The Strangeling's Tale

The Strangeling’s Tale

By Carol Ferro

Copyright 2013 Carol Ferro

Smashwords Edition

Cover artwork copyright 2013 Tegan Gilmore

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

The Tailor of Stories

The Strangeling and the Lost Pencil

The Seeds of Stories

The Fox-Lady

The Silver tears of the Seal

The Shipwreck of Seal Bay

The Curse-Tree

The Strangeling’s Tale

The Meeting of Ways

TheWeeping Cherry

Ronat and the Shipwreck

Mr Scrivener’s Redemption

Seven Stories

The Tailor of Stories

Once there lived a tailor who found fame throughout the land as the creator of the finest cloths. He used these fabrics to make magnificent garments and artworks of all kinds as he roamed throughout the lands. The tailor sought neither fortune nor fame, though worthy of both, for he wove with equal diligence for kings and paupers alike. Legends abounded of the tailor’s skill with needle and thread; many people believed him to be some kind of wizard, as the fabrics he wove had such unusual properties.

King Olaf the Magnificent wore a cloak made by the tailor. The cloak, skilfully spun from the first rays of midsummer’s dawn, exuded a faint glow whenever Olaf felt happy. The cloak bore a design of the rising sun over lush fields, embroidered with gold threads so fine they sparkled like dew. The cloak fastened with a button made from a fossilised shell. Its collar, lined with rose petals, had been sewn with stitches too small for human eyes to see.

As the king walked through his palaces, unseen gems moved within the ruby-stuffed hem, making a sound like breaking waves. King Olaf so admired the workmanship that he wore it to his son’s wedding. As evening fell, light from the cloak rendered candlelight unnecessary, so revellers danced in the garment’s luminance until morning.

Emperor Bruno the fierce asked the tailor to make him a vest as light as a cobweb, as warm as a feather bed, yet as strong as chain mail. The tailor designed him such a garment, reputedly fashioning it from moonwebs, cygnet down and hammer scale. The Emperor wore it when he fought in battles, for legend had it that the vest made its wearer invincible.

Nobody knows whether or not this is true, though it is recorded that from the time he donned the legendary vest, he emerged victorious from every battle he fought. He sustained no injury whilst wearing the vest, no matter how fiercely he or his numerous adversaries fought. The vest felt as soft as cygnet down, Emperor Bruno found it so comfortable he wore it every day. When Bruno grew old, leaving his battling days behind him, he gave the vest to his son. It is said that the vest showed no sign of wear, despite its age. The vest may yet exist somewhere if none of Emperor Bruno’s descendants have been buried wearing it.

The tailor wove a tapestry for the king of Boravia, depicting a fiercely-fought battle. The king hung it high across the length of his Great Hall, permanently on display but constantly guarded from his enemies. The king treasured the masterpiece, which had a number of curious properties, for it bore no mere static image, revealing new insights when moonlight or sunlight struck the threads directly. Viewed by moonlight, some heard battle cries resonating through the very threads. When the noontime sun shone brightly on the woven surface, the sunbeams reflected from its surface in myriad directions, creating dancing, ethereal images on the opposite wall which gave the astounded watchers insight into their own futures.

The horses woven throughout the piece appeared to rear up so realistically that people heard their hoofbeats echoing through the castle corridors. Most amazingly of all, as veterans from the battle eventually died, their tapestry counterparts appeared with closed eyes, even though previously their eyes had been open. Many wondered at the marvels of the Boravian tapestry, though the tailor had many more masterpieces of the same calibre.

The tailor designed a marvellous dress for young princess Namalia, beloved of many, though only five years of age. The dress had an iridescent design of butterflies flying among birds. Rumour had it that when princess Namalia sang, the birds on the dress joined her song. Together they sang such melodious harmonies that plants growing nearby burst into bloom at the sound. Numerous artists attempted to make paintings of Namalia in the remarkable dress, though they disagreed on the positions of the creatures in the design.

Some said the butterflies were sewn along the bottom seam. Some said that they encircled the waistband. Others saw no butterflies anywhere in the design. All agreed that the tailor’s skill had imparted some unique, magical qualities to the garment. Namalia wore it all through her childhood, yet the dress always fit her perfectly, almost as if it somehow grew with her. When Namalia chose a suitor, and her wedding day approached, she decided that she wanted to wear her dress to her wedding feast. She laid the dress out ready for the morning of her wedding.

When she awoke on her wedding day, the sweetest dawn chorus imaginable filled her ears. A bunch of flowers by her bedside became a cloud of butterflies at her touch. The butterflies flew out of the window, but the dress she had loved so long had vanished from sight.

Namalia believed that the tailor had woven the dress from the elements of nature, so she concluded that now she had reached adulthood, the dress’s magic had ended. She felt sad to lose the dress which had served her so well, but from that day on until their dying days, Namalia and her husband awoke to the wondrous melodies of the beautiful, exotic birds which sang at their window every morning.

Some told of the tailor’s generosity to those who helped him. Tales abounded of his sense of justice for those who showed him kindness, though they had limited means. One such story told of a night when fierce storms raged through the country. The tailor, caught in the teeth of the gale, sought shelter in a small farm-workers cottage. The small cottage seemed to the tailor as well kept as any palace he had visited.

The cottage had a single occupant, a widow who had worked the land alone for decades. The old lady welcomed the tailor into her humble abode as warmly as he had been welcomed into even the finest palaces. She even gave the hungry tailor the lion’s share of her meagre rations. She told the tailor that she would love to offer him shelter from the bitter weather, with the proviso that he could stay for only one night. She told the tailor that they would both be without a roof over their heads the next day, as the landowner, seeking more profit from his land, resolved to clear all tenants from the land in order that he might graze his sheep across the whole valley.

The tailor listened to the tale with interest, sighing for sorrow at the old lady’s plight. He asked her where the landlord lived, and if she could describe the landlord to him, as he felt he could better understand the tale if he could envisage the man himself. Despite her imminent eviction, the old lady did not speak ill of her landlord.

She pointed to the big house at the head of the valley,