welcome to inspired inquiries

Version by Martin Shaw

There once was a poor hunter who lived with his mother in the mountains. Luckily he had uncanny skill with a bow, and most of the time they ate well and their life had a sweetness to it. They made much from what some may regard as little.
But there was a day when nothing came to the hunter, no animal laid down its life, so after a few hours he was growing despondent. He didn't like to see his mother without a hearty bowl of stew in front of her, and a warming fire.
Suddenly he came across an eagle resting on a rock. Resplendent. In a flash he had his arrow out of his quiver and at his bow. But the eagle spoke, in the high and powerful way that eagles do:
“Spare my life and I will be useful to you. I will give you a feather from my tail, and if you ever need help, burn it and I will come to you.”
An ally like that seemed far more useful than one night's meal, so he accepted the arrangement and walked on. Soon he came to a goat and prepared to catch it. But the goat spoke, in the trilling vibrato that goats have:
“Spare my life and I will be useful to you. I will give you a hair from my beard, and if you ever need help, burn it and I will come to you.”
The hunter was quick to realize he was collecting allies, not grub, and accepted the arrangement. But his gut ached, and he worried about his mother. It was now dark, so he crawled into a hollow tree and spent the night. Deep and strange his dreams.
In the morning he walked a long stretch to the sea, hoping for a fish. He waded out into the grey waves, managing to catch a fish that glistened exactly like gold. As he wrenched the fish out of the brine it spoke, in the gurgling and watery way that fish do:
“Spare my life and I will be useful to you. I will give you a golden scale from my skin, and if you ever need help, burn it and I will come to you.”
Though wobbly with fatigue, the hunter recognized that something startling was happening, and he placed the fish back in the salty swirl and accepted the scale.
Shivering and running up and down the beach to dry off, he spotted a red fox just up shore and again he creaked back his bow, though now half expecting the next scene, as the fox spoke, in the amused and cackling way that foxes do:
“Spare my life and I will be useful to you. I will give you some fur from my tail, and if you ever need help, burn it and I will come to you.”
So tired he could only nod, the hunter accepted the fur, and the fox darted off into the brush. For the rest of the day, the hunter walked - no birds, no animals, grey skies, chill under his cloak. He came to a settlement and visited a little hut on its edge, smoke rising from the chimney. Inside was the smallest, oldest woman he had ever seen.
Wrinkled like a currant she was, squatted down by the fire, stroking her belly, gazing up and clearly hungry. The hunter immediately reached into his pocket and gave her a coin. A smile spread across the moon of her face and she scuttled off to buy some meat. Later they ate well and the hunter felt finally refreshed, but he could feel the old woman was disguising some sorrow. So he enquired. At first she didn't want to disturb his eating, but after some gentle nudging she spoke to her distress, let it hover in the air between them.
She told him the kingdom had a harsh ruler with many magics. That he had an odd entrancement on his daughter. That he had given her a spyglass that could see every single thing in the world. With this device you could receive information in a fraction of a second. Any man who would want to marry her had to be nimble enough to evade her sight three times. You showed your pedigree by disappearing.
By becoming nothing. Next to impossible for any suitor, with the spyglass at her disposal. Any man who failed was slaughtered. So far, ninety-nine young men had died, including both the old woman's sons - her winners-of-bread, her right arm, her sustenance.
Of course, the next day the hunter made his way to the ruler's compound. He was astonished at its opulence, the servants, the gathered wealth. He said he accepted the challenge, but on one condition: that he was allowed to hide not three times but four. It's something to negotiate under that kind of pressure, but the daughter accepted, whilst reminding him:
“Your head is hanging by a thread!”
Next morning, when the sun had barely opened his great hot eye, the hunter slipped away from the compound and burnt the eagle feather. Instantly the eagle was there, picked him up and carried the hunter to his nest, higher than the cloud line. He then spent the day covering the hunter with his wings.
Well, it was a hard thing for the daughter to locate. She worked over all the usual spots men hid in, and he wasn't there: not down a well, in the tavern, under his mother's apron, in an empty promise, not even in a hollow tree. Finally she spotted just a couple of hairs from the fur brim of his hat under the eagle's wing and shouted:
“I found him! He did better than the rest, but I found him!”
Next morning, when the sun was just starting to stir and contemplate the day's labors, the hunter slipped away from the compound and burnt the hair from the goat's beard. Instantly the goat was there, and the wild old thing carried the hunter to the very edge of the known and unknown world, dug a hole, nudged him in, and spent the day covering the hole with her furry, ample body.
Well, it was a hard thing for the daughter to locate. She had almost given up, almost started to gaze up behind the planets, when she spotted a little cloth from his jacket under the girth of the goat's belly and shouted:
“I found him! He did better than the rest, but I found him!”
Next morning, when the sun was stifling a yawn and assembling his rays, the hunter slipped away from the compound and burnt the golden scale of the fish. Instantly the fish was there, and the sea spirit placed the hunter in the mouth of a pike and took him far out over the green daggers of the sea, then deep down into its depths.
Well, it was a hard thing for the daughter to locate. She gazed on desert, swamp, forest and meadow and he was simply gone. She despaired until her mother prompted her to scan the deep sea.
After some hours, she saw the pike open its mouth to swallow a fish and she saw, tucked down inside, the face of the hunter and shouted:
“I found him! He did better than the rest, but I found him!”
There was excitement in the chief's compound now as they felt the trap tightening, but also some barely whispered admiration for how far the hunter had managed to stretch the affair, his skills under pressure.
Next morning, when the sun was deciding to place one warm finger slow and curly over the top of the eastern hills, the hunter slipped away from the compound and burnt the fox's fur. Instantly the fox was there, and told him to relax and take a nap under a tree, that he'd fix everything. The fox then dug an underground tunnel to right underneath the daughter's chambers, halting just a few feet under her. Try as she might, wherever she aimed her spyglass, she couldn't find the hunter. Never would she think to look under her own feet.
That night when they met, she was so exasperated she asked for an extra day to locate him. With an easy smile he agreed, and the next morning burrowed along the tunnel and again spent the day right under her feet. As dusk came, in frustration she flung the spyglass against the wall, and suddenly a familial darkness flew out the window with it. Some healing had come.
Overnight her father slinked away into the forest, and the hunter became the husband of the princess of the kingdom. It was a merry time, and the hunter's mother was called over to the wedding.
She danced for three hours with a man called Khabib. Contentment, for just as long as is proper, ruled the house. I told the stories. Oh, and I had a bottle of the finest cognac to share with you from the wedding, but a dark-eyed girl on a snorting white horse rode by and stole it from me, and I must give chase now to get it back!