More Bones

by Arielle North Olson

  Once inside they found steps carved into stone. They descended from one chamber to another . . . and another . . . and another. It grew damper and darker and drearier the farther down they went. The cave smelled of wet earth and rock. Water from the ceiling dripped on their heads. Both men had to quell a desire to flee—to race out of that strange and forbidding place. But when they stepped onto the floor of the fourth chamber, they knew that the treasure they were seeking was trapped somewhere beneath their feet.

  When the clock struck twelve in the watchtower above them, they could hear it faintly in the cave. They lit the candle stub and breathed in its strong scent of myrrh. But there wasn’t a moment to lose. The shopkeeper quickly read the magic spell aloud before midnight passed.

  There was a horrendous rumble beneath them. The stone floor on which they were standing shook and gaped open, revealing yet another flight of steps. The men felt even more inclined to flee, but they begged mercy from whatever powers they had unleashed, took strength from each other, and descended into the final chamber.

  If they had been frightened before, they were terrified now. For their lanterns let them see who was guarding the treasure. On each side stood a huge Moor, dressed for battle, with sword drawn. Peregil backed away, pulling his friend with him. But suddenly he stopped.

  “Look!” Peregil whispered. “They aren’t blinking an eye.”

  The shopkeeper laughed hysterically. A moment before, he had thought he would die, and now he realized he could be the richest man in all of Granada.

  “Of course,” he said, when he finally caught his breath. “It was written on the scroll. If someone is in the treasure chamber when it closes, he is enchanted forever.”

  Peregil began to load a bag with gold and silver and jewels from elegant porcelain jars. His friend grabbed treasure by the fistful. But both men kept a wary eye on the two guards, still standing like statues on each side of a huge banded chest. Peregil wondered what was inside it.

  He inched past the nearest guard so he could open the lid. But the moment he touched it, there was a noise in the chamber above. Was it a falling rock? Or were the stairs about to be blocked by mysterious powers? The frightened men raced up the steps and stumbled into the upper chamber. That’s when the candle stub slipped from Peregil’s hand and fell to the floor. Its flame went out. Immediately the earth began to rumble and the stone floor slammed shut beneath them. The steps that led down to the treasure were now hidden under a thick layer of rock.

  Peregil grabbed the candle stub, and the men ran up to the entrance of the cave. They were happy to be safe, with their bags filled with treasure. On the way down the rocky path, they chattered about what they could do with their newfound wealth. But before they reached the city, the shopkeeper took hold of the water carrier’s shoulder.

  “You know what will happen,” he said, “if the officials ever hear of our treasure. They will take our money and throw us in jail besides. So we must not tell anyone.” But as luck would have it, a bright jewel slipped from Peregil’s bag and fell beside his doorstep. It gleamed in the moonlight. He didn’t notice it, but his nosy neighbor did. That nasty gossip watched until Peregil disappeared into the house. Then he sneaked over and pocketed the jewel. The moment the sun rose, he showed it to the corrupt official.

  The official was outraged. He raced down the street and burst through Peregil’s door. “I’ll throw you in jail yet,” he shouted, slapping the poor water carrier, “unless you give me the money you stole.”

  What could Peregil do? He would rather lose his treasure than his freedom, so he told the official about the enchanted cave.

  Was the official satisfied with Peregil’s coins and jewels? “I want more,” he demanded. “Take me to the cave tonight.”

  Peregil didn’t want to involve the storekeeper. But if the Moor did not read the scroll, the treasure room would not open, the official would be furious, and Peregil would rot in jail.

  “I’ll bring someone to help us,” Peregil said. He hoisted the bag of treasure onto his shoulder and took it to the official’s home. Then he raced off to find the Moor to beg for his assistance.

  “What will become of us?” cried the shopkeeper. But as much as he feared the official’s power, he could not desert his friend.

  That night, Peregil and the shopkeeper waited by the steep path until the official joined them. He showed up riding Peregil’s donkey. It brayed when it saw its old master, and Peregil stroked its long ears. “Let’s be off!” snapped the official, and when the donkey was slow to move, he poked and prodded it. That greedy man considered it nothing more than a beast of burden.

  They climbed the steep hillside to the cave, with the official muttering all the way about the rough ride. Then Peregil tied his old donkey to a tree, and all three men descended to the chamber directly above the treasure. Peregil lit the candle at midnight, and the shopkeeper read the magic words spelled out on the scroll.

  When the official heard the horrendous rumble and saw the floor open over another set of descending steps, he was terrified by the powers invoked. “I’ll stay here,” he said. “You bring the treasure up to me.” But he was not satisfied with the bags of money and jewels the two men brought up from the huge jars.

  “Is this all?” he asked.

  “We’ll break the poor donkey’s back,” cried Peregil, “if we make it carry more. I won’t bring up another coin.”

  “Nor I,” said the shopkeeper.

  Only greed could overcome the official’s fear. “Then I will get more for myself,” he said. But he had barely started down the steps when he turned back. “Give me the candle and scroll,” he demanded, grabbing them from the two men. He wanted to be sure that no fearsome powers were invoked while he was in the chamber below. Then he descended, with candle and lantern lighting his way. His knees almost buckled when he saw the enchanted Moorish guards, but when he spotted the magnificent treasure chest, he was thrilled. What incredible wealth must lie inside!

  He set the candle down beside the lantern and struggled to open the chest’s heavy lid. It was stuck. He pushed and pried and pushed again—and all the while the candle stub was burning lower. He didn’t notice when it flickered out.

  A horrendous rumble vibrated throughout the cave. The water carrier and the shopkeeper had been peering down the steps, but they jumped back the moment they felt the stones shaking. The floor beneath their feet crashed shut. The men were stunned. The prediction on the scroll had come true.

  The greedy official was trapped—enchanted forever.

  It took a moment for the two friends to realize their good fortune. They were free! They picked up the bags of treasure and hurried up the steps. No one saw them emerge from the cave. Not even the gossipy neighbor. He had gone to bed early, too tired that night to cause any trouble.

  But the donkey was there—the beloved donkey that the official had stolen. Peregil hugged its furry neck. “I can take you home!” The men headed down the path, thankful that they had escaped with their lives. Never again could that greedy official mistreat man or beast. And never again would anyone plunder the treasure beneath the Alhambra—for the scroll and candle were buried forever.

  The Witch of the Woods

  EASTERN EUROPE

  Princess Sybil loved to explore the vast forest that lay at the edge of her parents’ kingdom. She didn’t worry about creatures lurking there. What harm could befall her?

  “If you’re not careful,” warned the queen, “the Witch of the Woods will catch you.”

  Sybil smiled at her mother. But nothing could stop her from walking in the forest. She didn’t even believe in witches. So she continued to slip out of the castle whenever she could. One day she heard an owl hooting deep in the woods. She followed the sound until she saw the bird perched in an old pine tree. She wanted a closer look, but when she began to climb up the tree, the owl disappeared around the other side.

  Sybil kept climbing and grabbed a branch that felt squishy on the
outside and hard within.

  It grabbed back! It wasn’t a branch at all. It was a sinewy and gnarled old arm.

  “Gotcha!” said the Witch of the Woods.

  The next thing the princess knew, she was nose to nose with the most hideous creature she had ever met. The witch leaned around the tree trunk to get a good look at the princess. The princess leaned away as far as she could. But the witch held tight. Sybil had never seen anyone quite so awful. The witch’s hair was a tangle of dead weeds. Her face was as wrinkled as a dried apple. The skin on her arms looked like crumpled tree bark. And her eyes! Those horrible, glowing eyes! The princess was afraid they would burn right through her. Why, oh, why had she doubted her mother’s warning?

  “I’ve been hoping to catch a lovely young girl,” rasped the witch. “I won’t let you go unless you promise to give me your first love. I want a young husband.”

  The princess had no idea who her first love would be. But the thought of giving anyone to the witch was appalling. Sybil forced herself to stare right into the witch’s glowing eyes.

  “I won’t do it,” she said.

  “Oh yes, you will,” cackled the witch. “Or I will make you my slave.”

  The princess was scared, but she wasn’t going to let the witch know. “If you do,” she said, “my father and his warriors will kill you.”

  The witch hooted. “How could anyone kill me? No one can find me.”

  “I just did,” said the princess.

  “Oh no, you didn’t,” said the witch. “I found you. But I’ll make you a bargain. If you can find where I live within three days, I’ll claim neither you nor your first love.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The witch clutched the princess’s arm so hard that her long fingernails dug in. “If you don’t . . . I will marry your first love, and I’ll make you my slave besides.”

  The princess knew it was a wretched bargain. Just three days? To find a witch who could supposedly change herself into any animal or bird on earth, or hide under a rock if she pleased?

  “I won’t agree unless you give me a clue,” said the princess, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

  The witch thought for a moment. “Clues won’t help you,” she said, “but here’s one:

  “Where the scorpion’s voice resounds,

  Find one who is and is not bound.”

  She let go of the girl’s arm, turned herself into an owl, and flew away.

  The princess lowered herself from limb to limb until she reached the ground. She slowly walked back to the castle. What was she going to do? Did she dare ask the king or queen for help? If she did, they would know she’d

  been in the forbidden forest. She was still trying to decide when she entered the castle, but her parents were not there. The king was leading his warriors into battle, and the queen had gone to visit Sybil’s grandmother in the next kingdom.

  Sybil would have to find the witch herself—in just three days.

  The next morning, the princess returned to the forest so early that dew still clung to the grass. She walked for miles, zigzagging and backtracking, peering into caves, behind trees, and under rocks. She tramped through the forest all that day, but she found no trace of the witch’s home.

  On the second day, the princess searched for anyone who could help. She asked an old woodcutter, a woman who lived in a forest hut, and villagers nearby, but no one knew where to find the Witch of the Woods.

  On the third morning, the princess felt desperate. She had only one day left. She wondered if the witch had become an owl again. All day long, Sybil scanned the treetops until her neck ached. She even climbed a huge pine to look out over the forest. But she saw nothing resembling a witch, only squirrels and foxes and every song-bird imaginable.

  When she had lowered herself almost down to the ground, she saw something suspicious. She held tight to the tree and didn’t make a sound. For there below her, a deer was scooting past—but it didn’t look quite like a deer. Its eyes glowed like those of the witch.

  The moment it ran past, Sybil dropped down from the tree and chased it, staying out of sight as best she could. Several times she almost lost track of it, but finally it stopped by an abandoned well. Sybil peeked around a tree and saw, to her amazement, that the deer was shrinking down to the ground and turning into a little green frog. With one gigantic leap, the frog disappeared into the well.

  Sybil heard the splash and rushed over in time to see the frog swim to one side, where there seemed to be an opening. The princess was so eager to follow that she didn’t even test the rope that held the bucket. She just climbed in and lowered herself down to the spot where the frog had disappeared. Luckily the old rope held. There on the side of the well she saw a small door—firmly closed—with an iron knocker in the shape of a scorpion.

  Instantly Sybil knew this must be the place “where the scorpion’s voice resounds.” She had found the door to the witch’s home. She was so excited she almost fell out of the bucket, but she made herself wait until she heard the witch snoring. Then she quickly twisted the iron scorpion off the door and put it into her leather pouch. It was harder to pull herself out of the well than it had been to lower herself in, but she tugged on the rope, hand over hand, until she reached the top. Then she raced back to the castle and hid the iron scorpion under her bed.

  At midnight an owl flew out of the moonlit forest. It swooped through the princess’s window and landed beside her. Sybil sat up and saw that its eyes were glowing. Much as she wanted to dive under the covers, she watched its head turn hideous and its feathers disappear. The owl became the Witch of the Woods. Sybil had expected her, but she still shrank back.

  “You didn’t find my home,” the witch chortled. “So you and your first love will be mine.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Sybil. Her hands were shaking, but she reached under the bed for the iron scorpion. “You live at the bottom of a well.”

  The witch stamped her foot. “I’ll get you yet,” she screeched, lunging for the princess with her sinewy arms outstretched. But Sybil was too quick. She threw the iron scorpion at the witch, just as the warmth from her hands brought it to life. It stung one of the witch’s gnarled fingers with its poisonous tail. The witch turned into stone and crashed to the floor. The scorpion turned back into iron.

  The princess wondered what had brought the scorpion to life. But she finally understood the rest of the witch’s clue. Not only did the scorpion’s voice resound in the well, the scorpion was bound by the witch’s spell—sometimes alive, and sometimes made of iron.

  Sybil climbed back into bed. Tomorrow she would get the servants to throw the stone witch into the well. But she decided to keep the scorpion. She tucked it under her pillow, not realizing that the warmth of her body was what brought it to life. As she slept there in her cozy bed, the scorpion began to stir.

  Wishes Gone Awry

  SCOTLAND

  John thought Helen was the prettiest girl in the village, but she had no use for him. “Why would I marry a fisherman like you,” she asked, “when I could marry the lord of the manor?”

  John strode out of her house and down the steep path to the beach. He was too angry to see the spring flowers bursting into bloom or notice the soft breeze blowing in from the sea. But suddenly he stopped. What was that eerie sound—unlike anything he had ever heard before? It was almost as if the wind and the waves were singing a haunting melody.

  He crept along the path. A pebble, loosened by his foot, rattled down to the beach. Did the singer hear him coming? He stood listening—and the unearthly song continued.

  When he reached the bottom of the path, he slipped behind a boulder and peeked around one side. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. There was a stranger there, singing that eerie song. She was half under the waves, tucking seashells and starfish into her long golden curls.

  How odd! John thought. But he was even more surprised by what she did next. She swam to the shore and flung herself
up on a flat-topped rock—with a flip of her tail!

  So, mermaids were real, just as his grandmother had said so long ago. Her old stories flooded into his mind. “They’re a fickle lot,” she’d told him. “If they like you, they’ll give you calm seas. If they don’t like you, expect trouble. But listen. If you find a fishy scale from a mermaid’s tail, she must grant you three wishes.”

  Three wishes? That’s just what John needed. He tiptoed over to the mermaid’s rock and leaped up behind her, plucking one of her golden scales. She screeched and slapped him with her tail. He waved the scale in front of her nose. “Now you owe me three wishes.”

  “You didn’t find it. You took it,” she cried. She tried to grab it back. It was obvious to John that she was furious. Then a crafty look came into her eyes.

  “Maybe I could grant your wishes after all,” she said in falsely honeyed tones.

  “My first wish is for Helen to marry me,” he said. “I don’t understand why she said no.

  “My second wish is to catch the biggest fish in the sea,

  so I’ll make lots of money and won’t have to go fishing every day.

  “My third wish is not to die by drowning.” He had known too many fishermen whose lives had been lost at sea.

  “Granted!” said the mermaid, but this time her voice was harsh. She dove into the waves and swam away, but when she turned to look back at him, he felt a twinge of fear. Her eyes were flashing with anger.

  John remembered what his grandmother had said about the amazing powers of mermaids. He began to wonder if he should have plucked that golden scale. Would the angry mermaid unleash a ferocious storm—or send a devastating wave upon the land? And what if she was so mad she didn’t grant his wishes after all? He decided to test her word.