The Prince and the Sky-Maiden, By James Hutchings

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a crone named Dokka. Dokka was the cleverest crone that ever there was. If a women who was barren went to her, why by the time Dokka got through with her that woman would lie with her husband in the night and have ten strong babies by morning. A pregnant woman could go to her, and just by looking Dokka could say if her baby was going to be healthy or sick. If there was a thing she couldn't do, I'm sure I've never heard of it.

But Dokka was so clever that she saw a great danger coming, which no one else could see -- or if they could see, they certainly didn't know what to do about it. It was a great evil, with no shape and no sound, and if it had a name only Dokka knew it. It had more power than anyone, even Dokka herself. It wanted only to kill every man, woman and child on the earth, and those it did not kill it wanted to turn into monsters.

At last Dokka told her granddaughter, whose name was Gloria, to come to her house. She cast a spell on Gloria, so that every time she awoke she would be awake a day, yet every time she went to sleep she would sleep for a hundred years. Then she put Gloria in a tower in the middle of a great forest, as high as the sky, and bid her sleep. Then she set soldiers to guard the tower, who never died. She said to these guards that they must not let anyone in the tower, other than a true-born man. Last of all she set a talking stone at the base of the tower, which would tell anyone what lay within.  Last of all, Dokka herself drank poison, so that the great evil could not turn her into a monster.

Now the evil came to the earth, and worked its will. Everyone it could kill it killed, and those it did not kill it turned into monsters. But Gloria slept in her high tower, and she never knew the evil had come, and it never saw her. At last there was no-one on the earth, other than monsters, and the evil went away. For years and years there were only monsters, until at last some true-born men and women came out of the ground. But Gloria slept on, only waking up for one day every hundred years, and the stone warned the monsters not to enter. And those who didn't listen? Well, you may be sure that the guards chopped them up.

One day, many centuries later, a prince was riding through the forest. And what do you think - he came to the tower, and the talking stone.

"Now stone, tell me what lies within this tower?" said the prince.

"Now prince, Gloria lies within. She is more beautiful than any maiden you have seen, and her hair is as golden as the sun," said the talking stone.

"But what do you mean, 'as golden as the sun'?" the prince replied.

"Well now prince, many centuries ago the sun was gold. And that is why these times were called the Golden Age," the stone said.

The prince was greatly taken with the idea of a golden sun, and of a beautiful maiden with hair the same color. So he asked the stone if he could go inside. But the stone told him, "Only a true-born man may go within."

"Again, what do you mean?" the prince cried angrily. "I am indeed a true-born man, and a prince at that!" But the stone was silent.

Now the prince was as angry as if he'd sat on a hundred thistles. But he was no fool, this prince, and he knew that anyone who could build a tower that high and set a talking stone at the bottom, that wasn't someone you could just beat by running at them with your sword. So the prince sat at the base of the tower, deep in thought. Now by chance, Gloria had woken up from her hundred-year sleep that very morning. She was looking out of her tower, down at the clouds, and feeling pretty lonely up there all by herself. Just then she heard the prince, talking to himself about one plan and another to get into the tower.

"Oh, who is down there?" Gloria shouted down.

"A prince of this land," said the prince.

"Ho now prince, why don't you come up here? I'm so lonely," said Gloria.

"Well now I would," said the prince, "but this stone down here tells me I can't come in, for not being a true-born man."

"I know!" said Gloria. "Why don't I send down a lock of my hair? You show that to the guards, and they'll think you're a true-born man."

The prince thought this was a fine idea. So Gloria cut off some of her hair, and threw it down, through the clouds, and down to the prince. And the prince saw this hair, which was like gold, and he thought that if her hair was this beautiful then Gloria herself must be the most beautiful woman in the world.

So the prince went into the tower, and he saw the never-dying guards. But he just held up a fistful of Gloria's hair, and they let him go right on through. Up, up and up went the prince, higher than the birds, higher than the clouds, high as the sun almost. And at last he came to Gloria's room. He opened the door, and when he saw her...

Oh! She was so ugly. Both her middle limbs were missing. There was no hair on her body at all - and yet hair covered her head! The prince realised where the lock of hair he held had come from. He was so disgusted he couldn't even breathe.

"Don't you come near me!" he said, and he was so sick he didn't want to live any more. He jumped right out of the tower! Down he went, down past the clouds and the birds, and at last he landed in a thorn-bush, and that bush scratched out his eyes, and he was blind.

Now Gloria was scared that the only person she'd ever seen would die. So she ran all the way down the stairs, and there he saw the prince, all bloody and blind.

"Oh woe is me! No one's going to want me with no eyes! I won't even be able to find food for myself!" the prince said.

But Gloria said, "Well now, you were damn rude to me prince. But I guess I don't want you die." So Gloria gathered berries and mushrooms for the prince to eat.

The prince stayed with Gloria. And since he couldn't see her, it didn't matter that she was so ugly. And as for Gloria, she'd never seen anyone else. So after a while they got married, and they had children. And that's where we all come from; you and I, and everyone else, and all the true-born men and women that ever have been and ever will be. So I guess that shows that Dokka was the cleverest crone that ever there was, and that even great evils will be beaten in the end.



James Hutchings lives in Melbourne, Australia. His work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction and fiction365 among other markets. His blog, http://teleleli.blogspot.com, is updated daily.

The image, which has been altered to fit better with the story, is by Arthur Hacker, and was painted in 1902.

The Name Of The Helper, By James Hutchings

There was once a vizier of Baghdad who had such mastery of deception, and flattery, and insinuation, and all the false arts of the tongue, that he was called Abd al-Katheb, or Servant of Falsehood.

Baghdad was ruled by the Caliph Musa al-Hadi. The Caliph was a wicked man, who attempted to poison his own mother, and committed many other outrages. Ever was Abd al-Katheb at his side, whispering cunning and odious sophistries to calm the conscience of his master. For this service the unrighteous courtier was greatly rewarded, and his wealth was piled as high as his infamy.

At last al-Hadi was smothered to death by the women of his harem, and his virtuous younger brother Harun al-Rashid became Caliph. The new Caliph spoke thus:

"O Abd al-Katheb, it is well-known that your master, my late brother, was greatly influenced in his wickedness by your counsel. Many say that your life should be forfeit. Yet you served only as commanded. Further, Musa al-Hadi has died for his crimes, and it is not just that a debt already paid should be paid twice over. You are wont to boast that your words are so honeyed that you could prove a stone to be the moon, or a beggar's scabs to be rubies. I decree, therefore, that you shall toil in the palace stables, to be released only when you can prove the muck thereof to be purest gold."

Abd al-Katheb was thus sent to the stables to be the servant of animals, and to labor amid filth. Such was his rage and humiliation that his serpent's tongue deserted him. Had he kept his head he could have convinced the grooms and stable hands that he was the victim of an injustice, or that he voluntarily lowered himself from humility. Perhaps he could even have proved that the muck of the stables was purest gold, and gained his freedom. But instead he was as bitter and hateful in manner as in reality, and gained no sympathy.

One day, as he was bewailing his fate, he saw a crone who was a stranger to him.

"O crone," he said, "I see that you have a cheerful countenance. Have you come to gloat at my misery? Though I marvel that you have not been gathered up and thrown away, mistaken for a pile of horse dung." The crone did not respond to his jibe.

"I smile always, but do not gloat," replied the crone. "Indeed I have come to prove Harun al-Rashid a liar, and secure your release."

"Two mighty tasks," the former courtier said dryly, though in truth he thirsted for hope, and the taste of it was sweet. "Yet how may this poor ostler repay you?"

"In truth you have given me much already, though you know me not. Therefore I shall take only a small piece of meat. And since you are poor I shall not take a choice cut, but one you have scorned. And finally, O Abd al-Katheb, I shall not take even this if you can tell me my name."

Such was the certainty in the woman's voice that Abd al-Katheb did not doubt her sincerity, or her power to deliver what she promised, though he of all people should have known that the word is not the deed. Therefore he replied, "I accept your bargain. I cannot tell you your name, since although I know many names, they are those of men of dignity and power, not toothless and wretched old women." Again the woman made no response to his insult, but merely continued smiling.

"This being so, I shall return at sunset, when the bargain shall be fulfilled." With that, she left Abd al-Katheb to his work.

Abd al-Katheb was as greedy as he was false, and to give even a small piece of meat for liberation was against his nature. Therefore he desired greatly to know the name of his savior. To this end he put on the mask that he had laid aside, and all in the stable were greatly pleased by his new attitude of repentance and good fellowship, as they thought. But although he subtly guided the conversation towards the subject, none could name the old woman. This displeased him greatly, despite the great prospect suddenly before him. For it is the way with all who seek wealth and power, that it is as if they drink salt water: the more they attain their desire, the less they are satisfied. Therefore Abd al-Katheb would have found reason to complain in Paradise.

At last the sun set, and behold! The old woman was before him, though he did not see her coming despite his careful watch.

"O Abd al-Katheb," she asked, "have you guessed my name?"

"Indeed I have not, old woman," he replied. "But I remind you that the penalty for this failure is merely a small piece of meat."

"I have not forgotten," said the old woman. Having spoken, she reached into his chest, and pulled out his heart. Abd al-Katheb fell dead on the ground. Thus Harun al-Rashid was made a liar. For the false vizier had not proven that the muck of the stables was gold, yet he had been released from his punishment.

James Hutchings lives in Melbourne, Australia. His work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction and fiction365 among other markets. His blog, http://teleleli.blogspot.com, is updated daily.