The Villager's TaleThe Villager's Tale
 
'Tis a poor night to be a-travelling, my friend. A poorer one still to spend in 
an alehouse among these rabble. What reason have ye to spend a cold, dark eve in 
so sorry a manner? 

Collectin' tales, ye say. Ye'll be hearin' no tales in this house, friend, 
leastways none be deservin' o' fallin' upon a lady's ears. Ye need not look so 
surprised; it takes no mage to tell a fine young lady from the inebriated sots 
that fill this alehouse from dusk 'til dawn, myself included. But mayhap I speak 
in excess. Pray tell, what urges ye thus to seek out tales in such haste?

A Web Page, ye say. I know not what reason ye may have to seek this young man, 
nor do I know of any Spider Lords in these parts... leastways none that would 
threaten you with the 11 million bites that ye speak of in so hushed and fearful 
a tone. But I know that no tales deservin' such reverence shall be told tonight.

Willin' to take any tale, are ye? Very well. If ye be that eager to hear the 
tales of an old man, then that I shall do for ye. Settle back, friend, for this 
be no short tale. It be a long tale, a tale of magic, and good, and evil, and 
dragons......................................................................... 




Call me Ishmael. No, call me Bob. No, call me..... Well, it matters not what ye 
call me. Naught but my tale matters. It be a true tale, no matter what the 
scribes and historians say, and I know it to be true, for I was there myself, so 
many years ago. 

In those days, this town was naught more than a tiny village, a small clumping 
of even smaller shacks, running the risk of being swallowed up by the misty 
Forever Wood around us. People from afar would speak evil of the forest, saying 
that the trees were enchanted, that evil spirits lived in their branches, 
ensuring that those who entered the Forever Wood never left. There were, of 
course, marked paths and trails winding betwixt the trees, but they never seemed 
to stay in the same place twice, and people would whisper of evil magic, and 
cast furtive, fearful glances upon the Wood. But we villagers cared not. All we 
knew was that the forest had powerful magic, and that whomever controlled the 
magic meant us no ill. So we lived in peace with the Forever Wood. And once 
every seven-day, someone, perhaps a mid-wife seeking healing herbs by light of 
the moon, would see something odd; a flash of silver, where no silversmith had 
ever tread, or a strange spiral something peeking through the vines. And she 
would ignore it, as we did all strange occurrences of the Wood, and go about her 
business, as we always did. Always, that is, until the mage came.

Mages were not as plentiful in those days as they be in modern times. Nor were 
they as welcome. Remember, magic was not trusted, in those days before the 
Dragon-slayer Wars. The mage himself helped matters not, appearing suddenly in 
the village square, standing before the blacksmith's in his dark, hooded robes, 
like some shadow or wraith, freshly escaped. He asked the startled blacksmith 
for directions to the nearest inn, and stalked off, spreading about him the 
scents of countless herbs and spices, magical ingredients for potions only he 
knew of. 

He spent his days at the local drinking house, where I worked . . . no, not this 
one, this alehouse was built years later. At the time, the only drinking house 
to speak of was Alain's; nothing more than wooden tables and benches, really. 
There he would sit for hours on end, sipping blood-tear tea and staring straight 
ahead. If asked what he was doing, he would only look at the sky with his eyes, 
the colour of winter rain clouds, and say, 
"I am waiting."

This was the only answer he would give, no matter how hard one pressed him; 
believe me, friend, for I can recall many a night wasted questioning the mage. 
He was strange looking, with silver-grey hair that belonged on a man thrice his 
age, and slim, almost graceful hands with long, horribly thin fingers. He was 
considered handsome by many, but I thought him ghastly, with his high cheekbones 
and cadaverous demeanor. He called himself Jerym.

Most villagers accepted him as one of them before his second seven-day was 
through, for he gave his advice freely, and entertained the children of the 
village upon occasion with his magic. The girls sighed over him, as he was, 
despite his silver hair, no more than twenty-five winters old; and his un-ringed 
hand spoke for itself. I, on the other hand, liked him not; nor could I find any 
young man in the village who differed from my opinion.

I have neglected to mention someone of import to this tale. Her name was Tamsin, 
easily the fairest maiden in the whole village. By fair, I mean not fair of 
skin, as Tamsin was dark of color, from her long, glossy mane of hair to her 
oft-bared feet; nay, by fair I mean fair of heart. Tamsin was the sweetest, 
kindest, quietest maid for miles; indeed, most every young man would have given 
his life to win her. But not a word was spoken in her favour; nor was she given 
a shred of respect. For Tamsin was a foundling.

She had no kin; indeed, she had naught to call her own but the clothes she wore. 
She went from house to house, working for shelter and food, sleeping in the 
fields when she could find none. No one knew of her past; naught was known of 
her but her name and face. She could never marry, for she had no dowry, and for 
that reason, she was shunned by the all. Shunned by all, that is, 'til the mage 
came.

The mage and Tamsin did not meet until his second moon at our village had 
passed. Some young brutes from the next village over had come to Alain's 
drinking house, and were making royal asses of themselves. Alain took me aside, 
and quietly told me to take the drunken fools out of doors. I did so, flinching 
at the stench of their beer-laced breath, and knew that they must have been to 
other alehouses before in the eve. 

As I well suspected, Jerym the mage was outside, sitting on his bench as usual, 
sipping his blood-tear tea. I ignored him, and, trying not to lose temper, began 
to reason with the belligerent young drunks. Just as my patience was wearing 
thin, the sots suddenly stopped their squabbling, and stared at something behind 
me. I turned in annoyance to see what they were gawking at. It was Tamsin.

She looked weary, as she always did in the light of the moon; weary, but not 
unlovely. And the inebriates were not slow to see that. They rushed toward 
Tamsin before I could react and stop them, so eager were they to take advantage 
of the sweet maiden. But, strangely enough, as they neared her, I caught a 
glance of her sweet visage, and it was not one frozen in maidenly terror; 
rather, she seemed annoyed. But before I could rub my eyes and look at her once 
more, it happened. The young men were running at her in one moment, and in the 
next, a bolt of lightening shot from the mage's hands, and the poor drunken 
fools fell to the ground as ashes. The mage watched with detached interest, rose 
to his feet, and walked towards Tamsin. He grasped her wrist with his long, thin 
fingers. 

Tamsin looked alarmed, as did I. What plan had he for her? But the mage merely 
pulled her to her feet.

"You should take better care of yourself, my lady," said he, and kissed the back 
of her hand.

Tamsin snatched her hand from his grasp, as if burned, and ran off into the 
night, leaving Jerym and myself alone in the darkened square. Then the mage 
smiled to himself, as if satisfied with the results, and walked back to his room 
in the inn, in all probability to retire for the eve. The next day, the rumors 
began. 

Some said that Tamsin was exiled royalty. Others said that she was a prentice 
witch. Still others claimed that she had been trothed to the mage at birth, and 
that he had come at last, to claim his bride. Ye may laugh, friend, but in those 
times, we were willin' to believe anything. To treat a foundling with courtesy 
was bizarre. To call one a Lady was unheard of. And yet the mage did both, 
abandoning his customary bench to follow Tamsin about the village, and to talk 
to her at length about many worldly matters. And one day, Eric the shoesmith's 
boy overheard the following conversation:

Jerym: "Good day, my lady."

Tamsin: " I wish not to speak with you."

Jerym: " I have searched for you at quite some expense, and I do not wish it to 
be wasted. Money doesn't grow on trees."

Tamsin: (bitterly) "It does for you."

Jerym: "I am warning you, you will come to me, whether you wish it so or not. It 
is your. . . .our destiny."

From that day on, it was settled. Rumor and truth are bloodsisters among our 
people, and as far as we were concerned, Jerym and Tamsin were estranged lovers. 
All that we could do was wait, and hope to be invited to the wedding feast.
Days passed, and the full of the moon neared. The mage looked healthier 
everyday; he had lost his unhealthy pallor, and indeed, seemed full of vigor. 

When questioned about his renewed health, Jerym would flash a smile, and say, 
"Wait. Wait until the full of the moon." 

Tamsin, on the other hand, seemed to be growing paler. Though she still worked 
her hardest, she seemed tired nearly all of the time. Most, however, put it down 
to a bad case of cold feet, and paid her no attention.

What was so special about the full of the moon, you say? Well, for one, 'twas 
the night of the Moon festival, when every young swain invited his love to dance 
away the night of madness. A circle was drawn in the middle of the village, to 
guard against the madness of the moon, and within it young couples whirled and 
danced while the fiddlers played on. Ah, those were the days...but I digress. 

Where was I? Oh yes. Second, as everyone knows, the full of the moon is when a 
mage acquires his full power. People whispered that Jerym intended to use this 
power to weave a love spell around Tamsin. They could not have been more wrong.

The full of the moon came, and with it, the Moon Festival. I went with Alain's 
youngest daughter, Susa; a nice girl, with a sweet temperament, but nothing 
compared to Tamsin. Surprisingly the mage was there as well, smiling smugly, 
with his arm around an openly unhappy Tamsin. As the fiddlers struck up, and the 
couples began to sway to the music, I happened to glance at my feet. There, I 
saw strange patterns drawn in the dirt. Patterns not drawn with any paint I knew 
of, for I could swear that they had not been there in the morn; and yet they 
would not smudge, when scuffed with my foot. I tried to erase the lines, using 
many methods, before a gentle tug from Susa brought my attention to other 
matters. 

Later on in the eve, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Tamsin and Jerym 
were dancing across the square from myself and Susa. Tamsin seemed to be in a 
great deal of distress, and glanced this way and that like a frightened animal; 
but Jerym seemed oblivious to her, so intent was he on mastering the steps of 
the dance. Evidently, the mage had not danced before; but then, there is always 
a first time, even for mages.

The moon rose high in the sky, until it neared its zenith; and only then did the 
dancing stop. All of the young men and women backed to the edges of the circle, 
and held hands in a ring, as one by one, couples walked to the center of the 
ring, and pledged their troth. And after what seemed like an eternity, Jerym and 
Tamsin walked to the center, Jerym with his hood cast off his head, gripping 
Tamsin's wrist in his bony hand; Tamsin a-trembling like a child affrighted, 
with her face downcast. Jerym stood in the center of the ring, the moonlight 
creating a halo about his head. He slowly turned his head, looking at all of the 
young men and women, myself and Susa included, ensuring that he had our 
attention. It was then that he drew his sword.

He drew it, a magnificent, bejeweled sword engraved with magical runes, from a 
scabbard hidden deep within the folds of his cloak. It chilled me to think that 
he had carried such a weapon with him all of that night; small wonder that 
Tamsin had sought escape! Then the mage spoke.

"Villagers!" cried Jerym. His voice echoed in the square. "I know that your 
forest has long been plagued by an evil demon, twisting your trails and paths, 
enchanting the trees, trapping unwary travellers in its woody confines. I have 
travelled from afar to rid you of this foul creature!" Tamsin struggled to free 
herself from his grasp; to no avail. She looked about wildly, with eyes full of 
terror; and yet no one moved towards her, for we were all frozen with fear and 
apprehension.

Jerym continued. "I know that many have come before me to slay this monster. But 
I shall succeed where others have failed. See now that your enemy has been among 
you all this time! See now the true form of the one you call Tamsin!!" He 
released her wrist for the first time, as the moon finally reached its pinnacle. 
It was then that the screaming began.

Tamsin screamed again, a cry of agony, fear....and heartbreak. Her back arched 
like a cat's as she doubled over in agony, screaming all the while as she fell 
to her hands and knees. 

At this point, the tales vary. The others who were with me last night claim that 
they saw nothing, that anything that they saw was nothing more than a vision, 
brought on by too much wine and dancing, and too little sleep. But I touched not 
a drop of liquor, and I know what I saw.

The square filled with a silver light, blinding my eyes. But the light could not 
affect my ears, and so I heard the animal scream, as it echoed in the square. I 
squinted my eyes, and inside the silver light, saw an impossible creature. A 
Dragon. 

It was covered with silver scales the colour of starlight. It had a slim build 
no more than two barrels thick; silvery gossamer wings sprouting from its 
shoulder blades; a pair of small, graceful forelegs; and a long slender neck 
topped by a long silver head, with twin spiralling horns, dark liquid eyes and a 
slender snout. It was beautiful. 

Jerym stared at it for a moment, then shook his head, and spoke to it. "Do not 
hate me, Tamsin." said he.

The dragon looked down at him, saying nothing. 

Jerym seemed to bite his lip, then he lifted his sword and charged at the 
Tamsin-dragon. 

I'd 've given my soul at that moment, just to be able to scream at the dragon. I 
did not wish it to die; wanted it to fly high away from this evil mage and his 
wicked sword. But I was still frozen, and I watched in horror as the lovely 
dragon, thinking I know not what, slowly lumbered toward the mage. At the last 
possible moment, its neck whipped downward, with more speed than I had thought 
possible for a lizard. But alas, 'twas too late, for even as the twin horns 
plunged into Jerym's breast, his enchanted sword had found its mark in the 
dragon's belly. Silently, the dragon fell to the ground, its liquid eyes 
closing. The silver light faded, leaving behind it a deadly darkness. And I, 
along with all the others, was freed from the terrible freezing spell. 
I alone dashed towards the fallen mage and dragon, for though the creature was 
dead, the mage still breathed. "Why?" cried I. "Why have ye lied? Why have ye 
killed it? It meant us no harm..."

The mage looked up, the light fading also in his grey eyes. "I had to," he 
whispered. "It . . . was . . . destiny. . ."

"But why? Did ye not care for it at all?"

Jerym's eyes clouded over. "I . . . had to . . .kill her. . . before she. . . 
suffered . . . the wars. . . Destiny . . . . . . My. . . poor . . . Tamsin . . ." 

And then his lips moved no more. I stood there, for a while more, still 
bewildered by the events of the night. Then there was a bright flash of light, 
blinding me once more, and when I opened my eyes again, there was no trace of 
neither mage nor dragon.

Laugh all you want, my friend. But I tell ye, every word of it is true. And if 
ye wish, ye can go to the Forever Wood ye'rself; thought it be not the lush 
forest it once was. For magical herbs grow in it no more, and not a creature, 
magical or otherwise, has been seen in it for three-score, since that dreadful 
night. 

Written circa Jan. 11th, 1994
Edited and HTML-formatted July 31st, 1998