394: Danish folklore: Heartless

This week, on Myths and Legends, there are two stories of people dealing with the unexpected from Danish folklore.

On the first, we'll see what happens when you realize your neighborhood is full of dead bodies and monsters.

On the second, you'll see how to save your brother's life with a sausage.

The creature this week is that sad saddle that's just waiting for you to wake up.

This is Myths and Legends, episode 394: Heartless.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore.

Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins.

Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen.

This week, as I said, there are two stories of people dealing with the unexpected.

On the first, a family realizes that all their neighbors are monsters.

And on the second, a brilliant scientist doesn't want to deal with all those pesky feelings, so he'll rip out his own heart.

We'll jump in with the first story, with a young married couple getting their own house, one that's surrounded by trolls.

You know, I think it is wonderful that you two servants got married.

You want to strike out on your own?

So happy for you both.

The master smiled.

Now, as promised, and to show he wasn't mad, he had that cottage for them, on that parcel of land, which he was giving them because he wasn't mad.

The young man, taller, looked at the map to his new home, then back up to his now former master.

Was the man sure he wasn't mad?

Absolutely sure.

So not mad, do mad people talk about how not mad they are?

Because that wouldn't make sense.

Because I'm not mad.

Well, I mean, it's just, this field is, I don't know, haunted?

Famously haunted?

We would literally be living among grave mounds, Taler pointed out.

That's what those are.

You see, I thought those were just rabbit warrens.

Full of corpses, the master smiled.

Well, I don't really subscribe to the superstition of all that.

It's just, it really seems like you're trying to offload your worthless land on me and mask it as charity.

Taller folded the map.

No, in fact, I did it because you're not like all these irrational, fearful people.

You're smart, the master said.

Taler shrugged.

He didn't know if it was that.

He just believed that if you were just and right to all people and you trust in God, you need not be afraid of anything.

The master clapped.

Well, there you have it.

See, the perfect person for this lot.

All right, please leave now.

A few weeks after they moved in, the couple heard a knock at the door after nightfall.

Talar got up from the table where he and his wife had been eating, opened the door, and

oh, hi there, Talar smiled.

The troll standing at the door said, Um

what?

He was a troll.

He had the red cap and a hunchback, and he had to sleep in the graves of fallen warriors where the rays of the sun can't find them.

Taller lived in the midst of dozens of trolls.

Oh, yeah, hey, been meaning to say hi, but we just keep different hours from you all.

Teller smiled.

The troll blinked.

Um

what now?

Yeah, would have made food or something, but we live in crushing poverty, so Tuller shrugged.

No worries,

the troll said, taking this reaction in stride.

What he came to say,

though, was that the king of the trolls was worried about Taller, the human who moved in, that he would try to do them harm.

More harm than living in occupied graves?

Taller asked.

Right?

The troll laughed.

Taller told the troll to be at ease.

He had never injured one of God's creatures willingly, and the world is large enough for us all.

His almost exact words.

Whatever disagreements they might have in the future, as long as they made peace a priority, he didn't see any reason they should, quote, do mischief to one another.

Wow, Taller was

the man was all right.

The troll wiped a tear from his eye.

They would return the good Talar did with all of their power.

Then he, apparently, did a jig and departed.

The next few years were good.

The trolls were welcome in the house and came and went like they were big, smelly children.

And the couple was grateful that, every spring, the land outside that wasn't full of corpses was devoid of stones for easy farming.

At harvest, the trolls would gather all the wheat.

At Christmas and Easter, Taler and his wife would go around to the mounds and leave dishes of milk porridge, as good as they could make.

The mound folk congratulated the couple when the humans welcomed their daughter to the family.

But the next day, the mother began to grow more and more ill.

Something bad was happening.

Taler left his wife and the baby for as long as he felt comfortable to do so, and returned with not worse news, but not great news.

The doctors of the village didn't know what was was wrong.

She would likely die.

It wasn't them being callous, more so just realistic.

Infant and maternal mortality was simply an unfortunate reality to which they all had become tragically accustomed.

Taler returned home, and when he looked inside, he began weeping.

Not tears of sorrow, tears of joy.

His home was full of trolls.

Two were looking after the baby, many more were cooking and cleaning, and others were pouring a liquid down the throat of his wife.

As soon as Taller walked through the door, though, they scrambled all around the cottage and bolted into the darkness.

Um, you don't need to do that?

I know you exist, you come over all the time, Tuller yelled after them.

But they kept running.

Huh.

Weird.

Hearing a yawn behind him, he turned to see his wife's eyes open for the first time in nearly 24 hours.

Before the fortnight had passed, she was able to leave her bed, as if nothing had happened.

One time, when Taler was struggling to afford to have their horses shod with new shoes, he and his wife awoke to sounds from the stable.

The next morning, the horses were shod so beautifully that no smith in Denmark could have done better.

The life of Taler's household continued to improve, and, as the years passed, they grew from a little cottage on the moors to a house surrounded by arable land that produced year after year.

Then, one evening, right before bed, Taler, his wife, and their grown daughter heard weeping outside.

They opened the door and a little troll strode in, tears running down his cheeks to be absorbed by the sheepskin cloak.

Talar's family tried to comfort him, but the troll only said that the king wanted to see them.

That night, in the big mound, he left without sharing the source of his anguish.

They arrived not to mourning, but a feast.

Talar and his family, well, they entered the mound to clapping.

Talar took the seat of honor next to the king, and the troll waiters rushed out with the food.

He appreciated the feast and them honoring him and his family, but why were they honoring him and his family?

What was going on?

What was going on, the king told them, was that they, the trolls, were leaving.

They were leaving Jutland and going across to Norway, as their kin had done long ago.

Denmark, well, Denmark wasn't the land they had known for generations.

Church bells now rang out.

So loud, morning and evening, and their kind couldn't bear it.

So they would leave that night.

But first, they wanted to thank Taler and his wife for being so...

so kind, so understanding, for giving them a chance and not just immediately fearing and cursing them for being trolls.

They had been truly wonderful neighbors, and the world was better for people like Taler and his family.

Moved to tears, Taler put his arm around the king, who brushed his own face with his beard, before crying out for more ale.

Talar and his family stayed with the trolls until the small hours of the morning, watching them leave before the sunrise to go off north to Norway.

But as they left, each carrying their packs, they stopped for Taler's daughter to drop a small stone in her apron with a sad smile.

The family watched the trolls disappear over the horizon.

and they went home.

Not long after that, Inger, the daughter, entered her room.

Then the parents heard a scream.

They rushed to open the door and found her surrounded by jewels.

Red, blue, green, white, and black, oddly enough, the trolls had imparted the colors of their eyes onto the stones.

Taler and his family, for their kindness to those who were different from them, creatures the world only saw in fear and misunderstanding, for treating them like people, The humans would never have to work again.

They could move anywhere now, anywhere in Denmark, anywhere in the world, but they stayed in that humble lot surrounded by the troll mounds and remembered their friends

This was not your usual story for this podcast.

There was very little conflict, but that was intentional.

I like to think I have some experience with Scandinavian folklore, and forgive me if I'm wrong.

But this type of story where the trolls are anything but mountain monsters is very rare.

In most Scandinavian folklore, they are this violent other,

but all it took was Taler not jumping to what he assumed was the worst about them, but taking time to get to know them.

And that was what changed everything.

Next up, it's a story of a scientist who feels too much.

But that will be right after this.

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Well, our month of gratitude continues.

And this time, we want to thank all the teachers that have had a positive influence on us throughout the years.

Teachers everywhere, of course, but especially those who have been in our lives and in our community.

I hope a memorable teacher comes to mind for you as well.

And while we're thinking of gratitude, I'm going to say this.

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One thing that's helped me over the years is therapy.

Even when I thought, do I really need this?

What can this possibly do for me?

I learned coping skills for stress and how to set boundaries with my time, even how to stop avoiding things I was too afraid to start.

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It wasn't the pounding on the door that distracted the scientist.

Well, it wasn't just the pounding.

It was the weeping and the, oh, please, sir, me and my children will starve.

Every time he got into a task, the cries and needs of others came and shattered his concentration.

He sighed and sat up from the bench.

Oh, it was night again.

He should probably eat something this week.

The original tells us that the scientist, the philosopher, was so wise that he might have, quote, invented gunpowder or discovered America if either was known in this day.

Some might say that the point of science is to discover and understand the unknown.

So if he didn't discover America and guns, once again, the story's choice of words, not mine, was he really that wise?

He had a modest library in the middle of town, and once he cracked alchemy, turning worthless metals into gold, he had all the money he could ever want, mainly for books, and enough food to keep him alive, but he cared for little else.

That wasn't exactly true, though.

It was actually the problem that he cared too much.

The cries of the beggars in the street were too distracting.

He was particularly worried about that girl who had been selling matches out there last week.

Things like that stuck with him, and he hated himself for it.

Maybe, maybe he could put his intellect to work fixing inequality, war, hate, but all that would distract him.

It would take years and rely on variables, people, completely out of his control.

The world, he told himself, was not his to fix.

No matter how many people came seeking his intelligence and wisdom, he could only change himself.

One day, while walking with his mother, he shook his head at the woman's weeping.

He should be in his lap.

He pounded a fist on his father's coffin, the one being carried by the town, and cried out, this is a distraction.

His mother stopped weeping and took a deep breath.

She understood.

We all grieve in our own ways.

Grieving?

What makes you think I'm distraught?

The scientist said, shrieking next to his father's body and wrenching himself away from everyone trying to comfort him.

All this was taking him away from his work.

Then he looked at his mom and laughed.

Laughed in a definitely not strained and borderline terrifying way that told you he was really okay and not completely shattered emotionally.

No, no, all of this was a distraction.

Everything, the sadness, the people.

It was him, though.

Though he hated people, there was a part of him that still had to listen, still felt.

He pulled his arm away from his mom and abandoned his father's funeral procession.

He had work to do.

Three drops of rat's blood, 40 drops of the juice of henbane in Caledonia, the finger of a thief, four slugs, the heart of a frog, and his own fingernails.

Of all those, he thought the human finger of a thief would be the most difficult to procure, but he got lucky and one of them was hanged yesterday.

Happy accident.

The rat blood was actually the most difficult.

Those little guys are bitey and they want to give up their blood even less than they want to be caught.

The scientist had to come up with a cure for the plague after that long night in the refuse pits chasing rats.

Still, it would all be worth it.

After that big pot of nonsense was boiling, he took out the secret ingredient.

Just so you're not tempted to try to recreate this yourself, the ingredient really is a secret, only described as a green liquid.

Probably some sort of proto-mountain dew with how dangerous it ended up being.

As soon as the third drop hit the liquid, the slug and finger and blood all melded into a gray mass that began smoking.

The scientist staggered back to grab the tongs so he could take some of the logs off the fire when the smoke grew...

eyes.

The scientist shook.

It...

it worked?

He had found, scribbled with a warning in an old tome, the recipe for summoning,

well, he wasn't quite sure what it was.

A genie, a demon, h a homunculus?

Whatever it was, it was said to grant,

What do you wish for?

the voice demanded, as if finishing the scientist's thought.

The scientist looked to the floor of his workshop.

What did he wish for?

Well, he supposed he wished for perfect happiness.

To be utterly peaceful, he would be truly fortunate.

Well, I guess fortune herself would be his desire.

That's what he said, and I have no idea why or what it means in this context.

And apparently, neither did the smoke ghost, because the thing said, explain what you mean by fortune.

The scientist, well, he had thought about what fortune meant, but not in a way that he could articulate under pressure by like a vapor demon.

He got to the ground level of his understanding, saying stuff like it was a force of nature and the power of the, but thankfully, the ghost cut him off.

Be quick, okay, do you want money?

A lot of people want money.

He said, no, no, of course not.

He had no need.

He wanted perfect happiness.

Okay, what does that mean?

The smoky spirit was clearly annoyed, and the scientist was flustered.

He was usually the annoyed and hurried one.

Is this what it felt like talking to him?

I guess I don't want a heart.

I want to be able to do my work and not have all these these feelings about the world and its people.

Take it from me.

Then I will have perfect peace.

Okay, so just to clarify, I shall take your heart, the fuzzy phantom asked.

The scientist breathed and nodded.

Okay, I will take it to the middle of a wild wild forest.

There there's a wide lake, on which there's an island with an old castle.

I will bury your heart fifty feet under the deepest cellar.

Are you contented?

Can I go?

Yes, the scientist smiled, and I shall rejoice to be rid of it.

The dissipating demon chuckled.

No, no, he wouldn't.

The scientist gasped as he felt a cold touch on the left side of his chest, as the finger and slugs reappeared in the fetid boiling water, and everything returned to normal.

He stood up straight and breathed.

He didn't actually feel all that different.

Come to think of it, he didn't feel anything at all.

He put his coat on and stepped outside, standing before a man holding his child, senseless in his arms, begging for food and warmth.

He stood there and watched his tears for like 45 minutes, all the while working out a way in the back of his mind so that he could move out to to the forest and be completely undisturbed by the racket and discord of the city.

The things holding him back-his lonely mother and the intangible, silent need to be around people-it no longer affected him.

All right,

that was

adequate.

He nodded to the weeping father and went back inside.

It's it's cold out here.

Hey, so you gotta get married, the king said to groans.

Oh, what?

That's that's unexpected, really?

There are like two things you need to do to be a prince: one, get married and carry on the line, and two,

don't be the absolute worst to everyone around you.

And even that second one is pretty optional if you're able to trust the guys with the swords.

The king said, In the next country over, there was a young princess looking for a husband.

All the younger prince had to do was walk there, alone, and seek her hand.

The young prince said, um, shouldn't someone go with him, though?

Like a guard or something?

He was the heir.

An heir, the king corrected his younger son.

Oh, the older one was going to need a wife, too.

Please pick up an extra princess for your brother.

But yeah, the trip there was totally safe.

All he had to do was take the king's road to the dark forest, which separated his kingdom from the neighbors.

He was totally fine to travel it on his own.

The youngest bade his father farewell and said he would return with his new wife.

As the young man left, the king sat back on the throne, good.

It was all good.

His son would be fine.

Well, I mean, that is, if he avoided the wizard.

Do you know who I am?

Let me in.

The prince pounded on the door of the stone shack in the forest.

There was a grumbling on the other side of the door, as the prince heard someone fumbling with the doorbar.

The door opened a crack.

No, I don't know who you are.

Go away.

A wrinkled eye narrowed through the crack in the door.

The prince said that he was the prince.

King Christopher doesn't have any children, the man hissed.

King Christopher had five children, and he was also my great-grandfather.

How long have you been out here?

The prince shoved his foot in the door to keep the middle-aged man from closing it.

He said, look, he wasn't one to make demands, but he was tired, and hungry, and cranky, and he was used to getting his way.

If the old man didn't open up and show him the scantest level of hospitality, he would have his father's men come and dismantle this place stone for stone.

There was a groan, and the door flew open.

Come on in, then, the scientist said, and shuffled up the tower.

Wait,

tower?

The prince looked around this

he stepped back outside past the heavy oak door to see a shack that was little more than a pile of stones.

Well,

are you coming?

The old man said.

The prince stepped inside the house with the wood floors polished to a shine and a grand stairway that ascended past more books than the royal library held several times over to the highest room.

I'll put together a room for you, the old man mumbled as he waved his hand.

The wood and the stone of the hallway grew from a crack to a doorway, with a room forming.

The man looked the prince up and down.

Dinner would be done

momentarily.

He picked up an egg from a jar, cracked it, and a full-grown chicken fell out.

Grasping it and cutting off its head, the man went to work on the stove.

Do

do you live here alone?

the prince said, walking over to the window that overlooked the forest, and made his own father's towers in the distance look like the peasant's shack he had seen outside.

Yes, there is no one but myself living inside these walls, and I care for no companions.

Present company included.

The food cooked quickly, and as the prince tore into the frankly bland and overcooked chicken, he gestured all around.

Where are your wife and children?

How can you live here without them?

The wizard said he never married, and he never would.

His time was too valuable to be spent in the world of idle pleasures and trifling pursuits.

He lived for a grand purpose.

The prince spat the food from his mouth.

You poor, poor man.

Does it not please you to hear the birds twitter and feel the warm sunshine?

Do you never enjoy the pleasant and solemn sound of the church bells every morning?

Do you never feel the blessings of living for others?

The scientist said, no, all those things weren't linked.

You could enjoy sunning your skin and birdsong and not be married with kids.

Being married wasn't a prerequisite for enjoying life.

In fact, feeling like you have to get married and doing that, when that wasn't you, probably did more harm than good for a person and for society.

But to more directly answer the annoying young prince's question, no, he didn't enjoy the sun on his skin or bird song, because he didn't enjoy anything.

He also didn't dislike anything.

Yeah, that's obvious from the taste of the chicken, the prince muttered.

The wizard said long ago he had lost his heart, and now he was perfectly happy.

He did not wish to have it back.

Poor, poor man, the prince said again, I guess not realizing that people could have different values than him.

What a life.

My perfect happiness is having a wife, and because it is my perfect happiness, it must therefore be everyone's perfect happiness.

What is the appeal for you in having a wife?

The scientist was still trying to figure out why this guy was so insistent.

Well, for example, this chicken, the prince grimaced, she would make better chicken.

She would prepare meals and clean up and tend to clothes.

So basically a long-term servant you don't have to pay?

The wizard said the quiet part out loud.

I think I would like having a wife, the wizard mused.

Could you pick up one for me as well?

The prince said he would, well, he would see what he could do.

The night was filled with marvels, and the prince saw the wizard's alchemy lab, rooms that were universes unto themselves, rooms where time stretched on for hours but mere minutes had passed outside, and others.

By morning, he said goodbye to the wizard and continued on his journey away from that poor, poor man who was distressed by nothing with a house full of cool stuff and the free time to work on everything he wanted to do.

We'll see the prince meet his new wife, but that will, once again, be right after this.

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hi one princess please the prince grinned and held out his hand palm up and grasping the king grinned oh it's you did does your dad still have all those armies he does

Well, then one princess coming right up, the king pointed.

Oh wait, did he want a second one, wrapped to go for his brother?

Whoops Thanks for reminding me.

He asked me to pick up one for him, too.

Prince slapped his forehead.

No worries, no worries, the king said.

He remarked that he heard the prince was coming, so both princesses were ready.

Anything else he could get for the prince?

Nope.

Excellent.

As they made their way back to the princess' kingdom, the prince studied the road.

Oh, oh, here it is.

They would love this place.

The women looked at the stone hut.

It's a bigger on the inside sort of thing.

The prince grinned and knocked.

The wizard opened the flimsy stick door, and the trio walked in.

Now, which one of these is your new wife?

The wizard asked the prince.

The prince stepped over to the younger princess and pulled her to him.

This one right here.

So that makes this one my wife, then.

The woman you promised to get me?

The wizard said to the prince's shock and the older princess's horror.

Well, she's to be married to my brother.

He stepped in between the princess and the wizard.

So this is the manner in which a prince keeps his word, the wizard cried.

If you do not allow me to keep this girl, you will regret it.

The prince laughed nervously.

We don't we don't talk like that.

Chauvinism much?

He laughed when his betrothed looked at him askance.

Well, I mean, I saw no woman fit for you, the prince said.

This one is this one's too young.

The wizard called his staff to him.

You have broken your word, and I will punish you.

It was his lack of emotion that was the most terrifying to the elder sister.

Well, that is not specifically true.

It was the lack of emotion combined with watching her sister and the prince being turned to stone, cold and dead, outside the wizard's shack as they both tried to run.

She immediately surrendered, and the wizard seized her by the wrist and led her back inside.

It was difficult to get the king to let him go looking for his younger brother, but even if the older prince's father forbade it, the guards at the gate still had to obey him.

Soon he, too, was in the forest.

He knew his brother went seeking the princess down this road, but he didn't know much else.

As we all do, when we see an eagle sitting in a tree, the elder prince went to go ask him directions.

Hey, could you tell me?

But the bird held up a wing.

Hold up, there's a mole.

He wished to have it for supper, as he had seen no birds the whole day.

Ew, birds eat birds?

Isn't that like cannibalism?

The prince said as he rifled through his pack.

Oh, and all of us birds are the same now?

Are all you primates the same?

Do you see me judging you whenever you're chowing down on a lemur steak?

The prince said he had never eaten lemur, but he didn't have the time nor the patience to argue about this.

Here, leave the poor fellow alone.

Eat this sausage instead.

And yeah, the prince presented his road sausage, which, even though it was lukewarm and slightly sweaty, was preferable to raw mole.

He tossed it up to the bird, and the bird caught it with his hooked beak.

Young man, young man, the prince heard from the ground.

There was a nose peeking up from the dirt.

The prince looked down.

Oh,

hi.

You have saved my life.

If you are ever in need, call me and I will help you, the mole cried.

Me too, the eagle wouldn't be outdone.

The prince gave him a sausage.

It was a good sausage.

A sausage that the prince could have eaten.

Anything.

Anything the prince needed, same promise.

Why was a prince out in these woods alone anyway?

The prince explained about his brother, and the eagle nodded.

Oh yeah, the younger prince was a stone statue now, out in front of the wizard's place.

The older prince reeled.

What?

The bird said, yeah, that guy was...

he was a weird one.

The birds can all hear the woman inside crying when she's cleaning and washing dishes and cooking for him.

Nothing else, though.

It's not that type of story.

She prays for delivery from the tower, so she doesn't end up like her sister.

Shaking his head, the prince said that there had to be some way to save his brother.

But the eagle shrugged.

He didn't know that specifically, and he was a bird and thus kind of knew knew everything.

Well, not him specifically, but birds in general.

In a lot of cultures, birds are very wise and can see the future in junk.

Oh, yeah, like Sigurd and Fafnir, the prince said to a confused look.

Like how in Icelandic folklore, Regan wanted to eat the heart of his brother, the dragon Fafnir, in order to be able to know the future by understanding the language of birds.

But Sigurd, the hero, tried it first and learned that Regan was going to kill him.

The prince's thought on the whole birds knowing the future thing was that birds only seemed to know the future because they were everywhere and talked constantly.

So they always had access to a lot of information.

It's like how people think Instagram and Facebook are listening to their microphone, but really they just have all this other data.

Like what you search for, your location data, who you're by, what they search for, and then it ends up feeling like they're listening to your conversation.

Anyway, do you know how to free my brother?

The older prince got everybody back on track.

No, the eagle said, but he did know how to stop the wizard.

He knew how to get the wizard's heart.

Since birds know all, the eagle wasn't lying.

He knew the wizard's heart was 50 feet below an abandoned basement on an island the world forgot.

But how are we going to get there?

The prince shook his head.

And then the eagle landed next to him, the massive Lord of the Ring-style eagle, upon which he could ride.

How

are you that big?

The prince looked at the eagle.

The eagle said he was always that big.

He was just far away up there.

It was perspective.

Really?

Let's say yes, the eagle replied and told the elder prince to jump on his back.

They flew all day until, around sunset, the eagle flapped to a landing on a lonely island, in a lake, in the middle of a forest.

They found found the crumbling keep, and the eagle ducked under what was left of the doorway, until they found a great hall and then a dungeon.

Fifty feet down, the prince said.

Alright, he would go look for a pickaxe that was still usable.

Didn't you just befriend a mole?

The eagle laughed.

The prince said yeah, but they had flown like dozens of miles.

It's the ground, though, the eagle said.

It's it's just one thing.

Moles could travel through it.

Oh, like the sky is, the prince smirked.

Oh, you mean that thing I can travel through with ease and come when someone calls?

Yes, just try it out.

Call the mole, the eagle prodded.

The prince sighed.

Then he regretted sighing.

There was some spicy, moldy air down here.

Sure, okay.

Um

mole

Before the prince could turn around and gloat, the mole's nose poked through the dirt between the stones.

The prince was struggling to see what was happening.

You can travel through the ground like nothing?

Yeah, I'm apparently like Bugs Bunny up in here.

The mole laughed.

Oh, and here's the heart.

The prince caught the gray lump when the mole tossed it.

The mole said he found it on the way in.

Seemed like it would save some time.

And it did.

In a few minutes, after thanking the mole, the prince and the eagle were back in the air.

By nightfall, they arrived at the stone hut, the torch glowing on the outside, illuminating.

Brother, the prince stroked the stone face of his younger brother, his form fleeing in terror next to a younger woman.

Gripping the lump, the prince kicked open the door.

As the eagle flew off, his debt was paid, and he didn't think the wizard needed a new gargoyle.

The prince stepped inside, and the door disappeared behind him, as the wizard scratched furiously on some papers, and the princess, worked ragged, was dropping off some bread and cheese for his dinner.

Undo the wrong, the prince cried out, and set my brother and the two princesses free.

The wizard held up a finger one moment, just need to finish this thought and

done.

He looked up to the prince and then grew serious when he saw what was in the man's hand.

Where did you find that?

The wizard pointed at the grey lump and the dagger in the prince's other hand.

He stood and turned, but before the staff could fly from the upper floors to his hand, he gasped.

That hand went to his chest.

He winced, as if in pain.

Then he looked at the prince, possibly expecting to see the dagger lodged in the heart.

The reality was so much worse.

The prince's arm was outstretched, pointing as if he had just thrown the heart.

And the wizard knew that the prince had.

It was in his chest.

He had his heart.

Once again, emotions came flooding in, about his father, about those he had left behind, about all the lost years in this tower cut off from the world.

All those things he had given up his heart to never feel again, they were all there, they always had been.

He broke down, weeping.

The prince tossed his dagger to the side and caught the wizard, who, with his heart restored, began to experience the effects of the dozens of decades on his human form.

His hair turned from salt and pepper to a straw-like gray before drifting to the floor.

His teeth began to tumble out one by one.

My brother, the prince said.

The old man nodded and gestured to his staff.

As the prince brought it, the old man apologized.

He just he didn't want to hurt anymore.

He didn't know any other way.

He was so sorry.

The wizard pointed the staff.

A blast blew through the wall and scattered stones outside, and the man collapsed, muttering something about a fail-safe as he died.

The prince ran outside outside to see the stone encasing the prince and princess, from the bolts that hit them, burn away.

Take her take her Two princesses two princesses the younger brothers screamed as he collapsed, using his legs for the first time in weeks.

He looked up nervously.

Ah, that's what he would say if he was a coward.

Hey, bro The brothers embraced, and the princess looked around.

Um where was her sister?

Just then a cry went up from inside the house.

The house that was no longer a stone hut, but a magnificent wooden tower.

Um, hello?

They heard when they opened the door, to see the cooing, laughing baby getting picked up by the older sister, the baby that emerged from the withered husk of the old wizard.

The old wizard that would begin life anew.

as a baby.

This was apparently his fail-safe.

The princes and princesses were confused by this, but vowed to find the baby a loving family that would maybe help him to learn to process his emotions so he didn't deaden himself to the point of turning some people into stone and enslaving others.

They walked off back toward the city with the baby in their arms.

That's it for the stories this week.

I really liked how this story and the last were similar to those we've heard.

People living among monsters in the first and, essentially, koshé the deathless for the second one.

But they took very different turns.

On the first, Tuller's family befriended and accepted those that the rest of the world saw as monsters, and there was mutual love and kindness.

On the second, instead of killing the man who hid his heart away by destroying the heart, the hero gave the heart back, rightfully deducing that no one for whom things are going super great needs to take out their heart so they don't feel things.

By giving the wizard his heart back, he was both defeating him and giving him a chance to heal, to make things right.

A chance at redemption.

Next week, it's that story about the night.

It just needed a little bit more time.

But it's happening.

And then after that, we're back in the stories of the Olympians, with the god that no one wants to talk about, Hades.

Real quickly, if you want to connect with the community, check out Discord, and if you want to connect with us on social media, I put links in the show notes, and if you'd like to support the show directly and get ad-free and bonus episodes, check out mythpodcast.com slash membership or find us on Apple Podcasts.

The creature of this time is Stirrup Mouth from Japan.

The Abumiguchi are the stirrups of warriors that fall on the battlefield.

Because war is terrible, and it can be hard enough to properly bury all the people who die, no one is really thinking about the stirrups that get left out there.

Well, in Japan, there can be a thought among some Shintoists that everything has a spirit, and if things remain long enough, they can come to life.

Stirrup mouth is one of those things.

But stirrup mouth doesn't come back for vengeance against those who killed its master.

It just wants to ride again with its friend.

Something that, sadly, will never happen.

So, stirrup mouth remains, like Seymour from Futurama, by the grave of its master, a fallen warrior, until the years finally take it as well.

That's it for this time.

Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser.

Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs.

There are links to even more of the music we used in the the show notes.

Thank you so much for listening and we'll see you next time.

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