The Hunter and His Wife

In the thrice ninth land of the thrice ninth kingdom there lived a hunter and his wife. Although they were not wealthy, they did not want; for the hunter was clever and perceptive as a hunter must be, and his wife had all the wisdom and intelligence a wife could ever need. Together they were comfortable, and when they fell on hard times it was not for long, and not so hard as for many others, and when fortune favored them the hunter’s wife made the most of it. Still, the hunter wanted to give his wife more, for she was as beautiful as she was charming and he felt blessed by her three times thrice again.

In the evenings, before they turned down the wick on the bedside lamp, he would say to her, “If I had nothing else in this world but your smile, it would be enough for me. The sun could cease to rise or set, and I would still go on, so long as you were there when I slept and when I woke. You need only ask for anything and I will make it yours, if it makes you even the slightest bit happier.”

His wife would chide him and say, “Come home safe every evening and don’t let foolish thoughts become foolish actions. Sleep and rest well with me, for the morning is wiser than the evening.”

Every morning the hunter would be up before the sun, but he would find his wife had been up earlier still. She would fix for him a warm breakfast, and send him off with a lunch of bread and cheese, and he would go out into the forest which surrounded the hill upon which their little cabin was built. The hunter knew the forest better than any man for a hundred leagues in any direction knew the other side of his own eyes, but even those men who had never set foot in the forest knew about the Sorceress.

It was said that a path led into the darkest woods, where the trees grew so tightly together that their branches blocked out the midday sun. To walk amongst those trees was no different than walking in the heart of the deepest cave in the earth. No one had ever heard of any man who had ventured so far into the dark forest and returned. But, though he had never followed it, the hunter knew this path too, for he knew his forest better than any man.

A man who strayed from the path might lose his way forever. If he followed the path long enough, deep enough, he would come upon a creek which had never seen daylight. If he were to follow the creek to its source, he would come to a door, and behind the door he would find a lake buried under the earth. In the middle of the lake was an island, and in the middle of the island was a house with the wings of a bat and the claws of a bird. Any man who desired to speak with the Sorceress would find her there.

No one desired to speak with the Sorceress.

It was said her power came from a wishing stone, and anyone who had such a stone would be granted her heart’s desire. The hunter often lingered by the path into the dark woods and thought of his wife and the wishing stone. He could imagine no one else more deserving of being granted her heart’s desire, but he always remembered his wife’s warning and so he would move on from the path, returning home safely in the evening with a catch of fish, or deer, or plump game birds.

One evening near the end of Fall, an early and bitter winter wind blew through the forest. It howled through the tiniest cracks in the cabin’s walls, and buffeted its sides and was so loud that the hunter did not sleep a bit the whole night through, so that he was awake well before the morning and even before his wife. And so it was on that day, as he lingered by the path into the darkest woods, he conceived a plan. He followed the path until he came to the creek which had never seen sunlight, guided by a pair of fireflies cupped in his hands. He fished in the creek all day long but caught nothing, and when he came home he told his wife all of the truth save for where he had fished. “It is very nearly winter, my husband, and you heard how the wind howled,” she said. “Pay it no heed. The last day of Fall must always come.” In this way half the truth was accepted as the whole.

That night, the wind howled again, and the hunter did not sleep. He was awake before the morning, and returned to the darkest woods and the creek which had seen no sunlight, guided by fireflies. When he returned in the evening he told his wife, “I fished all day again, but caught nothing.” She accepted half of the truth again, as she had the day before, though the two halves together added up to no more of the whole truth than either half alone.

The early winter wind fell quiet that night, but the half-truths in the hunter’s stomach kept him up just the same. Thus, as he set his line and tackle, he determined that if he could not catch a fish by the evening he would give up on his endeavor entirely. He fished all day, telling time by his stomach. When he was hungry, he knew it was mid-day and he ate his lunch. When he became hungry again, he knew it was evening and he must leave. Still, he cast his final line and, as he reeled it in, he caught a tiny catfish.

“Now, little catfish,” he said, “tell me how I may take the wishing stone from the Sorceress, or I will eat you up whole. I am late for my supper and quite hungry. But speak the truth, and I shall return you to the waters, no further harm done.”

“There is no way to steal the pearl of wishes from her,” said the catfish. “A great eagle guards the door to the lake, and will claw out the eyes of anyone foolish enough to try to pass. There is no boat to cross to the island, and even if you should cross the lake, her house is guarded by a lioness who never sleeps. The Sorceress keeps the pearl in a magic box which can only be unlocked by a key she wears `round her neck on a silken cord. It is foolishness even to try.”

“Thank you, little catfish, for your caution,” said the hunter, and he let the fish back into the creek.

Sure enough, the hunter was late for his supper, and he had neither fish nor truth for his wife. But soon enough it was the winter, and there was little fishing or hunting to be done in any event.