[ T: Unknown, Location: Unknown]
Weeks, then months passed, since the young woman’s lusty adventure, and the woodcutter continued to go into the forest to chop wood. He would bring his haul back home, load it into a cart that could hold twelve people, six people on each left and right side of the cart. Every three to five days he would take the cart full of wood back to town to sell and trade. The daughter, the young woman, would clean the house, cook the food, feed the animals, then would stare out the window dreamily.
One day the wood cutter was late, and signs of a storm were brewing in the distance. The huntsman had come by during the evening, coming to see if she wanted to buy some of the game he had hunted. She paid him some coins, and received an already gutted and skinned dead hare. She then asked him, as they made the exchange, “ Have you seen my father today?” The huntsman shook his head, “No, I did not see him, nor did I ever hear the chopping of wood echoing into the forest today. I happened to pass by the tree he had felled the other day, but he was not there. Very odd, since he’s not one to suddenly change locations and chop another tree, when there is already fallen timber”. The daughter thanked him. The huntsman offered his hope that the woodcutter would make it home before the storm, before going on his way.
The storm hit at night and it was terrifying. The winds blew hard and screamed and screeched. The goat, the chickens and the mule all gathered together under the shed in the animal pens, blankets around them, huddling in fear and for safety, from the ferocious power of the furious wind. The rain was heavy and lightning struck, the thunderous sound explosive. And the daughter worried for her father, who had not returned and hoped that he had found shelter from the murderous weather.
By dawn the storm had abated, the rain had stopped and the winds had calmed, becoming a cold breeze, with the skies gray with clouds. The young woman went out and checked on the animals, making sure they were warm and safe, with extra blankets to fight the cold. A part of the fence had been knocked down, one of the posts tilted, the ground around it with broken dirt and mud as the bottom of the post lifted off the ground, carrying with it the buried dirt, now a sludge of mud. “I shall have to tell father about the fence”, the daughter thought to herself. “If only I was as strong and skillful as a man, I would hold the post and hammer it down myself”.
For two days the storm came and went. And for two days her father did not return home. For two whole days, the rain would come and go, then come again, the sky would darken and brighten, then darken once more, the winds would rage and calm and rage again so. It was not until the third day that the sun came out, the birds started singing and the insects started chirping.
On that third day, late afternoon, her father came back, limping on one foot. His daughter stared for a moment before running out and hugging him tightly. She helped him into the cottage and he told an unbelievable tale.
He had been out in the woods, early in the morning, chopping up wood. It was still dark as the sun had not fully risen and dark clouds were massing. As he was chopping wood he noticed the slow emergence of a light, a light that he knew to not be the light of the morning sun. A faint light with hints of pink. He did not know what that light was nor what was the source of the light. The forest belonged to the local lord, only those with a wood cutting or a hunting license could enter. And he had never known anyone with either of those licenses to have something like a pink light. He decided to go towards the pink light.
As he went deeper into the forest, it became thicker and thicker, darker and darker and as the clouds swarmed above, wetter. He had to turn back soon if he wanted to get back home before the storm, but he knew he was close to the source of the light and so he continued on. The forest continued to thicken and he felt as if he was not in “his” forest anymore, but another forest. Yet that was impossible. “It must be in the deeper part of the forest that I’ve never been in before”, he thought. He pushed away vines of foliage out of his way and exited the forest, into a rocky clearing, next to a rising mountain made of rock, where no tree could possibly grow. “I’ve never seen this in the forest before”, the wood cutter thought, “Was something like this ever here?” The source of the light beamed out from the entrance of a cave. The pink light seemed to dance. The man looked at the sky. The storm was nearly here. He needed to go. “I’m already here”, thought the man, “I’ll take a look and leave. I’ll get wet but it’ll be alright”, and with that he entered the cave following the pink, dancing, fairy light.
The cave made many turns here and there, with many intersections, but the wood cutter was not worried. “ A person could get lost here”, thought the woodcutter, “ I entered a left there, a right here and went then went straight. I remember. I’m not lost”, and he continued on. The cave he noticed, here and there, the walls, ceilings and floor; signs that they were built of stone blocks slowly seeped out. Here and there missing dirt or stone showed that the deeper insides of the cave was man made. “How odd”, thought the woodcutter, “who would build a structure inside this mountain, a mountain that was never here before?” As he followed the pink light, the cave transformed slowly into not being a cave but the insides of a castle. He continued to make turns as he followed the light, left here, right there. The wood cutter had a sudden thought, “I’ve made so many turns here and there. How was I able to see this light in the first place if the source is deep inside this fort? Is the source perhaps moving? Or is the light bending? What is the light?” With this question plaguing his mind he continued forward.
He made a turn and entered through an archway that led to an indoor garden of some kind. He entered a circular room, where along the outer part of the room was a circular garden hugging the walls, held up behind a stone wall, the stone wall about the height of half a man, thus the circular garden at the height of half a man. Along the insides of this circular garden is a paved pathway, where it interrupts the circular garden three times. The first interruption being where he entered, the second interruption leading to another archway, the third interruption leading to yet a third archway. The first archway is behind him, the second forty-five degrees to his left, the third forty-five degrees to his right. At the center, on the inside of the pathway, is another circular garden bed, raised high up, the stone wall holding up the bed again half the height of a man, with a circular hill of grass atop the circularly formatted stone wall. High on top of this hill is the source of the pink light, a bright rose, emitting fairy light. The light emanating from the rose dances and the woodcutter can hear the sound of tingling music, the sound sounding like a sparkle.
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The woodcutter walks down the path, hikes up the stone wall onto the grassy hill. He climbs the hill until he reaches the rose. “What is this? I’ve never seen or heard of a rose so blindingly pink and pretty. It’s so - beautiful”, the woodcutter finishes. He walks down the hill and climbs down from the garden bed. “Such a well kept garden must have caretakers”, thought the woodcutter, “and such caretakers must have a master. I will greet the master and ask for some shelter. The storm must have started by now. I will not make it home. Odd though”, the wood cutter said as he noticed something. He looked at the opening at the top of the garden where moonlight spilled into the circular garden. “I don’t see clouds of any kind, nor is any rain falling. Where IS the storm?”
He walks down the path to his right and enters through the archway that was on his left when he first entered. The castle in the mountain is furnished richly with bright red carpets, tables holding ornaments, such as porcelain vases, adorning the hall every few feet, with portraits and landscape paintings hung above. Instead of being built with just stone, wood and rich plaster also make up the entirety of the hall.
Across the hall there are many rooms, all of them barred and locked, as the woodcutter tries to open them but can’t. The wealth of the castle is immense, as even the doors to these rooms seem to be crafted from strong, expensive and durable wood, with bronze knobs decorated with vines of gold and silver. The hall makes a forty-five degree turn to the right leading to another hall, similar to the grandiose of the previous hall. The hall again makes a turn this time a full ninety-degree turn to the right, and he ends up exiting into a foyer, the grand entrance of the mountain castle. To his left are the great doors of the castle, to his right is the grand staircase leading to a second floor, and ahead of him is, across the grand entrance, is yet another hall which turns to the right, no doubt circling back to the garden at the back of the castle.
To the sides below the grand entrance's staircase are two separate doorways, one to the left and the other to the right. The wood cutter takes the one immediate to his right and walks down, again another extravagantly decorated hallway. He exits into a large dining hall/ ballroom. There are no lights lit up for this place and all the tables and chairs are covered with white sheets. However, there is a single long table lit with candles, with a single chair set up. On this table are foods fit for a lord; roasted chicken, pork, marinated beef dishes, all with exotic spices. There are cheese dishes, pastas, noodles and even a baked cake for dessert. The wood cutter had never seen such a great amount of luxurious foods and he stared for a moment, for not even the local lord could afford to eat such luxurious meals everyday. On the side of the long table with the chair in front of it, there is a note next to a candle. The woodcutter picks up the paper, unfolds it and it reads, “Honored guest, I would appreciate it if you would shelter yourself from the storm in my humble abode. Please eat to your heart's desire and a room will be prepared for you. Follow the lights after you have finished.”
The woodcutter read this and thought, “What a gracious host, I will help myself then, to this food and gladly take shelter.” And so the woodcutter feasted, taking bites out of everything, tasting everything. “Oh my, I have never tasted such heavenly things. This is fit for a king, no, fit for the heavens”, exclaimed the woodcutter pleased with the taste of the luxurious meal, “The Lord of the castle must have a fine cook, or many fine cooks indeed.”
And so he filled himself full with the many foods and drinks placed upon the table. “I’m so full that I almost can not get up. Oh if I could take some back home for my daughter, or if she was even here. How unfortunate.” He got up and picked up the note. “Follow the lights”, he murmured. He looked at the candle, “Well there’s light here.” He turned his gaze around, seeing no other lights than the candles in front of him. He turned around back the way he had come from. “Ah, I will follow these lights”, he exclaimed as he saw the hall still lit by the crystals emitting light. He exited the ballroom and entered the hall. He came back to the grand entrance of the castle and walked to the front. He now saw that all the lights had dimmed out and that the only remaining lights were the lights shining up the grand staircase. “Well up we go now”, the woodcutter said to himself. He climbed up the stairs and saw that he was in a large corridor, the entirety of the second floor. This corridor, along its sides, connected into hallways left and right, every ten to twenty feet. “Oh my”, breathed the woodcutter softly. “Not even the king would be this wealthy”, as every inch of the second floor corridor was again decorated with exotic red carpets, ornamental tables with decorative vases and arts atop them, with portraits and landscape paintings hung above them, on walls of plaster and wall paper. Crystal chandeliers hung on the ceiling, along the corridor in a column, these dim, except the one that is lighting up the area the woodcutter was in. The hallway to his right was lit up and after closing his agape mouth he followed the path laid out for him by his host.
A quarter along this hall the path of lights is cut short and the woodcutter stops in front of an open door. Assuming that this is the room that his host intends for him to rest in, the woodcutter enters into an extravagant bedroom. This room, although intended as a guest room, reflects the same wealth the rest of the castle exhibits. The woodcutter at this time has gotten somewhat used to seeing so much wealth in one place, but still voices his appreciation of his surroundings. “Oh, how generous the lord of the castle is to lend me such a luxurious room, just to shelter me from a storm.” There is a note on a table and the woodcutter reads, “Honored guest, I hope that the room is to your liking. You have free rein to explore the castle. You may rest in your room or take in the sights.” The woodcutter placed the note down and looked around the room. He glanced at the bed, in all its gloriously welcoming comfort and luxury and jumped headlong into it.