but gave the seals small thought.
It was on a day, in a sunlit bay,
when the whole sea seemed to smile,
he sighted a huge and handsome seal
stretched out on a rocky isle.
When he saw the size of the great, grey seal
he crooned, ‘With a skin like that
you could trim and shape a costly cape
or many a shoe and hat.’
So he moored his boat but a short way off
and he crept up, yard by yard.
Then, almost there, he leaped through the air
and he drove his knife in hard.
But the great, grey seal was a fighter,
and he writhed from the hunter’s grip.
With the knife in his side he dived for the tide
and he gave his man the slip.
MacKinnon shrugged and returned to his boat
to row to his own home shore.
‘The seals in the sea swim wide and free,’
he mused. ‘There are plenty more.’
Duncan MacKinnon, oh, Duncan MacKinnon,
now take great heed, beware.
The fill of a purse can be a curse
for living things to bear.
The clink of a coin and its comfort
may keep you warm and dry.
But what of the shame that sticks to your name
at each sad creature’s cry?
What is the worth of a wealth that’s ripped
from the world by a ruthless knife?
What of the guilt on which it’s built
as you strip each struggling life?
Duncan MacKinnon, when you were a boy,
did you never sit down on the beach
to learn from the pound of the stern sea-sound
the l [if"h="0em" essons that it might teach?
Faithless fisherman, when you were young,
did nobody think to tell
that there’s more in the sea than a hunter’s fee,
there’s life in the great grey swell?
Did nobody show you, upon the shore,
when you were both young and small,
that the rolling sea, so fair and free,
is the Ancient Mother of All?
Sad seal hunter, learn in time,
as you stack your brimming store,
when simple need grows into greed
there’ll be darkness at your door.
Late that night, as he sat by the light
of his guttering oil-lamp flame,
there came a knock at his low croft door
and a voice called out his name.
In a place so lone, at an hour so late,
who could this caller be?
The curious hunter loosed the door
and peered out cautiously.
There on the threshold stood a man
in a cape both dark and long.
He spoke to the wary hunter
in a deep voice, soft yet strong.
‘Duncan MacKinnon, say, is it so,
you have seal skins here to sell?
Are you that [>Ar size="-1" famous hunter
of whom the folk all tell?’
Duncan MacKinnon nodded.
‘Of skins I have full store.
I’ll sell you all the skins you need.
The sea holds plenty more.’
The dark-caped stranger listened
to the words the hunter told.
‘My master waits nearby,’ he said,
‘if you wish your skins all sold.’
Duncan MacKinnon and the stranger
walked out to the edge of the land.
‘Now where,’ said the man, ‘is my master?
He was here just now, at hand …’
They peered at the edge of the clifftop
where the brink might break and slip.
It was then that the hunter felt his arms
held tight in a vice-like grip.
And before he could make a murmur
or shake his pinned arms free,
the stranger leaped from the clifftop
and they plummeted down to the sea.
As they hit the cold and dark of the waves
the stranger pulled him down.
The hunter felt his life was done,
for now he must surely drown.
Down they went, far deep beneath
the foam and the rolling waves,
till they came to an underwater world
where the rocks were pierced with caves.
Still he felt the stranger’s hands
where they gripped his arms so tight,
as together they swam through the mouth of a cave
and into a greeny light.
And down in that weird and greeny light
where he thought to meet his death,
when his will gave way and he drank the brine
he found he could draw his breath.
Now as he drank that liquid brine
he felt both light and free.
And the eerie glide of his sinister ride
seemed neither of land nor sea.
It was then that he noticed the skin of his guide
had a silky, a slippery feel.
In the watery light he saw to his fright
that the man had become a seal.
Gone were the hands and gone were the feet,
and gone was the long, black cape.
For now the dark guide that he floated beside
was wholly a seal in shape.
His silent seal-guide drew him on
to an underwater town
where the walls shone white with a pearly light
and the seals swam up and down.
They swam till they came to a palace
and they passed on through its door.
[r.And once inside his eyes went wide
at the sight the hunter saw.
There were white rock seats in a circle
where many a seal sat round.
But in that solemn circus
there came not ever a sound.
For there in the circle’s centre,
set out on a white rock bed,
lay a seal so still and silent
it seemed that seal lay dead.
Then the hunter saw the knife in its side
and he opened his mouth to moan.
There on its hilt was the ring of gilt
that marked it as his own.
He fell to his knees on the chamber floor
and wrung his hands in fear.
Alone, deep down in the selkie town
he sensed his end was near.
But the seal-guide’s voice spoke up to him
and seemed to fill his head.
‘Remove the knife and smooth the wound,’
that strange voice softly said.
The hunter pulled his cruel knife out
and wiped its blade of steel.
When, with his hand, he smoothed the wound,
he saw it swiftly heal.
The great seal stirred and seemed to stretch,
then reared up proud and high.
He turned toward the hunter
and fixed him with his eye.
‘I am the King of the Seals,’ he said.
‘Your seal-guide is my son.
The time has come to settle up
the deeds that you have done.
‘Tonight my son has brought you here
to gather back your knife.
And if you now repent your deeds
I’ll grant you back your life.
‘If you will fish the seas again
and do the seals no ill,
we seals will always be your friends
and help your nets to fill.
‘But if you slay a seal once more
and take it for its skin,
the Selkie Folk will seek you out
and slay you for your sin.
‘Now stand again, and sheathe your knife
and say before us now,
will you give up the hunter’s life
and take the Selkie Vow?’
The hunter rose and sheathed his knife,
then, there upon the sand,
he saw appear these words so clear,
as if by secret hand:
I, who live by swell of sea,
will learn to use it modestly,
idth="0em" align="justify">to fish it but for honest need,
and not to grasp with rising greed.
I, who ride on wealth of wave,
will vow to cherish, succour, save,
never to pluck or cruelly plunder
what goes over, on or under.
I, who tell the turning tide,
will make the sea my place, my pride,
and guard all things that go within,
whether of scale or shell or skin.
I, who live beside the shore,
will know content, not ask for more.
I am for her, and she for me.
The Selkie Vow respects the Sea.
The hunter stood and took the Vow
and at each word he spoke
the darkness seemed to gather round
and wrap him like a cloak.
He fell into a deep sea swoon
where waters rolled him round.
And when he woke it seemed to him
he lay on solid ground.
He raised his head and looked about.
The moon shone sweet and soft.
Above him on the cliff he saw
his stony fisher-croft.
He climbed the path and found his door,
then stumbled to his bed. [s bt> [s b
And all that night the strange events
went reeling through his head.
But when the light of early dawn
came trickling through his pane
he rose to fetch his fishing nets
and cast them once again.
And, from that time, if traders,
skin dealers, came to call,
he’d show them where his dagger hung,
sheathed safely on the wall.
He’d sit them at his table
and tell his story through,
of how he met the Selkie Folk,
and the king he nearly slew.
And how once more he fished the sea
and looked to it for life,
but never more would harm a seal
with net or club or knife.
And how, whenever he rode the waves,
in swollen tides or calm,
his nets were never empty
and he never came to harm.
My story’s done and over,
my tale is at an end,
of how a cruel hunter
became the selkies’ friend.
It is a story handed down
from many a year ag [anyg [anygo.
The tale’s been told by many a tongue,
but I have told it so.
Grey Wolf, Prince Jack and the Firebird
Retold by Alan Garner
Illustrated by James Mayhew
ONCE, LONG AGO, not near, not far, not high, not low, at the place where seven rivers meet, there lived a king. And he was the king of the Stone Castle. He had three sons, and the name of the youngest was Prince Jack.
The king had a garden, too, and round it a wall. And in the garden there stood a tree. Gold was its trunk, and gold were its branches, gold its twigs, gold its leaves, and golden its fruit of apples. And there was never a moment when the king of the Stone Castle did not keep guards about this wondrous tree.
One night, at deep midnight, there came a music into the garden.
It was music with wings,
Trampling things, tightened strings,
Warriors, heroes, ghosts on their feet,
Boguls and boggarts, bells and snow,
That set in sound lasting sleep
The whole great world
With the sweetness of the
calming tunes
That music did play.
The next morning, the king walked in his garden, and he saw that a golden apple had been taken from the tree.
‘Who has stolen my apple of gold?’ said the king of the Stone Castle.
‘ ^em" wof the SNo one,’ said the guard captain. ‘We watched all night.’
‘You did not,’ said the king. And he made the guards prisoners, and sent them to work salt for ever.
‘Now,’ said the king, ‘which of my beloved sons will watch my tree? I shall give half my kingdom now, and all of it when I die, to the son who will catch this thief.’
‘I shall watch, Father,’ said the oldest son. And that night he sat in the garden, his back against the tree.
At deep midnight, at dark midnight, there came a music over the wall.
It was music with wings,
Trampling things, tightened strings,
Warriors, heroes, ghosts on their feet,
Boguls and boggarts, bells and snow,
That set in sound lasting sleep
The whole great world
With the sweetness of the
calming tunes
That music did play.
And the oldest son slept.
The next morning, the king walked in his garden, and he saw that another golden apple had been taken from the tree.
‘Who stole my apple of gold?’ said the king of the Stone Castle. ‘Who is the thief?’
‘No one, Father,’ said the oldest son. ‘I watched all night.’
‘Then tonight I shall watch,’ said the second son. And the next night he sat in the garden, his back against the tree.
At deep midnight, at dark midnight, at blue midnight, there came a music into the garden.
It was music with wings,
Trampling things, tightened strings,
Warriors, heroes, ghosts on their feet,
Boguls and boggarts, bells and snow,
That set in sound lasting sleep
The whole great world
With the sweetness of the
calming tunes
That music did play.
And the second son slept.
The next morning, the king walked in his garden, and he saw that another apple had been taken from his tree.
‘Who has stolen my golden apple?’ said the king of the Stone Castle. ‘Who is the thief?’
‘No one, Father,’ said the second son. ‘I watched all night.’
‘Then I shall watch,’ said Prince Jack. And the next night he sat in the garden, his back against the tree. But he took his dagger and put it between his leg and the earth, the point upward, and the leg on the point.
At deep midnight, at dark midnight, at blue midnight, at the midnight of all, a music came into the garden.
It was music with wings,
Trampling things, tightened strings,
Warriors, heroes, ghosts on their feet,
Boguls and boggarts, bells and snow,
That set in sound lasting sleep
The whole great world
With the sweetness of the
calming tunes
That music did play.
And Prince Jack pushed his leg on the dagger, and a drop of his blood fell to the earth, but he did not sleep.
Then flew the Firebird, with eyes of crystal, over the wall, over the garden, to the tree.
And Prince Jack c Prontpushed his leg on the dagger, and a second drop of his blood fell to the earth, but he did not sleep.
The Firebird perched on the lowest branch of the tree and took an apple in her beak.
Prince Jack pulled the dagger from his leg, and a third drop of his blood fell to the earth. He jumped to seize the Firebird, but his wound made him weak, and he caught hold of a tail-feather only, and the Firebird flew away.
Prince Jack wrapped the feather in his neckcloth and sat down again beside
the tree.
The next morning, the king walked in his garden, and he saw that another apple had been taken from the tree.
‘Who has stolen the apple?’ said the king of the Stone Castle. ‘Who is the thief?’
‘It is the Firebird, Father,’ said Prince Jack. ‘I did not sleep. Here are three drops of my blood upon the earth. And here the feather for you to see.’ And he unwrapped his neckcloth, and the garden, even in that morning, was filled with a flame of light.
The king of the Stone Castle said, ‘It is the Firebird.’ And he said to his two oldest sons, ‘Go. I give you my blessing. Bring the Firebird to me; and what I promised before I shall give to the one who brings me that Bird.’
The sons took their father’s blessing and rode away.
‘Father, let me go too,’ said Prince Jack.
‘I cannot lose all my sons,’ said the king. And Prince Jack went to his room and he thought; and he ran to the stables, took his horse, muffled its hooves and rode away.
He rode near and far, he rode high and low, by lanes and ways and woods and swamps, for a long time or a short time; and he came to a wide field, a green meadow, an open plain. And on the meadow stood a pillar of stone, with words graven in it.
‘Go straight, know cold and hunger.
Go right, keep life, lose horse.
Go left, keep horse, lose life.’
‘Dear horse,’ said Prince Jack, and he turned to the right.
He rode one day. He rode two days. He rode three days. Then, in a dark forest, he met a Grey Wolf.
‘Did you not read the r cot go toock?’ said the Grey Wolf. And he took the horse, ripped it to bits, ate it; then went.
Prince Jack walked one day. He walked two days. He walked three days. He walked until he was so tired that it could not be told in the story. And the Grey Wolf came to him again.
‘You are brave enough,’ said the Grey Wolf. ‘So I shall help you. I have eaten your good horse, and I shall serve you a service as payment. Sit you up on me and say where I must take you. The roads are open to the wise, and they are not closed to the foolish.’
So Prince Jack sat up on the Grey Wolf.
The Grey Wolf struck the damp earth and ran, higher than the trees, lower than the clouds, and each leap measured a mile; from his feet stones flew, springs sprouted, lakes surged and mixed with yellow sand and forests bent to the ground. Prince Jack shouted a shout, whistled a whistle, snake and adder hissed, nightingales sang and beasts on chains began to roar. And the Grey Wolf stopped at a wall.
Magic Beans: A Handful of Fairytales From the Storybag Page 9