The Cliffs of Castorshire
Once upon a time there were six brothers who lived in the lush green hills of Castorshire. Their father was an old and feeble man who had no estate to offer them. And so he sent them away to seek their own fortunes. One day, the king of Castorshire issued a challenge: anyone who could travel from the Cliffs of Castorshire to the White Rock jutting out of the sea beyond would win the hand of his daughter and one day inherit the kingdom. The brothers caught wind of the royal decree and returned from afar to win the Princess’ hand in marriage.
On the day of the tournament, people gathered from all around atop the Cliffs of Castorshire, anxiously awaiting the tournament. They looked out at The White Rock which was far too tall and narrow for a boat to dock - any that tried would surely be dashed against the jagged rocks beneath. The brothers would need to get creative.
The first brother had spent his time away training to be the best athlete in the land. He could run faster and jump farther than anyone else. He approached the crowd with confidence and addressed the king, “Your Majesty, I will win your daughter’s hand with my might.”
The king was impressed. A man with this much physical prowess could surely rule with an iron fist.
With a running start, the first brother approached the cliff’s edge and leapt into the air. The crowd gasped as they watched him soar. But the island was too far and the brother plummeted to the sea below.
The second brother had spent his time away serving in the king’s Royal Army. He had learned much about combat, weaponry, and loyalty. He approached the crowd sternly and addressed the king, “My Lord, I have served in your Royal Army. I will win your daughter’s hand with the ingenuity of a soldier.”
The king was impressed. A loyal soldier could surely make for a good leader.
The second brother motioned for his men to come forth. They wheeled out a great wooden catapult and positioned it at the edge of the cliff. The brother climbed aboard and gave the signal. His men cut the rope and the catapult flung the brother out over the ocean. His aim was impeccable but unfortunately his training involved aiming and not so much safe landings.
The third brother had spent his time away living in the forest and learning to live with the animals. He approached the crowd peacefully and addressed the king, “O’ just king, I will win your daughter’s hand with the help of my fine feathered friends.”
The king was impressed. A man who could tame the beasts of the forest could surely rally the subjects of this great kingdom.
The third brother held a hundred ropes in his hands each attached to different a bird flapping overhead. He whistled and at his command the birds began to fly into the air carrying him over the edge of the cliff. But the birds became confused and each flapped in a different direction. The brother could not keep his grip and as the ropes slipped from his hands he plummeted into the sea below.
The fourth brother had spent his time away studying at a prestigious academy. There he learned a great many things about machinery and so came up with a plan. He approached the crowd with his nose buried in his books and addressed the king, “My good magistrate, I will win your daughter’s hand with my amazing invention.”
The king was impressed. A man who could build such contraptions could surely understand the machinations of a well oiled monarchy.
The fourth brother pulled back the cover of his invention and revealed a magnificent flying machine. He strapped himself in and powered up the device. It zoomed towards the edge of the cliff and then plummeted out of sight. The crowd gasp and waited with anticipation. With a flourish, the flying machine lifted into the air and soared over the heads of the crowd who cheered in amazement. The brother became caught up in the applause and flew his machine in a loop to further impress. As he stared out at his adoring fans he failed to notice the quickly approaching treeline where his machine was torn to pieces.
The fifth brother had spent his time away finding the beauty in the world and learning to express it in the form of poetry. He approached the crowd flamboyantly and addressed the king, “My liege, fair maiden, ladies and gentlemen; today I intend to leave no dry eyes. Prepare thineselves to be wooed.”
The king groaned. A man who spent his days pontificating and placating would crumble under politics.
The fifth brother strode to the cliff edge and began to speak. His sonnet was long and verbose as he pleaded with the White Rock to inch closer to the land that he might rest his weary limbs upon it. The king grew tired of his frivolous rhetoric and motioned for his guards who verily shoved the fifth brother over the edge of yon cliffs. As he fell, he heard the thunderous applause of his first standing ovation.
The king was disappointed with the contest. “Is there no one that can meet my challenge?” he boomed. “What about you there?”
The king motioned to the sixth and final brother who addressed his king, “My king, I am only here to watch my brothers make fools of themselves. I did not spend time away learning a new trade as they did. I stayed at my ailing father’s side and kept food in his belly. I have no skills to complete your contest.”
“Nonsense!” laughed the king.
“Well,” mused the sixth brother, “I have brewed a fine ale. I was saving it for the victor, as it was surely meant for a king. But you, my Lord, are the true king.”
The sixth brother passed out his special brew to the crowd and everyone quaffed. The king drank the brother’s ale as his listened to his praises. Soon, the king was inebriated and raucously pompous.
“The only one worthy of this kingdom,” the king hiccuped, “is me!”
He stumbled towards the edge of the cliff and belted out across the water, “Listen here, rock. As your king, I command you to stand on me. I mean, I shall stand on you.”
The guards were too drunk to notice as the king stumbled forward and tumbled over the cliff. The princess approached the sixth brother and congratulated him on winning the contest.
“But, Milady,” he replied, “I have done nothing.”
“You have freed these people from the tyranny of a foolish old man. Now what would you ask in return?”
“Only that my father stays well fed until the day he dies.”
The Princess happily obliged and the brother and father lived happily ever after in the lush green hills of Castorshire.
The Cliffs of Castorshire was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
Appeasement
The frigid air clawed at Ruq’s lungs with every breath he took. Though he was a hunter, his prey was no average animal and his pursuit had stolen him far from the village. The elders had beseeched him not to go - even if he could fell the great beast, the village would surely be cursed. Every year, the elders chose a child for sacrifice because - so they said - Maku the Great Bear demanded it. Ruq knew this, as did every person in the tribe. It was the way it had always been.
There were two days when Ruq truly understood the significance of his own life. The first was the day he was wed to Tiqri. On that day he realized that his life was a gift he could share with another person. The second day was the day his child was born. On that day he realized that his life was secondary. Then came the day when he was asked to sacrifice his own child. Had it been his own life, he liked to think he would have gladly given it. Tiqri pleaded with him to forsake the elders. She was a fire of rage and tears as Ruq ripped the child from her arms and as he did so he knew he was tearing away any love she had for him. The ceremony was as it always was. The child was dressed in a ceremonial pelt and the blood of an arctic hare was smeared across his forehead. After the rites had been uttered, Ruq returned to the village leaving his child alone in the snow.
Ruq was lost. All feeling of worth had been abolished, left to die in the snow with his son. When he returned home, Tiqri was gone. Ruq’s blood shot through his veins. He knew precisely where she had gone and he had to find her. He buried himself in his wolf fur coat, took his bow, quiver, and spear and left the village.
The eternal twilight of the north cast a mystical glow upon the snowy terrain. The otherwise white expanse was instead a sour yellow. Ruq ran until his legs felt as soft as the snow through which he trudged. The wind howled through the canyon and on its breath brought flakes of snow. The storm wasn’t bad enough that Ruq couldn’t follow his wife’s tracks, even if she did have a bountiful lead on him. What was her plan? No one could survive alone in the treacherous wilderness, let alone with a baby in tow. Ruq paused to catch his breath and noticed something else in the snow. It was a paw print but it was bigger than any he had ever encountered.
Ignoring the pleas of his muscles, Ruq continued. Overland snow travel was sluggish, even with the proper clothing. The passage of time was difficult to track but as a hunter, Ruq had learned how. The sun made a very specific voyage along the horizon. It never quite settled below the earth but it did move. That is how Ruq knew how far he had traveled. The storm was gaining momentum and Tiqri’s tracks became harder to follow. And then Ruq saw something that made his heart sink - drops of blood on the snow. She was close. He could hear her voice behind the wind’s curtain. Ruq forced his way faster through the snow.
There she was. Tiqri was on her knees, arms outstretched. There was blood on her hands and a knife in the snow beside her. She was pleading with someone or something, Ruq could not see through the wall of snow. She was offering herself as a sacrifice in place of their child. Ruq wanted to call out to her but was petrified she would run again. Then, as if solidifying into existence, a massive shape took form in the snow. No one had ever seen Maku before - Ruq had even doubted his existence at times. But there was no denying his eyes, the Great Bear now towered over Tiqri. The beast’s fur was even whiter than the snow around it. Had it been standing still, Ruq may have lost sight of it. But the eyes - the eyes revealed more than its incredible body ever could. Tiqri bowed her head to the snow in reverence or perhaps fear. The bear stepped closer and surveyed the scene almost quizzically. His expression was inexplicably human.
Maku leaned its head down toward Tiqri - who was shaking visibly - and let loose a snort that blew the woman’s hair back. This brought Ruq back into the world and he slid his bow off his back and knocked and arrow. Was this great beast even killable? The bear sniffed Tiqri again and then turned away. With a lumbering gait, Maku faded into the falling snow. Tiqri raised her head and screamed. It seemed the beast had not accepted her offer. Ruq ran to her before she could stand and chase down the bear. She was hysterical. Ruq dropped his bow and clutched her tight. She tried to fight him off but was too weak from the trek and blood loss. Tiqri heaved and howled against Ruq’s chest.
Ruq could hear something else though. Beyond her sobs, beyond the wind, he heard a faint cry. He lifted Tiqri’s head until her eyes met with his and then held a hand to his ear. Tiqri’s eyes grew wide with hope. Together, husband and wife strode into the storm towards the sound. The cries grew louder until they found its source. There in the snow lay their child crying out for attention. Tiqri collapsed to the ground and sheltered their baby from the cold. Her blood-stained hands dirtied the child’s face and arms as she pulled him closer. Ruq squinted and looked into the storm for some sign of the Great Bear but there was nothing but white.
Appeasement was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
The Queen of Nothing
The merry-go-round is entangled by vines, the roots have weaved their way into the heart of the machine. Once well oiled gears are now rusted and broken, their teeth still biting but their will to bite broken. There is no electricity to motivate them, there is no electricity anywhere. Time waited in this place, it waited impassionately for nothing and no one in particular. The world is spinning but the merry-go-round is not. The paint on the horses is long since faded as they take their long journey of decay. The vines embrace the wooden beasts, gripping too hard except for one horse. He is called Halcyon and there was a time when he was the fastest horse in the pack. He was beloved. Now he stands alone, champion of a forgotten era. He is cracked and broken but he alone remained untainted by the encroaching foliage. She caresses his mane.
The pond is drowned, its waters swallowed by generations. The spigots of the the fountain are choked by grime, no liquid will quench the stone basin. The pump does not pump, the pipes are split. Silver and copper coins lie dormant in the pool, their etched faces forgotten. Birds once swam in the cool water, satiated by the novelty of excess. There are no birds here, there is no indication of motion. She hangs her bare feet over the edge.
The building stands as it ever did while others are crumbled to dust. The window is no more, splinters and beads have spread along the walkway beneath its frame. The pale fragments reinforce the fragility of creation. The door is hanging by one hinge too tired to stand but not yet granted a leave of duty. A door is a door. A heavy coat of dust blankets the the floor and shelves within. The wares remain on the racks though some have fallen to the ground and others have been eaten away. A cash register sits at the counter, its drawers long since emptied. And what would the money buy anyway? In the corner of the small back office sits a worn out little bed which once belonged to a cat who liked to sniff hands. The desk is overturned barring entry into the little room and the contents of its drawers spilled about. The window to the room is grey with soot but for a single clean smudge, a spot where a hand had hastily wiped it clean. She lies curled on her side at the cat’s bed cuddling nothing.
The air is still in this place as if even the weather has forgotten of its existence. The surrounding trees stand perfectly still and there are no sounds of life. Even during the day, the sun doesn’t shine here. Everything is drab and grey. It is a place forgotten by the world, forgotten by time, forgotten by everything. But she remembers. She alone stands watch over the emptiness. She rules over the abandoned. The queen of nothing.
The Queen of Nothing was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
The Queen of Nothing was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
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