Black Pearls - Louise Hawes [51]
It was then that his wife, fearing for her home, pointed a shaking finger at me. "Play!" she commanded, and though she had never craved a song from me before, it was clear she needed one now. I felt it pour from my throat just as my fingers rose to find its notes. "There will never come her like again," the ballad began. "She was doughty and clever and true to the end."
It was a song of mourning for a dead lover, but the giant knew it was meant for his stout little hen. He stopped, sat in his great chair, and clasped his head in his hands. He wept as I had never heard him, openly, like a great, tree-size child.
When the boy came back for me, I must have been dreaming of dancing a jig or chasing the cat from the pantry. It was only after he'd hoisted me onto his shoulders and was carrying me out the door that I found my voice. In all the years since I'd been spelled, I had never been able to speak. But feeling him struggle under my weight, sliding to one side of his back and nearly tumbling from his clumsy grip, was shock enough to spill the words from my throat. "Help, Master!" I half crooned, half moaned. "Someone is stealing me away!"
You have heard what happened next; all the stories tell how the sad tragedy played itself out. How the giant woke from the slumber into which my tune had lulled him; how he thundered, "Stop, thief!" and then gave chase. How the boy tightened his grip on me and ran as fast and as far as his short legs would take him. How my master followed after, old as he was, taking one lumbering stride for every ten of the thief's. And how, as my master tired, the boy was able to gain a few precious paces and lower himself down a vine that clung to the crags where the giant's castle perched. How he reached the ground and chopped the stem of the plant in two, sending the giant, his huge hands reaching for a hold in the sunlit air, crashing to his death at the bottom of the cliffs.
When my master fell to earth, the whole world trembled. The boy who held me was knocked off his feet as the ground shook, and since he grasped me fast, the two of us tumbled and rolled together until we came to a stop at last, pinned under one of the giant's boots. The bells in the town were ringing nones by the time the young man's family and some villagers were able to bring a timber and pry the boot's toe high enough to set us free.
The boy and his mother had themselves a fine manor, though nowhere as big as my former master's castle. It lay at the end of a long road that snaked its way through green farmland and the humble cottages of their servants, field workers, and stable boys. Thanks to the money they had stolen from the giant, there was always a pleasant fire burning in the hearth of the great house. Nor was there any end to sweetmeats and pies and other delicacies, since the magic hen continued to lay her precious eggs at the lad's command. Settled in a place of honor by the hearth, she was fed as much corn as she liked and frequently pecked at the boy's mother if the woman raised her voice to him. Clearly, the bird felt her lot had improved, and she seemed not to miss the hilltop castle we two had left behind. As for me, I was glad enough to see my old friend, though her bright, unblinking eye betrayed no memory of the years we had spent under the same roof. I began to doubt she'd been enchanted at all.
I slept much of the day, just as I had in the giant's home, but when I woke there was no one to play for. My new owner was so busy showing off his costly clothes in church and at market, so eager to attend dances and to court every young maid in town, he seldom fancied music at home. Even if he had, he learned early that he might not have his way with me as easily as he did with the hen. The first time he'd brought me into the house and set me proudly before his mother,