Ever After by Anya Wylde

 
(i)
    It was
time.
    The land was
pining, the people yearning and the queen getting on in years. The
king, too, had lost all the hair on his head save one tiny grey
curl.
    Yes, it was
time.
    Time for the
king and queen of the great snowcapped mountains to have a child. A
child who would be heir to the throne and rule over the people of
the snowcapped kingdom. A wonderful, obedient child who would love
and care for his ageing parents.
    The king and
queen smiled at each other. Yes, it was time.
    Once the
decision was made, the king and queen immediately turned to the
wise council and asked them for the best method to achieve this
end. The wise counsel consisted of four very old turtles with
wrinkled necks and dark, mysterious eyes. For centuries they had
served the kings and queens of the great snowcapped mountains
faithfully offering incomprehensible advice. But this time the
question posed to them was unique … How did one go about producing
a child?
    They poked
their heads out of their ancient shells and had a long discussion
amongst themselves. They argued, they wheezed, they grumbled, but
in the end they agreed unanimously. It was the clearest, shortest
and most straightforward answer any council had ever given. They
were firm in their belief that this was the only solution. They
smiled through dried, crinkled lips and said that it was
simple.
    "What," the
king asked feverishly "must I do?"
    “Search from
north to south, east to west,” they chanted, “and procure the best
quality clay you can find.”
    "And?" the
queen prompted through nervous, quivering lips.
    "Take the
clay," they said triumphantly, "and make a baby out of it."
    The king and
queen grinned and leaped into the air. They clapped their hands and
danced and sang. Once the celebrations ended, they called all their
runners and set them to work.
    The king also
wrote a long notice to be sent to the other kingdoms. It was sixty
feet long and written in gold ink. It consisted of long winded
formalities, hellos and howdies, but what it all boiled down to
was, in short, simply this. "If you value our alliance, find me the
best clay in this world and I will reward you handsomely."
    Thereafter, the
runners, soldiers and foreign ministers raced all over the world.
They searched through dry desserts on camels and things. They
galloped across green forests and over mountains and hills. They
bobbed and floated on boats, ships and crocodiles ….
    Until one day a
simple farm boy wearing plain brown clothes and tattered shoes
staggered up to the King. He smiled proudly and held out his hands,
letting the softest, smoothest and whitest clay trickle between his
calloused fingers.
    The king and
the queen rejoiced. They had found their clay. They rewarded the
boy and immediately set their artisans to work to make the most
beautiful babe in the world.
    Finally the day
arrived, and the kingdom waited in breathless silence. The
sculpture was unveiled after a lot of ceremony and fuss. The
cellist stopped playing, the pianist’s fingers paused, the kingdom
stilled, and the king and queen of the great snowcapped mountains
peered into the cradle ….
    The tiny form
was as pretty as can be. But, alas, it had no life … no
heartbeat.
    ***
    "We knew it!"
crowed the young ministers. "No old, traditional methods can ever
work. What the king needs is a more modern approach. Something
scientific and progressive, and officially approved."
    The king
scratched his tired head and asked them what they meant.
    "All you have
to do," the ministers replied, "is send a petition to the chief
minister of storks responsible for the safe transport of newborn
babies who resides in the kingdom of the wind. Your babe will
arrive in no time all. No time at all …."
    The king spoke
to his lawyers, and they agreed that this could work. He dictated
an eighty feet long scroll and sent it off. But, alas, on the way
the petition became tied up in rolls of red tape and got stuck to
the tip of the tallest tree