#will always be rewarded
My lantern is not a trap, glowing softly on the dark forest floor. You should pick it up and take it. I am begging you to take it.
Author’s note: It’s been a long time since I tried my hand at a true New Fairy Tale, so here’s one I wrote especially to post on my birthday. It has its roots in a book of Chinese stories I read as a child, with some threads from Russian and Korean fairy tales woven in, and a little bit of Kubo And The Two Strings found its way in as well. No appropriation is intended, as always, only an attempt to create stories that extend outside the Very European Fairy Tale Mold.
Comments, reblogs, tags and other appreciation make great birthday gifts. I just mention it. ;) @deepwaterwritingprompts, thanks as always.
#
The Three Lanterns
There was no darkness like the darkness of that forest. The huge trees spread out their branches and broad leaves so that no hint of light could reach the ground. During the day, it was gloomy and dim. During the night, it was darker than the deepest cave.
But the road was smooth and level, and there were no bandits. Some said that that was because even bandits feared the place. Others that the forest did not permit them to enter.
But it was safe enough, if you followed the rules. Kept to the path. Harmed nothing. Took nothing. Showed respect. And, above all, so long as you did not stop. To make a camp within the forest was dangerous.
Ju had travelled through the forest several times. He was a travelling peddler, carrying pretty trifles and useful items to small villages off the beaten track, so poor that he was not worth the bother of robbing except for the most desperate of bandits, but surviving well enough. He was familiar with this road, and when night fell he had lit his lantern and continued to walk, leading his two laden ponies. It was a long day’s travel, at walking pace, but there would be a campsite on the other side that he would reach by moonrise.
He was perhaps an hour from the edge of the forest when he saw a light between the trees, in the distance.
He had never seen a light in this forest before, save on the path. “Some fool has tried to make a camp here,” he told the ponies. He often talked to them, having no other company. “Or perhaps wandered off the road and become lost.”
He hesitated, but he was a young man with a kind heart. He carefully tied the ponies to the branch of a dead tree fallen by the road, then faced the forest and bowed. “Please excuse my intrusion,” he said as politely as he knew how, “but I think the person whose light I see must be in trouble. I will go and see, and then come back to the road. Please forgive me if I offend.”
He paused, waiting to see if the forest would indicate approval or disapproval. It didn’t make any especially alarming noises, or throw down a fallen branch in his path, so he decided that he was not to be immediately smote for his insolence. He picked up his lantern again, and began to walk towards the other light.
As he approached the light, he called out. “Hello? Are you a traveller? You should not leave the road, it is not safe.”
But there was no answer, and when he reached the light – not so far from the road, he could still see the glimmer of the second lantern set on one of the ponies’ packs – there was no-one there at all. Only a lantern, a hand-lantern like his own, set on a stone in the middle of a small clearing.
It was a small, ordinary thing, but something about it chilled him. It was… wrong, in all ways wrong. He hadn’t seen another traveller on the road all the time he was in the forest, nor any sign that anyone had passed that way for days past. Even if he had, why would someone leave a lantern burning in this place? In the middle of the forest, like a strange offering? Surely it must be a trap, and he remembered the warnings that one must never take anything from the forest. He stepped back. “My apologies,” he said, trying not to sound nervous. “I will go back – “
But when he turned, an owl was sitting on the branch of a tree directly in front of him, watching him. Owls were bad omens, keepers of secrets, and he flinched back. But this only watched him steadily and then, slowly, so he could not mistake it, it looked at the lamp, and then at him.
Ju looked down at the lamp again. He was struck again by the wrongness of it. This lamp did not belong in the forest. It wasn’t right here. Slowly, keeping a wary eye on the owl, he lowered his hand to touch the lamp. “This does not belong to the forest,” he said carefully. “Perhaps you wish me to take it away.”
Please. He did not hear it. He knew he had not heard it. And yet he felt as though he had. Please. It was as clear as the yearning in the eyes of a child looking at a sweet, or a hungry dog at a piece of meat. It was a desperate longing, a plea.
It could be the plea of a hungry spirit, waiting to devour him. And yet, as the owl watched quietly, with no warning hoot, he didn’t think it was. And he had a kind heart that struggled to say no to any pleading.
He took up the lamp in his free hand, and when he looked again, the owl was gone. Shaken and frightened, he carried both lamps back towards the road, trying not to imagine that he heard footsteps behind him.
He reached the road, and sighed in relief. The ponies were there. Perhaps, after all, he was imagining things, he told himself. Someone had played a prank, that was all, leaving a lamp to frighten the superstitious. Yes, surely that was the explanation.
He lifted the lamp before his face, to blow it out, and by its light, as he lowered his eyes, he saw a pair of small bare feet step onto the road. Bare feet, below a white garment.
When he lowered the lamp, a spirit stood before him. A maiden spirit, her hair unbound and her white garments plain. She looked at the lamp, and then at him, and made an imploring gesture. She was the one who had begged him to take it, he could feel that same urgent longing again as she pressed her hands together in entreaty.
And, strangely, standing before the spirit of a mortal being made him feel less frightened. A fox, now, or a tree spirit, he would have fled from them. But the forest did not like those who lingered here. So what would happen to someone who died here? Wouldn’t they be as desperate to get out as any living person might be? Wouldn’t they bind themselves to some human thing, like a lantern, in the hope of escape?
“You want to get out of the forest,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “If I carry the lamp for you, you can get out.”
She nodded silently.
“All right. It’s not far. I’ll take you.” He settled the lantern on the pack that didn’t already have one, slipping its flat base under a strap to hold it steady, and then he untied the reins of the ponies – neither of whom seemed aware of the spirit – and led them on. When he glanced over his shoulder, the spectral girl sat on the pack beside her lantern, her hands clasped before her and her head bowed.
He walked on, and did not look back again for nearly half the distance to the edge of the forest. Then he stopped so suddenly that one pony nearly stepped on his foot, and shook its head reprovingly.
There was another light.
Again, he tethered the ponies, and again, he walked into the forest.
This time it wasn’t a hand-lantern, but a floating lamp made of wood and paper, caught in the roots of a tree where they reached out into a stream. This time he waited for no signs, but took up the lamp, and carried it carefully back to the ponies.
A second ghostly girl stepped onto the road beside him, and when she did, the first uttered a faint cry, and went to her. The sound seemed to come from far away, though the spirits were close enough to touch, had they been living. Ju bowed to them both, for politeness’ sake, and secured the second lantern on the other pony’s pack. When he looked back, the second spirit rode on the back of the second pony.
He was almost to the edge of the forest, and staring at the road ahead to keep himself from looking at those ghostly forms again, when he heard another faint, distant wail – no, two. He looked back, and both spirits pointed up.
When he looked up, he saw a third lantern hanging from a branch beside the road. Even as he looked at it, the wick was just flaring up, as if it were newly lighted, and both ghosts uttered their soft wails again.
Ju sighed. “I have no other ponies,” he said, far less fearful than exasperated now, “so this one will have to walk.” But he climbed up into the lower branches of the tree, and took the hanging lantern in his hand and carried it down. And when he returned to the road, a third spirit stepped into the dust beside him.
This one was different, somehow, from the other two. There was still colour in her round cheeks, and her garments were not tattered, and she looked both more and less… real… than the others. But still they clearly knew one another, for the other two girls went to her and put their arms about her, weeping. They were all young, he realized, looking at them, younger than he was. Dressed as maidens, and – when he looked at them side by side – not unalike in appearance. Sisters, perhaps?
“Come,” he told them after a moment. “It’s not far now.” He turned and walked, carrying the hanging lantern in his hand, for it had a pointed base and could not be set down. And the third girl walked beside him, her head down and tears running silently down her cheeks, until they reached the edge of the forest and the camping place there.
All three vanished from his sight, then, and he wanted to believe they were gone for good – but the three lanterns still burned, and they did not seem to consume their oil or their candle. Reluctantly, he hung the hanging lamp on a low branch, and set the other two lamps beneath it. Then he made camp as far from them as he could, tending his horses and rolling himself in a blanket with his feet towards the three strange lights so he wouldn’t see them.
When he slept, he dreamed. He found himself in a garden, the like of which he had never seen – this was the garden of a rich merchant, or a minor noble, something fine and grand. And in the garden he saw three girls seated together on a long bench. All three were pretty. One, the tallest, wore blue. The second, the plumpest, wore green. And the third, the brightest-eyed, wore pink. When they saw him, they rose and came to him, smiling, though their eyes were red with weeping and tears were still on their cheeks.
“Thank you, kind sir, for carrying us out of the forest,” the one in blue said, and she bowed deeply to him.
“Thank you, kind sir, for freeing our souls from our imprisonment,” the one in green said, and she also bowed deeply.
“Thank you, kind sir, for returning my sisters to me” the one in pink said softly, and bowed as well.
“We must ask another favour of you,” the one in blue said, and her voice was grave and sad. “For we two, years have passed since our deaths.” She gestured to the sister in green. “The only service anyone could do us was to carry the lanterns to which our spirits were bound out of the forest, and no-one has ever been brave enough to do so, until you came.”
The one in green nodded, and tears welled in her eyes again. “But our sister is different,” she said, putting her arm around the sister in pink. “For she died only this very night, and could live again if the lantern is taken to where her body lies, so her spirit may return to it.”
“Please,” the one in pink whispered. “Please take me back. If you do not, none of us can leave in peace. I do not ask this for myself, but for our mother, who still lives. Will you let us tell you our story?”
Ju woke before dawn and displeased the ponies greatly by harnessing them and leaving their camp as soon as first light showed him the road. He didn’t go his usual way, but headed for a larger town than he ever usually entered, for his small trinkets could not compete with the goods of the merchants there.
He went straight to one of the gate guards, and greeted him by his name, much to that young man’s surprise. “I do not know you,” the young man said, “so how is it that you know me?”
“Come with me to the Chu house, and you will find out,” Ju said, and went on.
Next he went to a temple, and greeted a monk by name. The old man was surprised, and also asked how Ju knew him.
“Come with me to the Chu house, and you will find out,” Ju said again, and went on.
A third time he stopped, greeting a young robed official by his name. The official was angry, and asked why Ju spoke to him with such casual disrespect.
“Come with me to the Chu house, and you will find out.” Ju said a third time, and went on. And the official, like the young guard and the old monk, stared in wonder and followed him.
When they reached the Chu house, there was much wailing within, and the official and the old monk and the guard all turned pale. “Not again,” the monk groaned.
“The gods cannot be so cruel,” the official murmured.
“It is not the work of the gods,” the guard said angrily.
“No, it is not.” Ju pushed the gate open, and walked in, still leading his ponies and carrying the lamp that could not be laid down.
When they were inside, he tied the ponies to a rail, and took the hand-lantern from the first pony’s back. “Carry this,” he told the official, “as gently as if it were the heart of your beloved.” The official received it in both hands, too amazed to speak, and Ju took up the second lamp, the floating lamp, and gave it to the monk. “Carry this,” he told the old man, “as tenderly as if it were your new-born grandchild.” The monk took the lamp between his two hands, wonderingly, and Ju turned to the young guard. “And you,” he said, “keep your halberd ready. It will be needed.”
Then, carrying the hanging lamp carefully, he walked into the house. Servants rushed to him, telling him to go, but he refused, raising his voice. “Last night, not quite two hours past sunset, the third daughter of this house died,” he said loudly enough for everyone in the house to hear him, “of the same strange malady that took her older sisters. You must take me to where her body lies, for then you will see a great wonder.”
Some protested, but the official came and stood beside him. “You know me,” he said grimly. “Was I not betrothed to the first daughter of this house? Lead us.”
“You know me,” the old monk said, coming to stand beside Ju on his other side. “Was I not the most trusted servant of this house, with the love of a grandfather for the three daughters of my mistress, until I went to serve in a temple in my old age? Make way.”
The young guard said nothing, but he scowled and raised his halberd a little.
Then the servants fell back, and did not dare to prevent them, and the old monk led the way to a room where several people were gathered around the body of a young woman.
The older woman who knelt beside her, and who resembled all three of the sisters, looked up angrily when the group entered the room. “Who dares to intrude –“ she began, and then faltered and stopped, looking at faces she knew. “Why… why have you come? Did you know that… that my youngest daughter also…”
The official shook his head. “This man came up to me in the street, and called me by my personal name, though I do not know him,” he said, gesturing at Ju. “And he bade me come to this house to find out why.”
“It was the same for me,” the monk said, nodding.
“I, as well.” The guard looked at Ju with great curiosity. “And, Lady Chu, he came straight to this house from the gate, as if he had walked the road a thousand times, though he says he has never come to this town before, and none of us know him.”
Ju blushed, when they all looked at him, and felt very humble and embarrassed in front of these grand and important people. But he had a promise to keep, so he cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “I will explain,” he said, “by telling a story, just as it was told to me.”
He looked down at the lamp that hung from his hand, and marked well the other eyes that glanced at it. “Once, I have heard, there was a wealthy widow,” he said softly. “A widow with three daughters, whom she dearly loved. Though many men courted her, for she was comely as well as rich, she refused them all. A husband might care more for his own wealth than for the dowries of her daughters, and so she would not marry until they did. The eldest was betrothed to a young official, and happily so, and her mother prepared wedding garments and a rich dowry. But a week before her wedding, she fell suddenly ill and died.”
The mother wept, and the official bowed his head. Another man, richly dressed, seemed to want to speak, but Ju gave him no opportunity.
“A year later, the second daughter, two days after her first meeting with a matchmaker, also fell ill and died. That was two years ago. Last night, the third daughter met the same fate, on the very day when she was deemed old enough to marry.“ He looked around, raising his voice a little when the rich man tried to speak. “Perhaps a stranger could have heard this much. So I will add that the first daughter loved blue above all colours, and embroidered dragonflies more often than anything else. The second daughter favoured green, and embroidered chrysanthemums. The third liked to wear pink, and hated embroidery.”
“Are you a sorcerer?” the monk asked, still clasping the lamp gently. “IS that how you know these things?”
“I am not a sorcerer. I am only a peddler, who passed through a dark forest, and found three lanterns burning where no lanterns should be.” Now he stepped closer to the richly dressed man. “And you, who have been sweating since these three lanterns were carried in, know why I found them. You know that three times, a vile curse has been laid in this house. Three times, you have used wicked magic to bind the soul of a maiden to a lantern which was taken into the dark forest and left there, so that her body would fail and die as the soul was drawn out of it. Three times you did this, to preserve the mother’s fortune, for you are her brother, and if she died childless all that she possesses would come to you and your sons, and you would be rich.”
“It is a lie!” the man cried, but he was indeed sweating, and pale besides. “It is a foul lie! Who would believe such a tale? You will be beheaded for this – “
“I will prove it,” Ju said, and he turned and knelt beside the body, touching the lantern to it.
In that instant, all three lanterns, which had burned for a night and half a day, went out, and the third daughter drew in a breath and opened her eyes. She saw her mother, and began to cry, and her mother embraced her and wept.
The young guard, whose father had been a retainer to the father of the three daughters, sprang at once to block the rich man’s path and hold his halberd to his throat. “I will strike your head from your body if you move, though I die for it,” he said quietly. “And there is no-one here who would stop me.”
The uncle was executed for his wicked deeds three days later. On that same day, Ju carried the hand-lantern and the floating lantern to place them on the graves of the first two girls, and bowed deeply. “Rest well,” he told them. “Your sister and your mother are safe.”
When he went to bid farewell to the mother, she bade him sit with her, and offered him a chest full of gold. “It is only a part of what would have been my oldest daughter’s dowry,” Lady Chu said, sighing deeply. “You gave her spirit rest, and must have some reward.”
Ju refused, very embarrassed. “I did not seek any reward when I came,” he said, bowing several times in his nervousness. “I am very glad that her spirit is at peace, and want no better reward than her freedom.”
Then the mother pushed forward another chest, filled with silver coins. “Then take this, which would have been a part of my second daughter’s dowry. For the kindness you did her, you have a right to this reward.”
He refused again, his face red. “Please, Lady Chu, I am only a poor wandering peddler. This is far too fine a reward for me. I am only glad that your second daughter’s spirit is free from its confinement and may find peace.”
Then the mother offered him a third chest, filled with incense and perfumes. “Then take this, which would have been a part of my third daughter’s dowry. It would be enough to establish yourself as a merchant, and in time you may become wealthy honestly, by your own labours. As a mother, I am ashamed to offer so small a price for my dear child’s life, but I fear you will not accept even this much.”
Ju refused a third time, so embarrassed that he forgot to bow at all. “Indeed, I could not,” he said awkwardly. “Please, I do not desire any reward, except to know that your youngest daughter is safe and well.”
Lady Chu looked at him, and suddenly she laughed behind her fan. “Then take this,” she said, handing him a rolled paper, “and read it. You can read, I think?”
“Yes, I can.” It was his great accomplishment, and he was proud of it. He took the paper, and read it.
“The young peddler has shown that he is a person of great courage and virtue,” the paper said. “Firstly, in stopping in the dark forest to take up the lanterns and allowing the spirits to travel beside him without fear. Secondly, in carrying the three lanterns to the house of Lady Chu, honestly revealing to her the cause of her daughter’s deaths, and charging an important man with this crime, which could have led to his own death if he had not been believed. Offer him three rewards, one for each of the three daughters, and make them very rich rewards that would tempt any man. If he refuses them all, he is truly virtuous, and humble as well as brave, and should be offered the third daughter of the Chu household for his wife, for he will be a good and honest husband and care for both his wife and his mother-in-law.” And beside it was the stamp of the city’s ruler, who was a distant relative of Lady Chu.
Poor young Ju, who was only a peddler, was so shocked he almost fainted, and had to be brought around with wine and fanning. Despite all his protests – and he could not protest very much when the third daughter smiled at him with her bright eyes and showed how pleased she was by this plan – he married the third daughter, and was wealthy and contented all his days.
And every year, on the anniversary of the day when they had met, he and his wife went to the edge of the forest and hung three paper lanterns on the first tree at the edge of the road, bowed to the forest, and called out ‘let these lanterns light the steps of anyone in the forest who does not belong there, be they living or dead, and guide them home’.
