“I’ll open the seven locks with my sword,” I said. “My cloak will hide me from the seventy-seven spies.”
I hung the cloak over my shoulders. The fairy cloth shimmered in the darkness, it shimmered enough to light up Sir Kato’s whole castle. But Pompoo said, “I can’t see you Mio, though I know you are there. I’ll wait for you, until you come back.”
“If I come back,” I said. I kept silent, because of course I didn’t know who would triumph in Sir Kato’s last battle.
It was so quiet in our cell. For a long time it was completely silent. Then Pompoo said, “If you never come back, Mio, we’ll think of each other. We’ll think of each other as long as we can.”
“Yes, Pompoo,” I said. “I’ll think of you and my father the King to my last moment.”
I raised my sword and it slashed through the iron door as if it were made of clay. To a sword that could cut through stone, an iron door was nothing but clay. Noiselessly, as if I were cutting through clay, my sword sliced through the hard iron. Then with two quick strokes, I cut away the huge locks.
I opened the door. It creaked a little. The seven spies stood guard outside. They all turned toward the door as it creaked. Toward the door and toward me. I stood there in my shimmering fairy cloth and thought the light around it was so bright that they must see me.
“I heard a creak in the night,” said one of the spies.
“Yes, something creaked in the night,” said another.
The spies peered in every direction, but didn’t see me.
“It was probably an evil thought from Sir Kato that squeaked past,” said another of the spies.
But I was already long gone.
I grasped my sword and I grasped my cloak and I ran as fast as I could toward Sir Kato’s room.
Everywhere, in the halls, the stairs and the corridors, the spies stood guard. The entire dark, massive castle was full of black spies. But they didn’t see me. They didn’t hear me. And I ran on toward Sir Kato’s room.
I was no longer scared. I have never been less frightened. I was not the Mio who built huts in the Garden of Roses and lived on Greenfields Island. I was a knight preparing for battle. And I ran on toward Sir Kato’s room.
I ran quickly. My fairy cloak rippled behind me. It shimmered and fluttered in the dark castle. And I ran on toward Sir Kato’s room.
The sword burned like fire in my hand, it flashed brilliantly. I grasped the hilt firmly. And I ran on toward Sir Kato’s room.
I thought of my father the King. I know that he thought about me. Soon, soon the battle draws near. I wasn’t scared. I was a knight without fear, with a sword in my hand. And I ran on toward Sir Kato’s room.
There was a rushing and roaring in my head like a waterfall. I stood before the door to Sir Kato’s room.
I opened the door. Sir Kato was sitting at his stone table, with his back toward me. There was an evil glow around him.
“Turn around Sir Kato,” I said. “It is time for your last battle.”
He turned around. I tore off my cloak and stood before him with the sword in my hand. His awful face was gray and wrinkled. His terrible eyes were filled with terror and hatred. Quickly he gripped the sword that lay on the table beside him. So began Sir Kato’s last battle.
His sword was fearsome. But no sword was as fearsome as mine. My sword flashed, it blazed and flamed, it shot through the air like fire, showing no mercy to Sir Kato.
The battle that had been foretold for thousands and thousands of years lasted an hour. My sword, the Flame of Fire, swept through the air finally striking Sir Kato’s sword from his hand. Sir Kato stood before me without a weapon and he knew the battle was over.
He tore open his black velvet coat, baring his chest. “You must pierce my heart!” he shrieked. “You must slash straight through my heart of stone! It has grated so long and hurts so much.”
I looked into his eyes and saw something strange. I saw that Sir Kato longed to be rid of his heart of stone. Maybe no one hated Sir Kato more than Sir Kato hated himself.
I waited no longer. I lifted my flaming sword, I lifted it high and I sank it deep into Sir Kato’s terrible heart of stone.
In the blink of an eye Sir Kato vanished. He was gone. But on the floor lay a pile of stones. Only a pile of stones and a claw of iron.
On the window sill in Sir Kato’s room sat a small gray bird, pecking on the pane. It wanted out. I hadn’t noticed the bird before, and didn’t know where it could have been hiding. I walked to the window and opened it, so the bird could fly out. It soared into the sky, singing happily. It had been kept in captivity long enough.
I remained at the window, watching the bird fly away. And I saw that night was over and that morning had come.
Mio, My Son
YES, MORNING HAD come and it was beautiful. The sun was shining and a gentle summer breeze ruffled my hair as I stood by the open window. I leaned out and looked down over the lake. It was a cheerful blue lake, reflecting the sunshine. The Bewitched Birds were gone.
Oh, what a beautiful day! It was the kind of day when you want to play outside. I watched the water, rippled by the morning wind. I felt like throwing something into the lake, as you almost always do when you see water, and think of the splash there would be from such a height. I had nothing to throw except my sword, so I let it fall. I enjoyed watching it fall through the air, and hearing the splash as the sword hit the water. There were big rings where the sword disappeared, which became larger and larger, spreading across the lake.
But I didn’t have time to stay and watch the rings die away. I had to hurry back to Pompoo. I knew he was waiting anxiously for me.
I ran back the same way I had come an hour earlier. The large halls and long corridors were empty and silent. Not a single black spy remained. The sun was shining in the deserted halls. It shone through barred windows on spider webs hanging under the arches, and you could see what a miserable old castle it was.
It was desolate and silent everywhere, and suddenly I was frightened that Pompoo might be gone too. I started to run faster and faster. But when I approached the tower, I heard Pompoo playing his flute and I laughed out loud.
I opened the door of our prison and there on the floor sat Pompoo. His eyes sparkled when he saw me, and he ran over and said, “I had to keep on playing. I was so worried.”
“Now you don’t have to worry any more,” I said.
We were so happy, Pompoo and I. We kept looking at each other, and we laughed!
“We’re leaving now,” I said. “We’re leaving now and we’ll never come back.”
We held hands and ran out of Sir Kato’s castle. We ran into the castle courtyard. And who came galloping toward me, none other than Miramis! My Miramis with the golden mane! Close by his side leaped a little white foal.
Miramis came straight toward me and I put my arms around his neck and held his beautiful head next to mine for a long, long time as I whispered in his ear, “Miramis, my own Miramis!”
Miramis looked at me with his faithful eyes, and I knew that he had longed for me as much as I had longed for him.
A pole stood in the center of the courtyard with a chain lying beside it. Then I understood that Miramis had also been bewitched. He was the black horse that had been chained in the courtyard during the night. The little foal was none other than the one Sir Kato had stolen away from the Forest of Moonbeams. It was for this little foal that the hundred white horses had wept tears of blood. Now they didn’t need to cry any more, soon they would have their little foal back again.
“But what about all the others that Sir Kato has captured?” said Pompoo. “The Bewitched Birds, where have they gone?”
“Let’s ride down to the lake and search for them,” I said.
We climbed up on Miramis’s back and the little foal followed as fast as he could. Out through the castle gates we rode.
At that moment we heard a strange and frightening noise, a rumble behind us that shook the entire ground.
Sir Kato’s castle had collapsed, becoming a huge pile of stones. No tower, no deserted halls, no dark winding stairs, no barred windows, nothing. Only a huge pile of stones.
“Sir Kato’s castle is gone forever,” said Pompoo.
“Now it’s nothing but stone,” I said.
A steep, twisting path ran down from the cliff toward the lake. A steep, narrow and dangerous path. But Miramis trod carefully and placed his hooves perfectly on the path, as did the little foal. We reached the shore unhurt.
At the foot of the cliff a group of children was gathered around a slab of rock. They had certainly been waiting for us, because they came toward us with beaming faces.
“Oh! There are Nonno’s brothers,” said Pompoo. “There is Totty’s little sister and all the others. They aren’t Bewitched Birds anymore.”
We hopped off Miramis. All the children came up to us, they seemed a bit shy but friendly and happy at the same time. A boy, one of Nonno’s brothers, took my hand and said very quietly, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear, “I’m so glad you had my cloak to wear, and I’m so glad we’re not bewitched any more.”
A girl, she was Totty’s sister, came up to us too. She didn’t look at me, she looked out at the lake, because she was shy and she said with a soft voice, “I’m so glad that you had my spoon, and I’m so glad we’re not bewitched any more.”
Then another of Nonno’s brothers placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m so glad we could raise your sword from the depths, and I’m so glad we’re not bewitched any more.”
“The sword is at the bottom of the lake again,” I said. “It’s just as well, because I’ll never need another sword.”
“We will never be able to raise it again,” said Nonno’s brother, “because we are no longer Bewitched Birds.”
I looked around, among all the children. “Which of you is the Weaver’s little daughter?” I asked.
It was completely quiet. No one said a word.
“Who is the Weaver’s little daughter?” I asked them again, because I wanted to tell her that my cloak was lined with the fairy cloth her mother had woven.
“Milimani was the Weaver’s little daughter,” said Nonno’s brother.
“Where is she?” I said.
“Milimani lies there,” said Nonno’s brother. The children stood aside. Down at the water’s edge, on the slab of rock, lay a small girl. I ran over and knelt down beside her. She lay still with her eyes closed. She was dead. Her face was so pale and small, and her body was burned.
“She flew into the torch,” said Nonno’s brother.
I was heartbroken. Milimani had died for my sake. I was so unhappy, nothing would ever be filled with joy again, since Milimani had died to save me.
“Don’t be sad,” said Nonno’s brother. “Milimani wanted to do it. She wanted to fly into the torch, although she knew her wings would burn.”
“But now she’s dead,” I said, in despair.
Nonno’s brother took Milimani’s small singed hands in his. “We must leave you here, Milimani,” he said. “But before we go, we’ll sing our song for you.”
All the children sat down on the rock around Milimani and sang her a song they had made up.
“Milimani, our little sister,
little sister who went down in the waves,
went down in the waves with singed wings.
Milimani, oh, Milimani
sleeps quietly and never wakes,
never again flies Milimani
with sorrowful cries over the murky water.”
“It isn’t murky water anymore,” said Pompoo. “There are only small gentle waves that sing to Milimani as she lies sleeping on the shore.”
“If only we had something to wrap around her,” said Totty’s sister. “Something soft so that she doesn’t have to lie on the hard rock.”
“We’ll wrap Milimani in my cloak,” I said. “We’ll wrap her in the cloth that her mother wove.”
I wrapped Milimani in my cloak which was lined with fairy cloth. It was softer than apple blossoms, gentler than the night wind in the grass, warmer than a beating heart and her own mother had woven it. I carefully wrapped my cloak around Milimani, so she would lay softly on the rock.
Then something strange happened. Milimani opened up her eyes and looked at me. At first she lay still, just watching me. Then she sat up, staring in astonishment at all the children. She kept glancing around, in more and more amazement.
“How blue the lake is,” she said.
That was all she said. Then she took off the cloak and stood up; there were no traces of her burns and we were overjoyed that she was alive again.
Out on the water a boat glided toward us. Someone rowed, taking huge strokes at the oars. As the boat approached, I saw the Swordsmith was rowing and he had Eno with him.
Soon their boat bumped against the rock and they jumped ashore.
“What did I say?” bellowed the Swordsmith. “What did I say? ‘Sir Kato’s final battle approaches.’ That’s what I said.”
Eno eagerly drew near me. “I want to show you something, Prince Mio,” he said.
He held out his wrinkled hand to show me what was in it. It was a small green leaf. Such a fine little leaf it was, thin and soft and perfectly light green, with slender veins.
“It was growing in the Dead Forest,” said Eno. “I found it on a tree in the Dead Forest, just now.”
He nodded in satisfaction, his gray head bobbing up and down.
“I will go out in the Dead Forest each morning to check for more green leaves,” he said. “You can have this one, Prince Mio.”
He placed the leaf in my hand and certainly thought that he was giving away the finest gift of all.
Then he nodded again and said, “I sat and wished you well, Prince Mio. I sat there in my cottage and wished you well.”
“What did I say?” said the Swordsmith. “I said, ‘Sir Kato’s final battle approaches.’ ”
“How did you get your boat back?” I asked the Sword-smith.
“The waves carried it across the lake,” said the Sword-smith.
I glanced over the lake toward the Swordsmith’s mountain and Eno’s cottage. More boats appeared on the water, filled with people I’d never seen before. These small, pale people gazed at the sun and the blue lake in wonder. I don’t think they’d ever seen the sun before, which was shining brightly on the lake and over the rocks. It was so lovely. Only the big pile of stones up on the cliff wasn’t pretty. But I thought that one day moss would grow over the pile of stones. It would be hidden under the soft, green moss and no one would know that underneath lay Sir Kato’s castle.
I’ve seen a pink flower that likes to grow on moss. It looks like a small, small bell that grows on long tendrils. In time, maybe, there will be small pink bells on the moss covering Sir Kato’s castle. It’ll be pretty enough, I think.
The way home was long, but walking was easy. The small children rode on Miramis, and the very smallest rode on the foal. They thought it was fun. The rest of us continued on foot, until we came to the Forest of Moonbeams.
By then it had become night and the Forest of Moonbeams was filled with moonlight, just as before. It was quiet among the trees. But Miramis neighed so loudly and wildly, and deep in the Forest of Moonbeams the hundred white horses answered just as loudly and wildly. They came galloping toward us, their hooves thundering over the ground. The little foal also began to neigh. He tried to neigh loudly and wildly like the bigger horses, but it was only a faint little amusing whinny that you could hardly hear. But the hundred white horses definitely heard it. Oh, how glad they were the little foal had come home! They crowded around him, they all tried to get near and touch him to make sure he had really come home.
Now we had the hundred horses and no one needed to walk on foot. All the children had horses to ride. I rode on Miramis and Pompoo sat behind me, as always, because he wouldn’t ride any other horse but Miramis. A little girl, who was the smallest of all,
got to ride the foal.
We rode through the forest, and the hundred white horses looked so pretty in the moonlight.
Soon I saw something white shining between the trees, the apple blossoms around the Weaver’s cottage. The apple blossoms lay on the trees in a soft drift, around the cottage that looked as if it was from a fairy tale. We heard a pounding noise inside, and Milimani said, “My mother sits and weaves.”
She jumped off her horse just outside the gate, and waved to us and said, “I’m so glad to be home. I’m so glad to be home before the apple trees stopped blooming.”
She ran down the little path between the trees and disappeared into the cottage. The pounding stopped inside.
We still had a long way to go to reach Greenfields Island, and I longed for it and for my father the King. The hundred white horses, led by Miramis, rose over the Forest of Moonbeams, high over the tall mountains and they flew through the air on the way to Greenfields Island.
It was morning when we came to the Bridge of Morninglight. The guards had just lowered the bridge, which shone with golden rays of light, as the hundred white horses, with necks stretched and manes flowing, galloped across it. The guards stared at us in amazement. Suddenly one of them pulled out a horn and blew it so loudly that it rang across Greenfields Island. People came running from all the small houses and cottages, those who had mourned and grieved for their lost children. Now they saw us come riding up on white horses and no one was missing. All had come home.
The white horses galloped on over the fields and soon we came to my father the King’s garden. All of the children jumped down, their mamas and papas came running and they carried on as the hundred white horses had when their foal came home. Nonno was there too, and his grandmother, and Totty with his sisters and brothers, and Pompoo’s mama and papa and many other people I’d never seen before. They cried and laughed together, and hugged and kissed the children who had come home.
But my father the King was not there.