New Fairy Tales

New Fairy TalesIssue 1ContentsLetter from the Editor, page 2List of contributors, page 3The Mountain Ringerby Elaine Crinnion, page 5The Towerby Lucy Ann Wade, page 8Cloudberriesby linda sarah, page 11Moth and the Jade Rabbitby Jacqueline Gabbitas, page 12Three Sistersby Anna Novitzky, page 15The Princess and the Pigby K. A. Laity, page 18The Silent Kingdomby Claire Massey, page 20Creatures from the Curiosity Cabinet - No.1by Particle Article, page 22Illustration, Star, by Faye DurstonIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 1

Letter from the EditorWelcome to the first issue of New Fairy Tales. Weare a free online magazine featuring brilliant newfairy tales and beautiful illustrations. We aim toprovide a home for original fairy tales and fairytale art on the web.We don’t believe the fairy tale canon iscomplete or that we should only retell oldstories. We believe that there are many newfairy tales out there waiting to be written andread and loved. We welcome work frompreviously unpublished writers and illustratorsalongside the more established. We’re free sothat we can reach as many people as possibleand we’re hoping to raise money for a goodcause, Derian House Children’s Hospice, inChorley, Lancashire, UK. If you enjoy themagazine please do take the time to show yourappreciation by making a small donation to themthrough our website; it really means a lot.We don’t believe fairy tales are just forchildren. It is well known that many of theoriginal literary fairy tales were intended for anadult audience and can be read on many levels.And we don’t believe in watering down fairy talesor patronising anybody; children often love fairytales with the gruesome or scary bits left in. Wehope you will agree that the contents of themagazine are suitable for all ages.We received lots of submissions for this firstissue and my job, as Editor, has been a verydifficult one but the stories you are about to readall really stood out to me. Some feel traditional,some more modern. The stories are all originalbut of course no story can exist in isolation fromthe amazing literary history we all share. So youwill find familiar fairy tale elements, includingprincesses and towers and you will findcharacters from myth used in a new way. For meall of these stories have the essential mark of agood fairy tale: I wanted to read them again.I would like to thank the following people fortheir generous help, support and kindness:Graham Dean – for all the technical help!, EmmaHardy – Creative Writing Tutor with the OpenUniversity for all her good advice and help withthe final selection decisions, Lin Dean for heramazing and unending help, Greg Massey for hissupport and patience and Elizabeth Burns for herhelpful feedback on my own stories.Illustration, Cherry Tree,by Faye DurstonImportant Copyright NoticeCopyright of all the work contained inthis magazine remains with theindividual writers and illustrators. Themagazine is intended for personal andeducational use only. Please respectcopyright; all enquiries about the workcontained in the magazine should bedirected to editor@newfairytales.co.ukWe will pass your enquiry on to therelevant writer or illustrator.Claire MasseyEditor October 2008Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 2

ContributorsThe WritersElaine Crinnion is a graduate of The University ofPortsmouth in combined English and creative arts; isa former children’s story writer and illustrator forPortsmouth & Southampton TV; has been publishedas a poet in a variety of media including: online inJackie Kay’s National Poetry Day blog, 2006; on cds;in short films; on the Portsmouth radio stationExpress FM, and in pamphlets, anthologies, andjournals; has read - under the name StellaMandella - at fringe festival events from Brighton toEdinburgh; has won prizes for her poetry; runspoetry events and workshops for children; and is thedirector of the children’s poetry performance groupThe Wordipops. Elaine (as Stella Mandella) is alsoone half of the poetry duo The DisparateHousewives, with London-based poet JacquelineSaphra, the other. Elaine is currently writing thenarrative for a children's picture book about junglewildlife, and is also close to completing a pre-teens'novel in the fairy tale genre. Originally from Surrey,Elaine currently shares a terraced cottage inSouthsea, Portsmouth, with Philip Crinnion and threeoffspring between six and twenty-three years of age.www.myspace.com/stellamandellaLucy Ann Wade is 27 years old and lives inLeicester. Her short story Calypso was recentlyincluded in the anthology Lands End, published byInkermen Press (August 2008). Her story Lupus washighly commended in the Leicestershire short storycompetition in August 2007, and was subsequentlyadapted into a dramatic monologue and performedat a fundraiser event for the Ladyfest Festival(Leicester, 2007). She has written two plays, HighStreet Aphrodite and Hoodies, which receivedrehearsed readings at the Momentum PlaywritingFestival (Nottingham, 2005 and 2007 respectively).Lucy is currently working on her first novel. Formore information, please seehttp://lucyannwade.blogspot.com/Jacqueline Gabbitas was born in Worksop,Nottinghamshire. Her poetry has been published inmagazines and anthologies, including Poetry Review,Oxford Magazine and Images of Women (ArrowheadPress, 2006). In 2007 she was shortlisted for theNew Writing Ventures Awards and her pamphlet, MidLands was published by Hearing Eye Press. She hasbeen awarded a Hawthornden Fellowship to completeher first poetry collection. Jacqueline is an editor onBrittle Star magazine and works for EnitharmonPress. Her website is www.jacquelinegabbitas.netThe IllustratorsAs a child Faye Durston spent most of her timedressing up, writing stories and painting (messily).As a grown up, Faye still spends most of her timedressing up, writing stories and painting (slightlyless messily). She lives in a cottage on the NorthEast coast of England, and her first book for childrenis due to be published my MacMillan in 2010. Youcan see more of her work athttp://fayedurston.blogspot.com/linda sarah is an artist and writer who lives inLondon. You can visit her website athttp://singandfly.com and her blog for illustratedpoems and stories at http://travelandsing.comKevin Dean trained at the Royal College of Art, hehas worked as a illustrator and designer since 1983.His client list includes The BBC, The Natural HistoryMuseum and numerous publishers including Chatto& Windus and The Readers Digest. 'Jungles Hide &Seek' a children's book produced in collaborationwith Prof John Norris Wood has sold nearly a millioncopies worldwide. Kevin is particularly interested inJungles and he has lived with tribal peoples inBorneo and South America. He has also designedmarble floors and archways for a Mosque in AbuDhabi, one of the floors is bigger than a footballpitch! www.kevindean.co.ukGraham Dean has been taking photographs forover 40 years, but more seriously in the last 10years, since the onset of digital imaging. He’s hadone solo exhibition to date, and work accepted atnational and international exhibitions from Malmö toMiami. Website www.grahams-gallery.co.ukEsther Johnson studied illustration at theUniversity of the West of England where shediscovered a passion for fairy tales and children’sstories. She is currently based in Cheshire whereshe is studying a creative writing course to furtherher knowledge of the balance between word andimage. Her websites arewww.estherjohnson.co.uk andhttp://ewoketty.deviantart.com/Jeanette Salvesen is 19 years old from Oslo,Norway. She is currently studying art at "EinarGranum Kunstfagskole" in Oslo with the goal ofbecoming a children’s book illustrator. You can seemore of her work athttp://dreamsofalostspirit.deviantart.com/Anna Novitzky lives in south London, in a tall housefilled with stuffed animals which move when no oneis looking. She has previously been published as amusic journalist, an opinion columnist and a civilservant, but her heart truly lies in fantasy fiction.Anna loves Hallowe’en, fireworks and long lie-ins,and she misses her pet snake, Thierry.Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 3

The Writers (continued)K. A. Laity teaches medieval literature, film andpopular culture at the College of Saint Rose inAlbany, New York. In between writing very seriousessays about Anglo-Saxon literature and Old Norsesagas, she also writes very silly things like "TheRules for Fimble Fowl (for 3 players or 4)" andimaginary donation letters for Wonderland. See herwebsite, www.kalaity.com for links to her blog andpublications, including her fairytale novel,Pelzmantel, and new short story collection Unikirja,inspired by Finnish myths and legends.Claire Massey is the founder and Editor of NewFairy Tales, she is based in Chorley, Lancashire. Sheloves reading fairy tales, reading about fairy talesand writing fairy tales and she wishes someonewould invent a laptop she could use in the bath.The Illustrators (continued)Particle Article are sisters Amy Nightingale andClaire Benson. Amy graduated in 2007 fromNottingham Trent University with a BA (Hons) inTextile Design where she specialised in embroidery anddeveloped pieces with a handmade, precious feel,fusing metals, plastics, fabrics and found materials,combining traditional and contemporary techniquesand styles. Claire has been an Occupational Therapistin Mental Health since 1997. She uses creativeactivities to enable recovery from mental illness.Together they create intricate, quirky sculptures ofwinged creatures from abandoned and reclaimedmaterials, both organic and manmade. Their fragilefigurines often resemble insects, fairies, angels, orhybrids of these. They have exhibited their work acrossthe UK. See their website www.particlearticle.co.ukfor more details, stockists and forthcoming exhibitions.The Story Princesses by linda sarahIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 4

TheMountainRingerby Elaine CrinnionThere was once a womanwho lived in a village at thebottom of a mountain. Everymorning, while it was stilldark, she left her house andtramped up the long, steep,mountain path to themountain top. As the sun wasrising, she lifted the almightywooden mountain mallet, andbegan work, for she, Felicity,was The Mountain Ringer.The mountain had threesides: The sunny village side;the dappled forest side; andthe dark, dark, ravine side.At its stony summit, all threesides had a circle polishedinto the stone, the size of aporthole. Felicity started atthe sunny village side: With aheave of the mallet, shestruck the centre of thesunny-side stone circle: Ding!it chimed, on a high note.Then she ran to the dappledforest side, and with anotherheave of her mallet, struckthe centre of the dapple-sidestone circle: Dang! it rang,on a deep note. Then she ranto the dark, dark, ravine side,heaved her mallet again, andstruck the dark-side stonecircle: Dung! it sung, on alow note. Then she ran backand started again. On and onshe ran, round and round themountain top, striking theplates in turn: Ding!, Dang!,Dung!At first, the, Ding!, theDang!, and the Dung!sounded out separately, eachnote dying off before Felicityreached the next strikingplace.But by the third round,the notes began to join up:Dinggg!Danggg!Dunggg!After that, every strikingbrought the notes closer still,until, on the seventh hit, theplates played a chord of thethree notes combined:Dong!Dong!Dong! andFelicity knew she’d finishedher work for the day. She laydown, catching her breath,waiting...When the last Dong! hadalmost faded away, themountain began to vibrate.Felicity felt it tingling throughher strong mountain-ringerback. ‘Here it comes…’ shethought with excitement.And here it was: one final,enormous, ground-ripplingDONNGGGGG!!! resoundingfrom the middle of themountain. Loose rocksbounced down the mountainsideinto the ravine; flocks ofbirds flew from the forest;calling; and in the village,everyone woke up.By the time Felicity hadmade her way back down thelong, steep, mountain path,the baker had filled his shopwith bread and cakes, thefarmer had milked the cows,fetched the eggs, andchurned the butter, and thebutcher had prepared themeat.“Here’s some bread andpies for you Felicity!” hailedthe baker merrily, as soon hesaw Felicity returning.“And here are someeggs, milk, and butter!” criedthe farmer, cheerily.“And here’s a chicken foryou!” called the butcher, witha jolly grin.“Why thank you!” saidFelicity graciously.The villagers were goodto her: Her mountain ringinggot everybody up out of theright side of bed.Felicity went home for agrand cook-up. She neededit. She was a big, hungrywoman. Like all The MountainRingers before her, she hadchunky, mallet-swingingarms with massive hands tomatch; trunky mountainclimbinglegs, with huge feetat the end; and a hunkymountain-ringing body in themiddle. This was perfect forher work, but she did wonderif she might’ve found ahusband by now, if only shewas a little daintier.Whenever she went tobarn dances, no man couldlift her. She thought most ofthem probably couldn’t evenlift her mallet! She ended upthrowing her partners roundinstead and they didn’t dancewith her again after beingspun about like a lady.Although Felicity livedalone, she was still hopeful offinding herself a goodhusband, until, one day, shefound a single white hairamong her bright red locks…“Oh my!” she wailed,plucking it out. “A finewoman like me going towaste! If someone doesn’tsnap me up soon, I’ll be tooold to bother!”Felicity was so upset,she couldn’t sleep that night.She turned and turned in herbed whimpering “Oh my!”and by the morning, shewasn’t herself at all.Rubbing her eyes, shemade her way up the long,Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 5

steep, mountain path, asusual, and her first Ding!went to plan, but when sheswung the mallet to strikethe first Dang!, it whizzed outof her hands and disappearedinto the forest. Felicity wentwhite: The mallet had beenhanded down to her throughcenturies from past MountainRinger to Mountain Ringer,like an Olympic torch, itsflame, as-yet, undying… Thenshe went scarlet: And therewas only one mallet like it inthe whole wide world… Thenshe went back to her normalcolour.‘Shame,’ she thought.‘But it’s obviously fate. I shallbecome a seamstressinstead, and grow dainty.When the men see what asplendid creature I really am,I’ll marry the pick of the lot.The village will simply haveto learn to wake itself upfrom now on.’And with that, Felicitymade her way down the long,steep, mountain path, backto her house, and beganlearning to sew.Before long, there was abashing on her door. It wasthe baker. “I didn’t wake uptill half-way through the dayand burnt all my bread!” hecomplained grumpily.Next came the farmer.“I slept in, and the cowsescaped! There’s no milk, nobutter, and no eggs either,for anybody!” he moaned.The butcher followed.“Where were you thismorning?!…” he barked.They all blamed Felicityfor not waking them up andinsisted she go and look forher mallet right away. Sheargued she’d never find it inall those trees, but thevillagers begged and bulliedher till she reluctantly put hersewing down, and set off forthe dappled forest.In the forest, Felicitycame across a young manshe’d never met before; thewoodcutter. He lived on hisown in the forest, in awooden house he’d built withhis own hands.“Hello, I’m SethSilvester,” he said, smiling.“Well, I’m FelicityPringle, The MountainRinger.” said Felicity, feelingrather sulky about still havingto call herself ‘The MountainRinger’ rather than the daintyseamstress she wanted to be.“I know: Like you, I risebefore dawn. I see you goingup the long, steep, mountainpath every day - and downagain. You’ll be looking foryour mallet.” said Seth.“Ay, that I am,” saidFelicity sadly.“That’s good - becauseI’ve been looking for it too -and I’ve found it!” he saidpicking up the mallet fromwhere he’d hidden it behindhim, and holding it out to heras if it were no heavier, orless beautiful, than a rose.Felicity thanked him politely,but none too graciously.“You don’t seem toohappy to have it back!” Sethcommented.“I thought it was fate I’dlost it!” she sighed.“I think it is!” said Seth.“No,” said Felicity. “Itwas merely a blunder. If itwas fate, my life would bedifferent, but now you’vereturned it, I’ll be ringing themountain on and on same asever!”The very next morning,Felicity was back up the long,steep, mountain path to themountain top. Today, notonly was Felicity’s first Ding!perfect, but so was her firstDang! Unfortunately though,when she was about tostrike, Dung!, the mallet flewout of her hands again, thistime, landing in the middle ofthe deep, fast, river at thebottom of the dark, dark,ravine.‘I shall become aseamstress after all!’ thoughtFelicity, and set offhomewards down the long,steep, mountain path, tocarry on sewing andbecoming dainty. When thevillagers hammered at herdoor, Felicity shouted atthem: “The mallet’s lost forgood, in the ravine! No pointlooking this time!”And eventually, theywent away. One of the callerswas Seth Silvester. When heheard Felicity bellowing thatthe mallet was in the ravine,he went away too.By the evening, Felicitythought the villagers hadgiven up banging her door,beseeching, and bossing; butthere was another knock.“The mallet’s gone I say!”called Felicity, exasperated.She was no daintier, and thesewing wasn’t going too welleither.“No! The mallet’s here!”the caller declared.Felicity opened the door.There was Seth, dripping wetfrom the river, on his bendedknee, presenting the malletto her as if it were no lesscumbersome, or lessprecious, than anengagement ring. He’d divedto get it back.“Felicity Pringle,” Sethdeclared. “You dropping thismallet is fate! Don’t becomea seamstress! Marry me, andcontinue being The MountainRinger!”Felicity looked at thetangled mass of thread andmaterial she’d accidentallystitched to her dress - andlaughing - she agreed. Sethpicked her up in his strongarms, kissed her, then gentlyput her down again.A strange thinghappened… Felicity felt athrum and a rattle and arumble coming from themountain, tingling throughher hefty mountain-stompingIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 6

feet. “Oh my!” she said, insurprise: “DONNGGGGG!!!”rang the mountain!Everyone in the villagecame out of their houses,amazed.“I’m getting married!”Felicity announced, holdingSeth’s hand in one hand, hermallet in the other andwaving them at the villagers.“And I’m The MountainRinger again!”“Hooray!” cried thevillagers, and music anddancing began there andthen, with Felicity and Sethtaking turns to throw eachother round in joyfulcelebration.Illustrations by Kevin DeanIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 7

TheTowerby Lucy Ann WadeTommy Frobisher and hisyounger brother, Ryder,could often be seen ridingtheir bikes around the estateand over to the park duringthe school holidays. Tommywas more confident than hisbrother, agile and sporty, andhe often had to persuade hisbrother to put down hiscomputer games and joinhim, for their parents did notwant either of them cyclingoff alone. Tommy was alwayshungry for exploring. Ryderpreferred to stay indoors.Each day during thesummer, the boys would ridearound the streets, past thenewsagent’s and thebutcher’s shop, past thechemist and thegreengrocers, and thenonwards to the park. Thepark was much better forcycling; a big country park onthe edge of the town, itdivided the suburban fromthe countryside. They tooktheir bikes off-road andcycled across the grass andmud and through the sectionat the edge of the park whichhad been left by the parkkeepersand had become awilderness. On this particularday, in mid-July, the boyscycled onwards, and as theyrode, Ryder began to noticethe trees getting denser anddenser.“Tommy, stop!” Rydercalled, and Tommy stopped,waiting for Ryder to catch up.“I think we must have riddenthrough the park and into thewood.” Swithen Wood lay onthe other side of the park, onthe borders of the town,usually visited only by trampsand weirdos.Tommy checked hiswatch. “That’s ok; we haveages before we have to behome. Let’s go explore.”Tommy moved off, andRyder, reluctantly, as wasalways the case, peddledafter him.The wood was pleasantand cool. They followed a dirtpath, past a stagnant pond,and a fallen down tree,before Tommy decided totake a detour.“Come on, this way!”Tommy called, and Ryderfollowed, off the dirt path,and into the forest. As theyrode further, the canopyabove them grew thicker,and the way grew darker.“Let’s go back now,”Ryder said.Riding through a thicketof bushes, both boys foundthemselves in a clearing. Inthe centre of the clearingstood a large stone tower,round and old, the sunlightthrough a break in thecanopy cascaded down overit in such a way that it lookedalmost dreamlike. What atower was doing in themiddle of Swithen Wood,neither of them could guess.Tommy began to climb off hisbike.“What are you doing? Ithought we were goingback?” Ryder said.“Come on, we can checkit out. It might make a goodclub house.” Tommy saidenthusiastically. Ryderdropped his bike in the dirtand followed Tommy as theyfound the entrance, the doorlong since decayed tonothingness, and they bothwent inside.“I’m not sure this issafe,” Ryder said. Throughthe entrance, the walls werebrick and cobwebs and dirt,and the room was dominatedIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 8

y a stone staircase. Therewas nowhere else to go butup.“Come on!” Tommy said,and he began to climbcarefully up the old worn-outsteps. Ryder followed behind.They climbed up thesteps, and climbed, andclimbed. On the outside, thetower did not look this tall,but to the boys, whose legshad begun to ache withfatigue, it felt as though theywere climbing to the stars.Finally, after whatseemed like hours later, thestairs ended, and they foundthemselves at the very top ofthe tower, in a dusty roomwith little light. In the centreof the room there stood acrimson chaise longue andthere, lying neatly in themiddle of it, was the mostbeautiful young woman thetwo had ever seen. She layquite still, dressed in silksembroidered with gold; herlong, flowing honey-colouredhair framing her heartshapedface. Her skin wasthe colour of ivory, and hercheeks and lips were flushed.Her body was untouched bythe dust and damp in theroom, and seemed to glow inthe dim light. She wasasleep, breathing shallowbreaths, yet her lashes didnot stir. The air in the roomwas still, and smelt of must.Both boys were in awe.Tommy crept closer.“Don’t, you’ll wake her!”Ryder whispered, standingback against the wall.Tommy turned and smiled tohis brother. “What’s shedoing, asleep up hereanyway? And look, herclothes are ancient.”Ryder still kept hisdistance. “I don’t want to getinto trouble,” he said.Tommy had an idea. “It’slike in a story, remember,where the girl is put under aspell, and can only be wokenup with a kiss. I’m going towake her.”“You’re going to kissher?” Ryder, being theyounger of the brothers, wasrevolted.Tommy gave his brothera thumb’s up, and edgedcloser to the sleeping figure.He imagined he could smellflowers in the air around heras he moved closer. She trulywas beautiful, he thought,beautiful in a way he did notquite understand. He gulped,and leaned over the sleepinggirl.As he placed his lips ontohers, the odour of flowerswas replaced by the odour ofsomething older, somethingalmost sour and rotten.Before he knew it there was abang, and he felt a joltthrough his entire body.Ryder ran over to hisbrother, who had beenthrown backwards, as ifelectrocuted. The boy lookedstunned, and for a fewminutes was so dazed andconfused that he could notspeak.The girl on the chaiselounge, however, remainedjust as still, just as obliviousas ever, her chest gentlyfalling and rising, her perfectbody perfectly still.“Come on, let’s gohome,” Ryder said, in afrightened whisper. The air inthe room had turned cold,and he was suddenly awareof how long they had beengone for. He helped hisbrother to his feet. Tommystill looked shocked, andcould barely walk straight.Ryder put his arm around hiswaist and helped him downthe stairs. This time, thejourney seemed shorter, andsoon they were back outside,once more in the lateafternoonsun, and Ryderpicked up both of their bikes,and helped his brother backto the dirt path. Tommy didIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 9

not speak at all, but keptlooking around him, asthough he was afraid thatthey were being followed. Ittook Ryder a long time toguide them back to the park,and once there, he was ableto make Tommy take his ownbike, and finally they reachedtheir house, where their mumhad been worried sick aboutthem being gone all day long.“What do you think thatwas in the tower?” Ryderasked his brother that night.“A booby trap or something?”“We must never go backthere. Promise!” Tommy hadnot spoken since they hadreturned, but his words werenow forceful, and there was aquiver of fear behind them.“OK, I promise,” Ryderrelented, and let the subjectdrop.The boys never did goout riding their bikes again.Tommy seemed too clumsysomehow to manoeuvre his,and Ryder was never all thatkeen. And soon Ryder forgotall about the tower anyway,as he went back to hiscomputer games and his TVprogrammes.Tommy worried hisparents. He always seemedto be hungry, as though hehadn’t eaten in weeks. Histemper was shorter too, andas he grew, he becameclumsier, knocking intopeople and furniture. “It’salmost like he’s a differentperson,” his mum said oneday to Ryder, as Ryderhelped her wash the dishes.Ryder thought for a second,but then shook his head. Hedid not tell his mum or hisdad about their bike ride, orthe tower, or the sleepingbeauty. Tommy nevermentioned it either, but then,Tommy doesn’t speak muchthese days.Inside the tower in themiddle of Swithen Wood, thebeautiful girl slept on, andstill sleeps to this day,paralysed, waiting untilsomeone comes to awakenher from the spell. Inside herbeautiful, ageless head, thereal Tommy Frobisher isscreaming.Photography byGraham DeanIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 10

Cloudberriesby linda sarahIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 11

Moth and the Jade RabbitBy Jacqueline GabbitasThis is a tale of a boy wholoved the Moon. From theday he crawled out of hiscradle, to the day he crawledinto his grave. Even as he layin his crib, before he hadlanguage and could namethings and bring them intoliving, he would gaze out ofhis window looking for hisbeautiful moon.His mother took nearlytwo weeks to name her babyboy. He was born while themoon was so new you couldsee it only in space. FromEarth, it was lost to the skyand the black vista we knowas night. On the morning ofthe first day, his motherlooked down into her baby'sface - there was no namethere, calling from his eyes,calling from his soft breath.On the evening of thefirst day, with the moon'screscent a silver bow newbentin heaven, his motherlooked down on her child,light as pumice in her armsand wrapped in hisgrandmother's crochetedshawl. There, in the time ittook for her to brush thefringe from her own eyes,she fancied she saw,flickering on his long lashes,the start of a name. Sheblinked, and it was gone.On the second day, sheheld her baby to her breastand watched a splinter ofmoonlight cutting throughher curtain. Her baby boygiggled in her warmth. Onthe third day, as mist rosearound the Sea of Crises, thebaby turned in his sleep,restless. And so the dayswent on.And the nights grew fullof light. The baby slept in theday and played in the softlight of the small hours. Onthe thirteenth night he fellasleep. He slept as if he wasunder a spell. He slept eventhough the moon was fullest.He slept so that the mooncould deliver him his name.And it did.Laying crooked in hismother's elbow (as shestoked up the fire, with theradio chattering in thebackground), fire-light playedshadows over his beautifulface. And in the shadows andfrom the fire-light, themother saw her baby's nameland on his sleeping eyes.In the morning, as hisfather dished up porridge forbreakfast and his motherpoured strong tea into twowhite mugs, he awoke andstarted to cry."Moth's awake", hismother said.His father said, "Moth?"The mother looked upfrom the tea, and put the potcarefully on the table. "It's agood name, what d'youthink?"Moth's father cocked hishead to one side and listenedto the boy bawling in thecrib. "Be alrate", he said."Aaahhhh. Moth? Aah. Moth."Moth cut his teeth on themoon. No matter how manysoothers he was bought, theonly toys to pacify him werea soft, yellow moon with atinkling lullaby, and a whiteplastic moon bigger than hishead. He sucked on the whitemoon's horns until they wererounded from his saliva, hislovely, warm tongue andfrom how he bit down withhis chalk-white nubs of newenamel.Moth learned a lot fromthe moon. By the names ofthe craters, rilles and seas helearnt his letters. Hisnumbers came to him by howmany peaks he could see -adding one to another, thiswas the way he learned howsums worked.As he grew much older,Moth would understandmisery from the Sea ofCrises; he would find thesilence in his heart, thesilence we all have, from theIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 12

Sea of Tranquility; from theMarsh of Decay he wouldexperience death and fromthe Marsh of Despair, learnhow to grieve.His father, who lovedhim with the heart of afather, thought he would bean astronaut. His mother,who loved him with thepassion of a mother, thoughtan artist. He decided hewould be both and become alunar astronomer. For twelveyears he read only booksabout the moon. He emptiedthe local library of books andmagazines and papers aboutthe moon. He emptied theSchool library too.Moth read poems aboutthe Moon Goddess andlaughed because the moonhad no goddess. He visitedexhibitions - in front ofsculptures and canvases filledwith the moon, he would holdhis head to one side andwhisper to no one inparticular "That's where youcome from." Then he wouldsmile. When he smiled, youcouldn't help but believewhat he said.At night, beside his notebooksand his large digitalwatch, he would hold up hiseye to the small telescope hisfather had bought him for hisninth birthday and count theminutes under his breath asthe moon climbed into thesky. Each night, his fatherwould poke his head aroundthe corner to make sure hewas in bed. Three nights outof four, he would pick up hisson and slide him, quietly,beneath the eiderdown.Then on his thirteenthbirthday, Moth fell sick. Hismother cried for ten days, hisfather cried for ten daysmore and still Moth would notrecover. They broughtdoctors from the North,physicians from the East,sawbones from the South,and medicine men from theWest. Still Moth grew sicker.His breathing slowed. Hiseyes clouded. His headburned like the fire in thegrate.When the moon was highin its lunation, its bright,beautiful light shone throughthe window and illuminatedthe boy's fragile, achingbody. Through crusted eyes,he saw, in the shadows of themoon's surface, the shape ofa small rabbit hunched overan even smaller cauldron.The Jade Rabbit. The rabbitthat made herbal potions andmedicines. Moth called hismother and told her what hethought he saw. "But itdoesn't exist," he said, “it'snot real."No one would admit tohow they did it, but stringswere pulled, favours called inand an expedition wasmounted to go to the moon.If the boy had known hewould have begged, on hissick-bed, to be part of it.Money was taken, vastamounts of money that noone could afford. Carrots too.Fine grasses packed in cooltrays. All gifts, bribes,payments to the Jade Rabbit.No one would talk laterof the details, of how themother and father headedthe team, of who carriedwhat equipment, whattreasures and for how long.None will talk even now ofthe despair when the JadeRabbit rejected first the goldand silver."I have the sun for goldand the stars for silver," hequipped.Then he rejected copper,iron, bronze."I make medicine, notsculptures"He thought for fortyseconds about the carrots,forty more about the cool,cool grasses but nothing wasgood enough."I should go home," hesaid. "You've nothing for me.I watch you from up here.You burn the copper, iron,bronze. You burn thebeautiful grasses and thetasty carrots. You spy on us,all the planets, looking forour gold, our silver. You offergold to me now, but one dayyou, your son maybe, willcome hunting, stripping,ravishing. It's inevitable. It'syour nature." And the JadeRabbit turned his back to theparty and chopped hismystical herbs.He was a cold rabbit, butnot so cold that the sobbingof a mother couldn't turn hishead. Slowly, like the turningof the moon.Never would anyone saythere were three ingredientsin the medicine they broughtback. Or that one was herbs.One was moonstone. Theother was a true secret(though some might havesaid a mother wiped her handacross her eyes with the backof her hand and what fell intothe cauldron was a son'smiracle).They would say it wasthe moon saved Moth's life.The moon he loved, kneweverything about, the moonhe lived by. And Moth, on hisfourteenth birthday looked upinto the sky knowing hewasn't saved by the moon,but by medicine. Good,strong medicine. He likedthat his friends andneighbours thought it wasthe moon saved him. He likedIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 13

the stories they told. Helaughed at the thought that arock, as beautiful as it is,could bring him back fromdeath and that his parentswould know how to get to itwhen he, even in his feverhad only dreamed of rabbits,and rockets and small bronzestatues.Illustrations:on page 12, Once in a Blue Moon,by Esther Johnsonon this page, Måne Kanin (Moon Rabbit),by Jeanette Salvesenthe image of the moon on page 13 istaken from http://www.wpclipart.com,can you spot the Jade Rabbit?Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 14

ThreeSistersby AnnaNovitzkyOnce upon a time, when thestars were young, threesisters lived in a house in thewoods. The youngest wascalled Birth; the second wascalled Life; and the oldesthad many names.One morning the oldestsister wakened early. Sheroused her sisters and said,“Listen! I dreamt that I wassitting and spinning yarn onthe doorstep when up a wolf,with clear blue eyes like thesky in spring, came to me. Iasked what he wanted but hesaid nothing, only sat downand watched me spin. When Ihad finished the pile offleeces the wolf stood up andtook my spindle in his mouth.Then he turned and walkedback into the woods, his greytail swinging.”Birth, the youngestsister, who had light brownskin and pale blue eyes andgolden hair like the last ofsunlight, yawned. “Well,and?” she said, “What doesthis mean?”Life, the second sister,with her nut-brown skin andhazel eyes and chestnut hairlike shining bronze, tappedher own nose thoughtfully.“It is a dream of that which isto come,” she said, “for thewolf is the leader andteacher, and the woods arethe future, through which wetravel blindly. But I do notknow what it tells us.”The oldest sister, whoseskin was as white as newpaper, whose eyes flashedgreen, whose hair was blackas ravens’ wings with a stripeof white above one eye, leantforwards.“My sisters,” she said,“this dream is an instruction.We must each go out into theworld a different way, untilwe find our guides. Then wemust follow where they lead.”Now, Birth and Life knewof old that when their sisterspoke of such things she wasusually right, so theyresolved to do as shesuggested. That verymorning, Birth packed acomb and some clothes in asmall sack, took a little foodand drink, and set off for thesouth. Her sisters waved untilthey could no longer see her.Birth followed her nosethrough the trees until thesun was high overhead. Thenshe sat down on a fallen treetrunkto eat some bread. Asshe ate, a little golden lizardran out from under the barkof the tree and began to pickat the bread. At first Birthwas angry, and shooed itaway, but it did not flee; itsat and stared at her with itsorange eyes. Then Birth wasafraid, and she shooed itagain, but it spoke to her andsaid, “Ah, Birth, Birth! Whydo you flap at me? Can’t yousee that I am your guide? Letme share your food and rideon your shoulder and I willlead you on your rightfulway.”Birth saw that this wastrue, and the lizard climbedup her arm and clung to hershoulder with his claws likelittle pins, and they went ontheir way together. Presentlythey came to a castle where,on the lizard’s advice, Birthknocked on the door.The door was opened bya servant who wept. Sheushered Birth into the throneroom, where the king andqueen and all the courtierssat and lamented mostterribly. Birth asked what thematter was, and between thewails and sobs the kingexplained that a great dragonhad stolen away all theircattle and razed their cropsto the ground so that theyhad nothing to eat and soonwould perish.“But,” he said, “if youcan help us, I will give youwhatever you wish, and evenmake you my heir.”At first Birth did not wantto take the risk of fighting adragon, but the lizardassured her that he would tellher what to do, so sheconsented and was given ahorse and a sword. As Birthrode out through thecourtyard, she caught sightof the king’s daughter,waving luck to her from awindow. The princess was sobeautiful, with her creamyskin and flame-red hair, thatBirth fell quite in love.Before Birth had riddenquite up to the dragon’scave, she stopped the horseand the lizard told her where,nearby, she could find amagic stone and rope whichwould help her to defeat thedragon. She found them, androde into the cave. As soonas it saw her, the dragonreared up and struck at Birthwith its long claws. Birthleapt off her horse andtouched the magic stone inher pocket. At once she wasturned into a golden lioness,and she fought the dragonuntil it was subdued. Thenshe returned to her woman’sform and, taking the magicrope from her pocket, slippedit around the dragon’s neck.Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 15

The beast became quitetame, and she led it back tothe castle, followed by thecattle, which she found in theback of the cave.The king and queen wereso overjoyed that they gladlygave the princess in marriageto Birth when she asked.They lived together happilyand adopted many poorchildren from the surroundinglands. In time the king diedand Birth ruled the kingdomwisely, the princess sitting ather left hand and the goldenlizard at her right, advisingher well. The dragon wasused often in hunting andbecame a favourite pet of thecastle.Now, when Birth left hersisters’ house, her oldestsister hung a green leaf onthe wall. When the time ofBirth’s wedding came, theleaf turned brown and theoldest sister knew that it wastime for Life to set out on herjourney. The next day Life,with a sack containing acomb, some clothes, and alittle food and drink, set offinto the north. The oldestsister waved until she couldno longer see Life among thetrees.Life followed her noseuntil the sun was highoverhead, and then she satdown on a flat stone to eatsome bread. As she ate, achestnut brown falcon flewdown from the trees and tooksome of the bread. Life wasangry and shooed the falconaway, but when it stared ather with its deep amber eyesshe stopped and asked, “Areyou my guide?” The falconreplied that it was, and Lifeoffered it some food, thenshe set off down the pathagain, the falcon flying aboveher with slow beats of itssteady wings.After a time they cameto a city, with high walls andpointed roofs. On the falcon’sadvice, Life went into thecity. Inside, all was dusty anddry. Life walked through thestreets, following the shadowof the falcon, until she cameto the iron doors of the townhall. She knocked and was letinto the council chamber,where the mayor and all thecouncil sat with grave faces.Life asked what their troublewas, and, in a voice whichcame in croaks from hisparched throat, the mayorexplained that the wells ofthe city had run dry andthere had been no rain formany months, so that soonthey would all perish ofthirst, every man, womanand child.“But,” he said, “if youwill help us, I will marry youto my eldest son and youmay be my heir.”Life consulted with thefalcon, which said that itwould tell her what to do,and she agreed to themayor’s terms. Life went outinto the city to look at thewells, and soon saw thatsomething was drinking allthe water. The falcon told herthat a great sphinx in themountains had swallowed theclouds and was drinking thewater besides. It also told herwhere in the city to find amagic harp that would helpher to defeat it. So Life wentout into the mountains andcalled for the sphinx.It came out of its caveand roared at her from itshuman mouth, its lion bodyrippling with muscles, but shetook the harp and played sosweetly that the sphinxbecame quite sleepy. Ityawned hugely and as it didso, all the rain cloudsescaped from its stomach,came out of its mouth andflowed away down themountain. The sphinx was soentranced by the music thatit did not care, but fell asleepand did not wake up.Life went back to thecity, which was beset by amighty thunderstorm as theclouds released the rain thatthey had been hoarding forso long. All the peoplecowered in their houses withfright but were grateful also,and they showered Life withpraise and thanks. At lengththe rain stopped, althoughthe people knew it wouldreturn, and they went outinto the streets and saw thatthe wells were full. Theyrejoiced, and Life was soonmarried to the mayor’s son,who was a handsome boy,and kind. Life had three sonsand three daughters, andwhen the old mayor died shebecame mayor in her turnand ruled wisely, herhusband at her left hand andthe falcon at her right, toadvise her.On the day of Life’swedding, a second green leafon the wall of her sister’shome turned brown, and theoldest sister knew that hertime had come to go out intothe world. She set off into thewest with her sack, andwalked tall and proudalthough there was no one towatch her go. When the sunwas at its highest she satdown upon the ground to eather bread, and when a ravenblack wolf with a white stripealong its spine came to hershe smiled, buried her handsin its fur and said,"Greetings, my guide. Come,share my food and walk withIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 16

me. I will hear your advicewith a good will.” The wolflooked at her with tawnyeyes that dropped away toforever, and replied, “Mythanks to you. Let us followyour path together.”Together they ate the bread,and then the oldest sister setoff down the path, the wolfpadding at her side.After some time theforest ended, and the twowalked on through open land.After many days they cameto the top of a hill, and sawspread out below them aplain dotted with tinyvillages. There were manyhouses but the oldest sistersaw no people. She and thewolf went down into theplain, and in the first villagethey found that a plague wasrife among the people. Manylay dying in their homes, andthe healthy ran and hid infrom the oldest sister, fearingthat she brought with hermore disease. Speaking to noone, the oldest sister wentinto the houses and began,with her knowledge of herbsand mysteries, to work tohelp the people. Some shecured and helped to walk andspeak again, and some sheeased out of their pain,showing them the door torelief. All the while the ravenblack wolf leaned against herand gave her strength andwas her companion.At length the oldestsister had banished theplague from the village butthe people would not thankor praise her, for she had ledpeople into death and theywere afraid of her. The oldestsister did not condemn thepeople, but went forth fromthe village knowing she haddone a good thing, with thewolf by her side. So ithappened in the next village,and the next, until the plaguewas gone from the plains andshe still had no reward. Theoldest sister knew that shehad done her work, but herheart was heavy and she layfor a night on the barehillside, her head on thewarm flank of the wolf,watching the stars andwondering. In the morning itcame to her that she shouldreturn home to the forest.This she did, and the wolfwent with her as hercompanion.The oldest sister spent manyyears in the small house withthe wolf. She spun thread,wove garments and cut thecord while the wolf slept androamed the forests. Theyrarely spoke, but they werecontent, and the sound of thewolf’s howling in the nightcomforted the oldest sistermuch.In time the children ofboth Birth and Life grew talland strong like saplings whiletheir consorts aged andwithered like cut grass. Birthand Life, however, grew noolder and when at last theirconsorts died they knew thatit was time to pass theirauthority to their eldestchildren and return to theforest. This they did, withtheir guides, and together thesisters lived: Birth spun thethread, Life wove thegarments and the oldestsister cut the cord whilelizard, falcon and wolf huntedand wandered and basked inthe sun. There they lived,and, for all I know, therethey may live still.Circle bends, my story ends.Illustrations by Claire MasseyIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 17

The Princess and the PigBy K. A. LaityThere was a Princess SophieAnd she had a little pig.It wasn't very cleverAnd it wasn't very big.But it was just as loyalAs the day is long,It could whistle, it could danceAnd it could sing a little song."Pig," said princess Sophie,"Let's go to Bangalore!We'll see Dido, Queen of CabbageAnd we'll take a river tour.""Splendid," said the little pig,"Let's go across the sea,With tortoises and porpoises,And jellyfish for tea."They sailed across the ocean's spanOn many a cresting wave,And washed ashore near Bangalore,Inside an enchanted cave."Pig," said Princess Sophie,"Such treasures wait for us.Let's load our pockets with gold and jewelsAnd spend them on a bus!""Perfect," said the little pig,"A bus with big red wheels!Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 18

We'll cross the land with a Flemish bandAnd six electric eels!"The merry group in one fell swoopRaced across the rugged lands.They picked up a lonesome tigerWho juggled voles on the shifting sands."Magic," said the little pig,"Flying horses and fairy rings.""Pig," said drowsy Sophie,as she closed her eyes to sleep,"It doesn't matter in the least,As long as you're with me.""Pig," said Princess Sophie,"I see it's getting quite late.If we don't turn back home real soon,They might lock the garden gate.""Nonsense," said the little pig,but it turned a shade more pink.Illustration by Claire Masseyand Graham Dean"What we need is a red balloonthat runs on India ink."Dido, Queen of Cabbage hadThat very thing to lend,And they sailed away at bedtime,Waving 'bye to all their friends."I've had the most amazing day,"She told the King and Queen,The real Princess Sophie and Pig"Pig and I went everywhereand we've seen everything!""Pig," yawned tired Sophie,"What will tomorrow bring?"Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 19

TheSilentKingdomby Claire MasseyLong ago and far away aKingdom stood wrapped insilence. The streets werepaved with blankets tosmother the sound offootsteps and even thehorses wore satin slippers.Everyone and everythinglived their lives hushed andshushed; cooks stirred thesoup without ever touchingthe spoon against the sidesof the pan, teacups were keptfrom their saucers so thatthey couldn’t clatter, thechurch bells were dismantledand packed away in cottonwool, the clocks all had theirtick tocks removed, dogswere banished to cellarswhere their howls couldn’t beheard, children played in thestreet with gags tied tightlyround their mouths and allbirds were swiftly shot withsilent arrows.The silence was born of aspell. A spell that lay heavilyupon the old King’s shouldersbecause he had asked for it.When his only child was littleshe had had the loudest voicein the Kingdom and shenever stopped askingquestions. From the momentshe awoke to the momentshe slept the Palace wallsseemed to shudder with‘whys?’; ‘Why are you KingDaddy? Why isn’t it someoneelse? Why do we live in sucha big house? Why are theother houses so small? Whydo people beg for foodoutside the gate? Why arethey so thin? Why do peopleget ill? Why can’t I have icecreamfor breakfast?’The young Princess’sface was always bright withcuriosity and she hunteddeterminedly for answers.The Wise Men in theKing’s council muttered thatit wouldn’t do, a female heirwas bad enough, but onewho was always askingquestions was an outrage.She had to be stopped. TheKing agreed and he left thematter in the hands of histhree wisest men.The first Wise Man saidthat they should enchant hertongue so that it would notspeak.The second Wise Mansaid that they should enchanther mind so that it would notthink to speak.The third Wise Man saidthat they should enchant hersoul so that it would not wantto speak.Unable to come to anagreement they decided totry all three. They spentmany days and many nightsconcocting the spell, theysent for secret ingredients,they drew secret signs, theymuttered secret words. Andthey messed it up.The Princess could stillspeak and still thought tospeak and still wanted tospeak but the moment sheuttered a word tiny cracksbegan to appear on her faceand hands. And not only thatevery sound seemed to shakethrough her; more and morefaint cracks appeared as theWise Men muttered and hertears hit the marble floor.The King sent at once forthe old witch who lived at theedge of the Kingdom and thePrincess was hurriedlycovered with the thickestblankets that could be foundbut still every footstep, everywhisper cracked her a littlemore.When the old witcharrived she dressed the girl’swounds with bandages thathad been soaked in silenceand soothed her into a deepsleep so that the cracks couldheal but she could not undothe spell. The Wise menmuttered; they weren’t quitesure where they had gonewrong but they couldn’t undothe spell either.The old King realisedhow close he was to losinghis only child so he outlawedall sound at once. The lawwas written on strips of paperthat were passed mutelyabout the Kingdom:‘All noise is punishableby death. Not a sound will beheard in this Kingdom againby order of his RoyalHighness the King.’Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 20

The Kingdom fell silentand for a time even the windabandoned it for the placeswhere it was welcome tobluster and shriek. The seapulled its tides away from theKingdom’s shores so that thewaves could not crashagainst the rocks. And notree ever fell in the forest;they stood past their time,clinging to the ground withancient roots. Years passedand the only sound in theKingdom was the falling rain(try as they might the WiseMen could not banish therainclouds) and as thePrincess, now grown into ayoung woman, lay on hersilken bed she lifted hergolden earmuffs, just a little,so that she could hear thepitter and patter of rainknocking at her window,calling her out into the world.Each drop hammered throughher body till she tingled withdelight and she knew she hadto escape.The old King was by nowvery old and his age and hisworries were too heavy forhim to cart around so he tookto his bed. And as theservants fussed silentlyaround him the Princessslipped out unnoticed.She wore her goldenearmuffs and a thick woollencape with its hood pulledtightly around her head butshe needn’t have worried, thepeople of the Kingdom hadbeen scared into silence.Sshhpolice mounted on satinslippered horses patrolled theblanketed streets as thechildren played silently in therain.It was the children shewas drawn to watching. Shefollowed them as theyventured from the city streetsout into the open fields. Theylooked at her questioninglybut they did not object.She followed them to thewoods where they tumbledand rolled in the carpet ofleaves and she lifted hergolden earmuffs, just a little,so that the delightful soundcould rustle through her.She followed them to thestream, where they paddledin the icy water, kicking andsplashing and she lifted hergolden earmuffs, just a little,so that the delightful soundcould bubble through her.And finally she followedthem to a cave. They werecarrying lamps and basketsof sticks and they turned andsmiled at her before theyentered; inviting her to jointheir secret.The cave was cold anddark and it seemed toswallow the children upahead of her. But as thePrincess’s eyes adjusted tothe lamplight she saw thatthe children were untyingeach other’s gags. She felttheir voices, heard theirlaughter spinning throughher, despite her earmuffs.And slowly the childrenstarted to tap their stickstogether and drum on rocks;the rhythm beating,throbbing, pulsing; theyhummed in sweet, gentlevoices and the music rose tothe roof of the cave until thePrincess could bear it nolonger: she threw her goldenearmuffs into the darkness ofthe cave and lifted her voiceto meet theirs for oneecstatic moment.Then she shattered intoa thousand shards.Heaped on the floor ofthe cave each shard sang asingle note in the Princess’sclear, beautiful voice and thechildren gathered up theshards in an old wickerbasket, where they shoneand sang and the childrensang too. And carrying thePrincess’s voice they walkedout of the cave into sunshine.Illustrations by Claire Massey and Graham DeanIssue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 21

Creatures fromthe Curiosity CabinetWe are pleased to present the first in our back page series ofrare creatures captured and preserved by Particle Article.No.1Issue 1 www.newfairytales.co.uk 22