Children's stories, English; Fairy tales; Short stories, English
She moved out into the sunlight, and through her red hair rippled the
wind. ‘By the hoofs of the goat I swear it,’ she made answer.
‘Thou art the best of the witches,’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘and I
will surely dance with thee to-night on the top of the mountain. I would
indeed that thou hadst asked of me either gold or silver. But such as
thy price is thou shalt have it, for it is but a little thing.’ And he
doffed his cap to her, and bent his head low, and ran back to the town
filled with a great joy.
And the Witch watched him as he went, and when he had passed from her
sight she entered her cave, and having taken a mirror from a box of
carved cedarwood, she set it up on a frame, and burned vervain on lighted
charcoal before it, and peered through the coils of the smoke. And after
a time she clenched her hands in anger. ‘He should have been mine,’ she
muttered, ‘I am as fair as she is.’
* * * * *
And that evening, when the moon had risen, the young Fisherman climbed up
to the top of the mountain, and stood under the branches of the hornbeam.
Like a targe of polished metal the round sea lay at his feet, and the
shadows of the fishing-boats moved in the little bay. A great owl, with
yellow sulphurous eyes, called to him by his name, but he made it no
answer. A black dog ran towards him and snarled. He struck it with a
rod of willow, and it went away whining.
At midnight the witches came flying through the air like bats. ‘Phew!’
they cried, as they lit upon the ground, ‘there is some one here we know
not!’ and they sniffed about, and chattered to each other, and made
signs. Last of all came the young Witch, with her red hair streaming in
the wind. She wore a dress of gold tissue embroidered with peacocks’
eyes, and a little cap of green velvet was on her head.
‘Where is he, where is he?’ shrieked the witches when they saw her, but
she only laughed, and ran to the hornbeam, and taking the Fisherman by
the hand she led him out into the moonlight and began to dance.
Round and round they whirled, and the young Witch jumped so high that he
could see the scarlet heels of her shoes. Then right across the dancers
came the sound of the galloping of a horse, but no horse was to be seen,
and he felt afraid.
‘Faster,’ cried the Witch, and she threw her arms about his neck, and her
breath was hot upon his face. ‘Faster, faster!’ she cried, and the earth
seemed to spin beneath his feet, and his brain grew troubled, and a great
terror fell on him, as of some evil thing that was watching him, and at
last he became aware that under the shadow of a rock there was a figure
that had not been there before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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