Editor's note: Although I'm still hard at work on a fairy-tale related project, I found time to publish our first July winning work (way past overdue on my part). Packed with action and detail, "The Candlestick Kid," will appeal to kids and adults alike.
Once upon a time, at the edge of the wide and thick Magin Forest, lived a poor man and his young son. The man, Julius Rivener, had gotten on his years. His legs had been weakened by years of labor and now could take him no further than a nearby stream. His wife Mathilda had died a few years ago when she accidentally drowned in Evergreen Lake. So, to make ends meet, young Jerry Rivener had to grow up quickly and put away the things that betrayed his boyhood.
He
became known as Little Jerry the Candlestick Kid because that’s what he sold:
all kinds of skinny, fat, scented and unscented tapers, pillars, votive and
luminaria candles from forest home to forest home. He carried them around in a
wicker basket, stopping anyone he met to try to sell them one or two. In Magin
Forest, currency could be gold or a kind word. It didn’t matter as long as both
parties agreed it was sufficient for services rendered.
One
day, dressed in his typical black shorts, white shirt and soft leather shoes,
he decided to venture into a part of the forest he’d never been before. As he
was having bad luck with his usual surroundings, he thought it best to try
somewhere new.
As
he traipsed along, he began to notice trees, flowers and shrubs that he’d never
seen before. He even thought the ground beneath his feet felt softer as if it
was made from the downy feathers of eider ducks. Suddenly, he heard someone
crying just off the trail.
“Who’s
there?” he asked.
When
no one answered, he asked again.
“Who’s
there?”
Again,
hearing nothing but the sobs, he decided to investigate.
Walking
towards its sound, he crossed over downed trees, carefully sidestepped burly
roots, and parted low lying branches and found a turtle the size of a tuffet
sitting in a clearing. It was crying, shaking its head from left to right.
“Excuse
me, sir,” Jerry began, “are you in trouble?”
“If
you will look at my back,” the turtle explained, “you will see it’s cracked.”
Cautiously,
Jerry studied the turtle’s back. He did, indeed, see a large crack running
lengthwise across the top of the little fellow’s traveling home.
“How
did this happen?” he asked.
“I
was fast asleep down by the glen,” he answered, “when a branch fell off a
tree.”
“The
branch broke your shell?”
“No.
It fell close to a bank of rocks and its branches loosened a few. Some of those
rocks tumbled down and broke the shell.”
“I’m
sorry to hear that,” Jerry offered. “Does it hurt?”
“It
irritates is more like it! Now my body is exposed to the elements! What should
I do?” He started crying again.
“What’s
your name?” the boy asked. “I’m Little Jerry.”
“The
Candlestick Kid,” the turtle added. “I know. I overheard two sparrows talking
about you. My name is Pod.”
“Hi,
Pod,” Jerry greeted him. “I think I can help you.”
“You
can?” The turtle’s countenance lit up immediately. “How?”
“Easy.”
Jerry
looked around quickly for some vines, found some thin but strong ones, and
brought them over to Pod. Then, remembering how his father used to knot cords
of wood together, he deftly wrapped the vines over and under the turtle,
pulling tightly till the crack on the top shell became just a thin line. Then,
fashioning a Boy Scout-type lighter out of twigs, he set some dry leaves on
fire, ignited a taper, and dripped the oil along the length of the turtle’s
crack.
“Oh,
that is a clever thing you did!” Pod laughed. “I feel whole again.”
“No
turtle should have a cracked shell.”
“I
have nothing to pay you with,” Pod admitted.
“I
did it because I wanted to,” Jerry stated. “It was a good thing.”
“Then
take this,” the turtle offered.
He
brought out a green whistle and gave it to Jerry.
“If
you’re ever in trouble,” he explained, “just blow it and I’ll come help you.”
“Thank
you, Pod,” Jerry smiled then cheerfully continued on his merry way.
After
one hour, he started getting hungry. As his legs were also getting tired, he
figured it was time to rest. Eyeing a stump, he walked over to it and sat down.
Taking a bun out of his basket, he ate it gingerly. As he was finishing, he
started hearing a cry, a faint one, like the cry of a tiny animal.
Getting
up, he looked closer for the sound. Who was making it? As he walked further,
the sound grew louder and closer. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a
red parrot with green and yellow wings. It was tangled in some vines near the
branches of an acacia tree.
“Help
me!” cried the upside down bird. “I’m stuck.”
The
parrot had a muffled voice which Jerry noticed. He went over to him and looked
up.
“Quite
a predicament you’re in, bird,” he commented. “You sound funny.”
“My
name is Dow,” the parrot corrected him, “and I can’t move.” He started crying
again.
“I’ll
help you,” Jerry promised.
“You
will?” Dow wondered. “How will you get up here?”
“I’m
a boy. Don’t you know we’re good climbers?”
“Let’s
hope you sing the same tune if a wolf came by!”
As
it turned out, the trunk of the tree was much too thick for Jerry to climb up.
“You
can’t do it!” the parrot moaned.
“Oh,
I don’t give up that easily,” the boy cautioned. “Just watch.”
Remembering
the tree climbing apparatus his father used to make from vines and twigs, Jerry
fashioned one from the same materials, tied it between his ankles, and shimmied
up the acacia. Carefully, he untied the bird’s knots and freed him. It was then
that he noticed that Dow’s beak was broken.
“So
that’s why you sound funny,” Jerry smiled.
“These
things happen,” Dow warned, flapping his wings while trying to stay within
speaking distance. “I was trying to break a hard nut open. I guess I used too
much force.”
“Let
me get down and I’ll fix it.”
“You
will?” Dow asked.
“Certainly.”
Once
on the ground, Jerry took off the apparatus and rubbed his legs. They were a
little sore from the climbing, but at least they were only scraped a little,
not bleeding outright.
“My name is Little Jerry,” he introduced
himself.
“Oh,
yes. The Candlestick Kid.”
“So
you’ve heard of me?”
“Sure.
There were two wrens talking about you some time ago.”
“Word
gets around quickly in the forest.”
“Yes,
it does.”
Jerry
stripped some threads from his shirt.
“Hold
still,” he ordered the bird.
Carefully,
he placed the dangling portion of the broken beak back in position and used the
threads to wrap it in place. As before, he created a fire, lit one of the
candles, and used the drippings to seal the beak.
“Oh,
that is a clever thing you did!” Dow laughed. “I feel whole again.”
“No
parrot should have a cracked beak.”
“I
have to admit: I am a poor bird,” Dow groaned. “I can’t pay you.”
“Your
joy was payment enough.”
“Then
take this,” Dow offered.
He
brought out a red whistle from his wing and gave it to Jerry.
“If
you’re ever in trouble,” he explained, “just blow it and I’ll come help you.”
“Thank
you, Dow,” Jerry smiled then merrily continued on his cheery way.
It
was around mid afternoon when Jerry realized he was lost. Since he hadn’t sold
or traded one candle all day, he thought he should just find his way home and
try his luck the next day. That was easier said than done, however, as there
was no clear path back to his home. He looked for something familiar – a
juniper bush in bloom, a hollow birch’s trunk, a winding stream or a proudly
aligned row of cypresses – anything to let him know he was close to home. He
thought about following the sun, but since it was overhead, he couldn’t tell
his direction.
Continuing
further, he started getting more and more nervous. The sound of wolves could be
heard in the distance. A little farther on, he heard the unmistakable sound of
crying coming from off the side of his new trail. As he got closer, the crying
became louder. He thought about leaving whoever was crying to soak in their own
tears because he feared the wolves could catch up to him. But because he had a
good heart, he stepped off the path, waded through thick underbrush, and saw a
sobbing white unicorn sitting on the floor. He also immediately saw why the
animal may have been crying: its horn was broken and simply dangling from the
piece protruding from the middle of its forehead.
“Can
I help you?” Jerry asked.
“I
don’t know,” the unicorn lamented. “What am I to do? Look at my horn!”
“Does
it hurt?”
“No,
but it’s the shame and lack of usefulness I must bear.”
“How
did it happen?”
“I
was besieged by a pack of wolves not too long ago. I fought them off, but as
they left, I accidentally tripped over a tree trunk hidden in fallen leaves. I
lunged forward and my horn got stuck in a tree. I used a lot of force to free
myself, but I pulled too hard, whipped around, and hit the horn against another
tree where it snapped in two.”
“I’m
sorry to hear that,” Jerry admitted. “Now you’re defenseless.”
“Yes,
I am,” the unicorn cried.
“What’s
your name?” the boy asked. “I’m Little Jerry.”
“The
Candlestick Kid,” the mythical horse said. “Yes. I’ve heard of you. I overhead
two starlings speak of you not too long ago.”
“My!
Word sure gets around quickly in Magin!”
“My
name’s Bow,” the unicorn said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice
to meet you,” Jerry greeted him back. “I think I can help you.”
“You
will? That would be fantastic.”
“It’ll
give me great pleasure.”
“So
how will you do it?”
“Easy,”
Jerry responded, “but it requires you to lie down and be very still for a
while.”
“I
can do that,” Bow agreed. “I don’t have to worry about the wolves because they
won’t come near me for some time.” He lied down.
“Good,”
the boy nodded.
Again,
ripping some threads from his shirt, he brought the dangling horn back up into
place and secured the two pieces with the thread. Then, using his fire device,
he lit some dried leaves, ignited a long slender taper, and carefully dripped
the wax along the horn’s seam.
“Will
you surely remain still till it heals?” he begs.
“I
can do that,” Bow affirmed.
“Then
I think it will work.”
The
unicorn stared at his new horn with amazement.
“Oh,
that is a clever thing you did!” he laughed. “I feel whole again!”
“No
unicorn should have a broken horn.”
“I’m
sorry to admit it,” Bow regretted, “but I have nothing to pay you with.”
“That’s
okay,” Jerry smiled. “It pleases me all the same.”
“Then
take this,” the horned stallion offered.
Using
his forelegs, he nudged forward a white whistle on the ground towards Jerry.
“If
you’re ever in trouble,” he explained, “just blow it and I‘ll come to help
you.”
“Thank
you, Bow,” Jerry smiled and walked away.
As
he kept walking through the forest, it became clear to Jerry that he was lost.
No tree formation, streamlet or flower bush was recognizable to him. The sun
was starting to disappear in the west. A thin mist slowly began to appear.
“I’ve
really wandered off too far,” he whispered to himself. “Nothing looks
familiar.”
The
sounds that were now emanating from the woods scared him. Amidst the whistle of
the wind howling through the trees, the eerie chirp of field crickets, the
croaking of frogs and the constant song of the nightingales, there was one
particular sound which gave him pause: the sound of wolves baying in the
distance.
“Where
am I?” he asked himself. “I will be a feast for the wolves tonight!”
Just
then, the sound of the baying wolves grew louder. Fearing them to be close, he
picked up his pace. When he heard the sound of footsteps rustling through the
woods, he started running.
Looking
back, he saw the molten eyes of the wolves.
“I’m
doomed!” he cried, running even further.
As
the wolves closed in, he saw a tall thin house through the fog.
“Help
me!” he screamed, racing towards the structure.
With
the wolves on his tail, he darted up the short flight of stairs. Just as he was
about to knock on the door, he quickly glanced back at the wolves. No longer in
pursuit, they actually appeared frightened. Suddenly, they turned and ran back
into the forest, howling as if ghosts were on their tails.
“How
odd!” Jerry thought.
As
he was about to knock on the door, it opened. Slowly, he entered. There’s was
no one there to greet him. He slowly came to realize he’d never seen such an
abode in his life before. It was basically one large room with a door in the
back. There were lit candles perched on every wall. The stuffed heads of
animals adorned every vertical surface all the way up to the top of the
building. All the furniture - couches, chairs, tables and cabinets - were
crudely constructed from branches. A huge black cauldron sat in a gigantic
fireplace.
“Hello?”
Jerry called out? “Is anyone here?”
He
heard the door at the far end of the room slowly creaking open, making his
heart leap in his chest. Then, he saw a hunched backed old woman in a black
dress walking with a cane appear. As she came closer, Jerry could smell her
clearly for she had the odor of rotten cabbage about her.
“Heh-Hello,”
he stammered. “I’m lost.”
“What
is your name, sonny?” she asked”
“I’m Jerry Rivener, son of Julius the
woodsman.”
“Ah,”
the old woman smiled, “you’re the Candlestick Kid.”
He
nodded and held out his basket of taper, pillar, votive and luminaria candles.
She studied them.
“Such
a festive collection!” she smiled. “They would look beautiful on these drab
walls. Do you agree?”
“Yes,
they would.”
“What
would you like for them?”
“Um…all
of them?”
“They’re
so lovely,” she admitted. “I couldn’t just buy a few! I fear the dear ones I
have will soon die out.”
“Okay,”
he shrugged.
“I’ll
be right back,” she promised. Taking the basket, she returned to the back room.
A few minutes later, she returned with a cup of tea and buns on a platter and
placed them on the table.
“These
are for you,” she explained, “for you’ve come a long way.”
“Thank
you, Miss…”
“Oh,
they call me many things in these parts,” she admitted, “the woman with the
gold, the lady of the lake, the haggard old spinster, the witch with no
name…ignore them all. What people don’t understand, they despise. But, here…”
she continued, reaching in a pocket in her dress, “here is your payment.”
Jerry
reached out his hand and took the coin from her palm.
“That’s
a fortune in pure king’s gold,” she claimed.
“Thanks!”
Jerry beamed. “I’ve never seen a real gold coin before. Father would treasure
this.”
He
glanced at the food on the table.
“May
I have a little bread before I leave?” he asked her.
“Certainly!”
she smiled. “Sit down and help yourself!”
Famished,
he placed himself at the table, ate some of the bread, and drank a few sips of
tea.
“This
is good,” he nodded. “Um, do you live here alone?”
“Just
me and these decorations,” she answered.
Jerry,
for his part, wasn’t so sure he could live in a house decorated by the heads of
stuffed dead animals.
As
he ate a little more, his body began to feel heavy. His legs seemed to take on
a weight of their own. Even his eyelids felt heavy.
“I…”
he managed to emit, “I…”
Before
a full word could pass his lips, he passed out on the table.
The
next morning, he woke up with a slight headache. Still groggy, he looked around
in confusion. He soon discovered that not only was he still in the old woman’s
house but he was also tied to one of the handmade chairs. He struggled to free
himself but it was in vain. His bonds were too strong and too tight.
Just
then, the old woman came walking out of the back room with a large jar in her
hands.
“Did
you tie me up?” he asked her.
“Be
quiet!” she shouted. “Argh! The sound of boys do my ears despise!”
“Let
me go!” he cried. “I want to go home!”
“Your
journey ends here!” she declared.
He
struggled again to free himself. Like before, it was a waste of time. She held
out the jar towards him.
“Do
you know what’s in here?” she asked rhetorically.
Reaching
in the jar, she brings out a handful of black threadlike substance.
“Bats’
wings!” she beamed. Jerry gasped.
He
gasped again when, now that it was daytime, he could see just how black, crooked
and rotten her teeth were.
“Don’t
look so shocked, little boy,” she smiled with malice. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“What
will?” he wondered.
“Breakfast,”
she answered.
“But
I’m not hungry,” he pleaded.
“Oh,”
she explained, pouring out the bats’ wings in the cauldron simmering in the
hearth, “but I am!”
“What
are you having?” he asked, staring at her. She pointed a bony finger at him.
“You.”
“Help!”
he shouted. “Help!”
“No
one can hear you,” she grinned. “You are much too far, too deep in the forest,
I fear. Not even the wolves touch my doorstep.”
“You’re
a mad woman!”
“Thank
you, Candlestick. That’s the best compliment I’ve had all year. Actually, it’s
the only compliment I’ve had all
year!”
She
turned and walked towards the backroom.
“Just
you sit still,” she cautioned. “I’ve learned in the past a nervous boy does a
bad meal make.”
As
she entered the backroom, Jerry struggled with his bonds again. As before, they
wouldn’t budge. He then tried to drag the chair to the fireplace only to
realize it had been nailed in place.
“Help
me!” he yelled. As before, there was no response.
Suddenly,
he remembered the whistles in his pockets. Using a lot of effort, he was able
to bend over to his pants and cause a whistle to slide out half way. Seeing the
green whistle, he picked it up with his mouth, twisted it cleverly so it was
aligned the right way, and blew into it with all his might. He became puzzled
when it emitted no sound.
“Is
it broken?” he wondered.
He
blew it again. Like before, it made no sound. Annoyed, he spit it out on the floor.
Bending
down again, he wriggled the red whistle out of his pocket and caught it in his
mouth before it fell.
He
blew into it. It produced no sound. He blew into it a second time but, again,
it made no sound. He dropped it on the floor.
“Another
broken whistle!” he whispered to himself.
For
the last time, he bent over and brought out the white whistle given to him by
the injured unicorn.
Taking
a deep breath, he blew into it with all his might. Like the others, it made no
sound. He blew into it again but it produced nothing. Angry, he spit it out.
“These
animals have tricked me!” he lamented. “I should have known better that to
trust them. Now, look at me. Look at this house. So many times I’ve heard
father say beware the den of inequity. I thought it never existed. I should’ve
believed him.” He started crying.
The
old woman came out of the back room with a loaf of bread on a platter and laid
it on the table.
“Soon,”
she remarked, “I will have my fill. For so long I’ve hungered for the taste of
a young ‘un. Finally, my that day has come.”
As
she turned to stir the huge ladle in the cauldron, the front door was suddenly
thrust open. Standing in the door were the three animals Jerry had helped
before – Pod the turtle, Dow the parrot, and Bow the unicorn. Both Pod and Dow
were on Bow’s back.
“Arrgghh!”
the old witch yelled, grabbing the hot ladle. “I will add all of you to my
stew!”
She rushed towards them. Dow flew up and Pod
jumped to the floor. Bow lowered his head and thrust his horn towards her. In
one deft and unerring motion, he impaled her, then racing over to the cauldron,
threw her in. She screamed as she started melting.
Pod
used his sharp strong beak to chew through the binds around Jerry while Dow
perched himself on the table near the bread.
“Don’t
touch that!” Jerry warned him. “Everything here is poisoned.”
“Yes,”
Bow agreed. “This is the lair of the black witch.”
“The
scourge of Magin Forest!” Dow agreed.
“She
sure had many names,” Jerry wondered, “but how did you guys know I needed
help?”
“We
heard your whistles,” Bow informed him.
“The
whistles!” Jerry exclaimed. “But they’re broken!”
“To
you,” Pod explained, “they may seem that may because you can’t hear them.”
“But
believe me,” Dow added, “they’re quite loud!”
Just
then, a bright gleam of light caught their eye from high up on one of the
walls. Curious, Dow flew up towards it.
Seconds later, he brought down a small basket.
“What
is that?” Jerry asked.
Dow
laid the basket on the table. It was overflowing with shiny gold coins.
“Yay!”
they shouted collectively.
“We
shall divide this evenly,” Jerry proposed.
Within
minutes, they parted the gold four ways and left the house.
Pod
built a home for himself and has family and had enough gold left over to live
comfortably the rest of his long life. Dow built an estuary, a safe area where
birds lived in peace without fear of predators like wolves. Bow had always
wanted to see the world so he and some friends built a caravan and traveled as
far as their legs could take them. Jerry and his father built a large safe home
in Magin Forest which contained a courtyard where locals could come to trade,
tell stories, and reminisce about the dark old days living in fear of the black
witch.
