"A Price To Pay"

Simon could feel the rough bark of the massive tree biting into the bare skin of his back as he pushed with all his might against it. He wasn't foolish enough to believe his piddling efforts had any hope of toppling it. The enormous oak had supposedly been there for over a thousand years. It's gnarled and unyielding branches had easily borne the weight of all the many supposed witches, dissidents and pickpockets who had been most unceremoniously hung from them. Their piteous fates had been doled out by a long lineage of tyrants who had ruled these lands with an unwavering lack of mercy. It was this very macabre history that made Simon's efforts far more grand than sending a tree to crash against the earth. His undertaking was to bestir a forest sprite who had long ago claimed the ancient oak as her home.

The root of Simon's endeavors (pun intended) took place on a very tragic day in the boy's life, a day that would haunt his family for many years to come. He had just turned seven and was capering around the village square with all the exuberance of a child who had never known a single day of sadness. In his hands was a flute painstakingly crafted by his father, a birthday present young Simon thought to be the greatest gift anyone could ever receive. Well doted upon by his neighbors, they looked out of their windows, came out to stand upon their stoops, some even being so bold as to take a momentary break from their labors, all to watch this boy so completely given over to joy. They deeply treasured being given this rare opportunity to witness a child whose life had yet to be touched by cruelty, especially the near unrelenting cruelty so casually doled out by the despot whose castle could distantly be seen at the other end of the vale. It certainly didn't hurt that the boy seemed to somehow have mastered the instrument within a few hours of ownership. With pinpoint accuracy, he entertained his captivated audience with one well known ditty after another. Many chose to lend their voices to the familiar songs. Some even chose to caper with abandon. It was as if the child was wielding some sort of magic charm that had the power to exorcise any trace of grief or sorrow that lived in the hearts of all who listened.

Just as the day was reluctantly giving way to a perfect pearlescent dusk, a maelstrom of pounding hooves could be heard galloping in their direction. Hooves had forever been the harbinger of doom to the inhabitants of the simple village, and this time was to be no exception. Mothers frantically tried to summon their children and brusquely order them to hide quietly in the cellars. Field workers quickly ascended their ladders so as to once again take up the task of filling up their already heavy baskets with nuts and apples, and most especially the tart, ruby red pears that their overlord so greatly favored. The blacksmith himself, a man as proud as he was mountainous, reluctantly took up his hammer and returned to pounding out a sword that would one day be used as a means of striking terror into the hearts of his neighbors.

The well-armed squadron of guards came hurtling through the cobbled streets, the constant cracking of their whips urging on their steeds to an ever quickening pace. Occasionally one of their number would lash out at one of the cowering bystanders, taking heady delight in the cry of whosever cheek lost a thin, delicate strip of flesh. After moments that seemed like hours, they finally came to a halt at the well that marked the town's center. They leapt from their weary mounts with well practiced bravado, forming one perfect circle. Their captain, an especially crude and callous fellow, pulled out his cock and pissed into their precious water supply, laughing with as much gusto as he had the first time he had thought to do so, After he had shaken the very last drop from his member and buttoned up his breeches, he stepped forth to address the crowd that was loath to hear his words.

"Peasants and simpletons all, know ye that I have come to you this day with the happiest of tidings. My fellows and I have come to take particular notice of one of you worthless chattel, and have decided that you might have what it takes to be of special service to your master. Beauty, you see, is quite the rare commodity among you toad faced lot. As such, we could not help but notice that this one budding lass has somehow managed to escape the litany of defects that plague the rest of you. So it is that I call forth one Rosie Cobbles. If the fortunate young maiden in question is not kneeling before me in a matter of seconds, I will be forced to burn down your precious mill. If I am not mistaken, without said precious mill, winter shall carry many of you off to your graves for want of sustenance. Come, come, my patience is already flagging and my men are just itching to light their torches........ Alrighty men, light em up and let the acrid smell of smoke envelop this sorry hamlet in a sweet caress."

Just as the first of the guards lit up his torch and began his slow and arrogant strut towards the mill, a young maiden of unparalleled beauty arose from behind a cord of wood. In a calm and steely voice she addressed the posturing captain, "No need for flames or burning my good Sir. You and your brave men, with all your spears and axes, shall have to quench your barbaric need for amusement at another time. It simply isn't in the cards for you today." She then strode toward the captain with an unmistakable dignity, not so much as a single tremble to belie her fears. With a cutting, sarcastic grace she knelt before the man, a man whose hand had gone quiveringly to the hilt of his sword, Rather than demurely bow her head, as was custom with this oaf, she chose to meet his eye with a brazen look of derision. 

"Let us not take the usual tedious route today shall we' she intoned. "No tiresome and prattling speech detailing the horrific fate that summons me, most especially not from the syphilitic lips of vermin like yourself. Instead, be so good as to save us all from this most unnecessary boredom and take me to the swineherd you answer to without delay!" The seething captain would have ordinarily never tolerated such blatant insolence, and instead, rewarded such impertinent words with a few teeth sent scattering across the cobblestones. He knew; however, that she was to be taken unharmed. Were she to be seen with even so much a bruise defiling her lovely face, it very might end up in his beheading. He, therefore, had to make do with gripping a generous fistful of her lustrous russet hair, hoisting her roughly to her feet, and throwing her into the waiting arms of his leering comrades.

The cowering crowd of assembled peasants finally began to squawk in dismay at this point, squawks most vehemently felt, but ever so softly voiced. Her father, whether coward or hero, finally limped forth on a gimpy leg. The outrage that had perhaps fueled his bravery was seeing his precious daughter, well silenced with a mouthful of hay, tossed over the back end of a mule. "I beg of you good sir, she is but a child, my first born daughter. Twasn't but a month ago that we celebrated her fifteenth name day. Please, please, if you only knew how kind she is, how sweet and..." The 'couldn't care less' captain cut him off with a hearty laugh and a swift arc of his sword that opened up the front of the father's neck as easily as a wheel of cheese. The unfeeling brute then leisurely sauntered over to the mother, a red faced cow who had foolishly given herself away with her unfettered screams.

"My, my" intoned the captain. "what a truly hideous thing you are to have whelped such a prize. May I suggest you put an end to you keening before you meet the same fate as your poor and quickly dying beloved."

This was quite enough to silence her. She had four other children to look after. That, she thought, had to take precedence over the abject horror she just had the great misfortune to witness, It was then that the newly seven Simon ran up to stand bravely in front of his mother, somehow managing not to slip upon the copious blood of his father along the way. In a terribly devastated and futile rush of breath, he attempted to beg, threaten and cajole the captain into releasing his sister. He stomped his dirty bare feet upon the ground in syncopation with his words, hoping to sway the man with some small level of intimidation. Needless to say, the captain was far from cowed. 

"Supposed I failed to do as you bid" he said as he lowered his face to meet the boy's. "Shall you beat me with your flute? Perhaps go on wetting your threadbare shirt with your wretched tears as thoroughly as you've apparently wet your trousers. Then again, fingers crossed, perchance you'll throw yourself to the bottom of the well and deliver us from your infernal bleating." Little Simon, though admirably bold for a boy his age, could no longer withstand the nightmare that had so recently unfolded. His spindly shoulders slumped and he turned to bury his face into the comforting woolen folds of his mother's skirts. "There now," said the captain. "The child seems to have come to his senses and wisely conceded that reality is not his to bend or shape. Now he has the luxury of a future, as meagre as that may be in this hovel of huts. Until. of course, he makes the dire mistake of crossing me again. Then he may lay blame at no one's feet but his own." With that, he caressed the boy's cheeks with an unseemly tenderness and then turned to jump and mount his steed. His men knew to do the same in short order, and so off they rode to what may has well have been the other side of the moon. The last despairing vision they had of poor, dear Rosie Cobbles was the useless and most heartbreaking pounding of her fists against the the hind of the beast of burden who carried her.

Later that evening, as the moon made it's nightly ascension into a sky that had need of it's light, the population of the town stumbled around in the familiar haze of despair. Many rightly wondered if they would one day be able to heal from one calamity, before another one crashed down upon them like the insouciant waves of an angry tide. Some took to their beds, willing themselves to sleep, a sleep not fraught with the events of the day. Others chose to drink, emptying one flagon of ale after another, if only to soften the edges of what had befallen them.

Simon; however, unable to deal with the unceasing poorly stifled sobs of his mother, sought something resembling peace at the feet of the oak that towered over the roofs of the town. He was playing his flute, sounding out the notes of every maudlin ballad he had ever heard. It was just as he was about to begin his fifth rendition of the gloomiest one of all, that he heard the sultry voice of a woman sitting on a branch a good fifty feet above his head. 

"Dear boy, you do play so beautifully. I won't begrudgingly give you the praise you well deserve. That said, must you put me at my wit's end with one depressing dirge after another. It makes me want to leap from the highest branch and put a dramatic end to it all. Alas, I am immortal and unable to find escape so easily. Is there nothing that can be done to lift your spirits or somehow compel you to play something a bit more cheerful?"

"Who are you and why must you interfere in my attempts to dispel some small measure of sorrow?"

"I am known as Leafy. Yes, I realize it's not the grand name you might have been expecting. That's what comes of having a mother who has given birth to far too many children. One runs out of imagination and options. So it is that I chose to live alone and thus evade those who would wish me to bear one of their offspring. The males of my kind make a sport of it. No matter how many times they have proven how virile they are, it is somehow never enough. Ah well, that is my own sad tale. Tell me a bit of yours. Clearly there is one and perhaps I can help you in some way. My woman's intuition is telling me you crave some sort of revenge. Has someone wronged you? Would you like to see them punished? I do have powers at my disposal to lend to such an endeavor. Besides, I'm bored and find myself in need of something to do."

Young Simon recounted to the forest sprite the heinous events of the day, earnestly hoping that she would be able to give life to her boasting.

"Ahhhh, yes, i can quite understand your need for vengeance. Who wouldn't want to make such villains pay! Know this though boy, if you seek my help in the righting of wrongs, you too must pay a price. I don't just do such things, no matter how much such evil men may deserve it. I will make it a simple bargain though young one. I do feel a pang of pity for you after all, and there is something I know that is within your power to offer me. Every night, when sister moon is half way in her journey across the heavens, I want you to sit right where you are now and play me a score of lullabies. With your gifts, perhaps I can put insomnia in my past. You must do this every night for a thousand nights. When you have dutifully marked down the nights of your servitude to zero, I will abet you in a revenge that will be the stuff of legends. Do we have a deal?"