The Severed Head (Part 1)
It was the most curious-looking thing.
There once was a prince in a small kingdom whose mother had suddenly passed away after a short illness. The prince took the queen’s death incredibly hard. He was old enough to understand death meant a permanent absence of someone he loved very much, yet he was still too young to accept it as an inevitable part of life.
He abandoned himself to grief, becoming more melancholic by the day until, much to his father’s distress, he ceased to eat save for a small glass of wine he took every night before retiring to bed. The prince withdrew from all social engagements and physical activities, choosing instead to spend each day looking out of his bedroom window as he sat in his favorite chair.
Nothing could pull the prince from his unhappiness. He focused all his energy brooding over the pains and uncertainties in life. Like a turtle retreating into its shell for protection, the prince did not leave his room.
Concerned, the king had local and exotic animals brought to the prince’s chambers from the menagerie in the hopes of lifting his son’s spirits. However, the prince, after a cursory glance at the colorful assortment of beasts in his room, went back to staring outside his window.
Playmates were called, games and toys were brought in, actors and acrobats performed under the prince’s window — all to no avail. The prince soon grew pale and thin while the entire court scrambled to find a solution as they watched him waste away.
Numerous doctors from all over the kingdom were summoned to cure the prince, but none were successful. No broth, roots, or powders helped to invigorate the prince. The result was always the same: the prince, rendered helpless from grief, returned to his melancholic mediation by the window.
The king was losing all hope of saving his son when the marshal approached him and said,
“Sire, there is a sorcerer who lives in a forest not far from my country estate. Perhaps he’ll be able to offer the prince some assistance.”
A few days later, the old necromancer was brought before the king’s court. The weathered man wore a robe made from animal skins, and on his head was an enormous turban made from rags. Although he walked with a stoop, his head was held high while his eyes were sharp and focused. Upon seeing the prince, the necromancer turned to the king and said,
“Indeed, his highness suffers from severe melancholy. Grief is eating away at his mental constitution.”
“The physicians had said as much,” the king replied. “What solution can you offer for my son’s ailment?”
“Matters of the heart cannot be separated from the mind. However, mind and body are one and the same. They are like siblings who cannot survive without one another. It will be, therefore, impossible to treat the body without treating the mind. The prince has been feeding his grief for too long and now it is weakening his body. As long as he is focused on his grief, he will not stop feeding it until, like a tumor, the grief will consume him completely. He needs to distract himself, starve his grief so that it becomes small enough for him to tolerate without taxing his constitution.”
“But we’ve tried everything,” the king said. “Nothing worked.”
The necromancer, bowing deeply, answered:
“I reckon His Majesty offered fun, amusing things that often delight the senses and excite the mind. However, such distractions only work for a short period of time before throwing the afflicted person back into despair. One feels lifted only to be dropped back down again. The fleeting delight only makes the person more aware of the heaviness in his heart. When a bone is broken, one needs to rest and refrain from using the afflicted area. Such is with the mind as well.”
“But,” the king said. “How can a person rest his mind without amusements?”
“What the prince needs is something that can distract him, yet does not excite his emotions.”
The king leaned forward on his throne. “Books and manuscripts I have plenty in the castle library.”
“Reading also tires the body,” the old necromancer replied.
“Then what do you propose?” The king was becoming annoyed.
From his large turban, the necromancer pulled out a small chest made of fine ebony. He calmly opened the lid and pulled out the severed head of a man. It was the most curious-looking thing: Although the skin had turned into a dull brown color, the head was, overall, remarkably well preserved. Wisps of reddish black hair protruded from under the yellow silk skullcap on its head, and the hair on his brows and lashes were still visible. His lips, the color of ashes, were set in a perfect line beneath his beard.
“This,” the necromancer explained. “Was once the head of a learned scholar of a certain faith, who met an unfortunate end in his native country. I collected his head and brought it back to life, as his knowledge was worth preserving. In this head contains all the knowledge known to man. He answers all questions set before him and can converse for days without tiring.”
Then, with his fingers, the necromancer tapped the side of the ebony chest and said,
“Come, my friend. Wake and greet His Majesty and his court.”
To the king’s shock, the head opened its large black eyes and scanned the room. Upon seeing the dignified-looking gentleman sitting on the throne, it said:
“I humbly submit to His Majesty’s wishes.”
Intrigued, the king asked several questions on various topics and subjects, to which the head replied without hesitation. The monarch then ordered the head to recite Pericles’ Funeral Oration in original Greek. The head complied in a clear, soothing voice.
For the next hour, the king and his courtiers took turns talking to the severed head, testing its knowledge and wit. The head answered them all, displaying its limitless patience in the face of unending questions.
When everyone in the room was satisfied the necromancer was telling the truth, the king rewarded him with gold pieces and other fineries before sending the decrepit old man back to his cave. The head was then carried into the prince’s chamber and placed on a small table next to the bed.
Thanks for reading everyone! I’m taking another stab at writing fairytales. The second (and final) part of this story can be found below:
