In the deep folds of Morne Seychellois, where the mountain meets the sky, the mist has a life of its own. It drifts through the forest like a slow dream, wrapping the trees in silver and hiding the paths that twist between roots and rocks. The people of the nearby villages whisper that within that mist lives a spirit queen. They call her the Queen of the Mist, guardian of the highlands and judge of every traveller who dares to cross her realm.
Long ago, before the trails were clear and the roads were marked, two travellers began their climb up the mountain. One was Pierre, a humble fisherman seeking wood for his broken canoe. The other was Marcel, a proud merchant who boasted of his wealth and believed no spirit or man could stand in his way. Though they set out on the same morning, their hearts beat to very different songs.
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As they reached the thick forest, the mist grew denser. The air cooled, and silence spread across the mountain like a spell. Pierre bowed his head and whispered a prayer for safety, but Marcel laughed. “Mist is only air and water,” he said. “It cannot harm those who know their way.”
Not long after, the sound of soft singing floated through the fog. The voice was sweet and sorrowful, like rain falling on dry leaves. From between the trees, a woman appeared. Her gown shimmered like dew, and her hair flowed like drifting clouds. Her eyes were calm, yet endless, as if they held the memory of every storm that had ever touched the island.
“Travellers,” she said gently, “you walk on sacred ground. Tell me, what brings you to my mountain?”
Pierre bowed low. “Great Queen,” he said, “I seek only to gather wood to repair my canoe so I may feed my family again.”
Marcel straightened his coat and smiled proudly. “And I, noble lady, come to find rare wood to sell in the market. I will make a fortune and prove that even mountains must serve those who have ambition.”
The Queen of the Mist studied them in silence. Then she smiled, though her eyes never lost their depth. “You shall each find what you seek,” she said, “but remember, the mountain gives only what your heart deserves.” With that, she vanished into the fog.
Pierre continued walking, thanking the spirits with every step. The mist parted for him, and the trees seemed to glow with gentle light. He soon came upon fallen logs of fine wood, smooth and dry despite the damp air. He gathered what he needed, feeling warmth in his chest, and turned back down the path.
Marcel, meanwhile, laughed to himself. “The mountain gives what my heart deserves,” he mocked. “Then I deserve riches.” He pushed deeper into the fog, searching for the largest, rarest tree. When he finally found one, its bark gleamed like silver. Without offering thanks, he raised his axe and struck.
The moment the blade touched the trunk, the mist thickened into a wall. The air turned cold. A voice echoed all around him. “You take without gratitude. You walk with pride heavier than stone.”
Marcel spun around. The Queen of the Mist stood before him again, her eyes now filled with stormlight. He fell to his knees, but it was too late. The fog rose like waves and wrapped around him. When it cleared, the merchant was gone. Only the sound of dripping water remained.
The villagers say that on cold mornings, when the mist is heavy, you can hear a faint voice calling for mercy somewhere in the mountains. They say the Queen keeps Marcel’s spirit wandering until his pride is washed clean by time.
Pierre returned to his village safely. He built his canoe and shared his fish with neighbours who had none. When the mist rolled down from the mountains, he always bowed in respect, whispering, “Merci, Queen of the Mist.” And the mist, soft and kind, always parted for him.
Years passed, and Pierre grew old. One morning, after a night of heavy rain, the villagers found his canoe by the shore, but Pierre was gone. Some say the Queen of the Mist had called him home, rewarding his humble heart with peace among her clouds.
To this day, the people of Morne Seychellois teach their children to greet the mist with kindness, for it remembers every heart that has walked through it.
Moral Lesson
The Queen of the Mist teaches that humility and respect open paths where pride creates walls. Pierre’s gentle heart earned him safety and abundance, while Marcel’s greed and arrogance led to his downfall. The story reminds us that nature sees beyond words and rewards only the purity within.
Knowledge Check
Who were the two travellers in The Queen of the Mist and what did they seek?
Pierre, a humble fisherman, sought wood for his canoe, while Marcel, a proud merchant, wanted rare wood for wealth.Where does the story take place?
The story is set in the misty highlands of Morne Seychellois, the highest mountain in Seychelles.How did the Queen of the Mist test the travellers?
She observed their intentions and rewarded or punished them according to the truth in their hearts.What happened to Pierre at the end of the story?
Pierre returned safely, lived a good life, and later joined the Queen of the Mist in peace after death.What fate did Marcel suffer for his pride?
He was swallowed by the mist, cursed to wander until his arrogance faded away.What lesson does the Queen of the Mist teach the people?
The story teaches that kindness and humility invite blessings, while pride and greed bring downfall.
Source: Myth from the highlands of Morne Seychellois. Collected by Gabrielle Toussaint in The Cloud Spirits of the Seychelles (1928).
