Title: How the Azia Got Their Stories
Date: 2005-01-26 00:00:00
Type: Stories
Synopsis: Adapted from a South African folktale, this is the tale of how stories came to Zalanthas.
Once upon a time and long ago, tesukrami, there were no stories in all of Zalanthas, for a Prince of the Djinni held them all, and kept them in a small wooden box with three locks upon it, away in his castle, beyond the great chasm to the north, and refused to let them go out wandering to be told and heard. And a boy of the Tan Muark, one of the Azia, decided that this should not be.
So he set out wandering along the road, and at length he came to the castle, and was admitted, and there he spoke with the Prince of the Djinni, and asked for the stories.
The Prince laughed at him, for he treasured his stories, but the Djinni are a gambling folk, and at length the boy persuaded him to make a wager. 'Very well,' said the Prince. 'I will give you the stories, but you must perform three tasks before I will even consider the notion. You must catch the Tembo with the Terrible Teeth, and the Hornets that Sting like the Fires of Suk-Krath, and the Rashani who cannot be seen.'
The boy's face fell, for these were daunting tasks indeed, but he nodded and set out. He went to his village, and from his mother, he asked these things: numut vines, and a hollow gourd, and three squash covered with honey before roasting.
First he went to the Grey Forest, into its green and shadowy depths, into its depths where there are halflings, and tembo, and cilops slithering in the shadows. He sat down in a clearing where tembo tracks clustered and there he began to tangle himself in the vines. And when the Tembo with the Terrible Teeth appeared to eat him, there he was, patiently coiling and uncoiling the vines.
"Before I eat you, and lick your bones clean," said the tembo. "Tell me what it is that you are doing."
The boy frowned, ignoring the tembo as he continued with his vines. "I am trying to tie myself up," he said. "In such a way that I cannot escape."
The tembo watched him for a few moments as he fiddled with the vines, and finally said, "You're not very good at that, are you?"
"No," the boy said in humble tones. "I'm not. Perhaps you might show me how it could be done?"
"Yes, yes," the tembo impatiently said. "Stand aside." And he took the vines and tied himself up so thoroughly that there was not a chance of escape, the vines so tight and thick around him that only his eyes could be seen.
"Very good," said the boy, for he had fulfilled his first task. And tugging the tembo along behind him, he went about his second task. He came to the place where the Hornets that Sting like the Fires of Suk-Krath were buzzing about, and he watched them for a while. He hung his gourd from a tree and then he gathered handfuls of sand and tossed them into the air. The hornets, thinking a sandstorm was rising, flew into the gourd for shelter, and soon as the last one had entered, he stoppered the jug.
"Very good," said the boy, taking up his angrily buzzing gourd, for he had fulfilled his second task. And he set out his squash beneath a tree and waited.
Before long, the wind whispered and the grass rustled, and he knew the Rashani Who Could Not Be Seen, the wind fairy, was there.
"Squash," her voice said. "My favorite food. May I have some?"
The boy pretended not to hear.
"Hrmph," she said. "Then I'll simply take some!" And she tried to take the squash, but the sticky honey held her fast, no matter how hard she tried to flutter away. "Very good," said the boy, for now he had fulfilled his third task. And he gathered up the tembo, and his gourd, and the squash with the Rashani still attached, and took them to the Prince of the Djinni.
The Prince scowled and frowned, but he was forced to admit that the boy had done what he had been asked to do. So he gave the boy the box. The boy bowed in courtly and elegant fashion, for the Azia have always been mannerly, and set back to his village. He was impatient to get home, and to show his mother how he had triumphed, so he began to run, the box tucked beneath his arm. And he tripped, and he fell, and the box went flying, the locks breaking open, and all the stories flew out, and scattered all over the world, and in this fashion, stories came to Zalanthas. But the best stories, they were in the bottom of the box. So the Azia still have those, and we tell them on occasion, tesukrami, and this is what makes us the best storytellers of all.