Northward went the Prince, northward in a straight line as the crow
flies, though the way was hard and rough, and many times he could find
no shelter from storm and night. At length, when he had traveled a
hundred miles, he came to a valley, deep and dark and mysterious. This,
he knew, was the spot where Nagarguna had warned him he would meet with
his first adventure. Gripping his sack, axe, cord and basket with a
firm hand, he climbed down the rocky sides, though it grew ever darker
and darker as he descended. The loose stones slipped from beneath his
feet, and a great roaring sound filled his ears as he neared the
bottom, where a muddy river rushed along. At last he reached the bank
of this stream and stood there, wondering at the noise and rush of it
and at the strange half-darkness that surrounded him. Suddenly the
noise grew greater, and from the stream, the banks of the ravine, and
seemingly from the air itself appeared great ghostly forms, very tall
and fierce, and they rushed upon the Prince as though to kill him.
“These are the ghosts of giants who lived long ages ago,” thought the
lad, remembering Nagarguna’s words. “I must not fear them!” And
covering his eyes with his sleeve, he scattered a few grains of the
magic barley corn in the air and waited, listening. The strange,
ghostly sounds grew less, and even the roar and rush of the torrent
seemed to become more distant. For some little time the Prince waited,
with his sleeve across his eyes, and when the noise had grown quite
faint and indistinct, he looked around him. No longer was he standing
at the bottom of the dark valley with the muddy river rushing beside
him! To his astonishment, he found himself, instead, on the top of a
hill on the opposite side of it; the sunlight was bright and warm upon
him, and an open meadow land sloped gently away before him. Casting one
look down into the depths, at the muddy, horrible stream far below, he
turned his back upon it with a sigh of relief.
“There is one adventure safely passed!” said he to himself, and trudged
onward.
Again there was a long journey, and sometimes the way was rough and
hard, and sometimes it was pleasant and easy. But northward still it
lay in a straight line, and the Prince was weary enough when he had
gone another hundred miles and had come to the second stage of his
adventure.
He had reached a broad meadow full of tall lank grass, with a little
stream winding through the center of it. On the bank of this quiet
meadow brook he stood and gazed around, wondering, for the sunlight, so
bright a moment ago, seemed to be fading. The soft babbling of the
water grew suddenly loud and harsh, the air dark and murky, and there
darted from the tall, rank grass on every side a throng of strange,
ghostly figures. Very small they were and dim and vague, but their
faces were ugly, and they swarmed around the Prince in countless
numbers, as if they would cover and overwhelm him. He bent his head and
gasped for breath, muttering to himself, “These must be they of whom
Nagarguna told me, the ghosts of wicked dwarfs who lived and died long
years ago!” He covered his eyes with his sleeve and cast the magic
barley corn in the air, then waited, listening. The noise of the stream
died down, and the sound of the rushing, ghostly forms ceased; and when
the Prince looked about him again, he found himself on the other side
of the little winding stream, with the sunlight pouring down upon him
and the tall grass waving at his feet.
“There is my second adventure safely passed!” thought he, and turning
his back upon the meadow and brook, he journeyed on.
Northward he traveled still, and if the way had been hard before, it
was ten times harder now. Over rugged crags the Prince scrambled,
across bare deserts where there was no water and no rest for his
burning feet,—only sand, sand, sand and a tiresome wind. On and on he
went until at last another hundred miles had been left behind him, and
he saw lying just ahead a beautiful garden. As the Prince entered it,
he thought that never before had he seen anything half so lovely.
Strange, brilliant flowers grew in rich profusion on all sides, filling
the air with a soft, sweet fragrance. Birds with bright plumage flashed
by, and the sound of their incessant sweet singing mingled with the
splash of water in an unseen fountain. The Prince loitered along the
path delighted, drinking in eagerly all the beauty of sight and sound
and scent. At length, turning a corner, he came upon the fountain
sparkling in the sun. Crystal clear it was and very beautiful, and
beside it was a marble bench looking cool and restful. The Prince sank
down upon it, for he felt suddenly very weary, but scarcely had he
seated himself before the sunlight disappeared and a strange half
darkness covered him. The sound of the splashing water grew louder, but
it was very pleasant to hear, and mingled with it was a whispering and
pattering as of small voices and tiny feet, and a brushing as of
garments against the bushes. He looked around him and then stood up the
better to see. From behind every flower and bush danced forth a little
form, shimmery and indistinct but beautiful beyond belief.
“Oh, you lovely, lovely creatures!” exclaimed the Prince aloud. “But I
must not look at you, for truly you must be they of whom the master
told me,—the ghosts of little children who lived and died long years
ago and were forgotten!”
Slowly and reluctantly the Prince, covering his eyes with his sleeve,
cast the magic barley corns in the air and waited. The little silken
sounds ceased, the splash of the water grew softer, and when he looked
about him again he found himself standing on the other side of the
fountain, with the garden behind him and a cool shady grove in front of
him. And by a tree at the entrance to the grove, looking at him, stood
the Siddhi-kur!
The Prince knew him at once by the shining gold and the emerald green
of his body, by his head which looked like mother-of-pearl, and by the
fair gold crown upon it. As he was looking at him, the Siddhi-kur
turned and fled, and the Prince ran after him. Deep into the grove they
sped, this way and that, and a long chase they had of it, until at last
the Siddhi-kur reached the middle of the grove where stood his favorite
mango tree, and before the Prince could touch him, he had climbed up to
the very top of it, and there he sat, looking down and laughing.
The Prince waited only to catch his breath, and then, seizing his axe,
he raised it high above his shoulder, exclaiming, “Oh, Siddhi-kur, come
down! Nagarguna, the hermit, has need of you! Come down, I pray you, or
with my magic axe, ‘White Moon,’ I will fell your mango tree!”
“Nay, do not so!” cried the Siddhi-kur, gazing in terror at the
uplifted axe. “Do not cut down my mango tree with the terrible ‘White
Moon’; much rather would I descend to you!”
“Come, then, quickly!” said the Prince, laying aside his axe and
picking up the sack and cord. On seeing these, the Siddhi-kur hastily
climbed down from the tree and stood beside the Prince, trembling.
“See, now,” continued the lad, holding the sack wide open. “Resistance
is useless, for here I have the magic sack of many colors, in which,
though it looks so small, is space to stow away a hundred creatures.
You shall ride in it upon my back, and the neck of it shall be tied
around your neck with this magic cord of a hundred threads, each of a
different kind, and each strong enough to bind an ox. Be content, then,
come with me, and you shall dwell happily in a cool grove on the
shining mountain, beside the good Nagarguna.”
The Siddhi-kur sighed deeply. “Resistance is indeed vain!” said he,
“since you have the axe, the sack and the cord. So take me on your back
and let us be about our way, for he who cannot mend his fortunes should
make the best of them.”
The Prince was overjoyed that his adventure should be thus accomplished
so easily, and without more ado he settled the Siddhi-kur comfortably
in the sack, tied the mouth of it with the cord of a hundred threads,
balanced it upon his back, and picking up the axe, “White Moon,”
started on his homeward journey. Very proud he felt, and very well
satisfied. He ate of the magic cake which grew not less, and being much
refreshed, he walked bravely along, though the way was twice as hard as
it had been before, owing to the heavy burden on his back.
After they had proceeded a long way in silence, the Siddhi-kur spoke:
“Of a truth,” said he, “the way is long and I grow weary. I pray you,
Prince, tell me now a tale, that the hours may seem the shorter to us
both.”
But the Prince, remembering how Nagarguna had bade him above all else
not to open his lips on the homeward way, merely shook his head and
said nothing.
“Oh,” said the Siddhi-kur, “the Prince is wise beyond his years! He has
learned the lesson of silence! Keep, then, your thoughts to yourself,
but if you are minded to listen, I will tell you a story, a wonder
tale, which will make the time pass quickly and pleasantly. Only nod
your head, if you are willing, and I will begin.”
Now the Prince was very weary, and the hours seemed long indeed.
“Surely,” he thought, “there can be no harm in merely listening, and
perhaps the Siddhi-kur can tell a wonderful tale which it will be
pleasant and profitable to hear.” So he nodded assent, and the
Siddhi-kur straightway began.