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Painter

A long time ago, in a far off kingdom lived a poor peasant lad. The lad’s name was Tom. He lived with his sickly mother in a small cottage on the edge of a quaint little village. Tom was only twelve years of age but already worked in the coal mines with the other men of the village. Tom was always cheerful and went to work gladly to support his dear mother.
One day when Tom was working in the mines he heard a faint noise.
“A cure a cure, your mother needs a cure...” the voice sang softly. Tom looked around for the source of the noise and soon found it, a face planted in the rock wall.
“What is it you speak of?” Tom asked the face. The rocks moved and groaned as the face smiled. “A cure, dear boy, a cure!”
“What type of cure?” Tom asked.
“A good cure!”
“Where can I find this cure?” Tom asked eagerly.
“Over the river, across the hills, under the bridge, through the trees...” the voice thought for a moment, “To the Painter’s house.”
“Where dose the Painter live?” Tom asked.
“Over the river, across –” the face began.
“Yes, I know. Thank you, kind...um...face,” Tom said and ran off.
“I’ve heard of the Painter,” Tom’s mother said thoughtfully when Tom arrived home.
“You have?” Tom asked because he hadn’t.
“He lives over the river, across the –” his mother began.
“I know, Mother,” Tom said, cutting her off. “I’m going to go to his house and find the cure!”
“Be careful, Tom,” his mother said. She patted her son’s curly brown hair. She hated to see her dear son leave.
“I will, Mother.” he kissed her cheek and ran out the door, hardly remembering to grab the pack of food his mother put together.
Tom found the river well enough. In fact, he’d already crossed the river many times to get to the market place.
“Ho! Young Tom, here to buy your mother’s produce?” a man asked Tom as he passed through the market place to find the hills he was to cross over.
“No Sir, I’m going to find the Painter’s house,” Tom answered back.
“Ah, the Painter, I here he lives in a silver castle across the hills, under the –”
“I know, thank you sir!” Tom called as he ran through the crowded streets to the hills beyond.
By the time he had passed over the third hill Tom’s legs felt like they were made of iron and he sat down beneath a giant oak tree to eat a bit and take a rest.
Tom had only slept for a few minutes when he was awoken by a loud thump next to him. Tom opened his eyes wearily and blinked. A big raggedy black, blue, green, and brown creature had just landed before him.
“Hello,” the creature said as he picked himself up.
“Hello...” Tom said uncertainly and then timidly asked, “What are you?”
“I’m The Gobhoblin Janice.” the creature said and struck a proud pose.
“Don’t you mean a hobgoblin?”
“No, no! I am The Gobhoblin.”
“And what is a gobhoblin?”
“Not a, the! I am The Gobhoblin Janice,” Janice said.
“Oh, well, pleased to meet you Janice,” Tom said. “I’m Tom.”
“A pleasure I’m sure,” Janice said. “What are you doing under my tree?”
“I was sleeping. I’m going to see the Painter you see –.” and before Janice could say anything, Tom said, “And I know where he lives, thank you!”
“You know where he lives? Splendid! Do you mind if I join you? I have a few things to discus with him.”
“Come along, If you wish,” Tom said.
off the two went over the last few hills until the came to the bridge. Tom had never seen such a brilliant sight in his life. The bridge in front of him was composed completely out of thousands of glittering, shimmering fairies.
“I say!” Janice said in wonder.
“Solve a riddle, pass the bridge. Pass the bridge, solve the riddle!” a shrill voice called out. “Don’t solve the riddle,” the fairy giggled, “don’t pass the bridge!”
“What’s the riddle, then?” Tom asked.
“What do you never have enough of and always want more, but the more you try to catch it, the less you have?” one fairy asked.
“Ha! I know the answer!” Janice said triumphantly.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“Well, the fairy asked you, so shouldn’t you answer?”
“You don’t know the answer, do you, Janice?”
“Not the faintest idea,” Janice answered.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to answer, won’t I?” Tom said.
“Indeed,” Janice answered.
“Alright.” Tom turned to the fairy bridge. “The answer is Time,” he said.
“What?!” the fairies looked crestfallen.
“Everyone wants more of it!” Tom explained.
“We know the answer, boy!” the fairies said together. The bridge broke apart as all the fairies flew away. Tom and Janice walked happily on their way.
They weren’t very happy for long. The path they were following wound itself around and around, doubling back and going around in helpless circles. And after a few hours of this madness Tom and Janice found themselves in the shadow of a huge, ominous forest.
“Frightening,” Janice said.
“Hardly,” Tom said and plunged into the think underbrush.
“Tom!” The Gobhoblin called after him and walked into the forest himself. “Tom!” Janice hissed.
“It really is dark,” Tom said. He could feel Janice next to him, the creature’s fur brushing against his arm.
“I have a candle,” Janice said. He produced a long and slender candle from inside his mass of fur. The light cast a faint glow on their surroundings. A giant tangle of trees, vines, bushes and leaves surrounded them, letting hardly any light.
Tom and Janice walked on slowly, fighting their way through the undergrowth. Soon Tom could make out a faint light up ahead and, sure enough, Tom and Janice stumbled out into a clearing.
“I suppose that’s the Painter’s house,” Janice said. Tom looked up and brushed twigs and leaves off of his face. A very small and modest hut stood in the middle of the clearing. A small brook ran in and out of the trees nearby and birds twittered on the branches. But the thing that told Tom it was, in fact, the Painter’s house was the hundreds of paintings littering the yard.
“Hello?” Tom called.
“Hello,” a deep voice answered from within the house.
Tom walked through the grass. He looked down on one of the paintings. It was a battle scene, covered with fighting men and dying men, ships and swords. Tom gasped. The people in the painting were moving. Tom watched as a small figure stabbed another dead with his sword.
“I am the Painter.”
Tom looked up from the picture. A tall and thin man with graying brown hair and sky blue eyes stared down at him.
“I...I am Tom,” Tom whispered.
“Hello, Tom,” the Painter said.
“And I am The Gobhoblin Janice,” Janice said.
“Hello, Janice,” the Painter said. “I am the Painter. I paint the pictures of our world, some are full of joy –” he looked at the battle scene at his feet, “Others full of sorrow.”
“We...I’ve come to find a cure for my mother,” Tom said.
“And I’ve come to ask a small favor,” Janice began shyly. “Would you, if you please, make another gobhoblin? You see, I happen to be the only one and it gets rather lonesome...”
“Come inside,” the Painter said with a small smile. Tom and Janice followed him inside the small hut. There were even more pictures in there.
“What sort of cure do you want, Tom?” the Painter asked.
“A good cure. A healing cure,” Tom said.
The painter nodded and drew a large canvas picture from behind a table. He sat it on a wooden easel.
“Come here, Tom,” the Painter said. Tom came forward and studied the painting. It was his house. His mother lay in the bed and as he watched, she sat up and coughed. He skin was even paler than he remembered and she had dark rings around her eyes.
“Mother...” he whispered.
The Painter took away the picture and put a clean piece of canvas on the easel. As Tom and Janice leaned in closer to watch, the Painter took out a silver paintbrush.
“A healing cure,” the Painter murmured and began to paint. First he painted Tom’s house. Then he painted his mother, standing outside, weeding the
garden. She had rosy cheeks and he painted her in a bright yellow dress. And lastly, he painted a smile on her face.
“A healing cure,” the Painter said again.
“She’s...better now?” Tom asked.
“Yes, she is better now,” the Painter said.
“Thank you!” Tom said. He wanted to jump around the room and laugh and cry and sing and shout all at once.
“Excuse me...” Janice said timidly. “If you please, sir...”
“Ah yes, The Gobhoblin. I believe I painted you when I was a child.” The Painter smiled broadly and took out a clean canvas. He painted Janice’s tree and Janice sitting under it. Then he painted another gobhoblin, a female with pink, yellow, green and brown fur.
“Oh my,” Janice blushed. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”
“Very,” the Painter smiled. Tom laughed and so did Janice.
“Thanks you!” Janice said.
“I would gladly paint a thousand Joy paintings before one Sorrow painting. Now, I’m sure you want to be going now,” the Painter said. Tom and Janice said they did.
The Painter took out a piece of canvas and took out his silver paint brush, found his pallet full of colors and began.
He painted Tom’s house and the small garden out back. He painted Tom’s mother looking up from her weeding to see Tom walking down the pathway. He painted the sky bright and air warm. He also painted a beautiful girl gobhoblin sitting beneath a giant oak tree and another gobhoblin shyly coming up next to her.
He painted both scenes full of joy.
Then he set down his silver paintbrush and smiled The End.

Written by: Erin H.