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Time, Talent, Treasure
Before Mother decided I had outgrown such nonsense, Grandfather liked to tell me a story about the fairies that lived in the forest outside our town.
Hidden away in the trees, he would whisper, there once lived a court of fairies. They were majestic beings—tall and winged, each wearing a crown of stars that could only be seen reflected in their pale, crystalline eyes. In the fairies’ grove stood a massive tree whose branches stretched far into the heavens. Time slipped around the fairy folk freely, but once every hundred moons, the court gathered round the tree to slip an offering into the well nestled amidst the roots.
Some would sing to the tree with upturned faces, and treasure would fall from their lips with each otherworldly note.
Others would sit high in the tree’s branches and draw with ink made the juice of the colorful berries that grew in bushes lining the grove. The treasure merely needed to be pulled from the bark canvas.
Still others danced around the grove in a flurry of leaps and bows, leaving the ground littered with treasure-embedded footprints.
As the hundredth moon approached, a fairy prince found himself without treasure. He tried and tried for many a moon, but not singing nor drawing nor dancing yielded any treasure for his offering. With the court preparing to gather the next day, the Prince turned to the stars for help.
We can show you the way to treasure beyond imagining, they said eagerly. All it will cost you is the time in your veins. A pittance, really.
So the fairy Prince traded his eternity for mortality, and the stars pointed to a twig on the ground. And the Prince was inspired.
When his turn came to present an offering, the Prince rose and faced the assembled fairies. With a voice as clear as the forest-fresh air around them, he spoke of a magical stick that led its owner to his heart’s desire. With only his words he wove a story, and when he had finished he gathered the treasure from his audience’s captivated gazes and dropped it down the well at the tree’s roots.
Time passed. The Prince did not feel its hold, nourished as he was by the grove’s colorful fruit. The sun and moon still obeyed the rhythms of the universe, however, and time came again for the fairy court to lay their treasure at the roots of the tree. So once again, the Prince went to beg the stars for inspiration.
Surely we can help, they replied. Merely hand us the jewels on your back.
So the Prince traded his wings for a vision of a troublesome fly and went on his way.
At the offering, he told the court about a tiny group of pixies that wreaked havoc in the gardens of mortals. Their resounding laughter rang with both amusement and the tinkling of treasure, and if anyone found the Prince's apparrel odd, none commented on the long cloak draped over his empty back.
When the next hundredth moon rolled around, the stars were waiting for the Prince.
The glimmer in your eyes belong to us, said the heavens. We would have it returned.
The Prince froze. They wanted his crown of stars? Would he even be a fairy without it?
No less a fairy than one who brings nothing to the offering-well, Highness, the stars purred.
Convinced, the Prince squared his shoulders and turned his face skyward. When the glare faded from his eyes, he stood in an empty grove.
Gone was the fairy court. Gone were the bushes, the tree, and the bottomless treasure-well. He waited for daybreak, but the grove remained empty. Blind to his home, the Prince was forced to depart, stumbling through thicket and underbrush as he traded the forest for mortal landscapes.
And so it was that he slunk into the village-by-the-forest, shoulders hunched against the curious eyes of the locals, trying for all his worth to escape notice. His efforts were forgotten, though, at the discovery of a small throng of people, all sitting rapt as a bard gestured wildly as he relayed the tale of a magical stick that could lead its owner to his heart's desire.
I liked to imagine the townspeople listened to the bard with the same wonder that danced in my grandfather’s pale, crystalline eyes each time he told me the story.
Hidden away in the trees, he would whisper, there once lived a court of fairies. They were majestic beings—tall and winged, each wearing a crown of stars that could only be seen reflected in their pale, crystalline eyes. In the fairies’ grove stood a massive tree whose branches stretched far into the heavens. Time slipped around the fairy folk freely, but once every hundred moons, the court gathered round the tree to slip an offering into the well nestled amidst the roots.
Some would sing to the tree with upturned faces, and treasure would fall from their lips with each otherworldly note.
Others would sit high in the tree’s branches and draw with ink made the juice of the colorful berries that grew in bushes lining the grove. The treasure merely needed to be pulled from the bark canvas.
Still others danced around the grove in a flurry of leaps and bows, leaving the ground littered with treasure-embedded footprints.
As the hundredth moon approached, a fairy prince found himself without treasure. He tried and tried for many a moon, but not singing nor drawing nor dancing yielded any treasure for his offering. With the court preparing to gather the next day, the Prince turned to the stars for help.
We can show you the way to treasure beyond imagining, they said eagerly. All it will cost you is the time in your veins. A pittance, really.
So the fairy Prince traded his eternity for mortality, and the stars pointed to a twig on the ground. And the Prince was inspired.
When his turn came to present an offering, the Prince rose and faced the assembled fairies. With a voice as clear as the forest-fresh air around them, he spoke of a magical stick that led its owner to his heart’s desire. With only his words he wove a story, and when he had finished he gathered the treasure from his audience’s captivated gazes and dropped it down the well at the tree’s roots.
Time passed. The Prince did not feel its hold, nourished as he was by the grove’s colorful fruit. The sun and moon still obeyed the rhythms of the universe, however, and time came again for the fairy court to lay their treasure at the roots of the tree. So once again, the Prince went to beg the stars for inspiration.
Surely we can help, they replied. Merely hand us the jewels on your back.
So the Prince traded his wings for a vision of a troublesome fly and went on his way.
At the offering, he told the court about a tiny group of pixies that wreaked havoc in the gardens of mortals. Their resounding laughter rang with both amusement and the tinkling of treasure, and if anyone found the Prince's apparrel odd, none commented on the long cloak draped over his empty back.
When the next hundredth moon rolled around, the stars were waiting for the Prince.
The glimmer in your eyes belong to us, said the heavens. We would have it returned.
The Prince froze. They wanted his crown of stars? Would he even be a fairy without it?
No less a fairy than one who brings nothing to the offering-well, Highness, the stars purred.
Convinced, the Prince squared his shoulders and turned his face skyward. When the glare faded from his eyes, he stood in an empty grove.
Gone was the fairy court. Gone were the bushes, the tree, and the bottomless treasure-well. He waited for daybreak, but the grove remained empty. Blind to his home, the Prince was forced to depart, stumbling through thicket and underbrush as he traded the forest for mortal landscapes.
And so it was that he slunk into the village-by-the-forest, shoulders hunched against the curious eyes of the locals, trying for all his worth to escape notice. His efforts were forgotten, though, at the discovery of a small throng of people, all sitting rapt as a bard gestured wildly as he relayed the tale of a magical stick that could lead its owner to his heart's desire.
I liked to imagine the townspeople listened to the bard with the same wonder that danced in my grandfather’s pale, crystalline eyes each time he told me the story.
So this is a fairy tale in which I'm not entirely sure what happened.
I'm not sure whether it was the language that was confusing, that not enough plain language was used for me to understand, or the inherent vagueness of some of the words used (does treasure mean gold? jewels? something else?). I don't know the significance of the star crown in their eyes. I don't get how the prince gets his treasure and what the significance of his methods were. And I think that the grandfather is actually the fairy prince, but I don't get the significance of that if that's true. And I don't get the ending in general. Usually fairy tales have a moral, and though I feel like there was one here, it wasn't clear to me because of the things I mentioned above.
So all in all, not all that engaging for me.
I'm not sure whether it was the language that was confusing, that not enough plain language was used for me to understand, or the inherent vagueness of some of the words used (does treasure mean gold? jewels? something else?). I don't know the significance of the star crown in their eyes. I don't get how the prince gets his treasure and what the significance of his methods were. And I think that the grandfather is actually the fairy prince, but I don't get the significance of that if that's true. And I don't get the ending in general. Usually fairy tales have a moral, and though I feel like there was one here, it wasn't clear to me because of the things I mentioned above.
So all in all, not all that engaging for me.
...each wearing a crown of stars that could only be seen reflected in their pale, crystalline eyes.
That's poetic, but a little confusing. You can't see someone's reflection in their own eyes, so it couldn't be a crown. Unless you mean that if another fairie was standing near the original fairie, you could see the crown of the other fairie by looking in his neighbor's eyes? But that seems too complicated. I think you mean "holding a ring of stars" or something like that.
I don't understand the ending of the Scheherazade at all. The fairie-turned human is forced into the human lands, for some reason tries not to be noticed, fails at this (so people notice him), then "his efforts were forgotten" means what exactly? People forgot that the strange man was trying not to be noticed? And why did the bard have the treasure from the well, if faeries did not interact with men, being from magically separate worlds?
I don't find the ending of the main story to be impactful, because there isn't any foreshadowing to support the idea that the former-fairie gained a human family.
The brief tension between the mother and grandfather should be expanded upon or dropped. Who tells their father to stop telling stories to their child, and why does she disbelieve? We don't see enough of the mother to get a sense of the conflict.
I realize this is a lot of critique, but I think a story this detailed was very ambitious for a minific.
This story was skillfully written and felt true to the fairytale style. The descriptions were clear and the pacing was good. The body of the arc was sound, but I had some trouble with the beginning and end.
On the beginning, I'm not really sure what the trigger was for the Prince's troubles. While it's true that some fairy tales are like this, I think it would be more satisfying if there was some (often self-inflicted) seed to the trouble. As-is, it seems like he starts having bad luck, and then gets screwed over by the stars.
On the end, the one piece that causes me the single largest amount of confusion was the last sentence of the middle section. I really don't see how it ties in. Who forgot his efforts? Is he supposed to be the bard? Does this have any connection to having a wife and/or daughter? I'm afraid I didn't see how this connects the pieces of the story together
Overall, this felt classic and well executed, but while the body was entertaining, the end wasn't quite able to bring it all together.
On the beginning, I'm not really sure what the trigger was for the Prince's troubles. While it's true that some fairy tales are like this, I think it would be more satisfying if there was some (often self-inflicted) seed to the trouble. As-is, it seems like he starts having bad luck, and then gets screwed over by the stars.
On the end, the one piece that causes me the single largest amount of confusion was the last sentence of the middle section. I really don't see how it ties in. Who forgot his efforts? Is he supposed to be the bard? Does this have any connection to having a wife and/or daughter? I'm afraid I didn't see how this connects the pieces of the story together
Overall, this felt classic and well executed, but while the body was entertaining, the end wasn't quite able to bring it all together.
Hmm, interesting...
This doesn't really fit the 'fairytale' mold for me, in many ways; a little too shades-of-grey. However, the way it plays with those trappings is interesting in it's own manner.
On the one hand, stories as treasure and storytellers as hidden nobility strokes my ego. :) The descriptions were also powerful for me; I like that mythic flair, and you've pretty much nailed it.
On the other hand, there's one part of your myth-weaving that tripped me up, namely the nondescript 'treasure'. What is this? Why do the fairies want it? Would I want it, if I saw it? And this story seemed to really want a moral or message, especially with the fairy-tale trappings. However, I didn't really see one.
Don't surrender eternity for simple treasures?
Don't trust the stars?
Storytelling trades our time away for nothing?
Grandpas are liars?
I just don't know. And I think that's a problem for me here.
This doesn't really fit the 'fairytale' mold for me, in many ways; a little too shades-of-grey. However, the way it plays with those trappings is interesting in it's own manner.
On the one hand, stories as treasure and storytellers as hidden nobility strokes my ego. :) The descriptions were also powerful for me; I like that mythic flair, and you've pretty much nailed it.
On the other hand, there's one part of your myth-weaving that tripped me up, namely the nondescript 'treasure'. What is this? Why do the fairies want it? Would I want it, if I saw it? And this story seemed to really want a moral or message, especially with the fairy-tale trappings. However, I didn't really see one.
Don't surrender eternity for simple treasures?
Don't trust the stars?
Storytelling trades our time away for nothing?
Grandpas are liars?
I just don't know. And I think that's a problem for me here.
Overall, I found this story fairly enjoyable. The story part of it certainly felt like a fairy tale, though like others have said, it seemed like it was missing some sort of moral or conclusion. And I'm not sure what the point of the bard was. If he was just telling some sort of generic story, I would assume that we were supposed to imply that the prince was inspired by him and decided to become a bard himself. But since the bard was telling the same story that the prince had told earlier, it seems like there has to be some additional meaning in there. Maybe the prince realized that mortals don't need the stars to inspire them to tell great stories, leading to him becoming a storyteller without their help as well?
I'm trying not to leave reviews since I don't really have time, but given others had issues with this I want the author to know: I really liked this. I doubt it means much from a nincompoop :p For me, it is about the price and reward of telling stories, something I very much believe in. The only question I'm left with is why the stars seem to betray the prince.
I only skimmed other reviews, but for those who might not have caught it, both the bard and grandfather are the fairy prince. At least, they seemed so to me.
Anyway, great job in my book.
I only skimmed other reviews, but for those who might not have caught it, both the bard and grandfather are the fairy prince. At least, they seemed so to me.
Anyway, great job in my book.
Time, Talent and Treasure - B+ -- Good promise inside it, but a little clunky in the way it flows. The first few sentences are a good example, whiplashing from the grandfather to the ongoing story. It has good pieces, but problems with the way it is supposed to carry you away to the land of Fey and leave you wishing to return, but exiled to the mortal realm.
I don’t get why a bard was telling the story, instead of the prince making his living by telling the story in the human lands, thereby implying that Grandfather was the fairy prince. That seems like the correct way to tell the story, and I’m kind of confused why it isn’t that.