The Eagle & The Lioness

One cold morning, as the hunter sometimes did during these spare months, he left to go chop dead trees for firewood. He rose very early, as was his custom, and he told his wife, “I may be late for supper. Wood is scarce this season, and the trees are all very healthy.”

“Only be sure you come back, and that is all,” she said. The hunter promised to return safely and so departed, carrying his axe and a good steel knife, and a small rucksack of hard biscuits.

Soon the cabin vanished from his sight, and he ran with the fleetest of feet along the truest paths until he reached the darkest woods. He caught a handful of fireflies again and found the creek which never saw sunlight, frozen now into onyx. The hunter paid no mind to the slick black surface, but ran straight along it. So swift and sure were his legs that he arrived at the source of the creek before morning was over, and he was not so much as short of breath. It was as he had heard: a hill with a door set in the side, with an eagle guarding the door, just as the catfish had warned him.

“Good day, sir,” said the eagle. The eagle was larger than any man, just as the catfish had said, and stood upon a perch above the door. The hunter made no move to run or hide, for what could flee from such wings as that, and where could anything hide from such eyes? “Good day, eagle,” he said. “I see the stories are true. Here is a door in the middle of the forest, where none should be!”

“It is as you see,” said the eagle, “but it is nothing meant for the eyes of men. I guard this portal from prying eyes like your own, and if you leave now of your own accord I shall do nothing worse than pluck out your eyes. Tarry longer, and I shall dine upon your liver.”

The hunter bowed his head. “Very well, but I had been told there was a lake below the earth itself, and behind this door. I had hoped to see such a thing just once, and I am saddened it is not to be.”

“It is true. There is such a lake behind this door,” said the eagle. “But this too is not for the eyes of men.”

“Of course,” replied the hunter, looking sideways at the eagle. “Although if you are to pluck out my eyes in either circumstances, might I not look upon the lake just once?”

The eagle allowed as how this was a fair bargain for the hunter’s journey. He opened to door in the hill with one of his great claws, and said, “Climb upon my back and do not let go.” The hunter did as the eagle told him, and the eagle dove through the door. Below the eagle was a lake which seemed as vast as the ocean, and the eagle spread his great wings and took flight over the waters which had never seen the light of day.

“It is more beautiful than I could have imagined,” said the hunter, and he kept his arms tight around the eagle. “Has it no end?”

“If it has,” replied the eagle, with just a little pride creeping into his voice, “I have not seen it. There is naught but a single, small island.”

“Even you must have some difficulty flying such a distance!”

“I? Not at all! It is as easy as a drop of rain falling from the sky to the earth.”

“Certainly,” said the hunter, looking sideways at the eagle again, “you must be strong, but it is another matter to fly so far carrying one as heavy as I upon your back.”

“Hah,” said the eagle. “We shall see about that. Come then! Your last sight shall be the island.”

“But what if you cannot?” asked the hunter.

“Then I shall drop you into the lake and enjoy watching you drown!” The eagle folded his great wings and they fell towards the lake until with a great explosion of air that threw a wave across the waters. He snapped his wings open and shot across the black surface faster than an arrow. “What say you now?” asked the eagle.

“We are still some distance off,” said the hunter. “I cannot even see a speck of the island.” He then took from his pack one of the biscuits and ate it, and the eagle felt as if the hunter’s weight had doubled.

The eagle’s pride had become too great to admit noticing any such thing. He flapped his wings and flew nearly back to the roof of the cavern. From there the hunter could see the speck of the island. “There is your island. We will reach it soon, and there I shall pluck your eyes from your skull. What say you now?”

“I see it, but it is still quite far,” replied the hunter, and ate another biscuit. Now the eagle felt as if the weight he was carrying had doubled twice again, but still he was too proud to admit any of these things to himself. The eagle redoubled his efforts, pounding the air with muscular wings, and soon the island grew large enough for the hunter to make out trees and other small details. “We are almost upon the island now, and soon enough I will pluck your eyes from your skull. What say you now?”

“There are still miles of water below us,” replied the hunter, and ate a third biscuit. The eagle then felt as if the hunter’s weight was four times doubled. As his wings strained, he made not a sound, for he could not allow a sign of his great effort to show before his pride. His pace slowed, and his wings flapped harder than ever and still it was but a short while before the island was nearly below them. “The island is below us and you have seen your last sight before I pluck out your eyes, little hunter. What say you now?”

“I give my thanks to you for carrying me so far and letting me see so much,” replied the hunter. Then he took out his axe and struck the eagle such a blow to the head that the bird died instantly and plummeted into the shining black waters. The hunter dove from the eagle’s back and swam to the shore of the island. The waters were not cold, but rather unseasonably and unnaturally warm. Their ripples stilled almost as soon as the hunter was on land, so that no trace remained of his passage through them, or of the death of the eagle.

The sand on the shore was black, as were the rocks. It was not long before the hunter entered a forest of trees with black bark and black leaves. But perhaps this was all an illusion of the darkness. The hunter moved through all these black shapes as silently as a hunter could, which was very silently indeed. He could see a path winding its way through the woods, but like all hunters he knew the truest paths were where the trees grew closest together. He moved between the branches with no more sound than a gust of wind, and his footfalls were as the falling snow, as he made his way towards the faintest of glows he saw at the middle of the island. The journey was short, but it was many hours before he came upon the house of the Sorceress, nestled down upon its bird’s leg, with its wings folded over its sides.

Making no more noise than a settling leaf, the hunter came to the windows and looked inside, and there he saw the Sorceress asleep by the hearth fire. He slipped away from the window, moving around to the back of the house. There he found a lioness waiting for him, looking directly at the place where he hid amongst the trees. “Good day, sir,” she said. “I see the eagle has agreed to carry you this far, though I know not why, but you are no welcome guest here. Why should I not tear open your throat and nourish the forest with your blood?”

“I can see you are quite clever and subtle,” said the hunter, “for no other creature of the forest has ever seen my approach. So let us see which of us is the greater hunter. Come wait here, and I will slip away into the forest and come upon you unawares, and then we shall see if you can do the same for me. If I cannot sneak up on you, you may do what you wish, and if you cannot sneak up on me, I am free to go.”

“What guarantee do I have you will not simply flee?” replied the lioness.

“Where would I go on an island, that you could not find me?” said the hunter.

The lioness saw the logic in this and so agreed to the hunter’s challenge. The hunter backed away into the forest and soon lost himself in the shadows. He slipped behind and between the trees, and his footfalls made no more sound than a seed’s sprouting. No branches nor leaves touched him, and even the wind, little as it was, seemed to avoid him. He crept up behind the lioness and when he was within earshot he said, “My pardon, dear lioness, but I think you have lost.”

The lioness started and bowed her head. “You have found your way around my eyes and ears, but let us see how well you can spot a lioness in the woods.” The hunter agreed to this, and the lioness vanished into the woods just as he had. The hunter waited as the darkness grew quiet and the night grew deep. Time stretched and the hunter could feel every leaf fall with the hairs on the back of his neck. But it was only a matter of moments before the lioness spoke from beside him and said, “I have caught you as well, little hunter.”

“Well, it seems we are equals,” said the hunter, “yet our dilemma is still unresolved. I see the Sorceress is asleep within her house and she wears a chain about her neck. Let us see if either of us can take the chain from her neck, and whosoever does so shall grant pardon to the other.”

The lioness, whose pride was injured, agreed to the task and because the hunter had gone first before, she slipped away to steal the key from around the Sorceress’ neck. The hunter watched as she left, and then stepped back into the woods and hid himself as only a hunter is able. His eyes became the night and his ears became the very earth, and it was no small matter for him to see and hear the lioness returning with the key.

The hunter moved himself behind the lioness, by being first one tree, then another, until he was beside her. “I think I have snuck up on you again,” said the hunter to the lioness, “and here you have not snuck up on me.” As he spoke, he drew his knife of good steel across the lioness’ throat, and so she died.

The hunter buried the lioness’ body under leaves and soft dirt, and darkness closed over the grave so that no trace of her death remained. He moved as silently as ever into the small cottage of the Sorceress, who slept still, and found the locked magic box by the light of the hearth fire. He opened the box and took only the pearl and left, leaving behind both key and box. He crossed the island as did the first winds of springtime, and held the pearl in his hands. “More than anything else in the world,” said the hunter, “I want to go home.” And he was home.

It was long past time for supper, but he saw a candle in the window of the small cabin. When he went inside, he found his wife and his supper waiting for him. “I knew you would keep your promise,” she said. “Now come and eat. It is not warm, but it is food and I know you are tired.”

“Food is furthest from my mind,” said the hunter. “I can think of only you, and I have brought you all your heart could desire.” So saying, the hunter took his wife’s hands and took her from her chair. When she was standing, he knelt and reached into his pockets, and held out the pearl to her in the palms of his hands.

Though she was as wise as any hunter’s wife can be, which is very wise indeed, as she saw the pearl her thoughts were stolen away for a moment and she was entranced by its beauty. “Oh, my husband, it is so beautiful. What is it?” But as she asked, she already fully knew the answer.

“It is a wishing stone,” said the hunter. “It is the Sorceress’ pearl, and it will grant you whatever your heart most desires.”

The hunter’s wife closed her hand over the pearl and she kept her tears out of her eyes. “Oh, you perfectly wonderful fool. All my heart desires is being here, with you. And now you have stolen from the Sorceress and she will come for what is hers as surely, as the winter.” So the hunter closed his wife’s hands around the pearl and he held her in his arms, and they waited in the flickering candle light for the Sorceress to come. He thought for a moment of using the wishing pearl to keep her from finding them, but he saw in his wife’s eyes he that she would have none of it.

The candles guttered and expired, and the only light left in the cabin was the moon. As their eyes adjusted to the silvery glow, the hunter and his wife saw the pale features of the Sorceress framed by the light of the window. “You have something which you have stolen from me,” she said. “And you have caused me no end of trouble. What ought I to do? It is not enough to return what is mine. There must be restitution for your actions, and you have only your lives with which to pay.”

“Please,” said the hunter’s wife, “my husband acted foolishly, but he only wished to grant me my heart’s desire. Yet I have everything for which I would ask already. Is there nothing else we can give in our place?” She approached the Sorceress with her head bowed and placed the pearl in her hand.

The Sorceress looked down at the pearl in her hand and back at the hunter’s wife. “You speak well for yourself and your husband, but you owe me no small thing. Still, I am patient. If all this is your greatest desire then it shall be yours, but I will have the lives I am owed. Your first-born will be mine.” The Sorceress did not give the hunter or his wife any moment to dwell upon her bargain. She was gone even as the words left her lips, as if she had never been.