Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

Introduction
 

Unless you read a lot of fairy tales, you might not be familiar with some of the stories that I've rewritten here. Rest assured: they are bona fide fairy tales (with a few folk tales) that I found and tweaked in a certain way. If you're interested in knowing where they come from, there is a page of sources at the very end.

I suppose it would be possible to take all the well-known stories, like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, and force one of the characters into a dress, but I don't have the heart to do such a thing. I've tried to find folk tales and fairy tales in which a gender change might do some good – or at least not seem too far out of place.

Honestly, it's strange that I have to do this work at all. Folk and fairy tales are full of transformations: people turn into monsters, animals, and even inanimate objects — and monsters, animals, and inanimate objects turn into people. In Cinderella all sorts of changes take place, and no one is surprised at all.

So why don't we see women turn into men and men turn into women?

It's not as though imaginative literature has any rules. Fairy tales often make little sense, or end in arbitrary ways. While princes and princesses disguise themselves as peasants or merchants or who-knows-what, why is it that no man thinks of wearing a dress, and no woman dreams of pulling on a pair of pants? It seems like the most natural thing in the world.

It's true, there is one story where this happens: in Andrew Lang's Violet Fairy Book, The Princess Who Pretended To Be A Boy. At the end, she actually turns into a boy, welcomes the change, and gets married to a girl. But it's the only transgendered fairy tale I know of.

And yes, there is a folk tale, The Cow On The Roof, in which a husband and wife switch jobs for a day, with predictably comic results. The story is all about curiosity over what life as the other sex is like. So why, in a land ruled by fantasy, don't they just go for a full-on gender swap?

It's downright odd, when you start to think about it, that there are so few stories about men masquerading as women or women masquerading as men. It seems like a fairly obvious story device that would provide a lot of irony, suspense, and humor. There's also the built-in fear of discovery and its consequences, which would add a lot of excitement to a story. So why doesn't it happen?

I've tried, with this little collection, to fit a few bricks into the gap.

These stories are short, and were a lot of fun to write. I hope that you'll find them fun to read. You might think that writing stories about boys who turn into girls would get monotonous, but for me, it never gets old.

And they all live happily ever after!

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

1. The Fisherman And His Wife
 

Once upon a time, a fisherman and his wife lived in a shanty by the sea. They were poor as poor could be, and worse still, they were very unhappy.

In its day, the shanty had served as a snug little home, but age and neglect had taken their toll. The fisherman had once been a strong, good-looking boy, lively and as ruddy as an apple. Now he looked old beyond his years, and he always looked sad. His wife — at least, to hear her tell it — had once been the prettiest girl in the town.

Did I say that the fisherman always looked sad? It isn't so. There was one moment in the day when he smiled and felt like himself again. You see, a fisherman has to rise in the night and ply his boat in the dark to the deep water, because the best fish are caught early in the day. Day in, day out, our fisherman would look east and watch the sun peek above the water, and every day the dawn was different.

This was the moment each day when he smiled.

The fisherman was called Peppino, and his wife was named Adolorata. He was a kind and gentle soul, as good as good can be. But his wife... well.

Maybe, once upon a time, she had been the prettiest girl in town, but no one was old enough to remember that far back. Peppino thought he was the luckiest man alive when she agreed to be his wife, but that quickly changed. Once they began to live together, nothing was good enough for her. The house was old and smelled of fish. There was no money, and she never had a new dress or a single pair of shoes. He (according to her) was a lazy, good-for-nothing, and she didn't believe for a moment that he went fishing every morning. It was plain to see, she declared, that nine times out of ten he was off sleeping somewhere, laughing behind her back, and drinking away whatever money they had.

What money? Peppino asked himself. He once dared to ask it out loud, and got a frying pan in the head by way of response.

After years of this, Peppino changed. His happy boyhood self was gone, nearly extinguished. He did work hard, and if sometimes – maybe often – he came home without a single fish, it was not for dint of trying.

One day the dawn had come and gone, and the sun climbed high in the sky. It was nearly time to head home – past time, even! – but Peppino hadn't caught a single fish. Not even a tiny one. He thought about staying in the boat, not returning home. What difference did it make anyway? When suddenly, he felt a tug on the line.

He hauled the fish into the boat. It was a nice-sized fellow. For Peppino and his wife, it would be a feast! But as soon as he pulled the hook out of its cheek, the fish opened its mouth and spoke.

"Throw me back!" it gasped, "I can't breathe!"

Startled, Peppino dropped the fish to the deck, but when the fish repeated its desperate pleas, he gently lifted it and set it back in the sea.

"Thank you, good fisherman," the fish politely said, as soon as it recovered its breath.

"Excuse me for hooking you, good – uh, sir," the fisherman replied. "Can you tell me, do all fish speak?"

"No," the fish replied. "Not at all. But I'm not a fish, you see. I'm a magical being. I say, good fellow, do you have any more of that bait lying about? I'm famished. I was so done in by hunger that I bit at your worm without thinking."

"Certainly," the fisherman said, spreading some bugs and worms in the water. "It doesn't seem to fool the fish any more."

"They're swimming in the deep," the magical fish replied. "You won't catch them with your short line."

"Hmm," Peppino said. "Just my luck."

The fish ate his fill, and politely gave his thanks. He advised the fisherman to head for shore; he'd catch no fish today.

"I'm not in a hurry to get home," Peppino said, "If you don't mind, I'd much rather stay and chat with you."

"Fine," the fish replied, "but could you scoop me up in a bucket, and set me in your boat? It hurts my neck to look up at you this way."

So Peppino scooped up the fish and set him in his boat. Slowly he rowed home, and as he rowed, he and the fish chatted away like two old friends. Peppino told the fish about his wife and his bad luck, and the fish told him all about life under the sea. Soon enough, they reached the shore, and the fisherman gently restored the fish to the sea once more.

"I've enjoyed our chat," the fish said. "Any time you feel like talking, come to the shore and call my name. And don't worry about your luck, Peppino. It's changed for the good. You'll see!"

"What is your name?" Peppino inquired, and the fish responded with a long, unpronounceable sound.

"Do you have a nickname?" Peppino asked.

The fish replied drily, "How about 'Fishy'?"

---

Peppino walked home as if he were dancing on clouds. It had been a long time since he'd had a bit of friendly conversation, and the fish's insights into the undersea world helped Peppino understand why he wasn't catching any fish. Just wait until tomorrow morning, and see what fish he'd catch!

Adolorata threw a pot at his head when he walked in the door, and accused him of living a double life. "You're off galvanting with some young chicken! I know you, you old reprobate!" and she burst into tears. Peppino shook his head, and after several hours, managed to convince her of the truth.

"A magical being?" she asked for the hundredth time.

"Yes!" Peppino replied.

Adolorata considered this for a while, and then gave her husband a mighty slap on the ear. "You jackass!" She shouted. "You let him go!? He could have granted us our hearts' desires! Go back down there and ask that idiot of a fish to turn this home into a palace, full of beautiful clothes, servants, gold and silver, with me as its queen."

"I don't know..." Peppino began, but she cut him off with another clout and shoved him roughly out the door.

Peppino walked slowly to the sea. He was happy enough with the fish's friendship, and was plainly embarrassed when Fishy came swimming toward him.

"Hello, Peppino. What can I do for you?"

Peppino apologized profusely, and repeated his wife's request.

"Don't worry, Peppino," the fish replied. "It will all be fine in the end. You'll see! Don't worry! Didn't I tell you that your luck had changed? Go back home and tell your wife that the pair of you have three wishes. No more, and no less."

"Do we have to come down here to tell you what they are?"

"No," he said. "All you need to do is speak your wish out loud."

"Me? or my wife?"

"Either of you," the fish replied, a little impatiently. "And listen, after that I have to go. I'm sorry, but you won't see me again."

"That's sad news," Peppino replied. "I enjoy your company."

"You'll be fine," the fish told him, and swam away forever.

---

Peppino walked back to the shanty, where his wife stood at the door waiting. "You fool!" she cried. "He wasn't a magical fish at all, was he?" and chucked a pot at his head. Again, it took time and patience, but Peppino got her to understand about the wishes. Her face took on a greedy, crafty look and she said, "Careful now! Don't say a word! We must use the wishes wisely – which means that I must decide."

She went inside, and sat at the table with a sheet of paper and a bit of pencil.

Peppino's stomach rumbled. "Couldn't we do this after dinner? I'm half-starved."

Adolorata gestured to the stove, where yesterday's porridge sat, cold and hard. He scooped himself a bowl, then broke off a bit of old bread. He dipped the bread in water to soften it, and sighed. "I wish we could have a decent dinner for once."

Paff! The table was instantly filled with abundant, nourishing food. There was fresh bread and rolls, a pitcher of wine and one of beer, roast chicken, potatoes, yams, beef, ... The table groaned under the weight. Adolorata shrieked.

"You fool! You idiot!" she cried. "You've wasted a wish! Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut? You don't have the sense of a two-year-old!"

She very nearly wished the food away, but caught herself. With her hand on her mouth, she considered. Perhaps it would be better to let the fool eat, she thought. At least if his mouth is full, he won't do any more wishing! So she took Peppino by the hand, sat him at the table, and said, "Eat! Enjoy yourself! Fill your mouth with good things!" And so he did. Everything was delicious, and Peppino felt happier than he had in years. He didn't lament the lost wish. He'd try to be careful to leave the other wishes to his wife. After all, what did he want from life? A little peace, a little food, a dry place to sleep... Right now, Peppino was happy. Life was about as good as it could get.

Adolorata, in the meantime, worked out a single wish that covered pretty much everything she wanted. She realized that a palace was a foolish wish; she was glad the fish hadn't granted it! What she wanted was this: A pretty, well-built house, full of new and comfortable furniture, with a well of sweet water out back, in a garden full of vegetables and fruit trees, and upstairs, in her bedroom closet, lots of fine clothes and shoes, and a little casket of gold coins. Once she made that wish, she could look things over and then decide how to use the last precious wish.

She wished her big wish, and Paff! the house changed around them. It was now the lightest, cleanest, newest house you could imagine, full of the best and most comfortable furniture. There were curtains on the windows, and a mat outside the door. Adolorata ran into the back garden, where she ate an apple from her apple tree and drank a dipper of sweet water from her well. Then she ran upstairs. There was a beautiful bed, rugs on the floor, and pictures on the walls.

She opened the closet, and smelled the new shoes and clothes. There her joy ended. The shoes were too small for her feet, and the clothes were too small for her body! Was this the fish's idea of a joke?

She very nearly wished that the fish was there, so she could give him a piece of her mind, but again she caught herself in time. She put her hand over her mouth and considered once again. After all, it was nearly perfect, and she still had one wish left, didn't she? And look at the casket! It was bigger than she intended, and it was chock full of gold coins – so full she couldn't budge it! Why, just one of those coins could buy more clothes and shoes than she'd had in her life!

Adolorata returned to the kitchen. She needed to think. It would probably be best to tie a gag on Peppino until the last wish was wished, to keep him from wishing for something stupid again. The idiot! Perhaps she could wish him away... and wish for a handsome young man in his place...

In fact, when she reached he bottom of the stairs, she could see that the only thing out of place in her new beautiful house was Peppino. There he sat: barefoot, dirty, in his old smelly clothes, slobbering like a pig, eating as if he'd never eaten before — at least, that's how Adolorata saw him. She was disgusted!

To be fair, Peppino did smell of fish and the sea, but he was very clean. He bathed each day, and shaved each morning. His clothes were shabby but neat. Peppino washed them himself, and kept them mended.

Adolorata stared at him angrily. In part, she was angry with herself. Her carefully crafted wish had exhausted her desires. She didn't know what to wish for next, but she wanted to keep the wish for herself. She looked around the kitchen, and found a rag to stuff in Peppino's mouth, and a long cloth to tie around his head. He watched her, but had no idea what she was up to. Perhaps she wanted to clean something? Several times he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He stuffed a roll in his mouth to keep from talking, but when she approached him, he forgot himself and washed the bolt of bread down his throat with a glass of wine.

"The house is beautiful, dear," he said. "You wished well."

"Be quiet!" she shouted. "I won't have you waste the last wish! You good-for-nothing! Do you know that you're the idiot of the village? Why can't you think for once? You should have told the fish that you wanted six wishes! Or given all three wishes to me! Wishes are wasted on you! All you want is a warm meal and a dry bed!"

"... and a little peace," he added, wistfully.

"You're soft!" she cried. "You're not even a real man! I'm the one who's always had to take the reins and make the decisions. Anyone can see! Our lives would have been so much better if I was the man, and you were the woman!"

"That's close enough to a wish," the magical fish told himself. He was a little tired of waiting, so Paff! Adolorata suddenly found herself wearing Peppino's clothes, and looking and sounding exactly like Peppino in every detail. And there, at the table, sat an adorably cute young woman, dressed in one of the clean new cotton dresses from the upstairs closet, and wearing a pair of the nice leather shoes that had been too small for Adolorata.

Peppino – or perhaps we should call her Peppina – leaped to her feet and stared down at her new body. She felt so light, so healthy, so new and clean and free! Adolorata – or rather, Adolorato – looked at himself in a mirror and filled with rage! "I wish I was like before!" she shouted. "I wish that damn fish would choke! I wish I was the prettiest girl in the village! I wish... I wish..." but nothing happened. Nothing changed. It was too late. It was quite clear that all the wishes were gone.

"YOU!" Adolorato shouted at Peppina. "You wished for this, you swine! So you wanted to be a girl, did you? I'll show you, then, when I take a whip to your behind!"

Peppina had only been a girl for a few moments, but she quickly realized that the old fisherman was much stronger than she, and that her only hope was to run away. After a few turns around the table, she managed to dash out the front door, where some of the townsfolk happened to be passing by. They paused to see what all the noise was about. What they saw was a young, pretty girl being chased by Peppino, who was beside himself with rage.

The constable's son, a strong, good-looking boy, put his arms around the girl to protect her, while the others tried to calm the shouting fisherman. But there was no calming Adolorato. Between furious shouts and threats, he explained that the "girl" was actually Peppino, while he was Adolorata; that a magical fish had transformed them both and was now the ruin of her.

Of course, none of this made any sense to the townspeople, and Peppina wisely kept silent. One of the cagier fellows gave Adolorato a clout on the head when he wasn't looking, and they bound him with ropes and took him and Peppina before the judge.

The townspeople weren't stupid. They knew how to put two and two together, and it was clear what had happened: Peppino had killed Adolorata – you could hardly blame him, but murder is murder, even in a fairy tale. And then he'd taken a cute foreign bride – the poor thing couldn't speak a word of English! Obviously, the chest full of gold was her dowry. It was all just as plain as day – there could be no other explanation.

Some gossips maintained that Peppino had kidnapped the pretty young girl – why on earth would such a lovely, budding young thing marry such a decrepit old man? But more judicious minds cautioned against jumping to conclusions.

Peppina returned to live in her house by the sea. She liked her pretty new clothes and her neat little garden. Every day the constable's son came to give her English lessons. Somehow the lessons involved gazing into her eyes and holding her small, soft hands, and each day Peppina pretended to learn a few more words until, after a month or so, she could speak almost as well as any townsperson, but – as everyone said – she never lost her exotic accent.

Adolorato spent his remaining years at forced labor. He cursed the magical fish with every breath he took.

Eventually Peppina and the constable's son married. She bore him four beautiful children, two girls and two boys. And they all lived happily ever after.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

2. The Goose Girl
 

In a far-off kingdom, there lived an old queen, whose husband died many years past. She had a young and handsome son who was as good as gold. He was the apple of his mother's eye, but he knew not the ways of the world and the wickedness that hides in the heart.

Because the queen loved her son and knew her time was short, she arranged for him to marry a beautiful and accomplished princess who lived a great way off. She selected gifts and costly presents for the bride and her father, and prepared everything for the journey. The queen appointed a man-at-arms to accompany her son, and choose a good serviceable horse for the man. For the prince, she gave her own horse, a noble animal named Falada, who could speak as well as any man.

When the time came for the prince to depart, the queen took him into her chamber, and with a little knife cut her finger. She squeezed three drops of blood onto a piece of white linen, and gave it to her son, saying, "You know I am an enchantress, the daughter of an enchantress. If you were my daughter instead of my son, I could teach you my magic arts, but since you are a boy I can only give you this charm. As long as you keep it, no harm can befall you."

Then they took leave of each other, and many tears were shed by both son and mother.

The prince's man-at-arms was an artful knave named Puccio. Puccio's godmother was a witch, and she had also prepared him for the journey, but in quite a different way. She told him it was his fortune to have the same height and build as the prince, and that her arts would do the rest. The night before Puccio and the prince departed, the godmother gave Puccio a vial and instructions on its use.

After an hour's ride, the prince began to feel thirsty, and he asked Puccio, "Get down, and fill my cup with water from the brook; I have a great desire to drink."

"Get down yourself," Puccio replied, "and if you are thirsty stoop down and drink; I will not be your slave."

The prince had a humble soul, so he climbed down, put his face near the stream and drank. He had never been treated with disrespect before, and it confused him. He drew the linen with the three drops of blood from his sleeve, and dried his face with the edge of it. The three drops of blood softly sighed, "If your mother saw how poorly you are treated, it would break her loving heart."

But the prince said nothing. He tucked the linen back in his sleeve and mounted his horse again. They rode several miles farther. The day was warm and the sun was hot, so the prince grew thirsty again. When they came upon a stream, he called again to Puccio, "Get down, and get me a drink in my golden cup." He was a good soul, and forgot what had happened earlier. But Puccio spoke more scornfully than before and said, "If you want a drink, get it yourself; I am not going to be your slave."

The prince came down from his horse, and without thinking drew the linen from his sleeve. He was offended and distracted by Puccio's insolence, but he knew not how to call the knave to heel. "Beware! Beware!" the three drops of blood called softly to him, but in his distress he did not hear. As he made his way to the stream, he slipped and lost the piece of linen. Puccio rejoiced in his heart as he saw it drift away in the water. He knew that now he would have power over the prince, and it was time to put his godmother's plan to work.

"My Lord," the false knave said, as he came down from his horse. "Forgive my insolence. I should have known my place. If it please you, sit upon this rock and take your ease while I fetch you a drink."

Relieved, the prince sat down and rested. Puccio took the golden cup, wiped it inside and out with a clean white cloth, and filled it at the stream. Out of the prince's sight, Puccio opened the vial and emptied its contents into the cup.

"Drink, my Lord," Puccio said. "And I shall fetch you another."

The prince smiled and drained the cup at once. He handed it to Puccio, who washed it in the stream and filled it again. The prince drained the second glass and felt a strange sensation pass over him. Puccio took the cup before it fell from the prince's hands.

If anyone had been nearby to witness what happened next, they would not have believed their eyes. The prince felt as if his clothes were growing larger. His hat fell over his eyes, but before he could lift it, Puccio, laughing, snatched it off his head.

"You're wearing my clothes," he said roughly. "Take them off." And the prince's man-at-arms opened a bag on his pack horse and drew out the clothes of a servant girl. "These are your clothes," he said.

The prince looked at himself, and was astonished by what he saw. He was shorter by several inches, and his shoulders were narrower. In place of the manly chest and arms he possessed just that morning, were delicate arms, small white hands, and a beautiful pair of snow white breasts. His hair was long and full of curls, and he could feel that his nose and face were finer and more delicate. Puccio forced him at swordpoint to disrobe, and both were struck by the former prince's beauty.

"It's a pity we have to rush," Puccio leered. "But my new bride awaits."

The former prince dressed in the garb of a servant girl. Puccio told her, "I am now the prince. Your name is Mariella. You are a servant girl. If you speak of any of this to anyone, it will cost you your life." And he made her swear an oath before heaven. Then he lifted Mariella on his old horse, while he mounted Falada, who had witnessed everything, but held his tongue.

They traveled onward, faster than before, and while the false prince spent his nights at comfortable inns, Mariella's bed was in the stable with the horses.

In a few days they reached the royal castle. There was great joy at their coming, and Mariella gazed with great curiosity at the princess who would have been his bride. As Puccio climbed the stairs, Mariella remained below, with her lovely hand on Falada's neck. The King looked down and noticed how delicate, gentle, and beautiful the servant girl was, and asked the seeming bridegroom who she was and why she was standing in the courtyard.

"Oh," Puccio answered carelessly, "She is a foolish girl who is a constant vexation to my mother. I brought her so she could chatter along the way. Could you give her something to do? When she is idle, she gets into all sorts of mischief."

The King was a little puzzled and not much pleased by this, but for his daughter's sake he put a good face on it.

Then he thought: ''What to do with the girl?'' He really had no work for her, until he remembered the boy who took care of the geese. She could help him! And so the real prince, now a girl named Mariella, was sent to keep geese with the goose boy, who was called Conrad.

Soon after, the false prince, Puccio, asked the King, "Could you do me a favor?"

"With all my heart, my son."

"Could you call the knacker, so he can slaughter the horse I came here upon? He was no end of trouble on the journey, and I can't bear to look upon him." He was afraid that Falada might tell someone what he had done to the prince.

When the order was given for Falada to die, Mariella heard of it, and promised the knacker a piece of gold if he would hang Falada's head near the city gate where she could see it when she passed by. So the man promised, and so the man did, and he nailed Falada's head in a shadow near the gate.

Early next morning as she and Conrad drove their geese through the gate, she said as she went by, "O Falada, are you there?"

And the head answered,

"If your mother knew of your sorry plight,
Her heart would break 'til she set it right."

When she and Conrad brought the geese to the meadow, Mariella sat down and undid her hair so she could comb it out. In the sun, her long blonde hair shone like spun gold.

You can imagine how excited Conrad was to have such a beautiful assistant, and when he saw how her hair glistened, he longed to snatch a lock of it for himself. But Mariella felt some of her mother's magic come to her, and she cried,

"Wind, blow Conrad's hat away,
I with my golden hair must play."

A breeze came up and took Conrad's hat far across the fields, so he had to chase after it. Each time he got close enough to pick it up, the hat would roll or fly from him. By the time he came back, Mariella had put up her hair with combs and pins, and he could not pluck himself a lock of it. He was sulky and would not speak to her, but they looked after the geese together until the evening came, and then they went home.

The next morning, as they passed under the dark gateway, Mariella called,

"O Falada, are you there?"

And the head answered,

"If your mother knew of your sorry plight,
Her heart would break 'til she set it right."

And when they reached the fields she sat down and began to comb out her hair again. When Conrad came to seize a lock, she cried,

"Wind, blow Conrad's hat away,
I with my golden hair must play."

Then the breeze came and took Conrad's hat and made him run after it. When he came back, her hair was put up, and again he lost his chance of seizing a lock. They tended the geese in silence until the evening.

After they returned home, Conrad went to the King and said, "I will not tend the geese with that girl any longer!"

"Why not?" asked the King.

"Because she vexes me the whole day long," answered Conrad. The King ordered him to tell how it was.

"Every morning," said Conrad, "as we pass under the gateway with the geese, there is an old horse's head hanging on the wall, and she says to it,

O Falada, are you there?

And the head answers,

If your mother knew of your sorry plight,
Her heart would break 'til she set it right.

And then Conrad told the King how she made him run after his hat.

The King told him to go to drive the geese next morning as usual. He stood deep in the shadows near the gate and heard how the maiden spoke to Falada. Then he followed them into the fields, and hid behind a bush; he watched the goose boy and the goose girl tend the geese. After a while he saw the girl let her hair all loose, and he marveled at how it gleamed and shone. Soon she said,

"Wind, blow Conrad's hat away,
I with my golden hair must play."

And just as he had been told, a gust of wind carried off Conrad's hat. The boy ran after it while the maiden combed and put up her hair. The King saw everything, and he went away without their seeing him.

When the goose girl returned that night, he asked her why she did these things.

"I dare not tell you," she answered, "nor can I tell any man of my woe, for when I was in danger of my life I swore an oath not to reveal it." And he pressed her hard, and left her no peace, but she told him nothing.

At last the King said, "If you won't tell me, you can make this iron oven your confessional. No one will hear you there." And he pretended to leave. She crept inside the old oven and began to weep and groan, and it broke the King's heart to hear the girl cry. At last she opened her heart and said,

"Here I am forsaken of all the world! I, who was the son of a King, bewitched by my man-at-arms and turned into a girl! Forced to give up my clothes, my manhood, my birthright, and my bride! Now I am nothing but a goose girl. Born a prince, I will die a servant. If my mother knew, it would break her heart."

Now the King was standing outside by the oven door listening, and he heard all she said. As strange as her story was, he believed it. He did not like Puccio, and found it strange from the start that he had traveled alone with such a lovely girl.

He called her, and told her to come out of the oven. He had the castle's waiting women bathe her and dress her in royal garments, and everyone was astonished to see how beautiful she was.

The King then called his daughter and explained that Puccio was not her true bridegroom. He told her the goose girl's story, and the Princess' heart was moved. In her heart she was glad because she had no love for Puccio.

A great feast was prepared, and all the court was invited. The King sat Mariella at his side. Puccio did not recognize her, because he was dazzled by her beauty. After everyone had eaten and drunk and were merry, the King spoke to Puccio about a man who had betrayed his master and taken his place.

The King asked him, "What would such a one deserve?"

"He should be flogged in the public square," Puccio promply replied, "and then beheaded."

"You have spoken your own doom," the King told him. "As you have said, so shall it be done," and the sentence was carried out the very next day.

The Princess married a handsome noble from a nearby kingdom, and Mariella returned home to her mother. After a few short months, the King, who was unable to forget the beautiful goose girl, came to court her and make her his queen.

She returned his love. Soon they married, and lived happily ever after.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

3. Little Parsley

 

Long ago and far away, there lived a woman named Pascadozia, who was pregnant. One day she looked out her window into her neighbor's garden and saw a pretty patch of parsley. As soon as she saw it, she craved it. She just had to eat some, but her neighbor, who was a witch, was not at home. Since she couldn't ask and couldn't wait, Pascadozia took a little knife and snuck into the witch's garden.

Once there, she grabbed a handful of parsley and cut it from the plant. Her craving was so strong that she crammed the herb into her mouth and ate it right then and there. The taste was strong and even disagreeable, but she ate it all the same. Then she cut another handful for later and returned to her house.

The next morning Pascadozia felt the wild craving again. The witch was still away, so Pascadozia returned to the garden, where she ate another handful, and took a handful away. She did the same on the third day, and a fourth. She would have eaten the parsley plants right to the ground if the witch hadn't returned one day to catch her in the act!

"Look at you! You're nothing but a thief! Don't you know any better than to steal from others? Grow your own parsley! What else of mine have you taken?"

Pascadozia was frightened, because the witch was very powerful. Still she tried to defend herself by explaining that because she was pregnant, she craved the herb. "If I didn't eat the food I craved, my child would be covered with parsley-shaped birthmarks!"

Her words didn't move the witch's heart at all. "Your foolish prattle won't save you!" The witch cried out. "You've stolen from me – it's plain and simple, and you must pay! I will cut your throat here and now in my parsley bed!" and she reached for Pascadozia's knife.

"Mercy!" Pascadozia cried, "Mercy! Think of my child!"

The witch hesitated. Long had she wished for a child of her own, so she said to Pascadozia, "Very well, then. If you want to live, there are two things you must do."

"Anything!" Pascadozia cried.

"First, you must name your child Parsley when she is born, and second, you must give the girl to me!"

Pascadozia was so frightened, she would have promised anything, and she made her bargain with the witch.

When her husband was told, he too was frightened, but he said to his wife, "Who knows? If the baby is a boy, she might not want to take him."

The couple nourished that one small hope, but when the time arrived for the baby to come to light, she was a lovely little girl with a tiny parsley-shaped birthmark on her breast. True to half her promise, the mother named the girl Parsley.

The couple loved their child, as all good parents do, and they waited in fear each day, lest the witch come to claim the baby as her own. The first day, the witch did not come. Nor did she come on the second or the third day. The days rolled into weeks, the weeks into months, and so on and so on, and still the witch did not come.

The parents began to hope – and even believe – that the witch had forgotten or relented, or – better still – was lying dead in a far-off land.

The truth was, the witch had not forgotten at all. All her life, she wanted a daughter. Not a day went by that she didn't think of Little Parsley.

In spite of that, in the first years she told herself, "I can live without changing all those diapers! And I need my beauty sleep... Best to let her family handle that!"

Then, when the time of diapers was past, the witch thought, "Breast feeding? I'd go mad. Besides, I don't have the energy to run after a toddler all day long. Best to let her family handle that!"

Each day the witch's crow came to spy on Little Parsley and her family, and when the girl had grown to be a lovely young woman, the witch sent her crow with this message:

"Tomorrow at dawn my mistress will come and claim Little Parsley for her own!"

Then the crow took off cackling, but it did not fly away. It quietly returned and perched above the window to hear how the family had taken the news.

First, Little Parsley's parents had to explain the whole business of the bargain with the witch, and the poor girl took it very hard. However, a young boy of the village, who loved Parsley with all his heart, happened to be there, and he had an idea.

"The witch is looking for a young girl, but as you say, she has never seen Little Parsley. For all she knows, a boy was born. Tomorrow morning we must hide her in my family's house, and I will pretend to be your child. When I tell the witch that I am Parsley, she may give up her cruel bargain!"

The witch was much amused when the crow gave her this news. "What a brave young boy!" she cried. "I have to make him a special gift." And humming to herself, she fiddled with her herbs and enchantments, looking forward to what the dawn would bring.

Sure enough, before the sun could peek over the distant hills and light the earth, Little Parsley was snug in a root cellar beneath the young man's home. The brave boy sat at table with Little Parsley's parents, who quaked with fear, not knowing what the witch would do.

At last, when the sun was well up, and the air began to warm, the witch came knocking at the door. She entered smiling, but when she saw the boy, she scowled. "Where is Little Parsley?" she demanded.

The boy stood. "I am Parsley," he told her, lifting his chin high. "And I am ready to go with you." Of course, he did not want to go with her at all, but his brave heart told him to speak this way.

The witch pretended to be angry and disappointed. She muttered, "But Little Parsley was supposed to be born a girl!" She shook her head. The parents sat in silence, not daring to speak. The young man stood his ground, determined, and hopeful that his strategem had worked.

"I won't take a boy," the witch said at last, and turned as if to go. The little family's hearts lifted, but the witch paused at the door, and turned to look at the boy.

"Catch!" she called, and tossed him a sachet of herbs and secrets. Without thinking, he clutched it, and as soon as his hands closed over the tiny bundle, green tendrils broke through the bag and wrapped around his wrists. The bag swelled and burst, and a beautiful violet flower, the most beautiful any of them had ever seen, grew in the boy's hands. As fast as you could tell it, green leaves sprouted around the flower, and smaller blossoms opened in their midst. The strange blooms filled the house with a new scent that quickened their hearts. With open mouths, the parents and the boy beheld the strange display, until quite suddenly it stopped. The flowers ceased to grow, and the boy slipped the tendrils off his hands. He hardly knew what to think.

As he pushed the flowery vine off his hands, he was surprised by how clean and white his hands had become. Not only that, but his hands were now slimmer and smaller, much like his beloved Parsley's hands. In fact, to make a long story short, he looked down to see a pretty pair of feet, a neat pair of ankles, and a new cotton dress with a floral motif. Above his slim waist were two lovely breasts, one with a tiny parsley-shaped birthmark!

"Now you'll be my Little Parsley!" the witch laughed, and swept the astonished youth away with her.

For a moment, the couple was too stunned to speak, but then they ran with desperate haste to the root cellar where Little Parsley was hidden. They didn't know whether the witch had taken the boy-changed-to-Parsley or Little Parsley herself. When they found their daughter alive and whole, they wept upon her and held her close. The boy's family knew that their son had sacrificed himself to the witch, and they bore it as best they could. At least they knew he was still alive, though Little Parsley's parents never told a soul the change that had befallen him.
 

---

 

You may well believe that the boy was astonished to find himself a girl – and not just any girl, but a copy of Little Parsley herself! Ever since he could remember, he longed to be close to the girl, and now he need only look in a mirror to find her.

More surprising than this, though, was the witch. Yes, she was a witch, but not an old and ugly hunchbacked hag. She was a tall, beautiful creature, with long dark hair and perfect teeth. If her powers were not so frightening and her temper so fierce, she would have had suitors from all corners of the earth. But she cared nothing for that.

Back when the new Parsley was still a boy, he heard many terrible stories about this witch – of people she'd killed, of terrors she'd inflicted. She repaid any offense ten or a hundredfold.

In spite of this, the witch, whose name was Gothel, was very sweet with her Little Parsley. She brought her to a neat little house on the edge of a wood. The house was clean and light, and full of comfort. Gothel treated her Parsley like a true daughter. She spoke kindly to her, and combed and braided her hair each night. She taught her how to cook, clean, spin, and sew, and was patient when Parsley, who had not been a girl for very long, was slow to learn.

Even though our Parsley was horrified (at first) by his metamorphosis, he never once asked the witch to change him back. He told himself to give it a try, and soon he liked it so well, that he would have felt ill-used if the witch turned him back to boy again.

When winter came, Gothel taught the girl to play the spinnet, and they sang songs together to pass the long dark nights.

Soon, Parsley came to love the witch, and was happy with her new life, even if she was a little lonely.

In the spring, the flowers appeared, the birds began to sing, and the witch and her daughter started to tend their garden. One warm afternoon, as the witch was washing the dirt from her hands, she realized that a year had passed, and she began to get a little tired of playing house. Even if her Little Parsley was sweet as sweet can be... even if she was pretty, obedient, modest, and all the things she hoped her little girl would be – she was, after all, just a little girl. The witch was getting bored.

Soon Gothel was not so patient. She chastised Little Parsley for her endless prattle. She criticized her forgetfulness. The witch began speaking harshly to the girl, and sometimes struck her.

Parsley was confused, and tried her best to mend her ways. When she was a boy, she'd been so brave – always willing to fight, or at least to stand his ground. Had she lost that lion heart? Or was it better to try to please the witch? After all, Gothel was far more powerful than Little Parsley had ever been or ever would be.

Yet, despite the girl's efforts and goodwill, there was no pleasing the witch, and Gothel's words grew harsher and more frightening. Her blows became heavier and more frequent. She wanted to be rid of the girl, and said to herself, The next time she vexes me, she will die!

One day, the witch handed Little Parsley a wicker basket and told her, "Take this basket, go to the well, and bring it back to me filled with water. If you don't, I will kill you."

Trembling with fear, the girl lowered the basket into the well again and again, but each time she drew it up, the water came streaming out. At last, she broke down in desperation.

Then suddenly she heard a soft voice say, "Little Parsley, why are you crying?"

Turning, she saw a handsome youth, who looked kindly at her, as if he were sorry for her trouble.

"Who are you?" she asked, "and how do you know my name?"

"I'm Bensiabel, the witch's son. I know she wants to kill you, but I promise you that she shall not. I can fill your basket for you, if you give me a kiss."

"No," Little Parsley replied. "I'd rather die than kiss a witch's son."

He sighed in disappointment, but told her, "Give me your basket anyway." He dipped it in the well, and the water stayed in it.

When she brought it to the witch, Gothel grew angry and cried, "Bensiabel must have helped you!" but Little Parsley looked down and said nothing.

"We shall see who will win in the end!" the witch warned her.

The next day, Gothel tossed the girl a sack of wheat. "I'm going out for a hour. By the time I return, I expect you to make that wheat into bread. If you don't, I'll kill you." She left the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

Poor Little Parsley didn't know what to do. If the wheat were already ground into flour, she would be hard pressed to bake bread in time, but how could she even begin to mill the grains? Still, she had to try, and with a mortar and pestle set to work on the wheat. As she struggled, the time flew, and again she broke down at the hopelessness of the task. She was roused from her despair by Bensiabel's voice at her side.

"Little Parsley, don't cry like that. If you give me a kiss, I'll make the bread for you, and you'll be saved."

"I will not kiss a witch's son," the girl replied, but he took the wheat from her anyway. He ground it, made the dough, and put it in the oven so that when Gothel returned, the loaves were ready.

The witch was furious. "Bensiabel must have helped you!" she exclaimed, but Little Parsley looked down and said nothing.

"We shall see who wins in the end!" the witch warned her.

"I'm too soft on this girl," the witch told herself. "Time was, I could have cut her down without a second thought." She shook her head. "I'm not the woman I used to be." So the next day she called the girl and told her, "Go to my sister, who lives on the side of the mountain. She will give you a little casket, which you must bring back to me." She said this because she knew that her sister, who was more cruel and wicked than herself, would never let the girl return.

But Little Parsley, who knew nothing of this, was glad of the change, and enjoyed her walk through wood and mountain.

On the way she thought of Bensiabel. She could not deny that the first time she saw him, something stirred within her. But could she trust him? Gothel herself had started out with kindness, and now she sought to kill her. Was Bensiabel the same? And yet...

He is a good-looking young man, she told herself. If I were a girl... Here Little Parsley stopped herself, for she remembered that she was a girl, but she didn't want to draw the conclusion.

When she was about halfway there, she met Bensiabel, who had set out a little picnic for her in a pretty field in the foothills. She sat with him and rested, and they ate and drank together.

"Where are you going, Little Parsley?" he asked.

"I am going to visit your aunt," she said. "I have to fetch a casket."

"Oh, poor girl!" he cried. "You're being sent straight to your death. Give me a kiss, and I will save you."

"I will not kiss a witch's son," she replied, but she blushed a little as she said it.

He sighed and said, "Nevertheless, I will save your life, for I love you more than I love myself."

At that, she blushed even more, and it made him smile. He gave her a bottle of oil, a loaf of bread, a piece of rope, and a broom. "When you get to my aunt's house," he said, "oil the hinges of the door, and throw the bread to the great fierce mastiff who will come running to meet you. When you enter the courtyard, you'll see a miserable old woman by the well. Give her the rope. Go in through the kitchen, and you'll find another, even more miserable woman. Give her the broom.

"In the kitchen, on top of a green cupboard, you'll see the little casket. Take it as quickly as you can and run from the house without a moment's delay. Unless you do exactly as I've said, you'll be killed."

Little Parsley had listened carefully, and when she reached the witch's house, she oiled the hinges of the door. She threw the bread to the fierce dog, who wagged his tail and gobbled down the loaf.

In the courtyard she met a miserable woman who was trying to draw water from the well in a bucket tied to her own hair. Little Parsley handed the poor thing the piece of rope.

In the kitchen she saw an older, even more miserable woman. This one was cleaning the hearth with her tongue. Horrified, Parsley gave her the broom.

Then she seized the little casket and ran off the way she'd come.

The witch called to the woman in the kitchen, "Strike that girl down!" But the old woman replied, "No, for she gave me a broom, while you made me clean the hearth with my tongue."

Then the witch called to the woman at the well, "Take the girl, and hurl her down the well! Drown her!" But the woman answered, "No, for she gave me this rope, while you made me use my own hair to let down the bucket."

Then the witch called the dog to bite the girl and hold her fast, but the dog answered, "No, for she gave me a loaf of bread, while you let me starve from hunger."

The witch was so angry, she nearly choked as she called out, "Door, bang shut on that nasty girl, and hold her prisoner!" But the door answered, "No, for she oiled my hinges so they move quite easily, while you left them all rough and rusty."

And so Little Parsley escaped, and you can well believe that Gothel was angry and surprised to see the girl stand before her, looking more beautiful than ever, with the little casket under her arm.

The witch's eyes flashed, and in a fit of fury she asked the girl, "Did you meet Bensiabel on the way?" But Little Parsley look down and said nothing.

"We shall see who will win in the end," the witch told her. "Listen to me well: there are three roosters in the hen house. One is yellow, one black, and one white. If one of them crows during the night, you must tell me which one it is. Woe to you if you make a mistake. Your life will be over in that instant."

That night Bensiabel hid outside her window. At midnight, Little Parsley woke to hear a cock crow.

"Which one was that?" shouted the witch.

Little Parsley whispered, "Bensiabel, Bensiabel, tell me, which cock crowed?"

"Will you kiss me if I tell you?" he whispered back.

But she answered "No."

He whispered back to her, "I'll tell you anyway. It was the yellow one. Did I ever tell you what a sweet whisper you have?"

Little Parsley, blushing in the darkness, called out, "It was the yellow one."

The witch noticed how long it took for Little Parsley to reply, and she was sure she knew the reason why. Soon after, another cock crowed. "Tell me now which one it is!" Gothel demanded.

After a short pause, the girl called, "The black one."

Now the witch had had quite enough of Bensiabel's interference, and she wanted to have done with Little Parsley. So she stood outside the girl's door, and the next time a cock crowed, she demanded, "Which one was that?" Listening closely, she heard the girl whisper to her son.

Bensiabel hesitated a moment. The scene seemed irresistably romantic to him – the moon, the window, the night, the girl – and he thought it might be the moment to ask again for a kiss. But his mood was broken when he heard the girl screaming from inside her room, "Bensiabel! Bensiabel, save me! The witch is coming! She's coming for me!"

With a bound, Bensiabel leapt into the room and threw himself against the monster. He pushed her back with such force that she stumbled. Falling headlong, she dropped down dead at the bottom of the stairs.

At last, Little Parsley could resist no longer. She flew into her savior's arms and covered him with kisses. She became his wife, and they lived happily ever after.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

4. Kate Crackernuts

 

Like so many stories, this one begins with a king and queen. The queen had a son named William, and the king had a son named James. William was taller, stronger, and more handsome, while James was clever and resourceful. The two boys loved each other like brothers, and between the strength of one and the cunning of the other, no one could get the better of them.

Unfortunately, the queen was jealous of James. As you can well imagine, she wanted her own son, William, to be king one day. Of course, she believed he was better suited to wear the crown. However, James was the king's son, and everyone — except the queen — expected that James would take the throne and William would marry abroad.

The boys themselves thought so; the only difficulty they saw in the arrangement was that one day they'd be obliged to live apart.

And yet, the queen could not rest until she found a way to put her own son first. In time, she took counsel with the henwife, a bitter old woman who knew her share of spells and potions. The hag lay her finger alongside her nose and told the queen, "My mistress, if you send that troublesome boy, the king's son, to me early tomorrow morning, I'll settle his business to your satisfaction."

"Can you?" asked the queen. "Are you sure?"

"Count upon it, mistress," replied the old biddy. "Make sure that the boy comes to me fasting. Don't let a single morsel pass his lips."

And so, early the next day, the queen said to James, "Oh, how I long for a new-laid egg. Would you go to the henwife in the glen and ask her for some?" The lad willingly agreed, happy to do the queen's pleasure. He went out through the kitchen, and spying the crust-end of a loaf, he took it with him and munched it along the way.

When he arrived at the henwife's shack, he asked if she had any new-laid eggs. The biddy winked and said, "Lift the lid off that pot there and tell me what you see."

The lad did so, but nothing happened. "There's no eggs in here," he told her.

"Hmmph!" the woman snorted. "Go home and tell your minnie she needs a better lock on her larder." (In the old days minnie was what a child called its mother.)

James returned empty-handed and gave the henwife's strange message to the queen. The queen understood that the lad had eaten something, so she watched more carefully the next morning, and sent him away with an empty stomach. But James saw some farm folk picking peas by the roadside. He stopped and chatted with them a while, took a handful of peas, and popped them in his mouth along the way.

When he came to the henwife's and asked for the eggs, she told him, "Lift the lid off that pot there and tell me what you see."

Again, James lifted the lid off the pot, but nothing happened. Again he told her, "No eggs in here!"

The henwife grew quite angry and said to the lad, "Tell your minnie that the pot won't boil if the fire's away!" So James went home and told the queen.

He also told William of all these goings-on, for the two had no secrets, and James was right puzzled by the henwife's anger. Neither of the lads could make heads or tails of it, so William decided to see for himself. Early the next morning he went and hid in the wood near the henwife's house.

The queen had had enough of these shenanigans, and the third day she accompanied James. This time, when he lifted the lid off the pot, with a paff! and a puff of smoke he changed from a handsome young man to a lovely young girl.

For the first time in his life, he was speechless. While he stood gaping, the queen laughed and said, "Now you're set, aren't you, my pretty young lady!" Then, still laughing, the queen took her leave, quite satisfied that her own son, William, would be the next king.

The whole time, William had been watching the henwife's house. He saw James and his mother enter together, but his mother left the house alone. In fact, James was still inside, struggling with his cumbersome garments and shuffling in his oversized boots while the henwife laughed six to the dozen.

William drew his sword and burst inside. The henwife was frightened, but she was not unprepared. When the lad shouted, "What have you done with James?" the henwife pointed to a trunk that lay beside the hearth. William threw the thing open. The moment he did, with a paff! and a puff of smoke, his own head vanished, and on jumped a sheep's head in its place.

William tried to speak, but all he could do was bleat and baah, so he held his tongue. He thought to himself, She saw fit to take *my* head, it's only fair that I take hers! and with a single stroke he severed the hag's head from her body.

Then he turned to the beautiful girl before him. James explained as best he could, while William carried on with grunts and signs.

They turned the cottage upside down, but though they found no remedy for their ills, they did find a dress and a pair of boots for the girl. They packed up what food and supplies were at hand, and off they went to seek their fortune together.

They traveled on and on, farther and farther from home, and no one ever did them a bit of harm, for if William was manly before, with his new head he looked a proper monster. People everywhere marvelled that the girl, who now called herself Kate, could travel with such a beast, and that she spoke so kindly and so well.

Wherever they went, folk were frightened to see them come, and sorry to see them leave.

They had many adventures and did no good person harm, and yet they found no place where their hearts felt at home.

They traveled on and on and on, until at last they came upon a castle.

Kate knocked at the door and asked for a night's lodging. They entered and found that the castle had a king. The king had a son and daughter, but the son was sick nigh unto death. No one could discover what ailed him. But the most curious thing was that whoever watched him at night was never seen again. The king offered a peck of silver to anyone who could stay with his sun until morning. Katie was a very brave girl, so she offered to stay.

Until midnight, all went well. As the twelfth stroke rang, however, the sick prince rose, dressed himself, and slipped downstairs. Kate followed, but he didn't seem to notice. The prince went to the stable, saddled his horse, called his hound, and jumped into the saddle. Kate lept up lightly behind him.

Away rode the prince with Kate through the greenwood. As they passed, Kate plucked nuts from the trees and filled her apron with them. They rode on and on until they came to a green hill. The prince drew up and said, "Open, open, green hill, and let the young prince in with his horse and his hound." Kate quickly added, "And his lady."

Immediately the green hill opened and they passed in. The prince entered a magnificent hall, brightly lighted up. Many beautiful fairies came forward. They surrounded the prince and led him off to dance. In the meanwhile, Kate slipped quietly from the horse and hid behind the door before anyone had seen her. From there she watched the prince dance and dance and dance, until he could dance no more and fell upon a couch. Then the fairies would fan him and wipe his brow until he would rise again and go on dancing.

At last the cock crowed, and the prince made all haste to get back on his horse. Kate jumped up behind him, and home they rode. When the morning sun rose, the king and the others came and found Kate, sitting by the fire cracking nuts. She told them that the prince had had a good night, but she would not sit a second night for less than a peck of gold.

The second night ran much the same as the first. The prince got up at midnight and rode off to the green hill and the fairy ball, and Kate went with him, gathering nuts as they rode through the forest. This time she did not watch the prince, for she knew that he would dance and dance. Instead she looked around the hall, and what did she see but a fairy baby playing with a stick. She heard another fairy say, "Look you now! The baby's gotten hold of a magic wand!"

A second fairy asked, "And what does that one do?"

The first replied, "Three strokes of that stick cures the sheep's head spell."

When the fairies moved on, Kate rolled nuts to the baby. She rolled the nuts and rolled them until the baby dropped the wand and grabbed at the nuts. Katie took the wand and tucked it in her apron.

At cockcrow they rode home as before, but this time, Kate held her hand over the prince's heart, and rested her head against his back.

The moment she got home, Kate rushed to touch William three times with the wand. The ugly sheep's head fell away, and William was his handsome self again.

The king came in to see his son and was astonished to find Kate still alive, cracking nuts by the fire as before. The prince looked at her and smiled. When the king asked if she would sit for yet another night, she agreed, but only if she could marry the prince.

That night, it all went on as before, but this time the fairy baby was playing with a little feathered thing. "What's that baby holding now?" one fairy asked. A second replied, "Ah, that wee small birdie? If the prince were to eat three bites of that thing, he'd be as well as he ever was, and better."

When the fairies moved on, Kate rolled her nuts to the baby, one by one, and this time she had to roll them all before the baby finally dropped the wee small birdie. Katie tucked the thing into her apron.

At cockcrow they set off home again, but this time instead of cracking nuts as she used to, Kate plucked the feathers off and cooked the little bird. Soon arose a very savory smell. "Oh!" the sick prince said, "I wish I had a bite of that birdie!" So Kate give him a bite, and he rose up on his elbow. By and by, he licked his lips and said, "Could I have another bite of that birdie?" She gave him another bite, and he sat up in his bed. Then he said, "Is any of that birdie left?" She gave him the third bite, and he stood up, feeling quite well. He dressed himself, and sat down by the fire with her.

When the king and the others came that morning, they found Kate and the prince cracking nuts by the fire together.

In the meantime, the prince's sister had fallen deeply in love with William and he with her.

So the son who used to be sick married the girl who used to be a boy, while his sister married the one who used to wear a sheep's head, and they all lived happy and died happy, the way people do in fairy tales.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

5. The Grey Horse
 

In the Scottish Highlands there lived a poor widow and her three children. The youngest was a handsome boy, and the older two were girls. Her daughters were fair to look upon, and indeed the young men admired them greatly; but as they had no dowry, they had little hope of marriage. All the widow possessed on earth was her cottage and a garden full of kale, which was the family's principal food. Then one morning a big grey horse came and fed upon the kale. Morning after morning he arrived, and try what they would, the horse came and went as he pleased.

One day the eldest daughter said, "Well, indeed, mother, we must do something to keep this beast from eating all our kale! Let's see how we fare tomorrow morning, when I take my spinning wheel outside. I'll sit by the garden, and if the sound doesn't keep him off, I'll do what I can to drive him away."

"Sure but you're a brave lassie," the widow said. "When he comes, give him a clout with your distaff, and mayhap he'll think the better of coming here again."

The next morning, the horse arrived as usual, and there was the eldest daughter spinning in the midst of the kale. Up she got in a fine rage, and taking her distaff, she gave the horse one fine crack! But och! och! when she did, it was she who was frightened, for the distaff stuck to the horse, and her hand to the distaff, and away went the horse and she with him.

The horse stopped before a rock wall, and the wall had a cleft. The horse stamped three times and shouted, "Open for the son of the King!" The cleft opened and he and the girl passed inside. But inside wasn't a cave or a hole — it was a palace, and a lovely one at that. The girl found warm water to wash her feet, a soft bed to lie upon, and beautiful clothes to wear.

In the morning the grey horse came to her and said, "Today I am going hunting. See that you prepare a good dinner for me. Here are all the keys of this palace. You may open every door of every room — all but the one that opens with the little key. Swear to me that you will not open it. Swear upon your life."

She promised she would leave that room alone, and the grey horse said, "Remember your promise, and if you are a good girl while I am away, I will marry you before very long," and off he cantered.

The girl went into the grandest kitchen she had ever seen, and prepared a fine dinner. And then she thought she would see what the palace was like, so she opened room after room, and each seemed more magnificent than the last.

Then, of course, she began to think about the forbidden room. "What could be in it? If I take just the smallest peep, who will be the wiser, and where could be the harm?" So she turned the key and opened the door a little way. But what she saw put the fear on her so she fell to her hands and knees, and once she had the strength to stand, her hands were bloody all over! For the room was full of poor dead ladies — a fearsome sight indeed it was.

She tried to wash the blood off her hands, but could not get the stains out. "Oh dear, oh dear!" she sobbed in terror, "What am I to do?"

Then came a wee little cat to her feet, and it says, "Give me a plate of milk — even a little drop — and I will lick the hands of you until they are clean."

But the girl said, "If warm water won't take out the stains, is it likely that a cat's tongue will? Shoo! Scat! Off with you, you ugly little beast!"

As she spoke, home came the grey horse himself, all pleased with his hunting, and asked for his food. As he ate he said, "Well, were you a good woman today?"

"Oh, yes, I think so," was her reply.

"Let me see your hands and I will know if you speak true," says he. She opened her clenched hands, and there was the blood on them!

"Oho!" he said to the terrified girl, "So that is the way of it!"

He took an axe and chopped her head clean off, threw her into the forbidden room — and went back to finish his meal.

Next morning, the grey horse was feeding on the widow's kale, and the second daughter says to her mother, "Well, mother, I am going out this morning to see if I cannot drive that beast from among our precious kale."

And the widow said, "That's you for a brave lassie!"

Out the second daughter went. She took with her a seam she was sewing, and right to the horse she went, and stabbed him with her needle! But could she pull it away again? No, och! och! Nor the hand that held the needle! And away the horse went, and the girl with him, to the rock wall with the cleft.

He stamped his hoof as before and shouted, "Open, for the son of the King!" and the cleft opened, and in they went. And everything happened as it had before.

Next morning, the grey horse gave the widow's second daughter the keys of the palace, warning her on her life not to use the smallest key. And telling her to have a fine dinner ready for him when he returned, he went away.

Once the dinner was ready, she went opening up the rooms of the palace and admiring all the beautiful things in them. After seeing all there was to see, she looked again and again at the little key of the forbidden room, until she could no longer resist the temptation to peep into it, and gently she opened the door.

What she saw made her let out a scream, for there was her sister, lying atop a heap of poor, dead ladies! The fright made her fall on her hands and knees, and when she rose up, one of her hands was all over blood. She ran for warm water and scrubbed it and scrubbed, but it would not come clean. A terror came upon her.

Then came the wee little cat, saying as before, "I will lick your hand as clean as ever for a plate of milk."

But the girl replied, "Ugly little beast, be off with you! If the warm water canna cleanse my hand, is it likely that your tongue can? Shoo!"

"Well, then, see what happens when himself comes home!" said the cat, and it sat down to lick itself.

Then came the horse, galloping home, and he called for his dinner. When it was set before him, he asked the second daughter, "Well, were you a good woman today?"

"That I was," says she, shivering all the same.

"Let me see your hands," he said, "and I will know."

She spread her clean hand open over the stained one, but he pulled out the other hand from below. When he saw the stains, he cried, "Oho! So that is the way of it!" And he took his axe, chopped off her head, and threw her into the chamber beside her sister.

Next morning, the widow's son saw the grey horse back again among the kale. He'd seen how it went with each of his sisters, so he ran outside, and struck the beast again and again with his hoe, but the hoe did the horse no harm, and neither did it stick. The horse, when he ate his fill, ran off, and the boy ran after, but the horse was faster and soon it was away.

Neither he nor his mother closed an eye that night for wondering what had happened to the girls. So the boy said to his mother, "Well, mother, I am going to find out where my sisters have gone. Tomorrow, come what may, I will go with the grey horse and look for them."

"That's you for a brave lad," says the widow, "but you're the last of my bairns, so mind you come back home to me."

And so the lad dressed in his sister's clothes and took up his sister's knitting and sat in the garden to wait for the horse to come. Truth be told, he made the fine figure of a lassie, sitting there as pretty as you please. Up came the horse, and the lad cried out, "Where are my sisters?" and he thrust the knitting needle into the horse's side. It stuck to the horse, and his hand to the knitting needle, and off they went to the rock wall with the cleft.

The horse stamped with his hoof and shouted, and the cleft opened, and everything happened to the lad as it happened to his sisters, whom he saw the next day, dead, in the forbidden chamber. The shock of it made him fall down, and his hands, like theirs, became stained with blood, and though he tried and tried to wash them, the stains would not disappear.

Then came the wee little cat, and offered to lick his hands clean in return for a drop of milk, but he did not speak harshly as his sisters had done. His answer was, "If you do as you promise and lick my hands clean, you'll be worth a good drink of milk. Come then, and I'll pour you some."

After the cat had lapped up the milk, it licked and licked the boy's hands until there was not a stain upon them.

So when the horse came home for dinner there was no fear in the boy's heart. And when the horse asked to see his hands and saw not one spot upon them, he was very pleased indeed and said, "Aha! You're not like your sisters. If you'll be good for a few more days, we will be married." For the horse didn't know that the girl was a boy. Not like his sisters, indeed!

The next day the horse went off again to hunt.

Then the little cat came and sat beside the boy and said, "See now, I can help you accomplish the wish of your heart, and show you how to marry the son of the King. In the treasure room of this castle there are many old chests. Take out three of them and clean them up. Then tell the grey horse that they can easily be spared, and that you would like him to carry them to your mother's house. And tell him that on no account should he look inside them, for you will see through the tree-tops and call out to him if he does.

"Now, above the door of the treasure room you will find a magic sword — you must take it down when the grey horse goes hunting tomorrow. Bring it to the forbidden room, wave it once over yourself, and once over each of your sisters, and they will come alive again. Then, put each sister in a chest, along with some jewels from the treasure room. Close the lids, and ask the grey horse to carry them, one at a time, to your mother. While he carries away the second chest, put yourself into the third, and take with you the magic sword, and he will carry you home.

"After this third journey, the horse will return to the palace, and when he finds you are not here, he will go back to your mother's cottage. You must be waiting there for him, and when you have the chance, bring the magic sword down hard on his neck, and you will see how to find the King's son."

Now the lad had no interest in marrying the King's or anyone else's son, but he did want to bring his sisters back to life. So he thanked the little cat and did exactly as it bade him. He found and cleaned the trunks, and when horse went to hunt, he took down the sword and opened the forbidden room.

He waved the sword over himself, and the strangest thing occurred! Two lively white breasts sprouted on the front of him, and a lovely head of curls grew down to his shoulders. His waist pulled in and his hips curved out, and his cheeks and lips and eyes were as fetching as you please. The widow's son was now as fair as his sisters, and fairer still. He gaped in the mirror and looked himself up and down. It was a pretty piece of work that sword had done!

But the lad — or lassie — didn't stop long to admire herself. She restored her sisters to life by waving the magic sword over them. She put them in two of the chests and heaped gold and jewels over them. Then she told them what to do if the horse tried to peep inside.

The grey horse was willing enough to do as she asked, though he certainly wondered what she'd put into the chests. When he came to a spot in the glen where he thought he would not be seen, he tried to peep inside. Immediately a voice came from — well, he couldn't tell where it came from — and said, "Why are you peeping? I see you peeping!"

Thinking it was the girl's voice, he laughed and said, "Well, well! So you *can* see through the tree tops!" and on he went with his burden.

After the third chest was delivered to the widow's cottage, the horse went home for his dinner.

When he found no dinner and no one waiting to welcome him, he galloped back to the widow's cottage in a great state. The door was closed, but he crashed through it with his forehead. Behind the door was the youngest child with the magic sword in her hand, and when the head crashed through, she brought the sword down on his neck with all her might, and the grey horse immediately changed into a beautiful youth!

"Oh!" she cried out in wonder. "It is true, then — you are the King's son!"

"I am indeed," he replied, "and more than that, I am your husband-to-be." He took her hand, led her to the widow and said, "Madam, this third daughter of yours has broken an evil spell that bound me. Will you give her to me? For indeed, I love her truly."

Well, the widow could barely speak for the joy of having her two daughters back. Now, to find that she had a third daughter — all grown up — and ready to be married! She gave her glad consent.

Thanks to the same newly-made girl, the widow not only had her two eldest daughters, but with them enough gold and jewels to ensure good husbands for each, and comfort for herself for the rest of her days.

When the King's son took his bride home to his palace, it was no longer hidden inside a wall of rock. Not only that, but a pretty girl came running out to meet the prince and kissed him affectionately.

"Why, who is this?" asked the young bride in astonishment.

"No one but my sister," he answered. "My sister, who was the wee little cat! At the same time you released me, you released her from the spell that had changed her. She will be a sister to you and live with us until she marries." The two girls embraced each other tenderly.

With the magic sword they revived all the poor dead ladies and sent them home to their families. The prince and his bride lived happily and well, and many a time did the widow bless the day that brought the grey horse to eat her kale!

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

6. The Red Ettin

 

A poor widow had two sons, and by-and-by the time came to send them into the world to seek their fortune. She bade the eldest to bring a can of water from the well, so she could cook a johnnycake for him. However much or however little water he brought, the cake would be great or small accordingly, and that cake was all she could give him when he left for his travels.

The lad was ready and willing to go, and so he ran to the well and filled the can with water. Even in his haste, he saw the can was broken, so he ran all the faster to race against the water that leaked from the can. The water was little, so the cake was small. Small as it was, his mother asked whether he was willing to take half with her blessing, or the whole without. The young man, not knowing when next he'd find food, thought he could do without his mother's blessing, so she gave him the whole cake.

Then he took his younger brother aside, and gave him a knife. "Mind that you look at the blade each morning," says he. "If it's bright and clean, you'll know I'm well. But if it's dim and rusty, know for certain some ill has befallen me."

Then off he went to seek his fortune. After he'd gone a long way, he met an old woman, who asked if he could spare a bit of his johnnycake. "Faith," says he, "What I have is little enough. If I give to you, it's less for me." And on he went, for a day and another day.

On the third day, in the afternoon, he met a shepherd with a flock of sheep. He asked the shepherd who the sheep belonged to, and the man replied, "The Red Ettin of Ireland, the one from Ballygan. He's the same as stole King Malcolm's daughter, King Malcolm the king of Scotland. 'Tis said he treats her worse than badly, but the man who can stay his hand is yet to be born."

Now, you may never see an ettin with your own eyes, but they were common enough in your grandad's day. An ettin is a giant with three heads, as wicked and as ugly as an ancient evil.

Our friend knew well enough to steer clear of an ettin, but the shepherd also warned him to beware of the beasts that lay on the road ahead. Sure enough, as the fellow went on, he saw a multitude of dreadful creatures, all of them with two heads, and every head with four horns. What with the roaring and the smell, the young man was frightened within an inch of his life, and he ran off as fast as he was able. He was mighty glad when he came upon a little hill with a castle on it. The castle's door stood wide open to the wall. He went inside and found an old woman sitting by the kitchen fire.

He asked if he could stay the night, as he was tired from his long journey. The old woman said he could, but it might not be the best place for him, as the castle belonged to the Red Ettin, who spared no living man it ever got hold of. The lad would have gone away, but he was afraid of the beasts outside and the approaching night, so he begged the old woman to hide him as best she could and not to tell the ettin he was there. He planned to leave with morning's light. But he hadn't been long in his hiding hole before the awful ettin came in, and no sooner was he in that he began sniffing and shouting:

"Snouk but and snouk ben,
Sure and I smell an earthy man!
Be he living, be he dead
I'll have his heart on a slab of bread!"

The monster soon sniffed out the poor boy, and pulled him from his hole. When he had him out, he told him that if he could answer three questions, his life would be spared. So the first head asked, "A thing without an end — what's that?" The second head asked, "The smaller, the more dangerous — what's that?" The third head asked, "The dead carry the living — riddle me that!"

The young man, frightened as he was, couldn't make heads or tails of any of the riddles, and had to give it up. As luck would have it, the monster wasn't hungry — but he did need more servants, so the Red Ettin picked up his mallet, knocked the boy on the head, and turned him into the most darling servant girl you'd ever laid eyes on. "It's you who'll bring my breakfast, dawn o' day," says the giant, "But once act up or try to run, 'tis my breakfast you will be!"

The morning after this happened, the younger son looked at his brother's knife, and was grieved to find it brown with rust. He told his mother that his own time had come to follow the road. She sent him to the well to fetch a can of water, so she might bake him a johnnycake. He went, as anxious to be off as his brother was, but a raven overhead cried out, "Have a care!" He looked, and lo! there was all the water running out. Being of good sense, he patched the holes with clay, and brought enough water for a large cake. When his mother asked whether he'd take the half with her blessing or the whole without, he took the half and the blessing. Yet the half he took was bigger than the whole cake the other lad left with.

Off he went, and after a time he met an old woman who asked for a bit of his johnnycake. He gladly shared the cake with her, and wouldn't you know, but the old woman was a fairy, and she knew who he was and where he was going. She put a charm upon his axe, and told him what to do on the road ahead. Then with a paff! and a whiff of smoke she vanished from his sight.

He went on a great deal farther, until he met the shepherd. As his brother had done, he asked whose sheep they were. The shepherd answered, "The Red Ettin of Ireland, the one from Ballygan. The same as stole King Malcolm's daughter, King Malcolm the king of Scotland. He treats her cruelly, but not for long: His end is near; his destiny at hand. It's plain to see, you're heir to everything he owns!"

Soon the lad came to the place of the monstrous beasts. He did not stop or run away, but went boldly through their midst. One came roaring up to devour him, but he struck it with his axe and down the beast fell, dead.

Then he came to the ettin's castle, where he knocked and was let in. The old woman who sat by the fire warned him of the terrible Red Ettin, and told him what became of his brother, but he was nothing daunted. The monster soon came in, shouting,

"Snouk but and snouk ben,
Sure and I smell an earthy man!
Be he living, be he dead
I'll have his heart on a slab of bread!"

He called the young man before him, and put the three questions to him. But the lad was forewarned by the old fairy, so he was able to answer them all. When the first head asked, "What's the thing without an end?" he answered, "A bowl." And when the second head asked, "The smaller, the more dangerous?" he answered, "A bridge." And when the third head asked, "The dead carrying the living?" he answered, "A boat on the sea with men inside her."

When the Red Ettin heard the replies, he knew his power was gone. The lad stepped up at once and cut off all three heads, as neatly as you please.

Then he asked the old woman where the king's daughter was kept. The old woman took him upstairs and unlocked a great many doors. Out of every door came a beautiful lady, imprisoned there by the Red Ettin, and one of the ladies was the king's daughter.

Well, another of the ladies was his own brother, and so the boy took the Red Ettin's mallet in hand and said, "Some of ye were lassies and some of ye were lads, but I canna tell the one from the other. If ye need to be put back to what you were, gather to me now and we'll see what's to be done."

So his brother came first, and a stroke of the mallet turned him from a pretty servant girl back to himself again. And so it was with lass after lass.

Soon the fellow's arm grew tired of wielding the thing, but he kept at it as long as there was need. The last girl who gathered to him was the king's daughter herself.

"But were you not a lassie born?" he asked her, astonished.

"Yes," says she, "and I sick to death of it. Say no more and mend me now!" And with a stroke of the mallet she was a princess no longer, but a ruddy, handsome lad, strong and tall and smiling. "That's more like!" says she. "Now we're off to my father's castle!"

"Hold," says the lad, for the fairy had given him one last command. "I must destroy the mallet." The newly-minted prince offered his aid, and the two walked out behind the Red Ettin's castle to find a crag, and below the crag gaped a frightful deep hole that had no bottom. "I must throw this down," says the lad to the prince. "After, there's no changing back for you."

"Then make haste and throw it down!" cries the prince, but the lad's foot slipped, and sure if he didn't tap himself on his own silly head before the mallet slipped down down down into the darkness, never to be seen again. The prince caught the lassie's waist to keep her from falling, for now she was loveliness itself: Her foot was small and her form was slender; her eyes were black as pitch and her curly hair was raven dark as well. Her skin was like the lily and the rose, and her mouth was as red as a strawberry.

The two of them dallied in the Red Ettin's garden, gazing at each other with new-found eyes. It was a good long while before they found a reason to let go of each other.

But when they did, they gathered all the company together, and made their way to King Malcolm's castle, where they were received with great joy and even greater surprise.

The old widow was sent for, and she came to live with her eldest son and her youngest daughter. The prince married the girl before king and court, and they all lived happily and well from that day forth.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

7. La Belle Bisclavrette

 

In the Breton tongue, what they call bisclavret we would call a werewolf. A long time ago there were quite a few, and many left their homes to live in the woods. The bisclavrets can be civil and live among men — except when the fury comes upon them, and then they are savage beasts. In that state, there's nothing they wouldn't do — any sort of harm or evil, even eating men.

In this story, the bisclavret was a noble lord, who lived in Brittany. He was a handsome knight, an able man. He always acted with true nobility. The king held him in high esteem, and so did all his neighbors.

As you'd expect, he married a worthy and beautiful woman, and brought her to live in his ancestral home. The woman's name was Gaelle.

They loved each other, and lived well together. But there was a problem: each week he was lost to her for three whole days. He never gave account of where he went, what he did, or who he saw. None of his people knew why it was so — he simply came and went.

One of these days, when he returned home, he was particularly glad and carefree. Gaelle thought it might be the time to pick the matter through, so she spoke: "My lover, my friend, my dear, I want to ask you just one thing, but don't know if I dare. I'm afraid you'll get angry, and I'm frightened of what you might do."

He hugged her, pulled her close, and gave her a kiss. "Afraid of me? Of what I might do? You are my life! Ask away! Ask me anything you like. If I can, I'll tell you. I swear on all that's holy I would never do you the smallest harm. Ask!" And he kissed her again.

"I feel a little better when you tell me that," Gaelle replied, "but the days when you are gone — those days I live in fear. I'm so afraid I'll lose you! It makes me ache so badly I could die! If only you knew how I suffer! Tell me, where do you go? What life do you live? Where do you stay? Do you love another? Is that it? You do me wrong, my husband, my lover, my life!"

"Oh, my lady!" he cried, "I beg you, by the Lord above! I'll harm myself if I tell you. The truth will drive you off! You'll love me no more! And if you leave me, I will lose my own heart, my own life! Believe me, I love no other!"

His answer did not please her at all. She brought it up repeatedly, and often tried to tease and coax the secret from him. At last, he could bear it no longer, and told her. "My lady," he said. "I turn bisclavret. I plunge into the deep forest, far from man. In the thick woods, I run, I sleep, I eat and drink. I live on what prey — on what wild beasts — I can get."

She contained herself as best she could, and asked him more: "And what about your clothes? Do go about dressed as a man? Or what do you wear?" She recalled that on his return, he wore the same clothes he'd left in, clean and in good repair.

"My lady, I wear nothing. I go bare. The fur of the bisclavret covers me."

Gaelle blushed, but wondered how his clothes kept clean. She asked where he left them.

"My love, my dear, this is one thing you cannot ask. If I lost my clothes, I could never change back until I found them again. This is why not a soul may know where I keep them."

"You try my love!" she scolded. "You've opened your heart, and told me of your curse, and yet I love you more than all the world. You should hide nothing from me, nor ever question my loyalty in this affair. Have I caused you to doubt? How have I sinned? What have I done to seem untrustworthy to you? Oh, you hurt me again with your secrets! If you love me, if I am truly your wife, tell me!"

She nagged and harassed him, until he had to tell.

He brought her to the window and pointed. "Near that wood, along that road, there is an old chapel. Behind the chapel, is a heavy, flat stone. Beneath that stone, is a hollow, dry place. I hide my clothing there until I can come home."

Gaelle passed the next four days in abject terror. Often she blushed bright red; often she paled death white. She was overcome with fear; her mind filled with plans — she looked for a way of escape. She no longer wanted to share his bed. She could not! The man-beast! She shuddered at the thought of his ghastly touch.

At last she knew of one who could help — would help! There was a knight who loved her, had wooed her, and held her in his heart. She had no love for him before this day, but knew that he was valiant, strong, and brave.

On the day Gaelle's husband next turned bisclavret, she sent a messenger to the knight. He flew to her side. She told him, "My friend, my dear, be glad! You've told me how you long for me, how you've been driven, been sad, distracted... What you have wanted and waited for, I will give you today. I will never tell you no, for I give you my love and my body. Take me as your own!"

He accepted gratefully, and pledged himself to her. Then she told him of her husband's curse — of the bisclavret. She brought him to the window and pointed out the wood, the road, the chapel. Gaelle sent him to get her husband's clothes.

That is how the bisclavret was betrayed.

No one was surprised when the lord did not return. He had left so often, they all agreed that this time he was gone for good. Inquiries were made, searches undertaken, but no one found a trace of the missing lord. At last the matter was closed, and the lady was free to marry her knight.

Gaelle and her new lord sent word to the king of a wolf who roamed their forest. The king, his huntsmen, and their coursing dogs came several times, but never saw the wolf, nor even any trace.

In fact, the lord and the wolf were never seen again, and this is why:

A pretty maid of the lord's estate overheard Gaelle's conversation with the knight. She thought to save her lord by bringing him a set of his own clothes, but the frightened wife was careful to burn every thread that could bring him back to her. During the three days of the bisclavret's absence, the maid sought spare clothing for the man, but so had the wife, ahead of her. There was not a pair of trousers to be had.

The time was nearly out — her lord would soon return, looking for his clothes. What could she do? Where could she go? How could she ask for what she needed? And then she had a thought: perhaps any human clothes would do. She ran to the road, to the wood, to the chapel, and sat upon the stone.

After a time, she heard a snarling and a growling, and the soul within her melted away for fear. She stood and backed herself against the chapel wall. "My lord," she whispered. "I am your servant. I know who and what you are. Please don't harm me! I have come to help."

She heard the beast's breath heavy in the underbrush. Quaking, she told the bisclavret of his betrayal. He came forward, and with muscles taut, lifted the heavy stone. His clothes were gone! The maid's story was true! A rage built within him, but he kept himself in check. The wolf wanted to howl and cry, but the man kept quiet.

Greatly embarrassed, the maid explained that man's clothes could not be had for love nor money, but perhaps any clothes would do? All she could find was the dress of a servant girl. The bisclavret, full of doubt, rose on his hind legs. He slipped the garment over his head. And lo! The bisclavret fur vanished; the pointed snout pulled in; the spindly wolf legs filled and formed themselves, and soon a comely girl stood where the wolf had been.

The good lord's wife had thought to doom her husband to eternal peril by burning all his clothes. If she'd kept and locked away a single shirt or shoe of his, he would have stayed a wolf until he died. But by burning all his clothes, she freed him from that form, and the first clothes he wore would stamp him anew.

If the lord had had a sister, this is how she'd look: dark curls, dark eyes, red lips, a little nose and chin, skin soft and light as cream, a pink rose blush on her cheeks; delicate arms, legs, hands, and feet, a tiny waist, and a full breast. It did a body good to look upon her. She had grace and charm born into her, and a lovely voice that fell on the ear like music.

And yet the first words she spoke were oaths and imprecations.

The two girls walked and talked, and this'd and that'd, and planned and schemed, and at last they went together to a house. It was the house of a widow, the mother of the maid. The maid introduced her friend as Maelys, the daughter of a trapper who lived deep in the woods. Four days a week she would stay with the mother, paying her keep by selling goods from the forest.

And so they lived for a time. Maelys would leave each week, hiding her clothes with care, and go for the deep woods, running, hunting, and gathering furs, skins, and hides to sell in the town. She quickly discovered that even as bisclavret, she was a girl: a bisclavrette! And try as she might to put on men's clothes, nothing could change her back into a man. Only her girlish outfits would do the trick. She didn't know that fire could break this bond; that if she burned her dresses and petticoats, she would be free to be a man again. And so, a girl she remained.

The maid brought her the gossip of the lord's estate, and Maelys burned in her secret heart. She longed for revenge, but how? First, she felt, she must become a man again, and then confront her betrayers: slay the knight and punish his lady.

But as time passed, Maelys' noble soul softened her anger, and her beauty charmed those around her. The people of the town grew to love her, in particular the young men.

Often there was talk of the lord who had gone, and at times people spoke of the bisclavrets, but none connected the two.

One day, the lady of the manor wished for a coat of fur, as proof against the winter cold. She had heard of the lovely trapper's daughter, and sent for her. Gaelle thought Maelys a jewel of a girl. She found it incredible that one who had grown alone with her father in the forest could be so graceful and well mannered. Maelys seemed more a lady of the court than a girl of the woods. Gaelle desired to know her better.

When Maelys delivered the furs, Gaelle rewarded her with money, clothes, and gifts. She often invited the girl to her estate, and greatly enjoyed her company.

On her side, Maelys had come with revenge hidden in her heart, but her old love of Gaelle returned, and soon she began to anticipate with joy her visits with the lady. Maelys spoke once of the old lord, and saw the fear in Gaelle's face. It was then that Maelys understood: It was not love of the knight that made Gaelle betray her husband; it was fear of the bisclavret.

Gaelle and Maelys became close friends. Maelys soon found that her friendships with the maid and with Gaelle were closer than any friendship she'd had before. She truly enjoyed her new life as a girl.

And yet, there was a problem: men.

Maelys' beauty and nobility caused many men, high born and low, to seek her out. She received their compliments with grace, but never gave any man reason to hope. She pleaded that her duties to her father prevented her from marrying.

Herve, the young son of a neighboring lord, offered, as many others had, to escort the lovely Maelys on her next journey to the woods. She told him she had no fear of traveling alone; she claimed to possess an infallible charm that protected her from every danger. It was partly true: as bisclavrette, she had little to fear.

Herve was not so easily put off: if she will not have me as an escort, he told himself, she will have me as a shadow, and with great stealth he followed her to the woods. Imagine his astonishment as the beauty doffed her clothes! Imagine how much greater his astonishment when she turned bisclavrette!

Thunderstruck, he remained in that place, neither eating nor drinking, debating with himself. He loved the girl, he longed for her — and yet, she was bisclavrette! His love and fascination conquered his fear, and he stayed in the woods until she returned. Loaded with furs, the bisclavrette put on once more the simple servant dress and became Maelys again.

Herve went home, bathed, ate, and rested. He was a forthright man, and knew what he had to do.

He found the girl at home, working on the furs. Her skin was bright and clear, there was a fresh blush on her cheeks, and her arms and breasts shone as she worked with the furs. She could not have been more ardant and attractive.

"Maelys," he said in a low, strong voice. Her body quivered in response. They gazed at each other. How he longed to take her in his arms! How she longed to give herself to him! And yet — her secret, her curse, prevented it.

In the days when she was a lord, she simply disappeared once a week, and in the end it was her undoing. If she became a wife, she could not do the same. And yet...

"I want you..." Herve began, "to be my wife, my love, my life, my only one."

The blush on her cheek rose higher. "I cannot," she replied. "You know that I cannot. My father..."

"I hope your father is well," he said. "But I mean to wed you, ma belle bisclavrette."

Her eyes widened. Her pretty mouth gaped. He stepped quickly to her side, and stopped her mouth with a kiss, and then another, and a third. He held her close, and closer, and told her how he knew.

"Maelys, I will keep your secret as if it were my own. I will do anything you ask, if only you will be my wife. We can build a pretty house in the forest, not far from here, and live like two birds of the wood. I swear upon my life, I will not let you go until you say that you are mine."

She smiled and kissed him, and rested her head upon his chest. They each declared their love, and soon they were married. Gaelle and the maid both attended, full of joy at the event.

True to his word, Herve built a lovely home in the forest, full of light and healthful air. And once a week his delicious bride doffed her clothes and took the woods — as the belle bisclavrette.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

8. Yallery Brown

 

A long time ago, in an England that never was, lived a young lad of eighteen years named Tom Tiver, who worked at the Hall Farm. One Sunday he was walking through the west field. It was a beautiful summer night, warm and still. The air was full of little sounds, as if the trees and grass were chattering to themselves. All at once there came, from a little bit ahead, the most pitiful cries he had ever heard! It was a sob, sobbing, like a child spent with fear. It broke off in a moan and then rose again in a long whimpering wail that made him sick just to hear it. He began looking everywhere for the poor little creature. "It must be Sally Bratton's child," thought he to himself. "Sally always was a flighty thing, and never looked after it. Like as not, she's off flaunting and flouncing in the lanes, and forgot all about her baby."

But though he looked and looked, he didn't see a thing. Still, as he searched, the whimpering grew louder and stronger, and he thought he made out some words. He strained to hear with all his ears, and the sorry little thing was saying, in words mixed up with sobs,

"Ooh! The stone, the great big stone! Ooh! That stone on top!"

Naturally he wondered where the stone might be, and he looked again, and there by the hedge bottom was a great flat stone, half-buried in the soft earth, hid by matted grass and weeds. The stone was called "The Stranger's Table" — but be that as it may, he dropped to his knee-bones by that stone, and listened again. Clearer than ever, but tired and spent with calling, came the little sobbing voice: "Ooh! The stone! That stone on top!"

He was leery, and didn't want to meddle in the business, but he couldn't stand the sound of the whimpering child, so he tore like mad at the weeds, and pulled on the stone, until he felt it budge a bit, and all at once it came up with a sucking, sighing sound and a tangle of grass and growing things.

There in the hole lay a tiny thing, lying on its back, blinking at the moon and at him. It was no bigger than a year-old baby, but it had long, thick hair and a long, thick beard, all twisted round and round its body, so you couldn't see its clothes. The hair was all yellow, and shining and silky, like a child's, but its face looked hundreds of years old. That face was just a heap of wrinkles, with two bright black eyes set in there somewhere, and the little face was tucked inside that mass of yellow, yellowish hair. Its skin was the color of fresh-turned earth in the Spring: brown as brown could be, and its bare hands and feet were as brown as its face.

It stopped its whimpering, but the tears still stood on its cheek, and little thing stared in amazement in the moonlight and the night air.

By and by the creature's eyes got used to the light, and presently he looked into Tom's face as bold as ever was. Then, "Tom," says he, as cool as you like, "Tom, you're a good lad! A good lad!" His voice was soft and high and piping like a little bird twittering.

Tom touched his hat, and tried to find something to say.

"Houts!" says the thing, "You needn't be afeared of me. You've done me a better turn than you know, my lad, and I'll do as much for you."

Tom couldn't speak yet for the fear that gripped him, but he thought, "Lord! For sure it's a bogle!" Now a bogle is one of those pesky things who live to cause trouble, so Tom did well to be worried.

"No, no!" says the thing, as quick as quick, "I'm no bogle, but you best not ask me what I might be. Anyways, I'm a good friend of thine."

Tom's knee-bones started knocking, for certain no ordinary thing could know what he was thinking to himself. Still, the little man looked so kindly, and spoke so fair, that Tom made bold, although his voice was shaking, to ask, "Might I axe to know what is your honor's name?"

"Hmm," says the thing, pulling at its beard, "as to that..." — and he thought for a bit — "aye so," says he at last, "Yallery Brown is what you may call me: Yallery Brown. That name will do as well as any other. Yallery Brown, then! Yallery Brown's your friend, my lad."

"Thankee, sir," says Tom, all meek like.

"And now," says he, "I'm a hurry tonight, but tell me quick, what can I do for thee? Would you like a wife? I'll give you the finest lass in town. Would you be rich? I'll load you up with all the gold you can carry. Would you like help with your work? Just say the word."

Tom scratched his head. "Well, as for a wife, I don't need the bother. There's women at the farm as mend my clothes. As for gold, that's as may be, but work — now, that's a thing I can't abide, and if you'll give me a hand in it, I'll thank—

"Stop!" says the wee thing, quick as lightning. "I'll help thee and welcome, but if you ever say that to me — if you ever thank me, you'll never see me again. Mind that now: I want no thanks; I'll have no thanks!" And he stamped his tiny foot on the ground and looked as wicked as a raging bull.

"Mind that now, great lump that you are," he went on, calming down a bit. "But if you ever need help, or get into trouble, call on me and say, 'Yallery Brown, come up from the ground!' and I'll be with you at once. But for now," says he, picking a dandelion puff, "good night to thee!" And he blew the puff into Tom's face and eyes. As soon as Tom could see again, the tiny creature was gone. Except for the stone on end and the hole at his feet, Tom could have thought he'd been dreaming.

Well, Tom went home and to bed, and by the morning he'd just about forgotten. But when he went to work, there was none to do! Everything was done already: the horses seen to, the stables cleaned out, everything in its proper place, and nothing left for Tom but to sit with his hands in his pockets. And so it went on, day after day — all the work done by Yallery Brown, and better done, too, than Tom could have done by himself. And if the master gave him more work, Tom sat down and the work did itself: the singeing irons, or the broom, or what not, set to, and without a hand put to it would get through in no time. He never saw Yallery Brown in daylight; only in the darkness did he see him hopping about, like a will-o-the-wisp without a lantern.

At first it was mighty fine for Tom: nothing to do, and good pay for it. But by and by things began to grow vicey-versy. If the work was done for Tom, it was undone for the other lads. If his buckets were filled, theirs were knocked over. If his tools were sharpened, theirs were blunted and spoiled. If his horses were clean as daisies, theirs were splashed with muck, and so on. Day in, day out, it was always the same. And the lads saw Yallery Brown flitting about by night, and they saw the tools working themselves by day. They saw that Tom's work was done for him, and theirs undone for them; and naturally they began to look askance at him, and wouldn't speak to him or come near to him, and they carried tales to the master, so things went from bad to worse.

Poor Tom could do nothing himself! The broom wouldn't stay in his hand; the plough ran away from him; the hoe kept out of his grip. He thought if he did his own work, that Yallery Brown would leave him and his neighbors alone. But he couldn't — sure and all, he couldn't. All Tom could do was sit by and look on, and have the cold shoulder turned to him, while the unnatural thing meddled with the others and worked for him.

At last, things got so bad that the master gave Tom the sack, and if he hadn't, all the rest of the lads would have left, for they swore they'd not stay on the same job as Tom. Well, naturally Tom felt bad. It was a good place, and good pay, too. He was well worked up and angry with Yallery Brown for causing him so much trouble. So Tom shook his fist in the air and called out as loud as he could, "Yallery Brown, you scamp! Come up from the ground, rascal that you are!"

Hardly had the words left his mouth, but he felt a pinch on the back of his leg, and he jumped at the smart of it. As soon as he looked down, there was the tiny thing, with his shining hair, wrinkled face, and wicked glinting black eyes.

Tom was in a fine rage, and would have liked to kicked him, but it couldn't be done: there wasn't enough of the thing to get his boot against. So he said, "Look here, now! You've caused me no end of trouble! You've turned all the lads against me! I've been put out from the farm! I want no more of your help! I'll have nothing to do with you! I'll thank you to leave me alone after this! Do you understand?"

The horrid thing broke into a screeching laugh, and pointed its brown finger at Tom. "Ho, ho, Tom!" says he. "You thanked me, my lad, and I told you not to! I told you not to!"

"I don't want your help, I tell you!" Tom yelled at him. "I never want to see you again! I want nothing more to do with you! Off you go!"

The thing only laughed and screeched and mocked, as long as Tom went on swearing, but as soon as his breath gave out, it said with a grin, "Tom, my lad, I'll tell you something. True's true, that after today I'll never help you again. Call as you will, you'll see me no more. I was nice and safe under that stone, Tom, and could do nobody harm, but you let me out yourself, and you can't put me back! I would have been your friend and helped you if you were wise, but since you're a born fool, I'll leave you. But before I do, I'll undo all the harm I've done."

"Can you do that?" says the boy.

"Sure as sure," says the little thing, with a grin as wicked as ever can be. "When I go, I'll be gone forever, but you, now, take yourself back to the farm, my lad. You'll find a place for yourself, and the lads will look kindly on you, as never they did. Will that please you, boy?"

"Yes and sure," says Tom, so Yallery Brown plucks himself a dandelion puff, and blows it into Tom's face and eyes, and it was like a cloud and a dream and a mystery. When Tom could see again, he was walking. On the road ahead was the Hall Farm itself. The sun was warm and the sky was fair, and the sound of voices came from afar. As lovely as it was, Tom asked himself if it wasn't a dream, for a dream indeed it seemed. He felt the sun on his bare arms, and the wind tousled his hair, but somehow the all of it wasn't quite right.

His step was not as long nor as jaunty, and his clothes had lost their rough, homespun feel. He tripped on a stone, looked down, and saw the trick that Yallery Brown had played! Instead of rough-spun pants and shirt, he was dressed like one of the girls who worked about the farm, in a brown skirt, white apron and blouse. Under the skirt were petticoats and lady's underthings — it made him blush! But, larkamercy! underneath it all there was a girl! Yallery Brown had changed Tom Tiver into a frisky young female with fine red hair and bright green eyes. His face and form would please any man, and his voice was silvery and light.

The good wife stepped from the door and waved our fair Tom on. "Come along there, girl! Have you come to work or to admire the view?"

Tom hurried up to meet her. Sure as sure, he had a place at the farm, just as the little creature said.

"What's your name, girl?" asked the wife.

"Katie... Maggie... Sally... Jane," he mumbled in confusion.

"Best pick one," says the wife, frowning, so Tom said "Maggie it is, ma'am," and Maggie he was from that day on.

Among the lads — now that Yallery Brown had gone — the work went well and smooth enough, and weren't they well surprised and pleased when lunch time came and Maggie herself came out to serve them! As cold as the lads had been to Tom, well, that's as warm and warmer as they were to Maggie.

Now, Maggie had learned her lesson, a lesson she never forgot: when work is to be done, it's best to do it now and do it well. Any job the good wife gave her, she went through it with a will, and soon they saw she was a good girl and a good worker. The farmer and his wife treated Maggie well and came to love her, as well as if she were their daughter born.

The lads soon found that, sweet as the lass appeared, she'd brook no nonsense, and flowers and sweet-talk were wasted on our Maggie.

More than once, our girl went out to the west field, even as far as the Stranger's Table, to call for the little thing in her sweet little voice: "Oh, Yallery Brown, Yallery Brown! Come forth from the ground! I've need of thee!" but the tiny man never came. And though she looked for him in the darkness, flitting about the farm, she never saw him there, either.

After many a sigh, and many a look in the mirror, Tom found his peace as Maggie. "There's no turning back, it seems, for all that," says she. "Best make best of it!" And though at first she turned her face from flowers and gallantry, and reddened when a strong lad helped her cross a stile, after a bit she saw there was no harm in it, and soon she liked it well enough.

Time passed in this way, and when the harvest dance had come, our Maggie danced with all the lads, thinking to please them all and show no favorite, but the world is not made that way. The next day each lad claimed that Maggie smiled on him alone, or danced best on his arm. Soon they came to blows, and among the many bloodied noses and blackened eyes, two lads were left with broken arms.

The good wife took the lass aside and said, "Maggie, it's true enough, you've got to pick one for yourself, or they'll pick themselves apart."

And this is how she did it: The next day, while serving lunch, Maggie gave a good look at each lad's face, one with his purple eye, another with his ruddy nose. One lad there was, whose face had nary a mark. So she stood behind his chair, and planting her little hands on his great strong shoulders, she made that man her own.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

9. The Groac'h Of The Isle Of Lok

 

In the old days, Brittany was chock-full of unbelievable happenings, and just about that time, two young men were living in the village of Lanillis. Their names were Houarn Pogamm and Belado Postik. Their mothers were great friends, and constantly in and out of each other's home. Because of this, the boys had often been laid in the same cradle, and played and fought over the same games.

No two children were ever closer, and once or twice the mothers laughed that if Belado had been born a girl, the two could marry; they made a perfect match! Now, that's as may be, but just when the boys were old enough to look for wives, the two mothers died. The lads, who had no money, went to work as servants in the same house. This was better than being parted, of course, but not as good as having a little farm of their own, where they could do as they liked. Soon they were complaining to each other about the hardness of their lots.

"If only we could manage to buy a cow and get a pig to fatten," grumbled Houarn. "I could rent a bit of ground from the master, and we could start our farm!"

"Yes," answered Belado with a deep sigh, "but we live in such hard times! At the last fair, the price of pigs went up again."

"We'll have a long time to wait. That much is clear," replied Houarn, and returned to his work.

Whenever they met, they repeated their grievances, until at last Houarn's patience was exhausted. One morning he came to Belado and told him that he was going to seek his fortune.

Belado was very unhappy to hear this. He was sorry that he'd complained so much, and hadn't made the best of things as they were. He sought to convince Houarn not to leave, but the lad would listen to nothing.

Houarn said, "The birds continue flying until they reach a field of corn, and the bees don't stop unless they find flowers that give them honey. Why should a man have less sense than the animals? Like them, I shall seek till I get what I want, and what I want is the money to buy a cow and a pig to fatten. If you're really my friend, Belado, you won't hinder a plan that will win us our farm."

Belado saw that it was useless to say any more, so he answered sadly, "Well, go then, if you must. But first let me divide with you all that my parents left me." Going to his room, he opened a small chest and took from it a bell, a knife, and a little stick.

"This bell," he said, "can be heard at any distance, however far. But it only rings to warn us that our friends are in great danger. This knife frees all it touches from the spells laid upon them. This stick can carry you wherever you want to go. I will give you the knife to guard you against enchantments of wizards, and the bell to tell me of your perils. The stick I shall keep for myself, so I can fly to you if ever you have need of me."

Houarn had little faith in the magic of these gifts, but he took them nonetheless. After all, they were his best friend's treasures, and the knife was a good knife for all of that.

After a strong embrace, Houarn started for the mountains.

In those days, there were more beggars than opportunities, and in every village he passed, they followed Houarn in crowds. "He must be a gentleman," the beggars reasoned, "because there are no holes in his clothes."

Houarn said to himself, "There is no fortune to be made in these places. Here you can only spend, but not earn. I must go farther." And so he walked on, as far as Pont-Aven, a pretty little town on the bank of a river.

He was sitting on a bench outside an inn, when he heard two men, who were loading their mules, talk about the Groac'h of the island of Lok.

"What's a Groac'h?" he asked. "I've never heard of such a thing."

The men told him that this was the name of the fairy who lived in the lake, and that she was rich — richer than all the kings of the world put together. Many had gone to the island to try to steal her treasures, but no one had ever come back.

As he listened, Houarn's mind was made up.

"I will go," he said to the muleteers, "and I will come back, too."

They stared at him in astonishment and begged him not to be so mad and throw away his life in such a foolish manner. He only laughed, and answered that if they could tell him any other way to get a cow and a pig to fatten, he would think no more about it. But since the men knew of no other work to be had, they shook their heads over his stubbornness, and left him to his fate.

Houarn went down to the sea, and found a boatman to take him to the isle of Lok.

The island was large, and most of it was the lake itself, with a narrow opening to the sea. Houarn paid the boatman and sent him away, and then he began to walk around the lake. At one end he saw a small skiff, painted blue and shaped like a swan, lying under a clump of yellow broom. Houarn had never seen such a likeness — it even had the swan's head tucked under its wing. He quickly stepped on board, so he could examine it better. No sooner had he steadied himself, than the swan awoke — for it was a swan that looked like a boat, not a boat that looked like a swan. Pulling its head from under its wing, the swan began to paddle, and in a thrice they were in the middle of the lake.

As soon as he recovered from his surprise, the young man prepared to jump out and swim to shore. But the bird guessed his intentions, and before the lad could act, the swan plunged beneath the water, carrying Houarn to the palace of the Groac'h.

Unless you have been under the sea and beheld all the wonders that lie there, you can never have an idea of what the Groac'h's palace was like. It was all made of shells, blue and green and pink and lilac and white, blending into each other so you could not tell where one color ended and the other began. The staircases were made of crystal, and every separate stair sang like a woodland bird when you set your foot on it. Around the palace were great gardens full of undersea plants, with rows of diamonds marking off the beds.

In a large hall, the Groac'h was lying on a couch of gold. The pink and white of her face were like the shells of her palace. Her long black hair was intertwined with strings of coral, and her dress of green silk seemed formed from the sea itself. At the sight of her, Houarn stopped, dazzled by her beauty.

"Come in," said the Groac'h, rising to her feet. "Strangers and handsome young men are always welcome here. Don't be shy! Tell me how you found your way here, and what it is you want."

Houarn was a simple lad, so he answered with an open heart. "My name is Houarn. Lanillis is my home, and I am trying to earn enough money to buy a little cow and a pig to fatten."

"Oh, you can easily get that!" she replied. "It's nothing to worry about. Come in now, and refresh yourself." She beckoned, and he followed. They went into a second hall whose floors and walls were formed of pearls. On every side were tables laden with fruit and wines of every kind. As he ate and drank, the Groac'h talked to him and explained him how everything he saw came from shipwrecked vessels. "Their treasures are brought to my palace by a magic current of water," she explained.

"I'm not surprised," Houarn exclaimed, for he now felt quite at home, "I'm not surprised that people have so much to say about you."

She shrugged. "The rich are always envied."

"Well, I'm not greedy," he said with a laugh. "I'd be quite happy with a tiny handful of what you have."

"You could have all of it, if you want it, Houarn," the fairy answered.

"What do you mean?" he cried.

"My husband, Korandon, is dead. If you will have me, I will marry you."

The young man gazed at her in surprise. Could one so rich and beautiful really wish to be his wife? He looked at her again, and utterly forgot his dream of a farm, a cow, and a pig to fatten.

He declared with all his heart, "A man would be mad to refuse such an offer. I can only accept with joy!"

"The sooner we wed, the better," said the Groac'h, and gave orders to her servants. As soon as she was done, she brought Houarn to a fishpond at the bottom of her garden.

"Come lawyer, come miller, come farmer, come tailor," she sang as she held out a steel net. At each summons a little fish appeared and jumped into the net. She carried the fish to a large kitchen and threw them all into a golden pot, but above the bubbling of the water, Houarn seemed to hear the whispering of little voices.

"Who is whispering in the golden pot, Groac'h?" he asked at last.

"That's nothing but the noise of the wood sparking," she answered, but it didn't sound the least like that to Houarn.

"There is again," he said, after a bit.

"The water's getting hot — it makes the fish jump," she replied, but soon the noise got louder and sounded more like cries of pain.

"What is it really?" asked Houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"It must be the crickets on the hearth," said she, and broke into a song that drowned out the cries from the pot.

Though Houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before. Something seemed to have gone quite wrong, and he suddenly remembered his friend Belado. "How could I forget why I came? I only wanted a simple farm, not riches under the sea! What a fool I've been!" And he stood by in silence as the Groac'h set the fish on a plate, and bade him eat his dinner while she fetched some wine from her cellar in a cave.

Houarn sat down and took out the knife that Belado had given him, but as soon as the blade touched the fish, the enchantment ceased, and four men stood before him.

"Houarn, save us, we beg you, and save yourself as well!" they whispered, not daring to raise their voices.

"So it was you who were crying out in the pot just now!" Houarn exclaimed.

"Yes, it was us," they answered. "Like you, we came to the isle of Lok to seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the Groac'h. No sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, just as she did to all who came before us, who are in the fishpond still. And shortly you will join them."

On hearing this, Houarn jumped up, as if he were already boiling in the golden pot. He rushed to the door, hoping to escape that way, but the Groac'h, who had heard everything, met him on the threshold. Instantly she threw her steel net over his head, and he turned into a small green frog, so small that she could hold him in the palm of her hand.

"Oh, my! What a cute little froggy-woggy!" she said, smiling. "You can go play with the other little froggies!" And she carried him off to the fishpond.

At that very moment, Belado, who was skimming milk in the farm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.

At the sound he grew pale, for he knew it meant that Houarn was in danger. Hastily, he left the farm with the magic stick in his hand.

His legs trembled, but he ran as fast as he could to the crossroads, where he drove the stick into the ground, mumuring as he did so a verse his mother taught him:

Little stick of apple tree
O'er the earth and o'er the sea
In the air, be guide to me
Everywhere, to wander free.

Immediately the little stick became a smart little horse, who stood quite still until Belado scrambled up. Then he started off, his pace growing quicker and quicker, until the lad could hardly see the trees and houses as they flashed past. But rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid enough for Belado, who leaned to the horse's ear and said, "The swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind less swift than lightning. But you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than them all, for part of my heart suffers — my best friend on earth is in danger."

The horse heard, and he galloped like a straw before a hurricane, until they reached the foot of a rock called Deer's Leap. There he stopped, for no horse ever born could climb that rock, and Belado knew it, so he murmured another verse:

Horse of Leon, given me,
O'er the earth and o'er the sea
In the air, be guide to me
Everywhere, to wander free.

Immediately the horse became a great bird, who carried him to the summit of the rock. There he found a nest made of clay and lined with dried moss. In the center of the nest was a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a cry of surprise at the sight of Belado.

"Ah! You're the fellow who's come to save me!"

"To save you?" repeated Belado. "But who are you, my little friend?"

"I am Korandon, husband of the Groac'h of the isle of Lok, and it is her doing that I am here."

"What are you doing in this nest?"

"Sitting on six stone eggs, and I shall not be set free until they hatch."

On hearing this, Belado began to laugh. "Poor fellow!" he said. "And how am I to free you?"

"By freeing Houarn, who is in the power of the Groac'h."

"If you tell me how, I'll do it, even if I have to cross the whole of Brittany upon my knees!"

"First you must disguise yourself as a maiden," says the little man, "and then go seek the Groac'h. When you've found her, you must get hold of the steel net that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it forever."

"A maiden?" replied Belado. "And why is that?"

"The Groac'h bewitches every man who sees her, and yet she longs for company. No woman has crossed her threshold for nigh a thousand years."

"How shall I manage to disguise myself?" asked the lad. "Wherever shall I find a woman's clothes?"

"I will show you," the little man replied. "It's easily done." As he spoke, he pulled four black hairs from the left side of his head and blew them away, muttering something the while. In the twinkling of an eye, the four hairs turned into four tailors, one of whom carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third a needle, and the fourth an iron. Without waiting for orders, they sat down in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare the clothes for Belado. With one of the leaves of the cabbage they made a short coat, and another served for a bodice. But it took two for the full skirts which were the fashion at the time. They cut a hat from the heart of the cabbage, and a pair of boots from the thick stem. From the white inner leaves they cut petticoats, frills, and gloves.

When they were done, Belado saw that the clothes were made for a slightly smaller person than he. At that, the little man pulled out four red hairs from the right side of his head, and blew them at Belado where he stood. As the hairs fluttered down around him, he felt himself shrink and change, and soon he was the perfect size and shape for the newly tailored clothes.

When Belado — or Bellah, as we must needs call her now — put on all the clothes, you would have taken her for a maiden dressed in green velvet lined with white satin.

Bellah thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more instructions, she jumped on the back of her great bird and was borne away to the isle of Lok. Once there, she transformed the bird back to a stick, and with it in her hand, she stepped aboard the blue swan, which conducted her to the palace of shells.

The Groac'h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before had she beheld such a lovely young lady. Very soon she led her visitor into the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and on the table lay the magic knife, left there by Houarn. Unseen by the Groac'h, Bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed her hostess into the garden, to the pond which contained the fish. The sides of the little fish shone with a thousand different colors.

"Oh, what beautiful, beautiful creatures!" she cried. "I'm sure I would never tire of watching them." And she sat down on the bank, with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the fish as they flashed past. She made a pretty picture herself, and the Groac'h was quite taken with her lovely visitor.

"Would you like to stay here always?" asked the Groac'h, and Bellah answered that she desired nothing better.

"Then do!" the Groac'h cried. "We can be as sisters and pass the time in a thousand pleasant ways!"

"I won't say no," laughed Bellah, "but you'll have to let me catch one of those pretty fish with your net."

"It's not as easy as it looks," the Groac'h said, smiling, "but go ahead and try your luck!"

Bellah took the net that the Groac'h held out, and turning rapidly, flung it over the fairy's head. "Become in body what you are in soul!" she shouted, and in an instant, the lovely sea fairy became a loathsome toad, horrible to look upon. She struggled hard to tear the net, but it was no use. Bellah drew it in as tight as she could, and flung the sorceress into a pit. Then she piled the heaviest stones she could manage on top of it, and left her there.

As she drew near the pond, she saw a great procession of fishes advancing to meet her, crying in hoarse tones: "This is our lady, who saved us from the net of steel and the pot of gold!"

"And who will restore you to your proper shapes," added Bellah, drawing the knife from her pocket. But just before she touched the foremost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her, his little paws crossed over his little heart. The creature croaked, "Belado? Belado?"

Bellah felt as if fingers were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry, "Is this you, Houarn? Is this you?"

"Yes, yes," croaked the little frog, and as the knife touched him he was a man again. Springing up, he clasped her in his arms.

"We must not forget the others," she said at last, and began to transform the fish to their proper shapes. There were so many that it took quite a long time. Just as she finished, Korandon, the little man from Deer's Leap, arrived in a car drawn by six monstrous cockroaches, which had once been the six stone eggs.

"Here I am!" he exclaimed. "You have broken the spell that held me, and now you must have your reward." Dismounting from his chariot, he led the two into caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade Bellah and Houarn to take as much as they wanted. They each filled two sacks, and Korandon filled a third sack for each. Then they carried the bags to the car, which bore them, their jewels, and the rescued men back to Lanillis.

Houarn and Bellah were married the very next day, but instead of setting up the little farm that they'd wished for so long, with the cow and pig to fatten, they were able to buy miles of land for themselves. They also gave each man who had been delivered from the Groac'h a small farm, and everyone lived happily to the end of their days.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

10. The Giant Who Had No Heart In His Body

 

Long ago there was a king who had seven handsome sons, and he loved them so much that he always had at least one of them by his side. When they'd grown and wanted to marry, six of them set off, but the king kept his youngest at home. The others promised to bring a princess for him when they returned. The king fitted them out with the finest clothes you ever set eyes on, and a prize horse for each.

The six brothers visited many palaces, and saw many princesses, and at last they came to a king who had six daughters. They hadn't seen the like of these lovely lassies in any place they'd been, so they set to wooing them, each one, and when each son won his sweetheart, they set off for home again. But don't you know, they were so happy and in love that they quite forgot about Boots, their youngest brother, and none of them thought to find a princess for him.

When the twelve princes and princesses had traveled a fair way, they passed close to a steep hillside that looked rather like a wall. They didn't know, but this was where a giant lived. The giant was lonely and alone, and when he heard the laughing and the singing, he thought that someone had come to mock and pester him. So the giant came out, fixed his eyes upon the fine company, and turned them all to stone. Then he picked up the six stone princes and the six stone princesses and arranged them in his garden, like statues.

The king waited and waited for his six sons, and the longer he waited, the longer they stayed away. He was troubled in heart, and said he would never be glad again.

"If I didn't have you by my side," he said to Boots, "There would be no point in living. I would give up my life, so full of sorrow am I."

"I'll tell you what I've been thinking," says Boots, "I want to ask your leave to go and find them again. That's what I've been thinking."

"No! Never!" his father cried. "That leave you shall never get. I cannot lose the last of you!"

But Boots had set his heart upon it; go he would. He begged and prayed and nagged so long that the king was forced to let him go. And the king was sadder still, for he had no horse to give to Boots but a poor, old, broken-down jade. The other sons had carried off all the best horses. Boots didn't care about that! He sprang up on his sorry old steed.

"Farewell, father," says he. "I'll come back, never fear, and like as not I'll bring my brothers back with me." With that, he rode off.

When he had ridden a while, he found a raven lying in the road, with barely the strength to flap its wings. He came down from his horse to move the bird to safety.

"My dear friend," said the raven, "I'm so starved, I don't have the strength to move. If you give me a little food, I'll be sure to help you when you're in need."

"I haven't much food," the prince replied, "and I don't see how you'll help me, but I'll give you what you need." And he fed the raven until it regained its strength.

A little further on, he came to a brook, and in the middle of a large flat stone lay a huge salmon, flailing about, unable to get himself into the stream. When the fish saw the lad, he gasped, "Will you be my friend and push me back in the water? I've fallen here and can't work my way back. If you'll help me, I'll be sure to help you when you're in need."

"I don't see how you'll help me," said the lad, "but it's a pity to see you lying there, choking." And he shoved the fish back into the current.

After that, he went a long way, and met a wolf, so famished and weak that it lay on its belly, panting.

"Sir," called the wolf weakly, "I'm so hungry that my ribs clatter each time I breathe. It's been two years since I've had a bite of food. Will you be my friend and let me have your horse?"

"Ah," said the lad, who was getting used to this song and dance, "and you will help me when I'm in need, is that it? I helped the raven, for I had a little food to spare, and I helped the salmon, because all he needed was a push, but now you want my horse? It can't be done, I'm sorry — if I give you my horse I'd have nothing to ride on."

"No, my friend, you can help me," the wolf replied. "If you let me have your horse, you can ride on my back wherever you need to go, and I pledge to help you whenever you're in need."

"That's a promise easily made," the prince observed, "Still, it pains me to see anyone in such a state. Take my horse, then."

The wolf ate the horse, and in between one bite and another, he asked the prince who he was and where he was going. When Boots mentioned the six princes who went a-wooing, the wolf recalled the twelve stone figures in the giant's garden.

After he'd eaten his fill, the wolf took the bit in his mouth, and Boots laid the saddle on his back. Now that he'd eaten, the wolf was so strong that he carried the prince as if he were nothing. The prince had never ridden so fast before. After a time, the wolf stopped and showed the prince the giant's garden.

"Sure and it's my six brothers I'm seeing, still as statues made of stone," says he. "The girls must be their sweethearts." Then he counted again, and counted a third time. "But no bride for me," he sighed.

"That's as may be," the wolf replied. "We can see to that in time. For now, you've got to free the others, and to do that, you've got to get into the giant's house." He carried the prince to the wall in the hillside and showed him the door.

"I don't dare go in," the lad replied. "He'll take my life, or turn me to stone, sure as like."

"No! No!" says the wolf. "There's a way it can be done." And as the sun set, they moved into the woods, away from the giant's house.

"I can wait until the giant sleeps," says Boots, "and slit his giant throat in his giant bed."

"No," says the wolf. "That will never do. No one can slay that giant, for he has no heart in his body. His heart is hidden in a place of safety, and while that heart is safe, the giant can suffer no harm. Besides," says he, "there's no one but the giant himself who can restore your brothers and their sweethearts to life. The key is his heart: if you take his heart in your hand, he must do whatever you like."

"Where is the heart to be found?" the boy asked.

"None knows but the giant, so it's he that must tell you."

During the night, while they waited for dawn, the wolf explained his plan.

The next day, the sun came up and the giant strode off to the wood.

Well, Boots went in, but he was very much afraid. He searched the giant's house until he came upon a cunning little mirror. It was more strange than beautiful, with a golden frame, fashioned like a pair of snakes that twined and joined and separated. As the wolf had told him, he placed himself before the mirror, clasped his hands behind his back, and stood upon one foot. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and leaned forward to kiss his face in the mirror. The wolf had told him on no account to open his eyes, but he found it hard, for the more he leaned toward the mirror, the farther away it seemed. At last, what with standing on one foot and all, he leaned so far forward, he fell flat upon the floor!

When he opened his eyes, the mirror was behind him, and when he got to his feet to brush off his clothes, he found that a interesting change had been made. Instead of brushing off a pair of pants and a shirt, he was brushing off a full blue skirt and a white apron, and a matching blue bodice with short puffy sleeves. Boots inspected himself in the mirror and was pleased with the result. "A bit fancy for a maid," he thought, "but it'll do." He sang a pretty tune in his light new voice and laughed in delight.

"If I'd known how easily the change could be made," says he to himself, "I'd have done it long ago." For the lad was now a lassie to all effects, and a happy lassie was she. With a smile and a clap of her hands, she busied herself around the cottage, cleaning and putting things to rights. It had been a great long time since anyone shook a broom in that place, and what with the dusting and the straightening and the washing, the day passed quickly, and soon enough the giant came home to find a pretty maiden and a hot meal waiting for him.

"Who might you be?" he roared, "And what business have ye in my house?"

But he looked about, and left off his roaring, for the cottage looked more pleasant and clean than it had in many a year. It reminded the giant of better days, days long gone by. "Who might ye be, lassie?" he repeated in a softer tone.

"I'm Beatrice, if you please, sir," the girl replied, "and it's me who hopes you need someone to keep your cottage clean and tidy like."

"Ah," the giant growled, and took her little face in his hand. His rough fingers were surprised by the warm softness of her pale white skin, and as he looked at her blood-red lips, her ebon hair, and the dark pools that were her eyes, he was enchanted. "Eh," says he, when he came to himself, "there's a loveliness about ye. Ye look more a princess than a pantry-maid, that's sure for the saying."

Beatrice trembled at his ferocity and strength, and confessed that her father was indeed a king. Then she told a tale of how her father commanded her to wed a prince who was as noble as you like, and as handsome as the sun, but whose head was as empty as a dry old dusty barrel.

"A pompous fool, ye say?" the giant growled. "I canna abide the beasts that twit about two legs and give themselves more airs than a bagpipe in a windstorm. Ye did well to run away lass, and you'll be safe as can be here. That's my vow. And if ye cook and clean and mend, that's all the more to the bargain."

In spite of his coarse manners, the giant went out of his way to make the maiden welcome, and he showed her all around the cottage. He marveled at the work she'd done to set the place aright, and let her choose what room could be her own.

"Aside from meats," says he, "whatever foods you need, you'll find in my garden, but I'll show ye that tomorrow."

Beatrice slept a little uneasily in the giant's house. She was pleased that the wolf's plan was going so well, but the giant's unexpected kindness made her uncomfortable in her deception.

In the morning the giant rose early and brought eggs, bread, and rashers. Beatrice built a fire in the stove and cooked breakfast for them both, and noticed that the giant had gone so far as to wash his hands before he sat at table.

True to his promise, he showed the lass his garden. Like the house, it needed tending, but here you found spices, and there you found flowers. There were beds for every sort of vegetable and trees with every kind of fruit. All the plants were flourishing, but all were in need of attention.

"'Twas my father's garden," explained the giant. "I do my best, but I canna care for it as he did."

The maiden praised the garden and its arrangement, and offered to try her hand out here as well. The giant brightened considerably at that, and said he would be more than pleased.

"What are these curious statues you have?" Beatrice asked him, the words catching in her throat. She pointed at her eldest brother, who stood frozen in stone before her.

"Ah, a nasty group!" the giant growled. "They came here, all of them, laughing and taunting me with their pretty looks and clothes. As I said, I canna abide the ones who give themselves airs and point their noses to the sky. By my powers, I turned the fools to stone, and stone they shall remain!"

At that, the giant took himself to the woods, and Beatrice gave herself to cleaning the house again. Though there was much to do inside, she spent part of the day in the giant's garden, weeding and cleaning and tending the plants. Some vegetables were gone bad, and these she threw in a heap. The good vegetables she gathered and cooked into a hearty ragout, which she served to the giant on his return.

She noticed this time that he'd washed his face as well as his hands, and had passed a comb (with some success) through his thick, untended hair.

"Tomorrow," says she, "I'll do some laundry," and as she spoke she laid her hand upon his chest.

Then, as quickly as she could, she pulled her hand away. Pretending to be surprised, the girl cried out, "Faith! Is there no heart beating in your chest?"

"No," says he, with a red, embarrassed face.

Well, she asked him why, and laid her small, pretty hand once or twice upon the place where his heart should be.

She asked him again, and when she asked him a third time he told her the long and the short of it.

He said that first his brother died, and then his mother died. And when his father died, the giant found himself alone, so he took the heart out of him and hid it in a hiding place where none could touch or harm it.

"And where do you keep your heart," she asked, "if you don't carry it about with you?"

"Ah!" he sighed. "You've no business to ask me that! But if you must know, it lies under the door sill."

Next morning, the giant was up well before the dawn, and strode off to the wood. As soon as he was gone, Beatrice shook the sleep from her lovely eyes and set to searching under the door sill for his heart. But the more she dug and the more she hunted, the more she couldn't find it.

"He's fooled me," says she, "but I'll try him once more."

She set the sill back in its place, and got the dinner cooking. Then she picked the prettiest flowers she could find, and spread them in the doorway. When the giant came home again, he stepped carefully over the flowers, and he says to the girl, he says, "What's all this business with the flowers, then?"

"Ah," replied Beatrice. "I'm so thankful that you've let me stay here, I couldn't help spreading those flowers, once I knew your heart lay underneath."

"You don't say so," says the giant. "Well, you're a great silly for all of that, for my heart doesn't lie there at all."

Later that evening, she asked him again where his heart was, for she would so like to know.

"Ah," says the giant. "If it's that way then, I'll tell ye. It lies away yonder in the cupboard there, against the wall."

Next morning when the giant went off to the wood, Beatrice attacked the cupboard, and searched it through and through. It was a desperate mess, full of old rubbish and bits of netting, old bird claws and rocks, pretty nothings, and dirty somethings, but one thing that was not in the cupboard was the giant's heart.

"Well!" says the girl, "I must try him once more!"

So she set it all to rights, and once the dinner was ready, she decked out the cupboard with flowers and garlands.

Back came the giant, and he looks at the cupboard and sees the decorations. "Ah," says he, "you've been flouncing about like a princess, have you? What's the meaning of this tomfoolery, then?"

"Oh," says she, "I did that when I knew your heart lay there."

"Are you silly enough to believe such a thing?" says the giant.

"Of course I believe it," says she, "for you told me it was so."

"You're a goose," says the giant. "Where my heart is, you will never come."

"That's as may be," says she, "but t'would be a pleasure to know where it really lies. I could think on it, and picture it in my heart."

The poor giant could hold out no longer. He took the girl's hands in his own, and in a low voice he told her, "Far, far away in the north there is a lake, and in that lake there is an island. On that island stands a church, and in that church there is a well. In that well there swims a duck, and in that duck there is an egg. Inside that egg lies my heart. There! Now you know, my princess, my dear! Before I told you tales, but this time, I tell you true."

In the morning, before the sun lit the sky, the giant strode off to the wood.

"I must be off as well," Beatrice told herself, "if only I knew the way." Well, she knew which way was north — there was the beginning! But that evening, if the giant found her gone, he'd go himself to fetch his heart ahead of her, and then what would she do?

When she stepped out of the giant's home, she found the wolf waiting for her. He'd listened at the window, and knew all that had taken place. The wolf bade the girl to climb upon his back, and soon they'd find the way. Away they went, till the wind whistled after them, over hedge and field, over hill and dale. They traveled until the sun was high and hot, and at last came to the lake.

There was no boat or bridge, so the girl clung tight to the wolf's back, and he swam across to the island. And so they came to the church, but the keys to the church hung high on the tower, and the tower could not be climbed.

"It's time to call on the raven," said the wolf. So the girl called out, and in a thrice the raven came. He flew up and fetched the keys, and Beatrice got into the church.

Next, they came to the well, and the water was high. The duck swam about, back and forth, just as the giant had said. Beatrice took some bread from her apron and called the bird and coaxed it, until it came close, and she grasped it tight. But as she lifted the bird from the water, the duck dropped the egg into the well, and the girl was beside herself as to how to get it out again.

"Now you must call on the salmon, to be sure," said the wolf. And when the girl cried out, the salmon came and fetched the egg from the bottom of the well.

Careful as could be, the maiden sewed the egg inside a pocket of her apron. Then she climbed upon the wolf and rode back home to the giant's house.

Soon after, the giant himself came, but he found no dinner on the table, no flowers, and Beatrice, his little princess, crying as if her heart had broken within her.

"What is this business, now?" says he, uneasily. "I'm not one who knows the ways of women, and if I've done aught to..."

"No," says she. "It's I who've done you harm, and sorry I am, believe me. You've been kind to me, and I've deceived you."

"What harm could a wee slip of a lass like yerself do to a monster like me," he laughed. "I said you're a goose, and it's a sweet silly goose you are, now."

"I've found your heart," says she.

"You've done no such thing," says he.

So she touched the pocket of her apron, and drew her hand over the egg. He gasped in astonishment, for he felt her fingers cross his very soul.

"Why have ye done it, girl?" the giant cried. "Haven't I dealt with ye true and kind?"

"You have," says she. "And I want to give you your heart and have you put it back into your chest, where it belongs."

"If ye wish it, girl, I'll do it," says he. "Ye needn't have gone to fetch the egg for all that. If ye'd asked, I would have done."

"It's another thing," says she. "That I must ask you, but I hardly dare."

"Ask away," says he. "For I canna tell ye no. Ye have my heart in yer hand, with or without that blessed egg. Ask me now."

She begged him to restore to life her six brothers and their brides, who stood as stone in his garden. He said he would, so she opened up the pocket of her apron and handed him the egg. The giant gave it back to her.

"I'll free your kin, and you as well, if you wish it. I've come to care for you, my dearest Princess Beatrice, and if you leave me, I'll have no use for heart or life. I know that I'm a monster and mayhap I'm a fool, but I've lost every soul on earth I ever cared for. You've brought me back to life, but if you leave, I've nothing for it but to die. If you'll stay, I'll put my heart back in my chest and keep it there. But if you won't, you may crush it with your pretty foot as you go."

"I'll stay," said the girl. "I've come to care for you as well. I love you, and I give you my heart with your own."

"Think well," says he. "I'm under no enchantment. There is no handsome prince in me. I'll always be the ugly brute you see before you now."

"I've thought well," said the girl as she dried her tears and gave him a smile, "and I have a plan!"

She explained it to the giant, and it pleased him well.

First the giant went a-hunting, and caught some boar and deer and dressed them. While he did that, the girl gathered fruits, vegetables, and flowers.

Together they went into the garden, and the giant carried the statues to a clearing in the wood. Beatrice placed herself before the stone figures. Then, the giant kissed her gently, and strode off toward the deep woods.

Once he was well away, he used his powers to restore to life the six princes and princesses. The twelve were amazed, for they remembered nothing of their captivity. Beatrice clapped her hands and called to them.

"Princes and Princesses! A year ago, you princes left your home to woo and win these lovely maidens. As luck would have it, your happy voyage home was interrupted by an evil wizard who imprisoned you underground. For many months you remained as statues made of stone, without life or breath or warmth."

"And who are you, fair maiden?" asked the eldest brother. "Did you set us free? Your face and voice are something like..."

"Your youngest brother, Boots?" the girl smiled. "Yes, there is good reason. Your father despaired of your ever coming home, and your youngest brother went forth to look for you. He too was captured by the wizard and changed into the maiden you see before you. I am your sister; my name is Beatrice."

After much surprise, came warm greetings and embraces. Each brother introduced his sweetheart; each princess kissed her new-found sister.

"Now tell," asked the eldest brother, "How do we find us here? Where is this wizard now?"

"We were freed," she said, "by a giant, fierce in aspect, but great in heart. He freed me first, then, at great risk to himself, he fought and killed the wizard and carried you here. By his own powers he restored your life and breath."

"We owe great thanks to this giant!" the brothers cried. "When can we know him?"

"His house is close at hand," she smiled. "Come, we shall prepare a feast!"

The brothers took the giant's long table and set it in the garden, which they found lovely and welcoming. They never knew how long a time that garden was their home, in wind and sun and rain. As they placed chairs about, the sisters were a-cooking. When the giant came home, he was met by the brave company, who toasted and embraced him as their savior.

It soon was clear to all that the giant had Beatrice's heart, just as she had his, so the next morning, two princes and princesses when forward to the lonely king, two returned to the father of the girls, and two remained with the giant and his pretty bride.

When Beatrice and the giant married, two kings and their courts attended, loaded with gifts. It was a beautiful wedding, full of flowers, birds, music, and song. Never did you see a lovelier bride or a happier groom! After the married couple enjoyed their first kiss, Beatrice took a little mirror with a golden frame, and threw it to the ground with a smile. The giant returned her smile, and brought his heel down hard, crushing the mirror to fragments. None of the company understood this strange ceremony, but they cheered and hurrahed, and all the men threw their hats in the air.

Beatrice and the giant lived happily in their woodland cottage, and had frequent visits from princes and princesses, who came to hunt or enjoy the good country air. Beatrice bore the giant three healthy boys: three handsome half-giants, big for a man, but small for a giant, and their grandfathers loved them and spoiled them terribly.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

11. Riquet With The Tuft

 

A long time ago, there was a queen who gave birth to a son so ugly and misshapen that people doubted the baby was even human. But Raelyn, a fairy who attended all royal births, promised that he would have plenty of brains. Then she gave him a gift that would allow him to bestow on the person he loved best the same degree of intelligence as himself.

This was something of a comfort to the poor queen, who was greatly disappointed at having brought such a hideous creature into the world. But indeed, the fairy was right: no sooner had the child begun to speak that his sayings were found to be quite pithy, and everything he did was so clever that everyone was charmed.

When the boy was born, he had a little tuft of hair on the front of his head, so everyone called him Riquet With The Tuft. "Riquet" was his family name.

About seven years later, the queen of a nearby kingdom gave birth to twins. The first twin, Morgandy, was more beautiful than the dawn, and the queen was so overjoyed, and her excitement was so extreme, that the midwives became alarmed. Partly to calm the queen, and partly because it was true, Raelyn declared that this little princess would have no sense at all, and would in fact be as stupid as she was beautiful. The queen was deeply mortified, and a moment later her chagrin became greater still, for the second child, a boy named Druce, proved to be extremely ugly.

"Do not be distressed, milady," said the fairy. "Your son will shine in another way. He shall have so much good sense that his looks will scarcely be noticed."

"I hope you're right!" said the queen. "But is there any way that you could grant my daughter, who is so beautiful — could you give her even a smidgen of brains? Nothing out of the ordinary — just plain common sense?"

"In the matter of brains I can't help her, your highness," said the fairy, "but as far as beauty is concerned, I can do a great deal. Because I'd do anything to please you, I will grant her the power of making beautiful any person who greatly pleases her."

The queen didn't see exactly how this gift was supposed to please her, but she kept silent.

As the twins grew, their perfections increased. Morgandy's beauty and Druce's wit were talked about everywhere.

It was also true that their defects increased as they got older. Each day the boy was uglier than the day before, and each day the girl grew duller. When people spoke to her, she either said nothing or said something idiotic. At the same time, she was so awkward that she couldn't set four vases on the mantel without breaking at least one, or drink a glass of water without spilling half of it on her clothes.

And though the girl was young and — truly — breathtakingly beautiful, she was almost always outshone by her brother. At first, everyone would gather round Princess Morgandy to see and admire her, but very soon they were all attracted by the graceful and easy conversation of her brother. The princess was often left quite alone, even in a room full of people.

She wasn't so stupid as to not be aware of this, and she often wished she could give up all her beauty for half of her brother's cleverness. Her mother the queen, who was usually kind and tactful, could not refrain from occasionally scolding Morgandy for her foolishness. The poor girl was already embarrassed by her defect, and her mother's remarks made her want to die.

One day the princess took to the woods to cry over her troubles, when she saw an ugly little man walking toward her. His appearance was very disagreeable, but his clothes were magnificient. He was the young prince Riquet With the Tuft. He'd fallen in love with her portrait, which was found everywhere, and he'd left his father's kingdom so he could have the pleasure of seeing and talking to her.

Delighted to meet her alone, he greeted her respectfully, and spoke to her politely. But when he paid her compliments, he noticed that she became quite sad.

"Princess," he said, "I can't understand how anyone as lovely as you could ever be sad. I can say I've seen many fair ladies, but none of them could begin to compare with you."

"It's kind of you to say so..." she began, but then had no idea how to go on.

"Beauty is such a great advantage in life," he continued, "that everything else can be forgotten. A person with beauty can have nothing to grieve about."

The princess sighed. "I would rather be as plain as you and have a little sense, then to be as beautiful as I am and incredibly stupid."

"Nothing shows good sense more," he told her, "than feeling we don't have it. You could say then, that the more we feel we lack good sense, the more of it we really have."

"I don't know about that," she replied. "And I'm not even sure what you just said. But one thing I do know is that I am very, very stupid, and this is the reason for the misery that is almost killing me."

"It that's all that's bothering you, I can easily put an end to your suffering."

"How could you do that?" the princess retorted. To tell the truth, she had almost forgotten what they were talking about.

"I have the power," said Riquet With the Tuft, "to give as much good sense as I possess to the person I love best. You are that person, and you can decide if you would like to receive it. The only condition is that you consent to marry me."

The princess was dumbfounded, so she remained silent.

"I can see that this perplexes you," said Riquet, "and I'm not surprised. But I will give you a year to make up your mind."

The princess didn't need a year to make her mind up; she could have told him yes right then and there, but she didn't have the sense to think of it. And so, a year went by, and she ached with the feeling that the day would never come. But at last it did, and she accepted Riquet's offer. They agreed to be married a year from that very day, and the moment she gave her word, she felt a complete change come over her. She found herself able to say all that she wished with the greatest ease, and to say it in an elegant, finished, and natural manner. She at once engaged Riquet in a brilliant and lengthy conversation, holding her own so well that Riquet was afraid he had given her a larger share of brains than he'd kept for himself.

When she returned to the palace, there was utter amazement at her sudden and extraordinary change. Everyone was used to hearing her silly, nonsensical remarks, and now she expressed herself with wit and sensibility.

The court was overjoyed. The only person who was not too pleased was her brother Druce, because now he wasn't "the clever one" anymore. Morgandy had beauty and brains, and he seemed like a ugly little monster in comparison.

The king himself began to take the princess' advice, and several times held his councils in her chambers.

The news of the change spread quickly, and princes from neighboring kingdoms made great efforts to woo her. All of them asked her hand in marriage. But she found that none of them were really very bright, so she listened to all without promising herself to any.

One day, Prince Anwel arrived. He was so powerful, so rich, so witty, and so handsome, that she couldn't help being attracted to him. Her father noticed this, and told her she could decide for herself who she'd like to marry. While this might seem like a simple choice, the more brains a person has, the harder it is to make up one's mind, especially where the heart is concerned. So, after thanking her father, she asked for a little time to think it over. In order to ponder quietly what she had to do, she went for a walk in the woods — the very same place, as it happened, where she'd met Riquet With The Tuft.

While she walked, deep in thought, she felt a thudding in the ground, as though many people were running nearby. Then she heard voices. "Bring me that boiler," said one, and another voice said, "Put more wood on that fire!"

There, in a clearing, was a large open-air kitchen full of cooks and helpers, and all the attendants and staff that a great banquet requires. A gang of spit-turners stood in a row, with their cook's hats jauntily to one side and their basters in hand, keeping time as they worked by singing a melodious song.

The princess was astonished by the spectacle, and asked for whom the work was being done.

"For Prince Riquet With the Tuft, ma'am," the head cook told her. "His wedding is today."

At this the princess was more surprised than ever. In a flash she remembered that it was a year to the very day since she promised to marry Prince Riquet With the Tuft, and was taken aback by the recollection. The reason she'd forgotten was that when she made the promise she was still without sense, and when Riquet gave her intelligence, all memory of her former foolishness was blotted out.

She hadn't gone another ten steps, when Riquet With the Tuft himself appeared before her, dressed as nicely as any prince on his wedding day.

"As you see, Princess Morgandy," he said, "I keep my word to the minute. I see that you do as well, and that you've come to make me the happiest of men."

"I'll be frank with you," she replied. "I haven't quite decided who I'm going to marry, and I'm afraid that I can't give you the answer you're looking for."

"Princess, I'm speechless," said Riquet With the Tuft.

"I'm sure you are," said the princess, "and undoubtedly, if I had to deal with a fool or a man without any sense, I'd feel quite awkward. He would insist that a princess must keep her word, and that since I'd promised to marry him, I had to marry him. However, since I'm speaking to a man of the world, a person with great good sense, I'm sure you'll listen to reason. You must see that it was difficult to decide to marry you when I hadn't any sense at all. Now that I have all the intelligence you've given me, I'm much harder to please — I mean, I'm much more discerning — and that makes my decision all the harder. Now, you can hardly expect me to live up to a promise I made when I was foolish. If you really wanted to marry me, you did wrong to take away my stupidity, and make me see more clearly than I did."

Riquet With the Tuft replied, "If — as you just said — a man without sense would be right in blaming you for breaking your word, why do you expect me to act differently? Especially now, when my future happiness is at stake? Is it right to suppose that intelligent people should be treated worse than fools? Do you honestly believe that? You, who are so obviously intelligent, and wished so strongly to be so?

"Be that as it may," he went on. "Let's get down to facts. With the exception of my ugliness, is that anything about me that displeases you? Are you unsatisfied with my breeding, my brains, my disposition, or my manners?"

"Not at all," she said. "In fact, I quite like all of those things in you."

"In that case," Riquet With the Tuft told her, "the solution is simple, since you have the power to make me the handsomest of men."

"What do you mean?" asked the princess.

"It will happen if you wish it to be so," he explained. "Let me tell you something you apparently don't know. I was able to grant you intelligence because the fairy Raelyn gave me that power at my birth. She was also present when you were born, and she gave you the power of making beautiful any person who pleases you."

"Is that so?" said the princess. "I'm quite surprised to hear it, but we can see in a moment whether it's so. I wish with my whole heart that you have, without any reserve, all the beauty that I possess and am able to give you."

No sooner had the princess uttered the words, that a great change came over Riquet With the Tuft.

Among his many imperfections, Riquet had a club foot, a humped back, and a large, craggy head that sat crookedly on his shoulders. These features softened and shrank until his limbs were symmetrical and firm, his back was straight and strong, and a fine head stood tall upon his shoulders. And so it was with every part of him: they softened, curved or straightened, drew in or filled out.

Certainly, the princess could have been more exact in her wish, or less generous in her giving. For part of the beauty the princess possessed, and part of the beauty she wished on Riquet, was feminine beauty. Did the princess wish this in her heart? Did she imply it in her words? Was there an innocent mistake? There was no knowing, and there is no telling.

In any case, what's done is done, and there was no undoing. Riquet With the Tuft was now a lovely girl, a princess in all rights, appearances, and effects — and if she was not quite the twin of the princess who stood before him, she could have passed for a bewitching dark-haired cousin.

"What have you done, my lady?" he cried, looking down at himself. His large, mannish clothes now fit him badly, and he struggled to keep his — or her — dignity and decency. At last, with many a blush, Riquet With the Tuft left an oversized pair of pants and boots in the field, and, wrapping her more than ample cloak around her, followed the princess as best she could.

The first order of business was dressing the new princess. The ladies-in-waiting saw to that, and the lovely maiden was soon fitted out in one of the best dresses in the castle. Riquet With the Tuft couldn't help but admit that a great improvement had been made. Before today, a mirror was something he instinctively ignored. Now, she found them a positive joy. She turned and twisted and gazed and marvelled. She studied and admired herself from every possible angle, until the ladies-in-waiting grew tired of waiting, and led her downstairs to the great hall, where she was received with great warmth and even greater interest.

Princess Morgandy, with perhaps a bit more haste than necessary, informed her father that she'd set her heart on Prince Anwel. Clearly, she reasoned, Riquet With the Tuft could no longer have any claim upon her.

Riquet herself realized this, as she descended the stair with every eye upon her. She wanted to marry; she thought the question was settled, but now it all was thrown into the air, with no telling where it would land.

There were many princes on hand who'd come to woo the Princess Morgandy, but by now they'd seen how things were. When another lovely princess — Riquet herself — appeared, they adjusted their aim.

Riquet was pleased by their attention, but one face had caught her eye — the ugly face of Prince Druce. Riquet, though beautiful now, felt a bond of sympathy with the young man, and as soon as possible, she struck up a conversation.

She should have been surprised, I suppose, by how pleasant and easy it was to talk with him. It was just as the fairy had said: Druce's good sense was so abundant, that after a while Riquet forgot the prince's ugliness, and wanted to talk with no one else. On Druce's part, he'd been eclipsed so long by his sister's beauty and brilliance, that the attentions of this lovely girl were like water in the desert to him.

Just as Morgandy had forgotten Riquet when he gave her good sense, so Riquet forgot Morgandy when she gave him beauty. In fact, when Prince Anwel was introduced as "Morgandy's future husband," Riquet sincerely wished the pair well, and thought them quite lucky in the match.

Druce and Riquet became the greatest of friends, and soon they passed from conversations to kisses. For the first time in his life, Druce had a sweetheart. Not many days passed before he asked for her hand and was gladly accepted. If he was happy before, now he was in heaven.

Morgandy and Riquet each gave birth to three children. All of them were handsome and clever, but no more than you'd expect, and the fairy Raelyn saw no need to make adjustments.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

12. The Silent Princess

 

On the border of a far off land, there was a small but lovely kingdom, ruled by the good King Brennus. The land was rich and fruitful and its people were happy.

But not everyone in the kingdom was happy. The only sorrowful person was Brennus himself, and he was wretchedly sad. He would walk on the terraces of his magnificent palace and look over his beautiful gardens, but he never smiled, not even at the pretty goldfish that peered from the crystal fountains.

No one had seen the king smile since the day his queen died. She had gone out walking one day, accompanied by her women, when at the very gate of the palace a horrible beast (some said a panther) had run across her path. The animal — whatever it was — hadn't hurt her. In fact, it ran right off, but the queen had been so frightened that she fell to the ground and never regained consciousness. The faithful servants did all they could to revive their beloved mistress, but there was nothing to be done: the lady was dead, and they had to return to their lord bearing the dead body of his beautiful wife.

King Brennus was so overcome with grief that he almost did harm to himself, tearing at his clothes and hair. The royal court went into mourning, and for months no one saw the king's face. After a while, however, affairs of state and other matters of importance claimed his attention, and he appeared again. He was just as good and kind as ever, and listened to his poorest subjects with the same patience as before, but he was no longer happy, and even his little son Lonan never saw him smile.

His melancholy grew so deep that his subjects began to fear that it would kill him. His advisors conferred to see what could be done to rouse the king from his apathy, and they all agreed that Uscius, his old friend and counselor, should speak to the king about a second marriage.

The next day, Uscius saw the king deeply absorbed in his grief, so he drew near and said, "Your majesty, pardon the liberty that an old and faithful subject takes with you, but it's time your mourning should stop. Your endless sadness causes everyone in the entire nation to lose heart. No one dares to laugh out loud, and trade is at a standstill. If I may be so bold, it is your duty to shake off your grief. In the name of your people, I beg you to marry again. A beautiful princess with a good heart will cheer you and heal your sorrow."

At first, King Brennus was mortally offended, and refused to listen to such talk, but later, as he reflected on his friend's advice, his sense of duty awoke. He informed Uscius that he would marry, as long as the princess was as lovely and virtuous as his dead queen.

Ambassadors were sent to countries near and far, until at last one of them found a princess who was reknowned for her beauty, her wealth, and her accomplishments. Her name was Ornice, and she was the widow of a young prince who had died in battle. It was clear that she would make an exquisite bride and queen. There was a problem, however. Princess Ornice had a son, Nessan, and she would not leave him behind.

The king's son Lonan was loved by his people, and everyone expected him to follow his father to the throne. Ornice's son Nessan, on the other hand, was older, and full of good qualities. Clearly, he might have reason to expect the throne.

In spite of this issue, the ambassador had written such a glowing account of Ornice's beauty, her enchanting voice, her wisdom and goodness, that Brennus asked her to become his wife. He sent messengers with costly gifts, and a honor guard composed of three hundred of the bravest and most handsome young noblemen in the realm, with orders to bring the princess, her son, and all her household back to his kingdom.

The wedding was arranged. The city was filled with decorations, and a feast was prepared to welcome the wonderful princess.

Ornice was everything the ambassador had said, and more. Brennus was completely charmed, and taking her hand, sat her by his side on his golden throne. Her conversation pleased him even more than her beauty, for her voice was sweet, and she spoke with deep understanding of many subjects.

After the festivities ended, Ornice took her place as the new queen, and did many good things for the court and the kingdom. She was very generous, but she was also very proud, and her good acts did not win the hearts of the people. Once the fascination with her beauty began to diminish, the people noticed that she took every opportunity to enhance her son's position and to harm Lonan's chance at the throne.

But, as it often happens, the two boys became best of friends. Lonan recognized that Nessan had all the qualities of a king, and though he loved and wished to serve his people, he was not ambitious, and would in true humility have stood aside as his friend took the throne in his place.

Still, Lonan kept this secret in his heart. It was prudent, in case he was obliged to take the throne.

And, it should be said: the people would have come to love Nessan, if it wasn't for his mother's intrigues.

Now, King Brennus was old. His long grief, though over, had severely taxed his heart, and he fell ill. Seeing that the king's time might be at hand, Ornice's jealousy and impatience lept to the fore. She came to see the death of Lonan as the only way to guarantee Nessan the throne. She spent many nights and days searching for a way to end the prince's life, but it was practically impossible, since Lonan was always either with his father, or surrounded by faithful and devoted bodyguards.

At last the day came that Brennus called his wife and his son and told them that he had decided to give up the throne, as soon as Lonan found a princess to marry who was as good and as beautiful as his mother had been. "I hope you will be a wise and just ruler, as I have tried to be," he concluded.

Ornice was doubly stung by the announcement: first, because her own son was not preferred, and second because she wasn't named as a model for Lonan's queen. It was also clear to her that if Lonan took the throne, the chances of killing him would be even more remote.

She had to move quickly, because Lonan had already chosen a bride, a lady of his father's court, whom he had loved for some time. King Brennus approved of the union, and the wedding was scheduled to take place in three days.

After the wedding, Brennus would formally resign the crown to his son, and retire with his wife and stepson into private life.

This was a very serious state of affairs, and Ornice saw it as the death of all her hopes for her son and herself. She saw the need to strike a sudden and decisive blow, and that very night, when all the castle was asleep, she went with a trusted servant to seek the wizard Coman.

She found him in a cavern, brewing potions over several tiny fires. Coman was a tall, bony man, who resembled a skeleton covered by the barest ration of skin. Without looking up, he called out, "I know who you are and what you want and why you are here tonight. You wish to destroy the young prince, Lonan. I cannot do it. Magic cannot kill, though it can do many other things."

"You must help me," Queen Ornice told him, her eyes glistening with rage. "Your magic may not kill, but my dagger can, and unless you do as I ask —"

The wizard interrupted her. "I am not afraid," he said, "but I will help you, because I know you will be good to me. I also know that Prince Lonan hates magicians and wizards, and if he becomes king, he will probably expel me from this country or put me to death. Now, as I said, I cannot kill him; I do not have that power. However, I can make it easier for you to kill him. I will create a potion that you must sprinkle upon his threshold. The moment he treads upon it, it will change him to a harmless girl. A girl without language — who can neither speak, read, nor write, nor understand anything she hears. And such a girl can easily be destroyed."

The queen laughed and rubbed her hands. "Quite so!" she agreed.

"Remember this," the wizard cautioned, "on the night of every new moon my power ceases, and the girl's understanding will return for six hours. Therefore, lay your plans carefully, so that once the prince is dead, no one knows who was instrumental in his destruction."

Saying which, the old wizard seized a long wand and drew a magic circle around a skull, and as he poured a dark liquid into it, he uttered a weird incantation. The queen and her servant watched with eager curiosity while he murmured other strange words and mixed curious and disgusting ingredients into the potion. When he finished, he handed the skull, with some instructions, to the queen, who carried her precious burden back to the palace.

It was still night, so she easily made her way to the door of Prince Lonan's room. His two bodyguards were fast asleep. Quickly, but with great caution, Ornice poured some of the skull's contents on the threshold, then fled back to her own chamber.

The next day the palace was in complete turmoil, for young Prince Lonan had disappeared. His bodyguard swore that no one had entered his apartment, and that they had in fact seen him and spoken to him that very morning. But after he had washed his face, no one could give an account of him. He seemed to have vanished without leaving a trace. Every inch of the palace, and then the entire kingdom, was searched, but the prince was nowhere to be found. His beautiful bride, and the good King Brennus, were nearly mad with grief, and nothing could console them. The palace fell into a deeper gloom than when the first queen died.

The only joy King Brennus knew in all this trouble was the company of a strange and beautiful girl with long blonde hair and large green eyes, who had haunted the palace ever since the disappearance of the prince. No one could say where she came from or what her name was — least of all the girl herself, since the poor thing could neither speak, nor read, nor write. The king often spoke to her, and hoped she could at least shake her head yes or no, but clearly the girl understood nothing that was said to her. She'd been found wandering the palace, wearing only a man's shirt, and was brought before the king. He had her dressed as a lady of the court, and kept her by his side. He treated her as kindly as if she were his own daughter.

The girl often opened her pretty mouth as if to speak, but words failed her. Again and again she took up a pen, but when she put it to paper, she had no idea how to begin. The king brought speakers of every known language before the girl, but she could make no sense out of anything that was said.

The queen often witnessed these scenes, and they drove her to distraction. She longed to be rid of the girl, but the affection of the king made it quite impossible. Then one day, the girl happened to see the name of the missing prince written on a piece of paper. She gazed at it long and hard, as if it meant something to her. The girl stared at and studied the name. She touched it with her hand, tracing the letters with a puzzled air. At last, she took the paper and tucked it in her bosom. She often drew it out and mused over the strange lines, turning it over and over.

By this time, Queen Ornice had had quite enough. Her nerves could stand no more. The night of the new moon was rapidly approaching, and the girl must be gone by then. But this was a difficult matter, and the queen was perplexed, to say the least.

One night, however, chance favored Ornice's plans. It was a very hot and dark night, and the king had taken a sleeping potion to cure him of the restless nights he suffered since his son's disappearance. The queen went quietly to the girl's bedchamber and threw a thick hood over the sleeping lass. Poor girl! She tried to struggle, but the queen was stronger, and had the advantage of surprise. She lifted the girl and threw her, headfirst, out the window and into the lake. She heard a cry and a splash, but didn't dare look out. She quietly returned to her own room, and noiselessly got into bed.

The next morning she woke up happy, knowing that at last the hated Prince Lonan was out of her way forever, when who should she see as she went to breakfast, but the same quiet girl with the big green eyes, sitting by the side of the king, with her hand upon his arm.

She didn't dare express surprise or ask any questions, but soon she was given the explanation. To her immense frustration, her own son Nessan had been the one to rescue the poor girl. He had been outside that night, waiting to catch a panther who had been stalking the lake by night. Nessan heard the girl's cry, and saw her drop, apparently from nowhere. Without a thought for his own safety, he threw himself into the water, and brought the girl to shore. She was wet and frightened, but uninjured, and of course unable to tell why or how she'd fallen.

The queen was unable to conceal her rage when she heard this account, and from that moment made no secret of her hatred for the mysterious girl. Nessan had named her "Tuila" — a name that meant silence, and he was evidently quite taken with her. The court imagined that the queen disliked the girl because she feared that Nessan would marry her, and the girl would make an awful choice as queen.

Or would she? Although the girl's past was a complete mystery, it was clear that she was a person of good breeding. Her manners were impeccable, and her taste and discernment were clearly superior. As long as she didn't need to speak, she seemed every inch a princess.

Nessan had her portrait taken, and copies were sent far and wide, to every kingdom known to man, in the hopes that someone knew who she was. He kept a copy over his own heart.

But before any sonnets, gifts, or offers of marriage arrived in response to the portrait, the night of the new moon punctually arrived, and the queen knew that she had to act. She had tried many times, at least once if not twice a day, to catch the girl alone, but each time she failed, for if the girl wasn't with the king, she was accompanied by Nessan, with whom she traded many smiles and happy moments.

Again, fortune favored Queen Ornice. On that very night, a few hours before the moon rose, some urgent business called the king into a secret session with his closest councilors. Tuila wandered through the castle, looking for Nessan, without finding him. At last, in a small empty room, she saw a piece of paper on a table with the name "Lonan" written on it. The girl stopped. She knew these symbols somehow. They meant something to her, she was sure, if only she could remember... She took the paper in her hand, and while she was lost in thought, the queen and her servant emerged from the shadow. They threw a bag over the girl, and quickly carried her, by a secret stair, down to a lawn overlooking the lake. She struggled, and cried out, but no one heard.

There were still some hours before moonrise, but the queen did not tarry. She and her servant removed Tuila from the bag, took her by the arms and legs, and prepared to hurl her headfirst upon a rock far below, where her brains would be dashed out. The spot was beneath a terrace not far from the girl's room, and it would easily be supposed that she had taken her own life.

Before the deed could be done, a low growl was heard, and a panther ran forward, between the women and the lake. The queen and her helper threw the unlucky girl to the panther, thinking he would devour her, but the beast bounded over the girl, and ran after the queen. Tuila fainted dead away while the panther quickly brought the queen and her servant to ground. He killed them both, but he did not eat them.

The panther returned to the lake, where he washed the blood from his paws and face. Then he went to sniff at Tuila, who still lay unconscious. Glancing around him, the panther uttered a few strange words, and suddenly took the form of the wizard Coman. Moving quickly but carefully, the magician sprinkled a powder over the girl, while repeating a incantation. "I restore to you the power to speak, the power to understand speech, and the power to read and to write, just as you had before. But of your prior life, of your life as a boy, as a man, as a prince, you will remember nothing. You are the girl Tuila, a princess and nothing more."

Then the wizard vanished.

Nessan rose early, to look for the tracks of the panther. Instead he found the awful remains of his mother and her servant, and the girl Tuila, lying senseless on the ground. Although she could have explained how she and the unfortunate women came to be by the side of the lake, she kept the truth to herself, and claimed she'd fainted and found herself there.

The king bore his new loss philosophically, which is to say that he took it surprisingly well. He was happy to finally hear Tuila's sweet voice, and pronounced her a princess of the realm. He then gave his throne to young Prince Nessan, on condition that he marry Tuila and make her his queen. Nessan was only too happy to oblige.

The king then retired to private life, and spent many happy hours chatting, taking walks, and playing chess with his new daughter in law, Tuila, although he usually called her "my daughter" or simply "my dear."

Nessan ruled wisely and well, and soon won the love and respect of his people, as did his lovely, gracious, and good Queen Tuila.

Of the wizard Coman, nothing more was ever heard. As for Queen Ornice, she was briefly mourned, and was not greatly missed.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

13. Zelinda And The Monster

 

In a time long ago and a place far away, there lived a merchant who was incredibly lucky and enormously rich. He had three children: two of them were girls and the youngest, Laris, was a boy. They were all accustomed to the good life and to always having whatever they wanted.

One day, it all changed. Their house caught fire and burned to the ground, and with it all the splendid things they owned: books, pictures, clothes, furniture — everything! At first it didn't seem so bad, because the merchant had money in the bank, but soon bad news was followed by worse. All of the merchant's ships were lost at sea, either to pirates or to storms. When he tried to cash in some of his assets in other countries, he discovered that his agents abroad, whom he trusted as himself, had cheated him in every way possible.

In the end, from great wealth he fell into poverty.

All he had left was a little house in the middle of nowhere, very far from town, in the midst of deep wood. Its only safety lay in its being hard to find. Here he was forced to retreat with his children, who were in despair at living such a life.

When calamity first struck, the children had the happy idea of going to live with one or another of their friends. Imagine their surprise when none of their friends would have them! Not only that, but the children's suffering was made more acute when their friends blamed their misfortune on their own extravagance.

Friends, neighbors, and even strangers told them quite plainly that if they would only "buckle down and get serious" they could easily pull themselves out of their difficulty. The children were told, "If we help you, we would only weaken your character. So the best help we can give you is none at all!"

In the end, there was nothing left to do but depart for the cottage, as dismal as it seemed. Since they were too poor to have servants, the girls had to cook and clean, and the son had to cultivate the fields. Their clothes were rough and often mended, and their life was the simplest possible. The girls complained constantly about the luxuries and amusements they lacked. Only the boy tried to be brave and cheerful, and gave himself to their new life with energy and curiosity. He was as sad as the girls when misfortune overtook their father, but his natural spirit was too bright and positive to stay down for very long. He tried his best to amuse the family, and to persuade his sisters to join him in songs and games. However, all his efforts fell flat. Not only that, but because he wasn't downcast, the girls declared that this simple life was all he was fit for, and that he was nothing more than a peasant at heart.

Two years later, when they had all become more-or-less accustomed to their new life, some extraordinary news came. Quite by chance, their father heard that one of his ships, which he long believed to be lost, had come safely into port with a rich cargo. The three children believed that this was the end of their poverty and wanted to move immediately to town. The father, however, was more prudent, and begged them to wait a little. It was harvest time, and rather than risk everything on the strength of a rumor, it was better for him to go alone, and make sure of the facts. As he prepared to go, the girls began to daydream aloud about their return to a comfortable life and their old circle of friends. They began making a list of gifts they wanted their father to bring on his return: dresses, shoes, jewels, and so on. Only the son had doubts about the way things would turn out, but he kept those doubts to himself. His father noticed his silence and asked what gift he wanted from town.

"The only thing I want is to see you home again safely," the boy replied.

This answer angered his sisters, who thought he was blaming them for asking such costly gifts. His father was pleased, but didn't want to come back without a gift for his son, so he told him to choose something.

"Well, since you insist," the boy replied, "It would be nice to have a rosebush to plant by the front door. Our house used to be surrounded by flowers, but here there are only weeds."

The town was more than two week's distance from the cottage, but the merchant arrived as quickly as he possibly could. He found that the news of the ship was quite true, but that his former partners, who believed him dead, had already divided the ship's goods between them. Since he had taken no interest in the business for such a long time, they told him that he had no reasonable expectation of sharing in the profit. They also maintained that he owed more money that he ever would have gained, and would be lucky if he could leave town before he was shut in the debtor's prison.

One of the partners was kinder than the rest, and in secret gave the merchant enough money to cover his trip and the cost of staying in town. He also packed up a number of shoes, clothes, and trinkets that his own children no longer used, so that his friend would not return home empty-handed.

By now, bad weather had begun, and this made the trip home longer and more difficult. Because of the wind and the snow, he had to travel slowly and stop more often. Finally, when he was less than a day's distance from home, he was almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. He was so anxious to arrive that he pressed on anyway, deeper into the woods, but night overtook him, and the darkness and the deep snow made it impossible for his horse to carry him any farther. There was not a house or a light to be seen, and the only shelter he could find was the hollow trunk of a tree. He crouched there, trembling, all night long. In spite of his weariness, the howling of wolves kept him awake. When the sun finally rose, he wasn't much better off because the snow had covered his tracks, and the sun was so deeply hidden by clouds that he wasn't be sure which way to go.

Through trial and error, he found a sort of trail. At first it was rough and slippery, and he fell down more than once, but soon it got wider, easier, and more level. At last he found himself on a broad tree-lined road that led directly to a splendid castle. The road was quite clear of snow; the merchant couldn't imagine how it had been done. He was even more astonished by the castle itself — he had no idea that he had such a exalted neighbor!

He entered the courtyard and made his way to the stable. There were a number of beautiful horses there, but no people. He called, but no one answered. Finally, the merchant took one of the more out-of-the-way stalls, and left his horse there. He also gave her something to eat. He still had enough money to pay for that!

Next he entered the castle itself. The warm air revived him, and he realized how hungry he was! He roamed about as much as he dared, calling out, knocking on doors, but never finding or hearing a single soul. At last, tired beyond degree, he returned to a little room near the front door and sat down by the hearth. Sooner or later someone would find him; at the very least, the servant who tended the fire.

He slept deeply for several hours, until his hunger woke him. Imagine his surprise when he found a little table next to his chair, set with a good dinner. Clearly someone had seen him, kept the fire going, and brought him food. After calling out a thank-you to his unseen host, he fell upon the meal. It was more than a day since he'd eaten, so (as you can well imagine) he left nothing on his plate.

The merchant once again went through all the rooms of the castle, calling, seeking, but finding no one. He began to feel uncomfortable and excited at the same time. He passed the little room where he'd slept and ate, and saw to his surprise that the dirty dishes were gone, along with the little table. How curious! By now, he was quite sure that there was not a living soul in the place, yet someone or something was seeing to his needs! The merchant began to wonder if this magical place was meant for him, and whether he could bring his children to come and live there.

When he checked on his horse, he found that all the horses had been fed and groomed, his own included! And yet he still hadn't seen a single servant anywhere.

Earlier, while he was on an upper floor he had taken a good look at the landscape, and had a pretty good idea of where he was and how he'd get home. But now it was late afternoon — too late in the day to start that journey. The best plan would be to stay another night and start in the morning. On his way back from the stable to the castle, he saw a gate that was closed and locked. Through the gate he saw the most marvelous garden, and when he saw this garden he was sure (if he hadn't been before!) that the castle was enchanted, for the garden was in full bloom, while everything outside was covered with snow.

There were flowers of every kind, and lovely little trees. His nose told him that there were aromatic herbs as well, and the scents changed with every shift in the light warm breezes that wafted through the iron gate. The merchant couldn't open the gate, so he returned to the castle to look for a way in. He found none.

At last, his curiosity got the better of him, and he climbed the wall. It felt as if he'd returned to the fullness of Spring. All the plants were at their loveliest. The fruit trees were rich with fruit; every flowering plant bore fulsome blossoms. He wandered, enchanted, drinking in the sights and the scents, along with the sounds of the softly bubbling fountains. Oh! If only he could stay there forever!

And then, the merchant heard a stronger call: his stomach informed him that it was time for another meal. Quickly he trotted back to the gate and made ready to climb the wall once again. Before he did, he noticed several bundles lying on the ground, along with a shovel and some other garden tools. They were bushes and trees, ready to plant. Their roots were protected by burlap sacks, and soft white sheets hid the upper parts of the more delicate plants.

The merchant had an idea. His son had asked for a rosebush, and quite frankly with all his troubles the merchant had forgotten. Still, he had a trunkful of dresses and shoes and things for his daughters — the gift of his one last friend, who had no sons. Here, providentially, was something for his boy; now he could at least carry home a gift for each of his children. Our friend searched through the plants until he found a pretty little rosebush. He could manage to keep it inside his coat for the day it would take to get home. He slipped the plant through the gate, and started making his way up the wall.

He'd only climbed a foot or two when strong hands grabbed him from below. "Who told you to steal my roses? Wasn't it enough that I let you into my palace and fed and warmed you? Is this how you show your gratitude, by breaking into my garden and taking my plants? Your insolence and greed will not go unpunished."

The man turned to find a beast who stood on two legs like a man, or a man who had the form of a beast. He was not much taller than the merchant, but was massive and muscular, and his aspect was fierce. The merchant's legs turned to jelly. He was afraid that the monster would eat him alive, right there on the spot!

"Pardon me, noble sir," the merchant cried, falling to his knees. "I am truly grateful for your hospitality, of which I was in desperate need. Your kindness to me was so magnificent that I didn't imagine you would be offended by my taking such a little thing as a rose."

The beast snorted. "You're quite ready with excuses and pretty speeches, but your flattery will not save you."

"At least spare me for the sake of my family!" the merchant cried. "I am their only parent, and all they have in the world. I only wished to take the rosebush because our miserable cottage is surrounded by weeds. I hoped to bring a little joy into their difficult lives."

The beast grunted and fell silent, thinking. Then he asked, "Do you have any daughters?" The merchant nodded. "I will forgive everything," the monster told him, "if you send me one of your daughters."

The merchant cried out in despair. "Do you think that I'm so cruel? That I would buy my life with the life of my child? How could I ever compel a daughter of mine to do such a thing?"

"There must be no compulsion," the beast replied. "If she comes, she must come willingly. You must tell your children everything, and see if any of them are courageous enough, and love you well enough to come here and save your life. You seem to be an honest man, so I will trust you to go home. I grant you a month to see if one of your daughters will come back with you and stay here, so you can go free. If none of them are willing, you must come back alone, after saying goodbye to them forever, for you will belong to me."

The beast drew a heavy breath. "And do not imagine that you can hide from me. If you do not return at the appointed time, I will come and fetch you."

The merchant agreed to everything — there was nothing else for him to do, but he didn't think for a moment that either of his thoughtless daughters would consider taking his place. Nor did he wish them to. He promised to return in a month's time, and asked permission to leave at once. But the beast shook his head.

"You can go in the morning," he said. "I will have a horse ready for you, and one to bring your daughter. Now go and eat your supper. Tonight you may sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. After the sun has risen, when you will hear a golden bell, come down and have your breakfast. Then take the two horses and go." The beast opened the gate to let the merchant out. As he did, he gazed at the rosebush on the ground. Then he said, "I will have the rosebush prepared for travel. It will be packed on the second horse. Care for it well, and remember your promise." Then he locked the gate and walked away.

The merchant was so upset and sorrowful that he couldn't eat more than a mouthful. He went upstairs and chose a bedroom, where he lay fully clothed upon the bed, unable to close his eyes. He remained there, awake and unmoving, until the sun rose and he heard the tinkling of a bell. He sat up, put on his boots, and went downstairs, where he managed to choke down some of his breakfast.

The horse carried him quickly home, but he was so lost in thought that he didn't notice. His children ran to meet him, and when they saw him on a splendid horse and wrapped in a rich cloak, they were sure that everything had gone well. He hid the truth from them at first, until at last he gave his son the rosebush, and then he said, "Here is what you asked me to bring you. If only you knew what it cost!"

The children begged to know the meaning of this enigmatic phrase, and soon he told them everything, from beginning to end, and then they were all terribly unhappy. The children were upset over their lost hopes, and they were angry about the beast's demands. None of them wanted their father to return to the castle, and they began making plans for killing the monster when he came to fetch him. The merchant however, was a man of his word, and tried to make the best of the last days with his family. The girls turned upon Laris, and said that it was all his fault, and that if he'd only asked for something sensible that this never would have happened.

The boy couldn't help but feel guilty, and said, "You're right. It is my fault, but how could I have known? I tried to ask for the simplest thing I could think of, but look what trouble it caused. The worst part is that I'm not the one to suffer for it. There must be a way for me to go and take my father's place."

No one wanted to hear this sort of talk, so his father forbade it, and his sisters stopped nagging him. They tried to live an uneasy peace in their last days with their father. But Laris persisted. He returned again and again to the idea, insisting that he would either go in his father's place, or accompany him on his return.

Then one day, the girls were looking at their father's travel trunk. It contained some dresses, shoes, and other clothes that simply did not fit either one of the sisters. They wanted to see, yet again, if it might be possible to let them out enough to make them fit. Unfortunately, it could not be done. "They're just too small!" one cried, and between one exclamation and another, it was said that the outfits were so small that only a girl the size of Laris could wear them. And thus was born the seed of a plan.

The beast had said he wanted one of the merchant's daughters. Well, what if Laris dressed up as a girl? He was small enough; he could be pretty enough — at least enough to fool a two-legged monster that only wanted to eat him anyway.

The merchant had many qualms, but he had also begun to reflect that the beast had never said that he would eat him. In fact, it seemed more likely that the beast meant to make him a servant of some kind. Better still, his children replied. Laris would be happy to work, especially in such a beautiful place.

Many arguments were made, and Laris was dressed and re-dressed several times in each of the outfits. It was true, he was more than passable. In fact, he was quite pretty in a dress, and the girls rehearsed him in everything a girl could be expected to know or say or do. Sometimes the merchant was frightened, and sometimes he was charmed, and once he even went so far as to laugh in delight at his new fictious daughter, who had been christened Zelinda, after a girl in a story.

The children did not tell their father, but Laris found a place to hide a knife within the folds of his girlish dress, and if the circumstance proved favorable, it would serve to cut the monster's throat.

At last the father managed to convince himself that "Zelinda" would simply be a servant to the beast, and nothing more. It would be one less mouth to feed, and the situation was almost enviable: the palace was beautiful, and the beast, although ferocious, seemed refined and even noble. Perhaps much good could come to Laris in the monster's service.

At last the fatal day arrived, and Laris, with his hair coiffed and wearing the best of his dresses, was lifted by his father into the saddle. "Remember," he cautioned the merchant, "from here on I am Zelinda, and you must call me nothing else." His father gave a grim assent, and mounted his own horse. The two horses seemed to fly over the rough terrain, and the two riders passed the time in argument. The merchant spent the whole journey trying to persuade his "daughter" to turn back, but Laris would hear nothing of it. The lad was full of resolve, and not in the least frightened. As the sun set, they arrived at the castle.

To their great surprise, wonderfully colored lights shone in all directions, and soft music was heard from the courtyard, although when they entered, there were no musicians to be seen. Beautiful statues held flaming torches, and the whole palace was illuminated from bottom to top. "The beast must be very hungry," Laris commented, "if he makes all this celebration for the arrival of his prey."

When they entered the house they found a delicious supper waiting, and only two places laid, so they sat down. Both of them were quite hungry after their long ride, and the food was exquisite. They had scarcely finished when they heard the heavy tread of the beast in the hallway. Laris did his best to hide his terror, and with a great effort saluted the monster respectfully.

This seemed to please the beast. After taking a good look at the pretended daughter, he spoke in a voice that did not seem angry, but would have made the boldest heart shake with fear. "Good evening, old man. Good evening, young lady." The merchant was too terrified to reply. The beast turned to "Zelinda" and asked, "Have you come willingly? Will you be content to stay here when your father goes away?"

Laris answered that he was quite prepared to stay.

"Good," the monster replied. "Since you have come of your own accord, you may stay. As for you, old man, at sunrise tomorrow you must take your leave. When the bell rings, get up and eat your breakfast. You will find the same horse waiting to take you home. But I warn you, do not come to my palace ever again."

Then to Laris he said, "Take your father into the next room, and help him choose everything that your little family would like to have. You will find two trunks there: take anything you wish, fill them as full as you can, and I will have them sent to your cottage. It's only right that they have something precious to remember you by." He then wished them good night and went away.

The room he indicated was full of beautiful things: clothes, jewels, and even gold. The merchant was sure it was only a trick, but Laris did not agree. "I cannot believe he meant to deceive us. In any case, all we can do is pack the trunks and fasten them up." So they divided the gold between the two trunks, then added many jewels, and finally as many dresses, shoes, and other garments as they could fit.

After that, the two went upstairs to bed. The next day, breakfast was waiting, and after that, the father returned home with many a sigh.

Laris returned to his room and found that he was still very tired from his trip. Soon he fell sound asleep. In his dream he was the girl Zelinda, and as she wandered near a brook in a park, an attractive young man came to her, and in a voice that struck her heart said, "Zelinda, you were brave in coming here, but have no fear. Nothing in this castle will ever harm you, and your every wish will be gratified. But you must try to find me, for only you can set me free!"

"How can I find you?" the girl asked.

"Don't let your eyes deceive you. And please, I beg you, do not leave this place until you've set me free." After saying this, the youth faded into the air.

Zelinda looked around her, and saw a stately and beautiful lady standing near her, who said, "Zelinda, don't regret the choice you made, for you are destined to a better fate. There is only one thing to remember: Don't be deceived by appearances."

The dream was so lovely and interesting that Laris didn't want to wake up. But the clock called Zelinda twelve times, and so he woke. It was unsettling: the dream had been so convincing, so real, and yet, in the dream he was not only dressed as Zelinda, he was Zelinda! And to speak of "appearances deceiving" while he was wearing a dress! The irony did not escape him.

After he made sure that his dress and hair were just so, he went down to the midday meal. After eating, he sat in a corner of a sofa and thought again about the dream. Who was the young man? He appeared to be a prince. He spoke of being set free... did that mean he was a prisoner of the beast? And if he couldn't trust appearances, did that mean that the prince might be some animal or object in the house? Could he be one of the invisible servants?

In the end he told himself, it was nothing but a dream, and went to explore the palace. He found a room lined with mirrors, where he could see himself from every side. There, hanging on a candelabra, was a necklace, the kind that holds a tiny portrait. Imagine his surprise when the portrait turned out to be the prince from the dream! Well, here was a clue! Perhaps it would help in some way to free him. So he slipped it on his neck. Then he moved on to other rooms. There was a library full of books — enough to last a lifetime. There was a portrait gallery, and one of the portraits was the young man from the dream! Next he found a room full of musical instruments. He tried his hand at some of them, and sang a few of the songs he found, but it wasn't long before he felt bored. The sun was beginning to set.

He hadn't even been in the palace for one whole day, and it was already tiresome. As troublesome and mean as his sisters could sometimes be, Laris would have welcomed their company. His father had warned him that he might be alone, but he never imagined how difficult it was to beguile the hours in solitude.

Supper was waiting, but the whole house was silent. At last he heard the beast coming, and his heart began to pound. However, the monster didn't look at all ferocious, and only said, "Good evening." Laris answered as cheerfully as he could, and thought he managed to conceal his terror.

The beast then asked, "Zelinda, have you succeeded in amusing yourself today?" Laris told the beast of the rooms he had been in. The beast then asked, "Do you you think you will be happy in this place?"

Laris replied, "A person would be very hard to please if they could not be happy here."

After an hour or so of similar chitchat, Laris began to think that this monster was not nearly as awful as he first seemed. Then, as the beast rose to leave, he said in his gruff voice, "Zelinda, do you love me? Will you marry me?"

Laris, who had begun to relax and enjoy the beast's company, grew quite alarmed. He could not, in any case, marry the beast, but he was afraid to make him angry by refusing. "What can I say?" he cried.

"Say 'yes' or 'no' without fear," the beast said patiently.

"Ah! No, then, Beast," he said hastily.

"Since you will not, I bid you good night," the monster said, and then he was gone.

Soon after, Laris was lying in bed asleep, and once again he dreamt he was the girl Zelinda. The prince approached her, and full of distress said, "Oh, Zelinda! Why are you so unkind to me! I think you will leave me as a prisoner forever!" Then the dream changed, and became as strange as any other dream, but the prince was always there. When Laris woke he compared the image in his mind with that in his locket, and found that they were the same.

In the morning, Laris went for the first time into the garden. The sun was shining and the fountains played, but he was surprised to find that everything was familiar to him, and soon he came to the brook and the myrtle tree where Zelinda first met the prince in the dream. He looked carefully around the place, convinced more than ever that the prince was a prisoner of the beast. However, he could not find a clue that would help him set the prisoner free.

When it was clear that the search was fruitless, he returned to the palace and found an aviary full of rare birds, some of whom could talk, and all of them so tame that they would perch on his shoulder and eat from his hand.

The evening meal passed much the same as the day before. After an hour of chat, the monster asked the same question, and left after Laris' polite refusal. At night, he dreamt of the prince.

Each day the same thing happened, but each day Laris found a new, strange thing in the palace, which was pleasant when he was tired of being alone. One day, he found a room with a curtained window. Each time he lifted the curtain he would see a new and different shadow show, with dances, colored lights, and music. It was ingenious and endlessly amusing, and Laris passed many a hour there.

Every evening after dinner and conversation, the beast never failed to ask, "Zelinda, will you marry me?"

As he came to understand his companion better, he saw that when he said, "No, Beast," that the monster went away quite sad. And yet he soon forgot this in his happy dreams in which he was Zelinda. The prince and the lady continued to tell the girl in the dream to distrust appearances, to be guided by her heart and not her eyes, and other equally perplexing things. Try as he might, Laris could make no sense out of this advice, since it did not help him locate the prince or give him a way to set the poor lad free.

Still, as time went on, Laris began to miss his family more and more, until his homesickness was written plainly on his face. The beast asked him what was wrong. Laris had long since ceased to be afraid of the monster. He knew that he was really gentle, in spite of his ferocious appearance and dreadful voice. So he told him that he missed his family. The beast drew a heavy sigh.

"Oh, Zelinda! Do you have the heart to desert me? To leave me alone in this place? What more can I do to make you happy? Do you hate me? Am I so loathsome that you wish to escape?"

"Oh, no," Laris replied in a soft voice. "I don't hate you. I would be very sorry if I never saw you again, but I long to see my father. Can you let me go? For two short months? Let me go now and I will never leave, not for the rest of my life."

The beast sighed and seemed to wrestle with himself. At last he took a ring from his pocket and put it on the pretended girl's finger. "I cannot refuse you anything you ask, even if it cost me my life. There are four trunks in the room next to yours. Fill them with everything you wish to take with you. But remember your promise, and come back when the two months are over, or you may be sorry, for if you don't return in time you will find your faithful beast is dead. You do not need a chariot or horse to bring you back to me. Only say goodbye to your sisters and your father the night before you come away. Then after you are in bed turn this ring around upon your finger and say, 'I wish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again.' Good night, Zelinda. Fear nothing, sleep peacefully, and before long you will see your father once more."

Laris could hardly sleep that night for excitement, but when he did he was once again the girl Zelinda, and she found the prince lying on some grass, sad, weary, and without spirit. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He looked at her reproachfully and said, "How can you ask me that? You're abandoning me! You're leaving me to my death!"

"Don't take it so hard," Zelinda told him. "I'm only going to let my father know I'm well and to see that he is the same. I've promised the beast faithfully that I'd return. Do you know, he also said he could die if I didn't return?"

"What would you care?" the prince asked. "How could that matter to you?"

"I would be an ungrateful wretch if I didn't care for such a kind beast," she cried indignantly. "I would die rather than cause him pain. I assure you, it is not his fault that he looks the way he does."

Just then a strange sound woke her, and when Laris opened his eyes he found himself in a room he had never seen before. It was a nice, well-appointed room, but nowhere near as elegant as a room in the beast's palace. He could hear his father's voice outside, so he dressed quickly, finding the four trunks near his bed. He rushed outside and found his father and sisters, and they were quite astonished, not only because they didn't expect to see him, but also because they were not used to seeing him in a dress.

After many hugs and much conversation, he told his father about his strange dreams. After some consideration, her father said, "I will have to answer you as if you were a girl, for it's clear that the prince and the beast both take you for one.

"You say that the monster, as frightful as he is, loves you dearly and deserves your love and gratitude. I think that the prince must mean that you ought to reward the beast by doing what he wishes, in spite of his ugliness."

Laris had to admit that this was very probable. Still, even if he wanted, there was no way that he could marry the beast. And yet, he often returned to the memory of his dreams as Zelinda in the company of the prince. Truth be told, he would gladly live in that dream world, if only he had the chance.

His sisters had gotten quite used to being without him, and seemed to find him in the way. They didn't want to present their brother-in-a-dress to their friends or be seen around town with him. You would think, then, that Laris might return early to the beast's castle. But he didn't. He kept putting off his departure until a dismal dream helped him make up his mind. Once again, he was the girl Zelinda, wandering on a lonely path in the palace garden, when she heard groans from behind some bushes. The bushes hid the entrance to a shallow cave. She ran inside to see what was the matter, and was astonished to find the beast, lying on his side, apparently dying. In a weak voice he reproached her for being the cause of his distress. Then the stately woman appeared, and said in a grave tone: "Ah, Zelinda! You are only just in time to save his life. See what happens when people don't keep their promises? If you delay one day more, you will find him dead." Then Zelinda and the woman were alone in a wood. Zelinda, frightened and perplexed, began to weep. "I would save the prince and marry the beast if only I could!" she cried.

The woman replied, "Everything will be possible, if only you return."

Laris was so terrified by this dream that the next morning he announced his intention to return at once, and watched impatiently for the day to end. He was prepared to make any sacrifice to save the beast and the prince.

Finally the sun set. Laris said goodbye to his father and his sisters, and as soon as he was in bed he turned the ring around his finger and said, "I wish to go back to my palace and see my Beast again." He fell asleep instantly, and woke to hear the clock say, Zelinda seven times in its musical voice, which told him that he was in the palace once more. Everything was as it had been. The talking birds called "Zelinda! Zelinda!" and twittered and cooed. Everything was the same, and yet something was different, like a dream. Laris was no longer Laris. In his place Zelinda stood and walked through the beast's palace. The girl from the dream was now awake and alive.

The day passed slowly, and the beast was nowhere in sight. After listening and calling for a long time, our young friend thought to look in the garden, where the beast had suffered in her dream. Near that spot there was indeed a cave, and in it lay the beast. Was he asleep? or "Dead, and all my fault!" the girl cried.

She looked more closely and found that the beast wasn't dead, though he was barely breathing. He began to revive after Zelinda brought some water from a fountain and sprinkled it on his face.

"Zelinda!" he said in a soft, weak voice.

"Yes, it's your Zelinda," she replied. "I was so frightened! I thought you were dead! Oh, beast, I never knew how much I loved you until just now, when it seemed I was too late to save your life!"

"Can you really love such an ugly creature as I am?" the beast asked faintly. "Oh, Zelinda, you arrived just in time. I thought you'd forgotten your promise. But go and rest now. I will see you again by and by."

Reassured by the gentle voice, she went back to the palace, where supper was waiting. Afterward the beast came in as usual, and asked about her father and whether she'd enjoyed her trip. Zelinda answered politely, and quite enjoyed telling him all that had happened. At last, when it came time for the monster to go, he asked, as he had asked so often before, "Zelinda, will you marry me?"

She answered softly, "Yes, dear Beast, with all my heart."

As she spoke, a blaze of light lit all the windows from the outside, and fireworks crackled and shot into the air. The night was full of whistles and bangs, and the sky was full of bright trails, colored stars, and sparkling lights.

Turning to the beast in amazement, Zelinda found that he had disappeared, and in his place stood the prince she knew from her dreams! At the same moment the wheels of a chariot were heard outside, and two women entered. One was the stately woman in her dreams, and other was so grand and queen-like that she hardly knew which to greet first. Then the one she already knew said to the other, "You see, my queen, this is Zelinda, who had the courage to rescue your son from his terrible enchantment. They love one another, and need only your consent so they can marry and be perfectly happy."

"I consent with all my heart!" the queen responded. "How can I ever thank you, you charming girl, for restoring my dear son to himself?"

Then she embraced her son, who in the meantime had greeted the fairy and received her congratulations.

"Now," said the fairy to Zelinda, with a twinkle in her eye, "Would you like me to send for your father and your sisters, so they may dance at your wedding as well?"

And so she did. The pair was married the very next day with the utmost splendor, and Zelinda and the prince lived happily ever after.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

14. Celia

 

There was once a king whose life was nearly perfect. His subjects loved him. He was envied and feared by his peers. His kingdom was beautiful, prosperous, happy, and well-ordered. His heart was good, his spirit noble, and he truly deserved the universal respect and admiration he enjoyed.

He was very fond of hunting, and one day, while chasing a stag, the king left the rest of his party far behind. For a moment his prey seemed to disappear among the trees. The king stopped, stayed very still, and listened. After a moment, he heard the rustle of dry leaves and the snapping of sticks, and in the distance the king saw the magnificent stag leap over a bush, and heard it splash as it dashed through a stream on the other side. Without thinking or looking ahead, the king spurred his horse over the same bush and splashed through the same stream, but after a few steps, the earth seemed to split apart below him. The king fell from his horse and tumbled into the open fissure. He fell for a long, long way until he landed hard at the bottom of a very deep hole, surrounded by jets of flame that roared and burst and hovered in the air around him. The king could plainly see that there was no way out of that pit, for the flames hemmed him in, on every side.

For some moments the king lay in stunned silence, surrounded by that wall of flame. He looked up, but above the intense fires there was no end to the darkness above. He had no idea how far he'd fallen, and he suspected that the fissure had closed just as quickly as it had opened. There was nothing to do but give himself up for lost.

Suddenly a piercing voice cried, "Ungrateful man! Not even these flames could warm your ice-cold heart!"

He called out and asked who was speaking. Whoever it was stood on the other side of the dazzling wall of fire.

"An unhappy being who loves you hopelessly," the voice replied, and in the same moment the flames flickered and went out.

Before him stood a dazzling fairy, whose name was Ragotte. Her beauty was truly breathtaking, and her voice was pleasant and musical. She was an embodiment of grace; her every aspect was completely enticing, but the king knew her too well to be fooled. Ragotte was cruel, vain, and pitiless. She was sensitive to a fault: she always managed to be offended by the most harmless things, and when offended, her revenge left nothing to the imagination. The fairy was attended by a lovely young girl, evidently her servant.

"Ragotte," the king demanded, "What is the meaning of this? Is it your doing that has brought me here?"

"Tell me, your majesty," she answered, "whose fault is it that you've never understood me? Must a powerful fairy like myself condescend to explain her doings to an insect like you? You may puff yourself up and call yourself a king, but what is that to me?"

"Call me what you like," he said with some impatience, "but tell me, what it is that you want? My crown? My cities? My treasures?"

"Treasures?" she scoffed. "With a wave of my hand I could make my lowliest servant richer and more powerful than you. I do not want your 'treasures', but...," here her voice softened, "if you were to give me your heart — if you marry me — I will add twenty kingdoms to the one you have already. I can give you a hundred castles full of gold and five hundred full of silver, and... oh! I can give you anything you ask for! Only say that it's me you desire! So long, so often, I've hinted of my love for you, but you've never noticed, you've never seen or heard. I can bear it no longer! I must tell you plainly: I love you with all my heart, and I want to hear that you feel the same! See what my love for you has reduced me to?"

For years the king couldn't help but notice Ragotte's rather obvious "hints" and heavy-handed declarations. Thus far he'd succeeded in acting a little dull, and pretending to miss the fairy's clear indications about the state of her heart. It appeared that this strategy would work no longer. He tried a new approach.

"My dear Ragotte," he told her, "When a man finds himself dropped to the bottom of a pit, and just barely escaped being roasted alive, it's impossible to think of such matters as marriage — even with such a lovely person as yourself. I beg you, let us return to the world above, where I shall have the liberty to answer you in a far more suitable setting."

"What a pretty speech!" she replied dryly. "If you really loved me, you would not care where you were: a cave, a wood, a garden, a desert. Any place would please you equally well. I see quite well that my love means nothing to you. You've simply been leading me on for all these years. Don't think you can deceive me: your games with me are over. You thought your pretty words might win your escape, but I assure you that I will not let you go. I will put you in my service and see how it changes your temper. I meant to make you my equal, the king of my heart, but now you will serve as one of my menials. Your first task will be to tend my sheep — and you'll find them to be very good company, for each of them can make pretty speeches the same as you do."

In fact, Ragotte had a rather large flock of sheep, composed entirely of men and women who had offended her in some way, real or imagined.

As she spoke, she kept coming nearer, step by step, to the king. However, as she spoke, the king's attention was drawn to the poor, sad, lovely girl who stood behind the fairy. Even her smallest movements were filled with an exquisite grace. He couldn't help but stare at her. The fairy saw this, and in a fit of jealousy, she turned and made a gesture. The lovely creature's face convulsed in pain for a brief silent moment; then she fell to the ground, lifeless.

Enraged, the king drew his sword and rushed at Ragotte. He would have cut her head off, if she hadn't pinned him to the spot with her magic arts. His efforts to move were useless, until at last, dropping his sword, he fell to his knees.

The fairy looked down at him with a scornful smile, and said, "I intend to make you feel the weight of my power. I meant to make you to tend my sheep, but now... It seems you are a lion at present, but I shall make you a lamb." She lifted her wand, then stopped. After gazing at him for some time, and with a glance back at the dead girl, she murmured, "I already have many sheep, but they have no shepherd. And here you are, a big strong man..." She laughed wickedly. "A man who scorned a heart full of love, a gentle, harmless woman's heart." She thought for another moment, then said, "Yes, I know the perfect lesson for you. You were ready to throw your heart at the feet of my worthless slave, but your heart — which should have been mine — will never belong to another."

The fairy took him by the hand, and lifted him to his feet. Then she touched him with her wand. "For five years," she said, "you will tend my sheep. See that you care for your charges well, or you will suffer the consequences. I will no longer see your face, which I loved so much, but I will be better able to hate and mistreat you, as you so richly deserve."

The fairy led him by the hand until they came to a sun-lit plain, full of sheep. All across the landscape the animals either browsed and nibbled on grass, or gathered in twos or threes for conversation.

Now that they stood in daylight, the king realized that he was not wearing the same clothes as before. Instead of his hunting leathers, he now dressed as a simple shepherdess. It was not only his clothes that had changed, but his entire aspect as well: no one would ever take him for a king, never again. He looked like nothing more or less than a sweet little peasant girl, who spends her days tending sheep.

"Your name is now Celia," she told him, "this field is now your kingdom, and these sheep are your only subjects. When your service to me is fulfilled, you will be free to go, but you will never be a king again, and you will never give your heart to another woman. Remember that this punishment is something you brought upon yourself: you should have given your heart to me."

With that, the fairy was gone, and Celia was left alone with her sheep.

(We learn more of what happened to Celia in the next story.)

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

15. Celia And The King

 

There was another king who was just and kind; so much so that everyone called him "the Good King." One day when he was out hunting, his dogs were chasing a little white rabbit. The rabbit sprang into the king's arms for shelter. The king stroked it gently and said, "Since you've come to me for protection, I will see that no one hurts you."

He took it home, put it in a pretty little house, and fed it all the foods that rabbits like to eat.

That night when he was alone in his room, a beautiful lady appeared before him. Her long dress was white as snow and she wore a crown of white roses on her head. The king was extremely surprised, since he knew his door was closed and well guarded.

She said to him, "I am the fairy Tephaine. I was passing through the woods while you were hunting, and was curious to see whether you are as good as your reputation. I took the form of the little rabbit and ran into your arms, for I know that those who treat their fellow-man badly, treat animals even worse. If you had refused to help me, I would have been sure you were wicked. Thank you for the kindness you've shown me, which has made me your friend forever. Know that whatever you ask of me, I will give you."

"Madam," the king replied, "since you are a fairy, you no doubt know all my wishes. I have but one child, a son, and I love him dearly. His name is Guion. The only favor I ask is that you become his friend."

"Certainly," the fairy replied. "I can make him the handsomest, richest, or most powerful prince in the world: chose whichever you like for him."

"I don't ask such things for my son," he told her. "If you can make him the best of princes, I would be eternally grateful. What good is beauty, wealth, or power unless one's heart is good? Only a good person can be truly happy."

"You're right," the fairy agreed, "but it's not in my power to make a person good unless they want it themselves. If he tries to be good, I will help him. If he goes astray I'll do my best to put him right again."

The fairy's promise made the king glad. When he died several years later, Guion became king in his place. A few days after the coronation, the fairy Tephaine appeared again. She explained to Guion who she was, and put a gold ring on his finger.

"Your father asked me to help you to be good," she explained, "and that is why I give you this ring. It is worth more than diamonds. Every time you do a bad deed it will prick your finger. If you heed its warnings, I shall always be a good friend to you."

The prince was quite astonished by the visit and the gift, and for a long time he behaved so well that the ring never bothered him.

One day, however, he went out hunting but caught nothing. This put him in a very bad temper. As he rode home he felt the ring pressing his finger, but since it didn't prick him he ignored it. When he got home, his little dog ran to meet him, jumping and yapping happily. "Go away!" Guion said gruffly, "I don't want you; get out of my way!"

Of course, the dog didn't understand any of this, and pulled at the young king's coat to get his attention. This made Guion so cross that he kicked the little dog across the room. Instantly the ring gave him a sharp prick, like a pin. He was very surprised and quite justly felt ashamed of himself. But then he thought, "The fairy must be joking. Is there anything wrong with kicking a pesky little animal? I'm the ruler of a great kingdom, but I can't hit my own dog?"

Tephaine's voice answered his thoughts: "I never joke, your highness. I simply wish to point out three things to you: first, you were in a bad temper because you did not get what you wanted, as if all of nature was made for your pleasure; second, you were cruel to a small animal that did not deserve to be ill-treated; third, while it's true that you are far above a little dog, if it were right for the great to ill-treat the small, then I, who am far mightier than you, could beat you or kill you. We both know that such a thing would be very wrong. In the same way, it is wrong to harm your pet. The advantage to ruling a great kingdom is not that one can do all the evil that one desires, but that one has the power to do all the good that one possibly can."

Guion saw that he'd behaved badly, and promised to do better in the future, but he did not keep his word. He had been spoiled when he was young, and was quite used to throwing tantrums. His nanny had often told him that when he was king everyone would be bound to obey him, and as a child he had looked forward to doing whatever he liked.

When he grew older he recognized this attitude as childish, and tried to cure himself of being proud, stubborn, and vain, but old habits are hard to break. He was not really bad at heart and he tried very hard to be good.

However, it soon seemed that the ring was pricking him all the time. Sometimes when it did, he would stop what he was doing at once, but other times he'd ignore it. He found that it gave a light prick for a trifling fault, but if he was truly wicked his finger would actually bleed. At last he got tired of the inconvenience, and stopped wearing the ring altogether. Then he felt free to do whatever silly thing popped into his head, until he was so wicked that no one could stand him any longer.

One day when he was riding in the countryside, he saw a young girl who was so very pretty that he decided at once to marry her. Her name was Celia, and she was as good as she was beautiful. The king imagined that no woman could resist the chance to be his queen, but Celia told him fearlessly, "Sire, I am only a poor shepherdess, but nevertheless, I will not marry you."

"What?" asked the king, vexed at this answer. "Do you dislike me? Do you find me ugly?"

"No, my lord," Celia replied. "No one can deny that you are very handsome indeed. But what good would riches be to me, and all the grand dresses and splendid carriages that you would give me, if I had to witness near at hand all the bad deeds that you commit?"

King Guion was very angry at this speech, so he commanded his soldiers to take Celia prisoner. All that day and the next, he was stung by the memory of what she'd said, but then he would remember her lovely face. He couldn't make up his mind whether to punish her or let her go.

One of the king's favorite companions was his foster-brother, Harenbil, whom he trusted entirely. However, this foster-brother was not a good man at all. He gave King Guion very bad advice and encouraged him in all his evil ways. When he saw the king downcast, he asked what was the matter. Guion told him about Celia. He confessed that he could not bear Celia's bad opinion of him, so he resolved to be a better man in order to please her and deserve her hand. "But it's so difficult to be good," he sighed.

When Harenbil heard this, he told Guion, "It's kind of you to go to so much trouble for this little girl, but if I were you, I'd make her obey me. Remember, you are a king, and if people see you bending over backward to please a penniless shepherd girl, they're going to laugh at you. This Celia would be extremely lucky if you made her the lowest of your servants, let alone your queen. Let her stew a while in prison, and feed her on bread and water. Then, if she still doesn't want to marry you, have her head cut off, to teach other people that kings are meant to be obeyed. Why, if you can't make a girl do as you wish, the rest of your subjects will soon forget that they serve at your pleasure."

"Wouldn't it be awful if I had an innocent girl put to death? Celia hasn't done anything to deserve punishment."

"She defied you," Harenbil calmly replied. "If people won't do as you tell them, they ought to suffer for it. And even if it was unjust, it would be better to be called unjust that to have your subjects insult and thwart you whenever they like."

In saying this, he touched a weak spot in Guion's character. The king was so afraid of appearing weak that he at once abandoned the idea of trying to be good, and resolved to frighten the shepherdess into marrying him.

Harenbil wanted Guion to keep this resolution, so he invited three friends as wicked as himself to have dinner with the king. Their plan was to have him drink a great deal of wine, and then excite his anger against the girl. Harenbil was quite cruel, and had all sorts of torments in mind for the little shepherdess.

However, the evening didn't go as Harenbil planned. As Guion became more and more drunk, instead of getting angry, he became maudlin and sentimental. Harenbil saw this and waved his three friends off, so he could sit and listen to the king. Guion looked out the window and saw some women dancing in the square below. He watched them for a time, but his expression was more of envy than of lust.

"Women are so lucky," Guion said. "They don't even realize what easy lives they've got! We have to toil and sweat, and concern ourselves with war and affairs of state, and endless boring treaties."

"It's true," Harenbil agreed. "All they need to do is look pretty."

"That's their only concern!" the king cried. "Pretty hair, pretty clothes, pretty ways of doing things. Nothing is hard for a woman. All she has to do is smile..."

"And any man will break himself to try to please her," Harenbil continued. "Ah, what an enviable existence!"

The king sighed. "I would give anything to have such a life."

Harenbil was astonished. He never suspected that the king possessed such feelings. He knew the king falsely imagined that women led a paradisiacal life, and did nothing but look pretty all day long. But he never knew that Guion wished to be a woman himself.

Surprised as he was, the false friend's mind moved quickly. For all his flattery, Harenbil's own secret desire was make himself king. But Harenbil knew how to bide his time. He would only act if the outcome was sure. As the king admired the women, Harenbil searched for a way to use this new information. Then it came to him! He had a plan, but it all depended on the depth of the king's desire. If he really wanted to be a girl, then there was a way ... Harenbil could put Guion aside and take the throne himself! He chuckled silently and studied the king's face as he remembered...

Some years past, Harenbil had befriended a sorcerer, a practitioner of the black arts. This sorcerer often boasted of spells that he alone knew, and among them was a spell by which a man and women could trade places. When Harenbil first heard this, he became quite excited an interested, for he hoped that by a stratagem and the spell, he could trade places with Guion. That was a change Harenbil would welcome, for Guion was not only more handsome, but younger and healthier.

However, the sorcerer explained that the spell would not not work for two men or for two women, but only for a woman and a man.

At the time, Harenbil was vexed by the constraint, but now it seemed made to order. Harenbil could devise a trap for the unsuspecting king. A trap Guion would happily, even eagerly, walk into. All that was needed was a collection of lies, carefully arranged around a half-truth.

"My lord," Harenbil said, in a confidential tone. "There is a way that you could taste life as a woman for one day. Or so I have heard."

Guion's head cleared in an instant. "Tell me, then! Is it really so?"

Harenbil was pleased by the king's eagerness, so he went on. "It must be done on midsummer eve. If a man throws a certain type of garland in the Serrigond Fountain, he must choose carefully the next maiden he dances with, for he will take her form when he wakes the next morning. When the sun sets on midsummer day, he will return to his own shape."

The king had many questions: What sort of flower garland? What happens to the girl? What was one to do about clothing? Did it really work?

Harenbil easily handled each question. The garland required special preparation. The girl remained as she ever was, with no inkling that her twin was abroad for the day. Clothing could easily be provided.

"If you like, your majesty," Harenbil smoothly assured him, "I can have such a garland prepared. You can choose the girl who pleases you best, and we can ride off in a coach to one of your pretty little towns, along with plenty of clothes and supplies for your day. No one will ever know, and you will have the pleasure of being a lovely girl for an entire day."

The king's imagination caught fire. He foresaw himself on a string of midsummer days, frolicking in a dress. "But," he asked Harenbil, "how do we know that it really works?"

Harenbil spread his hands. "We can only try. If nothing happens, no harm's done. But if it does work..."

That was enough for the king. He ordered Harenbil to make all the necessary preparations. Midsummer's eve was only six weeks away; six weeks that passed with planning, choosing the town, conferring with Harenbil. The false friend had never seen the king so excited! Guion was nearly in a fever. In his passion, he quite forgot the little shepherdess, who sat in her prison cell, eating only bread and water.

Harenbil occupied himself with the arrangements. Together he and the king visited the pretty little far-off town where Guion planned to spend his girlish day. They picked out dresses and shoes and ornaments. They thought of things to do ... there were so many details to decide!

However, all these plans were nothing but a sham. There was much that Harenbil hadn't told the king, and many plans that none but Harenbil knew.

It was true that the spell only worked on midsummer eve. It was true that a special garland was needed, but the spell had nothing do with dancing, or with changing into a boy or a girl for a day. The truth was, that if any man and woman handled the garland and tossed it in the fountain, they would trade places the moment the flowers touched the water. If a henwife and a bishop handled the garland and tossed it in the fountain, poof! — in that moment the bishop would become the henwife and the henwife would become the bishop. If a man and wife tossed the garland, he would be she, and she would be he, all in the twinkling of an eye.

Once done, the magic could only be undone with another garland on another midsummer eve.

It was complicated and a little dangerous, Harenbil thought, but it could be done. A girl — any girl who had the garland — could become Guion, and Harenbil could be that girl... All he needed was a pretty girl... Harenbil could take her place and hand a garland to Guion. Just that simply, the thing would be done. And he knew just the girl.

He would have two garlands prepared: one for Celia, and one for Guion. If the girl was brought to the fountain, it would be nothing to have her touch the garland so Harenbil could take her form. Then, as Celia, he would give the second garland to Guion. Even if Guion lost heart and didn't throw it in the fountain, Harenbil as Celia could do it herself.

In the end, Harenbil would take Guion's place, Guion would be the shepherd girl, and the shepherd girl would be Harenbil.

Harenbil played it out with chess pieces: he was the knight, Guion was the king, and Celia was a pawn. He touched the pawn to the knight and said poof! Now he was Celia. Then he touched the pawn to the king. Poof! Now he was Guion!

I shall be king! he told himself. Not only that, I'll be younger and better looking, and above all, free to do as I please. In fact, My first official act shall be to order Harenbil's head cut off. I can make up my mind about the little shepherd girl later. He chuckled and sneered. "Much, much later. Perhaps I could even marry her!" With that he roared aloud with laughter, more pleased with himself than he had ever been in his life.

While Harenbil made his plans, delighted with his own cleverness, someone else was watching and making plans of her own. The fairy Tephaine had never abandoned King Guion. Even after he discarded the ring she'd given him, she protected him from harm, and waited for an opportunity to put his feet back on the right path. Now she saw her chance.

Two days before midsummer, Tephaine appeared to the poor shepherdess Celia in her prison cell. The fairy knew as well as you and I that Celia was not a simple shepherd girl at all. She was under an enchantment that Tephaine was powerless to break.

The fairy laid her plans before the girl, and Celia agreed in every point. The fairy then took the girl from her cell and carried her to the fairy's castle, where she bathed and supped and dressed for the festival of midsummer eve.

At the same time, Harenbil emerged from the sorcerer's cave with the magic garlands in his hand. He was already laughing to himself over his easy victory and the foolishness of his foster-brother Guion. Suddenly, he froze in his steps, unable to lift his feet from the ground. "What sorcery is this?" he cried, and struggled in vain to free himself.

A lady dressed in white, crowned with white roses, appeared before him and spoke in a severe voice. "Harenbil, you have had every advantage in life, and could have done great good through your wealth and your cleverness. Instead, you have only served yourself. Now you are only outwardly a man. In reality you are a monster — the horror of everyone who knows you. Like a snake, you have been ungrateful and sneaking, and turned upon those who did you good. I condemn you to resemble the animal you have always imitated."

The fairy had scarcely finished speaking, when Harenbil saw to his horror that her words were fulfilled. He found himself lying on his stomach, without arms or legs, and when he tried to speak, a forked tongue emerged from his mouth. The only sound he could make was a hiss.

The fairy retrieved the magic garlands, and returned to her castle.

King Guion waited anxiously by the fountain, looking in every direction for Harenbil. Many comely women tried to catch his eye, but he was fretful, unable to choose. He hoped that Harenbil would help him make a wise choice.

Suddenly, the loveliest girl he had ever seen was standing by his side. She wore a white dress, decorated with diamonds. It was Celia, but Guion did not recognize her dressed in all this finery.

"My lord," Celia told him, "Your brother Harenbil asked me to give you this garland. He bids you toss it in the fountain and dance with me, if I please you."

Celia more than pleased him, and without a thought Guion seized the garland and tossed it in the water. He took Celia's hand, and the world seemed to spin around him. Up was down, front was back. He felt he was falling, tumbling end over end, and yet he was not moving. When finally the world ceased its whirling, he seemed to be looking in a mirror. He beheld his own face looking at him, and heard his own voice ask, "Is it well with you?"

Guion took the offered arm, and followed himself to a bench where he sat and tried to regain his calm.

"You were misled," his own voice told him. "The garland makes a transformation the moment it touches the fountain, and the change is not temporary. Or, more correctly, it can only be undone on a midsummer eve."

Guion looked down at himself and saw the white dress decorated with diamonds that the lovely girl had been wearing. He moved his arms, and the girl's arms moved. He coughed, and heard the girl cough. "What has happened to me?" he asked, and the voice he heard was high and light and musical.

"You are now the shepherdess Celia," his voice replied, "and the person who was Celia is now you."

"You should know," the voice continued, "that Celia was not a simple shepherd girl. Many years ago, I was a rich and powerful king, just as you were, but a wicked fairy named Ragotte transformed me into the girl you knew as Celia. I was cursed to tend her sheep for five long years, and then I was free to roam the earth, but never — or so I thought — to be king again."

Guion understood. "I locked you in my prison. I cannot blame you if you do the same to me."

"My years of suffering have taught me humility," the king replied, "and revenge is a thing not worth having. I have no desire to see you suffer, but now that fate and the fairy Tephaine have put your power in my hands, I must try to redress the wrongs you've done as ruler. When a year is out, next midsummer eve, we can return to this fountain and retake our former shapes. During that time, I hope you will learn to be good, as your father was before you. If you do not, I cannot in good conscience return the kingdom to your hands. If you persist in doing wrong, you shall be Celia forever."

The new king stood and gave his arm to the newly-made shepherd girl. The Good King went immediately to the prison and with his own hands unlocked doors and chains. With great apologies he freed the unjustly imprisoned. He had them fed and dressed, and restored them to their former state. He called together all the flatterers, thieves, and bad counselors in the court and dismissed them all. "See that you reform yourselves," he said, "for we have new room in the prisons for those who do not walk aright."

The following days were spent restoring lands and property unjustly taken by Guion or by members of the court. Many wrongs were righted, and the Good King searched out the bad and set it straight. He established a time each day when any subject in the realm, no matter how lowly, could have his ear, and tell him of grievances or ask for his aid.

Slowly, King Guion's bad reputation became nothing but a memory, and his people welcomed the change.

Close at hand, a witness to all, was the little shepherdess, Celia. She wished she had done such good when she was king. She saw that this king did well, and she loved him for his strength and goodness. Throughout that year, Celia never left the Good King's side. As often as she could, she took his arm. He treated her with kindness, and as time passed, with trust. Celia's new life taught her humility, and under the strong influence of the Good King she renewed her good heart and tried to do well.

Several weeks before midsummer eve, Tephaine appeared to her. The fairy complimented her on her exemplary behavior and modest demeanor. The girl asked the fairy to do her a small favor, and smiling, the fairy agreed. That evening, a fire was prepared in the king's chamber. Tephaine produced the second garland, and Celia laid it on the flames. Tephaine had kept it, in case the Good King wished to make good on his promise. Now there was no need.

"You are a better king than I could ever hope to be," Celia told him. "My conscience and my sense of duty will not allow me to take that office from you. This land could not find, and could not hope for, a better ruler. And I confess that I am happy in my new state. My only wish is that you will let me be your friend and allow me to stay close by, so I can witness and assist your noble works and profit from your good influence."

The Good King smiled. "Perhaps we can do better than that," he replied. "You once asked me if I would marry you. Now may I ask if you would marry me?"

The happy girl threw her arms around his neck, and two weeks later they were wed.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

16. The Potter-Princess

 

Long ago in the Punjab there was a king who had two young sons. They were good boys, and spent their time learning all the things that kings' sons ought to know. While they were still young, the queen their mother died. Shortly after, the king their father married again.

Of course, the new wife was jealous of the two young princes, and began to treat them badly, as stepmothers sometimes do. First, instead of wheatcakes, she gave them cakes made from barley meal. Then, she had the salt left out. Soon, the barley meal was sour and full of weevils and the cakes were nearly inedible. At last, the new queen took to beating the poor young princes. When they resisted this punishment, she told the king that they were disobedient and disrespectful, and he became so angry that he had them beaten all over again!

At that point, the lads decided to find a remedy. The younger one said, "Let's go into the world and earn our living."

"Yes!" cried the elder, "Let's leave at once, and never eat bread under this roof again."

"Hold on," replied the younger, who was wise beyond his years. "We don't know when we'll eat again: let's fill our stomachs while we may." So they ate their bread, as foul as it was, and climbing onto a single pony, set out to seek their fortune.

Once the palace was out of sight, they entered a barren country where the sun was hot. They rode along a ways, then dismounted under a large tree, and sat down to rest. At the same time, a parrot and a starling landed on the tree and began fighting for the best perch.

"I've never seen such impertinence!" cried the starling, as he gave the parrot a rough shove. "Why, I am such an important bird, that if any man were to eat me, he would no doubt become prime minister!"

"Then you should stand aside for me," rejoined the parrot, as he crowded out the starling. "If any man were to eat me, he would no doubt become king!"

Hearing these words, the brothers drew their crossbows and struck both birds in the same moment. The two birds fell down dead, and were soon cleaned, cooked, and ready to be eaten, but the two brothers were so fond of each other that neither would claim to have shot the parrot. At last the younger brother said, "Look here, the food is cooling as we speak; let's not waste time. You're the elder brother: you should claim your birthright, since it was your fate to be born first."

So the elder prince ate the parrot, and the younger prince ate the starling. Then they climbed on the pony and rode away. They hadn't gone very far when the elder brother saw that his whip was missing. He was sure he'd left it under the tree, and proposed to go back for it.

"Not so," said the younger prince. "You're the king and I'm the minister, so I should go back and find the whip."

"Be it as you wish," replied the elder, "but take the pony, so you can return more quickly. In the meantime I'll proceed on foot to yonder town."

The younger prince rode back to the tree, but the snake-demon, to whom the tree belonged, had returned and no sooner did the poor prince set foot within its shade that the horrid serpent struck and killed him.

Meanwhile, the elder prince arrived at the town, which he found in a state of great commotion. Their king had recently died, and although all of the city's inhabitants had marched in a line past the sacred elephant, the animal hadn't chosen any of them. You must know that this is how kings were chosen in this place: the elephant would kneel before the favored individual. This time, however, the throne had been vacant for some time, and the over-particular animal had not yet given his recognition to anyone. The whole city had passed before him three times, and every stranger was unceremoniously hauled before the beast. And so it was with our young friend.

Imagine the surprise, the relief, and the rejoicing when the elephant, the moment it caught sight of the prince, went down on its great knees and saluted the prince over and over with its trunk. And so he was immediately elected to the throne, amid great celebration.

All this time the younger prince lay dead beneath the tree. The king, his brother, after waiting and watching a long time in vain, gave him up for lost and appointed someone else as prime minister.

But then it happened that a magician and his wife, who were protected by charms from the serpents that lived in the tree, came to draw water from the spring that flowed at its roots. When the magician's wife saw the dead prince lying there, so handsome and so young, she thought she'd never seen anyone so beautiful before. Taking pity on him, she said to her husband, "You're always talking about your wisdom and power. Prove it by bringing this dead boy back to life!"

At first the magician refused, but when his wife began to mock him and call him nothing but a pretender, he replied angrily, "Very well! You shall see that though I cannot bring the dead back to life, I can force another to do the deed." Whereupon he passed his hand over his wife's brass drinking bowl and bade her fill it at the spring. Lo and behold! every drop of water flowed into the little vessel until the spring was completely dry!

"Now," the magician told her, "come away home, and we shall see what we shall see."

When the serpents found their spring had dried up, they were terribly put out, for serpents are thirsty creatures, and love water. They bore it for three days, but when the water did not return, they went in a body to the magician. "We will do whatever you ask," they told him, "if only you restore the water to our spring." He promised to do that, if they restored the prince to life. The snake-demon gladly agreed, and the magician accompanied the snakes back to their tree.

Unfortunately, the poor prince had been dead for some time now, and his body was in sad condition. Although his face was still beautiful, other parts of him were not, and some pieces had already been torn apart and eaten by animals. If it weren't for the magician's promise to his wife, they would have given up on bringing the prince back to life.

The snake-demon had the power to call the prince's spirit back, but neither he nor the magician could mend his broken body. So they looked for a replacement, and the best they could find was the body of a pretty girl. She was a runaway who had the misfortune of seeking shelter under the tree. A serpent's bite had killed her just the day before, and she was young, healthy, and delightful to look upon.

The magician transformed her tattered gown into handsome traveling clothes better suited to a princess. Then the snake-demon called up the prince's spirit and breathed it into the girl's body.

When the prince came back to life, he imagined he'd only been asleep. Fearing that his brother would be vexed by his delay, he seized the whip and quickly stood. Then he felt the difference in himself: first his clothes, then his hair, and then his breasts! His astonishment increased when the magician stepped forward and explained everything.

The young prince was shocked and surprised, but he was also philosophical, so he resolved to make the best of the new life he'd been given. "Better a live princess than a dead prince!" he declared.

The prince — or princess, rather — mounted the pony (which had been grazing by the tree this whole time) and dashed off, laughing to herself about the explanation she'd give her older brother. Would he believe her?

Lost in thought, she made a wrong turn, and after a very long and solitary ride, she arrived at a different city from the one where her brother was king.

It was late in the evening, and she had no money in her pocket. After passing through the city without finding her brother, she saw a old woman herding goats. The woman had a kindly face, so she said to her, "Ma'am, if you could give me food and a place to sleep, I will gladly give you my pony in exchange."

The woman agreed, and the princess went to live in her house. The two got on very well together, and the princess helped the old woman with her chores. But after a week or so, the girl noticed that the old woman looked very sad, so she asked what was the matter.

"The matter is this," the old woman said, with tears in her eyes. "In this kingdom there lives an ogre. Every day this ogre devours a young man, a goat, and a wheatcake, and if we deliver these things each day he leaves the rest of the kingdom in peace. Every day someone must provide the meal, and each inhabitant in turn must prepare it, under penalty of death. Today is my turn. The cake I can make, the goat I have, but where will I find the young man?"

"Why doesn't someone kill the ogre?" asked the brave young princess.

"Many have tried, but all have failed. The king has gone so far as to promise his daughter's hand in marriage, and half his kingdom, if any man can succeed." The old woman sighed heavily and bursting into tears, sobbed, "And now I must die, for where can I find a young man?"

"Don't cry," the princess told her. "You've been very kind to me, and I will do my best for you by being part of the ogre's dinner. I don't think he'll mind eating a girl for a change."

The old woman flatly refused to allow such a kind and beautiful girl to sacrifice herself, but the princess laughed at her fears and cheered her up until the goodwife gave in.

"The only thing I ask," said the princess, "is that you make the wheatcake as large as you possibly can, and give me the finest and fattest goat in your flock."

The old woman agreed, and once everything was prepared, the princess led the goat and carried the cake to the tree where the ogre came every evening to receive and devour his accustomed meal. After she tied the goat to the tree and laid the cake on the ground, the princess stepped back, hid herself, and waited. Presently the ogre, a very frightful monster, appeared. As a rule, he ate the young man first, because the cake and the goat were usually not very appetizing. This evening, however, seeing the biggest cake and the fattest goat he had ever laid eyes on, the ogre began to slobber and drool, and straightaway he gobbled them both up. As he finished the last mouthful, before he let out a single belch, the princess lept out of hiding and drew her sword. A terrible battle ensued. The ogre fought like an ogre, but his full stomach made him heavy and slow, and while the princess was not strong, she was light and quick. In the end the princess was victorious, and with a great sweeping blow cut off the ogre's head. She tied it up in a piece of cloth, and exhausted by the combat lay down to rest and fell fast asleep.

In the morning, a scavenger came by, as he did each day, to take away the bones left from the ogre's feast. When the scavenger saw only half the usual quantity of bones, he was astonished, but even more so when he found the pretty princess fast asleep, with the ogre's head by her side.

"Ho! Ho!" he thought, "This is a fine chance for me!"

Very gently he wrapped the girl in an old tarp and set her in a clay pit nearby. He covered the poor girl with clay and left her to die. Then he took the ogre's head and brought it to the king, claiming half the kingdom and the princess' hand in marriage, as the reward for slaying the ogre.

The king had his suspicions that the scavenger was not completely truthful, but true to his promise, he gave up half his kingdom. As far as his daughter was concerned, he pointed out that the girl was very young, and asked the scavenger for a year's delay. So the scavenger-king reigned over half the kingdom, while the king secretly looked for a way out of the promised marriage.

In the meantime, some potters came to get clay from the pit, and were quite surprised to find a lovely girl, unconscious but still breathing, hidden beneath the clay. They took her home and had their wives care for her. Soon she recovered, and was surprised to hear of the scavenger's victory over the ogre, which everyone was talking about.

She understood how the wicked man had stepped in and defrauded her, but since there were no witnesses, and no one would believe that a girl had succeeded where so many brave men had failed, so she held her tongue, and gladly accepted when the potters offered to teach her their trade.

The princess was so clever and had such small and nimble fingers, that soon the potters became famous for their beautiful patterns and excellent workmanship; so much so, that the story of the lovely girl who had been found in a clay pit became noised about. Even though the princess never breathed a word of her identity or her adventures, when the news of her existence reached the scavenger-king's ears, he determined to get rid of the young girl, before the truth could leak out.

Just at that time, a fleet of merchant vessels were detained in the harbor by calms and contrary winds. This had gone on so long that it became a serious matter, so the auguries were consulted. They declared that unless human blood were spilt the vessels would never leave port. When this was reported to the scavenger-king, he seized the opportunity and said, "It must be done, if that's the case. But we shall not sacrifice a citizen. Give the merchants that strange potter-girl, who came from god-knows-where!"

The order was given, and the girl was handed over to the merchants. They took her on board and prepared to kill her. However, she begged them to wait until evening, to see if a breeze might come. They agreed, but when none came, she had an inspiration. The augur had said nothing about a sacrifice, but only spoke of blood... She pricked her finger and squeezed out a drop. As she did, the sails of the first ship filled with wind, and glided out of the harbor. As she squeezed out a second drop, the second ship did the same, and so on until the whole fleet was sailing before a strong breeze.

The merchants were enchanted by her beauty and by her apparent ability to compel the winds, so they took the very greatest care of her. Before long she was a great favorite of them all, for she really was an amiable young lady. No one dared to touch or harm her, for she was quite evidently a princess, and they believed her protected by heaven itself.

After many voyages and much long travel, they arrived at the city where the princess' brother had been elected king by the elephant.

While the merchants went into the city to transact their business, the princess stayed behind with those who watched the vessels. When she grew tired of watching, she came on shore and found that the beach was made of soft clay. To amuse herself, she began to work the clay into a model of her father's palace. Soon she was absorbed in the work, and kept at it until she had created a rare work of beauty. There was the garden, full of trees and flowers, the king on his throne, the courtiers standing round — even the two princes at their studies, and the pigeons atop the tower. When it was finished, the poor girl couldn't help the tears coming into her eyes as she sighed over days long past.

The son of the prime minister happened to pass that way. He was wonderstruck by the beautiful model of the palace, but even more struck by the lovely, sad, young girl who sat sighing beside it. He went straight home, up to his room, and threw himself on his bed.

When he didn't come down for lunch or dinner, his father began to worry that his son was ill, so he sent a servant to see what was wrong. This was the young man's reply: "Tell my father I will neither eat nor drink until he marries me to the beautiful girl who sits sighing on the sea shore near a palace made of clay."

The prime minister was not at all pleased to hear that his son wanted to marry a girl who had more or less washed up on the beach. However, when he saw that his son would starve to death, he outwardly gave his consent. Privately, he made arrangements with a shipowner to take the bride and groom for a sailing honeymoon. He paid the sailors to throw the girl into the sea at the first opportunity and bring the groom back to his father.

So the marriage took place, the ship set sail, and a day or two later the sailors pushed the girl overboard as she was sitting on the prow. But it so happened that a rope was hanging near the couple's cabin in the stern. As it drifted near the girl, she caught hold and climbed into the window unseen.

Her husband hid her from the crew, and — declaring that he would take his meals in his cabin, shared his food with his wife.

The merchants thought that they'd managed everything beautifully, so they turned their ship around, brought the groom and his trunk (with his wife inside!) back to his father. The prime minister was so pleased that he rewarded the sailors handsomely.

His son was also quite content to be home with his bride. When she wished to roam about the palace, she disguised herself as a servant, and in that way was quite safe and secure.

Now, the princess had told her husband the whole story of her life (leaving out, of course, the fact that she once had been a prince!). When her husband in turn told her how the king, who had been elected by an elephant, had made his father prime minister, the girl began to suspect that this king was her long-lost brother. Then she laid a plan to be sure.

Every day, a bouquet of flowers was sent to the king from the minister's garden, so one evening the princess, dressed as a servant, went up to the gardener's daughter and told her, "I can show you a new way of arranging them, if you like." Taking the flowers, she arranged them just as her father's gardener used to do.

The next morning, when the king saw the bouquet, he became quite pale, and turning to the gardener, asked who had arranged the flowers.

"I did, sire," the gardener replied, trembling with fear.

"You lie, knave!" the king replied, "but if you bring me another such bouquet tomorrow, I will forgive you."

That evening, the gardener's daughter, full of fear, came weeping to the disguised princess. She told her what had happened and begged her to make another bouquet to save her father's life. The princess did so willingly, for now she was certain that the king was her long-lost brother. She made another bouquet, even more beautiful than the last, and concealed among the flowers a paper on which her old name, the name she was born with, was written.

When the king found the paper, he said to the gardener, "Please do not pretend that you made this bouquet. Now, unless you tell me the whole truth, I will be very angry with you."

The gardener fell on his knees and confessed that one of the women-servants in the prime minister's palace had made it for his daughter. This answer surprised the king immensely. He was so curious to get to the bottom of the mystery that he disguised himself as a gardener and went with the gardener's daughter to cut flowers in the minister's garden. As soon as the princess saw him, she recognized him, but he had no idea who the lovely girl could be. The princess was determined to see whether wealth and power had changed her brother's heart, so she didn't answer his questions about where she'd learned to arrange flowers. Instead, she told him some of the adventures she'd had while travelling with the merchants. Then she declared that she was tired, and went off to her room.

The king was fascinated by the story, and didn't realize until later that his question had not been answered. So he returned to the garden the next evening. Again the girl entertained him with stories of wonders she'd seen in far-off lands and strange happenings at sea. Again, pleading fatigue, she retired.

The third night, the princess told of the scavenger-king's attempt to have her sacrificed.

The fourth night, the princess recounted her life among the potters, and how they had freed her from the clay pit.

The king continued to visit the prime minister's house each evening, and each time he was entranced by the princess' stories. Try as he might, however, he was never able to get an answer to his question: where had the girl come from?

He was on pins and needles each day, and waited anxiously for the evening, determined to press his question to the lovely girl.

The fifth night, he heard of her fight with the ogre and how she'd been left in the clay pit to die.

The sixth night, she told him about the magician and the snake-demon.

It was only on the seventh night that the princess told the story of the parrot and the starling, and revealed who she truly was.

The king fell on his sister's neck and rejoiced greatly.

The prime minister, when he learned what an excellent marriage his son had made, and what a terrible mistake he had made, begged forgiveness from the girl and from his son. He offered, in the spirit of the starling's prediction, to step down as prime minister, but the girl replied that it was not necessary. She was quite happy with the love of her husband and the peaceful life of the minister's palace.

The very next day, the king sent an ambassador to the king of the country where the ogre had been killed, telling him the truth of the story, and saying that his sister was quite satisfied where she was and did not intend to claim half of the kingdom.

Also, after pointing out that the other king's daughter was free to marry whomever she wished, he paid court to the girl himself, and soon the two were married.

There was great rejoicing, and the scavenger-king was put to death, which he well deserved.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

17. The Conch Of Rama

 

Long ago, there was a farmer in the Punjab who had suffered much at the hands of a money-lender. Good harvest or bad, the farmer always ended up poor and the money-lender rich. At last when the farmer hadn't a penny left, he went to the money-lender's house and said, "You've gotten all you can from me now. As they say, you can't squeeze blood from a stone, so you might as well tell me the secret of becoming rich. It's the only way I could ever pay you what I owe."

"My friend," returned the money-lender piously, "riches come from the god Rama — ask him."

"Thank you, I will!" replied the simple farmer. He went home and cooked three griddle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set off to find Rama.

First he met a Brahmin, to whom he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Rama. The Brahmin only took the cake and went on his way without a word. Next the farmer met a yogi, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last he came to a poor man sitting under a tree. When he found that the fellow was hungry, the kind farmer gave him his last cake, and sat down to rest and to chat.

After a while, the poor man asked, "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I'm at the start of a long journey. I'm off to find Rama," the farmer replied. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?"

"I think I can," the poor man said, smiling, "for I am Rama! What is it that you want of me?"

The farmer told him the whole story. Rama took pity on him, so he gave him a conch shell and showed him a very odd way to blow it. "Remember! All you need to do is blow the conch that way, and you'll have whatever you wish for. Only keep your eye out for that money-lender, for not even magic can protect you from his tricks!"

The farmer went back home a happy man. The money-lender noticed his good spirits at once, and said to himself, "Some good fortune must have come that idiot's way, or he wouldn't hold his head so high." So he went over to the farmer's house and congratulated him on his good fortune. He spoke in a clever way that made it seem as though he'd heard all about it, and before long the farmer found himself telling the whole story — except for the part about how to blow the conch. As simple as he was, the farmer was not such a fool as to tell that.

The money-lender decided that he ought to have the conch himself, and the easiest way to do that was to steal it, first chance he got.

Well, the money-lender nearly burst his lungs and exploded himself, blowing that thing every way he could think of. After he'd fainted three times from blowing too hard, he gave it up as a bad job. However, he was too greedy and too clever to stop there, so he went back to the farmer and said, "Look here, my friend. I've got the conch, but I can't use it. You don't have it, so you can't use it either. Let's make a bargain. I'll give you back the conch and never interfere with your using it, on one condition: whatever you get from it, I get double."

"Forget it!" the farmer said. "Never! That would be the bad old business all over again!"

"Not at all!" the money-lender replied. "You'll get your share! Come on now, don't be a dog in the manger! Don't be a stick in the mud! You can have all you want! What do you care if I'm rich or poor?"

At last, even though it went sorely against the grain to give any benefit to the money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield. From that time, no matter what he gained through the power of the conch, the money-lender gained double. And that fact just ate away at the farmer's mind day and night, until he had no satisfaction from the things he did get.

After a time, there came a very dry season, and the farmer's crops were about to wither for lack of rain. So he blew on the conch and wished for a well to water them, and paff! there was his well. But the money-lender had two!

The farmer became so frustrated and angry that he accidentally chopped off his big toe with a farm tool. He quickly grabbed the conch, wished for a brand new big toe, and blew. There it was! Good as new. He quietly went on with his work, until the money-lender appeared, barefoot, holding a shoe in each hand.

"Look at my feet!" The man shouted. "Look at them!" So the farmer looked. There, on each of the money lender's feet were two big toes: the ones he was born with, and two brand new ones, given by the conch, making four big toes in all. "I can't wear my shoes any more! It's ridiculous! I had to cut these shoes apart just to get them off! How am I supposed to get around with feet like these!"

The farmer could hardly stand for laughing. The money-lender grew angry and angrier still. He would have smashed the conch to atoms, except that he knew it was his only hope to ever have normal feet again. At first the farmer said that it served the money-lender right; that this was his pay for being so greedy. In the end, however, the money-lender convinced him to wish the extra toes away and blow the conch again, but it didn't work. The farmer tried three times with all his heart, but there was nothing to be done. The money-lender had to make his way home with his extra toes intact.

Before he left, in spite of his promise to never interfere with the farmer's wishes, the money-lender told him, "Be careful with your wishing! Remember that whatever you wish comes double to me!"

As amused and pleased as the farmer was by the business of the extra toes, he was not a cruel man, so he didn't lie awake thinking of ways to torture the money-lender, as much as the man deserved it.

What occupied the farmer's mind was something else entirely: before today he had only wished for things: gold to pay his debts, seeds to plant, clothes to wear, animals for the farm... He had never before wished to change himself, but now that he knew he could, he began to consider new possibilities. He could fix his broken nose! He could mend the place where his arm had never healed right. He could become young, handsome, and strong. He could live far away, where nobody knew him, and start a new life over, from the beginning.

The farmer spent the next days dreaming, wondering what wishes he could make. The money-lender was far from his thoughts, although the money-lender spent those same days studying his foot, wondering what sort of wish could set it straight. He'd also begun to worry that now the farmer might take out his revenge by wishing all sorts of strange things that would be fine by themselves, but terrible in pairs. He'd never been a man to worry, but now he was terrified of what the farmer's future wishes could bring.

One night, as he lay awake thinking about the problem, it occurred to him that it might be best to break his bargain with the farmer, and leave the farmer's wishes to the farmer. He would cut his losses before they got any worse. Sure, he might have two extra toes for the rest of his life, but that was nothing compared to... well, whatever the farmer might dream up!

However, a moment later, the money-lender's greed got the better of him. He wouldn't be able to stand seeing the farmer getting rich if he wasn't getting richer at the same time! There was no way he would ever break his bargain with the farmer!

About the same time, the farmer had finally worked out what he wanted. He knew that once he made his wish, something would happen to the money-lender, but he wasn't sure what. Still, no one had forced the money-lender to tie his fate to the farmer's wishes. Even when the extra toes appeared, the money-lender didn't want to stop.

The way the farmer worked out his wish was this: he had seen a beautiful young girl at the market. She was one of the local beauties, with smooth skin, long dark hair, full lips, and so on. She was a complete living catalog of feminine beauty, from her toes to the top of her head. The farmer, like all the men of the town, stared at her like an open-mouthed fool.

When she had gone about her business, and the farmer recovered his senses, he knew what he had to wish. He recalled how, as a boy, he'd wanted to wear the flowing dresses the girls wore, to paint his eyes, and braid his hair. He wanted to walk in that slow, sliding, sensuous way. He wanted to be a young, pretty, happy girl, not an old, weary farmer.

And so he sat down to think it through. He wanted to be very specific about the sort of girl he wanted to be, and so he made a list: two slender legs and well-turned ankles, two pert breasts, full lips, a complete set of flawless, milk-white teeth, dark eyes with long dark lashes...

He went through every item in the female anatomy, choosing, composing, and writing down what, in his mind, made the perfect young woman.

And then he blew his conch.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

18. The Golden Mermaid

 

In the garden of a certain king there was a wonderful tree that bore golden apples. Each year the king waited and watched patiently for the beautiful fruit to ripen, but he never got to taste it. No matter how well he watched and guarded, as soon as the apples began to get ripe, they were stolen. Exasperated at last, he called for his two eldest sons and told them, "Get yourselves ready for a journey. Take whatever servants, gold, and silver that you need, and find out who is stealing my golden apples. If you can, bring the thief to me so I can punish him as he deserves."

His sons were delighted at this proposal, for they had long wished to see the world. They got ready in haste, bade their father farewell, and left. The boys knew it was unlikely that they would find the thief, and were ready for a long, enjoyable vacation.

The youngest prince was very disappointed that he was not also sent, but his father wouldn't hear of his going. He always regarded the boy as the stupid one of the family, but the king was also afraid that something might happen to him. If his older brothers didn't return, the king would be left without an heir.

But the prince begged and nagged and pleaded until the king was tired of hearing him. In the end, he gave the boy some gold and silver — though not as much as he gave his brothers. He didn't appoint any servants to accompany the lad, and he gave him the worst and oldest horse in the stable. The prince was so happy to be on his way that he didn't think to ask for anything better. The people of the town laughed and jeered as he rode off on his ridiculous steed.

After his initial excitement had passed, the prince soon realized what an awful horse he'd been given. It was clear that his father hoped he'd come home sooner if he was ill-equipped, but the lad was determined to make good, and trusted in his fate.

His path led him into a wood, and soon he saw a skinny wolf who stood quite still as he approached. The prince asked the wolf if he was hungry, and when the wolf replied that he was, the prince got down from his sorry horse and said, "This horse is little good to me, but if it will feed you, please help yourself."

The wolf didn't wait to be asked twice, but set to work and soon nothing was left of the horse but his bones. The wolf now looked better, stronger, sleeker, and the prince said, "Now, my friend, since you've made a meal of my horse, and since I have such a long way to go, the least you can do is carry me on your back."

"Certainly," the wolf said. "Where is it that you'd like to go?"

"I don't quite know," the boy replied.

"How can that be?" the wolf asked, so the prince told him the story of the golden apples.

The wolf, as it happens, was not a wolf at all, but a mighty magician who loved to roam the world and turn himself into one thing and another. In his travels he'd learned a great deal, and in fact he knew exactly who was taking the apples and where this thief could be found.

"Not far from here there is a king who has a beautiful golden bird in a cage, and this is the creature who steals the golden apples. However, he flies so fast that it's impossible to catch him. You must slip into the king's palace at night and steal the bird in its cage. But be careful not to make a sound as you enter and leave."

The wolf carried the boy to the palace of the golden bird. That night the prince made his way stealthily inside and found the bird in its cage, just as the wolf had told him. In spite of all his caution, he tripped on a doorsill, and shook the bird cage slightly. The bird began to cry out and woke the guards, who seized the prince, beat him, and put him in chains. The next morning they led him before the king, who at once condemned him to death and had him thrown in a dark dungeon until the sentence was carried out.

When the prince did not return, the wolf knew that something had gone wrong. So he turned himself into a richly dressed king with a large train of followers, and as such was received in the palace of the golden bird with every show of honor. He and the king conversed on many subjects, until at last the wolf asked the king if he had many slaves. The king replied that he had more than he knew what to do with, and that he had captured another that very night who had tried to steal his magic bird.

"He must be a daring thief," the wolf replied, "to attempt such a thing. I would like to see this bold rascal."

"By all means," the king replied, and brought the prince before him.

The wolf pretended to be greatly disappointed. "This is the thief?" he asked. "That miserable creature? I hardly think him capable of anything. Hanging is too good for him! If I had to sentence him, I'd give him some impossible task, under pain of death. If he succeeds, so much the better for you. But if he fails, or dies in the attempt, it's no one's loss, and you can have his head cut off anyway."

"What excellent advice!" the king replied. "In fact, I have just the thing. My nearest neighbor, who is also a mighty king, possesses a golden horse that he guards most carefully. The prisoner should steal this horse and bring it to me."

The prince was then let out of the dungeon, but he was not very happy. He had no idea how to set about stealing the horse, and he sat down on the ground disconsolate. He wondered why he'd ever left his father's house and kingdom. But before long, his friend the wolf arrived and said, "Dear prince, why are you so cast down? It's true that you didn't succeed in stealing the bird, but don't let that discourage you! This time you'll be twice as careful. I have no doubt that you'll catch the horse."

The wolf carried the prince to the castle of the golden horse, and gave him many words of encouragement. He told him how to find the horse and how to lead him away, but warned him, "Be careful that you keep the horse quiet, for if he makes a sound, all will be undone."

The prince did his part, and was as cautious as anyone could be and more, but it happened that a gadfly stung the horse on its haunch, and the horse let out a startled whinny that woke the guards. Once again, the prince was seized, beaten, chained, condemned to death, and thrown in prison. Once again the wolf transformed himself into a mighty king and had him freed in the same way as before.

This time, the king appointed him the task of capturing the golden mermaid. This woman had a legendary beauty, and the king was determined to marry her. No one had ever come close enough to touch the maiden, let alone capture her.

Once again, the prince left his prison depressed, and once again his friend the wolf raised his spirits and promised his help.

This time, however, the task was quite different. They had to travel far before they reached the sea where the golden mermaid was found. And the magician, though he knew quite a bit about mermaids in general, knew nothing about the golden mermaid in particular. So he set a trap that would have caught any other mermaid.

"I am going to turn myself into a little boat full of the most beautiful silken merchandise. You must jump boldly into the boat, and steer with my tail for the open sea. Keep going forward until you come upon the golden mermaid. Whatever you do, don't follow her when she calls to you, but instead tell her, The buyer comes to the seller, not the seller to the buyer. After that, you must turn and head for land. She will certainly follow you, for she won't be able to resist the beautiful wares you're carrying."

As soon as the prince promised to follow these instructions faithfully, the wolf changed himself into a pretty ship loaded with the most exquisite silks, in every shade and quality imaginable. The astonished prince stepped into the boat and steered with the wolf's tail for the open sea, where the sun was gilding the blue waves with its golden rays. Soon he saw the golden mermaid swimming near the ship, and she beckoned and called for him to follow her. Heeding the wolf's warning, he told her, "The buyer comes to the seller, not the seller to the buyer," and headed back toward land. The lovely mermaid called for him to stop, but he refused to listen, and never paused until he reached the sandy shore. There he waited for the mermaid, who soon arrived. When she came near, he saw that she was more beautiful than any mortal woman he'd ever beheld. She swam round the ship for some time, admiring the cloths, then swung herself gracefully on board, in order to examine the silks more closely. At that, the prince seized her in his arms, kissed her on the cheeks and lips, and told her she was his forever. At the same moment, the boat turned into a wolf again, which so terrified the mermaid that she clung to the prince for protection.

And yet, the golden mermaid was not so easily taken. What the magician did not know was that the golden mermaid was a fairy of considerable power. Although the prince had taken liberties with her person, it was only because she was frightened. Once she recovered from her surprise and shock, she drew away from his embrace. He was unable to hold her, and her eyes flashed fire.

"How dare you ply your silly tricks on me!" she cried. "Do you take me for a common fish of the sea?" A clap of thunder broke overhead as she spoke, and both prince and wolf realized with terror their great mistake. "What offense have I given, that you come and violate my person in this way?" For several long minutes, the two men listened as the golden mermaid vented her anger with shouts and peals of thunder. They did not dare to run, and feared the worst.

At last, she demanded an explanation. Quaking with fear, the prince told the story of the golden apples, the golden bird, the golden horse... and finally, the golden mermaid.

"I see," she said. "So I am nothing more than the last prize in a golden treasure hunt?" The prince made no reply, for he had none. After a few moments of silent thought, the golden mermaid spoke again. "It would be a shame after so much time and suffering for you to return empty handed. Without a golden mermaid, all the treasures are lost, isn't it so?" The prince agreed, but wondered what she could be thinking.

The golden mermaid raised her open palms. Fairy lights danced around her fingers. "A golden mermaid they must have," she said, "so a golden mermaid you shall be." At that, the prince felt himself lifted from the earth, and his entire body tingled and glowed with a warm, sunny fire. A ripple, then a wave, of breathtaking emotion passed through him, and he shuddered in core-shaking pleasure. When he came to his senses again, he was swimming in the water, a single tail having taken the place of his legs. The golden mermaid stood before him, and held a mirror for him to see. He was in every way the exact image of the beautiful mermaid, though perhaps not quite as beautiful, with a look of astonishment on her face.

"Now you can bring your golden treasure hunt to its conclusion," the golden mermaid jeered, and turning, she swam back out to sea, looking back from time to time laughing, until she disappeared beneath the waves.

The poor prince, now a mermaid, swam about in distress. What to do? What to do? "You're a magician," he told the wolf, "turn me back to what I was!"

"I can't," the wolf replied. "I've tried already, several times, but my magic is nothing compared to hers. I'm afraid that you've met your destiny."

The new mermaid cried out in distress.

"If it's any consolation," the wolf said with a smile, "I can tell you that you're simply breathtaking."

You can understand that this was not exactly what the mermaid princess was waiting to hear, but she did at last calm down. She and the wolf talked over the situation, and realized that there was nothing to be done but carry the game through to its conclusion.

The wolf took the girl on his back and rode to the castle of the golden horse. There he took on the appearance of the prince, and carried the lovely mermaid before the king.

At the sight of the beautiful mermaid, the king was abashed. He never expected the prince to succeed. The wolf, in the guise of the prince, told the king how the mermaid had been taken. His story was not completely accurate, and of course, he left out what the real mermaid had done to the real prince.

In spite of the omissions in the story, the king understood that the prince had been helped by some magic art, and on the spot he gave up all claim to the beautiful mermaid.

"Dear youth," he said to the wolf, "forgive my shameful conduct to you, and as a sign that you pardon me, please accept the golden horse as a present. I acknowledge that your power is far greater than I can understand, for you've succeeded in capturing the golden mermaid, whom no other mortal has ever been able to approach."

The mermaid smiled at this, and the king was utterly enchanted.

As soon as the feast was over, the prince lifted the mermaid onto the golden horse, and swung up behind her. They trotted off toward the palace of the golden bird. By now the two had become good friends, and the mermaid found that she liked her companion much better as a man than a wolf.

Because they took their time in arriving, the news of their adventure had gone before them, and when they arrived at the palace, they found everything festively illuminated and decorated for their reception. When the prince and the mermaid mounted the steps of the palace, the king himself came forward to meet them, and led them to his throne room. At the same moment a servant appeared with the golden bird in its golden cage, and the king begged the prince to accept it with all his love, and to forgive him the indignity he had suffered at his hands. Then the king bent low before the beautiful mermaid, and offering his arm, led her in to dinner, closely followed by the prince.

As soon as the sumptuous meal was over, the prince and the mermaid took leave of the king, and seating themselves on the golden horse, began their journey home. On the way, the wolf-prince said to his companion, "Our present circumstance is as strange as anyone could imagine. And yet, I don't believe that I have ever been happier."

The mermaid replied, "I feel precisely as you do. Although everything has gone topsy-turvy, I would not set it right for all the world."

The news of the prince's adventures had already reached his father's court, and everyone was more than astonished at the success of the prince that everyone had once regarded as stupid. His older brothers, who had spent much and come home with nothing, were furious over their younger brother's good fortune, and decided that they would be best served by killing him. They hid in the woods in a place that the prince had to pass. There they fell on him and beat him to death — or very nearly. They left him lying senseless on the ground, and carried off the golden horse and the golden bird. Nothing they could do would persuade the mermaid to go with them or to move from the spot. She was transfixed with horror at what her brothers had done, and had grown so attached to the wolf-prince that she could do nothing more or less than live or die with him.

She sat and watched for a sleepless night, and in the morning the prince woke a little. Coughing, he asked for water, and after having drunk, he told the mermaid, "All will be well if you do as I say: cover me with all the leaves and flowers you can find in the wood, and then–" but here he died, leaving the instructions incomplete.

The mermaid gathered all the leaves and flowers she could find, and weeping the whole time, covered her friend's body from head to toe, leaving only the face exposed. Then, with her tears she bathed his face, and at last she covered it with kisses.

When she kissed his lips, he drew a deep and sudden breath, and let out a soft moan. The color returned to his face, and lo and behold! the prince lay there sleeping as peacefully as a child. The mermaid let him sleep for a time, but when she gently kissed the wounds her brothers made on his forehead, the prince awoke. You can imagine how delighted he was to find the beautiful mermaid beside him, although he was a little distressed at having been taken in ambush by his supposed brothers.

A traveler in the forest took the two on his cart, and carried them to the king's palace.

The King's joy was great when he embraced his youngest son, for he had long since despaired of his return. He received the beautiful golden mermaid most cordially, and never realized that she was actually his long-lost son.

The prince was made to tell his adventures all over from the beginning. The poor old father grew very sad when he heard of the shameful conduct of his elder sons, and had them called before him. They turned as white as death when they saw their brother, whom they thought they had murdered, standing beside them alive and well, and so startled were they that when the King asked them why they had behaved so wickedly to their brother, they could think of no lie, but confessed at once that they had slain the young prince in order to obtain possession of the golden horse and the golden bird.

Their father's wrath knew no bounds, and he ordered them both to be banished. But when it came to the marriage of his youngest son to the beautiful mermaid, the King could not do enough, and the wedding was celebrated with much pomp and magnificence.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

19. The Kinglet, part one

 

I

Once upon a time there was a little soldier who came back from the war. He didn't die, or lose his arms or legs, but when the fighting ended, there was nothing else for him to do: he had to return home, to the village where he was born.

The soldier's name was really John, but for some reason his friends always called him the Kinglet. No one knew why, but that's what they called him.

He had no family to welcome him home: no father, mother, or anyone else, so he took his time and didn't hurry. He went quietly along, his knapsack on his back and his sword at his side.

One night, he wanted to light his pipe, but couldn't find his matchbox anywhere. After a thorough search of his pockets and pack, he realized to his disgust that it was quite lost. He went on in the darkness for a short way, until he noticed a light shining through the trees. He went toward it and found an old castle, with the door standing open.

The soldier went inside and found a large fire blazing at the end of a low hall. He knocked, he called out, and shouted as politely as he could manage, but no one answered. The castle seemed to be completely empty, and yet here was a roaring fire.

John went straight to the fireplace and seized the tongs. He might as get his pipe lit while he waited for whomever lived in the place.

As he stooped to find a nice little red coal, something in fire went click! like a spring giving way, and in the midst of the flames an enormous serpent reared up close to his face.

And stranger still, this serpent had the head of a woman.

At such an unexpected sight most men would dropped their pipe and turned and run, but our little soldier was not such a man. Though he was small, he had a true soldier's heart. He took a half-step backward and grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Don't draw your sword," said the serpent. "I've been waiting for you: you're the one who must set me free."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Ludovine. I am the daughter of the King of the Low Countries. Deliver me, and I will marry you and make you happy for the rest of your life."

Again, most men would have some qualms about marrying a serpent with a woman's head, but the Kinglet was not such a man. He felt the cool fascination of Ludovine's eyes, which gazed at him the way a snake looks at a little bird. They were beautiful green eyes, long and almond-shaped. Her golden hair, that flowed and floated through the flames, added to the luster and glow of those wonderful eyes. Her face had the beauty of an angel, though her body was that of a snake.

"What must I do?" asked the Kinglet.

"Open that door. You will find yourself in a gallery with a room at the end like this one. Enter that room, and you'll see a closet, out of which you must take a tunic, and bring it back to me."

The little soldier did as he was told. He crossed the gallery in safety, but when he reached the room he saw, by the light of the stars, eight hands on a level with his face, all ready to strike him. Look where he would, he could discover no bodies or arms belonging to them.

He lowered his head and rushed forward, amidst a storm of blows, which he returned with his fists. He retrieved the tunic from the closet, and brought it back to the first room.

"Here it is," he panted, rather out of breath.

Click! Once more the flames parted. Ludovine was a woman down to her waist. She took the tunic and put it on before his admiring eyes. It was a magnificent tunic of orange velvet, embroidered in pearls, but the pearls where nowhere near as white as her neck.

"That is not all," she said. "Go back to the gallery, take the staircase on the left, and in the second room on the first story you'll find another closet with my skirt. Bring it to me."

The Kinglet did as he was told, but on entering the room he saw not only hands, but eight arms as well, each holding an enormous stick. With scarcely a thought he drew his sword and cut his way through with such vigor that he hardly received a scratch.

He brought back the skirt, which was made of silk as blue as he skies of Spain.

"Here is is," said John as the serpent appeared. She was now a woman as far as her knees.

"I only need my shoes and stockings now," she told him. "Go get them from the closet on the second story."

The little soldier climbed the stairs, and found himself in the presence of eight goblins armed with hammers. Flames darted from their eyes. This time he stopped at the threshold and thought for a moment. "My sword is no use this time; these fellows will break it like glass. If I can't think of something clever, I'm a dead man."

At that moment, he glanced at the door, which was made of thick and heavy oak. He wrenched it off its hinges, held it over his head, and ran straight for the goblins, whom he crushed beneath it. After he caught his breath and mopped his brow, he took the shoes and stockings out of the closet and brought them to Ludovine. The moment she put them on, she became a woman all over.

Now that she was completely dressed, with her white silk stockings and little blue slippers dotted with jewels, she said to her deliverer, "Listen to me: you must go away and never come back here, no matter what happens. Here is a purse with two hundred ducats. Sleep tonight at the inn at the edge of the wood, but be sure to wake up early: for at nine o'clock I will come to fetch you in my carriage."

"Why don't we leave together, right now?" asked the Kinglet.

"Because my time has not yet come," answered the Princess. "But first you may drink my health with this glass of wine." As she spoke she filled a crystal goblet with a liquid that looked like melted gold.

John drank, then lit his pipe and walked out of the castle.

---

II

At the inn he ordered supper, but the instant he sat down, he caught himself falling asleep.

"I must be more tired than I thought," he said to himself. After telling his hosts to be sure to wake him at eight the next morning, he went to bed.

He slept through the night like a dead man. At eight o'clock they came to wake him, and then at half-past, a quarter-to, and nine o'clock itself, but it was no use. It was like trying to wake a stone, so they left him in peace.

When at last he woke, he heard the clocks strike noon, so he sprang from the bed and ran downstairs half-dressed to ask if anyone had called for him.

"Oh, yes, a lovely princess came!" replied the landlady, "in a coach all of gold. She left you this bouquet, and a message to say that she herself would pass this way tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

The little soldier cursed his sleep, and tried to console himself by looking at the bouquet.

"Those are immortelles," the landlady told him. "It's a flower of remembrance."

When night came, he slept with one eye open, and jumped out of bed twenty times an hour. When the birds began to sing, he couldn't bear to stay in bed any longer, so he climbed out the window into the lime tree that stood by the door. That way, he said to himself, he would be sure to see the Princess. And there he sat, gazing at his bouquet until he fell fast asleep.

Once asleep, nothing could wake him: neither the hot, bright sun, nor the songs of the birds, nor the noise of Ludovine's golden coach, nor the cries of the landlady, who searched for him in every place she could think of.

At last, at the stroke of noon he woke, and his heart sank as he climbed down from the tree and saw them laying the table for the midday meal.

"Did the Princess come?" he asked.

"Oh, indeed she did! We searched high and low for you, and she waited as long as she could, the dear. She left this flower-colored scarf for you and said that she would come for you tomorrow at seven o'clock, but it would be the last time."

"I must have been bewitched," the soldier told himself. He tied the scented scarf around his left arm, and then it came to him: the best way to keep awake was not to go to bed at all! So he paid his bill and bought a horse with the money that remained, and when evening came he mounted his horse and stood in front of the inn, determined to stay there all night.

Every now and then he bent his head to sniff the scarf's sweet perfume, and gradually each sniff became longer, until at last his nose remained in the scarf, and his head sank onto the horse's neck. The man and the horse snored together through the night and into the morning.

When the Princess arrived, his landlord shook him, and beat him, and screamed in his ears and slapped him, but it did no good at all. Neither man nor horse woke till the coach was vanishing away in the distance.

Then John put the spurs to his horse, and called with all his might "Stop! Stop!" But the coach drove on as before, and though the little soldier rode after it for a day and a night, he never came one step nearer.

Thus they left many villages and towns behind them, till they came to the sea itself. Here John thought that at last the coach must stop, but, wonder of wonders! it went straight on, and rolled over the water as easily as it had done over the land.

John's horse, which had carried him so well, fell to the ground from fatigue, and the little soldier sat sadly on the shore, watching the coach as it disappeared on the horizon.

---

III

However, he soon plucked up his spirits again, and walked along the beach to try and find a boat in which he could sail after the Princess. But no boat was there, and at last, tired and hungry, he sat down to rest on the steps of a fisherman's hut. In the hut was a young man who was busy mending a net. He invited John to come in, and set before him some wine and fried fish. John ate and drank and felt comforted. He told his adventures to the sympathetic fisherman.

The fisherman was young, handsome, and good-hearted, and his neighbors called him the Seagull, because he was born with hair as as white as a gull's breast.

When the Kinglet finished his tale, the lad was filled with pity for him and said: "Listen: last week, when I was fishing, my net suddenly grew very heavy, and when I drew it in I found a large copper vase, sealed with lead. I brought it home and placed it on the fire. When the lead had melted a little, I opened the vase with my knife and found a mantle of red cloth and a purse containing fifty crowns. That is the mantle over there, covering my bed. I was keeping the money in case I ever get married or retire, but neither of those things are likely to happen soon. So why don't you take the money and go to the nearest seaport. There you'll find a ship sailing for the Low Countries, and when you become King you can send me back my fifty crowns."

The Kinglet declared, "When I am King of the Low Countries, I will settle you for life and marry you to a lovely lady of the court! For you helped me when no one else would."

The Seagull smiled and said he would be happy enough with the fifty crowns and the Kinglet's friendship. "None of us know what the future can bring," he said, and went back to his fishing.

Now that he was alone, the little soldier felt sleepy, so he wrapped himself in the red mantle and threw himself down on a heap of dried grass. As he thought of all the strange things that had befallen him, he suddenly exclaimed,

"Oh, how I wish I was in the capital of the Low Countries!"

---

IV

The next moment, the little soldier found himself standing before a splendid palace. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself, and when he was quite sure he was not dreaming he said to a man who was smoking his pipe before in a doorway, "Where am I?"

"Where are you? Can't you see? In front of the King's palace, of course."

"What King?"

"Why the King of the Low Countries!" replied the man, laughing, "Who else?"

The palace guards heard and saw everything, and shook their heads as John wandered off.

Was there ever anything so strange? Yet, poor John was even more troubled by the idea that the Seagull would think that he'd stolen the mantle and purse. He asked himself how he could return them, and realized that the mantle must have a hidden magic that carried him wherever he wished to be. In order to test it, he wished himself in the best inn of the town, and immediately he was there.

This amazing discovery gave John a powerful appetite, so he ordered supper. Since it was too late to visit the king that night, he went to bed.

The next morning he found that all the houses and buildings were wreathed with flowers and covered with flags. All the church bells were ringing, and people were running everywhere as if it were a holiday. The Kinglet asked the meaning of it all and was told that the Princess Ludovine, the king's beautiful daughter, had been found and was about to enter the city.

"That suits me fine!" thought the Kinglet. "I'll stand at the door and let her see me."

He'd scarely finished dressing when Ludovine's golden coach went by. She wore a golden crown, and the king and queen sat by her side. By accident her eyes fell on the little soldier, and she grew pale and turned her head away.

"She must have recognized me," the soldier told himself. "Could she be angry because I missed our meetings?"

He followed the crowd to the castle. When the royal party entered the gates, the little soldier told the guards that it was he who had saved the princess, and that he wished to speak to the king.

Unfortunately, he met the same guards who had seen him before, and the more he talked, the more they were convinced that he was some sort of lunatic, and at last they sent him away.

The little soldier was furious! He felt that he needed his pipe to calm him, and he went to a tavern and ordered a beer. "It must be this damn solider's helmet," he told himself. "It's put her off. Oh, if only I had some money! Then I could dress as well as any lord of the court! But all I have is what's left of the Seagull's fifty crowns!"

He took out the purse to how much was there, and found that there were still fifty crowns.

"The Seagull must have miscounted," he told himself. He paid for his beer, and counted the money again. There were still fifty crowns! He took away five and counted a third time, but there were still fifty. He emptied the purse completely, then closed it. When he opened it again, it still contained fifty crowns!

Then a plan came into his head, and he went at once to the royal tailor.

He ordered a suit of blue velvet embroidered with pearls. Next, he went to the royal coachbuilder and had him build a golden coach just like the coach of the Princess Ludovine. If the tailor and the coachbuilder were quick he promised to pay them double.

A few days later the townspeople were surprised to see a beautiful coach drawn by six white horses, with four footmen in livery standing behind. Inside sat John, clad in blue velvet, with a bouquet of immortelles in his hand and a scarf bound round his arm. He drove twice round the city, throwing money to the right and left, and the third time, as he passed under the palace windows, he saw Ludovine lift a corner of her curtain and peep out.

---

V

The next day no one talked of anything but the rich lord who had distributed money as he drove along. The talk even reached the Court, and the Queen, who was very curious, had a great desire to see this wonderful Prince.

"Very well," said the King, "let him be asked to come and play cards with me."

This time the Kinglet was not late for his appointment.

The King sent for the cards and they sat down to play. They had six games, and John always lost. The stake was fifty crowns, and each time he emptied his purse, which was full the next instant.

The sixth time the King exclaimed, "It is amazing!"

The Queen cried, "It is astonishing!"

The Princess said, "It is bewildering!"

"Not so bewildering," replied the little soldier, "as when you changed into a serpent."

"Hush!" interrupted the King, who did not like the subject.

"I only spoke of it," said John, "because you see in me the man who delivered the Princess from the goblins and whom she promised to marry."

"Is that true?" the King asked the Princess.

"Quite true," answered Ludovine. "But I told him to be ready to go with me when I passed by with my coach. I passed three times, but he slept so soundly that no one could wake him."

"What is your name?" said the King, "and who are you?"

"My name is John. I am a soldier, and my father was a boatman."

"I'm bound to say that you are not a fit husband for my daughter. Still, if you will give us your purse, you shall have her for your wife."

"My purse does not belong to me, and I cannot give it away."

"But you can lend it to me until our wedding-day," said the Princess with one of those glances the little soldier never could resist.

"And when will that be?"

"At Easter," said the monarch.

"Or in a blue moon!" murmured the Princess, but the Kinglet did not hear her, and he let her take the purse.

Next evening he presented himself at the palace to play picquet with the King and to pay court to the Princess. But he was told that the King had gone into the country to receive his rents. He returned the following day, and had the same answer. Then he asked to see the Queen, but she had a headache. When this had happened five or six times, he began to understand that they were making fun of him.

"That is not the way for a King to behave," thought John. "Old scoundrel!" and then suddenly he remembered his red cloak.

"Ah, what an idiot I am!" said he. "Of course I can get in whenever I like with the help of this."

That evening he was in front of the palace, wrapped in his red cloak.

On the first story one window was lighted, and John saw the shadow of the Princess on the curtains.

"I wish I was in Princess Ludovine's room," said he, and in a second he was there.

The King's daughter was sitting before a table counting the money that she emptied from the inexhaustible purse.

"Eight hundred and fifty, nine hundred, nine hundred and fifty–"

"A thousand," finished John. "Good evening everybody!"

The Princess jumped and gave a little cry. "You here! How dare you? Leave at once, or I shall call–"

"I have come," said the Kinglet, "to remind you of your promise. The day after to-morrow is Easter Day, and it is high time to think of our marriage."

Ludovine burst into a fit of laughter. "Our marriage! Are you really foolish enough to believe that a Princess like me would ever marry the son of a boatman?"

"Then give me back the purse," said John.

"Never," said the Princess, and calmly put it in her pocket.

"As you like," said the little soldier. "He laughs best who laughs last!" With that, he took the Princess in his arms. "I wish," he cried, "that we were at the ends of the earth!" In one second he was there, still clasping the Princess tightly in his arms.

"Ouf," said John, laying her gently at the foot of a tree. "I never took such a long journey before. What do you say, madam?" The Princess understood that it was no time for jesting, and did not answer. Besides, she was still feeling giddy from her rapid flight, and had not yet collected her senses.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

---

(continued)

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

20. The Kinglet, part two

 

VI

The King of the Low Countries was a rather unscrupulous person, and his daughter took after him. This was why she had been changed into a serpent. Along with that curse came a prophecy: that she would be delivered by a little soldier, and that she must marry him, unless he failed to appear at the meeting-place three times running. The cunning Princess then laid her plans accordingly.

The wine, the bouquet, and the scarf, all had the power of producing a death-like sleep. And we know what effect they had on John.

Now, even in this critical moment, Ludovine did not lose her head.

"I thought you were simply a street vagabond," said she, in her most coaxing voice. "Now I find you are more powerful than any king. Here is your purse, and with it, my heart. Did you keep my scarf and my bouquet?"

"Here they are," said the Kinglet, delighted with this change of tone, and he drew them from his breast pocket. Ludovine fastened the bouquet in his buttonhole and tied the scarf round his arm. "Now," she said, "you are my lord and master, and I will marry you at your good pleasure."

"You are kinder than I thought," said John, "and you shall never be unhappy, for I love you."

"Then, my little husband, tell me how you managed to carry me so quickly to the ends of the world."

The little soldier scratched his head. "Does she really mean to marry me," he asked himself, "or is she only trying to deceive me again?"

But Ludovine repeated, "Won't you tell me?" in such a tender voice that a thrill ran through him, and he didn't know how to resist her.

"After all," he said to himself, "it doesn't matter if I tell her, as long as I don't give her the cloak."

And so he explained the power of the red mantle.

Ludovine smiled and pretended to yawn. "Oh dear, how tired I am!" she sighed. "Do you mind if I take a little nap? When I wake up, we can talk about our wedding plans."

She stretched herself on the grass, and the Kinglet did the same. He did not intend to sleep, but soon the bouquet and the scarf quite overcame him.

Ludovine lay with her eyes closed, but as soon as she heard him snore, she slipped the purse from his pocket and put it in her own. Next she unfastened the mantle, drew it gently from under him, and wrapped it round herself. She said, "I wish I was back in my own room," and the next moment she was there.

---

VII

You can imagine how foolish John felt when he woke up a day later, and found himself without purse, mantle, and princess. He swore and pulled his hair. He trampled the bouquet to dust and tore the scarf to atoms.

When he was finally calm, he realized that he was very hungry, and had nothing to eat.

He thought of all the wonderful advice his grandmother had given him when he was a child, but none of her wisdom helped him now. He was in despair. Then he happened to look up, and saw that he'd been sleeping under a plum tree, and the tree was full of fruit as yellow as gold.

"All's fair in war," he said out loud. "Plums, prepare to meet your doom!"

He climbed the tree and started eating. But he had hardly swallowed two plums, when to his horror he felt as if something was growing on his chest. He clutched himself, and found a good-sized pair of breasts!

Shocked and barely able to speak, he ran his hands between his legs. Alas! His manhood was quite gone, and in its place were the secrets of a maiden.

He leapt, almost tumbling, down from the tree and rushed to a stream that flowed close by. He stripped off his clothes and looked at himself and his reflection. There was no escaping it: he'd been changed into a lovely young girl. Even his face was now girlish and sweet, though his hair was as short as before.

It was then that his courage failed him.

"Wasn't it enough that a woman should trick me, and leave me alone in the wilderness? Now the devil himself has to stick his nose in and change me into a girl!" He turned himself this way and that, studying his reflection. "What a figure I'd cut if I went back like this! I could never marry the princess now!" He frowned. "Not that I would want to, of course."

He spent a long time admiring himself and exploring his new-found charms, until his stomach rumbled and he realized that it might be prudent to put his clothes back on. So he dressed and decided to look for some other fruit.

Nearby stood another plum tree, but its fruit was a lovely green. No sooner had he eaten two of them, than his breasts disappeared and his manhood was restored.

The soldier was enchanted, though greatly surprised, and realized that he had despaired too quickly. After he'd eaten enough to satisfy his hunger, an idea suddenly occurred to him.

"It may be that these pretty little plums can help me recover the purse and mantle, and play quite a trick on that wicked princess. When I met her, she had the body of a snake. Let's see how she likes having the body of a man!" So he plaited a basket out of willows, and carefully placed in it half a dozen of each kind of plum. Then he walked bravely on for many days, with nothing to eat but the berries on the wayside. Though he was in great danger from wild beasts and savage men, he was afraid of nothing, except that the plums should decay, but somehow they kept as fresh as the day he'd picked them.

At last he came to a civilized country, and by selling a few of the jewels he had about him, he boarded a ship bound for the Low Countries. At the end of a year and a day, he arrived once more at the capital.

---

VIII

Though John still had several jewels that he could sell, his most precious possessions were the plums, and he never let them out of his sight. Without them, he would have nothing.

To put his plan into action, the Kinglet rented a little house and bought a few supplies. Then he locked the door and drew the blinds.

He squeezed the juice from the golden plums into a jar, and took a healthy sip. After a second gulp of the juice, he felt his breasts grow and his manhood shrink. He took one more sip, just to be sure, and then he dressed himself in the sort of clothes a farmgirl might wear on a Sunday. He brushed his long hair, pinched his cheeks, and tried to make himself as pretty as possible.

Then the Kinglette went out and hired a man to carry a little table to the front of the church. The pretty soldier-girl carefully spread a fine white cloth, and set out four of the green plums. They looked for all the world as if they been freshly gathered, and no one had ever seen a more beautiful plum. As soon as the Princess came out of the church, the Kinglette began to call in a high, pretty voice, "Fine plums! Lovely plums!"

"How much are they?" asked the Princess.

"Fifty crowns a piece."

"Fifty crowns! And what, pray tell, makes them worth fifty crowns? Do they make a person smarter, or more beautiful?"

"They could not increase what is perfect already, milady, but still they might add something."

In a year of wandering, our soldier had gained a little polish, and now she put it to good use.

Princess Ludovine gave the plum-seller a look. It brought to mind the sharp green eyes of the flaming serpent. "What will they add?" the Princess asked.

"You will see when you taste them, milady. It will be a surprise for you!"

Ludovine looked at the plums, and at the girl, then asked, "And have these plums made you as pretty as you are?"

The little soldier-girl couldn't resist. "Without a doubt, milady," she said with a grin.

Ludovine's curiosity was roused. She reckoned that if she paid with her magic purse, the plums would cost her nothing.

Yet, Ludovine also remembered how she once had become a serpent, and how unpleasant an experience that had been! "Once burnt, twice learnt," as the saying goes, and the lovely princess had no intention of being burned again.

She drew out her purse and shook out four heaps of fifty crowns. Then she picked up the basket of plums. The little soldier-girl had a wild desire to snatch the purse from her and call her a thief, but she managed to control herself.

The plums were sold, so the girl began to shut up shop and gather the coins. The Princess turned away and spoke to one of her bodyguard, who immediately went round the little table and took the Kinglette by the arm, saying, "Gather your goods and come with me, miss."

"How dare you?" cried the girl. "What do you mean by this?"

"By order of the Princess Ludovine," the man replied. "Come along now."

"Pay attention, there," the Princess called, "She has another basket under the table: bring that along, as well. I say, be careful!"

The guard was distracted when the Kinglette began to struggle, and accidentally gave a kick to the basket that lay hidden under the table. Two more green plums went a-rolling, but the Princess quickly snatched them up. In the confusion, the clumsy guard gave the table a hard knock, and shattered the jar of golden plum juice.

"What have you done?" the Kinglette cried, as the juice ran in every direction. "Let go of me!"

"Keep quiet, girl," the Princess commanded. "You'll come whether you like it or not." She ran her fingertips over the plums. "I want to be sure there's nothing strange about these plums. There isn't, is there?"

The little soldier-girl bit her lip and didn't know what to say, but the Princess hadn't waited for a reply. She was already climbing into her carriage. The Kinglette was lifted up behind, and rode outside the coach all the way to the castle.

---

IX

Once they arrived at the castle, the Kinglette was put in a pretty room, where she was told to wait quietly.

After she was locked in, the little soldier-girl began to think. Perhaps the situation was not as desperate as it first seemed. After all, she was back in the castle. In one way or another, the Princess would have to speak with her again. A new plan began to form in that pretty little head. All that was needed was for Ludovine to eat the plums. The Kinglette felt quite sure that she would.

And so Ludovine did. But first she took the precaution of feeding half a plum to her dog, and the other half to her maid. At first, nothing seemed to happen, although Ludovine imagined that her maid seemed a slightly prettier and a bit livelier than before. With that reassurance, the Princess ate first one plum, and then a second. They were delicious, better than any plum she'd ever tasted! She would have eaten more, but instead she went to study herself in the mirror. Certainly, the plums had added to her beauty! Hadn't they? There was a certain "something" — was there not? Perhaps a brighter shine to her cheeks, a lighter twinkle in her eye? Ludovine searched for changes and improvements, and she found them.

The next morning, she ate two more plums, and felt even lovelier than before.

The King commented on her appearance, and everyone who saw her remarked that the Princess was growing more beautiful with each day that passed.

"Quite a good thing, too," the King told her, "because there's a young prince I'd like you to meet. A capital match! You'll like him, I'm sure."

Ludovine reserved her judgment, but she immediately thought of the plums, and ran to eat another. When she realized that only two remained, she hesitated. "I must find out where they come from!" she told herself, and sent for the pretty plum-seller.

The little soldier-girl smiled when she was brought to see the Princess, but when she saw that Ludovine was as charming and feminine as ever, her smile fell away.

"I want more of those plums," the Princess told her. "Is your farm nearby?"

"No, milady," the girl replied. "They come from a land far, far away."

"Don't lie!" Ludovine commanded, her eyes flashing. "You must have picked them yesterday."

The Kinglette was confused. Had Ludovine eaten the plums?

"It's no lie, milady. The plums never lose their bloom; they're always good as fresh-picked."

Ludovine studied the girl for a moment, then asked, "Is the magic plum tree a secret? Believe me, I will tell no one."

"No, milady," the little soldier-girl replied. A new plan came into her head. If Ludovine wanted the plums, she could have as many as she liked. "It's no secret. It's only that the place is very far. It would take a month on horseback to get there."

The Princess licked her lips and thought for a moment. "That won't be a problem," she said. "No matter how far." Then she took a key from her pocket and unlocked a cabinet. She drew out the purse and the mantle, and laid them on a table.

Then came a knock on the door. "Wait a moment," the Princess told the girl, and went to answer.

A maidservant had come to present her with a small portrait of the prince her father had mentioned. As this was the Princess' first look at the man she might possibly marry, she was understandably distracted, and quite forgot about the Kinglette and the enchanted plums.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the little soldier-girl wrapped herself in the cloak, seized the purse, and cried, "I wish I were at the ends of the earth!"

---

X

The little soldier-girl found herself in a vast, treeless wilderness. There was nothing to see in any direction: no water, no trees, no grass. There was not a sound; not even the smallest breath of wind.

"I guess there must be more than one end-of-the-earth," she told herself, and wrapping the cloak tightly around her, she wished herself in the place of the plum trees. In the next moment she was there.

However, things were not the same as before.

The season had changed, and the trees, which earlier were filled with colorful fruit and dark green leaves, were now bare. The little stream still flowed nearby, but it was choked with dead leaves and sticks. As far as she could see, there was nothing but the barren lifelessness of winter.

She sighed a deep and heavy sigh. Now there was no way to change herself back until Summer came to this strange, faraway place. She sat down heavily on the ground, and thought about her strange adventures. Out of an old habit, she reached for her pipe, but there was no pipe or tobacco in the pockets of her dress, and strangely, she didn't have the taste for it just now.

"The plums must not work the way I thought," she reflected. "I must have had it all wrong."

The Kinglette watched the clouds blow across the winter sky. "At least now I'm quit of that horrible Ludovine," she told herself. "I should have known she was as much a snake as she first seemed to be."

After a long while, the girl began to feel a chill, and her thoughts turned to the Seagull. "At least I can bring his purse back to him," she thought, "and he may let me borrow the mantle next Summer."

So she stood up, brushed herself off, and straightened her hair. Then she cleared her throat and licked her lips. In a gentle, clear voice wished herself in the house of the Seagull.

He was sitting by his window, mending his net, and from time to time his eyes wandered to the sea and sky. The Kinglette reflected that the Seagull had somehow become more handsome and strong in the year that had passed.

Startled by the noise made by the little soldier-girl, the Seagull looked up, astonished. "Who are you?" he asked, "And how did you get here?" His eyes fell on the purse and the mantle, which the Kinglette was quick to put in his hands.

Then she told him all her adventures, and he was astonished. "Now, I've come to give your treasures back to you. I'm sorry I kept them so long."

"These treasures didn't bring you happiness." the Seagull asked the girl. "So what am I to do with them?"

"I don't know," the girl replied.

"If you need the cloak to return to what you were, you may keep it," the Seagull told her with a smile. "But I hope you don't mind if I tell you that I like you much better the way you are now."

The Kinglette blushed and looked at the floor.

"Let us put the purse and mantle back in the copper vessel," the Seagull proposed. "When Summer comes in that other place, you may take them out and use them if you like. In the meantime, you can stay with me and try a simpler sort of life."

The Kinglette agreed, and soon found that she liked the life of a fisher-girl. She came to love the tang of salt air, the roar of the ocean, and the company of the Seagull.

The months passed, and at last one night the Seagull said to the girl, "By my reckoning, it must be Summer in that other world by now. Are you going to go?"

The fisher-girl hesitated. "I–" she began, but did not finish the thought.

"Or will you stay with me?" the Seagull asked, "and be my wife?"

"Yes, I will," answered the Kinglette, blushing red as fire, "but on one condition: that we seal up the purse and the mantle in the copper vessel, and throw them into the sea!"

And that's just what they did.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

21. Ninetta And The Giant

 

Some time ago there was a widow, and she had three children: two of them were girls and the youngest was a boy. Since he was small, the girls were always pestering him and beating him and giving him their own chores to do in addition to his own, but he had a good spirit and bore it as best he could.

The family was very poor, and there wasn't much to eat, so one day Rosa, the oldest, declared that she had had enough. "I'm off to find my fortune," says she. "It may be that I find work, and it may be that I find a husband, but it's sure as sure that I'm off from this place."

Her mother was sad to hear the news, but she asked Rosa to wait until the bannocks were baked, and then she could go.

By the time the bannocks were placed in the oven, Joanna, the younger girl, decided that she would go as well. "We'll keep company," she said, "so the journey will be lighter. Where's there's work for one, there may be work for two. And if Rosa finds a husband, well! I might just marry his brother."

The two sisters plotted and planned and built castles in the air as they bundled their few possessions together.

Their mother gave them each a bannock, and barely had she finished her blessing that the two were off.

Once the girls were gone, the poor widow began to wring her hands, and she clasped her son Nino to her heart. She was frightened of what could befall two girls alone in the world, and she asked the boy to follow and watch over them.

"They would never suffer me to follow, Mamma!" the good lad replied. "They would only beat me and throw rocks at me until I left them alone." It was true enough.

The poor mother wept and cried. The poor lad would have willingly gone after his sisters, but what good would it do?

The mother's wailing went on until the henwife who lived nearby was curious enough to come see what trouble was brewing.

The widow explained, and the henwife clicked her tongue knowingly. "It's easily done," she told the widow. "What's needed is a clever disguise."

It usually happens that where there's no money, there are no closets full of clothes, and you can guess that in the widow's house there were no disguises to be had. But the henwife had an old pair of shoes, an old gown and an old apron to go with it, and what with a hat and with this and with that, soon there was enough to fit the lad out as a simple country lass.

Before dressing the boy in the borrowed clothes, the henwife first made him sit in an old tin tub in the henyard to wash the boy-smell off him, and while the hens clucked all around him, he scrubbed and scrubbed until the water was black and his skin was white.

With the clever disguise upon him, he looked to be the prettiest girl to be seen in those parts.

His mother christened him Ninetta, gave him a bannock cake and a blessing, and off the boy-girl ran to join his sisters.

Well, the older girls had stopped to eat their bannock and throw some pieces to the birds, and they wandered and they chattered, and soon enough Ninetta caught them up and asked if he could travel with them.

Rosa and Joanna didn't recognize their little brother, but for sure they didn't want such a pretty girl alongside them. So they tied him to a rock and hurried on their way. But after a bit, a little white hen came clucking and walking, and she pecked apart the knot that bound Ninetta to the rock.

When Rosa and Joanna looked behind them, they saw Ninetta coming along again, so they took the little thing and they tied him to a stack of peat. But after a bit, a little white hen came clucking and walking, and she pecked apart the knot that bound Ninetta to the peat.

When he gathered his skirts and caught up with his sisters the third time, those wicked girls tied him to a tree, and thought themselves free. But after a bit, that little white hen came clucking and walking, and she pecked apart the knot that bound Ninetta to the tree.

Rosa and Joanna saw that there was nothing to be done for it, so they let Ninetta come along with them.

By now the night came on, and they saw a light. At first the glimmer seemed far off, but soon enough they reached it. They knocked and went in, and where would they be, but in the house of a giant! And with the giant was his wife. As if that weren't enough, the giant couple had three monstrous daughters. The giant leered and grinned and told them, "Come in, strangers, come in, strange girls. Have no fear. It's not as though we'll eat you, now will we?" The girls sat down to dinner with the giant and his wife and the three giant daughters. After they were done eating, the giant put a golden necklace on each of the three girls, but on his own daughters' necks he put ropes of horsehair. And the girls lay down in pairs, each girl with a giant lass.

Soon all the girls slept, but Ninetta did not sleep.

During the night a thirst came on the giant. He called his rough-skinned servant to bring him water, but the man answered that there was no water in the house. "Then go kill one of the strange girls," he said, "and bring me her blood to drink."

"How will I know them in the dark?" the servant asked.

"My daughters have loops of horsehair on their necks," the giant replied. "The strangers have loops of gold."

Ninetta heard the giant, and as quick as he could he put the golden necklaces on the giant's daughters and the horsehair ropes on his own neck and those of his sisters. Then he lay down ever so quietly.

The rough-skinned servant entered and killed one of the giant's daughters. He took her blood to the giant, who drank it and asked for more. So the servant killed the next daughter. The giant again asked for more, and the servant killed the third of the giant's daughters.

Then the giant and his man fell asleep and set to snoring so that the whole house shook and the doors and windows trembled in their frames. Ninetta woke his sisters and told them it was time to go. But he took the three golden necklaces.

The giant heard the front door close, so he chased the girls hard on their heels until they came to a river. Ninetta plucked a hair from his head and from it made a bridge that the three girls slid across, but it could not bear the giant's weight.

"I see you there, Ninetta, you cruel, ungrateful child!" the giant cried. "You killed my three bald beautiful daughters!"

"You did that yourself," the boy-girl called back.

"Never dare to pass my way again!" the giant warned.

"I will, if my business brings me," the boy-girl replied.

They went on until they came to a grand lordly house, and it happened that it was the house of a king. He admired the necklaces of gold, and he listened to Ninetta's story. Then he said, "Well, Ninetta, you are a clever girl, and you've done quite well; but if you can do better, and steal the giant's sword that hangs on the back of his bed, I will give Rosa my eldest son to marry."

Ninetta said that he would try.

He went back to the giant's house and crept inside when no one was home. Ninetta hid beneath the bed. After the giant came home and ate a great dinner, he hung up his sword, lay in the bed, and set to snoring the house down. Ninetta put out his hand, and slipped the sword off the wall, but just as he was leaving the sword gave a little rattle. Up came the giant, who chased the boy-girl down to the river, to the bridge of one hair. Ninetta slid across, but it could not bear the giant's weight.

"I see you there, you cruel, ungrateful child!" the giant roared. "You killed my lovely bald daughters and you stole the sword that was my very own!"

"I did take your sword," the boy-girl admitted.

"Never dare to pass my way again!" the giant warned.

"I will, if my business brings me," the boy-girl replied.

He gave the sword to the king, and Rosa married the king's oldest son.

Then the king said, "You've done quite well, Ninetta; but if you can do better, and steal the purse that lies beneath the giant's pillow, I will give Joanna my second son to marry."

Ninetta said that he would try.

Again he crept into the giant's house and hid beneath the bed, and once the giant got to snoring, Ninetta slipped his hand beneath the pillow and got out the purse. But just as he was leaving, the coins gave a little jingle. Up came the giant, roaring and chasing, till they came to the river. Ninetta slid across the bridge of one hair, but it could not bear the giant's weight.

"I see you there, you cruel, ungrateful child!" the giant roared. "You killed my tender bald daughters and you stole my precious sword!"

"I did take your sword," the boy-girl admitted.

"Now you've stolen my purse, full of money that's my own!" the giant cried.

"I did, when it comes to that," the boy-girl replied.

"Never dare to pass my way again!" the giant warned.

"I will, if my business brings me," the boy-girl replied.

He gave the purse to the king, and Joanna married the king's second son.

Then the king said, "You've done quite well, Ninetta; but if you can do better, and steal the ring off the giant's finger, I will give you my youngest son to marry and crown you princess of my eastern lands."

Ninetta laughed, because he could not marry the king's youngest son or any man's son, and he no more wished to be princess than pope, but still he said that he would try.

Now the King was clever in the things he asked for: the sword had a charm that made the giant invincible in battle, and the purse had a charm that kept it always full of gold, no matter how many times you emptied it. The ring had a charm that made it grant the wish of the heart, if the wisher's heart was pure.

The boy-girl came again. He crept into the house and under the bed. Once the giant got busy snoring, Ninetta crept out and reached over the bed. She took hold of the giant's ring and pulled and pulled until off it came from the giant's finger. But just as Ninetta slipped it on his own, the giant opened his eyes and gripped the boy-girl by the hand.

"I've got you, you ungrateful whelp," says he. "Now, tell me lass: if I had done as much to you as you have done to me, what would you do?"

Ninetta told him, "I'd tie you up in a bag with the cat and the dog, and hang you on a nail. Then I'd go to the forest and find a stout, strong stick and beat that bag until you were dead."

The giant liked the sound of this idea, so he tied Ninetta in a bag with the cat and the dog, and off he went to find a good stout stick.

Now, something had happened in the meanwhile: when Ninetta slipped on the giant's ring, a great change came over him. Because his heart was pure, the wish of his heart was granted. Before that moment, he only looked like a girl, but once the ring came on his finger, he was a girl, and a lovely girl, at that!

"Oooh!" Ninetta cried from within the sack. It was such a surprise, and a lovely surprise!

The giant's wife heard her, and asked, "What are you going on about, girl?"

Ninetta laughed to herself and cooed, "Oooh! If you could see what I see!"

The giant's wife was curious, but not overly smart. "What do you see?"

Ninetta repeated, "Oooh! If you could see what I see!"

The giant's wife begged to know what Ninetta saw, and finally, after much haggling, she managed to convince Ninetta to let her take her place inside the sack and see. The wife cut a slit in the bag. Ninetta slipped out, and the giant's wife slipped in. The girl took a needle and thread, and sewed the sack shut.

The giant's wife of course saw nothing, so she asked the girl to let her out again, but Ninetta didn't bother with that. Instead, she hid behind the door, and soon back came the giant with his stick, and set to pounding on the sack with gusto and with glee.

The giant's wife shouted from inside the sack, "Leave off with that! It's me in here!"

"I know it's you in there!" the giant replied, angrily. The dog and cat made such a racket that he couldn't recognize his own wife's voice. So he laid the blows on thick and heavy until he saw Ninetta creep out from behind the door. Off he went, and chased the pretty girl down to the river. Ninetta slid across the bridge of one hair, which could not bear the giant's weight.

"You treacherous, ungrateful brat!" the giant called. "Do you know that I see you there? Tell me, you wretched child, with all the wrong you've done me, what would you do now, if you were me?"

"I'd drink this river dry and catch you up," the girl replied, "and shake you 'til the eyeballs rolled out of your head." The giant liked this advice, so down on his knees he went. He drank and drank until his stomach burst and he died.

Ninetta gave the ring to the king, but he gave it back to her, along with his youngest son in marriage. The youngest son was the handsomest and liveliest of the three, and he and Ninetta got on famously. The girls lived happily and well, and they brought their mother and the henwife to come and live with them, and no one was ever bothered by giants ever again.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

22. How Prince Conall Found His Bride
 

In a small happy kingdom there was a prince named Conall. He was the youngest of three brothers, and if his mother spoiled him, well, his father let him run wild. After all, the oldest son would be the next king, and the second would marry a princess in a far-off kingdom. No one looked for Conall to do anything in particular, so he kept himself busy laughing, lazing, and getting into mischief.

Conall had a squire who was closer to him than either of his brothers. This squire was called Breck, because of his many freckles, and whenever Conall needed help with a prank, Breck always lent a willing hand. The king allowed Conall every liberty, and Conall gave the same freedom to Breck. Breck loved Conall, and he counted himself lucky to have such a generous and fun-loving master.

Time passed, and the three sons grew. The first son was brought into the king's council, and his future wife was chosen from the ladies of the court. The second son went off to find a bride, and soon sent back a messenger with happy news.

At first Conall didn't seem to care about these changes, but soon he began to wonder what he should do with his own life. "It's time I find a wife," he told his squire, and Breck agreed. But what sort of wife should he wed? She would have to be a princess, of course... or would she? And she'd have to have lands to rule... or did she? And certainly her hair would be black... or golden. In any case, she couldn't have red hair... or could she?

Conall and Breck discussed the matter at great length, but as you can well imagine, they concluded nothing and got nowhere.

More time passed, but nothing changed, until one day a carriage arrived at the castle. Inside the carriage was a princess, and not just any princess, but a black-haired beauty with pale white skin. Her lips were as red as blood, and her eyes were as dark as her hair. Her dress was of black silk trimmed with black lace, and she wore a black veil in her hair.

The carriage and its horses were also draped in black, and the coachman, who was her only companion, was dressed – as you might guess – all in black, from head to toe. And not only did the fellow seem as though he was coming from one funeral and heading to the next, but he also looked as though he'd never smiled in all his long, decrepit life.

Conall didn't lose any time wondering where the girl was from or where she was going. He didn't ask why she was all in black, and traveling alone. And why didn't he? Because he was as sure as sure could be, that this princess was the woman he would marry.

Her name was Moya, and her father ruled a land just over the mountains. Conall asked why and how he'd never heard of such a lovely creature before this day. Usually when a princess was old enough to marry, her portrait was sent far and wide. Why hadn't Moya's portrait come?

The princess sighed before she answered. "Long ago, before any of us were born, my father made a foolish promise to a troll. In exchange for his kingdom, his queen (my mother), and many other worthless things, he owes the life of his youngest child. The time has come to pay this debt, and I am on my way to the troll's castle. I don't know whether he will marry me, or cook me and eat me for dinner, but I must go to my fate, and there is nothing to be done about it."

Once it became clear that she was the last child the queen would bear, Moya was raised quite differently from her brothers and sisters. She was utterly spoiled from morning to night, and nothing was ever denied her. She never lost her temper, never raised her voice, never stamped her pretty little foot. And why? Because she always had her way.

One day Moya asked that all the men and ladies of the court go about on hands and knees, and so they did.

One day Moya asked that the castle moat be filled with caramel pudding, and so it was.

One day Moya asked that she be sent to the henwife, so she could learn her secrets, spells, and enchantments, and so it was done.

From that day forward, Moya studied diligently with the henwife, and soon she could turn a rooster into a hen, or an egg into a pearl. She knew how to make a donkey dance on its hind legs and how to wither a crop of corn. She could turn gray hair white or white hair black. In short, she learned how to do all sorts of other useful and amusing things.

Her family grew so frightened of what the girl might do, that they were only too glad when the troll sent word that Moya's time had come.

It may be that Conall loved her because he saw that she was spoiled, just as he was. And it may be that Moya didn't love him because she saw that he was spoiled, just as she was. And yet, she smiled and was pleased when he offered the hospitality of the castle, and when he offered his arm to lead her to dinner. He invited her to tarry as long as she could, or better still, as long as she liked, while Conall would deal with the troll's unreasonable demand. He asked Moya what he could do to make her stay more pleasant, or if she had any special requirements.

A thousand impossible things came to Moya's mind, but she was not in the mood to tease. She simply asked for a maid to wait upon her: one who would draw her bath, help her dress, and arrange her hair.

When she asked this, Conall's eye fell on Breck, with his round freckled cheeks, and an idea came to him. He could see that he was making no headway with the princess; certainly she smiled at him, but no more than courtesy demanded. Conall had decided that he would go and fight the troll, while the princess waited at the castle. This would surely be enough to win Moya's hand, but while Conall was away, he didn't want his family and the court telling the princess all sorts of stories. He didn't want her to know what a lazy, mischief-making fool he was. What he needed, what he wanted, was someone to speak on his behalf. Someone who could fill Moya's mind, day and night, with Conall's virtues and spirit, and hopefully coax her into loving the spoiled, silly prince.

Unfortunately, there was no one in the entire court who could do such a job – excepting Breck. Any other man or woman in or near the palace would tell Moya the simple truth: that Prince Conall was as nice a lad as any other, and as handsome as his brothers, but he was a lazy good-for-nothing and a mountain of trouble.

So Conall asked Breck to be the maid to Princess Moya. With some borrowed clothes, and his own curly hair, Breck made a pretty little picture. Conall roared with laughter and declared, "Breck, if you weren't beneath my station, I'd marry you myself!" and he gave a hearty pinch to poor Breck's cheeks (for color) and poor Breck's bottom (for luck).

You can imagine that the princess wasn't fooled – not even a little – when Conall presented the new maid. Even if Moya hadn't overheard the two knuckleheads planning, she would have known that this was not a girl at all, and she could see from the curls and the over-abundance of freckles that this "maid" was none other than Conall's squire.

Still, she went along with the masquerade, because it suited a plan of her own.

Now that his spy was in place, Conall declared that he was off to fight and kill the troll. Moya thanked him and welcomed her new maid by offering each of them a magical gift.

To Conall she gave a bag of brown powder that smelled fouler than anything you can imagine. It had such an deadly, unending stink that you'd imagine an army of skunks and a cartload of fish had fallen together in a massive latrine and been stirred with a will and a giant spoon. Before Conall took a soul-shuddering sniff, Moya carefully instructed him on how to use the powder, and cautioned him: "Keep this bag shut up tight until you come to the troll's castle, or you might end up as a troll's dinner!"

To Breck, her pretended maid, she gave a pretty charm to wear. "This will grant you one wish – any wish," she declared, "but only if you make the wish without thinking of me."

The two men were more than excited, since Moya's gifts seemed to guarantee all that Conall desired. "Listen, Breck," he said, "With this magic powder, I'll surely get the better of the troll! All you need do is wish that Moya loves and marries me, and everything will be perfect! We'll all live happily ever after!"

When Breck laughed and agreed, Conall gave him a strange look. "I have to tell you, Breck, that those clothes suit you. They suit you very well. Why, if I didn't know you're not a girl, well..." and he ended by giving Breck another pinch on the backside, and strode off laughing.

The next morning, he was gone.

Breck had no idea what was involved in being a lady's maid, but he quickly learned. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time brushing the princess' hair and putting it up. At first, he pulled too hard and made a mess of it, but Moya only smiled and patiently showed him how it was done. The boy was saved by a flash of insight: "Why it's no different from currying the horses and braiding their tails!" he exclaimed, and soon he was as handy with the lady's hair as any maid-in-waiting.

Next, he had to help the princess with her clothes, which were much more elaborate than the simple things we wear nowadays. In truth, he never saw any more of the princess than before, but there were buttons to hook and ribbons to tie, clasps to close and bodices to tighten. Once again, his idea that it was "no different than caring for horses!" came to the fore, and soon he was as able and quick with the princess' appearance as any maid in the kingdom.

The rest of the castle was scandalized by these doings, but no one dared to speak a word. After all, Conall had always had his way, and if the princess didn't see, well, who were they to tell her? After several days, Princess Moya declared that she was happier with Breck than any lady's maid before her. The king and queen were both pleased and relieved to hear this, although the king had a private word with Breck. He wanted to be sure that the lad wouldn't embarrass the court.

Breck promised on his life to be the very soul of propriety.

As the two men spoke in that darkened hallway, the king gave him a strange look. "Do you know, Breck, it's an odd thing to say, but in those clothes... Harrumph! Well, let's just say that they suit you. They honestly do. Why, if I were a younger man, and didn't know you're a boy, why... I hardly know what I'd do!" He covered his embarrassment by giving Breck a loud slap on the hindquarters. Then he laughed as if it were a capital joke, and hurried off.

Moya kept Breck busy. Still, whenever Breck wasn't drawing Moya's bath, or tying Moya's shoes, or brushing her hair, or laying out her clothes for dinner, he was busy trying to use his single wish. He'd clutch the charm and wish that Conall and Princess Moya would fall deeply in love and be happily married. But try as he might, he couldn't put the princess out of his mind, and this kept the wish from working.

The princess, in her turn, was well aware of Breck's efforts, for she could hear him muttering to himself in the corner. She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud, but she had no fear of being inconvenienced by anything the boy could possibly wish. As long as she was in his mind, the wish could not come true. And since she were part of his wish, well then! the charm would only come to nothing.

In the meantime, especially while he combed her hair, Breck tried to tell her of Conall's feats and virtues. But since these were in scarce supply, he always ended by telling her of some practical joke that Conall had played. If a practical joke didn't come to mind, he'd tell the princess about tomfoolery that the prince had gotten into, and the disorder that followed, usually ending with a bit of sheer dumb luck that kept it all from ending badly for all concerned.

To Breck's chagrin, the princess didn't seem either awed or entertained by Conall's exploits. He could see that things were going in the wrong direction, but he had no idea why and no idea how to set things right. Somehow he had to convince the princess that his master was the man to marry, but how?

---

In the meantime, Conall had arrived in the neighborhood of the troll. He'd almost turned back several times. Almost. But not from fear, mind you — but from sheer laziness. He wondered whether he could simply pretend to have killed the troll. Would anybody really know? If he married Moya, and they went to live in a far-off kingdom, would the troll ever find them?

Yet, Conall had kept on going. It seemed like the easiest thing, after all. He was tempted several times to stop in one place or another to sleep or play or do something silly, but he didn't.

The thing was, Conall had never done anything worthwhile in his life, and he saw and felt that this was his first chance at achievement. Even if it didn't win him the hand of the black-haired princess, it would still be a great accomplishment. The king and queen would be proud. His brothers would be proud. And Breck – Breck would be the happiest and proudest of all.

He pictured Breck in the pretty maid's dress, with his curly hair and freckles. "It's a look that suits him, I declare!" the prince laughed. "If I didn't know he's not a girl, well..." and he ended the thought by throwing a rock at a hornet's nest, and had to gallop hard until he left the angry stingers behind.

The prince rode up to the troll's "castle," which was, in reality, a huge, ugly, fortified house with an enormous, thick door. The door had spikes on the outside, and the wall was high with sharp edges everywhere, and plastered with broken glass and bits of pointed metal. The prince looked it over. He trotted here and there to look for a good place to challenge the troll. He needed to find a lot of big rocks, but unfortunately there were few to be found.

Prince Conall sighed. He wasn't afraid of the troll. Since he'd never tried to *do* anything in his life, he'd never failed at anything, and had no sense of how badly things end up. On the other hand, Conall was powerfully lazy, and the idea of having to bring rocks to the troll's house seemed the greatest imposition in the world.

He turned back to a nearby farm where there were rocks aplenty, and he hired the farmer, the farmer's boys, and the farm hands, to bring two dozen of their largest rocks and stones into the field outside the troll's castle. The smallest stone weighed as much as a large man.

That done, all the men together, the prince included, managed to roll a tremendous boulder onto the farmer's cart. They hauled it to the troll's front garden, with all the men pushing, and the poor little donkey ready to burst from the effort.

At last, when they were ready to unload the boulder, the cart gave way and broke to splinters beneath the weight of it. "Don't worry," Prince Conall cried. "I'll pay you for the cart, your labor, the rocks, and all."

But as he spoke a great roar came forth from the castle, and the farmer's men nearly died of fright.

Prince Conall, on the other hand, was as cool as you please. He cut the traces and freed the donkey. Then he tossed his purse full of gold to the farmer and bid the men go.

While the troll roared and swore, and crashed within his castle, Conall sprinkled the magic dust over the rocks he'd bought from the farmer, with a special heavy sprinkling over the biggest boulder of all. He took care to shake the powder downwind of himself, so none of it got in his clothes or on his person.

Then he placed himself, with hands on hips and legs spread wide, to wait for the troll's appearance. He didn't wait long before the massive door flew open and the troll, a vision of ugliness, stepped outside.

"Who's making that racket?" He bellowed, and the ground trembled. "Who's troubling my sleep?"

Conall was about to answer, when the troll's eyes widened, and his fat flabby lips began to drool. The monster looked around him, and he sniffed the air like a dog. At last he caught the scent, and ran straight for the rocks. He lifted the smallest stone, and after licking his lips in anticipation, tossed it down his throat as if it were a peanut or tiny lump of sugar.

Oh! And then he clutched his stomach and cried out in pain, as if he'd swallowed a stone. It was hardly a surprise, because that's exactly what he had done.

Then the troll licked his lips again, and took up the next biggest stone. After sniffing it as if it were the greatest delicacy on earth, he dropped it neatly down his gullet as if it were a little boiled egg, or a tiny pastry.

And oh! he groaned and clutched himself again, and tears sprang to his eyes.

Such was Moya's magic that the monster couldn't stop himself. The powder had a smell no troll could possibly resist, so he kept at the rocks, sniffing and slobbering and swallowing with delight, then groaning and crying and swearing with pain.

At last, he worked his way to the very last boulder, the one that broke the farmer's cart, and when he sniffed that stone, ooh! he was in ecstasy. He lifted that boulder, and held it high. He licked his lips and drooled, and tried to crack his jaw open wide enough to take the boulder in. But it couldn't be done. The poor troll dropped the boulder to the ground. Prince Conall felt his feet leave the ground for a moment with the force of that blow, and he watched with amused interest as the troll fell sobbing to the ground, clutching his swollen belly. Then Conall stepped quickly forward, and without so much as a by-your-leave, drew his sword and cut the troll's head neatly off.

The farmer and his men, who had hidden nearby to witness the contest, came forth cheering and shouting. Conall welcomed them back with a modest smile.

---

While Prince Conall and the farmer's men explored the troll's castle and carried off its treasures, Breck was brushing out Princess Moya's lovely hair.

As usual, he was carrying on about what a wonderful man Prince Conall was, and didn't the princess admire him? Didn't she simply love him? Didn't she just wish she could marry him?

Moya had by now grown quite tired of hearing Breck's silly stories, and – a little crossly – said to the pretended maid, "If you think he's so wonderful, why don't you marry him yourself?"

"Oh, I wish I could!" Breck gushed without thinking.

The magical charm was hanging around his neck waiting for the chance to do its work. Finally (or, in other words, for the very first time), Breck had managed to make a wish without the princess in mind. His only thought was of Conall, his friend, his master, the kindest and best man he ever knew. And as he basked in the glory of his admiration, Breck began to glow. The charm was doing its work.

---

Meanwhile, back at the troll's castle, Conall and the farmer's men were feasting on the troll's cattle and mead. The women from the farm had come, and there was dancing and singing, and it was a fine time they had indeed.

After the dancing was done, the farm folk begged Conall to tell his story, for they saw him sitting, poking the fire with his foot, and dreaming. They asked him why he'd come to slay the troll, and how he came by the magic powder, and was there a lady waiting for him back at home?

"A lady...," he repeated and again he got that dreamy look. He tried to picture the lovely Moya, but instead his silly friend Breck came walking into the light of his mind's eye, smiling and giving a clumsy yet adorable curtsy. Conall laughed, and taking yet another drink he said aloud, "It suits you, I tell you! It suits you like a... it suits you like a... like a..."

I'm sorry to say that no one ever knew what it suited like, for Conall dropped into a deep, snoring slumber. He was tired from his travel, from hauling rocks, from the excitement of the day. The drink and the meat made him heavy, so he slept. The farm folk laughed kindly, rolled him in a blanket and set him gently on a pile of hay.

The sun was passing noon when Conall finally woke, and a few of the farm folk were still there, waiting on his pleasure. They cooked him breakfast, and they loaded a cart with the best of the troll's treasure along with the troll's awful head. They saddled his horse and gave him provisions for the journey.

As Conall rode off, the men cheered, the women threw flowers, and the children ran alongside him as far as they could.

He felt like a hero... a hero with a headache, but a hero nonetheless, and he said to himself, "It's a fine life, isn't it?"

---

It was a very different Conall who rode back home. He was pleased that everything had gone so well. He was tired in a way that he'd never felt before: the tiredness that comes with honest effort and physical work, and it was good. And even to himself he *did* seem heroic and accomplished... at least, a little. Yet, as foolish as he was, he couldn't fool himself that far: he couldn't pretend that he'd killed the troll himself. After all, the monster was lying on the ground, scarcely able to move, when he cut off its head. It wasn't as though they fought.

And so, he quietly entered his father's castle. After he'd bathed and dressed himself, he went to join the king and queen at dinner.

Before the company went in to dine, Conall greeted Moya courteously. She asked him, "Did you slay the troll, sir? Have you set me free?"

"You are certainly free, my lady," he replied. "I cut the thing's head off..."

He was interrupted by murmurs of surprise and approval, and the king began harrumphing, but Conall quieted them all.

"Princess Moya," he continued, "I was about to say, I could hardly have accomplished it without the great help you gave me."

"No one can say that," she said with a smile. "I most certainly will not. What counts is that you are the man who did the deed."

There was great excitement at the table, and everyone wanted to hear how it was done. Conall told it briefly, since it was not a long tale to tell. Many questions were asked and answered, over and over. Even Princess Moya was more excited and pleased than she expected to be, and she wondered for a moment whether she might like to marry the prince... but no. As gallant as he had been, he was not the man for her.

In any case, it was plain to see that *his* heart was elsewhere. Except when she spoke, and sometimes not even then, Conall didn't look at the dark-haired princess. He kept drifting into a daydream, and his table companions kept calling him back.

His mother the queen asked him which lady he was dreaming of, and Conall blushed.

At that, his father the king chortled and said, "Ah, Conall! In all the excitement I nearly forgot! You'll see a great change in your friend Breck! A great change indeed!"

There was general hilarity at this, but no one would explain it.

At last the meal was ended, and Moya put her hand on his arm. "I'm sincerely in your debt," she told him, "and I owe you more than thanks." Then she smiled. "And thank you for the maid that you provided. Breck was the best and most entertaining lady's maid I've ever encountered." She smiled again, that bewitching smile, but Conall was all alarm. Had Breck betrayed himself? What foolishness had he gotten to while Conall was away?

"Go," the princess urged, and Conall left.

---

He didn't find Breck in any of the usual places: the stable, the squire's room, Conall's room, the kitchen. He searched without finding, but did not give up. At last, in a dark, disused tower he found a pretty maid sitting on a stair, crying softly with her face in her hands.

Conall was a kind man, and wondered what was wrong. Before he spoke to the girl, he noticed how the moonlight fell on her soft white neck and shoulder, and marveled at the way the silver light played on her golden curls. She was several steps above him, and he admired her pretty little feet in their blue slippers, and the smooth curve of her breasts – at least, what showed above her bodice. If she was only a maid, still she was as lovely as any lady of the court.

"Maiden?" he said in a gentle voice. "Has someone done you wrong? Are you in need of help?"

The girl looked up, startled, then cried out, "Conall! Master!"

Although Breck's pale skin was liberally sprinkled with freckles, her face was as lovely as the rest of her. And even if that face had changed from round to petite, and even if her lashes were long, and her eyes luminous, her nose (once as big as a turnip!) was now small and delicate, and her mouth soft and kissable — still, it was Breck, as sure as ever!

Conall sat down next to her, and heard her tale. The good prince listened and laughed, and somewhere along the way he took her hands into his own. As she talked, he examined her face to see how changed it was. He held out her arm to see how slim and soft and white it had become. He looked at her hands, and her ankles, and marveled. He touched her face and was amazed at how smooth and fresh her skin felt.

At last, the girl came to the part of her story when she'd made her wish. Blushing furiously, she claimed she couldn't quite remember how it had happened.

Conall wheedled and teased, and gave her waist a few playful squeezes to jog her memory, but it did no good. After a while, he managed to get Princess Moya's words out of her: If you think he's so wonderful, why don't you marry him yourself?

Conall clicked his tongue. "Ah," said he. "*That* was the wish, then."

The poor little maid, mortified with embarrassment, looked down and dared not say a word.

Conall put his hand under her chin and lifted her lovely face. Looking into her large brown eyes, he said, "It's my wish as well, my dear. Shall we make our wish come true?"

And the two of them kissed, long and well, in the moonlight, on the stair.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

Sources for the Stories

 

If you're curious about where these stories come from, then this is the page for you. These notes are not about where the stories first appeared on earth, mind you. They just tell where I found the story.

---

The Fisherman And His Wife

I know two versions of this story. The one in Grimm's collection has the fisherman go again and again to the sea, each time with a more outrageous request from his wife. The fish makes her empress, then pope, but when she asks to be God, the fish takes it all away and leaves them in their original pig-sty. The other version is the story of the three wishes, which all get used by mistake: the man wishes for a sausage; the wife angrily wishes it were stuck on his nose; the man wishes the sausage were gone. In my version, I leave them better off at the end, although the wife is punished for her greed.

The Goose Girl

This is almost identical to the story in Grimm's collection, though in the original the travelers are both women from the start.

Little Parsley

The beginning might remind you of Rapunzel, but this one is a combination of two Italian fairy tales: Petrosinella and Prunella. The first was written by Giambattista Basile; the second is a folk tale. The name "Little Parsley" is a translation of Prezzemolina — which is another name for the story.

Kate Crackernuts

This one came from Joseph Jacobs' English Fairy Tales. His story is about two girls, Kate and Anne, and Anne is the one who ends up wearing the sheep's head.

The Grey Horse

A Scottish Folktale. In the original story, there are three sisters. I kept the British spelling of grey because the American spelling just didn't look right. Also in the original the "poor dead ladies" stay poor and dead at the end, which struck me as a rather grisly loose end. The original also doesn't explain how the horse manages his several feats of dexterity, such as wielding an axe and drawing out the second sister's hand. I think it's because the story is meant to be told aloud, not to be read and puzzled over.

The Red Ettin

Another from Joseph Jacobs' English Fairy Tales. For those who've never seen one, an "ettin" is a three-headed giant. In the original story, the first son is turned to stone, not a servant girl, and the ladies were all born ladies (and remain ladies). Of course, all the gender changes at the end were my addition.

La Belle Bisclavrette

This is based a long poem Bisclavret by Marie de France. In the original, he remains a wolf, and the king, who is hunting, corners him. He throws himself at the feet of the king, who is so astonished that he brings the wolf to court, where everyone admires his nobility. In the end, his humanity is restored — after he bites his wife's nose off. In spite of making it clear that the wife acts out of fear, the poem is very unsympathetic to the poor woman: even her (female) children are born noseless! I took out that bit of misogyny and put in a happy ending. No one in the poem has a name — I gave three of the people (Breton) names.

Yallery Brown

This comes from More English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs. After Tom thanks Yallery Brown, the little man is never seen again, but he ruins everything Tom puts his hand to, perhaps even beyond the grave. I thought it more likely that he'd turn Tom into a girl, so that's what happens here.

The Groac'h Of The Isle of Lok

Taken from Andrew Lang's Lilac Fairy Book. In that story, there is no "Belado"; Bellah is born a girl. To rescue Houarn she has to disguise herself as a man, so that was easy to fix.

The Giant Who Had No Heart In His Body

From Asbjørnsen and Moe's Popular Tales from the Norse. In their story, a princess lives with the giant, for some unexplained reason. Boots hides while she questions the giant, and in the end Boots kills the giant (by squeezing his heart), and marries the princess. When the girl tricked the giant into thinking she liked him (by the business with the flowers) I felt sorry for the poor guy.

Riquet With The Tuft

From Old-Time Stories by Charles Perrault. The title in French is Riquet à la Houppe, and is usually translated "Ricky Of The Tuft" — which strikes me as silly, especially when you consider that "Ricky" is supposed to be his last name. In the original the twins are both born girls. I was a little miffed the first time I read the story because the ugly smart girl is completely forgotten at the end of the story. The beautiful twin makes Ricky beautiful, and the two live happily ever after. Yuck! Making the unattractive, smart twin a boy and turning Ricky into a girl set things right.

The Silent Princess

This story comes from "The Enchanted Cat" in the book Old Hungarian Fairy Tales by Baroness Orczy, but I've changed several things. I gave everyone an Irish name, and moved the country from the Persian border to a vague fairy-tale land. In the Hungarian story, the queen's son is evil — he's against the good prince from the very beginning. The good prince is changed into a cat, not a girl, and the cat remembers everything quite well. On the night of the new moon, the cat turns back into a prince, just as the bad prince is trying to drown him. In the end, the king exiles the queen and her son, and puts the magician to death. The story doesn't explain why the prince isn't still a cat — after all, he was supposed to be human for only six hours.

Zelinda And The Monster

This is a combination of the well-known Beauty And The Beast by Madame de Villeneuve and Zelinda And The Monster from Thomas Crane's Italian Popular Tales. The Italian version is over too quickly — it's only about 15 paragraphs long, but it does have a more sensible beginning: the father sneaks into an unknown person's garden and steals the rose. In the better-known French version, the father's "offense" is harder to understand — I could never see why, after being given a meal and a bed, it was so wrong of him to have taken a single rose.

Celia

There is a long fairy tale called Le Mouton by Marie d'Aulnoy. You can find it in Andrew Lang's Blue Fairy Book as "The Wonderful Sheep." The story of Celia comes from a tiny part of that story, although the fairy turns the king into a sheep, not a shepherdess.

Celia And The King

From the story "Prince Darling" in Charles-Joseph Mayer's Cabinet des fees. It follows the original up to the point when Celia (who is an ordinary shepherdess) is put in jail. What happens next is that the prince is transformed into one beast after another so he can learn a series of lessons. He is then reunited to Celia, turned back into a prince, and he and Celia live happily ever after. I've added all the names; in the original, only Prince Darling has a name, and it's a horrible name. The original story is also quite moralistic; I've toned it down, but I couldn't make it go entirely away.

The Potter-Princess

From Tales of the Punjab by Flora Annie Steel, where the title is "The Two Brothers," because the brothers remain brothers throughout. However, and interestingly enough, the young brother dresses as a girl in the end, so he can hide in the prime minister's palace. He remains in girl's clothes until he reveals himself to his brother. This disguise makes sense only up to a point: in the original, he tells the story of his life from the beginning. Here, it gets told backward; otherwise the king would know immediately who the storyteller is.

The Conch of Rama

From Tales of the Punjab by Flora Annie Steel, where it has the more generic name of "The Farmer And The Money-Lender." The original story ends very quickly after the wells appear: The farmer wishes he were blind in one eye. The money-lender is then blind in both eyes, falls down one of his wells, and dies. A moral of a sort is tacked on the end, which is that a farmer did once get the better of a money lender, but only at the cost of one of his eyes.

The Golden Mermaid

In Andrew Lang's Green Fairy Book, the prince captures the mermaid, who falls in love with him. In the end, the prince is killed by his brothers and revived by the wolf. One thing that is unexplained in the original (as well as here) is how the mermaid gets around once she leaves the water.

The Kinglet

This one is by Charles Deulin, and is one of my favorites. You can find it in Andrew Lang's Green Fairy Book under the name "The Little Soldier." I changed the title so it wouldn't sound like a Hans Christian Andersen story. In the original, the Seagull is a girl. The rest of the story is much like the original — up to the point when the Kinglet eats the plums. The gold plums give you horns; the green ones take them away. The soldier sells the gold ones to the princess, and poses as a doctor to "cure" her of her horns.

Ninetta And The Giant

This story was cobbled together from "Molly Whuppie," which you can find in Jacobs' English Fairy Tales and "Maol a Chliobain," which is in J.F Campbells' ''Popular Tales of the West Highlands." The three girls' names come from the Italian story "Grattula-Bedattula." In all three of the original stories, the youngest child was born a girl, and doesn't need to become one. Also, I gave magical properties to the items stolen from the giant.

How Prince Conall Found His Bride

This one is my own invention. I did borrow from I-forget-where the business about the wish not coming true unless the wisher wasn't thinking of the granter. Also, the princess and the coach all in black are found in a few fairy tales: She's always on her way to be sacrificed to some monster or another.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way