Once upon a time in a village whose name has since been forgotten, there lived a family of nine in which two parents had been blessed with seven sons. They lived a relatively happy life, and yet the father could not help but want for a daughter. He wished and he prayed, he prayed and he wished, he and the mother tried every strange trick in every old wives’ tale they had ever heard on the subject and at last she again became pregnant. With every month, she became more and more certain that she was having a girl, so different did her body feel in carrying the child.
And so the fateful day came — early — and with great joy they welcomed their first daughter into the world. Quickly however, they realized that the baby was unusually small, her cry rather frail, and the parents’ joy turned to worry. The father immediately bid one of their sons to fetch a jug of water from the well so that they could baptize the child, and the rest of their sons followed the first.
Eager to be the one to bring the water to their father and receive his favour, all seven brothers raced and jostled each other, each vying to be the one to get his hands on the jug and draw water from the underground spring. No sooner had the middle son taken the container and reached out to attach it to the rope than one of his brothers had crashed into him, causing the jug to slip from his fingertips and fall to the bottom of the well, clattering as it went. They gathered around the opening, staring down into the yawning darkness with shock; none of them dared move or return home, uncertain of what to do.
The mother, finally growing impatient with exhaustion frowned and sighed, “those wicked boys have surely become distracted with a game and forgotten their poor sister.”
Frantic with worry at the thought that their daughter might die before being baptized, the father, in anger, snapped, “I wish our sons were all turned into ravens!”
The two parents startled when all of a sudden there was a great clamor overhead and through the little window in their farmhouse saw seven coal-black ravens flying away.
The father immediately felt remorse for his angry wish, but try as they might, neither he nor his wife could undo the curse. Their sons were lost to them. Their only comfort was that their baby daughter survived and grew into a bright and healthy child. She had difficulty standing upright for long periods of time, but to remedy this her father built her a small chair with which to brace her weight against whenever she tired, and she continued to flourish.
She took to letters and sums like a duck to water, and then put her strong arms to use in woodworking. The mother and father were glad to have been blessed with their clever, beautiful daughter, but still carried the grief at having cursed their sons. Terrified at losing the love of their daughter, they avoided all mention of her late brothers and so she spent her childhood unaware that she had any.
One afternoon, however, she was fetching vegetables from the market for her parents when she overheard some other villagers talking in a hush. “She is a virtuous child, to be certain, but what a weight it must be to carry the blame for the misfortune that befell her seven brothers,” one said. “Yes,” another agreed, glancing at her surreptitiously, “had the child’s brothers not been taken by Heaven, she would not have survived.”
At these murmured words about her, the daughter became frightened and confused and hurried home to ask her parents whether she really did have brothers, and what had happened to them. At last her parents could keep the secret no longer and so told her that she had indeed once had seven brothers, but that their unfortunate fate had not been her doing, it had simply coincided with her birth.
Despite their attempt at reassurance, the young girl took the revelation to heart and could think of little else thereafter but of her brothers and how she might save them. She said a prayer for each of them by name, but it was only upon resolving to set out by herself to attempt their rescue that she finally felt some measure of peace. For seven nights she managed little rest as she planned her expedition out into the wide world, despite having so few clues as to their whereabouts; whatever it might cost, however far she might need to venture, she was determined to find and set her brothers free. So it was that before dawn one morning, she set out secretly, taking with her only what she truly needed for the journey: a little ring belonging to her parents as a keepsake, a loaf of bread, a little jug of water, her best carving knife, and of course, her walking chair.
Thus she set her sights on the road that led out of the village and began to walk, and walk, and walk until she reached the end of the very world. There, she found the sun, which was so gargantuan, so very hot and terrible, that it was like to devour any child that came too close to it. She turned right then and there, hurrying away from the land of the sun as fast as she could manage. She decided to head for the moon instead, but was gripped by a dreadful cold the closer she came to it, and sensed from it an awful sort of malice. Indeed, when the moon caught wind of her, it hissed, “I smell, I smell the flesh of children.”
From the moon, too, she turned and fled in fear.
By this time, night had fallen and the stars were out, twinkling and lighting her way with gentle kindness. She approached with ample caution but when she noticed that each star sat upon its own particular little chair, the last vestiges of her fear disappeared. With joy she came to sit among them, these stars that were so much like her! Feeling that they could be trusted, she explained to them her plight, and then all together, they talked through the night, sharing songs and stories as ancient as the sky itself. But eventually they had to bid her farewell as the morning star rose, tucking them all away out of sight.
When just the morning star remained in the dawn sky, it gave her the wing-bone of a chicken and said, “you must go to Glass Mountain, as that is where your brothers are, but be careful, child: without that wing-bone you will not be able to open the door to the Glass Mountain, and thus your journey will end.”
The child thanked the morning star, wrapped the wing-bone carefully in the cloth that the bread had been in, and set off for the Glass Mountain. She walked and walked and walked until dusk, when finally she reached the door at the foot of the Glass Mountain. Remembering the instructions of the good morning star, she reached into her pocket, pulled out the cloth, and unwrapped it.
The wing-bone was gone.
She stared at the empty cloth in despair before beginning to cry at having lost so precious a gift, but then let out a heavy sigh, dried her eyes with the cloth, and put it back into her pocket. She could not bear the thought of returning without her brothers! She looked carefully at the door, peered into the keyhole, and then felt relieved when an idea came to her: she held the solution in her very hands.
Taking out the carving knife she had sheathed in her boot, she placed one hand flat upon the seat of her chair and drew in a deep breath. Letting out the breath, she sliced off her own little finger with a gasp of pain. She bound her injured hand with the cloth and, willing herself to be brave for the sake of her brothers, used the knife to carve the flesh off of her own bone, then shakily tucked the blade back into her boot. Taking another steadying breath, she picked up her own finger and placed its bony end into the keyhole.
Mercifully, the door to the great Glass Mountain opened and, thanking her lucky stars, the sister slipped inside.
No sooner had the door closed behind her than a voice said, “are you lost, my child?”
A firm grip on her chair prevented her from stumbling in shock. Before she could think of what to answer, the owner of the voice stepped out from the pillar he had been hiding behind — a dwarf with a kind but concerned sort of expression, lavishly dressed. The sister remembered his question. “I am searching for my seven brothers, who were turned into ravens when I was born.”
“I am the guardian of the seven raven lords who live here, though I do not know if they are the brothers you seek,” he replied, approaching her with a considering look. “If you would like to wait here and ask them yourself when they return, you are welcome to.”
The sister thanked him and followed when he beckoned, allowing herself to be led into the dining room where a magnificent table had been set with finery. The dwarf busied himself carrying seven heaping platefuls of dinner out to the table, and the sister, feeling awfully hungry, decided to eat and drink a little from each plate and cup while the dwarf was otherwise occupied, feeling that the little food and drink she had taken would not be missed. She held her parents’ ring in her good hand, meaning to show it to the ravens to test them, but upon hearing the whirring of their wings, she was so flustered with excitement that the ring slipped from her fingers and into one of the glasses.
“The lord ravens have returned,” the dwarf called out to her from the other room.
The sister decided to hide behind the glass pot of a large plant and wait. Moments later, the seven lord ravens glided into the dining room, each of them perching before a plate at the table. “Who has eaten from my plate?” one of them asked. “Who has drunk from my glass?” asked another. “These are the teeth-marks of a human!” a third croaked in astonishment. “Why, this is none other than our family ring!” yet another croaked with emotion, holding the wine-spattered ring up in his beak for the others to see. “It is! It is!” they chorused, overcome. “God grant us the sight of our dear sister, that we may finally be set free!” the seventh raven cawed in supplication.
Hearing this wish, the sister began to weep tears of happiness and emerged from behind the leaves of the plant to greet each of her long-lost brothers by name. Before her very eyes, their blue-black feathers shrank away into cloth and hair and the seven ravens lords transformed back into humans.
The eight siblings kissed and hugged one another with joy and, bidding farewell to the kind dwarf, began their journey home.
The End
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July 17, 2023.
The 70th episode of The Side B Anthology podcast.
Part of the Sable’s Tales fairytale anthology.
If you feel so inclined, I would gladly welcome a comment below, or a tip.
Adaptation by Janique EA Bruneau (Jea).
Originally penned by the Brothers Grimm.
Based off of Margaret Hunt’s English translation.