The Firebird Read online

The Firebird

  By Ditte Gry Svensmark

  Copyright 2012 Forlaget Limitless

  The Firebird

  Retold by Ditte Gry Svensmark

  Once upon a time there was a king, who had three sons. The eldest, Carl and Alfred, were fond of hunting, dancing and gambling. The youngest son, Peter, was just and kind.

  The king had a private orchard, and his pride and joy was a special apple tree, which carried golden apples. He allowed on one else to touch or eat these, and not even the royal gardener had permission to approach the tree. To protect it, he had a high wall built around the whole orchard, with only one gate, that only the king could open.

  One morning, however, the tree was missing an apple. The king was furious and demanded that the culprit must be found. But no one admitted to the deed, and the gate was as firmly locked as it had been the evening before. The king grumbled, but had to accept that he had no one to blame. That night he posted guards outside the gate, but the next morning yet another apple was gone. The guards had seen nothing, and there was no sign of an intruder. The king was furious and called his eldest son to him.

  “I want you to guard the tree tonight, my son. I will not lose any more apples.”

  Carl agreed, but he did not relish the thought of sitting on the cold ground all night, so he had his best chair brought out under the tree, along with food and wine. Soon he was fast asleep, and in the morning another apple was missing. The king was angry, and asked the second son to keep watch the next night. Unfortunately Alfred was no more interested in making an effort then Carl, and he too ate, drank and slept the night away. In the morning yet another apple was gone, and the king turned to his youngest son.

  Peter brought neither chair, pillows, wine or rich foods with him. Instead he ate bread and drank water, and then settled on a branch high in the apple tree, where he had a good view of the whole garden. The branch was uneven, and he could not relax without losing his balance, and so he stayed awake. At midnight, he heard the most enchanting song from the dark sky. A beautiful bird, with feathers like flames, swooped down to the top of the tree. When it had finished its song, it picked an apple, and flew away once more. Peter saw that it was headed towards the black forest, a forbidding, dangerous place, into which no one ever went willingly.

  In the morning Peter told his father what had happened to the apples. The king was glad to know of the stealing bird, and he decided to send his oldest son to catch it and bring it back. Carl was given a mighty steed, gold and provisions, and set off. After three days he came to the edge of the black forest. The road in front of him parted, but both branches led into the dark, looming forest. To his left was a nice looking inn, and he heard a whispering voice singing,

  “Go right and lose your life,

  Go left and lose your steed.

  The inn holds no more strife,

  But leads to no great deeds.”

  Carl did not want to lose either his life or his horse, and so he turned to the inn, where he was welcomed by the sweet serving girls, and soon he had forgotten about his quest to find the golden bird.

  Time passed, and when there was no sign of Carl returning, the king sent Alfred to catch the bird. He too was given a mighty steed, much gold and provisions, and set off. But when he came to the crossroad by the forest, he too felt his courage leave him, and he went to the inn.

  When the two eldest did not return, the king was loath to send Peter, not wanting to lose his last son. But Peter insisted on leaving, and the king reluctantly let him go. And so the next day Peter rode out on a strong horse, with gold and provisions.

  Like his brothers before him, he reached the black forest and heard the whispered warning:

  “Go right and lose your life,

  Go left and lose your steed.

  The inn holds no more strife,

  But leads to no great deeds.”

  Going right would do no good, and neither would staying at the inn, so Peter reluctantly turned his horse and rode towards the left fork in the road. Soon he was under the dense, dark cover of the trees. It was dim and dank there, and not very pleasant at all. After a while he came to a small clearing, and suddenly a great white wolf jumped out. The horse reared in fright, and Peter fell to the ground. Then the wolf tore the horse apart and ate it. Peter thought his last hour had come, but the wolf did not attack him. Instead it sat down on its haunches and said to him,

  “You made a wise choice at the crossroad, but what brings you in here? This place does not care for humans.”

  Peter stood up and said,

  “I am Prince Peter. I come to find the firebird, which steals the golden apples from my father’s tree each night. I saw it fly this way, so I must follow.”

  “Well, then you will need my help. Sit on my back, and I will take you to the castle where the bird lives.”

  Peter sat on the back of the white wolf, and it carried him through the forest until they came to a great, black castle, which looked like it was made from old, dark, twisted oaks. There was a wall around it, and guards at the gates, but the guards were fast asleep. The wolf said to Peter,

  “You must go into the great hall. There you will see three cages hanging from the ceiling. The firebird is in the golden cage. Put the cloth at the bottom of the cage over its head, and then you can carry it away without being seen. But you must not touch the golden cage, lest all be lost!”

  Peter promised to heed the wolf’s words, and he carefully went into the castle. In the great hall, he immediately saw the three cages. The first was made of bronze, and in it sat a sleeping crow. The next cage was made of silver, and held an eagle. The firebird was in the third and last cage, made of gold. Peter had never seen anything as beautiful. He opened the door and carefully covered the firebirds head in the golden cloth from the bottom of the cage. But when he had the bird out, he could not bear to leave the beautiful golden cage behind, and he reached out to take it. As soon as his fingers grazed the metal, the guards woke up, and raised the alarm. Peter was swiftly caught and brought before the forest king.

  “Thief! How dare you come in my castle and try to take my firebird. For this I will have your head!”

  Peter apologized and begged for his life. He explained how the firebird had been stealing the golden apples from his father’s tree, and how he had been sent to bring it back. The king thought for a while, and said,

  “I see. I shall spare your life, and let you keep the firebird too, if you can bring me the stallion with the golden mane. It is the fastest horse in the world, and I want it. It is being kept by the king in the castle in the black mountain.”

  Peter had to agree, and he was let go. When he was back in the forest, he sat down and complained bitterly,

  “What a fool I am. If only I had listened to the wolf. Now I must somehow find this stallion and bring it here. Oh, what am I going to do?”

  The white wolf came to him, and said,

  “You would have done better had you listened to me. But I will help you once more. Sit on my back, and I shall carry you to the castle in the black mountain.”

  Grateful, Peter sat on the back of the wolf again, and it ran through the forest with him. The next morning they came to a tall, black mountain. A castle had been carved right into the side of it, and a wall ran around the front. But the gate was open, and the guards were fast asleep. The white wolf stopped and said to Peter,

  “This is the mountain kings castle. The stallion with the golden mane is in the stables. You must go there now and bring it out to me. In the stable you will find an old rope; use it to lead the stallion. Under no circumstances must you touch the golden bridle hanging on the wall by its stall.”

  Peter promised to do as he was told, and went quickly into the stable. The stab
le boy was sleeping by the door. The stallion was in the last stall, and it was a magnificent sight. Its golden mane shimmered and glinted with every movement, and the rest of the horse was just as wonderful. Peter carefully went to tie the rope around its neck, but when he saw the beautiful golden bridle hanging on the wall, he forgot all warnings from the wolf. As he reached out to take it, the stable boy woke up and called for the guards. Once more, Peter was captured and taken to the hall of the mountain king.

  “You miserable thief! Trying to steal my stallion, were you? Well, for that you will pay with your head!”

  Peter begged for mercy and explained that he had been sent for the stallion so that he could bring the firebird home to his father. The mountain king considered his words.

  “I will give you the stallion if you can bring me the golden maiden, who is kept in the tallest room of the tallest tower, in the ice castle by the black sea. She is the most beautiful maiden in the world, and I would have her for my bride.”

  Peter had no choice but to accept