Ari suggested sending a scout to the rocky island. Perhaps there was a place to land and rid themselves of the cursed vines before it was too late. They chose the strongest swimmer, who dived into the water and set off toward the towering rock.

The great stone standing in the Vikings’ path was known to the people as Giantess Krimgerd. She loomed over the sea, her gray, craggy body rising from the depths like an ancient, watchful woman. Many ships had wrecked upon her cliffs, and countless whirlpools had swallowed brave sailor’s whole. But the Giantess Krimgerd was not without mercy. She did not harm merchant vessels. Instead, she allowed them to pass unharmed, silencing the whirlpools while they sailed by.

That day, Krimgerd saw two beautiful long ships, finely carved and richly adorned. She thought to herself, these must be merchants, come to trade. They mean no harm. She prepared to drift into a peaceful slumber – when suddenly, she noticed a lone swimmer approaching her shore. The giantess grew wary. She waited in silence.

The Viking scout reached the rocky coast, but the cliffs were too steep – he could not climb onto the land. Desperate, he called out:

“O noble Giantess Krimgerd! Help us rid ourselves of these terrible creatures! These cursed roots will sink our ships, leaving our children without fathers and our wives without husbands. They will perish in hunger and grief!”

Krimgerd pondered his plea. Then, with a whisper, she loosened a small piece of rock, creating a foothold for him to climb. Leaning in, she murmured, “On the leeward side of my cliffs, you will find a low shore, a wide plateau. There, you may cast out the roots and destroy them.” The scout rejoiced, leapt into the sea, and swam back to the ship.

When he returned, he shared Krimgerd’s advice with the crew. Overjoyed, the Vikings prepared for battle. They built sturdy gangplanks to disembark and gathered torches, knowing fire was their only weapon. As they approached the rock, they set their torches ablaze and burned the cursed roots.

The monstrous vines writhed and shrieked, twisting in agony, but after that, they no longer lashed out at the men. Their strength had been in their wicked tendrils, and once those were scorched, their power faded. The sailors dragged the remaining roots onto the plateau of the rock and set them alight. A terrible hissing and crackling filled the air, but soon, only ashes remained. Krimgerd felt nothing.

The sailors bowed low, thanking the giantess with all their hearts. They swore to pass down the tale of her kindness for generations to come. And so, the fathers told their sons, and the sons told their own children, until at last, the tale reached us. To this day, the Great Rock stands in silent watch, warning all would-be invaders that even the mountains themselves will rise to protect their people when the need arises.

The Song of the Waterfall

In a mountain village, there lived a beautiful girl named Jita, which means “Song.” She was so lovely that words could scarcely do her justice. Her hair was darker than the night, her eyes brighter than flames, her waist as slender as a wasp’s, and her hips curved as if sculpted by an artist. Jita loved listening to music, but she was different in that she heard it everywhere. While others might hear the melody of a stream or the rustle of the wind, Jita could hear the whispers of the grass and converse with the branches of the white birch. From all these sounds, she wove songs and sang them tirelessly. Her soul longed for beauty, and music nourished her heart, which would not have been able to strive toward the Light without the harmony of sound. The kind-hearted people who listened to her felt as if they were part of a magnificent performance. The symphony of humanity united hearts.

For this, she was known in the village as the One Who Hears. She understood the language of birds as if it were human speech. But not everyone admired her. Especially envious were the young women whose suitors praised Jita’s beauty and talent. The jealous ones began spreading rumors, saying she was not of this world and should leave for the heavens. Let her sing with Orpheus there, they sneered. And deep down, they wished for Jita to go deaf forever, so she would never hear the songs of birds or the melodies of water again.

Far away in the mountains, on a copper peak, lived Mahakala, the Wrathful Guardian, as people called him. He was a fearsome deity that tested the strength of human spirits, ready to scorch all living things with his fire. One day, in a fiery rage, Mahakala unleashed a blaze so fierce that all sounds on earth fell silent. Completely silent.

For some, this was nothing – just silence. But for Jita, it was a tragedy. For her, the meaning of life was gone, and perhaps life itself. The girl grew despondent and stopped going outside. She sat by the window, listening intently until her ears ached, hoping for some sound to break the silence and bring joy to her heart. But nothing could be heard.

In that same village lived a young man named Dordje. He loved the One Who Hears with all his heart. Day and night, he pondered how to help his beloved and bring sound back to the earth. So he went to the old sage in the mountains to seek advice. The sage told him that for the wish to be granted, a brave man must face Mahakala, standing directly before his fierce eyes and fiery mouth, enduring for three days and three nights. If he stood firm and showed no fear, the power of the terrible giant would be broken, and the people would be freed from this fearsome deity forever.

“I’ll go,” said Dordje. “I’ll do anything for the happiness of the people.”

“Then take this sacred bell and this magical dagger. They are amulets, protective relics. With their help, you can approach the giant and quell his wrath, if you hold out until noon on the third day,” the sage said, handing him the protective items.

Dordje bowed to the wise man, took the dagger and bell, and set off on his long journey. He crossed many mountains – descending one only to find another blocking his path, with no way around. His faithful horse grew exhausted, so Dordje left him at the foot of the tallest copper mountain, to wait there in case his master returned alive.

With great effort, Dordje finally reached the summit and saw, in the distance, a red sea – it was Mahakala’s lair. Dordje chose a suitable ledge on the rock and rang the bell with all his might.

At that very moment, the sky and mountains turned orange and crimson. It grew so hot that it was as if a fire had been lit beneath Dordje’s feet. The brave young man endured it, holding the bell before him and using the dagger to cut away the tongues of flame that Mahakala, the fiery beast, sent his way. The giant appeared in all his terrifying glory – his head as large as a mountain, eyes like two flaming orbs, with a third eye burning on his forehead. His crown was adorned with human skulls, and flames burst from his mouth.

But Dordje stared straight into the giant’s eyes, without flinching. Mahakala spewed fire at him, but Dordje cut away the flames with his dagger. His faith in the Light held and protected him.

By the end of the second day, Mahakala grew restless; it seemed he had even shrunk in size. Still, he puffed and breathed fire. Though the heat was unbearable and Dordje’s clothes had begun to smolder, he stood his ground without moving.

As the sun reached its zenith on the third day, the flames died in Mahakala’s mouth, a thin wisp of smoke rose into the sky, and the giant faded away as if he had never existed.

In that instant, the world of sound was restored to the earth – birds sang, streams babbled, animals roared.

Dordje hurried down the mountain, where his loyal horse greeted him with a neigh and carried him home. Along the way, they stopped at the wise sage’s hut to return the sacred relics, in case they might be needed for another good deed.

Jita was waiting for him, and she greeted him with a song about the proud rider who had conquered a great evil. Then they had a grand, joyous wedding. The envious women finally settled down – let the One Who Hears sing her songs, she had a husband now, and their suitors were no longer in danger.

It is good when birds sing, when the music of the wind, waterfalls, and life itself can be heard! And it is good that there are brave heroes on this earth!

The Life-Giving Spring

“Listen, listen! And those who hear, pass the message on! Disaster has come upon our land – rivers have dried up, and the seas have shrunk. Not a single drop of rain has fallen from the clouds for six whole months. The world is ruled by a terrible old crone, and her name is Drought. The rulers of many kingdoms have gathered for counsel, and now we proclaim their decree: Whoever finds a well will be rewarded with a grand palace, two herds of buffalo, pastures, and gold equal to their own weight!”

The royal heralds shouted the decree and rode off to spread the news. But the people, weakened by hunger and thirst to the point where they could barely walk, only shook their heads. If anyone knew where to find a spring, wouldn’t they have already done so?

In an Indian village, there lived a young man named Sadhir. Every day, he wandered beyond the village, pickaxe in hand, searching the fields and meadows, hoping to find a stream with life-giving water.

One day, he overheard the elders saying that a snake charmer could summon the rain. He asked if they knew where such a man lived. “Beyond the mountain pass,” they told him.

And so, despite his exhaustion, the young man set out to seek the charmer’s help. His journey was slow – he was weak, barely able to walk. He would rest for a while, then continue on. By the second day, he finally reached his destination.

He was shown the charmer’s house. Knocking at the door, he heard the sound of music. Entering the courtyard, he saw an old man in a turban playing a flute. Before him, a cobra had risen from a basket, swaying to the rhythm. The charmer was summoning the rain.

But suddenly, the snake collapsed lifelessly before their eyes. Women wailed in grief, and men wept. “Woe to us! Woe!”

“Let me help you find another snake,” Sadhir offered. “Can you train a new one quickly?”

“No, dear traveler,” the charmer sighed. “It is impossible. The snakes have fled far away from the Drought. And even if we were to find one, it would not survive even a single strike.”

“Why would you strike it?” the young man asked in surprise.

“Snakes are clever creatures. If you hit it with the flute once, it will learn to dodge the second blow. That is how we train them. The charmer waves the flute from side to side, the snake evades, and people think it is dancing. That is the secret.”

“Be patient,” Sadhir said. “I will find water.” And he hurried away.

Once more, he walked the land, digging and searching, hoping to find moisture beneath the earth. Along the way, he saw people desperately trying to summon rain. In one village, they sacrificed a black ram as an offering. In another, men lashed themselves with branches until they bled.

An old man told him of a belief in Slavic lands – that rain clouds were stolen by wicked toads. To stop them, people would capture a toad, place it under a clay pot, and beat the pot with sticks, chanting: “You wretched, slimy beast! Why have you done this evil? Release the rain clouds at once!” Frightened, the toad would supposedly release the rain. Others believed that destroying a raven’s nest could stop a drought.

But the bony old Drought only laughed from the heavens, locking the rain clouds away. Sadhir thought deeply and stopped believing in omens. Instead, he devoted himself even more to his search for water, pouring all his strength into the task.

One day, he met a beautiful young woman who was also searching for a well. They rejoiced in finding one another, and together, their journey felt lighter. At last, Fortune recognized their determination and opened her arms to them.

“Look,” Sadhir exclaimed. “That raven is pecking at the ground and scratching it like a hen. It must sense water nearby!”

“Let’s help it,” the girl cried, and together, they began to dig. Before long, the soil grew damp – they had found water. The moment the first well appeared, the wicked Drought lost her power, and from the heavens, long-awaited rain poured down upon the earth.

For three days and three nights, the rain fell, quenching the thirst of the land and its people. And as promised, the king rewarded the young man and woman with a palace, pastures, buffalo, and mountains of gold. But more than wealth, they found love, and so they married and lived happily in their grand home.

Such is the power of unwavering faith and the efforts of two hearts – together, they can bring happiness to all of humanity.