The Princess

How do they tell the tales of old,
That we have grown to love?
How do they start their stories out,
And get aid from above?

Many stories have started out,
With a warrior's cry.
Others begin with a whisper,
To warn taht one will die.

But I offer to those who hear,
An unusual tale.
No god, demon, or muse will own
Up to any detail.

The Fair Folk do not speak of it,
Mankind was never taught.
The animals cannot speak it.
The Devil can't be bought.

But she sought out to tell her tale,
Banned from life, though she was.
And she found a willing writer,
Who would take up her cause.

Now if you do not understand,
The world this story shows,
Worry not. Your comprehension
Goes up as your fear grows.

She was a princess at one time,
A title that was earned.
A class below Queen and Emp'ress,
As they made sure you learned.

Class was not a birthright to them,
They had earned them through might.
Only through bettering oneself,
Did one gain new class right.

All infants were treated the same,
Taken to first class lands.
Everyone starts at the same class,
Everyone understands.

Only those who sought better lives,
Were allowed to have them.
Education was something earned,
As ev'ry coin and gem.

The upper classes tormented,
For they had earned the right.
Ev'ry rise came with great struggle,
Ev'ry step was a fight.

The system developed hatred,
In all against others.
The pawns resented the High Kings,
 Kings saw them as bothers.

If one sought to improve themselves,
Trials came from all 'round.
Lows hurt that you wanted to leave,
Highs trying to confound.

She struggled all her life to climb,
Unable to find peace.
She hated being looked down on,
Fellows never gave ease.

She saw others become docile,
And give up on their climbs.
She vowed that she would never stop,
O'er a thousand lifetimes.

She earned the title of Princess,
After several years.
She was given new influence,
In the cultural spheres.

She tried for sev'ral years
To earn a greater class.
But found she could never succeed,
For she didn't have the brass.

In order to become a Queen,
She would have to cause harm.
The Lows would have to fear her name,
And not swoon to her charm.

In all of her years of climbing,
She never hurt a soul.
Causing pain was not who she was,
It left a gaping hole.

When she failed to prove malicious,
She was thought a lost cause.
They cast her out of the high class,
And into the low's jaws.

The lows thought she was elitist
For trying to climb high.
She was not qualified for work,
And she had no ally.

 She went back to childhood level,
To try to start again.
Ev'ryone teased and taunted her,
Immune to her clear pain.

Countless times the Princess did climb,
Only to fall once more.
They thought for sure she was insane,
Could she not see the score?

The Princess thought herself insane,
And could not find the cause.
Was she simply born defective,
Why did she fail the laws?

She was pondering this one day,
When she was asked for help.
A man wanted her opinion,
And wasn't good with self-help.

He did not laugh at or mock her,
And listened with earnest.
He did not care about her past,
Or that she was tarnished.

They began to talk for some time,
Liking the company.
The man got the Princess to laugh,
She did abundantly.

Their love quickly grew strong as steel,
The Princess felt at peace.
He had followed her path before,
And gave her life new lease.

He could have risen in the ranks,
But chose a simpler life.
He did not ask much of the world,
And it gave back li'l strife.

Her life could be whate'er she chose,
And he would support her.
Their love was not bound by classes,
Only by the other.

The Princess still felt her old drive,
To gain a higher class.
The Man gave her support and love,
With each test she did pass.

He was also there when she failed,
And gave her much comfort.
He was a solid foundation,
Forever her cohort.

She reached the high levels again,
And given the pain test.
But instead of granting suf'ring,
She made people feel blessed.

When the higher ups threatened her,
With expulsion again,
She burst forth with laughter at them,
That they could not contain.

She did not need their approval
Of her Princess title.
She had someone who made her feel
It was not that vital.

For with the man she loved she knew,
That she would always be,
A true Princess in heart and mind,
And it would be strings free.

She gave the title of Princess
New meaning in the lands.
For instead of brutality,
She gave out helping hands.

From all sides the enemies came,
But she could remain strong.
He would always be there for her,
And never treat her wrong.

He became her strong foundation,
Together unrestrained.
They did not care for social laws,
And thus much love was gained.

The classes hid away her tale
To keep the status quo.
Their power came from in-fighting,
With her this was not so.

The power of the Princess comes
From peace and harmony.
It had nothing to do with class,
Resources or money.

So please remember dear list'ner,
Pain only goes so far.
Love will carry you much further,
When you be who you are.

 

How Spiders Got Eight Legs

Once upon a time there was a woman who was gifted in the crafts of weaving, sewing and writing. No one could tell a story as she could; she would tell her stories in the form of weaves, embroidery, quilting and written word.

As her society dictated, she needed to marry. Many men came calling for her hand but she refused them all. When approached by The Council about why she would not marry, she answered "any man can provide for a good family and look good, but these traits only last a few years at best. Find me a man who can tell a story as well as I, and I shall marry him."

The Council was aghast at her arrogance. All of their sons had been refused. So they devised a plan to punish her and teach her a lesson.

The Council collaborated for weeks crafting the finest story they could think of. When they were done, they gave it to Amleth and told him to tell it to The Storyteller and she would marry him. Amleth had never been able to get a wife for he was mean, cruel and used his fists more often than his words. Excited at the prospect of being allowed to marry, he rushed to The Storyteller's home and proceeded to tell the tale, accompanied by The Council.

"What a story Amleth," she exclaimed when he finished. "But you did not write it and you have no others. Therefore I will not marry you."

"That was never the agreement," The Council retorted. "You only asked for a man who could tell a single story. There was never a requirement that it be his own or that there be more than one."

The Storyteller had been caught in her own trap. She reluctantly agreed to marry Amleth and he was eager to have a wife to do his bidding. Years passed and Amleth became meaner and meaner, especially when their union produced no children. Amleth blamed The Storyteller for not being able to carry a child to term and beat her continuously for it.

In desperation she sought the aid of The Healer. She begged him for the means to carry a child to term, using her storytelling art, she conveyed to The Healer the pain she suffered and the importance of having a child. He was moved by her words and gave her a potion, but warned her to only drink one drop each time she wanted a child. The Storyteller thanked him and ran home.

When she got there, she was so desperate for a child that she drank the entire potion right away. That night she conceived and soon her belly swelled with pregnancy. Amleth was pleased and let her be for a time. Soon, however, she felt that there was something unusual about her pregnancy. She sought the advice of The Midwife who told her that she was in such pain because she was carrying more than one child. How many, she couldn't say, but she knew The Storyteller's womb to be full of life.

Finally The Storyteller gave birth to four children, three boys and one girl. Amleth was please with three sons and let her be, but so did everyone else. The Storyteller had no one to help her care for these four children while still fulfilling her duties as a wife and partaking in her crafts. She grew frustrated and realized she would need more arms than what she had.

Using all of her weaving skills, she wove for herself two sets of arms and attached them to her sides. They were strong enough to hold each of her children, even as the children grew older.

At the age of one, each child was finally given a name. To his sons, Amleth gave the names Gahiji, Andrej and Hariraja. To her daughter, The Storyteller gave the name Ebru, in the hopes that she would take after her mother's talent. The Storyteller was not disappointed.

As the children grew, Amleth's fuse shortened. He demanded more his children and his wife, expecting them to show how great he was by their being perfect. The boys began training with weapons and hunting when they were taking their first steps. They were ripped from their mother's arms and trained to be men before they were boys. Amleth demanded more children from The Storyteller and beat her soundly when she failed to produce more. Ebru he did not acknowledge.

The children developed a hatred for their father that mirrored The Storyteller's. She weaved stories to encourage this hate. It built and built until it was time for Ebru to marry.

Ebru had inherited her mother's talents which made her highly desirable as a bride. The Council brought their male descendants to forward as prospects and gave Amleth bribes to win over his favor. But Ebru's desire was for Tomomi, the son of The Healer. Tomomi had proposed, but Amleth had chased him away and starting breaking his daughter's will so she would marry a child of The Council. The Storyteller refused to have her daughter follow in her path and wove poisonous threads into her arms and legs. Amleth died on contact that night when he tried to lay with her.

The Storyteller was brought before The Council and given one chance to defend her actions. The Council had been against her for years so she would be doomed if she did not tell the greatest story of her life.

She started softly, calling upon all of her skills and began weaving her tail of woe, frustration and anger. She called upon Calliope, Clio and Melpomene. Soon her daughter joined her story, adding Terpsakhore and Euterpes' touch. The Council began to weep at the beauty and tragedy that these women were able to weave.

When their story was finished, The Storyteller and Ebru were silent and awaited The Council's judgement. The Council decreed Amleth to have been a poor man, not worth the talent that he married into. Therefore, The Storyteller would have to be the one whose approval was sought after regarding the hand of her daughter. However, murder could not go unpunished. The Storyteller was condemned to weave extra arms for all of her female descendants that whoever sought to marry into the family would know that she and hers were dangerous.

After Ebru and Tomomi were married, The Storyteller saw the effects of the potion The Healer had given her as her daughter gave birth to several children, many four at a time. Using her extra arms, she was able to help Ebru take care of them, earning herself the nickname Grandmother Spider.

So remember this, those who tangle with Grandmother Spider's kin, do not treat them lightly, or ruin their works, for she has weaved them many arms of poison and power, and they will use them.