumbling and striving to best his brothers at adventures, was really a pretty decent fellow. And, because he was, at that precise moment when, for the first time in his life, Prince Dall felt sorrow and sympathy for someone else, he grew up.

  And as he did, something else odd happened. The diamond in the pouch that Prince Dall wore on a thong around his neck became as warm against his chest as though someone had placed a small bare hand over his heart.

  Immediately, Prince Dall knew how to light the walls and frighten away the shadows in the Cavern of Darkness. For he understood clearly that there was no purer magic than a perfect diamond formed from the tear of an innocent princess.

  Part Five

  Of course, you might guess the rest of the story. The wizard gave Prince Dall the last four lines of the riddle and ladled out a generous sack full of laughter for him from one of the huge wooden barrels in the Cavern of Echoes. Prince Dall and the short, heavily bearded man hurried back through the wonderfully wild woods and arrived at the Prince of Rage’s castle in the nick of time, which as it turned out, was halfway between sunrise and scrambled eggs.

  This time there was no delay outside the castle. The drawbridge was down and a score or more of knights in black armor stood along the edges of the murky moat waiting to escort Prince Dall and the short, heavily bearded man inside. Only Prince Dall, however, was allowed to proceed down passageways, up stairs, along corridors, across halls, down steps, under archways and around corners until at last he came to the room that was twice as long as it was wide and half as high as it was from end to end.

  There, beyond the double doors that reached higher than a man could jump, in the glow of a hundred-thousand diamonds, the Prince of Rage sat on his throne looking more than ever like a large angry frog.

  Prince Dall marched forward between the unflinching lines of black-clad knights. He had solved the riddle. Still, just for a step or two he couldn’t help thinking of Slither and the crack in the castle floor. He stopped directly in front of the dais and bowed deeply. “Your highness,” he said. “I have solved your riddle.”

  “Twaddle!” snorted the Prince of Rage. “Everyone returns thinking they have solved it but no one ever has.”

  Prince Dall held up the sack that Star had filled with laughter. “And I have brought you laughter in a sack.”

  “Fiddlesticks and nonsense!” roared the Prince of Rage. “No one can put laughter in a sack. You have become addled overnight. I have seen it happen with other princes. But no matter. Tell me your solution.”

  “The riddle you gave me is this,” said Prince Dall. “‘A million coins fall gold as hair, at twelve less two to form a square. Beneath the snow she feels no cold, nor do the seasons make her old. Within her circled spell she sleeps, while Bone collects the tears she weeps.’ And the answer to that is…the diamond tree is a princess.”

  “Ha!” shrieked the Prince of Rage, pounding the arms of his throne so hard the floor shook. “You are a dodo. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. Never mind, I’m sure Slither will find you delicious, even so.”

  “There is more,” said Prince Dall quietly. “And it is this.”

  And as the Prince of Rage sat rooted in sudden speechlessness, he began. “So shall her fate remain the same, until a fourth son speaks her name.”

  “Impossible!” gasped the Prince of Rage.

  “And on that day the hand he’ll win, of fairest lady…”

  “No!” bellowed the Prince of Rage, his face livid with fright and fury. “You must not say it! Stop him!”

  “Catherine,” said Prince Dall. And at the same moment he took the sack by the bottom and shook it and laughter flew out into the room in a gale of echoes.

  What happened next was a surprise to everyone. In every room of the castle, the light from all the diamonds died with a noise that sounded strangely like a sigh. Laughter filled the darkness of the sealed castle, bouncing and resounding from wall to wall like a thousand India rubber balls.

  As it bounced it built in volume, beating louder and louder until the Prince of Rage could stand it no longer and ran blindly from the room. Hands pressed uselessly against his ears, he ran around corners, along passageways and under arches. Laughter pursued him everywhere through the uncertain darkness, turning him this way and that, up stairs and down, until at last, losing his way, he stumbled and fell into the crack in the castle floor and plunged into never-ending darkness.

  In an instant the laughter stopped. (It was later said that at that same moment Slither sank to the bottom of the murky moat and died.)

  In silence deeper than the sea is wet, Prince Dall groped his way through the castle’s myriad shadowy possibilities until, once again he stood at the edge of the one sunlit courtyard. There, instead of a tree, now stood a fair young princess, tall and slender in a simple gown of shining white silk and pearls. Her long hair was tied up in scarlet ribbons of velvet and shone like polished gold in the morning sunlight. Her eyes sparkled like the deepest emeralds. And in her laughter, Prince Dall could hear the sound of bells.

  Beside the princess stood her father, the good King Bone, his crown and voice restored, tears of gratitude glistening on his ruddy cheeks.

  Prince Dall, however, had eyes only for the Lady Catherine, for she was quite the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. As their eyes met, his heart tumbled over in his chest and he fell hopelessly in love. And so, of course, did she.

  Those who tell this story claim that all the diamonds in all the baskets turned to dust and were blown away by the noise that sounded strangely like a sigh. Prince Dall didn’t care. For even his brothers, when he finally returned home, were forced to admit that he had had the greatest adventure and won the fairest prize of all, the love of the beautiful Lady Catherine.

  The short, heavily bearded man, after much practice, in time, and although he never could master “Predictions,” became an adequate wizard. He stayed on to serve good King Bone faithfully. The black knights exchanged their gloomy armor for lighter livery and they too stayed on to serve Princess Catherine’s father.

  As for King Bone himself, since his own castle had long since tumbled into dusty ruin, he decided to remain where he was and make the Prince of Rage’s castle his home. It is rumored that he put in windows. And sealed the crack. And cleaned the moat. And lived happily ever after.

  The end. Of course.