The Magpie

A Fairy Tale | Short Story | Fantasy

Once upon a time, there was a hopeless, hapless, feckless young woman who, to her step-mother’s dismay, couldn’t sew, couldn’t cook, nor could she sing or dance. She was incredibly beautiful, but, being from a poor family—especially a poor family with no noble connections—the girl may as well have resembled a toad.

The girl’s step-mother, eager to help the girl advance in life and find a good husband, tried to teach her to do all the things that would keep a regular husband fed, and clothed and happy. It was to no avail. Her stitches were seldom straight, her meals were seldom edible, and she’d rather read books or stare into the ether than try to hold a tune or remember a routine. Her step-mother didn’t know what to do with her, and went to her husband to discuss his daughter’s future.

The girl’s father, hard at work every day, insisted she would bloom when she was ready. He loved his daughter dearly, and thought she was simply a dreamer, and would grow out of it. “Any man who truly loves her won’t mind if she can’t do those things,” he said.

“Any man who marries a woman who can’t do those things will die hungry, cold and naked,” was the step-mother’s response, “and he’ll be the most bored, miserable soul.” The father thought his wife was being ridiculous, and told her he wanted to talk of it no more.

They didn’t speak of it again until sickness struck him down.

The step-mother, anxious for her husband’s health and sick and tired of her step-daughter’s dreaming, sent the girl out on an errand. If she couldn’t be useful in the house, she could be useful out of the house. “Go to the well at the end of the world and find some treasure. Your father is sick and I am earning all I can. It’s a magic well, and it will give you treasure. But only ask once a day, or it’ll turn you into something awful, and you’ll be lost to us forever.”

“Where is the well?”

“At the end of the world. Now hurry up before it gets dark.” The girl’s step-mother handed her a basket of food for the journey. “It might take a day or two. Be careful.”

The girl wandered the roads through the villages, asking everyone and anyone if they knew where the well was. “Only death lives there,” said one farmer. “And the ghost of a cruel prince. You shouldn’t go near that well. Count your blessings instead.” His wife said the same. They warned her once more not to go, but they could see that she had her mind set on it, and gave her directions.

The well was located in a place that felt like the end of the world, certainly. She almost didn’t approach. Daisies poked through half-buried helms, and the ivy had claimed the ruins of what looked like an old keep. Torn red flags sailed in the breeze like the tongues of serpents. The girl—brave, or stupid or both, stepped over scattered stones. She tried not to look at the bleached bones in the mounds, and after frightening away a murder of crows, approached the well.

Something made her stop before she could look over the edge. Moaning. Someone was down there. She plucked up the courage to lean over and see. The cool, dark emptiness of the well chilled her face. With brilliant sunlight behind her, she could see nothing other than shadow, and perhaps a ripple of water. It was so far down. She reached for the rough rope that she hoped would be attached to a bucket, but it wouldn’t pull. It was stuck.

“Nothing in that one,” a voice said.

She looked around. There was nobody there except for a magpie, watching her from a low, broken fence with its head cocked curiously.

She turned around and reached for the rope again. “I said, there’s nothing in that one,” the voice said again.

It was still looking at her, this time in bafflement. “Did I say something rude?” it asked.

She was tired. She must have been tired. She rubbed her eyes and stared a little harder at the beautiful creature. “You can talk?” she asked. For that moment, she had forgotten about the moaning at the bottom of the well.

The bird opened its wings and closed them again. “Yes?”

“I’ve never met a magpie that can talk.”

“I can do more than that. Watch this.” It flew away, and promptly returned with a silver coin in its mouth. “Here you go,” it said as it dropped the coin. She didn’t move. “That’s what you came for isn’t it? Treasure?”

“Y-y-y—”

“That’s all I can do for today, but if you come again, I shall give you some more.”

Her step-mother met her at the door, her face a mixture of relief and curiosity. “What have you got there then?” The girl showed her the silver coin. “Oh my goodness! It’s a miracle! She’s no longer hopeless, hapless or feckless!” Her step-mother headed straight to the market the next day to buy some medicine.

A few days later, the girl met the magpie again at the well. It gave her a gold coin this time. She brought the coin home for her step-mother, who rushed out to buy some more firewood and furs to make winter coats.

The time after that, the girl returned to the well. The magpie brought her a crown. “I can’t take that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“It belongs to someone.”

“No it doesn’t. Not any more.”

“I have no use for it. You have done enough for me, and I won’t take anything else from you.”

“If you take the crown, you’ll have everything you need, for a very long time.”

She could not take the crown. They agreed that she could take the jewels, but she left the crown with the magpie. “You have been so helpful. Why?”

“Must everything have a price?”

“Perhaps. Everything costs something.”

“I ask for nothing now,“ the magpie said. “I won’t ask for anything ever again.”

“Why not?”

“If I asked for anything, even a small thing, I’d probably die.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Well in that case, why don’t you choose a gift? If I could give you any gift, what would it be? This is not a transaction, dear magpie: it’s a gift, from me to you.”

“Well then,” said the bird, thinking for a moment. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

“What shall we do?”

“I can show you how to dig for your own treasure, if you won’t take any more from me.”

“But what does that give you?”

“Your company.”

“Do you have no friends out here?”

“No. There is no one like me. Well, there’s you…”

“I’m not a magpie.”

“No,” the bird said, “that’s true. You’re a scavenger though,” it said.

“I suppose I am. We can be the only two scavengers at the end of the world.”

Seeing that her father was getting better, the girl returned to the well as often as was possible. The magpie led her across the fields surrounding the ruins. They found more coins, and jewels, and necklaces fit for a queen. “All these fine things,” the girl said with a sigh. She held more gold in her hands than she’d seen in her life. “What shall we do with them?” she asked the magpie.

“You should wear them.”

“Nonsense. I’m not a queen.”

“You are to me.”

She blushed, and wondered what she’d look like with the crown on. Realising there was water in the well, she thought she’d go and see if she could see her reflection. She turned around and headed towards the well. “Don’t look down there!” the magpie cried, circling her and cawing.

“Why not?”

“Please don’t. It’ll drag you down, and you’ll be lost forever.”

She looked at the bird for a moment, as it sat on the edge of the well. She could hear the moaning again. It was as low as an evening wind, forcing its way through the cracks in window frames.

“What’s in there?”

“Please don’t ask me that,” the bird said. “It’s not a place for you.”

“I just wanted to see what I’d look like with the crown on.”

“Then let me bring you a mirror. You must promise me you won’t look down the well.”

“I promise.”

The magpie flew off and returned with a silver-handled looking glass. She held it up and looked at her reflection, almost dropping the mirror. Her reflection was that of a queen, wearing fine satin, lace, and gold. She put the mirror down and tore the crown off her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m no queen.”

“You’re a queen to me.”

She thought her magpie friend was the sweetest creature in the world. She would not tell anyone about the bird, or they’d steal it and cage it and make it sing. “I’ll come back soon.”

She patted the magpie on the head, and crossed the fields, which were now scattered with the first dusting of snow. To her surprise, the bird flew after her.

“Wait, Queenie!”

“What is it?”

“Take me with you.”

“What?”

“Take me with you.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“If anyone found out I had befriended a talking magpie, they’d steal you, and clip your wings, and put you in a gilded cage and make you sing. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Queenie,” the magpie said, its heart breaking. “Why are you so sad? I’m just a bird.”

“Please don’t ask me to take you. Please stay here. I will come back.”

The magpie agreed and flew back to the well. She dried her tears and walked home.

Her next visit to the well had been delayed by a terrible snow storm. Her father, now well enough to stand, told her there was no need to return to the well ever again. She was broken-hearted, and although her father was keeping her safe, she knew she would never be happy if she were to listen. The magpie was waiting for her.

She left in the night this time, and arrived at the well just before dawn the following morning.

She couldn’t see the magpie anywhere.

In dawn’s dim, winter light, she could make out dots of black on the white snow. She followed the trail of dark flecks until she came by a cat, swishing its tail as it fondled something between its paws. She knew in her heart that it was the little magpie.

“Shoo!” she called, chucking a stick at the cat. It hissed and raced off into the bushes.

The little magpie lay in the snow, its wings bloodied by the encounter with the cat. “It’s nothing, Queenie. I’ll be all right.”

“This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I should have come sooner.”

“The storm was a bad one. You were wise to wait.”

“I wasn’t. Now look what I’ve done.” She wept warm tears onto her freezing face.

“What are we doing now? Beating ourselves up? Does it make you feel better?”

“Nothing makes me feel better. You are dying. Oh, it’s all my fault.”

“You know, Queenie, you could have clipped my wings. If you’d have put me in a gilded cage, I might have lived longer.”

“I could never do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my friend. I could never see any…” she wanted to say harm but realised it would have been rather hypocritical. “I cannot take you with me. I will not clip your wings. That would be cruel.”

“And, see, that’s why you’re a queen. If ever the word noble had a face, I’m looking at it right now.”

“I’m not a queen. I’m a scavenger. I’m just like you.”

“You’re so much better than me, Queenie.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

“Stop that. You’re going to be all right.”

“I have a request,” the bird said. “I’m dying anyway, so I might as well ask for something.”. The bird cleared its throat. “Please lay me by a hearth. I should like to know what it’s like to die as a human, under a roof.”

She returned to her home with the magpie under her cloak. “Where’ve you been?” her step-mother asked. “What have you got there?” When the girl revealed the bird, her step-mother screamed. “Get it outside!”

“Please. It’s hurt.”

“I don’t want no ill bird croaking its last in my living room. It’s a magpie! It’s an ill-omen!”

“Please, he’s dying.”

“Then pass me a rock and I’ll end it for you.”

“No! Please don’t hurt him. He’s my friend.”

“Hapless girl!” She rushed outside and retrieved a rock. “Give it here.”

“No!” She started to cry. “Please. He’s my friend.” She looked down at the little broken bird.

The step-mother, her heart softened by her step-daughter’s outburst, let the bird stay. She even allowed it to rest in the girl’s bed. All night, the girl sat sentry, telling stories until her throat was sore. The magpie, seeing she was tired, and feeling terribly guilty for the fuss he’d made, offered to tell her a story instead. She listened to the bird tell a story about an old kingdom. The good king had died, and left it all to his spoiled little boy. The boy grew up, but he didn’t know how to be a good ruler, because he didn’t listen to his teachers. He didn’t solve problems, or do any work. Instead, he went to a magic well every day, and asked for gold, jewels, and all the things that would keep him safe and warm on his throne. He was selfish, and greedy, and demanded more than he gave. His people feared him, and left when there was no food to eat or water to drink.

“That’s no way to run a kingdom,” the girl said.

“It’s not, is it? How would you have done it?”

“Kings are supposed to be great, and kind, and lead people. If the people fear you, they can’t trust you, and if they can’t trust you, they can’t love you.” She shook her head. “Listen to me, what do I know? I only read about that in books.”

“I could have done with reading more books.”

“But you’re a bird. It would have been rather difficult.”

The magpie turned his face away in shame, and closed his eyes. The girl sensed that he was tired, and she closed her eyes too. She was more tired than she realised, and eventually fell asleep in the chair.

The next morning, she woke to find that the bird had died. Through eyes heavy with endless tears, she smoothed down the feathers, and bundled the creature up. “I’m going to bury him where I found him,” she said. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“You want to walk all the way up there in the snow? Are you mad?” asked the step-mother.

“He doesn’t belong here,” the girl said, still snuffling. “I will bury him by the well, where we first met.”

She walked all the way to the well at the end of the world, but remembered that the magpie had told her not to look inside. She dug a little grave beside the well instead, and placed the bundled bird in its resting place.

In the silence of the dull day, she could hear the moaning again. She looked at the well, but didn’t dare approach. The magpie had told her not to look, and she had promised.

“Help, please?” someone said, tugging on the rope. She remained still.

“I’ll have to get someone. I can’t look down there,” she called.

“Why can’t you come?”

“I promised my friend I wouldn’t look.”

“Who was your friend?”

“A magpie. He’s dead, and I have just had to bury the poor creature.” She started crying again.

“Queenie, it’s safe to look now.”

Queenie. She straightened. Who was in the well? “Magpie?” she asked.

“If you like.”

“How do I know it’s you?”

“I called you Queenie.”

“You could have just been eavesdropping!”

“Very well then. I know you know a story about a spoiled prince who lost an entire kingdom. And I know you know that a good king should be trusted, and loved.”

“Everyone knows that story,” she said, wondering if anybody did know that story other than her and the magpie.

“I’m a prince, Queenie.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I’d never put you in a gilded cage, Queenie. I’d never clip your wings.”

She slowly approached the well. “That’s all well and good, but I’m not a magpie.”

“Neither am I,” the voice in the well said. She leaned in, and looked into what was once nothing but cavernous blackness. There was a young man down there, looking up at her. She ran down the hill to the nearest village and asked everyone for help. The labourers followed her back to the well and pulled the young man out. They recognised him, and cleaned him up. He was a prince. The girl couldn’t believe it, and didn’t know what to do, so she ran away.

One morning, she woke up and heard her parents talking to someone in the other room. She looked out of her window, and saw knights waiting outside with horses. They were holding banners bearing the sigil of the magpie. Her eyes widened, and she smoothed her hair, washed her face and dressed quickly.

“She can’t cook, nor can she clean, nor can she sew, nor can she sing or dance,” her step-mother was saying, “and then I’ve always said, Your Highness—any man who marries a woman who can’t do those things will die hungry, cold and naked, unless he’s a prince, of course.”

“And I’ve always said,” said her father, “that any man who truly loves her won’t mind if she can’t do those things.”

“Then we are settled,” the prince said, noticing the door open. His eyes lit up when he saw her again. “Queenie,” he said, crossing the room to embrace her.

She didn’t move.

“Queenie, it’s me.”

“Close your mouth, dear,” her step-mother said quietly.

“How did you find me?”

“I’ve been here before.” He smiled, and turned to the step-mother. “Thank you for not finishing me off with a rock,” he said. He turned back to the girl and reached for her hands. “I’d like to ask you—”

“No!” she cried. “You said if you asked for anything else, you’d probably die.”

“I did say that, didn’t I? Hmm, that was the curse… but I think it’s broken now.”

“Still,” she said. “I would rather not risk it.”

“What shall we do then? I can’t order you to marry me and spend the rest of your life with me.”

“You could. You’re going to be king.”

“I don’t want to be that sort of king, though. I want to be a king like the one you told me about.”

She smiled. “Well then, fair and just ruler… would you marry me?”

“Yes.” He kissed her. “Without a doubt, yes, but there’s one condition.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll have to wear that crown after all.”

They waved goodbye to her parents, and travelled back to the fallen kingdom at the end of the world, where they rebuilt it together. People travelled from all over the world to visit their kingdom. Eventually, after all the hard work was over, Queenie learned to dance, and they lived happily ever after.

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