Archive for the ‘Kat Beyer’ Category
The Three Gifts
Friday, July 18th, 2008
Once upon a time, there was a sick king nobody could fix. His officials put a reward online: $1 million, a Ford F250 pickup, and dinner with his daughter.
A ways out of town lived three brothers, all probably handsome.
“We ought to try for this reward,” said the eldest. “We can’t afford Mom’s medicine.”
That very day they climbed into their beat-up Pinto. It broke down just outside the royal city. They rested their feet at a diner, where the eldest brother spent his last dollar on a tip for the waitress, whose son was doing his homework at the next table.
When they got to the palace, the guard told them they would have to fill out forms 1040-SC, F-250, and of course the usual SSA-3369-BK, before they could come in.
“But the king may be dying,” said the second brother. He kept on until she went for the Platoon Captain, who went for the Undersecretary for Paraguay, who went for the Quality Assurance Manager, and so on, ‘til a young woman came down.
“I’m the Chief Security Officer,” she said. “What’s up?”
“We’ve come to heal the king,” said the second brother.
She looked at him hard, then said, “Follow me.”
When they got to the royal bedchamber, she said, “Now what?”
The youngest brother spoke up. “We hadn’t thought that far. But we did read a lot in the Pinto. We have some ideas.”
“You’ve got gall,” said the Chief.
“Doesn’t he?” Said the second brother.
The Chief walked up to the bed and put her hand on the king’s forehead. He opened one eye, then the other.
“You have healed the king,” she said to them. “You see, he is the kingdom. And he was sick for lack of what you have.
… I was the waitress you gave your last dollar to,” she told the eldest. “You bring compassion.
“… I was the guard whose forms you wouldn’t fill out,” she told the second brother. “You bring persistence.
“… and of course, I was the Chief Security Officer you told you were making this up,” she told the youngest. “You bring guts.
“But I want to take you to dinner, Second Brother.”
The second brother went out with her. The eldest dated the Undersecretary, and the youngest got the pickup. Their mom and the king got better, and all is well in the kingdom.
Not Even for Hazelnut Sauce
Tuesday, July 1st, 2008
Diarmud the Druidess knew she was dying, but she went to the feast anyway, partly because she was Chief Druidess, and partly because she knew there would be salmon with hazelnut sauce. She couldn’t help Seeing the menu beforehand.
After the salmon there was a cold boar salad, and then venison with apple-and-lemon jelly, the lemons having come all the way from Hispania; just as she was served her Druid’s portion, a dragonfly flew in the door and landed on her arm, a blue-green jewel to match any a chieftain might give. She looked down at it and said, “Well; is it time?” And in front of everyone she blew her soul out onto its back and flew away.
She always liked the moment when one shed one’s old bones, returning all one’s flesh and treasure and hopes and fears to the world—there was always the chance one would forget everything, too, and sometimes she did, but not this time, as they flew out over the marshes spangled with sunset water. When she landed in a dragonfly egg she snuggled down for a nice gestation.
She spent all the days of summer skating over the broad stretches of water, flying low to count the circling ripples—
Until a salmon gulped her.
Presently she let the pull of her ichor draw her out of the marsh, into the living river, down to the sea of journeys…
Until a seal pulled her into the thirsty air.
‘Now to get used to fur, fins, and shouting at your neighbor just to be heard,’ she thought. A seal’s life is good, though, even if one isn’t a selkie, and her wisdom became known among all the barking tribes of the coast.
Not too wise, though. A seal hunter was wiser. So she grew from a babe to a boy, bearing the spots and omens that marked her for a Druid’s training, and comely enough for court.
But when she got to the door of the hall, she stood there for a minute, remembering the yards and yards of poetry, the vigils in black caves, the all-night meetings in groves, and a single, blue-green jewel of a dragonfly; and she rubbed the oak threshold with her hand, said, “Not this again, not even for hazelnut sauce!”—and walked back down the hill and out into the world.