On the other side of the horizon, where the waters of the sea fall off into a great cauldron, a witch lived with her lover, a woman who armored her heart with bramble-story and sword-honor and prayers of charred words. Every night the two would meet breath to breath and hand to hand, as is the way of lovers, and every night the sun would ride beyond them to plunge into the cauldron on the other side of the horizon, lighting the witch’s home. The witch worked every sorcery she knew to please her lover, for she knew the small charms of lovers are the most difficult of all. Yet no matter what she did, her lover never smiled.
During the days, when the other side of the horizon lay in shadow and the vapors of the old sun scorched dragon-visions into the air, the witch meditated upon her failures. First she brought offerings of pickled apples or labradorite strung onto chains of fickle silver as gifts, or birds to sing dissonant symphonies. Her lover expressed her appreciation, but did not smile.
Then the witch invited poets and dancers and glassblowers to entertain her lover. Her lover watched the performances attentively, and seemed the most impressed with the glassblowers’ artistry. Their creations gleamed beautifully in the sun’s light. Yet she did not smile.
At last the witch, in desperation, descended into the heart of the cauldron. She wore talismans of cat-bone and chrysoberyl to protect herself, and waited in ambush for the sun. When the sun made its nightly plunge, she trapped it in a net woven from merfolk hair and gallows ropes and tongueless bells. The sun turned a face sightless with despair to her, but the witch was firm in her purpose and dragged it to her home to present to her lover. “Here,” the witch said, “we will always have light in our home.”
Then the witch’s lover said, still unsmiling, “Beloved, did you not realize? It is not a captive sun that lights my heart. And it is not that I never smile; it is that I only do so in the dark, where you must take it on faith.”
Then the witch apologized to her lover and to the sun, and set the latter free.