What No Magic Can Procure
Found
The saddle, bridle, and what else a horse and rider need for their work together was upon the horse in seconds. He rode that horse from the castle into the valley where he spent everyday with his back serving those who needed it. The taxes went to the soldiers only, his own living he provided himself. When the valley was attacked, he was the first in line in the ranks of his men, his magic taxed in use. When the valley was in peace he still rode out to help those who needed it, listened to and aided those who came to him as his role as leader required, at night he walked the garden before retiring, the memory of Natalya and her father in his mind.
Years passed since that night the valley in greater flourish than it had ever been in centuries, its wealth poured over its mountains and into the lands beyond all who were touched by its hand were better off. Nations came to claim it as their own, but the valley was fortified well, her prosperous people knew it was theirs and theirs only, led by their warlock who helped keep the valley prosperous.
Now the night conversation about the warlock was thus.
“Aren’t we lucky lads and lasses we have such a leader?”
“Here, here!” cried who listened.
“Something that wasn’t there is now in place,” the men who knew the warlock well.
“A light!” one would cry as if in epiphany.
“Yes, a light that shines to all!”
“His castle feels different too,”
“Not as stuffy,”
“His magic has gotten better, if that can be possible,” a visiting witch or warlock would grumble.
“You’re just jealous, admit it,” the instant rebuke would be from all towards the traveling conjuror who would sink in a jealous stew.
“Our very woods seem to sing,”
“His eyes seem alight,”
“But something is missing,” someone would point out.
“All he needs is a woman and babies, lots of them,” a grandfather would smile his grandchild on his knee.
“Here! Here!” the agreeing replies came.
“Maybe we could throw a ball or something, get him to a social, get him to meet someone,” the women advised.
“No,” the older men would shake their grey heads, “look closely next time you pay your taxes, there is something else in his manner, the missing piece.”
“What is it?” the demand would come.
“Why the missing piece is a woman!” the men would laugh, “A woman he’s in love with! Don’t you remember that look that so-and-so had when he fell in love?”
“Yes,” they’d remember.
“Well that look’s in him.”
Then the night would be given to guessing who it was until one not given to gossip brought another subject to the table. A resolution was then made that when the men paid the taxes their daughters would be brought as well his treatment of them would then be judged to see who he loved.
That year the rundown farmhouse no one seemed to occupy was rebuilt by a new family, a young woman a daughter of the new owner. Everyone commented how happy she seemed and how big and expressive those big brown eyes were. Those with long memories commented how much they looked like a family that lived there before. That fall she and her father took the tax to the warlock’s castle.
When the warlock threw open the door to receive them his eyes fell upon them in surprise then ran to the young woman and took her into his arms holding her as if he were scared she’d vanish again.
“Natalya you’ve left me for the last time!” he cried and buried his head in her hair.
She laughed and stroked his hair, “Will you forgive me, my love?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked and kissed her forehead.
Her father regarded the couple critically, “I am actually impressed with you boy, you satisfy this father finally. I gave up on you, but Natalya here didn’t. You can have her.”
“Thank you, sir,” the warlock whispered.
Natalya smiled happily in his arms and buried her face in his shoulder.
“Thank you, for not giving up on me,” he whispered to the woman in his arms.
She just smiled.
“You found happiness boy,” her father looked on them severely, “and that is something no money can buy, no man can give, what no king can bestow, what no woman can put in a man’s heart, what no magic can ever procure.”
The warlock listened attentively and nodded his agreement.
Later in the winter wedding bells rang this time for the warlock, the happiest man on earth. For he knew what happiness is, where it is grown, and who makes it; happiness stems from the light within, the love for others, and is made by no one else but you yourself. Thank you dear listener for listening to an old family tale, may happiness for you be like the very sun itself is shining within you.
Years passed since that night the valley in greater flourish than it had ever been in centuries, its wealth poured over its mountains and into the lands beyond all who were touched by its hand were better off. Nations came to claim it as their own, but the valley was fortified well, her prosperous people knew it was theirs and theirs only, led by their warlock who helped keep the valley prosperous.
Now the night conversation about the warlock was thus.
“Aren’t we lucky lads and lasses we have such a leader?”
“Here, here!” cried who listened.
“Something that wasn’t there is now in place,” the men who knew the warlock well.
“A light!” one would cry as if in epiphany.
“Yes, a light that shines to all!”
“His castle feels different too,”
“Not as stuffy,”
“His magic has gotten better, if that can be possible,” a visiting witch or warlock would grumble.
“You’re just jealous, admit it,” the instant rebuke would be from all towards the traveling conjuror who would sink in a jealous stew.
“Our very woods seem to sing,”
“His eyes seem alight,”
“But something is missing,” someone would point out.
“All he needs is a woman and babies, lots of them,” a grandfather would smile his grandchild on his knee.
“Here! Here!” the agreeing replies came.
“Maybe we could throw a ball or something, get him to a social, get him to meet someone,” the women advised.
“No,” the older men would shake their grey heads, “look closely next time you pay your taxes, there is something else in his manner, the missing piece.”
“What is it?” the demand would come.
“Why the missing piece is a woman!” the men would laugh, “A woman he’s in love with! Don’t you remember that look that so-and-so had when he fell in love?”
“Yes,” they’d remember.
“Well that look’s in him.”
Then the night would be given to guessing who it was until one not given to gossip brought another subject to the table. A resolution was then made that when the men paid the taxes their daughters would be brought as well his treatment of them would then be judged to see who he loved.
That year the rundown farmhouse no one seemed to occupy was rebuilt by a new family, a young woman a daughter of the new owner. Everyone commented how happy she seemed and how big and expressive those big brown eyes were. Those with long memories commented how much they looked like a family that lived there before. That fall she and her father took the tax to the warlock’s castle.
When the warlock threw open the door to receive them his eyes fell upon them in surprise then ran to the young woman and took her into his arms holding her as if he were scared she’d vanish again.
“Natalya you’ve left me for the last time!” he cried and buried his head in her hair.
She laughed and stroked his hair, “Will you forgive me, my love?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked and kissed her forehead.
Her father regarded the couple critically, “I am actually impressed with you boy, you satisfy this father finally. I gave up on you, but Natalya here didn’t. You can have her.”
“Thank you, sir,” the warlock whispered.
Natalya smiled happily in his arms and buried her face in his shoulder.
“Thank you, for not giving up on me,” he whispered to the woman in his arms.
She just smiled.
“You found happiness boy,” her father looked on them severely, “and that is something no money can buy, no man can give, what no king can bestow, what no woman can put in a man’s heart, what no magic can ever procure.”
The warlock listened attentively and nodded his agreement.
Later in the winter wedding bells rang this time for the warlock, the happiest man on earth. For he knew what happiness is, where it is grown, and who makes it; happiness stems from the light within, the love for others, and is made by no one else but you yourself. Thank you dear listener for listening to an old family tale, may happiness for you be like the very sun itself is shining within you.