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Mari's tale
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recitation took place at the January 2001 Gather. She wouldn't dare sing,
of course...as her voice is legendary among the Clan in Necropolis. |
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Once ago and long
away,
There lived a maid
who shunned the day.
Fair of skin and pale
of face,
She wandered through
the night’s dark grace.
With her dwelt her
brother dear,
Proud of heart, he
knew no fear.
A fine young man,
known through the land…
Too bad he saw nothing
beyond his hand.
Well one fine night
the maiden fair
Boldly set out upon
a dare.
She went into the
forest deep
To a place, a sorceress-keep.
All who stayed ‘round
near the place
Knew that the Sorceress
hid her face.
The dare was this:
the maiden sweet
Must into the magic
castle creep,
And steal the veil
that hid the face
Of the mighty, mystical
Sorceress.
And so it was, and
so she did,
But alas was found
out where she hid,
And therefore cursed
by magics deep
To lose the shape
she longed to keep.
Her dainty figure
turned into that
Of a tiny red-hued
cat!
All were appalled
and wept and prayed
As the Sorceress left
where she stayed.
She said aloud so all
could hear
“To lift the curse,
have no fear!
Seek out the cat of
black and white,
And take three hairs
of her tail by night.
Brew them strong and
let them steep,
In a cup, tall and
deep.
Let the cursed one
drink of this,
And she’ll be cured,
a wiser miss!”
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But though all
looked so far and wide,
Nowhere they found
the cat whose hide
Matched the colors
black and white.
So all returned by
morning’s light.
But the brother, steadfast
and true,
Shouted out into the
blue.
“I shall find this
great fat cat,
And bring the hairs;
that is that!”
He searched the mountains,
searched the wood,
Whilst a storm did
drench his hood.
Soaked him through,
‘til sneezing hard,
He came across an
old barnyard.
In the barn, his nose
all red,
He sought a cozy hayloft
bed.
But lo! Before him
lay
A smallish beast curled
in the hay.
With hair of black,
and down its back
A trail of white,
there was no lack!
His weakish eyes at
it did peer…
A cat! To save his
sister dear.
So he plucked the
hairs right from its tail,
And left before the
beast did wail.
Straightaway he went
back home,
And brewed the cup
without a moan.
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The maiden in
her cat’s shape locked,
Drank the cup and
did not stop
Until she’d drained
it to the dregs
And shaking stood
upon two legs.
But then she gasped
and then she groaned,
“Oh brother dear!”
Aloud she moaned,
“I fear you’ve made
a grave mistake,
Leaving behind your
glasses-case!”
Before the eyes of
all those there,
She twisted and shook,
her wide eyes scared.
And then she stood,
all black and white,
A beast whose scent
gave no delight.
For those hairs were
not a cat’s,
But a skunk’s, with
mighty blats.
And even now, so I’ve
been told,
Sometimes, when the
night grows old,
You can see the brother
running fast,
With a giant skunk
inches from his…
*blinks around, soft
voice trailing off...hands folded demurely in her lap*
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