A Fairy Tale: The Story Behind the Sound of a Snapped Twig

A Fairy Tale: The Story Behind the Sound of a Snapped Twig
by: mikl paul
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Once upon time there was a land named Lunderion. Lunderion was
a magical place. Behind each tree, or door, waited the potential for
every adventure known to children and every peril known to adults.
From the meadows to the castle wall, all was wild.

As in every land that remembers magic, there was a princess. Her
name was Princess Melody. She had black hair and blue eyes and
walked with the bare feet of the people who love the forest floor. She
was kind to the hungry and sang to the gardens, all in all, she was
loved and cherished by the entire kingdom.

Princess Melody was engaged to a prince from a far and distant
kingdom, his name was Prince Thomas. He was a noble and brave
prince, known throughout the lands for his courage and his skill
with the bow and the arrow.

The Prince and Princess had met two summers ago at the ball to
celebrate the death of the Dragon King and the destruction of his
troll army. The prince had his arm in a sling from a wound he
received in the final battle and the princess thought he resembled
a lame bird. Through eye contact and the royal dance, they romanced
each other with subtle leanings, with tones and compliments. By the
end of the evening they were engaged.

Though two years had passed since they last set eyes on the other, the
time spent apart had not erased the image of that night. Both had etched
the evening into the pillar of the heart, and both were devoted to that
monument. Letters were all they had at this point, hundreds of hand written
pages of news and affection and rumor and joy. Melody was about
to turn nineteen, and the wedding would be soon after that.

As in every land that remembers magic, there was a witch. Her name was
Rattle T Linda. Rattle T Linda was an old crone of the Order of the Dusk.
Ancient and bent with age, she was the last of her kind. She could still
remember the potion recipes after the ingredients had long ago become extinct.
She could speak to stars and to storms at sea. She had been the magic
adviser to the King of Dragons before the war had ended. Tucked away in
her cave, exiled to all but her revenge, she sat and scemed and killed small
birds and crushed daisies underneath her black soles. She dressed in
tree bark and grey cloth. She would pace covered from head to foot, besides the
small opening cut in the fabric across her chest to reveal the hourglass lodged into her
breast.

One day Princess Melody was walking through the forest barefoot, as she always
did, against all good advice. She would wander through the trails and the
shadows for hours on end, singing to herself and collecting stones.

She went deeper into the wood than usual today, and the moment before that
thought struck her, the sound of a snapped twig found her ears instead. She turned
to see a thin goat trail she hadn't noticed and a thin woman dressed in tree bark
and grey emerging out of it with a sack on her back.

"Well hello there." Melody said.

"Oh dear me child." The old woman replied, slightly off guard and breathless.
"I didn't hear or see you there, Frightening an old lady like that, you should
know better, for a princess."

Melody smiled. She had grown accustomed to everyone knowing who she was.
"I meant no harm grandmother. I have some water and fruit if I can make it up
to you while we sit and rest from today's walk?"

The old woman grumbled a bit before accepting. She took off her satchel and
sat on a fallen tree trunk, Melody set out her food and drink and sat across
the trail on a small knoll of grass.

"Grandmother, where are you heading today? What brings you so far out
into these woods?"

"Eh? I may ask you the same thing deary." The old woman chuckled.
"I'm coming from everywhere and heading in the same direction. Today
I am on my way to the fair in Lunderion to sell my wares."

"Oh! I do love the fair. What type of merchant are you? Scarves? Baskets?
Your satchel isn't large enough to hold too much."

The old woman raised her eyebrow at the princess. "Oh really? You would
be surprised what can fit onto the back of a broken grandmother. You would
be very surprised if you knew what it was that I carried..."

"Oh grandmother I'm sorry, again and again. What is it? Please?" The
princess made her best princess face.

The old woman sneered and then smiled. "Who could resist a ray of
sunshine such as you my dear. I am a master of lovecraft. I sell potions,
candles, love spells. Those sorts of things. Invisible paper for letters that
can only be read in the setting sun. Charms and mirrors and so on."

The Princess was very excited. "What a wonderful craft! I'm to be married
soon, or I would buy just about everything you have grandmother."

The woman sneered, the princess did not see. "Found yourself a prince
yes? Rescued you from a dragon or a tower I assume? That's good dear,
royal marriages only last if there is a quest involved. You see what a man
is truly made of in those situations. Who could ever marry someone they
met at a dance or a festival? No no, those stories end quickly and without
much of a ripple."

The princess was a little sad at the hearing of this. She loved the prince
dearly, but this woman was an expert in such matters and her words were
heavy in her heart.

"Grandmother, I met my prince at a ball. Everything was silk and glass. He
was wounded in a war, so I know he is brave...it's just..."

"Say no more young one. Every soldier is brave in war, but you wonder,
can he be brave for love?"

The princess smiled a small smile. "You know all the words before I think
them grandmother. What should I do?"

"Do?" The old woman looked far into the forest. "Well there is one thing...
No no, it's too dangerous, never mind."

"Grandmother please. What was it? Oh just tell me so I can day dream
about it, please?"

"Young one, forget I said anything. Making a quest and making a hero is
a serious affair. It involves old magic and older courage."

The princess was on the brink of tears. "Please. Please tell me."

The old woman sighed. "There is one thing. But it is dangerous. I did
it once, years ago, for a princess of a floating city. She had wings the color
of the moon, it went well for her and her prince, but could have gone otherwise."

"Yes, yes, go on."

"I turned her into a bird. A beautiful canary, perfect and strong. We then wrote
to the prince and told him that she had been cursed by a wicked druid and
that the only way to save her was if he could find and capture her and with
a single kiss on her forehead return her to her true form."

The princess was breathless with excitement. "And he did? He truly did?"

"Yes my dear. They are still married even as we speak."

"Grandmother. Please. Do this for me? Please?"

"Young one, it is a dangerous thing you ask."

"Please." She begged. "After we are married I will have a shop built for you.
No more moving around and long hard roads, but a good and decent shop for you
to keep your stock and home. Please do this for me."

"Hmmm." The old woman seemed long in thought. "A shop you say? My own sign
and everything? hmm. Well on one condition. This forest is too dangerous for a bird,
perhaps something stronger? Faster? A doe maybe? A white doe?"

The princess was leaping up and down and clapping her hands. "Yes grandmother
yes! That sounds perfect. Can we do it in a weeks time? I'll come with my servants
and a guard to protect me until the prince arrives."

The princess began to gather up her things to race back to the castle. "A weeks
time you say?" The old woman spoke slowly as she pulled a purple stone from inside
her tree bark cloak. "I had something sooner in mind."

The princess turned to face the old woman. "Sooner?"

The woman lunged forward and grabbed a handful of the princess's hair. The girl
began to scream but the witch opened her own mouth wide and two black scorpions
crawled out and onto the face of the princess. "My pets don't like loud noises
dear one. I'd stay quiet if I was you."

The princess had tears in the corner of her eyes and looked very afraid. "Who
are you?" She asked.

"I am Rattle T Linda." With that she shoved the purple stone into the mouth of
the princess and told her to swallow it. "Do it child, or you will surely die."

The princess began to cry, but managed to swallow the stone. Rattle T Linda
backed away and held her hands over the princess. "Stag and doe and curse and
tree, may your love make you immortal as hatred does me."

The princess felt a warmth, then a burning. She fell to the forest floor and held
her stomach with both hands. Her eyes began to bleed into her mouth and she
couldn't find enough voice to scream. The last thing she heard before all was darkness
was the distant laugh of Rattle T Linda.

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Ratttle T Linda laughed the entire way back to her cave. "Perfect." She hissed at the
moss. "Delicious." She sang as she tore down a birds nest. Everything had gone
exactly to plan. She sat down at her desk and began to write a letter addressed to
prince Thomas.

"My Dearest Love,
This may be my last letter for quite some time. I have been cursed by an evil
druid who desired revenge against my Father. Tonight, at the full moon, I will
transform into a single red rose. I fear I will remain that way for all of time. The
only cure is if someone, anyone, would find the evil druid and slay him. Then
surround the rose with the dust of his crumbled bones. I understand if you need
to forget me, who can expect such things? You had and have all my love, and
I will remain your rose in a world of flowers. They say the druid travels by magic
in our forests, disguised as a white doe. Farewell my love, until we meet
again.

yours,

Princess Melody

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When Prince Thomas received the letter he began to wail, then began to rage
and then began to pack his horse for the road ahead. He had his bow, his
arrows, his dagger and a crystal clear memory of Princess Melody, which would
be his compass, sure as north. He left at morning light and arrived in the
forest of Lunderion four days later.

All was quiet, was poised. The entire forest was an inhale, jagged on the release,
hesitant to break the silence with a sob or a warning. The prince stepped carefully,
the right foot; affection, the left foot; revenge. It was a dance and a hunt of the
lovers justice. He would pause and touch the soil, smell the air, examine the
bent reed and the crushed petal; he had the creatures trail.

He had stumbled upon the white doe yesterday morning near the rivers edge. He
was washing the dreams from his face when he looked up and locked eyes with
the doe. The prince sneered and grabbed his bow, the doe gave a panicked yell
and leapt into the densely packed ferns and vanished. Prince Thomas had been
on the evil druids trail ever since. It was easy to track, the prince could tell the
druid did not have the instinct of a wild animal. The path was unplanned,
there was no strategy or caution. More of a run of emotion than a run of nature.
Also strange distracted haltings; the tracks would come to a standstill in front
of a batch of tulips, or a birds nest, or a waterfall.

The tracks here were very fresh. Up ahead the cliff sides funneled down to a dead
end, there were tracks going in, but no set coming out. The prince stepped through
the ferns and drew an arrow, set it in place, and waited.

He did not wait long. Beyond the bend came the doe. The Prince emerged from his
hiding spot and aimed his arrow. The doe saw him and froze. The blue eyes of the
doe went wide, the head began to shake. Prince Thomas let his arrow fly and
watched as his aim was true and it sunk deep into the abdomen of the beast.
The doe fell and began to kick and cry. The forest exhaled as the Prince drew his
dagger, walked up to the doe and slit its neck.

His hands were covered in blood and he chopped wood for a fire, his hands were
covered in blood as he drew water into a iron pot. His hands were covered in blood and
he lifted the doe and dropped it into the boiling water. He wanted to strip it down
to the bone, to erase the evil druids magic from the earth and to rescue his beloved
rose. He sat, and he waited and then, with a long hook, began to pull out the pearl
white bones, one at at a time. He stacked them all in a pile and began to put them
in place, he wanted to make sure he had each and every one.

Something wasn't right, the pieces would not resemble a doe, but began to look more
like a man. He wasn't too confused, he assumed the druid had transformed in the
darkness beneath the water. The skull was the final piece.

Something resembling bells could be head, distant, underground, lost in echo
beneath stone and clay. The skeleton shivered, and merged, and sat upright.
Prince Thomas stumbled backwards and drew his dagger. The skeleton looked
around and looked at the Prince. As their eyes met, the skull grew long black
hair and the sockets of white filled with the blue of genesis.

"...Melody? Is that you?"

The skeleton nodded sadly. But could not speak. The Prince looked at the blood
on his hands, and the arrow, and the dagger, and could not speak. He began to sob.
The Skeleton Princess clicked and clocked over to him and held him close. His tears
running down her ribs like a rainstorm in a bamboo forest. Suddenly, with no warning
he jumped to his feet. His face was red with the flush of blood and rage, his hands
were red with the stain of blood of betrayal. He screamed into the forest and threw his
body into the boiling water.

The Skeleton Princess watched, and waited, and after a time began, with a small hook,
to draw the bones out of the water, one by one, putting them in perfect place on the
forest floor. When the skull was added the bones shivered and merged, and a sound resembling
a hunting trumpet was heard, distant and quiet, buried beneath tragedy and starlight. The
Skeleton Prince sat up, then stood up, and clicked and clocked over to the Skeleton
Princess and took her bony hand is his. They both looked at each other, large white
smiles which neither of them had the skin nor the desire to end. They walked into the forest.

For many years, villagers and children and young dreamers would here the click and clock
of the Skeleton Lovers and take it as something fearful, as something dangerous. The old
and wise would correct them, 'No no' they would say, 'That is Melody and her Thomas.'
But after a time, the story vanished from memory. They walked those forests and still do
to this day, though they are often mistaken as a snapped twig, or a bell, or a distant
fading trumpet marking to all that the hunt has begun, or has ended.