An adaptation inspired by Howard Pyle’s book c.1909, King Stork, published by Little, Brown & Co., in 1973, with illustrations by Trina Schart-Hyman. Pyle’s book was literally the first book I ever signed out of the library, when I was in grade one. The memory of it has stayed with me since, and inspired my writing career. Thus, this, my homage to this timeless writer, and to Trina Schart-Hyman, for her striking illustrations.
The great war is over now. The Kings and the Vassals of Ireland had driven the English army out of the North Country. They had won, but at great cost. Much that had been, was no more.
A soldier, one among many, fell to his knees where once his home had been and, now, all that was dear to him had been stripped away. All that he loved, now returned to the earth, and to spirit, from where it had come.
At long last he struggled to his feet and set to wandering the countryside in search of what new life he might find.
After days and months of searching, his spirit began to fail. And it was upon the edge of a river, with a swift and unforgiving current, he came upon a decrepit old man sitting at the river’s edge.
The old man explained that he could not cross the water on his own, and entreated the young soldier to carry him. The soldier, tired as he was, hoisted the ancient and decrepit beggar onto his back, and began to wade into the current. At first, it seemed the man was surprisingly light, as though his bones were hollow, like a bird’s. Yet, as the soldier made his way, the old man grew heavier and heavier, until at last he could hardly take another step; the elder had become an incredible burden. But the soldier persisted, placing one firm step after another, and at last got him safely across.
To demonstrate his appreciation, the old man offered that, in reward for his labour, the soldier might, if he indeed possessed the warrior’s heart, win the affections of the beautiful princess, who lived in the King’s Court.
At this, the soldier’s broken heart surged, that there might still be joy in this world. He begged to know more of this princess. Upon hearing his willingness, the ancient soul told a dark tale, that by offering him one mystery each day, if solved, would earn the young soldier the very object of his affection. But, the old man warned, her heart was not simply there for the taking. For this princess had a wickedness in her that had brought the deaths of many men who’d gone before him. In trying to win this dark but hopeful heart, the soldier must first pass a series of tests, to demonstrate his ability, and endurance, and the great hardship that he was willing to endure, all of which would require his unflinching bravery in the face of what mortal terrors might come. The clever princess, who would indeed give her hand in marriage, must first be outwitted.
The old man advised the soldier to return to the river bank the following day for further council.
After departing the river, and the decrepit sage, the soldier travelled into the township that lay at the foot of the castle and extended on all sides over the countryside. In wandering the bustling streets, he spotted a group of men and boys gathered around an edict that had been posted by the Royal Family. This entreaty sought any and all comers, who would attempt the princess’s hand in marriage.
The successful suitor, the poster explained, would achieve three successive quests: 1) the princess’s question must be answered correctly, 2) She must be asked a question that she cannot answer, and, 3) The mystical bird she desires must be killed and delivered to the foot of her throne.
With an ardent smile upon his lips, the young soldier turned to leave the medley crew and retire to his camp that was arranged on the outskirts of town.
The following morning, the soldier awoke with the sun and prepared to return to the river bank, where he’d hoped to find the old one waiting once again.
After a pleasant morning walk the soldier arrived at the river, only to see the copse at the foot of the ancient tree was empty. He stood for a moment, his eyes searching the path in both directions. He shielded his eyes from the sun and searched the outlying countryside for any sign of the old man. When at last it seemed his efforts were for naught, he dropped his shielding hand and was startled to find the old man sitting smartly at his feet, once again taking up his place beneath the tree. He wore a Cheshire smile that seemed to say he’d seen all there was to see and that he indeed understood the minds and hearts of young men.
The old man confirmed that, indeed, the poster was entirely accurate, and, further, he implored that every man and boy the soldier had laid eyes upon, who were entertaining the notion of marrying into the Royal Family, would, come tomorrow, fall to the princess’s hand. For if every soul who attempted to answer her question failed, as they most certainly would do, they’d have their head chopped off and placed on a spike.”
“However,” he said quietly, “when it is your turn to step before the throne, you should take note if she is wearing a scarf.”
“A scarf!” the soldier scoffed. “What of it? How will this bit of tawdry information keep me from ending up a wandering headless fool?”
“A scarf,” the old man uttered again with determination.
The soldier closed his eyes a moment, feeling at once the uncertainty that snaked anew through him. When he opened his eyes again to question the old man, to his amazement, the stranger had vanished.
The cautious soldier then journeyed to the castle, where a great line of hopeful and somber men had already gathered. But, as great as it was, the line moved rather quickly, too quick most thought.
The soldier drew nearer to the castle. After all who had gone before him were led to face their demise, at last he had his chance. He was led into the Royal chattel and down the long aisle- way to the throne.
Here, the walls at either side of the concourse were lined with the mournful heads of those who had attempted the hand of the princess, a staggering sight, even for a soldier. Despite this, his gaze was drawn immediately to a sight that far outshone the bodiless souls who lined the bastion. In a throne, sitting next to the saddened King, the young princess sat in all her finery, her long, jet-black hair framing crystal blue eyes that flashed in the afternoon sun. When she saw the handsome young soldier, she smiled but a little, then let out a laugh that filled the room, swirled to the rafters and danced among the heads lining the castle wall.
“You have come to meet your demise then?” She smiled.
“I have come to answer your question,” the soldier said, bowing low to the ground.
“Very well,” the Princess agreed. She then leaned forward, a hand resting upon her knee, the other propped gingerly beneath her chin.
“My mother is very fond of the delicate blue of the sky in early Spring, but there is a colour to which she has an even greater affinity. What,” she smirked, “is this colour to which her heart is so drawn?
To this, the soldier offered a smile of his own, the smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. The old man’s advisement may have been correct after all. The soldier searched immediately for a glimpse of the scarf, a clue to the mystery before him, but finding none, a resolute panic fluttered through his body, that he may, after all, suffer the same looming fate as the others. He looked up and down her person, dressed as she was in raiment of every Royal colour, and, seeing no scarf, began to resolve himself to his fate. Then, at once, his desperate eyes caught something at her feet. Indeed, the crimson scarf had fallen from her costume, and lay almost concealed by the hem of her silken dress.
“Hmmmn,” uttered the soldier, trying his best to look vexatious. “What question is this?” said he, “How am I to know the answer to something as such, that is clearly so intimate to your person?”
“Be that as it may,” snapped the Princess, “the question stands: What is my favourite colour?”
The soldier started in slowly.
The Princess leaned forward, the smirk on her face issuing what she felt, for him, must be a dark shadow indeed. Blue… Black? She wondered… Guesses of this brand would spell his imminent death.
“Blood red,” said the soldier, standing straight and looking true.
In a moment the smile left the Princess’s face, and she grew pale.
The King, who’d been cradling his miserable head in both hands, noted the unusual silence, and looked up slowly, scarcely daring to believe that the young warrior had escaped the looming clutches of a bleak death. Then, growing in hopeful confidence, he dared glance at his daughter, and knew then the truth in all its fullness: the young man before him had done the unthinkable.
“You’d be well advised,” spoke the Princess, “to wipe the smile from your smug lips. This is but one challenge of three. And, you’d do well to pray to your God for salvation.”
At this, however, the King was already on his feet and embracing the man, while wiping tears of joy and relief from his tired eyes.
At noon the next day, the young soldier returned to the river and searched for the ancient dweller he’d come to count upon. Alas, there was the old man, once again quite able to appear – seemingly from no-where – when the soldier had cast a glance to far-off places.
“Tomorrow,” said the old man with a sly grin, “you must ask her a question of your own. But,” he cautioned, his long, bony finger held aloft, “There have been those before you – few as they are – who have made it to the second challenge. You’d best caution to note, that none of these few remains among the living.”
At this advice, the soldier searched his mind for some trivial notion that would most certainly stump the Princess.
“Do not trouble yourself with it,” said the old man. “There is but one question you could ask that would fool her.
The soldier’s eyes bore into the old man, imploring him to reveal what it was that he would say.
Rather than speak it aloud, the old man implored the soldier to draw near, that he could whisper into his ear. As the ancient sage spoke, a wan smile came slowly to the young man’s lips.
The following day, the soldier was once again standing before the Princess’s throne, where he gazed upon her with delight. She was indeed the most beautiful woman he’d seen during his numerous years of soldiering.
For her part, the Princess scowled at the young man, that he had slipped through her net the previous day.
“Ask your question of me, then,” she demanded. “I shan’t keep my headsman waiting.”
The young soldier smiled confidently, which proved a catalyst that cast an icy blaze in the Princess’s eyes.
“So be it,” the soldier agreed. “What colour, were the eyes of my dear mother?”
At this the Princess laughed haughtily. She looked upon him with pity, then. But, after she’d considered the question a moment, she knit her brow and squinted her eyes. The answer, it seemed, would not come easy.
“I can’t…” The Princess began, “I cannot see…”
Then, at once she blurted her answer: “Blue,” she insisted. “It must be blue!” She leaned forward, resting both hands upon her knees again, awaiting with great impatience, the soldier’s answer. “Well then!” she demanded, “What have you got to say for yourself?”
The young man took a bold step closer to the throne. “You see,” he replied, “my mother’s eyes were put out when she was but a new-borne. Not anyone, living or dead, could say.”
At this, the throne-room erupted with joy and celebration… Though, it was, as yet, merely the second task that was required of him. The King seemed the only one who was aware of this fact. He knew also, that by far the worst task still lay ahead for the handsome young soldier.
“SILENCE!” The Princess shouted above the throng. At once a trembling quiet fell upon the crowd. What would come next?
At last the she spoke her edict: “You must find and bring me the one-eyed raven.”
“But surely that is a myth,” The King cried, “a mere fancy of the imagination. How is the poor boy to catch and hold this object of mere conjuring?”
“And yet catch it, he must do, if he is to take me as his wife,” she insisted, her eyes once again smoldering with white rage.
It was late in the evening when the soldier approached the river bank to speak with the old man. And once again, he was unsure the decrepit one would come. But alas, his call was answered in the same manner as before, as if his mentor arrived on wings.
“I know what you would ask of me,” said the old man, “And I would say that, though I know you but little, I have a stitch of pride in my heart for your efforts… Now, you must listen carefully young dilettante, this, the third challenge you must undertake, is most treacherous. It is likely you may not even survive.” The old man paused to gaze a moment upon the soldier, to detect any hint of fear. Seeing none, he continued his deliberation.
“The Princess is not at all what she seems. Every Sunday night, well beyond midnight, she leaves her abode and dons a pair of great white wings, whence she alights to parts unknown. It is a large black castle that she seeks, standing sentinel atop a broken, rocky crag. There she consults an old woman – a hag – who councils her on how best to plan her comings and goings. Further than that,” he insisted, “she whispers secrets, that offer to the Princess the gift of fore-knowledge, of the men who would court her.
“With this,” the sage explained, as he handed him a black cap, “you will become invisible. These,” he said, offering a pair of small wings, “are to be attached to your ankles. They will give you the gift of flight, that you may hide in wait for the Princess to fly from her home, as she does, and follow her to the castle. There, the Princess and the old hag will sup together. It is while they take their meal the hag will issue her advisement to foil your success.”
The young soldier fitted the cap to his head and in an instant was gone from the old man’s sight.
“You must wear the cap at all times, and listen closely for what is said. For this is your chance to gain advantage. Once the meal is eaten, the two will entertain to fly from the castle. Follow them closely,” the sage advised, “and your opportunity will fall quickly to hand.”
The young man reached up then to remove the black cap. With the cap in his hands, he turned only to find that the old man had, once again, disappeared.
That night, the soldier slipped the cap upon his head, and touched a wing to each heel. At once the confidence of full flight was manifest and, thus he did precisely as the wizened elder advised. He waited outside the door of the Princess’s quarters for her to appear.
No long time had passed before the door was opened and the torch-light from her room reached anxiously into the dark night. The Princess took immediately to flight, and the soldier was quick to follow.
They flew upon a cool wind, across the lonely night sky. As they went, the stars danced in silky blackness, and the silver-lit clouds scudded before an impatient moon.
The very fabric of time seemed to drift as they passed over valley, river and stone. Soon, there formed on the horizon, the dark castle, its black spires reaching far into the heavens.
They drew near the threshold, and were met by three grotesque dragons, with bulging hungry eyes flitting from crevice to crag in search of man and beast. As they passed overhead, one of the dragons thrust its filthy snout in the air, to catch the strange and fleeting scent, gnashing its yellowing and broken teeth like long spears, at what passed unseen. The beast uttered a heart-rending roar that shook the soldier to his very heart.
Safely beyond the horrid brutes, the soldier followed, almost too closely, as the Princess landed at the head of a long, narrow pathway leading to the castle gates. Guarding the doors were a terror of lions, bellowing a deafening choir and lunging against great, thick chains. Yet, despite their ferocity, they too could not see what strange thing it was that wandered among them.
The tall coal-black castle gates began to open, casting a deafening shriek of iron upon iron to join the hellish cacophony of lion and beast. There, standing in the middle of the gaping entrance, the hag peered through her one eye, as she stooped over a long, crooked staff made from the thigh bones of men long-dead by her hand.
The soldier followed the Princess through the gates and almost brushed the old hag’s sleeve as he passed her by.
Her bulbous nose rose to the air. “What’s this?” She growled, “You’ve brought with you the putrid smell of Christian blood,” she said, turning her searching eye to the Princess.
“Surely you imagine what you most covet,” said the Princess, her laughter echoing into the dark expanse.
The hag sniffed the air again and grumbled her disaffection. “The table is set,” she went on, leading the way into the castle. She impelled them through a seemingly endless maze of hallways, lit sparsely by flickering torchlight.
They were led, at last, into the hag’s den, where a table was heaped with food – a feast for a King, it seemed. The Princess waited for the hag to take her chair, before seating herself. Their plates full, they began to discuss what should take place on the following day. The soldier was aghast that, there he was, standing present to overhear the intimate planning of his inevitable demise.
For a time, the two women ate in silence, broken only by the flitting and sputtering of the pitch torches lining the walls, and of fork and knife clacking on old porcelain. “He is clever, this one,” said the old hag at last, her voice tearing the silence like gravel upon stone at times, and slithering like the last gasps of a dying soul at others. “You must not be lax in your judgement.”
“He is clever, yes,” she agreed, “but I assure you his smug reproach will come to a sorry end with the ring of the headsman’s axe.”
“Yes,” the witch nodded slowly, “hope for him, is lost… It is a simple matter. But use caution in the utmost.”
As they talked, the Princess noted a peculiar occurrence, that her plate seemed to empty itself, while she seemed to scarcely have eaten a bite. Behind her, the soldier munched contentedly – a chicken leg in one hand, while reaching with an invisible hand for the last piece of bread with the other.
“I am not feeling myself this night,” the Princess confided to the hag. “I must return home soon.” At this, the hag raised her nose to the wind yet again upon detecting that foreign and unwelcome smell.
“I shall follow close behind this night,” the witch insisted, “to ensure no harm should befall you. Something is amiss.”
At that, the two made their way to the castle entrance, where the Princess fitted her majestic feathered wings and alighted into the lonely night sky.
Just then, to the soldier’s profound surprise, the old hag transformed into a large raven, it’s gleaming single eye, the blackest of black, its long jet beak glistening in the moonlight.
The soldier wasted no time pulling the net from his satchel and casting it over the head of the massive bird. The raven screamed a piercing, gurgling scream that shattered the firmament, but lasted only a moment, before the soldier wrung its neck. After a tremendous struggle, his hands found purchase. At last, the bird fell dead. The soldier lifted her carefully and placed her into a large sack, before taking quickly to the sky homeward.
An impressive and noisy crowd had gathered outside the castle walls, to await the soldier’s arrival on this, what surely must be the last day of his mortal soul. Soon, though, a hush fell upon the crowd, as they saw that he carried a large sack over his shoulder. This surely must be some rouse, an attempt to fool the shrewd Princess, they whispered among themselves. Their whispers soon turned to hope as they witnessed the subtle confidence with which the soldier carried his burden.
Inside the castle, the Princess froze when she saw the young soldier enter with his slumping load. A look of profound concern grew within her, every passing moment.
A complete silence befell the courtyard as the soldier stood before her throne.
The Princess’s eyes grew wide as certainty cast its gloomy pall upon her beautiful face. Without a word, the soldier lowered the sack from his shoulder and reached inside. Cries of fear and surprise erupted among the crowd as he revealed the massive one-eyed raven. The Princess opened her mouth, as if to utter a cry, but before she could, her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to the floor at the foot of her throne.
For the second time in but a handful of days, the King dabbed his eyes with a royal handkerchief as he wept, this time, however, his were tears of joy.
Despite that the young soldier had fulfilled the third and final quest, and a blessed union seemed certain, the Princess’s hand did not come easy. For the darkness that had for so long lived in her heart, had first to be defeated. All through the night the soldier waited at her bedside for her fever to pass. But at length, her sickness worsened and there, before his eyes, she transformed into all manner of ferocious beast: Three battles were waged whereupon the soldier was besieged, first by the spirit of a great wolf, which he seized by the throat as it lunged at him with yellowing fangs the size of eagles talons.
Sometime in the night a great and powerful serpent entered the room and sought to overcome him. This too, he vanquished. Minutes turned to hours, and the hours passed like years as he waged each battle with the utmost of his courage and strength. Then, at last, when it seemed he no longer had the strength to fight, a majestic black stallion appeared, rearing up on its haunches to strike him, with hooves like cloven hammers. At long last he gentled the stallion, and collapsed in exhaustion at the foot of the bed. To his great joy, the following morning, the Princess awoke in her bed, whereupon she fell into the soldier’s arms. At last her heart was free.
The following day, upon the soldier’s final visit to the old man by the river, it was not the ancient sage he found there beneath the storied Oak, but a majestic King Stork, standing in its feathered finery, glowing silver and white in the morning sun. The stork peered into the Soldier’s eyes, and seemed to bow its head in regal manner, before spreading its impressive plumage and taking to the sky.
As the soldier watched, the stork drifted peacefully on unseen rivers of warm air with perfect grace. He understood then, that love lost can be found again when we least expect it. He knew also that in order to move through life similarly, we must be mindful, we must be careful with our words, and, foremost, we must remain strong in the face of uncertainty. For these are the enemies of adversity. When we do this, we can once again be at peace with ourselves.
