#threes and sevens and animals in danger and trick questions
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a great forest with trees so tall that they shut out the sky, and it was always dark in that place. A single road passed through it, one side to the other, and no wise traveler ever ventured off that road.
In the forest to the east of the road there was a great hill, with a tower on it, and in that tower there lived a wizard. He was solitary and ill-tempered, but if someone in trouble came to him humbly and begged his aid, he did not usually refuse.
In the forest to the west of the road - or so it was said, for it was not visible as the hill and tower were - there was a great dark hollow with a house at the bottom of it, where the forest witch, the Cailleach Foraoise, lived with her seven daughters. She was ill-natured and dangerous, but still, she had been known to give aid to those willing to pay her price.
It happened that the king of the land had grown cruel and dangerous, and he taxed his people to starvation, he poisoned their land and slew any who displeased him. He slew even his own sons, when they defied him, and all went in terror of him. This king had three nephews, the sons of his sister, and they saw that soon they would be in danger from him as well, so they fled his castle by night, and took the road through the dark forest.
When they reached the river that ran through the heart of the forest, they stopped and took counsel of each other. They must do all that they could to save the kingdom and its people, that they agreed, but they debated what that was until the youngest spoke.
“Brothers, here are three ways before us,” he said, “We may go on through the wood, to our allies to the south, and there beg their aid against the king who has turned kin-slayer in his madness. We may turn to the east, and seek aid of the magician, who may be able to cure our uncle or else end his wickedness. Or we may turn to the west, and consult the Cailleach Foraoise, who it is said will give great aid to those willing to pay her price. And we, too, are three. One of us should take each way, so we may have three chances instead of one to succeed.”
His brothers did not like the idea, but they could not fault his reasoning. “I will be the one to go west,” said the eldest brother, “for it is a dangerous way, and I am the eldest.”
“No,” said the youngest, to his eldest brother. “You are the king’s heir, now that our cousins are dead, and you have a right to ask the aid of our kingdom’s allies where we do not. You must take the road.”
“That is true,” the eldest said reluctantly. “It is my place to make that request.”
“Then I will go to the west,” the middle brother said, “for I am the strongest and largest, and can protect myself.”
“No,” the youngest said again, “you should go to the wizard. You are large and strong, and not afraid of hard work, so when he puts you to work to prove your humility you will do well. I am the one who will go to the west, for it is well known that the youngest of three or of seven is lucky, and luck is what will be needed most.”
And both his brothers smiled, though they feared for their brother. “You are clever with your tongue, and that may serve you even better than luck,” the eldest said. They clasped hands, and wished each other well, and the eldest crossed the bridge over the river, and the middle brother turned to follow the river to the east, and the youngest turned to follow the river to the west, and soon they were out of each other’s sight.
The youngest brother walked downhill for a long time, always following the edge of the river. After some hours, he heard a small peeping, and found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, its parents fluttering anxiously around it. Being kind of heart, he carefully took up the tiny bird in one hand, and climbed the tree to set it back into its nest.
Some way further on, he heard rustling, and found that a leaping fish had been caught in the leaves of a tree, and was thrashing and gasping. Being kind of heart, he waded out into the water to shake the branch, so the fish fell free into the river.
Shortly before sunset - though he knew this only by the colour of the sky he saw in tiny scraps far above between the leaves - he heard yelping, and found a young fox with one paw trapped between two stones. Being kind of heart, he wrapped his hands in his cloak to protect them, and freed the young fox despite its attempts to bite him.
It was long after the sky turned black, and he was using a lantern to light his way, when he came to the shores of a lake. “Of course,” he said, glancing at the river, “a hollow by the river would be a lake. And yet the house of the Cailleach Foraoise is in the middle of the hollow, so they say, which is a puzzle.”
Since he saw no immediate solution to the problem, he sat down on the bank of the lake to rest and eat some bread and cheese. As he ate, he heard a trill above his head, though at this time of night all birds should be sleeping, and he looked up to see one of the birds whose hatchling he had returned to its nest. He threw some crumbs onto the grass, and the bird ate them. Then he heard a splashing, and saw a fish leap in the lake, and thought it might be the one he had rescued, so he threw some crumbs to the fish also.
When a young fox peered cautiously out from under a bush, he laughed. “Of course,” he said, “I should have known,” and he threw a chunk of cheese to the fox. “If you are the daughters of the Cailleach Foraoise, then I am sorry that I have no better fare to give you. If you are magical, then I will be grateful for any aid you choose to give me. And if you are only hungry, then I am glad to share what I have.”
Another laugh, harsh and croaking, echoed his own, and when he turned he saw an old woman of so wild and fearsome an appearance that she could be no-one but the Cailleach Foraoise. “Well said, youngster,” she said approvingly. “One may be kind without being stupid, and offer aid without knowing whether or no there will be a reward for it.”
He got to his feet, and bowed deeply. “Wise Woman,” he said, which was the polite way to address a witch in that time and place, “I come seeking your aid.”
“Of course you do. No-one comes here who does not.” She leaned close to look at him, her bright eyes seeming to look right through to his soul, and he stood still and did not show fear, though she was close enough now that he could smell the scent of death that clung around her, and see the necklace of human bones around her neck. “Well, you may have a hearing, at least. Come with me, young man, and lend me your strong arms to help an old woman home.”
She led him to a small boat, and bade him row towards the middle of the small lake. And though the lake had seemed empty when he looked across it from the shore, as he rowed a mist seemed to fade from his eyes, and he saw a house raised on tall stilts in the middle of the lake. It was a large house, large enough for a lord, but made all of logs with the bark still on them, and strangely formed, with three levels each larger than the one below, so it looked upside down.
The Cailleach Foraoise secured the boat to a hook on one of the stilts, which were oak logs bigger around than three men’s arms could reach, and then rapped on it. “Sky above, earth below,” she said, “let me in.” And the side of the great log indented itself, to make a comfortable ladder, and they climbed up it to a small door that opened itself at the same password.
Within the house, the youngest brother found himself in a long, low hall, with fires burning at each end of it in great fireplaces, though he had seen no chimney outside. And within there were seven young women, who rose and greeted their mother with great affection.
There were many tales about the seven daughters of the Cailleach Foraoise. Some said they were as fair as fairy maidens, and others that they were as ugly as their mother. Some said that they were witches, and some that they were innocents stolen away as infants by the witch and imprisoned by her. But the youngest brother saw only seven young women, some pretty, some less so, but none who could not have walked down any road in his kingdom quite unremarked.
They greeted him pleasantly, and invited him to join them for their evening meal, which was good bread and fish stew and fresh greens. He thanked them politely, and ate what was offered him, and afterwards they showed him to a pallet bed by the fire.
“Tomorrow,” the Cailleach Foraoise said, “we will begin.”
The next morning the youngest brother was roused at dawn by the oldest of the seven sisters, who was tall and stern-looking. “Today you will aid me in my work,” she told him, “and each of my sisters in turn for the next six days. At the end of that time, you may ask our mother for what you want, and she will tell you the price of it.”
“Then I am glad to assist you,” the youngest brother said. “Put me to work, lady, and I will do my best.”
“We will see,” said the oldest sister. She led him a great hot kitchen. “I do all the cooking, and today you are to help me.” And all that day, from dawn until dusk, the youngest brother stirred and kneaded, peeled and chopped, washed and scoured, hardly stopping to eat himself. He did his best, but for every task he completed, the eldest sister completed two, and he made many errors.
At the end she put her hands on her hips, and looked at him. “Well, you have not shirked or complained,” she said, “but you have not done well, either. What have you to say?”
“I can only say that I have done my best,” he said meekly, “at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal, that is only to be expected, for you are a master of your craft, and I am not.”
“That is a good answer,” she told him, and bade him go to his evening meal, and rest, for he must work again tomorrow.
On the second day, the second sister, who was a woman larger and stronger than most men, took him to a room full of clothes and cloths, and great tubs of water. “Today is the day for washing,” she said, “and you must help me to wash until everything is done.”
So all that day the youngest brother scrubbed and rinsed, wrung and beat, and hauled and heated water. He did his best, but for every sheet or garment he washed, she washed three, and he made many errors.
At the end of the day she put her hands on her hips and looked at him. “You have not shirked or complained,” she said, “but a maid of fifteen might do more than you, strong man though you appear. What have you to say for yourself?”
And again he answered meekly. “I have done my best, at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal then that is to be expected, for you are a master of your craft and I am not.”
She laughed, and showed him her broad hands and arms as muscled as any blacksmith’s. “There is no man who has hands stronger than a washerwoman,” she told him, “and it’s well that you own it, or you’d have felt them alongside your head. Go eat and rest, now, for you have more work to do.”
On the third day, the third sister, who had a merry eye and curling dark hair, took him to the stillroom. There he chopped and ground, simmered and strained, lifted what was heavy and tended the fire. He did his best, but he knew as little of herb lore as he did of cooking and washing, and again he made many errors.
At the end of the day the third sister, who had talked more than the others and taught him much that was useful to know, shook her head. “Well, you did your best,” she said kindly, “and perhaps in time you would be better.”
He was grateful for her tolerance, for he knew he’d ruined more than one brewing that would have to be done again. “I have done my best at a task I never turned my hand to before, and if I am not your equal then that is to be expected, for you are a master of your craft and I am not… but I am sorry I did so ill, and fear I’ve made as much work as I’ve saved.”
She smiled at that, and patted his shoulder. “Oh, it’s not so bad as that, and it truly was a help to have someone to lift the heavy crocks and knead the thicker ointments, for I’m not as strong as some of the others, and it’s a trial to me. You go eat and rest, for you’ve four more days left.”
And so it went for the next three days. The youngest brother found that he was no match for the fourth sister at carding and spinning and winding wool, no match for the fifth sister at crafting in wood and leather, and no match at all for the sixth sister in setting fish traps, or snares for game, or hunting mushrooms and other good things that grew wild. Every day he worked hard and did his best, and admitted that he was no match for the sister who worked beside him, and they teased, or encouraged, or laughed, each as her own nature inclined.
On the last day the youngest sister, who was a small, plump girl of no more than fourteen, led him up to the roof where he found a garden. It was a strange garden, in which it seemed to be all seasons at once, and where spring blossom hung beside ripe fruit and young shoots stood beside ripe grain. “Where magic makes all grow quickly,” she told him seriously, “weeds grow too. Also, we must harvest fruit and vegetables and grain for the kitchen.”
They worked side by side, and for the first time the youngest brother found himself almost the equal of his partner. He had less knowledge, but much greater strength, and under her guidance his piles of weeds and baskets of vegetables equaled hers. She saw him looking at them, and laughed. “Yes, you won’t be scolded today,” she said cheerfully. “Though if I were you, I would not boast to my sisters that you are the equal of one as small as I am.”
He laughed too. “I would not! Though it is a small sop to my pride that I am not quite useless.” Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her. “You are very young,” he said slowly. “And your mother is very old. Too old to have a child of your age. Is it magic, or…”
“No, it is not magic.” The girl sat back on her heels, and the face that had been cheerful became sad. “Mother does not bear her daughters. Some she finds abandoned, or lost. Others she takes from homes where they are cruelly treated or neglected. I was one of those. I love Mother for taking me from there, and making me her child. Here I am never hungry, and I am never beaten, and my mother and sisters treat me with love and kindness.”
“I see.” He had seen, of course, that there was little resemblance between the seven daughters, but had wondered if it was a case of their having different fathers… and, quakingly, if that might be the duty that would be asked of him. “Then she is strangely misunderstood, for she is spoken of as cruel and capricious, even vicious, in the stories I have heard.”
“Well, and so she is,” the youngest daughter said calmly. “She is kind to children, always, and any woman truly wronged may find a friend in her, but there are few men indeed to whom she is as kindly inclined as to you.”
“Kindly inclined?” He frowned. “I have never even seen her in all this time.”
“Yes, that is how I know she likes you. If she did not like you, she would have spent the seven days frightening you until you almost died of it, threatening all sorts of terrible penalties if you did not equal our labour.” She chuckled, seeming amused by the thought. “That is what she usually does! But you were so polite and respectful, acknowledging us your betters at our own work, that she has hardly troubled to look at you.”
The youngest brother frowned. “Of course you are better than I am at your own work,” he said, puzzled. “I have never done any of these tasks before. Even had I not been schooled as a warrior, what man could equal a woman at the work she has known all her life, and he never?”
The creaking laugh behind him told him that the Cailleach Foraoise was not so far away, after all, and when he turned to look he found her sitting under one of the small apple trees, turning an apple over and over in her fingers. Behind her, the sunset of the seventh day was painting the sky in streaks of brilliant colour. “It would surprise you,” she said in her harsh voice, “how many men are just such fools as that. Very well, youngling. You’ve done your work well - oh, with no great skill, but you truly made your best effort, and respected those with greater skill than your own, which inclines me to approve of you. Tell me what you came for.”
“My uncle the king is mad, or possessed, or under some terrible curse,” the youngest brother said, rising to bow politely. “He has become cruel and fey, even slaying his own sons, and all his people live in terrible fear and hardship. I came to ask for your aid in ending this state, and returning peace to the land.”
“Indeed. And do you ask me to cure him, or to kill him? Do you seek to be a king, youngster, and take his place?”
“I? No, indeed!” The youngest brother laughed ruefully. “Wise Woman, I’m the youngest of three brothers. It is my eldest brother who is his heir.”
“Oh? Then why is he not here, working to save his kingdom?” The bright eyes were very keen, and once again she seemed to look right through him.
“Why, because he is elsewhere working to save his kingdom,” the youngest brother said readily. “We each went a different way. The eldest went to the next kingdom, to seek aid of our allies, and the next went to the wizard on the hill, and I came here. Three chances of aid are better than one, and where one or two might fail, one might succeed.”
“Well, that’s sound sense,” the Cailleach Foraoise admitted after a moment’s thought. “Only a fool puts all his eggs under one hen.”
“Indeed. And I do not ask you to kill or to cure, for I truly don’t know what to do for the best. If he can be cured, it will be a cruel torment to him to see the terrible things he has done. And yet he is my kinsman, and to seek his death would be a wicked thing.” He spread his hands helplessly. “It seemed to me best to ask you for aid, and trust to one wiser than I to know what truly would be aid, and what would be harm, even with the best of intentions.”
“And if he dies, you cannot be held a kinslayer if you put the matter in my hands, eh?” She laughed her cracked laugh again, and held up a hand when he blushed and tried to speak. “Nay, nay, boy, I don’t think less of you for being cautious. Very well then. I will give you the aid you need - not what you seek, mark you, but what you need - and the price…” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “To earn this boon, you must answer three questions, before my daughters and me, and if we judge your answers both true and pleasing, you will be rewarded. But if you lie, or we are angered by your answers, there will be a price to pay that will be harsh indeed.”
He sweated at that, for it would be no easy task even for him, who so far had pleased them well. And yet she could have charged him to do anything - to catch a magical fish that answered riddles, or to steal seven stars from the sky for her daughters to wear in their hair, or to climb a mountain of glass. Answering three questions, however difficult they might be, was still a light task compared to others he knew she had set. “Yes, Wise Woman, I will do so.”
She brought him to the hall, where all seven of her daughters were seated in a row, on seven chairs, for the youngest had slipped away while he spoke to her mother. The Cailleach Foraoise went to another chair, larger and grander, and sat down in it, folding her gnarled and clawed hands together. “Now, youngster. Three questions you must answer, and mind, you must answer each in brief, not make a speech, and stand by your words, for if you lie my magic will tell it. If my daughters like your answer, they will remain as they are. If even one turns from you, the game is forfeit. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Wise Woman,” he said, and though he was nervous, he cleared his throat and stood straight and tall. “I am ready.”
“Very well. The first question is this.” The witch stared at him, and into him. “Are you a good man?”
It was true what his tutors had told him, that a simple question could be the hardest to answer. He must not boast or seem prideful, and yet to deny goodness might be displeasing too, and he must be entirely truthful and answer in one, at that! For a moment his mind raced, and then he drew a deep breath. “I do my best to be a good man, by my own judgment and knowledge, and I think that no imperfect mortal may claim more than that,” he said steadily.
Several of the daughters smiled, and none turned away. The Cailleach Foraoise nodded approvingly. “Truly answered, and well answered, for no man may answer yes without committing the sin of pride, and yet only a fool would answer no.” Then she smiled, showing too-sharp, too-grey teeth. “The next question, then. Of my daughters, which is the fairest?”
The youngest brother glared at her, for that was an unfair question to ask, before them all, and how to answer without lying and without offense was even harder to work out than the first time. Then a thought came to him, of fair and unfair, and he smiled. “Why, that is hard to say on so short an acquaintance, but I have found them all to be entirely just, for not one blamed me for my lack of skill, knowing I had done my best, but each praised me for working hard.” he said innocently. “Fair and just, indeed, and kind too, for with all my efforts I was a poor helper.”
The oldest actually laughed at that, and the other daughters smiled, and the Cailleach Foraoise laughed her cracked laugh. “Oh, he may twist words to suit himself, I see… but I’ll let it pass, for it’s a true answer and a good answer as well.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching him for a long moment. “A good man, but not a fool. A kind man, but a wary man. Humble enough to labour, but bold enough to lead,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes. You will do. Tell me, which of my daughters will you take for your wife? Think before you answer, for only one answer is the right one.”
This should have been the hardest question of all, and for a moment he was too stunned to do more than gape at her… but as he stared at the daughters, he saw the youngest touch the hand of the girl next to her, who looked nervous, and smile reassuringly. And then he knew what the only right answer could be, and spoke up bravely. “At your command, Wise Woman, I would not marry one of them, for I’ll take no wife forced to have me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But if there’s one who would wish to have me, and who would be happy with me, then the honour would be mine, for they are all kind, and just, and skilled, and it is a fortunate man who could call any one of them his wife… though the youngest will need a few years yet before he should,” he added, winking at her.
This time, all the daughters laughed, and their mother with them. “Well said, well said!” cried the Cailleach Foraoise, and suddenly she looked far less fearsome, and more kindly. “No man could answer better than that. Very well, then, I will give you your aid, and send you forth to meet your brothers on the road this very night. And when your duty is done, come back - in no more than seven days, mark you - and I will wed you to my daughter Aine.” She drew forth the daughter who had worked with him in the stillroom, who was neither the plainest nor the prettiest, but whose merry eye and bright smile had pleased him well, and whose kindness and wisdom even more so. “She is a princess in her own right, driven out of her land by a usurper, and long have I sought for a man who will do for her, for he must be brave and bold, wise and clever to fight for her rights, and yet he must be one who will not try to push her aside or rule over her, but who is humble enough to allow that a woman may know more than a man, and do her own work better than he does.”
It was the youngest brother’s turn to laugh, and he bowed to the Cailleach Foraoise, and kissed Aine’s hand. “I could not ask for higher praise, or a wife better suited to me,” he said, and was pleased to see her blush and smile. “You have my thanks, Wise Woman… and my promise that I will return.”
And indeed, he did not return in seven days, but in three, and brought his brothers with him to the wedding feast. They celebrated that wedding for three more days, and then the brothers parted again, one to rule his kingdom, and one to apprentice to a wizard, and one to set out with a merry bride and a good horse to claim what was hers, and would be theirs together hereafter.
For the Cailleach Foraoise has seven daughters, but they are not always the same daughters, and whenever one leaves, another is brought to the upside down house in the center of the lake, to find six loving sisters waiting to welcome her, and a home that will be hers until she chooses to leave.
*
Author’s note: No, I don’t know how to pronounce it. Google Translate was unforthcoming.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a great forest with trees so tall that they shut out the sky, and it was always dark in that place. A single road passed through it, one side to the other, and no wise traveler ever ventured off that road.
In the forest to the east of the road there was a great hill, with a tower on it, and in that tower there lived a wizard. He was solitary and ill-tempered, but if someone in trouble came to him humbly and begged his aid, he did not usually refuse.
In the forest to the west of the road - or so it was said, for it was not visible as the hill and tower were - there was a great dark hollow with a house at the bottom of it, where the forest witch, the Cailleach Foraoise, lived with her seven daughters. She was ill-natured and dangerous, but still, she had been known to give aid to those willing to pay her price.
It happened that the king of the land had grown cruel and dangerous, and he taxed his people to starvation, he poisoned their land and slew any who displeased him. He slew even his own sons, when they defied him, and all went in terror of him. This king had three nephews, the sons of his sister, and they saw that soon they would be in danger from him as well, so they fled his castle by night, and took the road through the dark forest.
When they reached the river that ran through the heart of the forest, they stopped and took counsel of each other. They must do all that they could to save the kingdom and its people, that they agreed, but they debated what that was until the youngest spoke.
