The Sorceress

They descended from the tower arm in arm, brother and sister. As he passed the other rooms on the way down, the Jackfish saw only cold forged iron, coal, and steel, but he thought perhaps he was looking at different rooms. The door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked for the Sphinx when she turned the handle. Upon taking their leave of the tower and entering the hallway, they found all the servants of the Sorceress lined up along the walls, and the Sorceress herself standing at the far end.

The Jackfish bowed to the Sorceress and gave her the courtesies she was due. He said, “I am very grateful that you have shown such kindness to my sister for so many years, and taught her so much. I have traveled far and learned much on my own, but now it is merely my hope that you will grant her your leave to journey with me, and so we will not be sundered again.”

The Sorceress had grown quite fond of the Sphinx, and almost thought of her as a daughter, and so she was troubled. She did not want the Sphinx to leave her forest and go to the far ends of the earth with the Jackfish, but nor could she deny that such a request was fair. She said, “If that is what you both wish, you may leave, but you may not return thereafter.”

The Sphinx said, “If it must be so, it will be. You have taught me languages and secrets not even imaginable in dreams, but there are stories I cannot learn here in your castle, or there in your library. Still, we must ask something of you before I go, for there is one thing you have never given me. I know you have it, and I cannot go into the world without it.” At this, she smiled her strange smile.

“And what is that?” said the Sorceress, speaking with her thoughts hidden far beyond her eyes.

“A name,” said the Jackfish. “She cannot go into the world without a name, for the world will not know her. We would ask you to grant her this thing before we go.”

“Well, a name,” replied the Sorceress. “It is true that I know all the names of all creatures, but I cannot give her name away freely, for all things have their price. Three favors, Jackfish Crow. Do three favors for me, and I shall grant her a name so that you may both go into the world.”

The Jackfish remembered how his father the eagle had spoken of the Sorceress’ bargains, but he saw there was no other way. “What are your favors, then?” he asked.

“For the first favor, you must find for me a bird with a woman’s head,” she said. “Your sister shall remain here until this is done.”

Because the Jackfish had been to the ends of the earth, he had seen countless marvels, and he knew above all else where to find the most beautiful bird with the head of a woman. “I shall return three days from now,” he said, and set out from the castle. He traveled far to the east, to the new city in the North, and there he found a woman who had told him stories of a blackbird in the desert. He had told her tales of the ocean. She was pleased to see him again, and willingly followed him back to the darkest forest and the Sorceress’ castle. They returned to the castle on the third day, and found the Sorceress and the Sphinx waiting for them on the east pavilion, in the mid-day sun.

The Sphinx said, “He returns as he had promised.”

The Sorceress said, “But has he kept his word?”

The Jackfish spoke, “As you see, I have returned, and brought a bird with a woman’s head.”

“I see a woman, plainly enough,” said the Sorceress, “but nothing like a bird.”

“A moment, if it pleases you,” said the Jackfish, and then to the woman he said, “Would you be so kind as to tell us a story?”

Thus the woman opened her mouth and began to sing. She sang in the language of the birds, and she told the story of Crow, the first Crow, and how she brought fire to men. Even the Sorceress was moved by her song, though the Sphinx only smiled her same smile. Once the song was over, the Sorceress could not argue that the Jackfish had brought before her the most beautiful songbird with a woman’s head in all the world.

“You have answered my first favor,” she said to the Jackfish, “but two more yet remain. You must next find for me a fierce lioness with a woman’s head. Until then, your sister shall remain here with me.”

Because the Jackfish had been to so many lands, and had learned so many stories of the world, he knew already of the fiercest lioness of all who bore the head of a woman. “I shall return three days from now,” he said, and set out from the castle. He traveled far to the north, to a city which sat on the shore of a lake larger than the sea. On the lakeshore, he found a woman who lived in the shelter of trees which grew in the hard gravel worn smooth by the constant lapping of the waters. He had once told her tales of the ocean, and the ocean’s dreams. She had told him tales of great warriors from the island nations, and fields where men had fought and died. The woman was pleased enough to see him, and when he asked her to follow him to the darkest forest and the Sorceress’ castle, she agreed. They returned to the castle on the third day, and found the Sorceress and the Sphinx waiting for them on the west pavilion, in the evening sun.

The Sphinx said, “He has returned yet again.”

The Sorceress said, “But what of my favor, I wonder?”

The Jackfish spoke, “As you see, I have brought a lion with a woman’s head.”

“I see her plainly,” said the Sorceress, “but what manner of lion is this?”

“I will show you easily enough,” said the Jackfish. “You have many servants, Sorceress. Bring forth from among them those that you would deem your greatest warriors.”

The Sorceress was curious, thus she called forth two score and ten of those servants she had, whom she knew to be valiant warriors. Each one brought a sword or a spear, while some even carried pistols or rifles. When all had gathered before the Sorceress, the Jackfish proclaimed, “I challenge all of you to defeat this lone and unarmed woman in combat.” The Sorceress nodded her approval to her warriors, and all of them leapt upon the woman, who carried nothing with her but the clothes upon her back. As they attacked her, she snarled terribly and her visage became like nothing human. What weapons she needed, she took from those who attacked her. She turned swords upon their owners, she put guns to murderous purpose, and where she found such warriors as were not generous enough to provide for her their weapons she used her hands and her fists and her fingernails. In the space of seven breaths, all the warriors of the Sorceress lay upon the flagstones and the pavilion was slicked with blood. The fierce woman stood alone, scratched and bruised, panting, but in no way otherwise troubled, and the Sorceress could not deny that this woman was as fierce as the most fearsome lion.

“Clever Crow, you have answered my second favor as well,” she said to the Jackfish, “but I have yet one more to ask, and it will not be so easy as all have asked before. Find for me a dragon with a woman’s head. If you do this, the debt of your sister’s name shall be repaid, and she may go forth into the world as she wishes.”

Jackfish Crow bade his fierce warrior woman farewell; then said to the Sorceress, “That is the easiest of all the tasks you have set before me, for I know a dragon who hoards her treasure and guards it dearly, whom men often challenge and always thus find themselves bested, and who keeps a fair maiden in a cave, waiting only for the one who may best her.” So speaking, the Jackfish laid his hand upon the Sorceress’ wrist and held her hand before her. “You, Sorceress, are the dragon with the woman’s head.”

The Sorceress’ eyes flashed with anger, but once again she could not deny the Jackfish’s words. She showed her teeth as she said, “There can be no doubting it, then, cunning Jackfish. You have answered all my favors, and so I will give your sister her name. But I think you have been more clever than honest, however well you have answered these tasks. I will give your sister her name, and she may go into the world with you, but I will have some say as to when and how.”

The Sorceress then spoke certain words, one to each part of her body, and every part of her was changed until she stood before the Jackfish and the Sphinx as a dragon in the flesh. “You have named me a dragon, and so shall I be your dragon,” she said. “Hold me fast yet, for if you cannot, your last favor has not been met.” Jackfish Crow took the dragon Sorceress by the leg, and she thrashed terribly, and shook the walls of the castle with her bellowing, and cracked the flagstones with blows from her tail and claws. Still, the Jackfish held her fast and did not let go. The dragon Sorceress tore great rents in the flesh of the Jackfish with her claws, and his blood flowed into the cracks of the flagstones, but still he held her fast and did not let go. She kicked and dashed the Jackfish against the stones, and struck him with her tail, and shattered all the bones in his limbs, but his grip was unrelenting and he did not let go. She tore open his body and took his heart and lungs and liver from him with violence, but if anything his grip became tighter still, and he would not let go. She plucked out his eyes and his tongue, and split open his mouth and throat with her claws, yet he did not let go. The dragon Sorceress tore all the Jackfish’s limbs from his body and scattered them about the pavilion, but still, with all his blood having run through the cracks, without eyes or heart or tongue, he did not let go, for he held the dragon Sorceress with his left hand.

The Sorceress saw that there was nothing more she could to do shake the Jackfish from her and so she ceased her struggles. She turned to the Sphinx and saw there were tears in her eyes, even through she still smiled her strange smile. “Your brother has won your name,” she said. “You may go out into the world with him, if you so wish.” The Sorceress then spoke a word, and all her servants were struck deaf, and all the doors became deaf and dumb. All the creatures of the forest were made deaf, and all the birds ceased to sing. All the leaves of the trees and all of the blades of grass stopped their whispering and heard nothing, as a silence descended over the whole of the dark forest.

The Sorceress then spoke the Sphinx’s name, but only the Sphinx heard it, and the dead ears of Jackfish Crow. “Our bargain has been met,” said the Sorceress. “Go where you will.” And with those words, she turned and walked into the castle, disappearing into its shadows, yet remaining in the flesh of a dragon.

The Sphinx gathered up all of the Jackfish’s limbs as sound returned to the world, first from the birds, and then the trees, and lastly the doors. She gathered his heart and lungs and liver, and carried all of him out of the castle, across the mountains, and away from the darkest forest. The hearing of the Sorceress’ servants was the last to return, but ever after they could not speak.

On the rocky slopes of the mountain, she found the bones of a cougar, long since picked clean by scavengers and polished white by the air. With the bones of the cougar, she made the Jackfish’s legs whole again. As she climbed the mountain, she found the skeleton of a condor stretched wide across the granite. She took up the condor’s bones, and made the Jackfish’s arms whole again. Part of the mountain had collapsed in a landslide, and therein she found a rough diamond. Growing about the diamond were lavender roses, and so she made whole the Jackfish’s heart with roses and an uncut diamond. At the very top of the mountain she found the source of a river, and she washed the Jackfish in its pure waters. As the Sphinx came down the mountain, she found a willow tree growing from the unforgiving rock. She asked it for permission, and cut several branches from it, and gave it thanks. With the branches of the willow, she made the Jackfish’s body whole again.

When the Sphinx at last stood on the other side of the mountain, she plucked a lock of hair from her head and carved the bones of a mouse into needles. She sewed all the limbs and flesh of the Jackfish together again with this golden thread. She hummed to herself as she worked, in many languages, and so beautifully that all the birds from the other side of the mountain came to see her and to listen to her song. Many of them wept, for they knew the Jackfish well from their stories, and those stories he had passed on to them, but the Sphinx only smiled her smile. The last bird to appear was the vain peacock, and even he bowed to the body of Jackfish Crow.

“If I may ask,” the Sphinx said to the peacock, “might you lend me two feathers from your plumage? You have so many; surely you can spare these two.” The peacock was so willing, and the Sphinx gave him her thanks. With the feathers of the peacock, she made the eyes of the Jackfish whole again.

The Sphinx took a granite stone and dashed it to pieces against another. With a shard, she cut open her hand, and placed her blood into the Jackfish’s heart. She felt his pulse begin anew, and soon his heart beat in time with her own. With her lips, she placed her breath into the Jackfish’s lungs, and soon she felt his warm breath as his chest once more began to rise and fall. And with her name whispered in his ear, she opened the Jackfish’s eyes once more, and he became whole and living again.

Ever after, Jackfish Crow’s eyes were not the pale blue of the Sphinx’s, but bronze and green, and as blue as the ocean’s depths for any who looked closely enough. His sister gave him her hand, and helped him to stand. “Now you may show me the world,” she said to Jackfish Crow. “And I shall tell you our story.”

And that is how the story of Jackfish Crow and the Sphinx began.

The Room in the Tower

Jackfish Crow wasted not a day, nor an hour, nor a minute, but straightaway set off to find the secret places where all the castle doors led. He waited and watched these places in the deep, dark woods, and his patience was rewarded one morning when he saw the woman known to others as the Sphinx, but recognized by the Jackfish as his sister. She came out from the woods where no one had been, and she walked with a lioness at her side. He followed them, moving as silently as the owl, as swiftly as the jackrabbit, and with all the cunning of the fox, so that neither woman nor lioness saw him. As he watched, his sister the Sphinx spoke in a language he had never heard, and with each word her body became more like a lion’s, ’til finally two lionesses walked in the woods.

The two lionesses roamed the woods together for hours, and all the while the Jackfish kept them in sight, never making himself known. At last his sister stopped to drink, and the other lioness was alone for a moment. The Jackfish slipped up beside the lioness and spoke softly, so his sister would not hear. “Forgive me, lioness, for coming upon you suddenly, but the woman who walks with you as a lion is my sister. I know she was taken by the Sorceress when we were yet infants, but I do not know what end you serve. I can only hope I have not betrayed myself in seeking your council.”

The lioness, as much as a lioness is able, looked amazed to see Jackfish Crow, and for a moment she could say nothing. But then she spoke in the language of the lions and she said, “Oh, my son, I have not seen you in so long. I wish I could do more to bring you to your sister, but my duty now is to serve the Sorceress. You see what she has made of me. I promise I will never harm you, but that is all I am able to do.”

The Jackfish could already hear his sister’s approach, so he could ask no more questions. He put his arms around his mother, the lioness, and then he was gone back into the forest. When the Sphinx returned to her mother’s side, it was as if no one was there at all. She asked, “Mother, why are you so sad? I thought you loved our days together.” Her mother smiled and said, “I do, my daughter. I was visited by a sad memory while you were away. Let us return you to the castle for the day; it grows late already.”

The Sphinx and the lioness returned the way they had come, and the Jackfish watched them go from the shadows. He did not sleep that night, but lay awake contemplating what his mother had told him. The next morning, he found a clearing in the woods where he could see the castle on the mountainside. He sat on a fallen tree in the clearing without moving, doing nothing but watching the castle walls with a hawk’s eyes. Some time later, he was rewarded as he saw two great eagles take flight from one of the castle windows. He immediately recognized one of the eagles as his sister, by the way she moved, and by the sound of her cries. He did not know who the other eagle might be, so he rushed through the woods after them, moving as swiftly as the dove in flight and as tirelessly as the wolf hunting its prey.

The two birds flew together for many hours, but at last the Jackfish’s patience was rewarded, as the eagle which was not his sister seemed to tire, and it flew down towards the forest. The Jackfish stood in the shadows of the tree where the eagle landed, and marveled at its size. He had never seen any eagle so large as this, for it was bigger than most men. Nevertheless, he found his courage and spoke softly in the language of eagles, so that even his sister’s eagle ears would not hear. “Forgive me, eagle, for hiding from you here, but the woman who flies with you as an eagle is my sister. I know she was taken by the Sorceress when we were very young, but I do not know how she comes to fly with you. I can only hope I have not betrayed myself in seeking your council.”

The eagle stared at the Jackfish for what seemed like a very long time, but spoke at last. “Ah, my son, so you have found your sister at last. If I could carry you to her, I would, but I bound to serve the Sorceress. I will never harm you, but be warned that her bargains are hard. You see what debt I have paid her.”

The Jackfish could see his sister circling closer, thus he could ask no more questions. He bowed to his father, the eagle, and then was gone back into the forest. When the Sphinx landed at her father’s side, it was as if no one was there at all. She asked, “Father, why are you so somber? I was sure you treasured our flights together.” Her father nodded his head and said, “I do, my daughter. I was visited by an old memory while you were away. Let us return you to the castle for the day; it grows late already.”

The Sphinx and the eagle flew back to the castle, and Jackfish Crow watched them soar almost too high for him to see. He sat, with his arms on his knees, watching them fly through one of the castle windows, and he watched as the sun fell behind the mountains. He did not sleep, and so he saw the lady night as she unfurled her black cloak across the sky and opened her eye to look down upon the rocks and the trees. When the world was silver all around, the Jackfish stood and walked to the end of the forest at the base of the mountain. He found a cave at the foot of mountain, as he knew he would, for it was one of the secrets of the doors told to him by the hawk.

He entered into the cave and followed the secret path, just as the hawk had told him. The moonlight was soon swallowed up, but his feet already knew how to follow the path, and he saw the way even in darkness as well as any hawk. He did not know how long he walked in the darkness, for when the sun and the moon and all other forms of light have gone, there is nothing to measure time but distance, but when he felt the cool metal of a doorknob under his hand he did not hesitate to open it.

The stone hall was softly lit, and he saw the stars in one high window. There were hangings on the wall with years of dust on them, portraying scenes like the stories from the distant ends of the world the birds had told him. Yet the hangings were much older than any of the birds, and the stories they told were not quite the same as he remembered. Other hangings were just as old, but told stories which were not so very old at all. Jackfish Crow saw nothing else besides the tapestries in the hallway, nor had he any idea where his sister might be found. Having no direction, he asked the door. He did not know the language of doors, but he knew their secrets. Therefore, he spoke in the language of the ravens, which is the most widely spoken language in the world, and said, “My eternal pardons for this intrusion, but I seek the lady of this castle, the lioness and the eagle, the one who is called the Sphinx. Might I ask through what door she passed most recently?”

“A fine evening to you, young man,” said the door, who was rarely addressed and thus pleased by the company. “I have not seen her pass this way, but hold yourself a moment and let me inquire of my cousins. Perhaps they know where she is.” The Jackfish said, “Of course,” and gave the door a proper bow from the hips. Some minutes went by, during which the Jackfish listened to the faint creaking and groaning of the walls settling. At last the door spoke once more, saying, “She has eaten and gone to her room in the high tower, which she likes because it is so close to the moon. She may be there until morning, or perhaps only a moment longer.”

“You have my thanks,” the Jackfish said to the door, and gave it another bow, before setting off into the castle to find the highest point. He went up one winding stairway after another, following the scent of the moon just as he learned from the owls, until his long legs carried him into a hall where the no small number of the Sorceress’ retainers seemed to be waiting.

One, who bore the head of a bull and the body of a man, saw the Jackfish as he entered and barred his path. “Who are you? None but the servants of the Sorceress are permitted here; all others are forbidden to come here!”

“Well then,” said the Jackfish, “I must not be forbidden.”

The other servants of the castle turned at the bellowing from the bull’s head to see the strange man with his pale eyes and disarming smile, some of them showing curiosity, others displaying their teeth. “How, then?” asked the bull, fixing the Jackfish with coal black eyes. “I have never seen you here before, so you cannot be one of our lady’s servants.”

“Oh, no,” said the Jackfish. “If I am here, I must not be forbidden, or else I would not be here. So I must belong here, or else I would never have come here.”

The bull looked to the other servants, but neither did he find any answers upon their features, thus he had nothing else to do but to step to the side and allow the Jackfish to continue on his way. He crossed to the end of the hall, and stopped at door to the highest tower, which was locked, but the door recognized the Jackfish from his cousin’s description. Knowing all these things, the door opened when he turned the handle. He ascended the stairs, and the door was locked once more when he closed it behind himself.

There were many other rooms in the tower. He saw a room of precious jewels, and a room of gold, and a room of silver, but he had no desire for any of these things. He did not spare a second glance for the rooms, but went up and up the winding stairwell until there was a single door remaining. The door, he saw, was unlatched. It swung into the room at the touch of his fingers, and the Jackfish followed after its invitation.

He entered a room bathed in moonlight. Windows opened all four walls of the tower to the night sky, interrupted only by the doorway. Even the roof stood open to the sky, so that moonlight pooled in the center of the room, where the Sphinx lay on a bench as if she were bathing. She said, “The doors and the walls told me of your approach. I have your face in the mirror already, yet I still do not know your name or who you are.”

Jackfish Crow walked in a circle around the Sphinx and said, “Well, my father is Crow and I am called the Jackfish. I have seen the far ends of the world and heard all the stories of men. I have come back to the forest and my home to find my sister, as I knew I must.” His circling came to an end as he stood before the Sphinx and her bench. “And do you recognize me now?”

The Sphinx laughed and stood up from her bench. She circled the Jackfish, as he had circled her, smiling her enigmatic smile. Her eyes matched his, glittering. “It is true my father is a bird, but he is not so dark as Crow. And were you hatched from an egg? Surely not.”

The Jackfish let the moonlight play in his hand, and the Sphinx saw his fingers were long and fine, like as her own. “Ah, well, you speak of those who raised you. We are bred from the same stock, but my father was Crow. I learned the stories of all the birds, and all the stories from the ends of the earth, but there is a yet another story beyond all of these. Yours is the last story I have to learn. I had seen you every day in the mirror before ever I had seen your face.”

The Sphinx said, “You are clever and charming enough. I knew you for my own blood from the start by your face and your carriage, but I confess I was not so sure of your thoughts. Now I know we are sister and brother, and it lightens my heart that I am not the only one of my kind. For tonight, let us watch the moon and the stars, and tomorrow we may speak to the Sorceress.”

Thus Jackfish Crow and the Sphinx watched the moon and the stars, and neither of them slept that night, as they did not sleep on any night. The stars moved across the sky and, seeing them, the Jackfish and the Sphinx followed the dance of the lady night. It had taken the Jackfish some few hours to find his way from the forest into the highest tower of the castle, so it was not many more hours before the lady Night closed her eye and wrapped her cloak about herself, and let rosy dawn reach across the sky.

Owl, Dove, & Raven

Jackfish Crow had heard these stories, and others very much like them, and he knew that he must be brave and clever and true in finding his sister. Thus the very next thing he did was call out in the language of the owls, “Come and find me, my cousin. We have not spoken for some time, yet I ask for the aid you would give my father if he asked.” Upon these words, it was not so very long before a great horned owl appeared overhead, landing on a branch with silent wings. The Jackfish made appropriate greetings to an owl of such stature, bowing before him.

“I remember well teaching you the whole of our songs,” the owl said to the Jackfish. “And I remember such stories as you taught us, and am still grateful for these. What favor have you to ask?”

The Jackfish showed the owl his mutilated hand and said, “If you could find a new finger for me, I would be in your debt. I need only one, and for a finger you shall always be welcome in my home, for all the years I have on this earth.” The owl seemed to find this acceptable, and flew soundlessly into the forest.

With nothing else to do but wait, the Jackfish unbound his hand, and gazed upon at the bloodless lips of flesh puckered around pearls of bone. He had not even the time to count all his remaining fingers, before the owl returned bearing a jackrabbit in his talons. “Soon,” said the owl, “I will have your finger.” So speaking, the owl proceeded to make a meal of the jackrabbit, and had stripped it to nothing but polished bone as the sand strips the flesh from its own victims. The owl picked out the bones of the jackrabbit’s legs and carried them to the Jackfish. “Give me your hand, and I shall give you a finger.” The Jackfish did as the owl requested, and the owl placed the bones of the jackrabbit where the Jackfish’s second finger once was, then tied them in place with scraps of skin.

No sooner was this done, then the Jackfish found he had a second finger again. He thanked the owl, saying, “Wherever I may make my home, you and all owls are welcome.” This pleased the owl, who thus went on his way, glad to have seen the Jackfish again.

Jackfish Crow next spoke in the language of the doves, saying, “Where are you hiding, my cousin? We have not spoken for these many years, but my father has done much for you, and thus I ask you aid his son with only the smallest of favors.” And with these words, it was not so very long before he heard the soft cooing of his cousin the dove. The Jackfish followed the sounds of her voice until he found her in the bough of a bush, and made the appropriate greetings for such a lady as she was.

“I remember how your face was lit with joy to hear our songs,” said the dove to the Jackfish. “and I remember as well such wonderful stories as you had told us in return. Such memories are a treasure for all doves. What favor would you ask?”

He showed the dove his mutilated hand and said, “If you would find a new finger for me, I shall be thereafter in your debt. I need only one, and for such a small task you shall be welcome in my home for however long I live.” The dove considered this for a moment and then instructed the Jackfish to fetch for her a catfish from the river. “Do this for me,” she said,” and you shall have your new finger soon enough.”

He remembered well all the pike had taught him, even over the long past years, thus it did not take long for the Jackfish to find the eddies in the river where the catfish dwelt, and bring back one for the dove. She told him how he must dress the fish, and how he must cook the fish. She told him to eat all the fish himself, save a few tiny morsels he fed to the dove. At last, when only bones were left, the dove carefully picked out all the fine, clear bones of the catfish’s ribs. “Give me your hand,” she told the Jackfish, “and I shall give you a finger.” He did as the dove requested, and she placed the bones of the catfish where his third finger once had been. She bound them around together with fine green leaves from the blackthorn bush and bound them all to his hand with a green twig.

As soon as she was finished, the Jackfish found he had a third finger again. “Wherever I make my home, you and all other doves shall be welcome.” This made the dove quite happy, and she consented to give the Jackfish a feather before he went on his way, leaving his cousin pleased to have seen him again.

When he was far from the dove, the Jackfish spoke again, in the language of the ravens, very much like the language of crows. “Come, my sister. I have returned to the forest after all these seasons past. Should we not find each other again? I have a favor I would ask of you.” Upon these words, it was not so very long before he heard the raven’s cry. He followed the sound, and soon enough he came upon a tree where he met a raven. He greeted her as if she were his sister, as all ravens were sisters to all crows.

“I remember when you did not know the first song, and how eager you were to learn every song thereafter,” said the raven to the Jackfish. “I remember all the stories I told you ’til there none were left, but you had new stories to tell me. What favor may I do for you?”

He showed the raven his hand, with but a single finger missing, and said, “If you could find a new finger for me, I would be once more in your debt. I have one finger yet missing, and for such a small thing, I would always make you welcome in my home for however long I have the sky above my head and the earth below my feet.” The raven appeared very amused, but bowed her head and simply told the Jackfish to follow her.

She flew from tree to tree until she came to her nest, and there she stopped to pull a few twigs and bits of dried grass from her home. She said, “You know as well as I that there is no need to offer your home to me, for I would do any favor for my brother’s own son. Now, give me your hand and you shall be whole again soon enough.” Jackfish Crow offered his hand to the raven, and she bound the twigs and straw from her nest to the place where his finger once had been. No sooner were they in place, then the Jackfish found he had a fourth finger again. “Your home will always be where your hand is,” said the raven. “And you will always be able to find your home.”

“My thanks to you, sister raven,” said the Jackfish. “Please tell my father I am well, and that I shall soon find my sister.” And so the Jackfish and the raven said their farewells, and he was ready at last to find his twin.

The Lady in the Forest

Now, it was not the Jackfish alone who knew of this lady in the forest, but he was perhaps the only one who knew who she was. On some days, when the sky was clear and the sun was bright, hunters would venture into the parts of the forest where she roamed, and they might catch a glimpse of her or her mother. They came to speak of the Sphinx who lived in the forest, for they saw her either accompanied by lions, or by eagles. Young boys would gather in the school yard, and old men would hunch together over their cups in the village pubs, and they would all muse on who could win the fair Sphinx’s heart.

One boy, nearly a young man and of a wealthy family, was certain that the Sphinx’s heart was jealously guarded by the lioness. He knew with absolute conviction that he had but to slay the lioness and the Sphinx would be his. His father was a man of business and a renowned hunter. He often took his son out hunting with him, so he thought nothing of it when, for his eighteenth birthday, his son asked for nothing more than to borrow his father’s rifle and go hunting on his own in the woods. The boy’s father knew his son had learned his lessons well, and that no harm would come to him. The boy’s mother trusted in her husband’s teaching, and she had no doubt her son would return safely.

The young man went into the forest before the first light, and all through the day he followed the tracks of the lioness. Sometimes, he lost the trail and it would be an hour before he found it again, but he persisted, for he knew his love was pure and his heart was true. The shadows were growing long before he caught the faintest sign of the lioness. He moved without haste, letting the branches of the trees brush against his back and gently push him along. He used the shadows of the forest as though they were his, listened with his ears as if he might hear the grass growing. He moved with agonizing slowness, but his heart leapt when he found his reward. There before him was the lioness, caught unawares.

He raised the rifle and took aim. Though he knew he was but the pull of a trigger from his heart’s desire, he did not let the urgency of his love spur him on to rash actions. He held himself unmoving, a well-trained hunter, until the angle was perfect, until the kill would be clean. He pulled the trigger, his rifle bucked, and he saw red bloom on the chest of the lioness. She collapsed, and the young man stood. “My Sphinx,” he whispered, “do not be afraid. I have come to rescue your heart. You need never hide yourself away in the woods again.”

The boy waited, and listened for her reply. But no answer was forthcoming, only a growl from somewhere in the woods.

The men and women of the village searched every shadow in the forest after the young lad failed to return, but the sun passed across the sky two times over before they found his body. Perhaps they never would have searched so long, had his father not been so wealthy. His throat had been torn asunder, as had his heart. And though the search went on for weeks upon weeks, they never found the lioness. Some of those men who searched the woods claimed they saw a glimpse of a beautiful woman, wearing a red rose over her heart. The old men would hunch over their drinks in the pub at the end of the day and talk amongst themselves. “That’s the Sphinx,” one would say to the other, and all would nod. “The poor boy lost his heart to her and now his soul’s lost in the woods forever.”

Of course, there were other small towns where everyone knew of the Sphinx. One of these towns was many leagues distant from the village of the young boy who was killed by a lion. This distant town lay to the east, rather than the west, and its artisans were well-known for their lofty towers. The little town was the greatest of all the few enclaves of men scattered around and throughout the forest and, as men flocked to the town, so too did the birds flock to its towers. The townspeople considered them bad luck, perhaps because on those few occasions their grand towers collapsed under the weight of their years hundreds of birds would explode from the ruins, rising up with the dust as the rubble fell. The birds could hardly be blamed, but not all omens are rational or fair.

One day, a little girl walking through the town with her mother pointed to one of the birds upon the steeple of a church. “Look at the eagle,” she said, and her mother looked, before quickly tugging her daughter along. “Hush child, it is bad luck to look too long at the birds. And besides, there are no eagles in our town. They hunt only in the forest and the mountains.”

The little girl and her mother went home, but that evening when her father asked her if anything of note had transpired during their outing, the little girl immediately told her father of the eagle perched upon the church’s steeple. Her father laughed and humored her, as is the province of fathers. Her mother chastised the girl, reminding her yet again that there were no eagles in the city, but the young girl was far too eager to stop, as is the province of the young, and told her father in great detail about the steeple where she had seen the eagle, how it had perched, and how its great wings had spread in flight.

After the girl was asleep, when night had spread her cloak, and the father and mother had retired to their bed, the father lay awake. The whole of the town knew the story of the Sphinx, and how she kept the secret of a treasure hidden in the darkest place of the forest. She would bestow her treasure upon the man who could free her, but every man knew she was guarded by a giant eagle. He fell asleep, dreaming of gold and jewels overflowing from sturdy wooden boxes bound with iron.

The following day, he walked to town and found the steeple his daughter had described. He stood watch on it for some time, and it was not long before he was rewarded with the sight of an eagle flying into the steeple. This, he was certain, was a sign; he thus became determined to win the Sphinx’s freedom, and bring her treasure back to his family.

As with all the men of the town, the girl’s father had a rifle, and he would oft times go about shooting birds, or otherwise driving them off with the noise. He was a fair shot, and in fair practice, thus he took his rifle and a pack of food and water, and returned to the steeple the very next day. As it had before, the eagle appeared upon the church steeple before the sun had passed halfway through the sky, and this time waited to see wither the eagle would go from there. When the eagle left its perch, he followed it yonder into the forest. It did not take long for him to lose sight of the eagle, but he was not worried. The girl’s father walked for some time, keeping one eye upon the sky above, until he sighted an eagle again. There was no way of knowing whether it was the same eagle or another, but the father aimed his rifle and, with a crack and the sharp scent of gunpowder, the eagle was plucked from the sky. It was not the giant eagle who guarded the Sphinx, but the man was certain that when he had plucked enough daisies, the rose would seek him out of its own accord.

The girl’s father was missing for many days before any of the townspeople ventured into the woods to search for him. Unlike the boy in the other village, he was neither wealthy nor powerful, and not so many men and women were brave enough to search the darkest woods for a poor man. Perhaps it was providence that they found him, but more likely it was simply because the girl’s father had not gone so very deep into the woods. He was dead, this much was certain, and it was determined that the terrible wounds which had gored his eyes were not the cause. The poor man had wandered blind in the woods before at last succumbing to exposure. Those who found his body claimed it looked as if a great hooked beak had ripped his eyes from their sockets. The townspeople were even certain than ever of the bad luck carried by birds, after this, and they rarely ventured into the woods thereafter.

Wolf, Fox, & Hawk

Both the Jackfish and his sister grew tall and their shadows grew long, and while she was taught by the Sorceress, he learned all he could from the world of men. Jackfish Crow traveled far from the forest and saw all the great cities men had built. He journeyed to all the places where the birds flew and learned many more stories. He learned of the gods and the night, and of the tallest mountain in the world, and how the ocean dreamed. Some of the stories were those same stories he had told the birds years before, echoed back across the years, and others were new stories carried from some other distant shore. But there came a time when he knew he had heard enough stories and he had seen enough cities, for although a man may journey forever without ever learning all stories or seeing all cities, it is not necessary that any man hear every story or see every city.

Jackfish Crow returned to the forest with only the clothes on his back, just as he had left it many years before, but now he was determined to find his sister. “There is some payment I owe in blood,” he thought, “so I must find her and settle all my debts.”

Because he knew so many of the forest’s secrets, the Jackfish knew the way to the creek which never saw sunlight, and he knew of the eagle which guarded the door, and the of lioness, and the island. He considered how he might make his way past the eagle, and the lioness, and the Sorceress herself, and it seemed to him that he would be better off going to his sister directly. He had just come to this decision when he found himself walking next to an old grey wolf. He bowed to the wolf and said, “Greetings good sir wolf, and I hope you are well. If it is yours to give, I have a favor I would beg.”

The wolf had met few men who gave him such proper courtesy, and so he was agreeable. “Very well, I shall hear what you ask, and then we shall see what bargain we may strike.”

“My thanks,” said the Jackfish. “Long ago, before I could walk or speak, my sister was taken from me by the Sorceress. I have seen much of the world and learned many stories, but now I seek my only family. The wolves, I know, see much of the world, for they often speak with Lady Night, and her eye watches over all the world. The favor I would ask of you is to tell me if you know of her, if you have seen her, and if you may show me where to find her.”

The wolf considered what the Jackfish had asked and replied, “I may be of some help to you, but I am also hungry. It might be easier to eat you alive.”

“Well then,” said the Jackfish, “I will feed you for three days, and then you may give me what help you wish. Have we a bargain?”

And so they had.

On the first day, Jackfish Crow cut off the first joint of his second finger, and fed this to the wolf. They walked through the forest, but the wolf never saw the Jackfish eat, nor he was hungry for the entire day. At the end of the first day, the Jackfish asked the wolf what he knew, and the wolf said, “I have seen your sister in these woods.” This was good enough for the Jackfish. On the second day, he fed the wolf the second joint of his second finger. Once again, the wolf needed nothing more to eat for the entire day. He then said to the Jackfish, “Tomorrow I will take you to the place where I have seen your sister.” This satisfied the Jackfish again, so he fed the wolf the last joint of his second finger.

The wolf took him to a place in the forest far from the creek which never saw the light. The branches of all the trees barely touched, and the sun shone brightly through them all, casting leopard spots on the ground. “I have seen a lioness here who walks as you do, and sometimes I see her with another lioness. Sometimes I have seen a woman, and her hair is haystack yellow like yours, and she moves the same as well. I do not know what paths they take which lead to this grove, but we wolves have no interest in the affairs of lions.”

Jackfish Crow bowed to the wolf and thanked him for his help. The wolf said, “You have kept your word, and your honesty does you credit. I have no wisdom to give you if you wish to take your sister from the Sorceress. But you have given me your finger, so in return, I will give you the strength known to all wolves. May it serve you well.” Speaking thus, the wolf vanished into the woods.

As the wolf had promised, there were the tracks of a lion all throughout the clearing. The Jackfish followed the tracks, as he still knew all the paths in the woods, and followed the two lionesses at play, and chased them through the woods until the tracks were no more. Then, of the tracks he found no trace, of any kind, nor in any place. He looked carefully, but he had missed nothing. The tracks ended with nothing, and there was nothing to say from whence the lionesses came, or to whither they would go. He found places where the tracks of a lioness became the footprints of a woman, but strange as these tracks were, he still could not discover from them where she might come or go from the forest.

As he searched, a fox began to follow him. The fox, smiling his sly smile, watched the Jackfish follow the tracks to and fro. When no small amount of time had passed and the sun was low in the sky, Jackfish Crow sat upon a log and said, “Greetings, good sir fox. I trust this evening finds you in good spirits. You seem to have no small interest in my search and, I wonder, might I beg a favor from you?”

The fox seemed quite amused to be addressed in such a way, but he did not find it disagreeable. “Ask if you wish, and we shall see what sort of bargain we may make.”

“My thanks,” said the Jackfish. “Long ago, before I knew of songs or stories, I was separated from my sister by the Sorceress. I have seen much of the world, and learned many stories, and now I seek my only family. Fox, I know you and your kin. You are clever by far, and you know the secrets which other creatures of the forests wish to hide. The favor I would ask of you is to tell me if you know where my sister may be, if you have seen her, and if you may show me where to find her.”

The fox considered what the Jackfish had asked and replied, “I may be of some help to you, but I am also hungry. Why should I not, instead, go about my way and fill my belly?”

“Well then,” said the Jackfish, “I will feed you for three days, and then you may give me what help you have to offer. Have we a bargain?”

And so they had.

On the first day, Jackfish Crow cut off the first joint of his third finger. He fed this to the fox, and the fox led him through the forest, away from the tracks of the lion. The fox never saw the Jackfish eat, and nor he was hungry for the entire day. At the end of the first day, the Jackfish asked the fox what he knew, and the fox said, “I know where your sister lives, and I have seen her come and go.” This was more than the Jackfish had dared hope to find and so, on the second day, he fed the fox the second joint of his third finger. Again the fox needed nothing more to eat for the entire day, and he said to the Jackfish, “Tomorrow we shall see where your sister lives, and I will tell you how she comes and goes.” This satisfied the Jackfish again and so he fed the fox the last joint of his third finger.

The fox took the Jackfish to a small, bright clearing at the base of the mountain, and they beheld from there a great castle, built into the side of the mountain like a cliff. “There is where you will find your sister,” said the fox. “She knows the secrets of the doors, and therefore she comes and goes as she pleases. However, we foxes are not without secrets of our own. We have spoken to the doors, and know the one you seek is the one who walks between them with their secrets.”

Jackfish Crow bowed eloquently and thanked the fox for all his help. The clever animal said, “You have kept your word, and you have besides proved to be a most amusing and clever companion. Though you may be on a fool’s errand, I wish you well, and will lend you the cunning known to all foxes. Perhaps you too will learn the secrets of the doors, one day.” And with those words, the fox vanished into the woods.

The Jackfish did not doubt the fox’s word, but although he spent many days outside the castle, watching the birds circle and the clouds pass overhead, he saw no one entering or leaving the castle, and if anyone had appeared at a window, she was too far away for him to see. Sometimes he thought, perhaps, he heard the faintest echoes of laughter from the castle, but he could not tell. The Jackfish waited for three days and three nights, until on the fourth day, a hawk flew low enough for him to call in the hawk’s own language.

“Many pardons, fair Hawk, but I wonder if I might beg the favor of your company for a moment. If this is agreeable to you, I wonder if I may entreat yet one favor more.”

The hawk circled around once, twice, and thrice again, quite surprised that someone would address her in the language of the hawks. But his manner was agreeable, so she landed upon a nearby rock and said, “Ask what you will, and I shall do what I am able.”

“My thanks,” said the Jackfish. “Long ago, before I learned all the languages of the birds, I lost my sister. Now I have found her, but she is guarded by the Sorceress. Year upon year, I have spoken story after story, and henceforth seek to finish my own. It is well known that not even the fall of a sunbeam is missed by the eyes of the hawk, and still less escapes her ears. The favor I would ask of you is to tell me if you can see my sister in the castle, and if you may learn for me any of the secrets of the doors, so I might find her.”

The hawk contemplated this request and replied, “I can do all these things for you, but it is no small task. What am I to do, from one day to the next, when I must eat and drink? A hawk cannot live on promises and the empty sky.”

“That is nothing at all,” said the Jackfish, “I will feed you for three days, and then you may give me what help you wish. Have we a bargain?”

And so they had.

On the first day, Jackfish Crow cut off the first joint of his fourth finger. He fed this to the hawk, and she flew up to the heights of the castle and circled round it. Her eyes searched amongst the windows and nothing within escaped their gaze. She flew the whole day, and never once felt hunger or thirst. The hawk returned to the Jackfish and said, “I have seen your sister and all her attendants in the castle. Tomorrow I will see through which doors she passes.”

The Jackfish was greatly pleased to hear this from her, and on the second day he fed her the second joint of his fourth finger. She flew up to the heights of the castle and pass over every hewn stone until she found a carelessly opened window. The hawk found her way inside, and spent all day perched in the high shadows of the castle, whilst her keen eyes remembered each door the Jackfish’s sister used. Never once did she feel hunger or thirst, and when she returned to the Jackfish, as the sun slipped behind the cloak of lady Night, she said, “I have seen the doors, and tomorrow I will learn their secrets.”

The Jackfish was happy enough to hear this, therefore he fed the hawk the last joint of his fourth finger on the third day, and she flew back to the heights of the castle. Finding her way inside once again, she hid in the shadows by the ceiling and listened closely as the Jackfish’s sister went through all the different doors. Though she did not speak, the hawk’s hearing was so keen that she heard even the secrets that went unspoken. Thereupon she returned to the Jackfish, telling him all the secrets of the castle’s doors, and thus he knew where the doors were hidden in the forest. “You have been true to your word, and your dedication does you credit. Though I have not the eyes to see what shall come of this, I shall give you my sight, so that you may see your way more clearly.” And so saying, the hawk took to the sky and was gone.

The Sphinx

Time passes for a brother much the same as it does for a sister, but all that stands between may be as different as night from day. When the Sorceress took the baby girl and her parents from their small cabin, she returned with them to the door in the darkest woods at the source of the creek which had never seen the sunlight. In one arm she held the girl, and with the other hand she held the wishing pearl. “I am not cruel,” she said to the hunter and his wife, “and your child will come to no harm, but I have no one to guard my door and no one to watch over my lands, and you each have a debt to me.”

To the hunter she said, “You will guard this door. You may carry those who are my guests to my lands. No other mortal eyes may fall upon this door, and none who seek to force entry may be suffered to live.” With this decree, she nodded her head and the hunter was changed into a great eagle. “If you must stretch your wings, you may do so in the cavern beneath the earth, over my lake, and nowhere else. You may not stray from the door and you are never to leave these darkest woods.” So the hunter became an eagle, and the Sorceress opened the door in the hill and stepped through it, bringing the hunter’s wife and the child with her.

The door opened onto a forest of trees with black bark and black leaves, on a path of black dirt with black rocks. But perhaps this was all an illusion of the darkness. When the hunter’s wife looked behind her she could see no door, but the woods were, after all, very dark. “You will watch over my lands,” said the Sorceress to the hunter’s wife. “You may escort those who are my guests to my home. Should any other mortals get so far as this, you may do with them what you will, so long as they do not leave these lands while living.” With this decree, she touched the hunter’s wife on her forehead, changing her into a lioness. “All my lands are yours in which to roam, but you are never to leave them.” So, the hunter’s wife became a lioness.

The Sorceress left her lioness and returned to her small cottage, where she replaced the wishing pearl in its box, locked the box with her key, and hung the key about her neck, so that once again no one could use the pearl, not even herself. She looked down at the child in her arms and thought to herself, “What to do with you, child. You have no debt to me yourself; you are simply the price others have paid for their lies. There is no reason for you to live without seeing the sun. I will give you what freedom I may, and perhaps you will be more of a daughter to me than others long past.”

Now, the Sorceress’ house had many doors, and not all doors lead to the same places, for it was the home of a Sorceress. She wandered down a long hallway and opened a door which lead into a castle build on the cliff of a mountain which stood above the forest where she lived. She summoned her servants who lived in the castle, and told them to care for the child as if it were her own. The servants of the Sorceress were all manner of men and beasts, and some were men who had once been beasts and some were beasts who had once been men. All of them paid their debts in servitude, some debts being worse than others, and so all of them cared for the child. In this way, the girl was raised in the castle by all the creatures of the earth.

The Sorceress visited the child every day, always at different times. Sometimes she had little time she could spend with the child, whereas other times she would be with her all day, and none of the servants would stray near. The very first thing the Sorceress taught the child was fairness in all things. She taught her about bargains and promises. “You cannot break a word once it is spoken. Words are the strongest things in the world, stronger than steel. Be always true to your word, and that strength will be your own,” she said. And the child understood, for she had been born with her eyes open. “Some bargains will be hard,” said the Sorceress, “but you must abide by them always. You owe your life to truth. You pay for a lie with a life.”

Thus the child learned as much of life as the Sorceress could tell her. From all the servants of the Sorceress she, learned to read and write and speak in all the languages of all the beasts, and she learned to think as the beasts as well. Her mind was not one mind, but many, and all together she knew more than all her teachers before she could walk. But the Sorceress’ knowledge was vast, as she had been to all four corners of the earth and read all the books of the spiders, so as the child learned to walk there was still much for the Sorceress to teach her.

Once the child was able to walk and became a girl, the Sorceress took her from the castle to her island. “It is time you met your mother,” said the Sorceress to the girl. “Now that you can stand and walk, you can meet her on your own two legs with your own two eyes.” She lead the girl through the dark woods with its black trees and out to the black shores of the island where the lioness waited. “Your mother serves me,” she explained, “as does your father. This was not her bargain, but her marriage was, and so the debt owed by one was paid by two. You were such a bargain as well, and yet it was not for servitude, so I choose to teach you as best I may. Go now to your mother, for it has been too long since she saw you.”

The girl ran over to her mother, the lioness, and hugged her. They spoke of nothing and everything, of all those nothings which are everything to a child and to a parent. The lioness let her daughter ride on her back, and because the girl spoke all the languages of the beasts, there was no difficulty in their communications. The girl did not notice when the Sorceress left the shore, left her alone with her mother, and it seemed like no time at all before the Sorceress returned with a blanket and some food. The girl realized she was quite hungry, and so she, and her mother the lioness, and the Sorceress all stopped for lunch. The Sorceress slipped away again, and the girl whiled away the rest of the day with her mother, until at last the Sorceress returned again to take her back to the castle. “Tomorrow,” she said, “you will meet your father.”

As always, the Sorceress was as good as her word. She took the girl through a maze of hallways in the castle until she found a door that seemed, to the girl, like every other door in the castle. But when the Sorceress opened the door, they came out into the forest around the creek which had never seen the light. “Your father serves me as well,” said the Sorceress. “Such was his bargain.” They came to the hill with the door in it where the girl’s father, the eagle, stood guard. “Go now to your father, for it has been too long since he saw you.”

The girl ran up to her father and hugged him. He tossed her in the air with his great wings and spoiled her, as all fathers do their daughters. He took her flying across the endless lake below the earth, and because the girl spoke all the languages of the beasts, there was no difficult in their communications. The day passed much as the day before, so swiftly the girl felt the hours as minutes, and only the weariness of her body told the truth of time. The Sorceress carried the exhausted girl back to her bed in the castle, and let her sleep and rest all the next day.

When the girl was rested, the Sorceress said, “Today, I will teach you about doors.” She took the girl by the hand and led her throughout the castle. “Every door has a secret, and if you can convince the door to tell you its secret, you may follow it through to whatever door you wish. Now I will teach you all the secrets of the doors in my castle.” She did, and so the girl learned how to go where she wished from all the doors in the castle. “As long as you know its secrets,” the Sorceress explained, “any door will lead to another, and the secret of a door is always the place where that door truly leads. Now that you know the secret of all these doors, you may visit with your mother and father whenever you wish. Now it is time for bed, but tomorrow I will show you the doors in my home.”

The next day, as she had promised, the Sorceress took the girl to her small cottage and showed her the doors to the library, and to many other rooms. “I have learned much in all my years, far more than I can teach you in such a short time, but find your way to my books and you shall be on the true path.” From then on, though the Sorceress still taught the girl, she also let her learn on her own. The girl would spend hours in the library, and hours more playing on the island with her mother, and still more hours flying over the lake with her father. She cut her hair short, but her legs grew long and her eyes asked questions.

One day, the girl found the Sorceress in her library and said, “I have great fun playing with my mother the lioness, but she is so fast, and can leap so high, and twist with such agility. Could you not teach me how to move as she does?”

The Sorceress had grown quite fond of the girl in the passing years, so she was in some ways inclined to indulge her. “Of course, my child. I will show you how to become a lioness, and then you may play all you like with your mother.” The girl was pleased, and that very afternoon the Sorceress taught her how every part of every animal has a name. She taught the girl the names for each part of her body, a hundred ten times over, and then taught her all the names for each part of a lioness. “Now, if you teach all the parts of your body both names, you will be able to give them whichever name you wish, and in so doing you may be a lioness if you choose.”

The girl was happy and she dashed off to frolic with her mother the very next day. She showed her mother how she changed from a girl to a lioness and back again, and though her mother seemed pleased, she also seemed just a little bit sad. Though the girl knew many things, she did not know how to ask her mother why she looked pleased and sad at once; however, this passed quickly and she spent hours at play as a lioness.

The girl found the Sorceress in her library on another day and said, “I am filled with joy when my father the eagle takes me for such long flights, but I sometimes worry I might fall, and I wish I could fly as he does, and so play in the air. Could you not teach me how I might move as he does?”

The Sorceress replied, “Of course, my child. I will show you how to become an eagle, and then you may fly with your father as much as you wish.” The Sorceress had already taught the girl all the names of her body, thus it was but a matter of teaching her all the names of all the parts of an eagle. “Now you may teach all these names to your body as well, and so you shall be able to name your body as the eagle, or the lioness, or whichever you wish, and you may be an eagle if you choose.”

On the very next day, she dashed off to fly with her father. She showed him how she changed from a girl to an eagle and back again, and once more she saw both pleasure and sadness at the same time. She still did not know how to ask what she wanted to know, though the question was in her eyes. But the sadness passed and together the father and his daughter flew for many hours over the lake.

This made the girl quite happy for no small amount of time. Not only could she run from one end of the island to the other with her mother, and fly far across the endless cave with her father, but she could roam the forest with the wolves and pumas, and fly amongst the mountains with the hawks and ospreys. She learned to read the secrets of spiders, as the Sorceress did, and she learned every inch of the forest and every rock of the mountain. Her shadow grew longer, and her eyes found even more questions. But at last the day came when she found the Sorceress in her library and she said, “You have taught me so much and given me everything, but I have never flow in the sunlight with my father or played under the sky with my mother. Can you not spare them from their duties at any time? Surely, it is not so much for them to see the sun again?”

Well, the Sorceress was by this time very fond of the girl who still had no name. The girl, now a young woman, was learning all the Sorceress could hope, so she granted the request. Thus the young woman was at last able to go out into the world with her mother and her father. Though her parents had to return to the darkest forest, she was happy and wanted for nothing. Though she was a young woman, she did not go out into the world of men, for she had no desire to see it. But the world of men was making its way deeper into the forest, and the time when her world and theirs met would not be long in coming.

The Jackfish

Time passed, walking hand in hand with seasons as they came and went. Life was the best it could be for the hunter and his wife. The hunter prospered, and the seasons treated them well, but neither one could meet the other’s eyes. The words of the Sorceress stood always between them. Still, some nights were very cold, and so it came to pass that the hunter’s wife was pregnant. They did not prepare a room, but the hunter took his wife into the nearby village where a doctor listened to her heartbeat, and took her temperature, and tested all manner of things about her body which the hunter already knew. He took care of all those things his wife could not do as her belly grew, and he was thankful for their prosperity, which allowed him to care for her.

One month, as the doctor listened to the belly of the hunter’s wife very near the end of her pregnancy, he said, “Your wife has not one child within her, but two.” Thus they learned that the hunter’s wife was to bear twins.

That night, they sat up late in their small cabin. They spoke for the first time of the bargain struck by the Sorceress. Neither of them wished to surrender their first born child, and they both agreed that with the hunter’s wife bearing twins, the Sorceress now intended to take two children from them rather than one. “Let us face whatever consequences there must be,” said the hunter’s wife. “We have had a short reprieve, and we shall soon have brought children into this world. That is enough. Let us secret away our children and face the Sorceress together.”

The hunter saw the wisdom in his wife’s words. “I know of one who is clever enough to hide our children from even the Sorceress. I will see if I am able to beg his favor.”

The hunter rose early the following day, as was his custom, and his wife was up earlier still. He had breakfast, and promised her he would return. He carried with him a freshly cut hunk of venison, and he set off into the forest, following the sounds of birds, singing in the late summer morning. As a good hunter must, he spoke all the languages of all the birds. He listened to their conversations and let their words guide him through the forest, until he heard at last the seared-throat call of the one he sought.

Crow, who brought fire to men, had died many years ago. She had been one of the eldest of those first beasts upon the earth, and had lived longer than many gods and even the ocean. But though she had died, like the ocean she had a child, and her child was also Crow. The hunter came before Crow with his offering of venison and presented it to him, speaking in the language of crows. “The Sorceress has bargained to take our firstborn children from us, for through my foolish actions we owe her our lives. My wife and I will face whatever punishment we must, but we cannot give over our own children. We ask your favor to take our children when they are born and hide them from the Sorceress. They will be your children from then on, and in exchange for your protection and your wisdom they will always watch over you and your own.”

Crow took the venison from the hunter and placed it on a branch so it could ripen. “You have always been kind to crows,” he said to the hunter. “Though I know you hunt many other birds, you have no greed or malice in you. My brethren and I have often watched over the children of men, and so if that is all you ask, it is little enough. I shall come when I hear your children’s cries and keep them safe and secret.”

The hunter thanked Crow, and their bargain was struck.

It seemed like the glittering of an eye, as the cusp where summer turns to fall rushed up on the hunter and his wife, and she woke one morning to the beginnings of labor. Her labor was long, and the hunter moved back and forth between their wood-burning stove and her bedside, heating damp cloths and bowls of water. He held his wife’s hands and hoped that Crow was already on his way as the twin children were born, one boy and one girl.

The hunter quickly bundled up both newborns, and no sooner had he finished than Crow appeared at the small window. The hunter did not look to see whether he grabbed the boy or the girl, but handed one of the children over to Crow and said, “Please hurry and return, for the Sorceress is surely on her way as well.” Crow could carry only one at a time, and so he flew from the window carrying one of the twins. As soon as Crow had gone the other twin began to cry out, and as if she had been summoned by the cries of the newborn infant, the Sorceress was instantly before the hunter, his wife, and their daughter (for it was the boy whom Crow had taken).

The hunter sat beside his wife, who was too exhausted to speak, and spoke the same wisdom she had given to him, “Please, we two will take whatever punishment you have to give for my own foolish actions, but do not take our child. Crow will return for her soon enough and we will go willingly.”

“You are brave now to face the truth of your misdeeds,” said the Sorceress, “but you have still lied and deceived me, and acted with fear and dishonor. Although I will grant you this much, and not seek out your son, you are, the three of you, mine. A lie is as much a life as a death.”

This was the Sorceress’ final pronouncement, and moments later the little cabin was empty. This was how the son and daughter of the hunter and his wife came to be separated. This was how their son came to be raised by Crow. This was how their daughter came to be raised by the Sorceress.

Crow carried the baby back to his nest. Though all the crows and ravens of the world were his children, his nest was empty. He settled the child in a bed of warm and worn feathers, shed over the many seasons of his long life. The child’s eyes were already open, colored a bright and pale blue. Crow watched the child’s chest rise and fall, though the infant made not a sound. The child was born with his eyes open - Crow recognized this immediately - and he saw the world around him clearly. The pale eyes met Crow’s dark eyes, and he gently rocked the child, singing a lullabye in the languages of men and birds.

While the child was too young to leave his nest, Crow brought him food and all manner of things he found in the forest. Crow brought the child seeds, and the child learned how they grew. Crow brought the child old and rusted game traps, and the child learned how to be a hunter, and how things would come to their ends. Crow brought the child spiders, and he learned how they wove their webs, and what secrets they wrote in them. The first language the child learned was the language of the crows and the ravens. Crow brought each bird of the forest to speak with the child and so he learned all the languages of all the forest’s birds. Each bird taught him their songs and their stories, and the child learned all these as well. Only when the child could speak to all the birds did Crow and his sister Raven teach him the languages of men. The child was the youngest of all of Crow’s many offspring, and so he was called the Jack.

The child Jack learned to speak, and to sing, and to tell all the stories before he could walk. When the time came for the child to leave the nest at last, he asked Crow to teach him how to fly. “You are my son,” Crow told him, “but you are also a man, and flight is taught to birds alone. I will teach you all I know of the forests so that you may move freely about them.” This was enough for the child, and so he learned first how to crawl amongst all the branches of all the trees. Jack could climb the highest trees in the forest and see for miles around, or slip from branch to branch and journey through all the paths the birds had taught him. When the child grew to a boy, he began to climb down from the trees and move amongst them. He saw how silently the birds flew from branch to branch, and so his footfalls became as soft as a bird’s wing.

When the boy was old enough to walk through the forest on his own, he learned to be a hunter so that he could bring food to Crow, and he learned to find the plants which bore edible fruit so that he could bring food to the other birds, and he learned the mushrooms and leaves it was safe to eat so that even if there was nothing to hunt and no fruits to pick no one need starve. So the Jack watched as, season after season, new young birds were born and raised and learned to fly. He helped feed and teach the young birds, as all the other birds had taught and fed him, and he would run through the forest after the young birds as they made their first flight. But birds all grow faster than men, and so the birds would always leave, and the boy would always stay. The boy made a vow that when his legs were long enough, he would follow the birds and see where they flew every winter.

However, the boy quickly tired of hunting the creatures of the forest. He was already a friend and protector to all the birds, and he took no pleasure in what seemed like torture to him, following and hunting and killing. He saw how the other animals killed only the slow, or the weak, or the unaware, but he had no way of seeing these things, as he had neither the sight of an owl nor the nose of a wolf. Then one day, he saw the osprey diving for its catch of fish in a place where the river was wide and the trees were few. In seeing the osprey fish, he learned how to fish, and so set about gathering scraps of string and barbed hooks.

The very first fish the boy caught was a great pike, as long as himself and ten times as old, which is quite old for a pike fish. The pike had been around long enough to know who the boy must be, so he said, “I will teach you all I know of fish. I will teach you our language and how to read the waters, and you will never want for fish.” The boy accepted the pike fish’s council, and he learned the currents of the river as well as the pike fish knew them. He knew the times to cast his line and where the river would carry his lure. He returned the pike to the river and, thereafter, left all pikes unharmed. This was how he spent his boyhood, bringing food to his father Crow, and telling stories to all the birds and the trees as he sat by the river and fished. The birds came to call him the Fisher, and they carried his stories to all corners of the earth. And so he told his tales to the world. But even as the shadows grow long while the sun sets, so Jack the Fisher’s legs grew long and he became a man.

When he could touch Crow’s nest without taking his feet from the earth, the boy knew it was time to go into the world and see where the birds flew. So he found Crow and said, “Father, I have learned many stories and many languages. I will never go hungry or want for shelter. I am ready to find my own way in the world. But before I go out into the world, I would like to take on your name.”

“You would do me a great honor to take my name into the world,” said Crow, “for men have long forgotten all I have done for them. You are my Jack, and the fisher for all the birds, so let the world know you as Jackfish of the Crow, after all those who have taught you. But you must know this before you seek your fortune: you have a sister. She was stolen away from you on the day of your birth by the Sorceress, when your father and mother gave you over to my care. You may do as you will with this knowledge, but it is your inheritance and so you must have it before you go into the world.”

Jack the Fisher thanked Crow for his generosity and for his final words, and he packed up his few possessions into a bundle. “I think I shall find my sister, for we have been too long apart,” he declared, as he set out from the forest, “but first I must see something of this world which all my brethren have visited.” Thus determined, he set out on the path of the forest which would lead him into the world of men.

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.

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.

A little churchmouse ran through this tall tale and did a fabulous, bang-up job making line-edits, so I could go back through and put a right proper coat of polish on it. Now it’s here for you, all bright and shiny.

The churchmouse works for a disaster relief mission, called Wings of Love, and if you dear readers are so inclined please feel free to thank her with a small donation. Though I am not a Christian myself (surely you didn’t think I’d be that easy to guess), I will note they do quite a bit of disaster relief in Louisiana and Mississippi, so ’tis a worthy cause.

Oh, and if you care to drop a few donations my way too, I surely wouldn’t mind.

And now, on with the story…