390: Hans Christian Andersen: Swan Song

This week, on Myths and Legends, it's a story by Hans Christian Anderson of vampires, which is very fancy stationery and cake snowball fights.

Also, how to get free flights across the ocean.

All you need is a horrible, horrible curse.

The creature this week is a little lizard who brought fire to his island, and why you shouldn't stuff hot coals in your mouth to bring fire to your island.

This is Myths and Legends, Episode 390, Swan Song.

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.

Today's story is a literary fairy tale from Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen, though it seems to be inspired by several folk tales that bear a strong resemblance to it.

This week and next, we're doing Halloween-ish stories, recommended by people on Discord.

And today we start off with a witch who just married into a family.

A frustratingly large family.

The witch looked at the 11 sons.

11

sons.

Well,

shoot.

They're beautiful, she smiled at her betrothed.

The king was easy to manipulate.

Most were.

This was hers, though, and well,

honestly, this was a disappointment.

Not gonna lie.

Eleven sons meant the king had a deep, deep bench.

Man, that poor woman, his late wife.

She must have been pregnant or nursing for 25 years straight.

The witch sighed.

That would not be her plight, though.

She would have one child, and no matter what they were, they would sit on the throne.

She was just annoyed that, of all the kings to have the best shot at wooing, to go through all the trouble with the meat cued and the relationship, and the oh no, I'm a peasant and you're royalty.

Can our love overcome it?

It can.

For that man to then have 11 sons?

Ah.

Alright, well, it seemed that all that work led to more work.

As part of her new duties for managing the household, the witch followed the kids to school.

I'm sorry, what are those?

The witch pointed to their notebooks and pens.

Oh, those are our notebooks and pens, the fourth eldest son smiled.

Um no, they're not, the witch said.

Those are plates of gold, like solid sheets, on which you're carving notes with a diamond-tipped stylus?

Yeah, a notebook and a pen.

The princess laughed.

What did she think they were made out of?

Paper and like a quill, a feather, she said.

The princes laughed.

Weird.

So weird, mom.

The second eldest then looked at his with consternation.

Oh, made a mistake.

Diamond pencils, in fact, do not have erasers.

But princes have a whole supply closet of golden tablets on which to carve.

He went to work slamming the gold tablet on the table, in the ground, to crumple it up, while the next prince in line got him a replacement.

I have a plate glass stool, Eliza, the princess and the youngest, cried out from the corner.

The witch looked over.

That's...

that's nice, not golden notebooks and diamond pencils nice, but still mentioned in the same breath and given the same amount of space in the narrative, which was weird.

The witch put up with the little goobers until the wedding day, when her position was secure, well, as secure as it could be, married to an early modern king.

Whispering promises to him and telling him to go wait for her, she turned to see the twelve children lined up.

Yes, the witch queen smiled.

Could she help them?

Eliza stepped forward.

She didn't want to speak out of turn, but there was a banquet today.

There was.

My wedding.

To your father, the queen joined her in stating the obvious.

Usually after banquets, we get the cakes, Eliza ventured, and the eleven brothers nodded.

Do you now?

All of them, the witch queen asked.

The group, again, nodded.

She knew this, of course.

She heard the horror stories from the servants forced to clean up after their cake fights or their cake forts.

All this while people starved in the streets.

The queen had the cake removed the moment the banquet was over.

It was being distributed to the needy as they spoke.

But the kids did not know this.

Oh, I have something better for you, the queen gestured to the table.

Twenty-four ears pricked up at something better than cake battles, and they rushed to the table where the servants had finished setting out

tea cups?

These are all full of sand.

The princes and the princess looked up at the queen.

Indeed.

Drink it, the queen said.

The group laughed.

You can't drink sand.

Oh no, you can.

You just put the cup up to your lips and you drink the sand, she smiled.

The eldest spoke up.

Who did she think she was telling them to drink sand?

She was just some peasant woman who I am your mother, the queen said, and then crossed her arms.

You know what?

They needed a little more discipline in their lives, a little more respect for their betters.

One of the princes said they did respect their betters.

They respected their father.

The witch queen smiled.

They wouldn't be allowed to leave until they drank the sand.

The eldest made to rise, saying that no one commanded him, especially not her, but he couldn't.

He couldn't move anything but his arms and mouth.

The queen smiled and left to join the king.

The princes and princess either took from a few minutes to several hours to drink the sand, but eventually they managed.

Part of it was to put the kids on notice.

She didn't want anyone thinking her a traitor.

You have to be friends with someone to betray them.

The other part of the sand thing was just fun.

Eliza was the first to go to a new boarding school.

Wow, the woods, the king marveled.

It had like an understated vibe to it.

Like, you know, it was good by how much they didn't care about the name.

When the queen and Eliza were outside the city, the queen had the servants pull over so Eliza could get dressed.

The witch queen tossed her some stinking rags and had her walk alongside the carriage until, deep in the forest, they left the carriage behind and went on foot.

The The peasant couple they met in the cottage were informed about Eliza's unfortunate delusions.

You see, she thought that she was a princess.

She might try to escape.

After losing her mother and the way her father was acting,

she was alone now.

The couple frowned.

That was so sad.

They would do everything they could to try to protect her.

But I am a princess, Eliza cried, as the witch queen handed her off to to the peasant couple, who held her tight in their arms.

You sure are, dear, you sure are.

She has good days and she has bad days, the witch queen smiled sadly, before walking back to the carriage hidden in the woods.

I need you to get your brothers and all follow me into the forest.

I'm going to turn you into animals, the witch queen said to son number five.

He was actually one of the first to eat the sand and actually kind of enjoyed it.

It was filling, he said.

I bet it was, dear, the witch queen smiled.

He said he didn't really understand what she meant by go into the forest and turn into animals.

Oh, I'm going to turn you all into animals because I'm a witch and I can do that, she nodded.

Go tell your brothers.

New mom and her inscrutable riddles, number five smirked, and went to go tell the others to meet him in the forest for a fun surprise.

What are we doing out here?

Numbers one and two demanded when the witch queen strode into the clearing.

Oh, I thought number five told you.

I'm turning you into animals because I can't have you interfering with my own child's inheritance.

The princess looked at each other and then back to the witch queen.

Because I'm a witch, she said.

Sorry, did Number five explain nothing?

Pure bedlam broke out, but it didn't really matter.

The brothers were already gathered, and let's say the transmutation circle was drawn.

It's more of a deep magic versus rules magic thing, and HCA doesn't really bother with the mechanics of it, so neither will we.

The spell was set to turn them into the most hideous animals possible, based on their moral state, and well, the witch was a little disappointed.

Beautiful swans.

Hmm.

The spell obviously didn't account for self-centeredness and avarice.

Oh well, swans weren't princes, even if they were wearing oddly tiny and adorable crowns.

And yes, really.

The swans flapped round in the clearing, honking and carrying on, not terribly different from the human teens that were there before.

The witch queen spooked them, and they all flapped off into the sky.

All right,

done and done.

Hey, weren't there a lot of kids around here?

Like

12 kids?

The king cocked his head during breakfast.

Hey, yeah, he had 11 heirs.

What were those guys up to?

The witch queen said, Oh,

they were seeking their fortune, remember?

They all left at once.

The lower ten because they didn't want to just wait around when the oldest brother would rule, and the oldest because he wanted to earn a kingdom in his own right and not just be given one.

They talked about this.

The king said, hm,

okay, he guessed he remembered that.

Oh, and what about his daughter?

Girls generally don't do the whole go seeking their fortune thing.

The witch queen laughed.

She was at boarding school, remember?

The extremely expensive, yet showingly unpretentious one?

The woods?

The king said, Ah, yes.

He wanted to see his little girl, though.

It had been a while, and didn't they get breaks?

The witch queen sighed.

She supposed they did.

She would go get the princess.

We'll see the worst spring break ever, but that will be right after this.

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Who can be more beautiful than you?

The wind whispered to the roses outside the cottage in the woods.

Eliza,

the roses whispered back.

Who can be more pious than you?

The wind said, as it rustled the pages of the hymnal in the hands of the old woman, the mother of Eliza's adoptive mother, as she dozed by the door.

Eliza is, the hymnal, full of Christian hymns, replied.

Now, when you're hearing inanimate objects talk, that's not normal.

When you're hearing them talk about how you're more beautiful than flowers and more pious than a book that only exists to sing the praises of God, I'm sorry, that's delusional.

Unless you're Eliza, who heard those sorts of things all the time.

Then, a form filled the door.

The old woman snorted awake and um hi?

Is the girl's mother in?

The witch queen asked the old woman, who shook her head.

No, they were out working in the forest.

She was here watching the girl.

Well, I need her back, the witch queen said, and strode in the house.

Her father wishes to see her.

The king?

Eliza jumped up, and the old woman groaned.

They had worked so hard to break those delusions.

But no, the stranger couldn't just take her.

Setting aside, she just showed up and claimed to know Eliza, something like this would be downright traumatic to be a dog.

You're a dog now, the witch queen said.

And the hymn null dropped off the woman's lap as she dropped to the floor, sniffing around.

Come on, you're going home, the witch queen said.

Eliza, though she had grown accustomed to the peasant couple, did want to go home and be with her father and brothers.

She walked to the door, then looked back as the old woman growled at the witch queen, leaving with Eliza.

Um,

the witch queen groaned and rolled her eyes.

Fine.

You're a dog for the next four hours.

Then you're whoever you are normally.

The pair left and made for the capital.

So.

Eliza is about to come in here and bathe, the witch queen explained to the three toads on the tray in front of her.

You, she pointed to the first, you are to squat on her head while she's in the bath.

That way, she will become as torpid as you are, the witch said.

The toad thought about it.

He didn't really know what torpid meant and was too lazy to go look it up, so whatever.

You, she pointed to the second toad, who smiled.

Just happy to be helping.

You will squat on her forehead, and that way she will become as ugly as you are.

The toad frowned.

Oh, okay, that was

that was hurtful.

He still wanted to help out, but ow.

And to you, she whispered for some reason to the third.

You shall sit on her heart, so she will be cursed and tormented by evil desires.

The toad nodded.

Oh, yeah.

He was evil, so he was totally into that.

All right, get in, you little weirdos, the witch said, and the toads plopped in the bath.

The water is

green,

Eliza said, looking at the water as she undressed.

Was that okay?

What is this, like your first bath in a year that isn't in an ice-cold river?

The witch queen asked.

Why was she being so picky?

It was green because of like the vitamin soap or something.

Don't worry about it.

Just get in.

Eliza did, and immediately submerged in the warm water.

Underneath, the three toads went to her and latched themselves onto her hair, her forehead, and her heart.

And when they hit the air, they were poppies.

Because of Eliza's goodness.

Remember, she is so good that hymnals aspire to be as pious as her.

The witch swore, too good for witchcraft to have any power over her.

Alright, no special effects.

Had to go with practical effects.

She called out for the servants to bring her her glue and her oatmeal.

Are you sure about this makeup?

I feel like it might be a bit much, Eliza said, as the witch queen smeared dried, crusty oats and honey all over her face and musked up her hair.

You're not my daughter, the king screeched, looking at her.

She said yes, yes she was.

The king pointed at her face with all the stuff on it and mussed up hair.

No, remove her.

The witch queen nodded and dragged Eliza from her father's presence, telling the guards to remove the fraud from the kingdom.

Eliza didn't understand.

How could her father reject her like that after all all those months?

I guess also not remembering all the stuff her stepmom just rubbed on her face and when she messed up the girl's hair.

She did remember the next day when, sleeping next to a river, she rolled over and saw herself, gasping.

What in the world?

She looked at all the dried, goopy nonsense stuck to her face.

Of course her father wouldn't recognize her looking like that.

Wait, was this from when her stepmother offered to do her makeup?

That would mean that her stepmom messed up her face to intentionally confuse her father.

Eliza was starting to think that this woman who sent her away for a year to live with strangers, got her and her brothers exiled, and made her eat sand,

might not be a good person.

Eliza thought about her predicament.

Her witch mom was too strong now.

She had full control of the kingdom.

There was no way Eliza could return without her knowing, so she had to seek help from without.

She had to find her brothers.

One assumes that's what she was thinking.

I'll be real, it's complete conjecture because she seems to just wander listlessly, relying on the providence of God.

And look, I am not saying don't rely on God, but God also gave Eliza the basic level of judgment to not wander deeper into the dark forest for absolutely no reason.

Other than that's the direction she was walking, might as well keep going that way.

It worked, though.

Because when she got hungry and sat down under a tree, the tree dipped down with some crab apples.

And when she wanted to see the stars at night, the branches above her parted.

Even though she could have, once again, simply not gone into the dark forest, that's always an option.

When you're given zero information as to what happened to your 11 Prince brothers, you work with what you have.

You have to go all Sherlock, maybe thinking about clues they once gave you as to where they might go when leaving home, or

you just ask literally every person you pass.

After you ask for their berries.

Eliza approached an elderly woman with a basket of berries, and the woman was kind enough to offer some after Eliza asked six times.

Face awash and berry dribbles, Eliza asked if the woman had seen eleven princes ride past.

The woman looked at her, uh, what, like, right together one by one or staggered by days.

Any?

All?

Eliza said, helping herself to more berries.

The woman pulled the basket back politely and then said no, she hadn't, but she had seen, well, it was weird.

She said the number 11, combined with royalty,

she had seen 11 swans.

Swans with tiny little crowns on their heads.

She tried to steal one, but swans are almost as mean as geese.

She had so many questions like what weirdo is dressing up swans and how are those crowns even staying on there?

Is that part of their body?

But that's really all she had to go on.

They were just down by the river, and Eliza should go there seeking them right now and also stop eating her berries.

Look, I'm not one to diagnose fictional characters, but as someone with ADHD, I think Eliza might show symptoms of ADHD.

Going down to the river to look for her brothers, she finds herself laying on the pebbles looking up at the sky, marveling that the sea had worn even the rocks and iron and glass as soft as her tender hand.

Through work, it made hard things soft.

What a lesson.

Through untiring effort, she herself would see her aim through.

Oh, yeah, that's what she was doing.

She sat up and spotted the swan feathers that were like five feet from her the entire time.

They weren't her brothers.

In fact, she didn't even know if the swanky swans were related to her brothers, but this was all she had to go on.

She put the eleven feathers in her pack and continued on, for about three and a half minutes, until, above her, she heard honking.

She looked up.

Well, that was a freebie.

Eleven swans with crowns flapping overhead.

She chased them toward the setting sun.

Eliza ran through the forest, trees scraping her arm and shin and clothing until, bursting into a clearing, she saw them

her 11 brothers tears rained from her eyes as she ran toward them and they embraced her

okay so you're swans now but not now

What's going on?

Eliza was very confused.

They said, yes, they were swans.

Mostly.

They were swans during the day, but come nightfall, they changed back into humans.

That was a surprising first night.

Prince Number 8 smiled a toothless smile.

As a few of them built a fire, she asked how she hadn't seen them or heard of 11 swans wearing crowns.

Also, how did they get the crowns?

They didn't address the crowns thing, but they did tell her that they had been exiled to a faraway kingdom, only allowed to return to their homeland 11 days out of the year to see their father from a distance and and visit their mother's grave.

They had two days left now, and they would have to return south, far across the sea.

Explaining that she herself had been exiled, Eliza wanted to come with them, but they said it was impossible.

She couldn't make the journey over the water, unlike them, unless...

Eliza said, unless what?

Did they have an idea?

Was there some sort of like...

dramatic reveal coming?

Well, whatever.

She was going to bed.

And the next morning, she awoke in the sky.

You see, the brothers had been keeping tabs on her and knew about her exile, so they had been making a net, one that could fit in the beaks of 11 birds as they flew.

And I'm almost certain someone out there has done the math on just how many swans it would take to transport a, say, 100-pound girl with frequent breaks.

But I'm not one of those people, so sorry.

Snacking on berries and root vegetables in her net, Eliza rode along as her brothers flapped to their home in exile.

There's There's a good bit of description we're going to skip over regarding mirages at sea and fata morgana, an Italian term meaning Morgan Le Fay.

And yes, that Morgan Le Fay, the mirages being brought about by her tricky magic.

She's always up to something, that one.

A fatta morgana is a real-life optical phenomenon where light bends as it passes through air layers of different temperatures.

acting like a refracting lens where it distorts what's up ahead.

Since I was an English major and have long shot past my comfort zone in the world of science, let's head back to my expertise.

A girl being held aloft by eleven swans wearing crowns.

After a scary night on a rock in maybe the Mediterranean, maybe the North Sea, it's unclear, they landed near a mossy cave, just as the sun was about to set on the second night, and, after the sweaty princes managed to stand after not only flying hundreds of miles, but doing so after increasing their weight by thirty per cent, they showed Eliza around.

She saw saw that they had a life there, but in seeing what they had, she was consumed by what had been taken from them.

A dank, mossy cave might be a place where they could survive, but it wasn't a life.

The brothers piled in layer after layer of moss for their sister and lit a fire in the alcove where she was least likely to die from smoke inhalation, and then they said goodnight.

Eliza didn't, though.

because Eliza prayed.

Remember, Eliza was more pious than a hymnal?

The hymnal's words, words, by the way.

Anyway, she didn't let something like unconsciousness stop her from praying either.

No, she prayed into her sleep.

She prayed so hard that, on the clouds in front of her, she saw the palaces and the mountains of the Fata Morgana.

Now, you might say we're getting some wires crossed here, because why would Eliza's prayers to the presumably Christian God summon the fairylands of Morgan Le Fay?

And you'd be right, and we'll dive into that discrepancy with as much fervor and detail as the original does.

All right, now that we've done that, seeing the fairy castle, Eliza marveled and approached the warm, vine-embraced stones sitting atop the clouds.

There, in the gateway to the castle, she saw, Hey, you're that old woman who gave me the berries, Eliza said.

Thanks for the pointers on where to find her brothers.

And the berries.

Hey, do you have any more berries?

I've been eating root vegetables for the past couple of days.

In flight food, am I right?

Your brothers, you came up here because you wanted to free your brothers, the crone said, getting Eliza back on track.

Eliza's eyes widened.

Yes, that's right.

It won't be easy, the woman said.

Eliza sighed.

She was living in a cave with her 11 swan brothers.

How much worse could it get?

Comparatively, not that much worse.

She had already lost everything, but it was still bad.

It's like if you have to eat a whole cactus, but someone stuffed it full of live bees.

Would you rather have it without the bees?

Absolutely.

Did the bees add that much extra pain?

Probably not.

Eliza's task was this.

Eleven woven coats cast over her brothers, and they could turn back.

Eliza started to say that she had learned how to weave when she was little.

It was like job one for a prospective spouse, but the old woman cut her off.

She also wouldn't be able to speak while she did it.

Eliza noted that that would be a little more difficult, what with how many times she had to be interrupted and redirected in this conversation alone.

Because it'll kill your brothers.

It would be like driving a dagger through all of their hearts at the same time.

A figurative dagger, the woman said.

One that would have the same effect as a literal dagger, so really they were just splitting hairs here.

Eliza winced, okay,

those bees were looking more like hornets, but sure.

And she had to weave the coats out of stinging nettles, barehanded, and they could only be gathered from the churchyard.

Eliza said, Come on, okay, that's too much.

It's a powerful curse, the old fae woman said.

Regardless, it was Eliza's choice whether she saved her brothers.

It lay within her power to do so.

The woman held out one of the nettles, and Eliza reached out, grasped it, and woke up.

It was morning, and the swans were honking.

It was time to get to work.

We'll see Eliza get to work breaking that curse, but that will, once again, be read after this.

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The pain was not as bad as she thought.

It was horrible, but if it would save her brothers, it would all be worth it.

The only place the nettles for the coat grew was in the church courtyard, and, at the end of the day, even though her hands, feet, legs, and arms were a topographical map of pain, it was done.

She had enough nettles to save her brothers.

As far as we know, Eliza didn't know sign language.

So for her to communicate to her brothers that she just met a strange Fae woman in Morgan La Faye's fairy kingdom who told her she had to weave 11 coats for her brothers out of stinging nettles and not only did she have to do it barehanded, but she wouldn't be able to speak lest she drive a not-real, real dagger through all of their hearts.

It was a long game of charades, especially when Brother 5 kept guessing Jackal.

At least with her brothers out each day, she had a bunch of time to work, and after she managed to block out all the agony, she worked pretty quickly.

knocking out one whole cloak by mid-morning on the second day.

Then she heard the barking.

Barking, but nothing came to the hillside cliffs.

Nothing except the king.

She recognized the royal hounds and worked to stash the cloak and nettles, as well as hide her hands before the huntsman and his retinue blocked out the crashing waves of the sea outside.

What are you doing here, my sweet child?

the man said, striding in.

Obviously being unable to tell him, and her apparent charade skills being dampened by her inability to use her hands, she simply looked to the floor of the cave.

Come with me, he said.

Here you cannot remain.

If you are as good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet.

I will place a golden crown upon your head, and you shall dwell, rule, and make your home in my richest castle.

Which seems nice, yes.

But, well, if the adult person you're helping is wringing their hands and weeping and trying to get away from you, and you have to restrain them in order to help them, them you you're kidnapping that person don't do that but the king did because he was helping he actually did say the very parent-like and not at all problematic given what's going to happen in the next few minutes statement of you're going to thank me for this someday now you might think hey I put my kidnapped victims in those nice clothes and gave her her own wing of the palace and put on those feasts for her, so it's not so bad.

But the first part of that sentence really undercuts the rest of the sentence.

And you can chuck all that goodwill into the ocean of, this is not okay, when you announce that, yes, she's really beautiful.

And she technically hasn't said no because it seems like she physically cannot do so.

So yeah, they were getting married.

After a dinner in which the costliest dishes were served and the prettiest girls danced for Eliza, neither of which brought a smile to her tear-streaked face, the king had one more surprise.

In In an adjacent connecting room to her bedroom, the king had prepared a little slice of home.

He didn't know that home was the cave in which she had spent maybe three whole days before being low-key kidnapped, but they had tried to recreate the cave as best they could.

It's like in Minecraft where you used to have to use wool to simulate anything not wood or stone when building.

He had a bunch of mossy hangings made from green yarn.

We did bring a bunch of actual moss in, but it was full of spiders, so that was fun, the king said.

Something caught Eliza's eye.

Oh, your pile of stinging nettles.

Yeah, they grabbed all those too, the king said.

He didn't get that one.

She hugged the king, though, so he figured he didn't need to.

She inspected the coat made out of nettles before picking up her spindle and distaff and getting back to work.

The king yelled out for the servants to ring the church bells to announce their wedding, which

I guess, if church bells ring at like 9.20 p.m., that's what they mean.

I honestly don't know what the city was supposed to glean from the bells ringing other than that there's maybe an overzealous sexton excited about his work.

The king left her to her spinning, opened the door, and met...

Oh.

The king's glance soured as he saw the archbishop.

No,

she is a witch.

The man hissed as he walked, then jogged to keep up with the speed-walking king.

What makes you say such terrible things?

The king didn't understand.

He had a beautiful relationship with his betrothed.

Oh, really?

The Archbishop asked.

Was it all the great talks they had?

All the shared interests, the mutual love and respect?

The king looked off.

Or is it that you think she's really hot?

The Archbishop sneered.

Well, she is, and this is the early modern period, so beautiful equals good, and tomorrow you'll crown her your queen, the king spat and slammed his own door in the archbishop's face.

It really was a fairy tale wedding in the truest sense of the word.

A horrible curse, a kidnapped bride, some violent punishment, and an out-of-touch king.

You'd think that more people would notice the queen was bleeding when the Archbishop forced a too small crown down on her head, cutting her scalp, but they didn't.

As the blood trickled down her scalp, she consoled herself for being unable to cry out with the idea that the physical suffering she was going through was nothing compared to the emotional suffering she was going through.

So, always a brighter side, I guess.

We're gonna fast-forward through the wedding night and subsequent evenings because, yeah, those happened.

But in addition to her apparently growing fonder of her husband, her collection of nettle cloaks was growing too.

She was up to seven, but she was out of nettles.

For some reason, she couldn't be seen picking nettles from the churchyard during the day, or having one of her countless servants do it for her.

No, she had to leave in the dead of night, pad out in secret through the side door, steal down the deserted streets and alleys, to the church graveyard.

There, in the moonlight, she saw six forms swaying around the freshly piled dirt of a grave from that morning.

Looking over, a long, thin, pale finger scratched the dirt, and then the others joined in before pulling Eliza gasped.

An arm, a human arm, straight from the ground.

One grabbed the arm, another a foot, some tore at the chest and organs.

All ate the corpse.

At the sound of her surprise, though, they all turned to see her.

Oh, shoot, the one snacking on a finger said, I'm I'm so sorry, you're new, his blood-stained mouth smiling awkwardly, revealing his pointy, animalistic teeth.

His large, almost glowing eyes glanced around the group.

Hey, who who turned her and just left her to show up here?

That's so rude.

No one's gonna give her a hand?

He shook his head, and then blinked when someone held out the the severed hand of the corpse.

No, I mean

oh, come on.

He turned back to Eliza.

Sorry, Sven's the Joker of the group, that guy.

No, you probably woke up in your grave and you're like, what?

Still alive?

I mean, you're not.

You're a vampire.

Eliza recoiled, pointing at the corpse.

The vampire said the shutter was a bit judgy, but yeah.

They ate corpses.

Honestly, it was easier than floating outside windows, all Salem's lot style, and trying to convince people to let you in.

Here, the Archbishop looks the other way, as long as they rebury the corpses at the end of the night.

Eliza shook her head and opened her mouth, revealing her very normal and not vampire teeth.

The vampire said, oh, she's not a vampire.

Then what was she doing out here?

Nettles?

He stepped aside.

Wow, that was strange, and this is coming from a guy eating corpses.

Uh, yeah, sure.

He didn't want to stand in her way.

Here, it's a free graveyard.

Hey, though, if she ever wanted to become one of the undead horrors of the night, she knew where to find them.

No pressure, though.

But, you you know, think it over.

Get back to me.

He then turned and got back to his meal, his meal of people.

Unbeknownst to Eliza, though, there was someone else who watched her go, and not just the vampire kicking himself on the missed recruitment opportunity.

From the church, watching over the vampires to ensure they didn't start seeking out fresher blood or disturbing the more expensive graves, was the Archbishop himself.

Got her, he smiled.

She is a vampire, the Archbishop said to the king during the king's confessional the following day.

I'm sorry, who's a what?

he said, shaking his head.

This was a complete non-sequitur.

The archbishop said the king's wife, Queen Eliza, she was a vampire.

The archbishop saw her leaving the graveyard last night after visiting the vampires during their little snack time.

That was a great idea, by the way, the king admitted.

They were down so many vampire attacks, but really?

Then the king looked up to the images of the saints and the stained glass windows.

They were moving?

They were shaking their heads and saying no.

The archbishop, knowing that the saints were disapproving of his lie, said, yeah, they were just so disappointed in the queen for being a vampire witch.

That was definitely it.

The fact that they were getting all angry and seemed to be yelling more when he said that only showed how right he was.

The king didn't believe him, but he also didn't

not.

But his wife leaving at night instead of staying in bed with him, her husband?

Who loved her?

Who kidnapped her?

The Archbishop rolled his eyes.

Why do you have to mention that every time?

You were right, the king said, a week later, as they followed Eliza to the graveyard.

Each night she had been getting up from bed to do something in her private room.

The king could only follow her to the door.

Now, though, he didn't know that she was just a few nettles short of her final cloak, so she had to venture out to the graveyard again.

The Archbishop said that when she did, the king should send for him.

He could help and also really liked being right.

So they they followed her to the graveyard.

They saw her scoop up something next to the grave by the vampires, and the king gave the signal.

The guards swarmed the graveyard.

An explosion of bats left Eliza all alone by the graveside, stuffing the last nettle in her pack.

She stood, defiant, as if to challenge the king to condemn her to death, but he couldn't.

He couldn't give the order.

He would let the people judge her.

And when you control all the information that the people get about the accused, and the people have shockingly few entertainment options other than a public execution, you can hardly call it fair.

She was condemned to die by fire almost as soon as her trial started.

But Eliza could see a ray of hope.

All she had been given for comfort in her dungeon cell were her coats of nettles.

It was meant to be a punishment, a cruel joke, but she could finish her work.

Her brothers weren't doomed.

Not yet.

The Archbishop came, but he could hardly get any gloating in over the sounds of swans honking at the bars of her window.

Rude.

She barely even acknowledged his existence and that he won.

She seemed obsessed with weaving coats from stinging nettles, despite, yes, stinging nettles stinging.

He shrugged.

Oh well, if she wanted to spend her last few hours in torment, he'd allow it.

And she did.

Even as people streamed in the city from the the surrounding villages to witness the apparently then family-friendly content of a young woman being burned alive, she worked feverishly on the last nettle cloak in the cart when the horses pulled her toward the stake upon a pile of wood.

It seems that one of the most painful deaths imaginable was not enough for the people of the town, because one guy pointed at her working in the cart.

See the witch, how she mutters.

She has no hymn book in her hand.

She sits there with her ugly sorcery.

Let us tear it in a thousand pieces.

The crowd that was quickly morphing into a mob surrounded the cart.

Eliza knew she had done all she could to save her brothers, but it still hadn't been enough.

She couldn't speak, but she could fight here until the end.

Like an ocean wears a stone smooth, she, too, would not give up.

Then, shadows, shadows and wings.

From above, eleven swans swans descended, surrounding the cart and protecting their sister.

Seeing as their criterion for attacking her was that she was not holding the hymnal, the eleven swans quickly stilled the crowd, them rating it as a sign from heaven that she was innocent.

It didn't matter, though.

She had been condemned to death, and she had arrived at the spot for her execution.

As the executioner muscled through the swans and gripped her arm, she finished.

Eliza flung the coats over the swans.

It was a bit of a rush job, so the last cloak was only very nearly almost done.

So Brother 11 was only very nearly almost human.

He still had one swan wing, but the other ten rose under their nettle cloaks.

Eliza's face lit up as she saw her brothers.

Now human in daytime, she had done it.

Now that she could speak, she could tell everyone that she was innocent.

And then she died.

The eldest brother caught her body and related the whole story to the crowd, from the witch queen's stepmom to the curse to the king's marriage, which, I mean, was essentially the reason for most of her problems leading up to her death.

Look!

Magic!

The king pointed.

And while this, at first, felt like a very obvious distraction, he wasn't wrong.

The sticks on the pyre, while the brothers were explaining the story, had all taken root, and green leaves found the tight, spindly branches until a hedge grew.

From the top of the hedge, a brilliant white flower bloomed.

Maybe knowing what to do, maybe just thinking that that flower looks beautiful, let's make it not alive anymore, the king plucked the flower and set it on the chest of his deceased beloved.

And when she gasped, the whole crowd gasped with her.

The king looked down in Eliza's face.

His wife, his wife was alive.

Eliza said, Yeah, they should talk about that wife thing, but first,

it was time.

It was time to return across the sea with an army and take back their home from the witch queen.

She stood, throwing up her fist.

Who's with her?

There was a long silence.

She looked around.

Really?

The brothers all looked to one another and then back to her, shaking their heads.

Yeah, no, they weren't doing that.

They just finished getting uncursed.

They weren't walking back into that.

The witch queen could have it.

Eliza said, but it was their home.

And then she smiled.

Husband.

The king smiled back.

Yep.

Could she maybe take the army out?

She'd bring it back with full coffers.

The king inhaled sharply.

Yeah,

no, sorry.

If she could turn 11 guys into swans, he didn't want to get mixed up in all that.

Deflated, Eliza said, Well, what were they going to do?

The king looked to his 11 new brothers-in-law.

Parade?

Bridal parade?

Like, right now?

Eliza said, No, what she meant about home, what were they going to do about home?

But her brothers, who loved themselves a good parade, were already following the king back to the palace.

Eliza sighed and did the same.

The end.

That is actually the ending.

For all the focus on Eliza, the last lines are talking about how the church bells rang all on their own, and a marriage procession returned to the palace such as no king had ever seen.

It is interesting and kind of refreshingly 20th century for a fairy tale that there was no justice for the witch queen or the archbishop.

Also, quickly, end of note, I was reading a different version right before posting and saw ghouls instead of vampires.

And since it doesn't measurably change the story, I just left the vampires in.

As I was writing this, I did note similarities to The Little Mermaid, far and away the most controversial story we've told on the show, based on my initial dislike of it.

For Eliza, though, She lost her voice not for love, but through her own resolve to help her brothers.

She never really found love more like a resigned acceptance of the king, which is, yes, messed up, but she's able to see her task through despite being able to ditch all the hardships at any time and just be queen.

Where the little mermaid is swept along by others' decisions, Eliza takes control of her own world and wrenches the results she wants, even though it eventually brings about her own death.

Speaking of death.

Next week it's a samurai ghost story for Halloween.

And I want to say a special thanks to Michael and Sophie on Discord for recommending today's story.

It has been so cool to hear from everyone out there.

A lot of times, I just stand in our closet studio and yell at the wall, and I see the numbers go up.

But outside the occasional emails from listeners, you never really see an audience.

So this has been a really cool way to connect.

Thanks to everyone who's joined.

If you like, there's a link in the show notes.

Or you can follow us on traditional social media at Mythsandlegends on Instagram.

The creature of this time is the Wallach, from Aboriginal legend in Australia.

Once upon a time, people of the Torres Strait didn't have fire, they just didn't.

They put their meat on sun-warmed stones, which not only took forever, but seems like a great way to get food poisoning.

Even more annoying, far in the north, on the islands of New Guinea, they saw smoke.

Kurum, the monitor lizard, was the first to go take a look, and a look was all he got, and not even a good one, one, because the cold waters of the north forced him to turn back.

Wallach, a lizard, thought, hey, maybe boats.

He landed at Mawa in New Guinea, where he popped into his human form to catch up with his sister, who had married into a fire-making tribe.

I guess him kind of burying the lead when it came to the other lizards and fire.

She was cooking dinner and not getting salmonella.

and he asked what powered her little oven.

Being a good sister, she showed him the coals, and he asked if he could have one and bring it back.

She said, yeah, but he would need something to care.

Oh, she froze when he popped the coal into his mouth for safe travel.

That was a bad idea, she said, and he quickly learned.

But the damage was done, and he didn't wait for the boat, scampering across the water and back to his islands, where he spat out the coal onto dry grass.

It just goes to show how hungry people were for fire, and also to stop eating mostly raw meat, because they didn't even care that wildfires on the islands were spreading like something that spreads destructively and uncontrollably.

I can't think of a word right now.

That night, back on the island, everyone enjoyed cooked, smoky meat.

Everyone, that is, except for the wallock, whose tongue was so burned he couldn't taste anything.

Apparently, if you look at the tongue of a specific type of frilled lizard, even to this day, you can see the burn scar that spread to all of its descendants because Grandpa was, well, too nice for his own good.

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 show notes.

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

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