Stone Soup

The ancient tale revisited. This time with elves, gypsys and poultry. Orcs too. Maybe even a bit of magic.

 

Stone Soup

 

            The orc pounded his fist against the marble floor of the palace. He let out an angry snort from his pig-like nose and a cloud of black smoke floated towards the ceiling.

            “Bring me stone soup!” he bellowed. The miniscule elven body of his servant trembled as the orc loomed over him. The elf was nearly overpowered by the putrid stench of the monster’s rotting breath.     

“My lord, that gypsy spoke n-n-nonsense. One cannot make soup from a stone. It is imp-p-possible.”

            “I—DO—NOT—CARE!”

            The mighty orc’s eyes grew large and his entire body shook with rage.

            “M-m-master please…”

            “SOUP! NOW!”

            He grabbed the poor, timid creature by his belt and hurled him from the palace, slamming the door and locking the iron bolt.

            “Well, I never!” squeaked the elf. He pulled himself up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. The entire situation struck him as extremely unfair. Not only was he expected to make something one could describe as food from a hard, flavorless rock, but he didn’t even have a pot to put it in.

            “Well isn’t this just my lucky day,” he muttered. The elf reluctantly made his way towards the nearest village. He hated the place; the humans always made fun of him because of his short stature and oddly shaped ears. The path itself was a terror. He took every step in fear of the blood-thirsty, unholy beasts that lurked in the shadows.

            The chickens. To a human, chickens may seem like cute, harmless creatures. But to an elf, they are nothing of the sort. Imagine a taloned creature that comes to your chin, a monster with the power of flight. Imagine the razor-sharp beak and muscled legs waiting to tear into your flesh. Imagine hungry, heartless eyes that pierce your soul before the owner takes your life. These images were never far from the elf’s mind during his journey.

            The chickens themselves however, were not to be seen. He completed the trip in safety.

 The only people in the village with a cooking pot big enough for his master’s monstrous appetite were very rich and tended to let money go to their heads. The elf was determined however, and before knocking on their door he took his hat in his hands and did his best to look pitiful in the hopes of earning their sympathy.

A middle-aged woman with far too much make-up and a purple boa around her pasty neck—an actual, living boa constrictor. Apparently she was very determined to impress—opened the door.

“Well aren’t you just darling,” she said, pinching the elf’s embarrassed cheeks. “Robert, you’ve simply got to see this. Do come.” A tall, lanky gentleman appeared wearing a business suit and a blue, furry cap that was far too small for his nearly bald head.

“What is it darling?”

“I believe it’s one of the neighborhood children selling candy or something of the sort,” she said. “I’ll take two bars of the kind with the crisps, dear.”

The elf cleared his throat. “With all due respect madam, I am not a child, but an elf who happens to be very sensitive about his height in addition to being very well read, having lived for well over three hundred years. The reason I come to you is that I happen to be in the employment of a monstrous orc that will surely grind my bones to dust and devour my flesh if I do not bring him a splendid dinner of soup. As you can imagine, I am rather attached to my flesh, which is rather attached to my bones, and I thought perhaps you might loan me your cooking pot so I could avoid such a horrible fate.”

“Oh you poor thing,” said the woman. “Of course we’ll help you.”

The elf sighed with relief. The woman leaned in and whispered to her husband, “I think this one’s a bit looney, but get the pot anyway. He’ll never be able to lift it. I’m sure he’ll soon give up and go home, always best not to be rude.”

 Even though the orc had severely restricted his once amazing arsenal of magic, the elf still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He was barely half as tall as the pot, but that didn’t matter in the least, because after a few mumbled words and elaborate hand gestures the pot was swiftly moving of its own accord.

“Timothy,” the elf said to himself, “Things are finally looking up, metaphorically of course.”

 He decided it would be best to make the soup in the village and take it to his master only after a taste test. That way, if the soup wasn’t as succulent as the orc-king expected, he would at least have a head start.

The orc would still find him of course, as long as he had the ruby amulet inscribed with Tim’s name and those of many other unfortunate creatures. But at least he’d be able to enjoy his life for a few more days before meeting an excruciating death. Maybe he’d use the time to see Vegas, or Niagara Falls.

After no little effort he managed to build a fire for his soup. He placed the pot on top and conjured a small, tangerine-colored rain cloud to fill the pot. He picked up a handful of rocks and held them over the boiling water.

“Wait! No!”

An old woman in a tattered, emerald green robe emerged from a violet puff of smoke. “Those stones are not right. They are not fresh! Here, these are better.” She bent down to pick up a few small, round stones and dropped them into the pot.

“It’s you!” Tim shouted. “This is all your fault you know. Because of your foolish tales my master expects me to make soup from a rock!”

“Is there any other way?”

“You may fool that idiot of a brute, but not me.”

“What do you mean?” she said in surprise. “Stone soup is the food of the gods. Nothing else comes close to its delectable flavor. Be patient, I will show you how it is done.”

Tim watched as she slowly stirred the concoction with her gnarled staff.

“Mmm, it smells so good!” said the gypsy. “Would you like a taste?”

Tim dipped his finger into the pot and then into his mouth. “Wow, do you know what that tastes like?” he said.

“Tell me child, how is the flavor.”

“It tastes like water with rocks in it, you stupid witch!” he said.

The gypsy’s face took on a look of concern before she too tasted the soup. “I will admit, it could use some extra flavor. But that we can do. There is a man nearby who has many carrots. Perhaps he would share?”

Timothy sighed in resignation. “Where does he live?”

The gypsy struck the ground with her staff. A glowing streak of rose-colored light wound its way through the narrow streets. The gypsy called to him, “I must warn you though, he is a bit… peculiar. But, he’s quite gentle, I assure you.”

Tim grudgingly followed the light, passing countless small, short huts with thatched roofs. But as he went deeper in to the city the houses became more and more… peculiar. Some were as tiny as thimbles, others looked like they were built for elephants, not only enormous, but stocked with peanuts.. Quite a few seemed to be carved from giant vegetables.

The rose-colored light ended, spiraling up and around the strangest house of all. It was so large that the top was lost to the sky, hidden behind a wall of clouds. It was one solid piece of iron-hard stone. It would have been extremely intimidating if not for its unusual decorations.

The stone was pink and purple. Carved into its surface were hearts, flowers, kittens and numerous scenes depicting sugar, spice, everything nice and what ever else little girls are made of. Tim smelled lilac and cherry blossom perfume.

As inviting as the house was, Tim was still a bit unnerved as he stood in front of a massive door, easily twenty times his height. He knocked as loudly as he could. The door swung open, and there in the doorway was, by far, the largest, most well-muscled ankle he had ever seen.

Tim was stunned.

“What’s a giant doing in a village for humans?” he sputtered.

There was no answer, just the sound of untold amounts of air passing through an enormous pair of lungs.

“I didn’t mean anything by it of course,” said Tim, “I was just curious is all.”

Tim soon found himself on his back as a massive wall of water fell from the sky, taking him in its current and forcefully flinging him backward. He heard heart-broken sniffles and realized the giant was crying.

“People always judge me,” sobbed the giant. “They think just because I’m so big, because I’m different, that makes me somehow less human.” There was a noise like a foghorn as the giant blew his nose. “Well, it’s not true. I have feelings too. I’m just like everybody else, except for my size.”

 “Umm… there there.” He gave the top of the giant’s foot a reassuring pat. “It’ll be okay.”

His attempt at comforting the giant seemed to be working. The sniffeling had slowed down, and wasn’t nearly as loud. When the giant finally composed himself he bent down to greet his unexpected guest.

“Sorry about the emotional outbursts. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”

The giant offered his hand. The elf awkwardly wrapped both of his arms around the massive pinky, shaking it as best as he knew how. “My name is Lufituaeb and you are welcome in my home. So tell me, what is it you want my little friend?”

“Thank you,” said Tim, bowing and choosing to ignore the comment about his height. “Actually, I’m here because I’m making soup and I heard you might be willing to part with a few carrots.”

Lufituaeb let out a long, bellowing laugh. “Is that all? What are a few carrots between friends?” Lufituaeb brought a bundle of carrots from the cellar and sent Tim off with a gentle pat on the back.

“Well, at least that’s done,” thought Tim, feeling a bit optimistic after such a warm reception. He returned to the center of the village and the gypsy delightedly added the carrots to her bubbling concoction.

“Ahh, yes,” she said. “This is most splendid.” She bent down and took a loud, disgusting slurp. “Mmm, wonderful.”

“Is it ready yet?” asked Tim.

“Patience, patience, my child. It is coming along nicely but there is still much to be done. Luckily, there are a few who can help, if you’re willing to share of course.”        

Her robe swept the ground as she motioned towards a most unlikely trio sitting nearby.

“They know the wonders of stone soup, and if you’d be willing to spare a bit, they have a few lovely vegetables they would add to the pot.”

They were kobolds: humanoid creatures with slimy blue skin and scrunched up, fish-like faces. They unfurled a cloth filled with a colorful mixture of radishes, corn, potatoes and beans. One stepped forward and said, “We are only simple travelers, and have little. But we will share with you, in the name of friendship, to make stone soup.”

Tim raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Unfamiliar with friendship, he found it difficult to believe anyone would try to help him simply out of the goodness of their heart. But, seeing as he had trusted the gypsy this far, he nodded his head in agreement.

The gypsy stirred the vegetables into the soup and took another taste. “Oh my! That is excellent. It has been ages since I’ve tasted stone soup this good.”

Tim could smell the soup and it made his stomach rumble. He smiled. His master would be pleased if it tasted even half as good as it smelled. Villagers from the surrounding houses spilled into the street, noses lifted towards the enchanting aroma. A crowd formed around the pot. A group of hungry children say by its edge, looking expectantly towards the gypsy.

“Can we have some?”

“I am sorry, but it is not mine to give.”

“Then whose is it?”

She pointed to Tim. Every eye in the crowd turned towards the flustered elf.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t have any. There just isn’t enough for everyone. The soup isn’t even for me!”

“But we have food, we can give it to you for the soup,” said a voice.

“Oh yes, I’ve got a turnip!” said another.

“I have celery!”

Hundreds of voices offered one thing or another for the soup. Tim raised his hand to get the crowd’s attention, but they only got louder. He soon realized that he had once again been thwarted by his short stature, so he put down his hand and whistled instead, producing a high-pitched, ear-shattering sound. Silence.

“Look, even if everyone did have something to put in the soup, it wouldn’t matter. The pot is simply too small.”

There was a deep sigh from the crowd. Tim looked down in shame, avoiding the gaze of the heart broken boy who had so quickly offered his turnip. The gypsy cleared her throat.

“I believe I may be of some assistance,” she said.

She lifted her staff and twirled it above her head before bringing it back down and gently tapping the iron pot. The pot quivered for a moment, but otherwise appeared unchanged.

“It looks the same,” said Tim.

“Please, a little faith?”

The turnip boy rushed to the pot and tossed in his gift. The pot began to quiver again, and though it was barely noticeable, grew the tiniest bit. The villagers lined up, adding their foodstuffs to the soup and each time the pot grew. In less than a minute the pot had turned into something that resembled a massive, iron swimming pool filled with a colorful, bubbling sea of vegetables.

Tim was so happy he could have jumped for joy. However, he was far too concerned with his dignity to even ponder doing such a thing. Still, his master would be most pleased, which meant he would live, which was arguably a very good thing. The gypsy took another taste of the soup.

“Marvelous. Oh my! There are simply no words to describe…”

“So it’s ready now?” asked Tim.

“Well… almost. There is only one more thing. Our soup has no chicken. And if it is to be truly great, chicken we must have.”

Tim swallowed hard.

“D-did you say chicken?”

“Yes. Chicken is very important. I suppose you can get one?”

“Umm… sure. Of course. Why not?”

Tim began to sweat as he turned to leave. He remembered the tales that were told in his own village as a child, the nightmares in which he was never fast enough to escape the clucking monstrosity.

Despite his fears, his pride was too great to admit them to the gypsy or the people of the village. If he came back, he would have a chicken. Less than an hour after starting his mission he spotted a white, feathered ball in the distance. He warily approached and was horrified to find that the creature was holding a beautiful butterfly in its merciless jaws. He averted his eyes, trying not to become ill. He heard a small voice call, ”Help!”

Tim’s eyes grew wide. It wasn’t a butterfly! It was a fairy, a sprite of the forest. His fear soon gave way to rage. How dare that brute pick on a harmless fairy, just because it was smaller than he was? Tim leapt onto the chicken’s back and locked his hands around its rubbery neck. The beast made a sickening, guttural sound as Tim tightened his grip. The vicious animal bucked and kicked in a vain attempt at throwing its rider. He punched its feathered chest until it began to cough and sputter, releasing the fairy in its oxygen-deprived confusion. It soon lost consciousness and fell to the ground in a heap.

Tim beamed at his accomplishment. Wait till the elves back home heard about this. Tim, the chicken slayer, protector of elves and destroyer of poultry. He liked the sound of that. As he envisioned his hero’s reception a trembling, high-pitched voice interrupted his fantasy.

“Thank you,” said the fairy. The fairy struggled to straighten her forest brown tunic and to tame her emerald colored hair that had turned into a scraggly mess in the chicken’s mouth. “Really, I thought I was done for.”

“Good thing I was here,” said Tim, basking in his victory. He dragged the chicken towards the village, walking with an arrogant stride as the fairy puttered behind.

“So,” said the fairy, “do you do this hero stuff often?”

“It’s been known to happen,” said Tim, stroking his stubble.

“Interesting. By the way, I noticed that you happen to be dragging that chicken.”

“So?” said Tim defensively. “What about it?”

“Nothing, I just thought elves were magic.”

“They are,” he snapped, “I’ve just reached my magical limit for the day.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that elves had limits to their magic.”

“Well, they don’t normally.”

“So why do you?”

“My power happens to be sealed in a magical orc’s ruby amulet.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Well,” he said, “I signed my name on said amulet.”

“Why’d you sign it?”

“Orcs can be very persuasive.”

“How?”

Tim turned and glared at the fairy. “Gah! Don’t you know how to be quiet!?”

The fairy stared at the floor, trying not to cry. Tim paid no attention to her heart-broken look and continued towards the village.

There was a sea of hungry, eager eyes waiting for him.

“Splendid!” said the gypsy. “What a lovely chicken. Our soup will be perfection. Ahh, but wait, I see you’ve brought a friend. Hello my dear, have you ever tried stone soup? No? Well, you shall; I am sure these good people will share with you.”

“Why thank you,” squeaked the fairy. “But I feel bad taking your soup for nothing. Is there not someway I could help? Something I could bring?”

One of the kobolds let out a loud and boisterous laugh. “A tiny thing like you? Help? Ha! What could such a small creature possibly do to help? Perhaps carry a grain of salt?” The kobold slapped himself on the knee and the crowd burst into laughter. The fairy’s paper-white cheeks turned a deep crimson and she disappeared into the crowd to hide from the mocking eyes.

Tim felt a tinge of guilt as he watched the fairy sulk away. She was only trying to be helpful after all, and he’d been so rude to her. He knew what it was like to be underappreciated.

 No one else, however, really seemed to care. The soup was distributed; everyone was talking and joking without a care in the world. Some of the more foolish creatures began to juggle and sing. Soon even Tim forgot his troubles and began to enjoy the party. He was having so much fun that he forgot the reason they were making stone soup in the first place.

A group of dark, ominous clouds appeared over the horizon floated towards the crowd. A shadow fell over the entire village. The ground itself trembled ever so slightly.                        The festivities stopped and every face turned towards the threatening sky. Heavy, stinging sheets of rain began to fall, whipped against the villagers by violent gusts of wind. It was blinding rain, the very earth turned into a thick mud soup.

The clouds began to swirl around one another and a deafening clap of thunder shook the ground. Tim jumped, slipping and falling in the mud. As he pulled himself up he noticed that the stone soup was left untouched. The rain stopped an inch from its surface and rolled to either side. The gypsy’s gaze was locked on the pot and she seemed to be mumbling something under her breath.

A flash of lightning struck the ground, sending up a wave of mud. Tim looked into the eyes of his master.

“How dare you peasants touch my soup!?” he roared. “Death to the next who so much as tastes one more drop!” The orc loomed over the frightened villagers. A few of the braver ones mumbled in protest.

“Silence!”

The entire crowd was brought to their knees by an arc of hateful red light.

“And as for you,” he turned to his servant. “Timothy”—the amulet glowed and Tim’s skin tingled—“you have failed me for the last time!”

The orc raised a clawed hand. An orb of crimson light began to form in its center. Tim cowered into a ball and closed his eyes.

 A massive hand fell from the sky, striking the orc in his chest and sending him flying.

“You—Will—Not—Hurt—My—Friend!” roared Lufituaeb. As large and intimidating as the orc was, Lufituaeb was easily twice his height. The orc struggled to his feet but another blow from the giant sent him sprawling. “How dare you try to take our soup?” The iron fist collided with the orc’s face. He staggered to his feet once more.

“Enough!” shouted the orc, hurling the crimson orb at Lufituaeb. The giant stopped in his tracks, looking down at the wound in his chest before crumpling into a heap.  “I will not stand for this insolence!” cried the orc. He eyed the huddled crowd of villagers as he lifted his hands, daring them to move. A lethal bolt of green energy flew towards Tim and his new friends: an explosion of emerald light. The orc snorted, waiting for the dust to clear so he could finish off the survivors.

The smoke faded. Everyone was alive, unfazed by his attack.

“How!?”

A frail, ancient figure stepped forward. Her hood was down, but not a drop of rain touched her head. “This is our soup. You have no right.” The gypsy’s voice boomed through the sky, louder than would seem possible for such an old woman.

“Very well,” said the orc. “You will be the first to die.” Once more he raised his hands. Blood red electricity arced across his fingers. There was a grim look of determination on the gypsy’s face as the orc unleashed his attack. It was met halfway by a violet wave of energy. Beams of light swirled in an unholy tempest, cracking and thundering with each new explosion.

At first the orc feared that perhaps he had met his match, but not for long. It soon became apparent that he was, ever so slightly, more powerful.  The inferno of energy moved closer and closer to the gypsy. The villagers were dumbstruck. Every eye was upon the two titans.

Every eye except for two which belonged to a very clever fairy who wanted nothing more than to save the villagers. She pondered and thought as hard as she could, but could think of nothing. She just wasn’t strong enough. She could barely walk, overpowered by mud. Wet dirt was more than her equal and she wanted to battle an orc. Ha!

Wait! That was it! She had a plan.

She picked up as much mud as her small frame could carry. She buzzed towards the orc, making a bee-line for his amulet, the source of his power. The orc didn’t notice such a small and insignificant creature.

Good, that was exactly how she wanted it. The amulet was covered with tiny scratches, the names of so many servants and vanquished enemies. She rubbed the mud into the scratches as fast as her tiny hands could move, but she only had enough to fill three of the dozens of names.

She flew back to the ground, bringing handful after handful of mud to the amulet. The orc’s attack stopped moving towards the gypsy. Inconceivable. She’d somehow gotten stronger. The tempest of energy reversed direction, gaining speed and heading towards the orc.

His eyes grew wide. He was surrounded by the purple energy and a flash of light. Where the monster had once stood there was now only a large, billowing cloud of violet smoke.

The orc, however, still lived. There are many different types of magic; the purple variety is sweet and well-tempered, never fatal. That’s not to say that it isn’t still powerful in its own way.

When the smoke cleared, the cutest, most loveable cocker-spaniel in all the world could be seen running in circles, chasing its own tail. The crowd burst into applause and cheers of praise for their savior. The gypsy was lifted upon their shoulders like the greatest of heroes and paraded through all the town.

Meanwhile, a grumpy, mud-covered fairy sighed.

“I know how it feels to be underappreciated,” said Tim, looking towards the fairy. “I saw, I know you were the real hero.”

The fairy blushed. “Well, I guess it’s only fair, you were my hero first.”

“Hey look, a distraction,” said Tim, pointing into the distance. He was eager to try out his newly recovered powers. The fairy turned her head as he snapped his fingers, sending out a thin, blue line of light that transformed itself into a lovely bouquet of lilies.

The fairy was flattered by the gift. “Lily,” she thought to herself, “you know, this guy isn’t half bad.” That thought led to a date which led to a hug which led to a kiss which led to a house in the boughs of a marvelous enchanted oak and a happily ever after.

For generations the villagers told the tale of Timothy, slayer of poultry, and the nameless magical gypsy who had saved them and given them the gift of stone soup. Each year they celebrated their victory with the making of stone soup, and the petting of an impossibly cute puppy that never grew up and was now forever obligated to allow the humblest of creatures to scratch him behind the ears and rub his belly.

 

Author's Note

Let me know what you thought? Did you like it, did it touch your soul, did it make you vomit? If you have any advice, or noticed any mistakes, let me know pretty please.

Reviews

[Melanie Jane Boicourt S..]

Tin soon found himself on his back as a massive wall of water fell from the sky, taking him in its current and forcefully flinging him backward. He heard heart-broken sniffles and realized the giant was crying.

I just thought you'd want to change his name back to Tim instead of Tin. LOL
Loved the story. I read it to my children and they loved it too. It is difficult to read that much on the computer and my eyes are going funny now but it was extremely good. You gave new life to the old story and kept our interest throughout.
Love All, Mejasha

[Sally Edwards]

Great updated version of an old tale, I remember the original version from my childhood, I love the changes you have made. I also like the way you wove some extra bits into it. I didn't see any mistakes while reading, I really enjoyed reading this :))

[Adventerous Amy]

wow that was......................................AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!
I cant think of a better word to descibe it!

Amy
;-))))))))))))))))))))))))