The Tears of Gold

A short story also used as an outline for a brief stage play

Once upon a time in a far far land beyond the horizon, in a forest covered entirely with rime glittering like diamonds in the sunlight. Within this forest, thoroughly hidden from sight, there was a house of stunning beauty, from ground to roof gilded in thick layers of gold.It was inhabited by three of the most disgusting sisters the world had ever brought forth, menacing witches of great evil. Each one of them was grosser than the other.

 

Some day a lone adventurer came to hear about the obscure golden house and began to search for it.He traveled far from country to country, kingdom to kingdom, he even rowed across the vast ocean just to find it. But once he finally hit the shore, the rime covered woods, sparkling in the midsummer sun, appeared before his eyes.It didn't take too long until the young, brave man spotted the golden house under a huge pine tree frosted with ice.He stepped toward the door and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

 

“Hey there!”, he exclaimed.“Anybody home?”

Steam and smoke were puffing through the chimney, yet nobody answered his call. As nothing else happened, the lad boldly grabbed his sword and exerted himself by trying to pry the door open by force. But no matter how he grunted and sweated in his efforts, it remained sealed tight. He might as well have tried to move an entire mountain range out of the way.

 

Before damaging his valuable weapon and his dignity beyond repair, he withdrew and examined the windows closely which were part of the house's front. He shook his head in disappointment that these so called windows were nothing else but facade, a mere decoration closely resembling real windows. There was no chance that a burglar could possibly gain entry through one of them.

 

As he was about to turn around and leave the place empty handed, he instantly hesitated when a clicking noise followed by the squeaking sound of rusty hinges caught his attention. Painstakingly slowly the door pushed itself open, then slamming noisily into the wall when it sped up the last bit.

 

The young adventurer, now in high hopes, did not waste time in idle wonder but drew closer to the opening, peering inside. Nothing new was revealed though except maybe darkness as black as pitch and a abhorrent whiff of foul air that almost burned his nose hair off. With a frown on his forehead he grasped his sword tightly, sent a silent prayer towards heaven,lighted a torch and, taking a brave step, leaped through the door.

 

Just as he crossed the threshold,the wooden door slammed shut behind him, locking itself with rumbling and clicking. No doubt, he was trapped. The darkness now completely engulfed him from tip to toe, a darkness so thick and dense that barely any light beam could punch through it. It seemed that his pathetic, little torch was no more use than a single glowworm in a clouded, starless night. And yet it was no reason for him to wet his pants and flee.

 

The well trained, experienced warrior and ranger he was, he needn't rely on eyesight alone. Simply follow the stench, he thought to himself. And indeed. As he moved deeper into the unknown, the terrible odor worsened, gradually pointing him toward its source. Right where he wanted to go. It took him some hundred steps or so, until he reached a region in which the musky smell of death, decay and excrement climaxed.

 

His nostrils were being tormented with every in and out breath, leaving a dizzy feeling in his head as if somebody had taken a box of thousand pointy tacks and had banged them right into his sinuses. Right at this moment he was alarmed by his intuition. Somebody or something was watching him beyond the veil of darkness. Fluidly he shifted into fighting stance, readying himself to fend off any potential threat.

 

For some incomprehensible reason it had also become lighter, thus enabling him to scan the surroundings briefly. At the fuzzy corners of his vision, he discovered something odd. It appeared to him that the floor was littered with a sheer amount of obliterated human bones, skulls, dented and molten armor pieces besides other undefinable stuff piling up everywhere.The young brave man grimaced in relent. Seems I'm not the first to have a rendezvous with death..,he mumbled to himself.

 

He shrugged. Maybe, with a little divine help and cunning, he could turn the odds, end this outrage once and for all, and survive to tell the tale. Then, all of a sudden, a piercing shriek echoed through the twilight, agonizing his eardrums. And with puffs of oily smoke and bursting sparks it became light. What was once beyond human vision now revealed itself as a witch's kitchen. Hexes, myriads of colorful flasks and other black magical paraphernalia were dwelling on chaotic shelves which had been arranged around an enormously large steel cauldron.Blue flames of intense heat were blazing underneath it, heating its mysterious contents far over boiling point. All in all it added a chemical tint to the nonetheless bizarre and terrible blend of odors.

 

Before our young explorer was able to utter any word of wonder, suddenly, out of nowhere, three of the ugliest and most horrifying faces ever seen, materialized before his very own, poking their huge,disfigured, wart covered noses into his face. Like hungry bloodhounds they sniffed at him, green ooze dripping from deep hair infested nostrils, causing him to shuffle backward in alarm, just to counter in a flurry of slashes which normally would have beheaded any adversary.

 

This time the young warrior wasn't that lucky though. Instead of slicing through hag flesh, the blade cut through nothing but thin air, as the witches used their powers to turn into mirages. The second blow was parried by a magical shield, stopping the edged weapon in mid air. And it didn't come to a third, for a stream of fire emitted by the mouth of the fattest of the three wicked sisters super heated the sword to white glow. The unlucky young man cried out in pain as he dropped the now useless weapon, smelling the sweet aroma of his own burnt flesh, sizzling from his hand.

 

Then, quicker as his reflexes could save him,he was struck by an invisible force, which swept him off his feet, knocking him forcefully into a heap of rotten bones. He could see stars twinkling in his view when all air was punched out of his windpipe. But he didn't embrace the relief of unconsciousness quite yet. Painstakingly slowly and swaying he scrambled to his feet, trying to shake the giddiness in his head. And there they were, the three menacing sisters, surrounding him like hungry hyenas, applauding him with their manic laughter.

 

“Ooh...look what we have here, sisters!”, the tallest of the three hags uttered in a rasping voice.“Carmelita, Chiquita, what do you say?” She pointed her claw at the young man who was barely able to stand. “That one's no ordinary cub...” She sniffed acutely, her eyes widening as it dawned to her that the young man was not the typical run of the mill treasure hunter.

 

“I smell....royal blood...”.“Yees, Conchita.”, the fat witch replied. “Just what I thought as well. That boy could see right through our illusions and disguises. I cannot perceive any other conclusion, for no sane man in the whole world would ever reject this gorgeous body of mine.” She proudly spun her over sized frame from side to side, posing as the beautiful maiden she definitely was not. Upon hearing this her rather small bodied sister scoffed at her in a sneering laugh.

 

“Carmelita and beautiful...” She shook her head in despise. “For something in the size of a pot whale maybe. How unfortunate, not even magic can fix such mishap, my very chubby sister.” The offended Carmelita blushed in anger. “You little...!”, she spluttered breathlessly between clenched teeth. “At least I am not as flat as a pan cake in certain areas...my very VERY little sister!”

 

That comment only poured more oil into the fire and a heated quarrel between the two younger witches erupted. All of a sudden a strong gust of wind arose in midst of the commotion, strongly magnifying the yell it accompanied. “Silence!”, Conchita the eldest commanded in a harsh tone. “Both your petty and ridiculous short comings shall fade to nothing, once we sink our teeth into the boy's fresh meat...”,she explained. “His royal blood carries all the nutrients we need...vigor, youth and life force for the next ten millennia. Don't you worry, sisters. Beauty, riches, power... and the world shall be OURS."

 

Conchita clenched her fist in a gesture of victory, while the former quarrel hags could do nothing but nod eagerly in appraisal. “Now, girls, where were we? How shall we prepare such an extraordinary delicacy of blue blooded heritage?”, the eldest hissed, greed, lust and eternal hunger written into her face.“As long as I can have his buttocks, I don't care at all.”, started Carmelita.“If I in turn can win his heart, you may of course.”, continued Chiquita.The two witches giggled in amusement, until they were interrupted by a young man, trying to clear his throat.

 

“Sorry to barge in, my ladies, but maybe I have one or two words to say on that particular matter.”The eldest witch raised a brow in surprise. “And what would that be....Your Highness?”, Conchita snarled. The adventurer shrugged. “Fairly simple. You just hand me the Potion of Resurrection and the Pendant of Protection and we are even. I'll be on the road again and you...may go on with your wicked business or whatever. A good deal...isn't it?”

 

Conchita stared at the young man in curiosity, not sure what to make out of his words.“I am not convinced.”, she replied. “What in sanity’s name makes you think we would voluntarily cede some of our most treasured possessions to you, My Lord. You are hardly in the position to wager...” The elder witch granted him the friendliest smile she could possibly shape with that disfigured face of hers. She even indicated a curtsy in mockery.

 

The young man smiled right back at her. “I wager with your very lives, my dear ladies. In case we cannot come to a friendly agreement....well..then...I shall wrack your wicked deeds in the name of the honorable kingdoms Esmerya, Rubya and Saphirya. You will die on the spot and the world shallbe at peace...”

 

When the puzzled witches heard those words, they could do nothing else than burst into their trademarked laughter in shrill and shrieking voices. It appeared to them that the young man had entirely lost his mind due to the desperate situation he found himself in. He must had gone mad in fear and terror. To them it didn't matter. Fear and madness only added to the flavor...

 

In a hurry the witches assembled around the firy, steaming cooking pot of huge dimension. “Now what shall we do with such a tasty little boy?”, one witch asked.

“Shall we cook him?”, screamed the other.

“Oh no, look at him...”, rejected another.

“Broil him?”

“That will only spoil him...”“Fry him?”

“That will only dry him...”“Bake him?”

“That's not gonna break him...”

“Steam him?”

“Not before we cream him...”

 

And on and on it went, the witches dancing around the bubbling cauldron, polling for the best method of cooking and their victim's best parts. Actually the three witches were that absorbed in the act of dancing, bickering, laughing and decision making, that the young adventurer was practically ignored right on the spot. But he knew very well, that once he made a wrong move, he would be torn apart to meat jerky before he could even utter “Abracadabra”.

 

Fortunately he was also very well aware of their greatest weakness, a weakness that could be easily exploited by somebody like him. Witches, as everybody knows are especially attuned to dance, even more than any ordinary human being in the whole wide world. And this particular breed of witches was no exception, he deducted, while watching the jolly old folks in their acrobatic gambols around the fire place.

 

Showtime, he mumbled when, in an elaborate and elegant spinning motion, he hurled around to free himself from hood and cloak, sending the cape flying. In an instant he accessed all his experience, knowledge and technique. He remembered the countless times he had danced with beautiful Elven Ladies, on stately banquets at imperial courts, on festivals, with Gypsy, magical folk and in numerous of the filthiest dance parlors the civilized world could offer.

 

Merged with his art of swordsmanship, he now was the master. Smoothly the dextrous young man shifted from position to position, almost floating through space, gliding past the enchanted hags, who, unable to comprehend such high level of skill, were literally hypnotized by his technique. Rotating and gyrating in direction of the shelves, he was able to snatch both the potion and the amulet he needed, right beneath the ugly noses of the bewitched hags.

 

Now only one more thing remained to be done. In a swift move he grabbed the witches crystal ball from a nearby table, jumping as high as his legs allowed, only to cast the ball right into the boiling soup of chemical compounds which kept bubbling in the cauldron. Within the split second the adventurer was airborne, Conchita surprisingly regained her consciousness, stretching out her arms in desperation. She screamed at the top of her voice, but it was far too late.

 

The young man could already feel the surge of heat emanating from the large cooking pot. He quickly decided to make his run, now or never. Frantically the witches shouted and cursed each other in their attempts to stop the chain reaction by all means. But in their apparent powerlessness they were forced to watch the steel surface of the pot shift from red to orange glow and then to white.

 

The adventurer didn't bother though. He was busy enough to propel his weary body to the exit, pronto. It appeared to be quite a way until he reached the door, as the house was far larger on the inside than on the outside. He sighed in relief, for the door was unlocked, as the witches focused their power on more urgent matters. Panting from exhaustion he threw himself through the opening, just in the moment when the glaring light of a thousand suns, searing heat together with a deafening blast, disintegrated everything.

 

Cauldron, witches and large parts of the house were blown to bits and pieces, barely missing the young man, who had been tossed into a heap of snow. He lay there for a while, pressing himself tightly to the ground, until the explosions had ceased. It was over, finally, he realized when he peeped over his shoulder.

 

The entire witch's lair was cast into flames, giving it an unreal and flickering aura of golden light, as the layers of gold melted and dripped onto the evaporating snow. Several hours flew past until the whole construction had burned to the ground. Nothing was left that hinted at the former glory of the witch's golden lair, except maybe the splatters of gold here and there, lying in puddles of water.

 

Gone in the wind. Just like the last shrieks and cries of the dying witches, echoing throughout the valley.The young hero, ready to return home, picked up as many of the gold nuggets clotted on the ground, as his bags allowed him to carry. Soon after had lifted the forest from its frosty curse, he headed for the city state of Esmerya, in which Princess Esmeralda longingly awaited his return. By using the magical potion stolen from the witch's stock, he was able to cure her from the ailments inflicted by dark sorcery.

 

Henceforth he lived a happy and prosperous life at the side of his royal lover. He also invested the incredible load of gold he alone had hauled back to his hometown in several countless businesses throughout the Empire. He used the profit to restore his own kingdom, Myrmidonia, the mercenary realm, to its former grace and prosperity. The remainders, not too less, were donated in charity in the service of the poor. Our hero lived happily ever after to become the patriarch of a long lineage of powerful protectors of the people. But that would be another story...