Storytelling: Week 7: The Wizard's Wife

One evening in autumn, the Wizard Loro planned a trip into town to fetch supplies for his three wives. Lila, a clever witch; Ramara, a fierce and brave fighter; and Milly, an artful healer, helped him govern their quaint kingdom, and Loro did whatever he could to make them happy, for he appreciated them each for her own character.

 

(Loro in CuJu Forest)

He headed toward town by way of the CuJu forest, where the trees grew close together and the magic was very thick. Just as he passed a large and knobby tree, a troupe of vicious black monkeys jumped from the branches and attacked him, picking at his skin and eyes. Their sharp tiny teeth glimmered with blood, and their coats were tinged an ugly yellow from the black magic that flooded their veins. 

Wizard Loro cried out, begging for mercy, but the monkeys were relentless. He tried to deflect them with magic, but their power and number were too much for him. In a few moments, Loro laid motionless on the forest floor, bleeding and unconscious. 

A little while later, a young woman named Indigo traveled the same path through the forest, and seeing Loro, cried out in shock. She knelt beside him and inspected his wounds, and as she did, she recognized him—The Great Wizard Loro of the tower in the South. 

Her heart wrenched in sympathy for him. She attended to his wounds with the cloth she had with her, dragged him out of the path and covered him with mara leaves, and left to alert his wives.

After the three wives had received news from Indigo, the four women returned to the forest. But it was getting dark, and they couldn’t find Loro's path.

Soon, however, Lila devised a plan to charm their husband’s footprints and follow them into the forest.

As they followed the prints, they came across the band of monkeys that had attacked Loro. Ramar immediately drew her sword and cut off their heads, for she was brave and quick on her feet, and fighting ran deep in her blood.

When they finally found their husband, Milly mixed a salve to ease his wounds for the journey home. They laid him on a stretcher made of vines and rushed him home. Indigo carried the forth corner of the stretcher, worrying and wondering about the fate of this brave, faithful man.

When they returned home, Milly was able to heal Loro, and he awoke with a fire in his eyes.

“My beautiful wives!” he cried. “Thank you. I know it is you who have healed me and brought me back from the pit of the forest. Without you, I would be dead.

“But I had a vision as I slept. A faithful and true man can only have one wife. You three and I make up the greatest power in the kingdom, but that alone is not reason for us to be wed. I must choose one, and be faithful only to her.”

The three wives were distraught, but vowed to help Loro in his decision, for each assumed they would be his rightful wife.

Indigo watched them present their arguments with a sadness in her heart.

“How difficult this must be!” she thought. “He loves them all, and has been faithful to each one. It was not his own choice to take three wives, but the kingdom’s, and now he must choose between the three.”

Loro listened with rapt attention as each wife stated her case.

“I should be your wife, Loro,” Ramar said. “For without me, you and your other two wives would be dead, for I fought off the monkeys who attacked you.”

“But without me, your dead body would lie marred and forgotten in the forest!” Lila insisted. “For I uncovered the path to find you.”

“Fighting off vicious primates and finding our husband is all very well, but it is useless had he not been healed by my methods,” Milly said. “I should be your wife, for I saved you from certain death.”

At this, Loro was thoroughly distraught. He dismissed the three, requesting a moment alone.

Indigo offered to stay behind to help the wizard, and he agreed enthusiastically—he could not imagine choosing. Maybe she could shed some light on his decision.

Indigo found a scroll, and helped Loro create a pro/con list. She asked him what he loved about each woman, and who made him the happiest. She listened and questioned, and made small suggestions, but she told him the ultimate decision was his own.

Several hours later, Loro called his wives back in.

“I have made my decision,” he said. “You are all lovely and valuable in your own special way, and I am eternally grateful for the kindness and love you have shown me over the years, and which you have shared with the kingdom.

“But I can not keep any of you as my wife.

“Each of you fought for yourself, and to ensure your place in my home. Only this woman, Indigo, had my best interest at heart. She alone asked what would make me happy, and because of that, I wish to do everything in my power to bring her happiness.

“Indigo,” he said, turning to the small woman who now stood silently in the corner, her eyes wide would surprise. “Would you be my wife?”

She smiled. “It would be my honor, sir. But only if you allow these three to continue to rule over the kingdom with you, for as you said, they are each valuable and wise governesses, and I would not betray my kingdom by depriving it of such leadership.”

“Of course, my darling,” Loro said, positive now that he’d made the right decision.

Bibliography: How the Wives Restored their Husband to Life, by Richard Edward Dennett (1898)

Author's Note: In the original story, a man is attacked by an ox on his way to hunt another ox to feed his three wives, who constantly complain of their hunger. One wife is a dreamer, one is a guide, and one is a raiser of the dead. His body is left for dead, since no one in town knows what has happened to the man. But then his wife, the dreamer, dreams that he has been killed by an ox, but she doesn't know where. So the "guide" wife offers to guide them all to where his body is. And from there, as you can guess, the raiser of the dead raises him from the dead. 

On their way to find him, they start to argue about whose hut the man will enter first when he comes back home. (Which, to me, is pretty trivial considering their husband just died, and they're wondering who he's going to sleep with next.) So they decide to each cook a pot of food, and see whose he eats from first. They each think it should be them, arguing as my characters do: "I led you too him!", "But I dreamt he was dead!", "But I brought him back to life!" The man eats from the resurrector's pot, and says, "The one woman dreamt I was dead, but didn't feed me because I wasn't found; then you found me but didn't feed me because I was not fit to eat. But you gave me life and made me well! Therefore, you are most prized." Then the villagers argue that he should have mixed all the food in one pot and eaten that way. 

I thought the logic and arguments in this story were pretty weak, so I decided to change it a little. I wanted to give the man a better reason to choose one wife, rather than something none of them could control. I made it about how the wives treated him, rather than the limitations of their powers. I also wanted to nix the idea of multiple wives altogether, since that's not acceptable nowadays, and even when it was, I feel like it would pose to many difficulties. I made him a wizard and a sort of ruler in the kingdom, just because I thought it would be fun, and give him more of a reason to have the multiple wives in the first place.

Reading Diary: Week 7 Stories from the Congo

Stories from the Congo, collected by R.E. Dennett

How the Wives Restored their Husband: I thought it was sort of strange how he had three wives, and basically picked the most honorable one by eating from her pot of food...when none of the wives could control their gift (dreaming, guiding, resurrecting). And it was odd that other villagers suggested he mixed the food and just ate it like that, so he wouldn't have to chose. Why does he have three wives in the first place?

How Gazelle Got Married was pretty lackluster. The conflicts (constantly forgetting the girls' names) the characters run into is pretty trite and... well, lame. And throughout the whole story, the readers don't know what the antelope is doing, or if it's doing anything at all. Then at the end, the "main" character, the Gazelle, gets what he wanted from his dog (the names of the girls) and marries the girl, happily ever after, basically easy as pie. Then the antelope gets mad and he kills him, the end.

I know it's just a folktale, and the plots and characters are always simple, but this didn't even seem to have a moral, or a twist at the end like some do. I didn't see the point of the story at all, and now I want to take extra care to make sure my stories are compelling and surprising. Maybe I'll rewrite this story with a different ending, and different conflicts, since I hate it so much. What good is it to complain if you don't do anything about it, right?

 

(Antelope: "I have no real part in this story, so I'm just gonna eat some grass...") 

The Vanishing Wife: "Two brothers lived in a certain town." Make up a name, at least, if you don't want to limit it to one real town. "A certain town," throws off the rhythm of the story, and makes readers wonder why you don't want to name the town. 

I do like the element of the man having a dream where he does a few things and meets a beautiful girl, then he does the things in real life and magically has a beautiful house. I may want to use something like that.

And how tragically ironic that his brother doesn't believe his fortune, and when he shows up to see it, it has all vanished because of Buite's refusal to cut off a fish head!

Reading Diary Week 7: West African Folktales Part II

West African Folktales, a collection from African students at a teacher training center in Accra, the capital of Ghana

I think I made a mistake in my reading last week... I guess I should have done West African Folktales, parts I and II for the two readings, and then done Brer Rabbit this week, but instead I did part A of West African, and part A of Brer Rabbit... so now I guess I'll just do part B of both sections!

Why the Moon and the Stars Receive Their Light From the Sun: In this story, the son calls out to his father in the forest, and hears the reply, "Yes, son." I like the idea of using this deception and false hope in a story. The son thinks he hears his father's voice when he's lost, but it's really the voice of a deadly dragon. I might even tie it into how we as Christians have to know our Father's voice, and not be deceived by the devil.

"...to make a strong rope ladder. One end of this he intended to throw up to heaven, trusting that the gods would catch it and hold it fast, while he and his fellow-prisoners mounted." I love the leap of faith the spider takes here! It's always fun to have something like that in a story, too. It leaves the reader in suspense, but it's also relatable.

When they threw the ladder into the air and it caught, I had a feeling the dragon caught it on the other end, and they would be eaten as they climbed to their "safety." This might be something I use in my own story, a group of people working hard to escape but who are really getting closer to the mouth of the beast in the process.

How the Tortoise Got its Shell tells a story of why tortoises have a shell (obviously). I've always liked these "explanation" tales, and I may do one for my story, though probably not about a turtle. Maybe the origins of mermaids, or why rhinos have their big tusks...

 

(Rhino) 

In The Ungrateful Man, one man is given many riches by a rat, a panther, and a serpent. When accused of stealing the king's wealth, no one believes his testimony of how he actually became rich. These are some of the most frustrating things in a story to me, when the protagonist has done nothing wrong, yet can't convince anyone otherwise because the circumstances are so outrageous. Even though this type of conflict bothers me, it's a good way to entice readers and keep them searching for justice as they read the story.

Week 6 Storytelling: Don't kill me, Mr. Voldemort

My body shuddered in fear as the ghastly pale, skeletal figure slowly drew his wand from his robe. He was one of the most powerful wizards in all of fiction—how was I supposed to defeat him?

Landing face-to-face with the Dark Lord was not my intention when I fell into the book.

That is, I never intended to fall in at all.

I had just finished my cup of tea, wishing James was still around to tell me which part of the world the leaf originated in, even if I would never remember. My eyelids had fluttered shut as I read a passage from my favorite book, wishing I could be part of that world—of flying on broomsticks and half-giant friends and mischievous night explorations down castle hallways—when I suddenly was.

Inky letters flew past me, and it felt as if I had fallen from a great height, and suddenly—I was in the story.

Except I hadn’t landed in the scene where Harry chases Malfloy on his broomstick, or meets the friendly Hagrid for the first time, or even when he’s sentenced to detention by the sniveling Snape.

No, instead I stood face-to-face with the Dark Lord, my memory filling in the gaps as I took in my surroundings—the dark forest, the death-eaters surrounding me, the general dismal gloom in the air—I was in the last book, one of the last scenes. Except Harry was nowhere to be seen. It was just me—standing before Voldemort, trembling as his beady eyes bore into my own.

I patted the pockets of my sweatpants frantically. Surely, I’d at least have…

I had a wand. I drew it and pointed it the pale man, my heart pounding out of my chest. And then it occurred to me—

I couldn’t do magic.

At least, I was pretty sure I couldn’t.  

I couldn’t for the life of me remember any of the spells used in the books—all the Latin had swam away, along with the inky letters that made this story so comfortingly…fiction.

“What will it be then, weakling?” Voldemort’s voice was colder than the icy air numbing my fingers. “Cruciartis?”

The excruciating pain spell. No thank you, Sir Voldemort.

“I…I—” Sweat poured down my forehead despite the chill in the air. I knew there was no way I’d have the strength to fight him on my own—even with the wand. I was tired and weak, a feeling only intensified by the loneliness that surrounded me lately.

He scowled and straightened his wand, aiming for my chest. “Speak, coward.”

He was going to kill me.

And then I remembered why I loved Harry so much, and why I’d been drawn back to the books these past few months.

Harry is alone, for much of his life. Even after he makes friends at Hogwarts, he goes home to a cruel Aunt and Uncle and longs for his parents—both of whom are dead.

Like my own, after that awful drunk driver…

A lump wells in my throat.

—And Sirius, his godfather, his friend…also lost, like my James.

All his love seemed to have passed on, and lately, I can’t help but feel like everyone I care about is gone, too, and they’re just waiting for me on the other side.

“Please, Voldemort,” I whisper with tears in my eyes. “Please, just—don’t kill me. Please.”

His pale face twists into what I can only guess is a smile. “You don’t want to die, hm?”

“No, please. Please—torture me, or, or control me—whatever you want, but please—don’t kill me.”

Voldemort smiled and wrapped his spindly fingers tighter around his gnarled wand. “Ha. You fool…Avada Kadavra!”

Green light shot from his wand and I raised my own, ready to control it with any ounce of magical instinct that might live in me.

But his spell hit my heart, and the forest disappeared. The dim light and gnarled trees were replaced with a piercing white light and…voices.

I turned toward the sound, hopeful.

It worked.

My mother and father were there, eyes brimming with tears. And James, he rushed at me before I could get a good look at him, bear-hugging me to death before he pulled back to kiss me.

For a moment, I forgot where I was, what was happening, lost in relief and longing. But then my dad stepped forward, gently touching my shoulder.

“You have to go back,” he said. “It’s not time yet.”

“I know,” I said, though my heart ached to stay with them, talk to them, be with them again. “I came because I need your help.”

My mom smiled and nodded. The three of them surrounded me, each one placing their hands on my back as I turned back the way I’d come. I glanced back at James—one last time—before I stepped toward the light, each of their hands giving me a little bit more strength.

The light disappeared and the sudden blackness punched my vision, but I stood firm, holding my wand against Voldemort’s spell with everything I had in me.

A hideous scream pierced the air as he noticed the change—the force of my spell against his, the sudden life brought back to my body.

My body tensed and shook, straining under the effort to hold my force of light steady against his darkness, a great ball of light glowing and growing in the air between us.

And then it was gone.

I fell forward onto something hard, my brain pulsing as if it had its own heartbeat. I glanced up—a photo of my parents smiled at me from its place on my lavender wall, and the sharp corner of a book jabbed into my cheek. I was back, lying on my bed, alive, in my own world.

Had it been a dream?

I sat up, and something jabbed my leg. Slowly, I reached my hand into my pocket.

The wand.

I pulled it out and placed it gently on my windowsill, beneath my smiling parents and the photo of James and me on a picnic. I laid my head against my pillow, grateful for its softness and security, and feeling—for the first time in months—a little bit less alone in the world.

 

(The End)

Bibliography: How Mr. Rabbit was too Sharp for Mr. Fox, by Joel Chandler Harris (1881) & Harry Potter, by JK Rowling (1997-2007)

Author's Note: After listening to the story of Brer Rabbit, I wanted to incorporate the "don't throw me into the briar patch" trick into my own story. In this story about Brer Rabbit, Rabbit is caught by Brer Fox, and Fox keeps asking, "What should I do to you, Brer Rabbit?" because Rabbit has been so cocky and uncatchable before, and Fox wants revenge. Fox says, "I could drown you..." and Rabbit says, "Oh, yes, please, drown me, Mr. Fox, drown me real good! Just whatever you do, please don't throw me into the briar patch!" They go on like this several times, Fox naming a torture and Rabbit agreeing, just so long as he isn't thrown into the briar patch. At the end, Fox of course throws him in the briar patch, because he wants to harm him as much as he can. But, that's exactly what Brer Rabbit wanted, because he was born and raised in the briar patch.

So I took Brer Rabbit's trick and applied it to a story about a young woman who falls into a book and is suddenly face to face with Voldemort. SPOILER ALERT: In the last book, Harry faces Voldemort, and he essentially dies. But while he's "dead," he sees his parents and Sirius—all the people he loves who have died—and seeing them gives him the strength and encouragement to defeat Voldemort, the all-powerful evil wizard. (Actually, he sees them before he dies with the Sorcerer's Stone, and then he dies and sees Dumbledore at King's Cross Station...because Harry had to die because he was a horcrux, a piece of Voldemort's soul, and to defeat Voldemort, all of the pieces had to be destroyed...) but anyway. Those are the elements I took from Harry Potter for my story, so I guess I switched them around a little bit. I had my character die so she could gain strength from her loved ones and then defeat Voldemort. She tricked Voldemort, begging him not to kill her so that she could momentarily die to see her family and have them help her.