Once, in a village smaller and quieter than the towns we have now, there lived a girl who could talk to birds. This was her only power; she was comely instead of beautiful, and she was not skilled at reading or the making of crafts. She was clever, could work in the flocks or fields, and she could run swiftly, but these talents were not prized in her village, and so she felt that she had been born to the wrong family. Nevertheless, she tried to instill goodness in all of her actions. Her name was Alya.

One day, when it was sunny and Alya was sitting in the lawn, overseeing the chickens pecking at the dirt, a man rode into the village. His horse was white and noble. His hair was long and black and braided, his eyes blue: the girls of the village could not help but stand at their doors and look out as he rode through, for he was handsome and foreign. Alya did not move, and dropped her gaze from the man to watch the chickens, because she thought that someone like him could not possibly take notice of her. But he stopped by the gate and called to her, and she went to him.

“I am the keeper of the fountain of beauty,” he said. “Anyone who bathes in its waters will be transformed into a new figure, one whose beauty will be irresistible.” He looked at her, and smiled. She thought of the enviable village girls.

She asked, “What must I do to go to this fountain?”

He said, “Come with me.”

So she mounted the white horse and rode away with him, and although the chickens cackled warnings, the horse’s heavy hoof beats drowned out their voices.

Alya and the rider came to a house in the woods made of stone, and the man told her that it was his home. He dismounted and entered the door, but the moment before it shut behind him, Alya heard a hawk speak from the trees.

“Beware,” it said. “Beware. The man you follow even now is evil, not good, and keeps a girl locked in a room inside. He gave her beauty, and desired her so much that he could not let her go.”

She said, “What must I do?”

“When you are invited to step into the fountain,” the bird said, “Jump over it instead. Go up the stairs, and go to the first door. There will be three knobs: one is named Beauty, one Practicality, and one Goodness. Each would open into a different room. Turn the knob of Goodness. Inside, you will find the captive.”

“Thank you,” said Alya, and continued on her way through the door.

The fountain-keeper stood beside a marble basin, whose white stone gleamed in comparison to the rough, gray rocks of the walls. Clear water flowed over a silver sphere and into the basin. Alya looked at the beauty which was the reflections of the water and the silver, and thought of her village.

Then she stepped back and ran a few steps. Although the fountain-keeper called out angrily she jumped over the fountain, touching none of the alluring water, and landed on the wooden floor on the other side. She ran up the steps, and came to a door. Three knobs opened it; one shining golden, one wooden, and one green. Alya turned the green knob, and the door opened.

Sunlight through a dusty window shown on a girl of such beauty that the villagers Alya envied were like pigs in comparison. Her eyes were emeralds, her dress white and flowing over the sides of the simple bed on which she sat. Alya almost wanted to shut the door on her and go to the fountain, but she saw the flash of hawk’s wings outside the window.

“What are you doing here?” said the lovely captive, and Alya did not know what to say for a moment.

Then the fountain-keeper came rushing into the room, the edges of his cloak flaring. “What are you doing here?” He roared.

Alya had spun away into the room at his entrance, and she turned back and shouted, “I was told that you keep this girl against her against her will, and I have come to rescue her.”

He quieted, and looked at the beautiful captive. “Are you in need of rescue, Chathy?”

She did not respond, but looked wide-eyed at the fountain-keeper.

“She stays here because she and I are the only ones in the world who have this beauty, and we wish to be together. You could have it too.”

Alya realized then that Chathy’s expression was of fear, not awe, and that humans, not birds could lie, and so she took Chathy by the hand and ran with her down the stairs. “Jump,” she cried, and they leapt the fountain. Out into the sunlight they ran, and Alya took the fountain-keeper’s horse. The man ran after it for a moment, but he had chosen a strong, fast mount so that he could impress his victims: it left him behind. Alya and Chathy rode back to the village.

They were received by a flurry of curious visitors. Alya told them of what had happened and who Chathy was, and the former captive’s beauty acted as proof. The villagers assured them that the fountain-keeper would not be allowed near them again. Chathy returned to her own home, and Alya to hers.

But from then on, she listened closely to and heeded the chickens’ words.