...or "The Frog Prince"
Once there was a ranai named Joaquim, whose name meant “Lifted by God.” Like his mother before him, he worshipped the marids, beautiful geniuses of the water planes that sometimes blessed mortals with their powers.
When he was young, Joaquim had fallen into a ravine, trapped where his mother could not reach him. Distraught, she invoked the marids on his behalf. Pulling a magical lute from her back, she plucked the strings in a serenade that ebbed and flowed like the waves. Presently, a marid emerged from within the bowl of the lute and asked:
“Why do you call upon me, Ulisses?” for that was the name of Joaquim’s mother.
Ulisses replied, “Why do you ask me questions instead of helping my son? Can’t you see that he’s helpless? Go, and do not return until you’ve brought him back to me!”
The marid dutifully obeyed, and raised Joaquim up out of the ravine on a column of water. The marid again stood before Ulisses.
“I have done my duty to you,” said the water maid, “and for your anger towards me you must do as I say and give your lute to the next traveler you meet, for I will have nothing to do with you any longer.”
“But there are none who travel here in the savanna,” Ulisses snapped angrily. “You may as well command me to travel to the far away islands of the córeans as soon as give my lute to a passing traveler!”
“Then that is what I shall do!” the marid retorted. “Now, if you value your son’s life you will go to the islands of the córeans and give your lute to the first traveler you meet there. Begone with you!” And in a moment the marid’s body had burst apart in a splash of water and was no more.
So it was that Ulisses took up a journey to the island town of the córeans, to give her lute to the first traveler she met there.
At that time, there was a dangerous old fenris woman named Úlfr—an herbalist and a rogue—who had her eye on Joaquim. And now that Ulisses was gone, this old woman approached him and offered to take him in as one of her own sons.
“My mother may be gone,” said Joaquim, “but my father still lives. I will go to be with him.”
“Yes, go to be with him, child,” Úlfr said, casting a fine dust over Joaquim. “He is not well, and you must see to him immediately.”
Joaquim sneezed, and the old woman’s dust did its work, causing Joaquim to believe her words. “Yes, I will depart right away,” he said, and hopped away to see how his father fared, convinced that he was unwell.
“I do hope he is not under the weather,” Úlfr growled after him, and then sped off into the brush of the savannah.
And when Joaquim came to his father’s house he saw that he was indeed unwell, for Úlfr had arrived before him and given Joaquim’s father a bowl of soup of her own making. And when Joaquim’s father had drunk it, the herbs Úlfr had stewed within placed Joaquim’s father under a terrible curse.
“Father! Father!” Joaquim shouted, but his father only moaned in pain.
“Now will you come with me and be as one of my own sons?” Úlfr asked, for she was still there in the house when Joaquim had arrived.
“No, never!” Joaquim shouted, for the old woman’s dust had worn off, and he now he saw her for what she had done. “You are no mother of mine! Begone, you old crone!”
“Call me a crone, will you?” said Úlfr, waving more of her dust over Joaquim’s father. “Tell him not to speak to his mother so, husband dearest.”
And so it was that Joaquim’s father sat up in his weakened state and commanded that Joaquim should leave and never return, for no son of his would speak to his wife so.
Now, the old woman was not the wife of Joaquim’s father, but thus banished, Joaquim could stay no longer, and fled his home. That night he set off for the far away islands of the córeans, where he knew his mother had gone.
The next day, Joaquim met a very young bórean lad on the road whom he had seen before.
“Good day, Meredith,” said Joaquim, for that was the boy’s name.
“Good day, Joaquim,” the boy replied. “What are you doing here?”
“I am looking for my mother, for my father has been cursed by a horrible old woman and I must find some way to free him. What of your journeys?”
“I am coming from the islands of the córeans,” said Meredith, “where I saw your mother. She is well, but she gave me this lute, and I do not know what to do with it.”
“That is my mother’s lute?” said Joaquim, astonished. “That is precisely what I need! Give it to me, if you will!”
“Not so, Joaquim,” said Meredith, “for I give nothing away for free! I will let you have the lute, but only if you survive my three grueling challenges.” And immediately, Meredith strummed the lute and there opened between them a spring of water with gushed forth with such power that Joaquim was barely able to stand. “Come and take the lute, if you can!”
Joaquim pressed forward, but the spring was too forceful, and he could not see. “How can I take the lute from you if I cannot see where you are?” said Joaquim. “Come closer so I can see you better.”
And so Meredith took one step closer to the spring and was immediately thrown into the air, tossed by the column of water. Joaquim heard the strum of the lute, and straight away the spring ceased to flow, and Meredith fell to the ground again.
“Clever of you, Joaquim,” Meredith admitted. “Now, what will you do with this?” And with another strum on the lute a raging river came flowing out of the bowl and followed after Joaquim wherever he went. Joaquim hopped through the forest, trailing the river behind him, until he reached Meredith from behind. Presently the river overtook both Joaquim and Meredith, but as Joaquim could swim, Meredith saw that he was beaten a second time. Another strum from the lute caused the river to cease.
“I see that you are persistent, and must have the lute,” said Meredith. “Only one more test to go, then.” And with another strum, the air became suddenly very chilly, and crystals of ice formed on every wet thing. The air let fall little flakes of snow, and a brisk wind rushed past. In moments the two were shivering with the chill, but Joaquim would not retreat. In minutes the two were entirely encased in ice, frozen where they stood.
So it was that the lute fell from Meredith’s frozen hands, and as it happened the frozen fingers of the bórean lad strummed the lute one final time. Immediately the cold snap was gone, returning the forest to normal. And as frogs are especially resilient to the cold, sleeping through harsh winters as well as in summertime, Joaquim was no worse for wear. The same could not be said for Meredith.
“I suppose you’ve won,” chattered the bórean lad. “But I am loathe to simply give you the lute, for it was a gift, and I give nothing away for free.”
“Then take this, and we shall call it fairly bought and paid for,” said Joaquim, offering the lad a shiny, polished seashell.
“It’s a trade,” said Meredith, exchanging the lute for the token. “And may you find your mother and lift your father’s curse!” And they bid each other good day.
After many more days, and many more adventures, Joaquim arrived at the islands of the córeans, a bird-folk with long beaks and black feathers. He asked the first córean he saw if he had seen Joaquim’s mother, but before he could answer Joaquim saw his mother’s poor body, lifeless, to one side of the road.
“She fought well,” said a voice from one side.
Turning, Joaquim saw a fenris man whose alluring accoutrements were tattered, torn, and bloody. He was sorely wounded.
“Who are you?” asked the ranai.
“I am Hulda. There is much to explain, child,” said Hulda, and picked up Ulisses from the ground. “You had better come with me.”
And once Hulda had placed Ulisses in a boat, he and Joaquim climbed in after. “I found your mother the day she arrived here,” Hulda explained, rowing the boat out toward a small island. “She had just given away her lute—which I see you have won back—and was looking for something to eat, having gone without food for days. I gave her food, and offered her a place in my home. When she regained her strength she joined me in the fighter’s ring to earn a little money. She is a strong fighter, if you didn’t know, and won her weight in tokens. Every night, though, she told me stories of you and your father, and how much she wished to get back to you.”
The boat had arrived at the small island, where a hut of grass and sticks stood. Hulda reached into the boat and pulled out Ulisses’ body, carrying her back to the hut.
“All went well until last night,” Hulda continued, laying Joaquim’s mother on a bed of woven grass. “She woke up, having seen you and your father in a dream.” Hulda looked around. “This island is a special place, and sometimes gives those who visit here visions of other places and other times. She saw you, and your father, and my elder sister, the old woman who cursed him. She saw you leave, banished by your father.
“When she awoke, she knew me for who I was, and vowed to kill me. She flew into a rage, and I could not speak sense to her. I was forced to kill her, or be killed myself, as you can see.” Hulda motioned to his wounds and tattered clothes.
“Then all is lost!” Joaquim cried out, and bent over his mother’s body.
“Not so,” Hulda said comfortingly. “For with your lute and the magic of this island, I can bring your mother back from the brink of death. Quickly, now!”
Joaquim handed over the lute, and in Hulda’s hands the strings came alive. The song pleaded and pulled like the moon pulls the tide, and in moments Joaquim’s mother opened her eyes again.
“Joaquim?” said Ulisses, laying eyes on her son as if for the first time.
“Thank you, Hulda,” said a new voice—or else a very old one. It was Úlfr, the old fenris woman who had cursed Joaquim’s father. At once, Ulisses leapt up from her bed of grasses and charged at the old rogue, but having so recently been dead she lacked her usual strength and fell again to the sands of the island.
“I have what I want now, you foolish boy!” cackled Úlfr, and turning, transformed herself into a wolf, loping off toward the shore.
Joaquim followed after, hedging in the old wolf at the beach. “You have nowhere to go, old crone!” Joaquim taunted her. “Give up the lute and leave, never to return!”
Úlfr just growled and pawed at the lute, scooting it closer to her, though it was clear she didn’t know where she could go next. Seeing the boat on the shore, she darted for the nearest one.
But Hulda reached it first, casting it away from shore with the anchor inside.
“You’ve done enough, Úlfr,” Hulda shouted. “Give the boy back what is his—father, lute, and all!”
Úlfr growled, cast the lute out into the sea, and ran along the beach in the other direction. After she was safely away from her pursuers, she threw herself into the sea, and began paddling out toward the boat.
“You must stop her before she can return to your father,” Hulda warned, “or she may take out her vengeance on him before you can arrive!”
And so Joaquim jumped into the sea, reaching the lute quickly. The old woman had already reached the boat and climbed inside, rowing toward the mainland. Even being such an adept swimmer, Joaquim would never catch her in time; the tide was simply far too strong!
But at that moment, when Joaquim thought his father would suffer a fate worse than his mother had, Joaquim’s mind was caught up in a vision. He saw Meredith, the young bórean lad, out on the sea near the islands of the córeans, playing the lute and surfing along the waves as if skating on water. So long as Meredith played, the waves obeyed him.
And so, when Joaquim plucked the strings, the water swirled, the waves gathered, and the arms of the marids lifted him up out of the sea, carrying him toward the old woman and his revenge.
The wave that carried him grew, the marids leaping out of the water like sirens, and still his fingers played. The old woman’s boat grew nearer, the sea overcame her, and the marids dragged her down into the depths.
Joaquim skated along the water to the shore where he looked back at the boat—now empty and capsized in the water—waiting for any sign of the old woman. But there was none, for Úlfr had drowned in the depths of the sea.
Many years passed. As soon as Úlfr had perished, Joaquim’s father had been released from his curse, and he came to live with Ulisses in the islands of the córeans. Hulda and Ulisses continued to fight, and gained much renown among the bird-folk, but never as much as Joaquim, who they revered as the slayer of the old woman that had plagued their city for many generations.
In time, Joaquin established a shrine to the marids in the córean town, and one day, as he played the lute for the worshippers, he met a kindly córean girl who had heard of his exploits.
“Would the hero of our people accept a gift from a humble pilgrim?” said the girl.
Joaquim was taken by her kindness, and gladly accepted.
“Then marry me, and become the prince of these islands,” said she.
And so it was that the ranai lad had grown, and married, and became the protector of the islands of the córeans, far, far from his homeland.
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