The Woodcutter by Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia Page A
Authors: Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia
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it.
A harp.
It was a golden harp with a woman trapped upon the pillar. She looked at him, eyes full of trust and pleading.
The Woodcutter sat the harp upon his lap. He laid his fingers upon the strings.
And then plucked.
The voice of the woman of the harp rang out in accompaniment to the music.
At once, the Giant and Giantess stopped.
Their arms lowered and their eyes glazed over.
Their knees became weak and soon they were upon the floor, snoring like bears.
The Woodcutter stopped playing and the Giants began to stir.
He placed his fingers upon the harp once more. He turned to the young boy and whispered, “What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed hard, “Jack.”
The Woodcutter smiled at the frightened boy, “Well, Jack. I am afraid that this beanstalk is my fault. I gave some beans to a peddler and I believe he sold them to you.”
Jack nodded.
“It seems that as long as someone plays this instrument, the harp will sing them to sleep. Do you know how to play the harp, Jack?” the Woodcutter asked.
Jack shook his head no. He was trying so hard to be brave.
The Woodcutter transferred the harp to Jack’s lap, “Well, Jack, now seems just as good a time as any for you to learn.”
Jack’s fingers were hard and discordant upon the strings and the woman’s voice changed.
The Giants began to stir once more.
The Woodcutter could see the young boy begin to panic.
He placed a hand upon Jack’s shoulder and took a hand in his, “Gentle, son. Gentle.”
Son .
The Woodcutter caught himself.
Jack’s fingers strummed more quietly and the Giants settled back into snoring.
The Woodcutter turned to the lady of the harp, “Milady, this boy here has never had the pleasure of meeting one such as yourself. I would ask that you help him to keep the music sweet.”
She nodded, her voice not changing her tune.
The Woodcutter turned to Jack, “I have to leave.”
A horrible note came from the harp.
The Giants snorted before rolling over.
“But I will be back. You must play until I return. You must play no matter what. There is only so long that the Giant will believe your smell is just the pot roast. You know that, don’t you?”
Jack nodded seriously.
“I will not be long.”
The Woodcutter dashed across the floor and out to the path as fast as his legs would carry him.
Chapter 35
The Woodcutter had walked over the hill and into the woods, and had taken a left at the great tree. He walked into the clearing. Settled into the earth was a round-bottomed fortress with many chimneys and windows, but no door. A fence of human bones marked the border of the yard from the forest.
He had not understood when Oberon and Titania had told him to seek the Crone. He had not understood that they meant the Crone. If he had known, he wondered if he would have come. But he was here, so the Woodcutter opened the gate and walked in.
He looked up at the blank wall of the fortress. His power in the Kingdom of the Clouds was less than that in the Twelve Kingdoms, but he opened his mouth and commanded, “Turn your back to the forest, your front to me.”
The fortress creaked and groaned and, slowly, it spun until the back was to the front and the front was to the back and before the Woodcutter was a door.
The Woodcutter stepped forward to knock, noting the gnashing teeth in the keyhole, but turned quickly as a crashing sound tore through the trees.
Riding upon a stone mortar the size of a grown man was a lovely woman with dark black hair. The mortar sailed upon the ground like a ship on the ocean, directed by a pestle the woman used a as a rudder. The mortar flew into the front yard and the maiden leapt off, as graceful as an acrobat. She regarded the Woodcutter sharply as the mortar put itself away behind the fortress. She sniffed the air, “You
A harp.
It was a golden harp with a woman trapped upon the pillar. She looked at him, eyes full of trust and pleading.
The Woodcutter sat the harp upon his lap. He laid his fingers upon the strings.
And then plucked.
The voice of the woman of the harp rang out in accompaniment to the music.
At once, the Giant and Giantess stopped.
Their arms lowered and their eyes glazed over.
Their knees became weak and soon they were upon the floor, snoring like bears.
The Woodcutter stopped playing and the Giants began to stir.
He placed his fingers upon the harp once more. He turned to the young boy and whispered, “What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed hard, “Jack.”
The Woodcutter smiled at the frightened boy, “Well, Jack. I am afraid that this beanstalk is my fault. I gave some beans to a peddler and I believe he sold them to you.”
Jack nodded.
“It seems that as long as someone plays this instrument, the harp will sing them to sleep. Do you know how to play the harp, Jack?” the Woodcutter asked.
Jack shook his head no. He was trying so hard to be brave.
The Woodcutter transferred the harp to Jack’s lap, “Well, Jack, now seems just as good a time as any for you to learn.”
Jack’s fingers were hard and discordant upon the strings and the woman’s voice changed.
The Giants began to stir once more.
The Woodcutter could see the young boy begin to panic.
He placed a hand upon Jack’s shoulder and took a hand in his, “Gentle, son. Gentle.”
Son .
The Woodcutter caught himself.
Jack’s fingers strummed more quietly and the Giants settled back into snoring.
The Woodcutter turned to the lady of the harp, “Milady, this boy here has never had the pleasure of meeting one such as yourself. I would ask that you help him to keep the music sweet.”
She nodded, her voice not changing her tune.
The Woodcutter turned to Jack, “I have to leave.”
A horrible note came from the harp.
The Giants snorted before rolling over.
“But I will be back. You must play until I return. You must play no matter what. There is only so long that the Giant will believe your smell is just the pot roast. You know that, don’t you?”
Jack nodded seriously.
“I will not be long.”
The Woodcutter dashed across the floor and out to the path as fast as his legs would carry him.
Chapter 35
The Woodcutter had walked over the hill and into the woods, and had taken a left at the great tree. He walked into the clearing. Settled into the earth was a round-bottomed fortress with many chimneys and windows, but no door. A fence of human bones marked the border of the yard from the forest.
He had not understood when Oberon and Titania had told him to seek the Crone. He had not understood that they meant the Crone. If he had known, he wondered if he would have come. But he was here, so the Woodcutter opened the gate and walked in.
He looked up at the blank wall of the fortress. His power in the Kingdom of the Clouds was less than that in the Twelve Kingdoms, but he opened his mouth and commanded, “Turn your back to the forest, your front to me.”
The fortress creaked and groaned and, slowly, it spun until the back was to the front and the front was to the back and before the Woodcutter was a door.
The Woodcutter stepped forward to knock, noting the gnashing teeth in the keyhole, but turned quickly as a crashing sound tore through the trees.
Riding upon a stone mortar the size of a grown man was a lovely woman with dark black hair. The mortar sailed upon the ground like a ship on the ocean, directed by a pestle the woman used a as a rudder. The mortar flew into the front yard and the maiden leapt off, as graceful as an acrobat. She regarded the Woodcutter sharply as the mortar put itself away behind the fortress. She sniffed the air, “You
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