Title: A Tale of Kieran
Author: Vegepythicus, editor
IsNaughty: False
Price: 312
IsUnique: False
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Content:


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[/center]Tales of Kieran



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[/center]Librarian's Note ...

 The recorded tales of Kieran the Bard fall into three
categories: the Woodland Cycle, Castles and Kings, and an
unnamed cycle of lusty tales (recently destroyed by
mysterious accident). Some are in the bard's own hand, while
others, mere shadows of the originals, remain only as bedtime
tales for children. The structure exemplifies the helical
form favoured by listeners about the hearth on a long
winter's eve. As to whether they describe real events, be
allegory, or be mere entertaining fancy, the reader must
decide.



[/center]***





[/center]I.

 Kieran was on the road from Wren to Fairtree, when he grew
weary from the midday sun. His boots were tight and he thought
to remove them for a bit in the shade of a nearby oak (oaks
being a favourite of bards). This particular oak was
venerable and gnarled, with sturdy branches that dipped
and swooped, nearly touching the ground in spots. From its
shade Kieran watched the forest creatures playing in the
warm sun. But for the rustling of leaves, high above, the
only sounds were of butterfly wings and birdsong.

 "What a peaceful day," Kieran thought as he watched a
butterfly drift by, "What a beautiful day! In truth, since
bards first told tales, has there ever been a day more
peaceful and beautiful than this?"

 He drank from his waterskin and, taking his lute from its sack,
cleared his throat and began to sing:

 "Oh, the maidens of Wren are passing fair ...  ...with
breasts like melons, and flaxen hair ..."

 He had just taken a deep breath to bellow the lusty chorus
when a small, feminine voice said, "Kind sir ..."

 He leaped to his stockinged feet, his face flaming red. "Who's
there?" he cried.

 The small voice repeated, "Please, sir, if you will be so
kind ..."

 Kieran looked about but saw no person or creature
addressing him.

 "Pray thee," he cried. "Show thyself or have cause to fear
my dagger." (He tried desperately to remember where he had
last seen it.) "Whether thee be friend or foe, pray thee show
thyself now."

 The small voice replied from above him, "Kind sir, thou
hast no cause to fear me, and I am in need of help. Can thou
find it in thy heart to aid me?"

 He looked up and saw naught but a small robin's nest, three
branches above him. Climbing swiftly, he found a robin with
three tiny robinlings, their mouths open wide.

 "Good mother robin," he asked, "Can it be thee who addresses
me thus?"

 "Kind sir," she replied, "I have hurt my wing and it will
be at least a day before I might fly. If my children do not
eat soon, they will die. Would you be so kind as to bring a
fat, juicy meal? Would you find a caterpillar or
earthworm or grub for my children?"

 Now, Kieran was kind of heart and it was not within him to
refuse a plea such as this, so off he went into the forest.
Searching under some mulberry leaves, he soon found a
small green caterpillar. It seemed a perfect meal for young
robins.

 Plucking it from the leaf upon which it fed, he prepared to
hurry back to the oak when he heard a tiny voice. He opened his
hand and the caterpillar looked up at him with her big brown
eyes wide with fear. "Kind sir," she said, "wouldst thou kill
me so thoughtlessly?"

 Kieran scratched his head in puzzlement and the caterpillar
continued: "When thou cooled thy feet beneath the oak, didst
thou not find joy in my parents' beauty as they danced
before thee in the sun? I, too, am soon to change. Wouldst
thou deny thy successors the joy of my dancing? And if I do
not live to have children, how will thine own children find
such joy? Please, sir, would not an earthworm serve the
needs of the robinlings just as well?

 Kieran looked into the eyes of the caterpillar and knew that
he could not feed her to the robins. Carefully, he placed
her beneath her mulberry bush and continued his search.

 Near a rushing brook, Kieran found a flat stone that, when
moved, revealed a juicy earthworm enjoying the cool moist
earth. "Aha." he thought. "As nice as the caterpillar may
have been, this truly seems a more fitting meal for young
robins."

 He had no sooner plucked the earthworm from it's cool abode
(where it had been frantically trying to burrow away from
him), when he heard a voice so faint he might have imagined it:

 "Kind sir," he thought he heard, and Kieran looked in his hand.
The worm continued: "I am but a lowly creature, it's true,
but might I plead such case that I have?"

 Kieran rolled his eyes skyward as the worm sat up and seized
its chance. "I am not a lowborn worm like others you might
find. No, I am a prince among earthworms. I come from an
ancient lineage. My ancestors burrowed the earth when fires
belched from black pits throughout these lands. I command
millions like myself. Were it not for my loyal followers,
you, good sir, would be up to your  neck in leaves, tree
trunks and mouldy carcasses. I'll make a bargain with you.
If you release me and choose, instead, a pathetic grub for the
robinlings, I will dispatch an entire clan of earthworms to
keep your foreyard clean and sweet-smelling for as long as
ye shall live." The earthworm looked hopefully at Kieran
(while calculating the distance to the ground). "Good sir,
what say ye?"

 Kieran was beginning to lose his patience, but, seeing the
value of the earthworm's offer, decided that a grub would,
indeed, make a tasty morsel for the young robins. He returned
the earthworm to its moist haven and carefully replaced the
flat stone above it. And, true to his desire, a short while
later, in a forest glade, beneath a wide slab of discarded
bark, Kieran chanced upon that which he sought: a fat white
grub that would grow the robinlings into beautiful
songsters. He plucked it from its hiding place and set forth.
It was a beautiful day, indeed.





[/center]II.

 Nearby, in stately Trowbridge, King Caladan did live with
his lovely daughter, Einlea. The princess was the apple of
the old man's eye and the crown jewel of his small kingdom. He
looked upon her with the blind pride of a doting father, and
she, for her part, did naught but bask and flourish in his
bounty.

 Trowbridge was quiet now, the chief sounds being the clatter
of cart wheels and the cries of street vendors, but it was
not always so. Three years earlier there had been trouble
with Carthan to the west. It was not much, a border dispute,
but the king persuaded a wizard named Loziard to come to
Trowbridge in his employ, to aid him in the contest. Loziard
was unknown by all in Trowbridge and kept to himself within
the palace, coming and going as he pleased. When Trowbridge
prevailed, with almost no loss of life, there was joyous
celebration for days and weeks thereafter. Time passed, yet
Loziard remained. The King, not wanting to seem
ungrateful, said nothing, but became increasingly
discomforted with the wizard's presence and wished for his
departure.

 On Einlea's twentieth birthday, King Caladan called for a
celebration and holiday through all his land. Unknown to
his subjects, he intended to proclaim his retirement and the
transference of his crown to his beautiful daughter. Out of
politeness, and nothing more, he invited the wizard Loziard
to aid him in devising a proper speech.

 Loziard was furious. He paced his chamber, his black brows
knitted with intensity that would have soured any cow's milk.
"Why," he cried aloud, "am I treated so unjustly by the old
buffoon? Were it not for my skills, the border contest,
mayhaps even the kingdom itself, might have been lost. I
deserve more. I deserve the crown. To give it to that
primping simpering daughter of his, who thinks naught of more
than her own whim, is a slap more stinging than that of gauntlet. I will have justice. I will demonstrate, amply, for
all to see, wherein lies true power."

 Thereupon, Loziard made his preparations.

 Princess Einlea's birthday came on a summer morning.
Everyone within the city, and from the farms without,
gathered to the palace for the festival. Banners waved
from every rooftop. Fiddlers fiddled and dancers danced.
Bakers baked wonderful sweets for the occasion. It was a day
long to be remembered.

 At noon, precisely, King Caladan and Princess Einlea
emerged onto the main balcony to the cheers of the kingdom.
"Good citizens of Trowbridge," called the King, "We are
but a tiny kingdom, but we prosper, do we not?"

 Loud hails (mostly) erupted from the crowd below.
Encouraged, Caladan continued, "But now I am an old man.
The day has arrived when younger blood can better attend to
the needs and events of the kingdom. My subjects ... My loyal
subjects and friends ... It is with honour  ...and pride 
...and the greatest of expectations  ...that I transfer my
kingdom and my crown to my loving daughter. To one and
all, I give you" (a long pause here) "Einlea."

 As cheers filled the air, Caladan made a grand, sweeping
gesture with his arm, intending to make the presentation as
spectacular as the pride that filled him. His robe went
"swoooosh" and his hand pointed to ... nobody. What was
this? Where had she gone? Where Einlea had been, moments
earlier, there now was naught but vacant air.

 "Er ...Einlea ...?" he called, uncertainly. But there was
no response. Silence fell over park and courtyard. People
glanced at each other nervously.

 Old Loziard clapped his hands in glee. He danced. He hugged
himself with uncontained laughter. "How wonderful ..." he
cried. "What a breathtakingly stunning and talented a
wizard I am.." For what he had done, of course, was to rid
himself of Einlea for once and for all. With one stroke,
crafty and evil, he had removed the vain creature from the
palace. Nought else remained between him and that which he
desired.

 Now, magic is a tricky thing. Like all forces in the world,
it must be kept in balance. As surely as day balances night
and summer balances winter, so too must positive magic
balance negative. For every hurtful or destructive spell,
there must be an act of equal goodness or charity lest
trouble overflow into the world. For every black wizard,
there must be a white. For every spell of combat
destruction, there must be healing. Know ye this  ...if all
who practice magic cast naught but healing or protective
spells, dark, horrible forces would build up until chaos
and ruin would burst forth and rain our doom down upon us.
Thus may spells of healing be broken by harm, and the worst
of spells be broken by charity.

 Knowing this, Loziard planned well his act of vengeance.
To permanently rid himself of Einlea (short of killing her
outright) he must devise a spell so cunning that no act of
kindness would ever break it. He was pulling lice out of his
long beard, late one evening, when he burst into laughter. He
would make her into something  ...disgusting.

 "I will make her into a frog." he laughed, then frowned. No
... that had been done. People might expect it and go
around, like mindless idiots, seeking frogs, hoping to earn a
kings ransom.

 And then, a brilliant plan occurred to him.

 "I will make her into a bug, an insect, a WORM ..." He
almost choked on his wine. "Oh. How perfect.. I will make her
into something so truly loathsome that she will spend the
rest of her little bug life in terror of being squashed by the
first person who sees her." He squealed and his rings jangled
and his fat jiggled and he snorted wine out his nose in
laughter. "Oh, how absolutely delicious ..."

 And that's exactly what he did. While King Caladan and his
subjects scratched their heads in puzzlement, nobody saw a
small fat white tree grub plop to the cobblestones beneath
the main balcony and immediately curl up, glistening and
quivering.





[/center]III.

 Einlea was terrified. What had happened? Well, she had seen
enough of Loziard's magic to know what had happened. But
why? Why would he do this to her? She didn't have long to
ponder the question. A huge black hound, hundreds of times her
size, ran to the cobblestone where she lay, and almost
gobbled her with one slurp of his tongue. From somewhere, she
found the wherewithal to roll out of his way and into the
crevice between the stones. His HUGE slurpy tongue followed
her, drooling and panting great hurricanes of hot awful
breath down at her. But just as the tongue was about to lick
her into the waiting stomach, the hound's owner yanked his
massive chain and pulled the beast toward home.

 It is true that Einlea, in her life as a human, was self
indulgent and not inclined to effort or resource, but that
was merely because she had no need of either. In the
following days, she had cause to discover plenty of both
within her. After the incident with the hound, she knew she must
go far away from people and dogs. And she knew what kinds of
creatures dined on grubs, too. She slept out of sight under
leaves, in places where grubs would not likely be sought.

 Even so, Einlea's days were filled with terror and
adventure. There were circling hawks by day and owls by
night. A bear, tearing at a rotting tree trunk, gobbled
grubs, indistinguishable from Einlea, by the hundreds, as she
watched in horror from behind a nearby rock. The smallest
stream was now an enormous, gushing torrent, to be crossed
in a nutshell under the greatest of peril. Einlea passed
these tests, along with many others, and she passed them
well.

 It was on her tenth such day that a clumsy boot kicked aside
the piece of bark under which she had sought shelter from the
sun. Blinded by the sudden light, she heard an exclamation
from high above. Then, before she could react, two fingers
dropped from the sky and plucked her up and deposited her
firmly inside a huge fist.

 Ten days ago, Einlea would have been paralysed with
terror. But that was ten days ago.  Her mind raced. "Who is
this clumsy idiot, anyway??" she thought,  "and what on
earth does he want with a tree grub? At least he didn't squash
me on the spot. That's encouraging, isn't it? So he must be
here to rescue me.."

 She wriggled and squirmed in his fist until she could see his
face, high above her, between two of his fingers. "Ugh. A
beard. If I'm going to be rescued, why can't it be by a fine
young prince?" But it then occurred to her that she was speaking from old habit. "I wonder how many of those foppish boys
could have survived these past ten days?" She laughed,
thinking of them. "Not many, I bet. Those who wouldn't have
curled up and died immediately would, by now, be
whimpering and crying for their mothers." She looked at
Kieran again. "Well ... maybe he would look better if I
wasn't looking straight up his nostrils. Ouch.. Why isn't he
more careful with me??"

 And then it occurred to Einlea that, if this oaf were truly
rescuing her, he probably would have said something to her.

 "Uh-oh." Einlea's heart raced and she started wriggling
furiously , imagining the worst of all possible deaths. "He
must be going fishing."

 Einlea couldn't do much in her current state, but she could
spit. And spit she did. In quantities unimaginable for so
small a grub. She spit and spit and spit until her tiny
grub mouth was too dry to spit another drop. She felt
Kieran's hand squirming and thought, "It's working.."





[/center]IV.

 Kieran was fair disgusted. Twas bad enough that he had to
touch the slimy thing, but now it was oozing something and
becoming truly revolting. Finally, just before he reached
the robin's oak, he could take it no longer. He stopped and
examined the creature in his hand. White and plump and
glistening, it was, in truth, a repellent creature. Yet the
poor thing was obviously terrified. It gazed up at him with
what he imagined to be minuscule grub eyes, pleading.
Kieran thought of the caterpillar and the earthworm, and his
heart gave in. Heaving a great resigned sigh, he found a nice
clean root and placed the grub upon it.

 And thus was Loziard's spell broken.

 None could have been more astonished than Einlea when she
unexpectedly grew to her former size, except, perhaps for
Kieran, who nearly died of fright. He was no more than
catching his breath when Einlea regained her wits. Raising her
index finger, warning  Kieran not to say even ONE word,
Einlea snatched Kieran's coat to cover herself. Then, with
fire in her eyes, and as much dignity as she could muster, she
was off to Trowbridge, leaving Kieran to stare, open-
mouthed, at her departing figure.

 Einlea knew she could not simply enter the city and
confront Loziard. The moment he saw her, he would but cast another enchantment upon her. So, disguising
herself as a shepherd, she found an abandoned house on the
moors and began to make her plans. What happened next is a
tale worth hearing. But it is a tale for another evening.
Indeed, it is a tale to be told over many an evening, and
many a good pot of ale.



 And what of the baby robins? Having no alternative, Kieran
climbed the tree and took from his pack his last piece of fatty
mutton. Tearing it into small shreds, he gave it to the
grateful mother robin, who fed it to her family.

 Upon returning to the ground, Kieran looked first toward
Fairtree, his former destination, then, grinning, set off after the most surprising young lady, for whom he now had many
questions. "Who knows ..." he called back to the robins, "It
may be fate. And besides, I need my coat."

 He was heard, late that evening, far down the road, singing:

 "Oh, the maidens of Trowbridge are passing fair ...  
...with breasts like melons, and flaxen hair ..."



 
