Free Ask the Bones by Various Page B

slipped up the stairs. He opened the front door and was horrified to see that same indescribable form on the horizon.
    The giant was returning.
    The merchant climbed the nearest fig tree and hid in its uppermost branches. Moments later, the giant tied his horse to that very tree.
    The merchant listened to the giant stomp down to the cellar, bellow, and race back up again. His footsteps echoed from room to room as he searched for the third merchant, and his sword sang as he slashed the air.
    But when he couldn’t find him he went outside to rest beneath the fig tree.
    The merchant waited until the giant began to snore. Then, holding his breath, he climbed down, grabbed the sword, and plunged it into the giant’s heart. For one terrifying moment the giant opened his eyes. Then he died—and the merchant cut off his head for good measure.
    The merchant didn’t want to stay on that terrible island for another minute. So he mounted the giant’s horse and directed it to swim back to Persia. Once he reached home, he never set sail again.
    But as long as he lived, the fear of snakes tormented him. He imagined them lurking under every bush and tree, under every rug and chair. And when the night wind whispered through the leaves, he dreamed of huge black snakes slithering into his bed.

The Hand of Death
    â€¢ A Tale from Mexico •

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    A young man put on his finest clothes and his broad-brimmed hat and tucked a dagger beneath his belt. Then he stepped into the street and made his way through the bustling crowds of the city, cursing anyone who blocked his path.
    Soon he was hurrying along the road to a nearby village. He’d learned that a girl of unusual beauty lived there with her elderly uncle, the village priest. He was eager to see her.
    He followed the road as it wandered between fields and over an arched stone bridge. He paused for a moment to admire his reflection in the river beneath. But fish made ripples on the surface, so he couldn’t see his image. In a flash of anger he threw a rock at the fish, then grew angrier still when the rock splashed water on his fine clothes.
    He was still grumbling when he reached the village. But when he found the priest’s home, his spirits rose. He leaned against the house across the way, watching until the young woman came to her window.
    The rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the village and onto her face. He had never seen anyone so lovely, and he serenaded her with a full heart.
    When he threw a red rose up to her balcony, she drew the rose inside. Its thorny stem pricked her finger but she hardly noticed the pain. Every evening he sang beneath the young woman’s window, and her uncle grew worried.
    He knew nothing about this young man, so he traveled to the city to see what he could discover. His fellow priests said the young man never came to the cathedral, but they had seen him gambling and drinking late into the night and arguing violently with his friends, even brandishing his dagger.
    The village priest was dismayed. He hurried home and told his niece he could never approve of anyone who would bring her such unhappiness.
    The next evening the young woman spoke sadly to the young man in the street below. “My uncle insists I stop seeing you,” she said. She returned the last rose he had thrown to her, but he saw that its petals were glistening with her tears.
    The young man was furious. Why was the old priest doing this? He returned to the city. He gambled and fought and drank until even his most reckless friends were concerned, but he could not forget the lovely young woman.
    Finally he decided to return to the village to see if he could win the priest’s approval. He hurried down the road, and when he was halfway across the arched stone bridge, he met the priest himself.
    â€œI can’t live without her,” he cried. “I will become as righteous as the holiest of holy men.”
    But the priest