I Will Give You a Small Thing

There was no warning when the assassins came. Darkness fell, hearth fires burned out, and everyone slept as they crept through the village. Making no sounds to betray their presence, they slipped in through unlocked doors and unbarred windows, slicing men's throats mercilessly. As their women wakened, they slew them, too, and laughed as terrified children cowered in corners.

By morning, half of the village's men were dead, their families destroyed. The warriors set fire to the village and retreated into the forest. They took Cosita, the king's daughter, with them as well.

The king wailed and ripped at his hair. The village diviners tried to console him, but there was no soothing the king. “I will do anything to get my daughter away from them. Anything!”

“Will you make ebó?” asked the oldest, wisest diviner. “Will you propitiate Oshún for the return of your daughter?”

“I will do anything for Oshún if she helps me get my daughter away from those men. I will give her anything she wants: a little thing, a small thing, a big thing, a great thing. Something! Anything!”

“Oshún doesn't want anything. She only wants a small thing.”

“Tell Oshún she will have it! But I won't give it to her until she helps me get Cosita away from those murderous men.”

“Oshún . . . accepts . . .” said the wise man, his voice trailing off sadly. “Oshún will help you get your daughter away from the warriors, but you must give her a small thing in return.”

The king sealed his promise with his royal word. It seemed as if the earth shuddered, or sighed. He didn't care; as long as his daughter was safe, that was enough for him.

Early that evening, he gathered what was left of his army, and went to reclaim Cosita.

It was the rainy season, and the swollen river churned furiously in its bed. The king's army gathered at the riverbank and watched the white rapids boiling and rolling over cragged rocks and boulders. From their horses, they shook their heads disdainfully. There was no safe passage; there was no way to cross. The king, in despair, slid from his horse and sank to his knees. He cried in front of his men.

“Oshún, my Queen,” he prayed to the river, “If you can hear me, I need your help.” He watched the river intently, and it seemed oblivious to his pain. “Oshún please . . . I will give you a small thing in return for your help, just like you asked. I promise.” A single tear slid from his eye, dripped down his nose and fell into the river; its current slowed. Everyone gasped in amazement.

“My enemies stole into the village last night, and they stole my daughter, Cosita. She is all I have.” His words were fervent, heart wrenching; and the great warrior cared not if his men saw him cry. “Please let us cross. I will give you something, a small thing, a great thing, something, anything . . . just please, let me cross your river.”

At first there seemed no answer; but then, the crashing waters slowed and stopped. Quickly, all the water ran away and there was only a muddy basin. Slowly, the earth sucked up what was left, and the riverbed was dry. It was nothing short of a miracle.

It was even more miraculous when they found the assassins sleeping peacefully in the middle of the day; and with vengeful hearts, they slew them while slumbering. Cosita was bound, but unharmed.

Quickly, they stole Cosita away, the king embracing her strongly before they mounted their horses and galloped back to what was left of their own village. “We have to move fast, men!” cried the king, Cosita clinging to him as they rode through the forest. “I'm sure there are more warriors. Probably they were away hunting, and when they find their men slain, they will be after us at the village. We must be ready!”

They found the river savagely swollen; so flooded were its banks that the forest floor was swampy, and the currents curled upon themselves, creating whirlpools where before there were only white rapids. Even the jutting rocks looked sharper, and the horses, in fear, reared up on their hind legs. “Sir,” cried one of the king's warriors, trying to calm his bucking horse, “Something foul is afoot. The river has grown angry. There is no way to cross. We must prepare to fight here.”

“And we will lose,” said the king. They were too far away from their own turf; they knew not the land's layout here. They would be ambushed and killed. He dismounted his horse and tied it to a tree. Cautiously, he approached the river and knelt where the water muddied the earth. “Oshún,” he whispered. “You promised to help us, and if we don't cross and get back to our village, most of us will die. Calm the river again, please.”

“I will.” An ethereal voice seemed to come from the river itself; it was loud and commanding, but sweet, and the horses snorted and whined, shaking their heads in fear. The king put his head to the wet earth in reverence, and all the men dismounted. Even Cosita slid down from the king's horse when a wet, watery figure emerged from the center of the rapids. Flat stones rose above the river, and as the figure took form, it walked across them regally. By the time its feet stood before the king's head, it had taken the form of an elegant woman—Oshún—and she bent over to bless the king, and bid him rise.

He stood fearfully. Few mortals gazed at the countenance of an orisha, and lived to tell the tale. “I will give you what you want, but please, you must help us.”

“You promised me a small thing, and I want her now.” Oshún looked over his shoulder and smiled at Cosita; she trembled where she stood.

“And you will have a small thing!” he promised. “Just let us cross your river safely.”

“I want her now.”

The king froze. “You want . . . who . . . now?”

“Cosita.” Oshún smiled a warm, loving smile; but still, it chilled the king down to his bones.

“I didn't promise you Cosita!” he roared. “I would never give you my daughter.”

“Oh, but you did,” argued Oshún, but calmly. “Even before you began this journey, you promised me a small thing, and I agreed to help you for a small thing. At the river's edge, when you cried, you again promised me a small thing. And now that you want my help again, I am here to take a small thing. Is not your daughter named Cosita? Does that not mean “a small thing”? And did you not give your royal word? It is a bad omen to break your word to an orisha!”

Sadly, the king realized his own folly; and he embraced his daughter one final time before putting her hand into that of Oshún. Cosita's fear melted when Oshún held gripped her hand tightly; ashé flowed between the two, and Cosita knew only peace.

“Don't worry, King,” said Oshún softly, holding his chin with her free hand. The same ashé that flowed into Cosita flowed into the king; and it felt like love. “In my world, there is neither pain nor sorrow. There is only pleasure and happiness. She will learn my ways, and how to serve me, and she will be one of the chosen few priestesses who will spend all her days caring for me. I will love her as if she were my own daughter.”

Oshún walked with her over the rocks, and in the center of the river, both melted into the water. When they were gone, the river's waters receded, and the king and all his men were able to cross safely. Once they crossed, as the king feared, the remaining warriors rushed through the forest after them; but the river rose again and swallowed them up in its rapids.

Oshún had done all she promised, and more. Still, the king never recovered from the loss of his daughter Cosita and lived his days a very unhappy man.