Hello! I was just reviewing a short fable that I wrote which is set in the world of Eddentide. I made some minor changes to it, and decided to post it here to see what people thought about it. I feel as if the very end is somewhat unpolished, but as of this moment it is the best way I can describe what I see in my mind’s eye. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to post them with any constructive criticism! I’m looking for thoughts on this one. I tried to write it in the spirit of the fables read to many of us as children, and I think that, for the most part, I succeeded. Enjoy!
There was once a small boy who lived in a tiny house in a little village. His mother and father were very poor and crafted baskets to make what little money they could. They sold these baskets to farmers who put their harvest of vegetables in them, and travelers who used them to carry their water skins and rations. The small boy’s sixth birthday was a few days away when the mother asked the father one night after the boy had gone to bed, “What will we buy for our boy’s birthday?”
The father replied, “We are too poor to buy our son a present for this birthday. He shall have to go without.”
The mother cried mournfully, “Oh dear, he shan’t have a birthday present for the sixth year in a row.”
Despite their meager existence, the small boy’s parents still wanted to buy him something very special for his sixth birthday, and so they went down to the common on market day and searched and searched for a present. At the end of the day, though, they had bought nothing, for they could not afford a single thing at the market. It began to rain, and they walked home with frowns upon their faces and their eyes lowered to the ground. The boy’s mother began to weep silently as millions of raindrops commenced their long descent to the ground.
It so happened that because their eyes were down that they rounded a corner and stumbled into a tall man in dark clothing pushing a small covered cart. The cart overturned and spilled its contents into the street and the mother, father, and the stranger fell to the ground. The mother and the father apologized to the stranger and helped him pick up his things. As the mother reached down for one of the man’s wares, she gasped and stepped back.
Sitting in the fresh muck was a minute wooden toy house. It was unlike any toy house ever created before or since. The outside was delicately shingled and the roof was thatched with straw. There was a chimney as well, made of tiny polished rocks. Inside were three simply carved and painted wooden figures, two tall and one small.
“It’s perfect!” the mother cried as she picked it up. She ran up to the man and tugged on his overcoat. “Good sir! How much for this toy house, sir? How much is it?”
The stranger looked down upon them from under his heavy cap and said, “What is it worth to you?”
“Our son’s happiness,” replied the father eagerly. “He is turning six in only a few days and has never had a birthday present. We should like to buy this for him!”
“I am certain he will love it!” the mother exclaimed joyously.
“Well, that toy house is rumored to be magical,” the man said, “and I’ll have no less than four gold pieces for it.”
The mother and the father’s faces fell and their smiles faded. “I’m sorry, sir. We have only a single gold piece,” the mother said, and tears began to flow from her eyes again as she set the toy house in the man’s cart. The father wrapped his arm around his wife and they walked away quietly, leaving the stranger to cover his cart. The tall man paused thoughtfully, and watched them as they made their way down the narrow street and around another corner.
A few days later, it was the small boy’s birthday. His father woke him in the morning to come sit next to the fireplace. His mother was busily preparing their paltry breakfast. Of a sudden, there came a great knock upon the thin door. The father lifted the birthday boy from his lap and set him down on the floor, rising to answer the door. When he pulled the door open, he found that there was nobody there. When he looked down, however, he gasped. Sitting upon the ground in the doorway was the wooden toy house they had tried to buy several days prior. There was a note attached by a crimson ribbon. The father plucked the note from the toy house and read it. It was lettered in crimson ink to match the ribbon.
Father and Mother:
The rumor is more than just that: This toy house is, indeed, magical. Whatever your son wishes for on his birthday will come true when he plays with this house for the first time.
I must admit that my asking price when we first met was not steep. Rather, it is accurate. I am an honest man trying to make an honest living. As a result of my good conscience, however, I am leaving this toy house in your care to do with as you see fit. I suspect that you will give it to your young son for his sixth birthday; may it be an unforgettable one for all of you.
The father smiled and shut the door to the modest shack, then walked over to the table and put the toy house down carefully. The mother looked at it in awe for a moment, and then gave her husband a querying glance. He handed her the crimson-lettered note. She read it quickly, and then pocketed it just as hastily.
“My boy, there is a present here for you from your mother and I,” the basket-weaver said. “Come and look at it!” The boy jumped up from the fireplace at his words and ran to the table. His eyes lit up and his face twisted with excitement as he looked at the toy house.
“My first present!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, mother! Thank you, father!”
As he reached for it, his mother grabbed his hand and said, “Now, now! Do not touch it just yet. You have to make a wish, you know! It is your birthday, and this is a magical toy house that grants a single wish.”
“What do you wish for, my son?” asked his father, sitting down on a short stool at the table.
The small boy thought for a few moments before replying, “I wish for us to never be apart, and for your lives to be easy rather than hard.”
His parents smiled and his mother said, “How openhanded you are, son, even on your own birthday. You have always been that way! Generosity and kindness will be your legacy.” The boy smiled and picked up the wooden figures and began to play.
As the day progressed, the boy began to feel unwell. As evening came down upon the village, the boy had became bedridden by illness. His parents fretted and watched over him. The town healer was called to the house.
“What did you wish for?” the healer asked with a kind smile. “You know that everyone receives one wish on their birthday, yes?”
“I wished that my family and I would never be separated,” the boy replied faintly, “and that my mother and father no longer had to work so hard.”
“Ah, how very nice of you, my boy,” the healer said. He spent a while longer toiling over the young one, but could do nothing for the boy.
“I cannot see anything wrong with him,” the healer said, adjusting the thinning white hair under his odd hat. “It is possible that he just has a cold. He should be better by the morning.” The healer left the boy’s parents to tend to the child.
By the toll of the church’s midnight bell, the small boy was dead.
His mother and father were beside themselves. The mother was so struck with grief that she herself became confined to her uncomfortable straw bed. She began to burn of a ferocious fever and was dead of heartache by the rising of the sun.
The father was now alone in his house, weeping. He had no will to live without his precious wife and son, and crawled into the bed beside his wife’s limp body. There he sobbed himself to death – the house was soon quiet.
After several hours of daylight had passed, the old healer came to the house and knocked upon the door. He heard nobody within but found the door unlatched and ajar. He entered the house to find a grim scene; the entire family was lifeless in their beds. He rushed from the house, calling for help. As several of the neighbors rushed to aid the healer, he sat down shakily upon a stool at the table. As he was looking about the dirt floor, he spied a folded piece of parchment with a crimson ribbon attached to it. He picked up a folded note and read it.
Looking up from the slip of parchment, he noticed for the first time with his pale eyes a simple, yet elegant wooden toy house upon the table. Inside the house there stood three wooden figures, two tall and one small. He inspected them further, narrowing his eyes. Looking closely, he noticed a tiny crimson twinkle in the faded, painted eyes of each of the figures, and he gasped. He gasped again when he noticed something uncanny about the toy.
“I wished that my family and I would never be separated.”
This toy house is, indeed, magical. Whatever your son wishes…
The words echoed in the healer’s head as he stared and realization flooded over him like a waterfall: The toy house was a small replica of the house in which he sat.
He glanced again at the wooden figures, and swore that he saw one move.
