Chapter Ten

ARLY THE NEXT MORNING, the little woodcutter and his tall wife were seated at the table waiting when Steven woke up. He was served a hot mash for breakfast and ate heartily. When he had finished, his dish sat empty at his place. It was obvious that the couple had no intentions of moving from the table until Steven had told his story.

“Don’t we need to work this morning?” Steven asked. “I’ll happily help you chop wood.”

“Oh no,” said Upik. “There is no reason to chop wood today.”

“We have very few visitors up here since the castle sank beneath the lake,” said Rayna. “We would much rather listen to you. Please tell us about your hat.”

Steven had tossed restlessly all night trying to think of a good story to tell the two, and had come up with no ideas. The truth was that he had suddenly been overwhelmed with loneliness when he saw the man and wife acting as though they were one person, and he had dreamt all night of the lover he had left three hundred forty-nine thousand one hundred twenty-one steps ago across the lake and across the river. But he had agreed to the bargain and would have to begin soon. He took another long drink of the hot beverage Rayna had served with breakfast and began.

The Temporary Wife

NCE UPON A TIME, almost out of memory and before all journeys began, there lived an ogre named Bimptwiss. Once every four years, Bimptwiss would emerge from his cave in a valley where the fog never cleared and come to the town of Lorbridge. There he would stand outside the barricade the townspeople had erected against him and demand that they send out their fiercest warrior to do battle with him. If he was defeated, he promised, he would go away and leave the town forever. But if he were not, he would feast on the bones of the unfortunate warrior. If the townspeople refused to send a champion to meet the ogre, then Bimptwiss would rampage through the town killing and eating whom he would.

In the course of time, warrior after warrior was killed and eaten by the vicious ogre. All the truly strong warriors were gone and the village sent any unfortunate victim they could entice out into the field to meet the ogre. Finally, they resolved that they would choose the victim by lottery. One year and one day before the ogre’s arrival at the barricade to the town, all the villagers between 19 and 22 were assembled and the mayor of the town would distribute lots to each. The unfortunate who drew the black pebble would be designated as the sacrifice to the ogre. But during the intervening year, that person would be treated like a prince. He or she would have whatever was desired, and everyone in the village did what they could to make what they considered their sacrifice’s last year as pleasant as possible.

It may seem strange, but so lavishly did the people treat their would-be hero that young people competed for the right. In fact, as word of the quadrennial festival spread through the land, people from near and far came to the town for the lottery, hoping that they would win the right to be the champion selected to fight the ogre.

And so it was that a young man named Gareth came to Lorbridge to seek great, though temporary, fame and fortune. Even though the lottery was supposed to be random and impartial, hopefuls competed with each other in races, mock battles, and exotic cooking demonstrations. They created special crafts that they sold in the market so the townspeople could show their support by purchasing the trinkets. Gareth was not the most popular candidate in the foray, but he was a likeable lad and had his share of supporters. In the races he consistently was within the first three across the finish line. In mock battles, he was often the one who stood most staunchly in support of the winner. And, though some said it was an acquired taste, his curried sheep’s eyes was one of the most unique dishes sampled during the festival.

Few people, however, wanted to wear the peaked hats he made from sheepskin and sold in the market. Lorbridge was not a particularly cold place and people preferred less ostentatious headgear. Gareth, however, wore his own hat constantly and thus was one of the most recognizable candidates in the fray.

The big day of the lottery arrived and Gareth stood among the candidates. In order to make the lottery more exciting, the townspeople had decided to have qualifying rounds in the lottery. After each competition, one candidate was eliminated. Gareth had survived each elimination round and now with fourteen candidates still in the running, the mayor passed out a hat that had seven black stones and seven white stones. Each candidate drew a stone. Then from another hat with an equal number of stones, the festival princess drew a stone. Its color would determine which group of candidates would proceed to the final round. The stone was white and Gareth cautiously opened his fist to reveal a white stone. There were now only seven candidates.

There was a great feast that night and the seven were seated at the head table and waited on in lavish fashion. Dancers and musicians entertained, a tame bear danced for the revelers, and an exotic man with a basket of snakes played a flute and caused the snakes to dance. It was a magical evening. But most important of all was the final lottery. Seven identical puddings were placed on the table before the champions. In one pudding was a pebble. The champions were to eat their pudding and if they got a pebble, they were to keep it in their mouths until the puddings were all gone. No one knew how many pebbles had been baked into the puddings.

When the pudding had been eaten, the seven stood before the townspeople and one at a time were asked to take the pebble from his or her mouth. Gareth was the third in line and the first to spit out a pebble. There were no other pebbles in the puddings. People were amazed that the competition had come to such an abrupt ending and complained that there was supposed to be another round of elimination, but the mayor’s decision was final. Gareth had won the competition. After the brief dispute, celebration and revelry went on all night long.

Gareth sat, enjoying the festival, but contemplating the doom that he had just accepted for himself. He knew that he now had one year to live. He would walk back through the town for the last time and face the ogre. Oh, certainly he would fight. He might even try to run. But doom was inevitable. He would die and be eaten by the vicious beast.

Now among the other finalists were both men and women, and among the women was one who had always been friendly to Gareth. Her name was Cybele and she had dark flashing eyes and a lively temperament. Gareth had been amazed that this young woman had even come to the competition, but unlike him, she was from Lorbridge and was required to join the lottery. While all others who were native to the town had been eliminated early in the competition or in the final seven, by some miracle she had been successful until the last round. She approached Gareth congratulating him on his victory, and asked him to dance with her.

Cybele was seductive and charming and before the night was finished, Gareth was in love. And, Cybele loved Gareth, so it seemed and the two were soon married in a celebration attended by the entire town. They were happy together, for Gareth was given all manner of wealth. They lived in the finest home in the town. They ate the finest foods prepared by the best cooks. Their home was cleaned for them. They had music wherever they went. And Gareth had found the love of his life.

But time marches on and the day of the ogre’s arrival approached. Gareth’s attention began gradually to turn from the delights of his lavish life to preparation for his meeting with the ogre. Having found such great, passionate, and intense love, he was unwilling to part with her. Yet he knew that if he did not face the Bimptwiss, the ogre would rampage through the town that he had also learned to love and would likely destroy his beloved as well.

So Gareth went to all the shops of the town, to all the craftspeople, to all the herbalists and shamans, and asked their advice for fighting the ogre.

“What you need are feathers,” said the butcher. “Ogre’s are dreadfully allergic to feathers.” And with that the butcher took Gareth’s pointed hat and decorated it with feathers so that the ogre’s eyes would tear up and he wouldn’t be able to see Gareth come in for the kill.

“What you need is cunning,” said a wisewoman. “You should be like a snake in the grass, slipping up on the ogre unseen until your venomous bite takes his life.” She wrapped a snakeskin around his hat and chanted that the slippery cunning of the snake would go into the wearer of the hat.

“What you need is a talisman,” said the shaman. “I have been far into the mountains where there is a forge run by smiths of the finest silver, gold, and iron. This talisman has protected me through all my journeys, both in this world and in the spirit world.” And with that, the shaman fastened the talisman to the snakeskin on the hat.

“You need lunch,” said Cybele. “Don’t even think of going out without eating. You can’t be your best unless you have had a healthy meal.” The two were eating the remains of dinner the night before and to humor his darling wife, Gareth took a chicken bone and stuck it through the snakeskin on his hat.

“There,” he said. “Now if I feel in the need for a snack when I see the ogre, I will have one handy.” The two laughed the laughter of lovers and Cybele wept over Gareth.

“I love you,” she said. “You are so brave. You are willing to save our village, even if it means sacrificing your life for us.”

“It is my love for you that gives me the courage to face this fate,” said Gareth. “But do not fear. I have the best protections and will fight the ogre and return victorious.”

Morning came with the earth shaking. People rushed from their homes and created a solemn line from Gareth’s home to the barricade at the town gates. The earth was shaking under the ponderous footsteps of the ogre as it came toward the village.

Gareth kissed his wife and bravely went forth to meet the ogre. Gareth walked through the town and had the impression that people were restraining their mirth. The butcher, when he saw Gareth in his feather covered hat rolled his eyes. The wise woman hid her face when she saw him. Gareth realized that their lore and wisdom were frauds and he was on his own to meet his doom.

Gareth had another weapon that he had told no one about. It seemed insignificant when faced with the prospect of the monstrous ogre, but the hunter in his own village had given him a knife that was sharper than any in the world, having been tempered in the great forges of the underworld. Gareth was confident that if he could get close enough to the ogre, he could twist this knife into its flesh and kill the beast. But this he held privately for himself as his only true hope and told not even his wife about it.

At last Gareth stood before the village with the ogre only steps before him. Then a most remarkable thing happened. The ogre pointed at Gareth’s hat and bellowed, “What that?”

Gareth nimbly jumped up on a rock in front of the monster and called back, “It is protection against ogres. Feathers will make you sneeze. While there are tears in your eyes I will slither like a snake around your ankles. While the talisman keeps me safe from your clumsy swings, I will bite you with the sting of my knife and you will die.”

The ogre laughed.

The stench of his breath filled the valley and the sound of his vile laughter caused all to hold their ears.

“Hungry!” he bellowed through his laughter and reached out to capture Gareth.

“Eat this,” Gareth called back, and reaching to his hat he grabbed the chicken bone and flung it directly into the laughing maw.

The ogre inhaled the bone and it stuck in his throat where it began to choke him. As he clutched his throat, tears began to run from his eyes. Gareth jumped down from his rock and ran behind the beast and clambered up his back. The ogre, still choking and weeping flung himself around, nearly dislodging Gareth from his back. With knife in hand, Gareth reached around the massive head of the ogre and plunged his knife into the ogre’s eye. The ogre’s roar of pain was cut off as Gareth withdrew the knife and drove it into the ogre’s stubby throat.

The battle was over in moments. The ogre fell forward on his face. Gareth grabbed the largest rock he could carry and for good measure smashed the ogre’s head. Then all was silent.

Gareth retrieved his knife, straightened his hat and turned to face the townspeople. “The ogre is dead!” he declared. “The town of Lorbridge is free!” His words were greeted with deafening silence.

Gareth approached the barricade to the town, but the people did not tear it down. They did not cheer for him. They did not welcome him back.

“I want to come home, now,” Gareth said as he approached the barricade. “Let me through.” But the people did not remove the barricade.

“Go home, then,” said the mayor. “There is nothing for you here.”

“But what about my home, my wealth, the things I have accumulated over the past year?” Gareth asked astounded. “I am your hero!”

“One year,” the mayor said. “We promised you everything for a year. The year is over. You have taken everything away from Lorbridge. Our fame was based on the ogre. Our festival was to find a hero for the ogre. Our business and wealth was all based on drawing people from far and wide to the quadrennial festival of the champions. Now we have nothing. Go away.”

Gareth was shocked. He expected to be welcomed back with a hero’s parade. He expected music and dancing and feasting. Instead there was silence.

“Cybele!” he called from the gates. “Cybele, come to me, my wife, and join me in my exile.”

Cybele came to the barricade, but she didn’t cross over. She stood proudly with the people of her town and spoke to Gareth.

“I loved the man who was brave enough to face the ogre,” she said, “not the murderer who killed it.”

“But there is no bravery in being selected by lottery,” Gareth protested. “I am the same today as I was yesterday.”

“Do you really think you were the only one to get a pebble in his pudding? The rest of us swallowed ours. Only you were brave enough—or fool enough—to show yours. Go now. You have had your year of pleasure and have left us with years of suffering. Take your ridiculous hat and leave us.”

And with that the people turned their backs on Gareth and left him to wander the wide world alone.

This hat is the hat of Gareth who slew the ogre.

Chapter 9
Chapter 11