Ask the Bones Page 5

  No sooner had the students turned back, than what did they see? The four oxen were lumbering down the path. Somehow they had escaped!

  The students rejoiced. They patted the oxen’s heads.

  “What if we took off their halters?” one student asked. “Could we turn them back into men?”

  “It’s worth a try,” said the other. So each grabbed two halters and tugged.

  The shaggy fur of the oxen melted away, their horns disappeared and their soft brown eyes turned ... hard and cold.

  For there, in front of the students, stood two monstrous dogs and two grim witches.

  The dogs circled the students, snarling.

  And the witches advanced on the young men, one with boiling broth, the other with steaming bread.

  Nowhere to Hide

  • A Tale from Russia •

  Whenever Ivan scooped turnips from an iron pot, he wished for elegant food on a silver platter, food fit for a prince. That’s what Ivan wanted to be, a prince, even if it meant marrying the most evil princess in the world.

  This princess lived high on a mountaintop, in a castle surrounded by forests that sloped down to the sea. Her father had promised half his kingdom to any suitor who could win her hand.

  But the princess didn’t wish to marry. So she gave her suitors three chances to hide from her, knowing they could never hide from her magic spyglass.

  And when they failed her test—what did she do? She chopped off their heads.

  But Ivan wasn’t discouraged. He didn’t think she would chop off his head.

  So he packed his knapsack and set forth. On his way to the castle he strode along the beach, dreaming of riches. But soon he was hungry.

  He threw a hook into the sea and caught a shiny fish. Just as he was about to toss it in his frying pan, the fish spoke to him. “Spare me!” it gasped, “and someday I will help you. Take one of my silver scales. Burn it when you need me and I will swim to shore.”

  How could a fish help him? Ivan couldn’t imagine. But he took pity on it, plucked one of its scales and tossed the fish back into the sea.

  The moment he touched that shimmering scale, he felt a strange tingling at the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him.

  He spun around. No one was there. But just as he turned back to the sea, he glimpsed an eye in an incoming wave. A cold, cruel eye that disappeared when the wave broke in a cascade of foam.

  Ivan was not easily frightened, but what was that eye? He raced along the sand, his heart pounding. And he didn’t stop to rest until the castle path veered from the beach and plunged into the forest.

  Ivan leaned against a tree, catching his breath. And while he stood there, he saw an eagle land at the edge of a stream.

  He quietly pulled a net from his knapsack, for he was still hungry, and threw it over the eagle.

  But the eagle behaved just as oddly as the fish. It begged for its life, offering Ivan a feather which he could burn if he needed the eagle. So Ivan released the great bird.

  Needed an eagle?

  Ivan would have laughed out loud if he weren’t so uneasy. He felt that eerie tingling again, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Again he spun around, searching for whoever was watching him. Again he saw no one.

  But when he dipped a cupful of water from the stream and lifted it to his lips, he saw that awful eye staring at him intently from the bottom of the cup.

  Ivan threw it on the ground and kicked it. He hid behind a tree. When he finally dared to retrieve his cup, the horrible eye had disappeared.

  Ivan no longer walked on the trail that was winding its way up to the castle. He stayed off to one side, darting from tree to tree, hoping to hide from the eye that seemed to be following him wherever he went.

  But he was getting hungrier by the moment. And when he saw a fox crossing a clearing, he pulled forth his bow and arrow.

  “Don’t shoot,” cried the fox. “Someday you will need me. If you burn a tuft of hair from my chin, I will come.”

  Ivan hardly dared touch that tuft of hair. He knew what had happened when he touched the fish scale and the feather, but how could he refuse help? He had never been on such a strange journey, and he had no idea what he might encounter next.

  So he plucked a tuft of hair from the fox’s chin. And even before his neck started tingling, he saw the cruel eye reflected in the shining eye of the fox.

  But when he looked over his shoulder, he caught only a glimpse of that eye before it vanished.

  Ivan was about to run home, but how could he? He was a brave hunter, a future prince. He would follow that trail all the way to the castle, marry the princess, and live in luxury for the rest of his life.

  When he finally reached the palace, he was led inside to meet the princess. “You’re a fool to think you can hide from me,” she said, “but you may try. I will look for you in the morning.”

  The hunter stared at her. Somehow she looked familiar. “Stop staring,” she said, stamping her foot. And she ordered him out of the throne room.

  The hunter raced far from the palace and burned the eagle’s feather. “Hide me!” he shouted. Moments later the eagle grasped the hunter with its mighty talons and flew to a distant mountain that pierced the sky. There it dropped the hunter into its nest and covered him with its wings.

  In the morning the princess pulled out her magic spyglass. It sent her eye wherever she looked. She could see everything on the earth, under the water and up in the sky. She could see her suitors, wherever they hid.

  She pointed her spyglass out the window and looked for the hunter. Her eye roamed over the earth and under the water. It didn’t see him. But when it traveled across the sky, it noticed two hairs of the hunter’s fur hat peeking out from under the eagle’s wings.

  When the hunter returned to the palace, he was already dreaming of meat pies and purple robes.

  But the princess mocked him. “I saw you in the eagle’s nest,” she said. “You have only two more chances to hide.”

  The hunter was shocked. He’d heard rumors about her spyglass, but he had no idea it was so powerful. He hurried to the sea and burned the fish’s silver scale. “Come help me!” he cried.

  The fish immediately swam to shore, along with a huge shark. It told the shark to swallow the hunter whole and swim to the very depths of the ocean. But later the shark opened its mouth to eat a smaller fish—at the very moment the magic spyglass sent the princess’s eye beneath the waves. And there, between the shark’s pointed teeth, it glimpsed one thread of the hunter’s coat.

  The hunter was sure no one could have seen him hidden in a shark’s belly at the bottom of the sea, but when he entered the throne room, the princess laughed at him. “I saw you inside the shark,” she said. “If you can’t find a better hiding place tonight, your head will roll across the court-yard tomorrow.”

  The hunter was beginning to fear that she might be right. Now he realized with horror where he’d seen her cruel eyes—in the wave at the beach and in the cup in the forest. But he rushed outside, determined to try again. He burned the fox’s hair and called for help.

  The fox bounded to his side. “Fear not,” it said, and it led him into a tunnel it had dug under the palace. The hunter crawled after the fox until they reached a spot directly under the princess’s room. They could hear her footsteps overhead. When morning came they heard her walk over to the window. At first all was silent. Then she began talking to herself. “Not in the sky,” she said. And a little later, “Not in the ocean.” Later yet she shouted, “Not on the earth?” That’s when she threw her spyglass against the wall and smashed it into a thousand pieces.

  “I’m safe,” cried the hunter.

  He was thanking the fox for saving him when he heard the angry princess stamping her foot on the floor above his head. Crack! Her leg came down through a rotten board over the tunnel. She pulled her leg out and peered through the jagged hole with those cold, cruel eyes.

  “I foun
d you!” she said.

  The Handkerchief

  • A Tale from China •

  Long ago in China there lived an old man with a heart of stone. He drove away every beggar who came to his door.

  The old man and his wife lived by themselves, for they had no children. Nor did they have servants, because the old man hated to pay anyone.

  In time, his wife grew so feeble she had to have help. At first the old man was angry. “Why can’t you do what you have always done?” he grumbled. But his wife couldn’t manage, no matter how hard she tried. Finally the old man decided he would never get his meals on time unless he hired a servant girl, so at last he did.

  The girl tried her best to serve her master faithfully, but she soon found that nothing she did pleased the old man. The crack of his whip was heard throughout the house, and night after night he beat the girl so badly that she fell asleep crying. The old man’s wife heard the pitiful cries, but she said nothing and did nothing, for she was afraid of her husband.

  All of the old man’s neighbors called him “Cruel One,” and even the saints and gods heard of his evil ways. They wanted to test him, so one of the gods turned himself into a barefooted beggar and went to the old man’s door.

  “Master of the house!” he called out. “Please bring me something to eat. I am starving.”

  It happened that only the servant girl was home that morning. She felt sorry for the miserable beggar, and she gave him a bag of rice that she had gleaned for herself from the rice straw that she burned in the stove.

  “Take this rice,” she said, “but hurry away before my master comes back. There will be trouble if he sees you here. He is evil.”

  The beggar took the bag of rice and thanked the girl for her kindness. In return, he gave her a handkerchief. It looked like a humble gift, but a god in disguise can give a present that is far more remarkable than it seems. “Wash your face with this magic cloth every day,” he told her, “but be sure no one else ever uses it.”

  The girl slipped it under her sash, just in time, as the old man and his wife returned. Her master was so furious to find a beggar at their door that he chased him away with a stick. Then he beat the servant girl for not driving the beggar away.

  The girl fled to her room to wash away her tears with the magic handkerchief. Not only did the pain mysteriously vanish, but she grew more beautiful.

  The old man wondered why the servant girl looked prettier each day despite the beatings. “Tell me your secret,” he demanded.

  But the girl didn’t want to tell him about the handkerchief, for she knew he would beat her even harder if he learned about the rice she had given to the beggar. And what if he took the handkerchief away?

  The girl endured her beatings silently, but one day she forgot and pulled forth the soothing handkerchief while her master’s eyes were still upon her. He tore it out of her hands and insisted that she tell him everything. And when he learned that the beggar had given her the handkerchief after she had given him rice, the old man said the handkerchief belonged to him. “Everything in this house belongs to me, including the rice you gave away and the handkerchief you got in return.”

  “But the beggar said no one else should use it,” the servant girl cried. He paid no attention.

  When the girl wept that night, she had nothing to wash away her tears and pain. Nor could she sleep, for she had failed to keep her handkerchief safe. What if her master used it? Would her luck turn even worse?

  The next morning the old man hurried to the washbasin so he could use the handkerchief himself. He wanted his looks to improve as much as the servant girl’s, so he washed his face repeatedly. But each time he lowered the magic handkerchief, his wife’s eyes opened wider. He thought she was impressed to see him become so handsome.

  In truth, her eyes were wide with horror, for she saw what the magic handkerchief had done. But as always, she said nothing.

  The old man handed the handkerchief to her. “I want a beautiful wife,” he said. “Use it.”

  She held it between two fingertips as if it might bite her.

  “What are you waiting for?” he shouted, picking up the whip he used on the servant girl.

  His wife, who had never disobeyed him before, dropped the handkerchief and hurried out of the room. He could not understand her odd behavior. But when he stooped to pick up that handkerchief, he saw before him a clawed and hairy hand.

  He rushed to the mirror. Staring back at him was a strange beast with bloodshot eyes, sharp fangs, and matted hair.

  The Mousetrap

  • A Tale from lceland •

  The wizard leaned into the wind, cursing the storm. The gale was so fierce it endangered ships along the rocky coast. But the wizard thought only of the salt spray whipping his face and the icy rain dripping down his neck.

  He usually stayed close to his hearth when such vile weather battered Iceland. But today his favorite dinner was being served at the inn—boiled sheeps’ heads and pickled blood loaf. How could he possibly stay home when such delicacies awaited him?

  When he arrived, he shook the rainwater from his shoulders and sat down at a table by the window. An unpleasant neighbor was sitting across the room, so the wizard mumbled a few magical words. Then he watched as the neighbor swigged down a mouthful of milk—and turned ashen. The milk that was fine just moments before had suddenly become sickeningly sour.

  The wizard smirked, but for only a moment, before he became gloomy again. He was a failure, capable of only the simplest tricks. He could turn milk sour or send those who annoyed him into sneezing fits.

  But somehow the immense powers of his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather had eluded him.

  He slowly chewed the last bite of pickled blood loaf and looked out the window at the raging waters beyond the harbor. He saw a small ship there, rising and falling with the waves. Its icy decks were awash, its mast broken in two. And as he watched, he saw a wall of water crash down upon the ship and thrust it from sight.

  He saw sailors bobbing to the surface, clinging to bits of wreckage, and he watched his fellow villagers brave the storm to rescue them.

  All the while, the wizard sat by the window, unconcerned. It wasn’t until the survivors were huddled around the inn fire, bemoaning the loss of their precious cargo, that the wizard’s interest was kindled.

  “Our bags of coins are spilled all over the ocean floor,” cried one sailor. “We can never reclaim them.”

  The story of sunken treasure jolted the wizard’s memory. He jumped up, wrapped himself in his cloak, and raced up the hillside to his home.

  The wizard’s house was built like all the others in the village, of stone and timber, faced with sod. But no one had a hearthstone quite like his.

  The wizard knelt before the fire, pressed the back corner of the hearthstone, and watched it swing upward on sturdy hinges, exposing a secret hiding place beneath. And in that secret place was a book, its leather cover falling apart, its pages tattered. But this precious book, handed down for generations, contained the very passage the wizard needed.

  He paged through it until he found the words he dimly remembered—a spell for redeeming treasure from the depths of the sea.

  He began reading aloud:First weave a net using hair from a maiden. Then place that net on the surface of the ocean, above the spot where the treasure has sunk. The net will catch a tide mouse. Once it’s caught, put the mouse in a barrel, offer it wheat and water, and give it a bed of maiden’s hair.

  Then steal a coin and slip it under the mouse’s bedding. If all is done correctly, the tide mouse will draw coins out of the sea each day.

  The wizard’s eyes were aglow until he read the warning:Any man who keeps such a mouse places himself in great danger, for he must not possess the mouse when he dies. If he fails to give it away in time, violent mouse squalls will roar across the ocean, tearing up the land, and the man will die in agony. But when he gives the mouse away, he must warn the new owner of its
danger or the very earth will smite him.

  Surely, thought the wizard, he wasn’t about to die. So he memorized the words he’d read, replaced the book in the hole beneath the hearthstone, and pressed the stone back into place. He was going to do exactly what the book said, with no mistakes.

  The next morning he followed a young shepherdess up the slope of a slumbering volcano that towered above the town. The mountain had not spit forth ash and fire since the wizard was a child.

  While the sheep nibbled on scarce bits of moss and grass between the rocks, the girl napped. And while she napped, the wizard quietly snipped off her golden braids, without a thought about how she would feel when she discovered her loss.

  He rushed home with the maiden’s hair, but his book gave him no magic formula for making a net. So he struggled to tie the hair into knots, forming a mesh with openings so small that no mouse could slip through.

  When the winds died down, he rowed out to the spot where the ship’s treasure had sunk. He dropped the net of maiden’s hair on the water and watched over it from sunrise until sunset. Finally, just before dark, he saw a mouse’s paw entangled in the net. In one quick motion, he scooped it out of the water and into his pocket. Then he buttoned up his pocket and rowed home.

  He had the barrel ready for the tide mouse, with the wheat and water and a bed of maiden’s hair. But he had not yet stolen a coin.

  So the next morning he waited until his neighbor went fishing. Then he sneaked into his house, snatched a coin, and raced home to tuck it under the mouse’s bed.

  All that night he sat beside the barrel brooding. Would the coins pour in? Or would his magic fail as it had so often in the past? He checked again and again, growing irritable. Even angry. But just before sunrise the mouse’s bed rose, pushed up by a stack of coins.

  “At last!” the wizard cried. He rejoiced that morning and each morning thereafter when he scooped up the coins.