Fairly Wicked Tales (9 page)

The laziness of the girl was renowned. Each day the girl would lounge about the house, unwilling to lift even a finger to aid her parents in their daily chores. Each day her mother would seethe, wishing she had never birthed such a hateful creature.

One day it happened that the girl’s mother came upon a secret compartment in her daughter’s room, and the whispers of the townspeople regarding her daughter’s strangeness sprang instantly to mind, along with a confirmation of the woman’s own suspicions. She went in search of her daughter whom she found eating the last of their winter food storage, the lard shiny upon her silken fingers.

“Daughter, I have found your secret compartment!” cried the woman.

The girl stared dumbly at her mother, her eyes as flat and black as burnt ash in a spent fire. Slowly she licked the lard from her un-calloused and un-roughened hands, her eyes never leaving her mother’s terrified stare.

“Will you say nothing in your defense, Daughter?” the woman asked, incredulous.

Again the girl just stared and said nothing.

“Seven!” the poor woman cried at last, “ALL SEVEN?!”

The girl’s smile was cold and she gave a shrug. “Perhaps more if I had had just a little more time and more with which to work,” said she.

Rage overcame fear and the girl’s mother began to beat the girl with a broom, all the while screaming, “Seven!”

As chance would have it, a wealthy merchant was passing by the small cottage at the time and witnessed the woman’s cries and subsequent abuse of her daughter. The girl ran into the yard and fell next to the merchant’s halted carriage. As soon as she caught sight of the man she wailed and begged for mercy, cowering from her mother’s blows.

“What is happening? Why do you beat your daughter so, good lady?” asked the merchant as he climbed from his carriage.

The woman, embarrassed by her anger and fearful of retribution, collapsed to the ground and sobbed, “Kind sir, forgive a foolish woman her mistakes! My daughter works far too hard at what she does and refuses to rest! Today alone she has spun seven bags of flax, and would have spun more if I had not stopped her so she would eat!”

The merchant was much impressed by such an admirable work ethic. He stroked his beard and contemplated the girl’s loveliness and comely figure for a moment while ignoring both the difference in their ages and the insolent look she turned upon him, then turned his gaze to her mother.

“I find your daughter’s drive to be an admirable trait and should like to take her for my bride, if my intent pleases you and her father.”

The woman nodded while attempting to hide her relief at her good fortune. She wept tears of double-edged gratefulness as she watched her daughter driven off in the merchant’s fine and gilded carriage.

A short time later she met her husband on the path as he returned from the wood. She showed him the secret compartment and told him the story of the merchant.

“Where is our daughter now, Wife?” he asked.

“She has gone off with the merchant,” replied she.

“Praise God, she is no longer our worry,” he said, his voice quiet lest his daughter hear his words and exact revenge.

When news of the girl’s departure reached the townspeople a great celebration ensued. The festivities would last well into a fortnight and the food supplies would eventually run low, but none of the townsfolk seemed to worry themselves with such trivialities. At long last the town was free from the threat of the girl.

***

The merchant brought the girl to his home in a large town a distance away from where she had grown up. The girl marveled at the buildings that seemed to grow one out of the other and at all of the people milling about the filthy streets. She wrinkled her nose at the stench emanating from the gutters running along the avenues and at the acrid smoke billowing from too many chimneys.

When they reached his home the merchant showed the girl her new spinning room. The chamber was filled from wall to wall with bags of flax, and in the center stood a spinning wheel.

“What will I do with all this?” the girl asked in consternation.

“Why, spin it of course!” the merchant said with a laugh, “You will have just enough time to spin several bags before our wedding day.”

“When will that be?” she asked.

“I must attend to some business in a town a few days’ ride from here before we are wed. When I return, we shall be married within the week. Since I can see you are eager to begin, I will leave you to your work, and I shall start my journey straight away.”

As soon as the merchant was gone the girl hurled many curses upon her mother’s head for lying to the man. She stared around her at the bags of flax and wondered how she might possibly spin enough yarn to stay in good keeping with her unearned reputation. An idea sprang to mind and the girl set to work.

She dragged a bag of flax to the center of the room next to the spinning wheel, releasing some of the fiber to the floor. She moved to the spinning wheel and pressed her finger upon the spindle until a spot of blood appeared. The crimson orb hung upon her fingertip for only a moment before the girl squeezed some into the pile of flax then set to work using her own blood to draw a circle upon the floor which encompassed the spinning wheel, the bag, and the bloodied pile of fiber.

When the circle was complete she called out into the room, “Ladies of the Mysteries, hear my call. I have been your faithful servant lo these many years. I ask your assistance now!”

There was a slight wind and a rasping voice whispered, “You know the rules, child. You must call us each by name.”

The girl gave a nervous sigh and closed her eyes. “I call you, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos!”

The wind in the room grew stronger and colder. The bag of flax toppled and fiber scattered around the inner edge of the circle, but none passed beyond the markings and into the room. Three figures appeared within the confines of the circle and the girl stepped back more from instinct than fear. She had performed this same ceremony many times and knew the circle would hold those she had summoned.

When the wind died away the three figures became clearer, revealing three ancient women. The youngest of the three fingered the bloodied pile of fiber and peered into the over-turned bag. She gave a nod to her companions and to the girl.

“The fiber is acceptable,” she said.

“Thank you, Clotho,” said the girl, bowing her head with respect.

The second eldest of the encircled trio poked at the spinning wheel. She squinted at the fiber staff and the treadle, tested the tension and spin of the wheel, then finally sat upon the little stool. At last she gave a nod and a grunt of approval and the girl sighed with relief.

“Thank you, Mother Lachesis,” said the girl.

Finally the third and eldest of the women twirled a bit of fiber between her fingers after spitting upon it to moisten the flax. When she had the beginnings of a strand of yarn, she held the strand taut between her hands and bit it between her sharp and broken teeth. The yarn snapped and the crone cackled.

“Yes, this is very acceptable,” came the raspy old voice.

The girl bowed low, saying, “I am glad you are pleased with my offering Atropos.”

“We do accept your offering, child, now what do you require of us?” the ancient lady asked with a knowing smile. “Surely this is not a simple sign of gratitude, for we have found too often with you and your kind there is always a request for something in return.”

The girl blushed and pleaded with the women in the circle. “My mother found my secret compartment in our home and lied to a passing merchant so that he might take me with him. The man wishes to marry me, and has left me all of this flax to spin! I cannot possibly live up to the reputation my mother put upon me and now I am fearful of what may happen when the merchant discovers I am not what my mother made me seem to be. Please, wise women, I have served you faithfully and asked nothing in return until now. Will you help me this once?”

The ancients gathered together within the circle and conferred at some length in quiet tones. Finally their heads lifted and they moved to the edge of the circle.

“You know the price of our aid, child,” said Lachesis, “And you know the secrets of our spun strands. Bring us what we require and we will help you spin this fiber for your fiancé.”

“How many?” the girl asked, her voice weak and shaking with fear.

Atropos contemplated the bags of flax for a moment before returning her gaze to the trembling girl. “What say you, sisters? There is much work to be done here.”

“Indeed,” said Clotho, “Perhaps too much if we do not receive the proper necessities.”

“Seven should suffice,” said Atropos after an extended pause, speaking for the group.

“S-seven?” gasped the girl.

“Seven,” the women said in unison.

“When you have gathered what is required for payment, summon us again and we will help you,” said Atropos.

“What if I cannot bring seven? What if I can only bring one or two?” asked the girl.

Lachesis moved to the edge of the circle and hissed, “We ask for seven, and you will bring us seven, child. Any less would be considered an insult, and we will take payment from you instead.”

Lachesis stepped back to join her companions, her eyes never wavering in their intensity. The three women linked hands and gave a nod to the terrified girl. Presently a loud noise as of a great crash of thunder sounded and the women were gone. The girl stared into the circle and cried as if her heart would break.

“If only Mother had not discovered my secret,” she wailed, “Then I could use the seven I already had!”

Filled with anger, the girl wiped at her eyes and set off to her parents’ home that very night. Late at night she entered the main room of the house and crept to her old chamber. She fumbled in the darkness, not daring to bring a candle for fear the light and smell of the burning tallow might wake her parents and she would be discovered. At last she found her secret compartment and pried the door open, only to find it empty!

In a rage she moved into her parents’ room to find them asleep on their cots. She knelt by her mother’s side and shook the woman until she woke.

Covering her mother’s mouth with a hand, she whispered, “Mother, it is I, returned for what was in the secret compartment. Where are they?”

Her mother struggled to sit up, but the girl’s grip was firm as she pushed the woman back into the mattress.

“We buried them,” the woman said, her voice trembling.

“You buried them?” the girl seethed, “How could you do such a thing?”

“Were we to keep them then?” her mother asked and anger crept into her voice, “How could you do it and keep them in this house?”

The girl shrugged in the darkness and nonchalance crept into her words. “It was not difficult, and was the only way I could live through the winter. The only way WE could live through the winter. Now where did you bury them? Tell me and I will not have to find replacements,” she finished, letting the last words hang in the air between them so her mother might understand the true intent hiding beneath.

“They are buried in the yard,” the older woman said and the misery was evident within the fear clinging to her voice.

“Thank you, Mother,” the girl whispered and placed a gentle kiss upon her mother’s brow.

“Daughter, what did you do with the rest of them?”

The girl smiled over her shoulder as she moved to the doorway. “Stew,” she said simply and left her mother sobbing in the darkness.

She exited her parents’ house for the last time and found the patch of fresh earth where her mother had buried her secret. She dug until she found a cloth sack. She pried open the mouth of the sack to ensure she had what she had come for, then tucked the sack under her arm and began her journey back to her new home. She wished she had more time before the wedding, but time was a luxury. The merchant would return within a week or so and he would expect the flax to all be spun. She needed the women’s help more than ever if she were to keep her new life and the luxuries it would afford her.

When she reached her new home she rushed to the spinning room. She was giddy with exhaustion, but not so delirious as to forget the details of calling the women to her aid. She drew a circle that encompassed the room and all in it this time, placing the sack and its gruesome contents in the very center before stepping out through the one open segment in the circle and closing the segment behind her.

The women appeared when she called and fell upon the sack eagerly. Each of them removed the contents one by one, sniffing, touching, and fondling the strands of hair.

“Oh, these are lovely,” said Clotho as she ran her fingers through the fine strands of golden hair still bloody near the attached scalp.

“Tell us, child, who do we hold in our hands?” asked Atropos.

“My siblings,” replied the girl, “ Winter was hard, and we had no food.”

“Did they suffer?” Lachesis asked.

The girl shook her head, the first true tears of sadness filling her eyes. “I smothered them in their sleep,” she said, “When mother and father returned from the forest, one of my brothers or sisters would be gone. I told them they had wandered off in search of winter berries and never came back.”

“Such a lovely trade!” sighed Clotho as she ran a long braid through her fingers. “Virgin locks?”

“Yes,” said the girl, “do we have an agreement?”

“Indeed, child. Now leave us to our work,” the women said in unison.

The girl bowed and fled from the room.

***

For two days and two nights the sound of spinning resonated from beyond the door. The girl paced in the hallway and wrung her hands in nervous anticipation. When at last the spinning stopped and the door flung wide, the girl started from her fitful slumber on the threshold and blinked through sleep at the three women.

“Is it done?” she asked and her voice trembled.

The three women stepped aside so the girl might enter the chamber. All of the bags of flax were filled with skeins of yarn so delicate and fine that each ply appeared to be spun from platinum.