Episode 67 – The Devil’s Pit – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 67 Show Notes

Source: Latvian Mythology

This week on MYTH, we’re headed back to Latvia to catch up with our bear-slaying hero. You’ll discover why you should never explore dark caves alone, why morning wood can bring you home safely, and why you should never eat a witch’s cooking. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll meet the ghost of a child who will definitely give you nightmares. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 67, “The Devil’s Pit”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we last left our hero (back in Episode 59), a council of the gods had been called at the castle of Perkons, god of thunder, by Liktena Tevs, the Father of Fate. The fire and blood of the Crusades of the 13th Century are headed straight for the doomed heart of the Baltics, sure to crush the steadfast and worthy people who lived there and worshiped the gods of the council. One by one, each pledged to help the mortals fight however they can. The water nymph Staburadze, who lives in a crystal palace beneath the mighty Daugava river, comes forward at the end to tell the story of a handsome young man that she had saved from some witches. She’d like to keep him, but Perkons tells her that he is fated to be a hero, destined for glory, so she can only keep him long enough to get him healthy. We then flashed back to the young man’s origin story, where he rips a bear in half to save his father, only to learn that the old lord is actually his adopted father. He had been given care of the boy as an infant by the gods themselves (after having been abandoned by his unknown real parents and fed on she-bear breast milk as an infant), and raised Lacplesis the Bear-Slayer as his own, but now it is time for him to ride out on his own and seek his destiny.
The two men headed back to the castle. Lacplesis’ father gave his son several handsome, lordly gifts before he departed to help him on his journey. First, a strong colt, saddled and ready to carry him on his way. Second, a keen steel sword to carry into battle. Third, the spear, shield, and silver spurs that his father had worn into battle himself in years past. And finally, a thick cloak and hat trimmed in marten fur to keep him warm. In the morning, Lacplesis would set out for his first destination – to learn from the ancient school of wisdom in Burtnieks’ Castle. “My son, a childhood friend of mine lives there. Find him, and tell him that you desire to learn in the castle’s famous school and that I have sent you. Old Burtnieks will welcome you as a friend and can show you the sacred tomes of ages, filled with the deep secrets of Destiny. Only there can you learn to be a true hero.” So basically, if you’re a fan of Disney’s Hercules movie, he’s off to find his very own Phil to train him in the ways of the hero, which will take 7 years.
As the sun rose in the morning, Lacplesis rode out on his new horse, his sword buckled on his hip, spear and shield at the ready on his saddle, swathed in his furs. He and his father bid each other farewell in a very manly fashion, with a lot of pounding on backs and definitely no tears (the story is clear on that point). Now, it hasn’t been mentioned yet (and isn’t actually brought up until much, much later in the story, but there’s actually a second reason for the fur hat and cloak, apart from being warm. Lacplesis has bear ears instead of human ones, because apparently drinking bear milk straight from the source as an infant makes you one of the X-Men, complete with super-strength and a physical mutation. If these bear ears are ever cut off, Lacplesis will lose his connection to the bear and with it, his incredible strength (not unlike Sampson from the Abrahamic tradition, but with a lot more blood and a lot less chance of them growing back than Sampson’s hair).
Before he’d left, his father had given him some very good advice to ponder as he rode. He told them how well-regarded their clan was, and encouraged him to stick to his plan and show his bravery – if he does, the gods will have his back. He also warns his son about how easy it was for the world to lead good people astray, especially young men, and tells him to always be honest and try to speak the plain, unvarnished truth. These brave words ring in his bear’s ears as he rides away from the only home he’s ever known.
The way to Burtnieks’ Castle is long, so Lacplesis heads first for the much closer castle of the Latvian Lord Aizkraukle and his beautiful daughter Spidala. The castle lay in a desolate spot, far from the shores of the Daugava River, and was avoided by locals as a notoriously gloomy and unwelcoming place. The woods around it were dark and deadly, home to bands of wild bears during the day and split by the mournful howls of wolf packs at night. The paths through were faint and easy to get lost on; few strangers attempted the journey, and fewer still succeeded in it. The old man’s daughter possessed a rare beauty, but her eyes were wild and untamed. She had no interest in coyly seducing some handsome young man and being gently courted. To look into her eyes was to risk great danger.
On this particular morning, her father wants to know just where exactly she got the massive jewels that she wears on her neck and hands (since he didn’t give them to her, and it would be wildly out of character for them to have come from a suitor, since she had made it clear she didn’t want one). “They came from Godmother; she gave them to me the last time she came to visit. She’s got several golden caskets full of them – she showed me so.” The old man hissed at this news, aghast. “My beloved daughter, you cannot take such gifts from that woman ever again! The people say she is a witch, and she keeps a fearsome, slavering dragon as her pet and guardian that she feeds on the blood of poor wretches she captures in the woods. In return for human flesh, the dragon brings her gold and jewels and powerful artifacts of dark magic. Those jewels are tainted with innocent blood, and no pious soul should wear them.”
Spidala, chastened but by no means convinced to remove the beautiful jewels, looks out the window to hide a blush and to give her a distraction. She finds the perfect one in the oncoming form of the strapping young Lacplesis, riding up to the gates. “Daddy, a visitor approaches!” Aizkraukle could see from how the young man was dressed and armed that he was important enough to require a formal greeting, so he headed down to meet this strange knight and take his measure. From her window on high, Spidala watched all of this with great interest.
Lacplesis greeted the lord of the castle courteously and explained that he was on his way to Burtnieks’ Castle and kindly requested lodging for the night. The older man was familiar with the reputation of the Lielvarde family and knew them to be respected and honorable, so he happily offered the Bearslayer a place beneath his roof as an honored guest. Together, they entered the castle as a groom saw to Bearslayer’s horse.
Spidala saw them coming and rushed down the stairs to meet them. Lacplesis felt his breath catch in his throat as she appeared before them. He had never in his life seen someone so beautiful. Her eyes were huge, bold, and lit with a clear, sparkling fire that delighted him and demanded that he get to know her better. “Welcome, you brave knight and future hero!” For the first time in his life, Lacplesis found himself at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged, so he shut it again helplessly. A small smile played on her delicate lips as she swayed over to the stunned young man and held his gaze with her own. Her movements were smooth and sensual, as lithe as a serpent’s grace. He just stared dumbfounded until her father sent her to go and begin preparations for a feast in the junior hero’s honor.
As she left, Lacplesis was finally able to pick his jaw up off the floor and gather his wits about himself again. He remembered his father’s counsel, and figured that she was exactly the sort of thing that he had been warned about. Lacplesis resolved to be prepared for her beauty next time, and to keep a clear head on his shoulders. Beauty that burned so brightly could scorch him if he weren’t careful. At the feast that night, Spidala threw many smoldering, intriguing looks his way, but he kept himself carefully neutral, armed and armored in courtly courtesy.
The night grew late, and some time before midnight, Spidala announced that she was heading to bed for the night. “You are a stranger here, handsome knight. If you like, I’d be happy to show you to your room on the way to my own.” Her eyes held sultry hints of all kinds of interesting things, and Lacplesis accepted her offer of guidance and no more, retiring to the room set aside for him with every intention to sleep there alone. “Sweet dreams, hero. You will sleep in godlike comfort this night.”
The Bearslayer gazed in wonder around the sumptuous room. The bed was as soft as fresh driven snow, decked in costly purple covers and crisp, milk-white sheets, trimmed with blood-red ribbons. A gentle breeze wafted through the room, bearing on it faint but utterly pleasant and relaxing scents from outside. The combination was intoxicating, and he turned to thank his host and was bewitched by the haunting beauty of Spidala. Forgetting all of his father’s warnings, he reached out to take this lush maiden in his arms. A shadow flickered through the air, and she was gone, vanished into thin air. “What the fuck?”
For a man born with bear ears and delivered by the gods themselves, Lacplesis is charmingly naive about the supernatural. He had no idea what had just happened, but he did know that his dick was too disappointed to sleep just yet. He threw open the shutters and stared out over the moonlit landscape below a sky filled with stars, so he was in the right place to catch more flickering shadows dimming the bright white light of the moon. He watched as deep pools of inky darkness sailed across the moon and towards the forest. Bearslayer’s instincts hummed; something was very wrong, and he wasn’t going to leave until he got to the bottom of it.
When the golden light of morning washed over the castle again, Lacplesis rose and went down to breakfast. He told Aizkraukle that he had so enjoyed his slumber here that he would love to stay a few more days and really get to know the place. The older lord rather liked the young man and enjoyed having him in his hall, so he readily agreed to this simple request. That night, Spidala again announced that she was headed to bed and wished them all good night, this time without an offer to lead Lacplesis to his room since, she said, he now knew the halls well enough to make his own way. This was true, as he soon proved.
As soon as Spidala had left the door, Lacplesis rose and made his own goodnights, and made his way to his room. Almost as soon as he’d closed the door however, he headed back out and slipped silently out of the castle to hide. He found a good spot where he could watch the entire courtyard and make note of anyone who might come in or out of the castle gates. He settled down to wait.
As midnight approached, Lacplesis saw Spidala coming his way. Gone were her bright clothing and flashing jewels, replaced with dark black and firm, quiet shoes. Her hair flowed free and loose behind her (which I presume is a metaphor) and she held a long, straight length of carved wood in one hand – a magic staff. It had to be. A huge, twisted log lay at one end of the courtyard, and Spidala climbed atop it. Speaking rolling sounds in a language Lacplesis didn’t know, she struck the log three times with her staff. In response, it shuddered and rose into the sky, bearing Spidala aloft. Oh shit, she’s a witch like her godmother.
Lacplesis watched her go from his hidey hole. His soul burned to race after her and see what dark act was bringing her out of the castle on foul magics, to find the other witches she was surely meeting with, and to put an end to all of this. He was sure that she was meeting with the Devil (who might or might not be Velnias from the Gods and Monsters of Episode 59 – I’ll refer to this creature as the Devil since that’s the word all of the translations I have found use). With an effort, he restrained himself. Charging in blind was a good way to get himself killed. After watching in vain for her return for some time, he headed back to his room to get some sleep and prepare for the next night.
In the morning, Lacplesis saw the log back in its former place as if it had never moved. He went to investigate. The log was old but sturdy, and massive. It’s heart had been rotted out by time, but most of the tree remained intact, leaving a hollow just big enough for him to slip into and hide. Bearslayer smiled. He had a plan. Or at least a scheme.
That night, as before, Spidala announced her intention to head to bed, and Lacplesis soon followed her to his own chamber to arm himself before slipping silently downstairs. This time, he went straight to the old log and climbed inside, making as sure as he could that he wouldn’t be spotted by a casual observer (such as a potentially deadly witch intent on her spellwork). As before, right around midnight, Spidala snuck down and took the log into the air on her magic, but this time she carried a passenger with her on its trek into the deep, dark heart of the deadly forest.
It is said that, at the dawn of time, Perkons had called the birds and the beasts of the earth together to dig out the course of the mighty Daugava River. One and all, they gnawed and scratched and pecked the river bed out of the soil. All, that is, except for the vainglorious peacock alone. The bird sat and watched as everyone else labored, catching the eye of the Devil as he wandered by. “Where is everyone else, peacock?” “They are busy digging in the name of Perkons.” “So then why aren’t you?” “I simply couldn’t bear to get my gorgeous yellow feet all dirty!” I’m not really clear on how we make the jump to this next point, but apparently the Devil either tricks, forces, or convinces the peacock to help him dig a massive chasm in the bed of the river (leaving the bird’s feet dull and dirty looking), causing the river to immediately pour into the pit. The sudden draining of the river in a torrential and ear-shattering roar of water terrified all of the assembled creatures, taking from them the ability to speak and leaving them only with voices to screech as they fled in terror.
High in the heavens, Perkons heard this sudden commotion and was angry with the Devil’s little joke and cast down thunderbolts to block the water from pouring into the deep pit by blocking it off on all sides with a steep new hill (though leaving the deep pit open to the sky). The place soon became known as the Devil’s Pit, and travelers avoided the place, especially at night, since foul spirits are said to haunt the area.
As you’ve likely guessed, it was to the Devil’s Pit that Spidala’s spell-driven log carried her and the hidden Lacplesis that night. The huge log soared through the starlit sky to join other witches on their way to the pit, escorted by the dark bulk of wicked dragons, breathing fire into the air in massive gouts of writhing flame. Lacplesis knew that if any of them got so much as a hint that he had stowed away to their gathering, they would smash him out of the sky and leave his lifeless body to tumble to the earth far below.
The assembled coven circled the pit as they descended, landing at the crest of the hill around the ragged hole. Each planted her magical staff in the earth, leaving a dozen of them quivering in the dirt as they descended into the pit itself. Once the night was quiet, Lacplesis climbed out of his hidey hole and crept after them into the blackness of the earth’s bowels. No light found its way inside that dreadful place, leaving the space around him in a darkness so deep it was almost a living thing. Bats swooped and screeched past him, unseen in the blackness. At last, after an unknown time of groping blindly through rough stone passages, the Bearslayer saw a faint light shining up ahead.
As he neared the light, he could see that the passage opened up into an enormous vaulted room beneath the earth. It was filled with…things. Things of skulls and bones, of teeth and fur and claw, with wicked teeth and deadly antlers, far too many for him to take stock of or be able to recognize them all. At the center stood a stone hearth with a sullen fire burning (which was the source of the only light). Cauldrons sat bubbling on the fire, surrounded by great piles of scattered ladles, wooden bowls, clay pots, wicker baskets, mortars, urns, hammers, pitchforks, rakes, cart wheels, whetstones, and scorched brooms (basically, all kinds of symbols of common laborers and especially of the work of common women). A shelf held stacks of vile books of foul magics, and another held glass jars of dried herbs and brewed potions.
All at once, the snakes and toads and cats and wolves and owls and other, less recognizable nightmares raised their voices in a terrifying cacophony. At this sound, an ancient crone, bent and withered with age and wickedness, hobbled into the chamber. She raised her head and called out to the room, seemingly empty of all human life. “What ill wind has summoned these dark spirits? Who dares to enter this accursed place, though they know that death lurks in the depths?” At her words, all of the creatures fell silent, allowing her voice to ring clearly through the sudden void.
The hag seized a ladle and thrust it into the cauldron. “Supper time, dearies. The meat has simmered long enough. Time to eat.” Thrice she beat upon the heavy iron of the cauldron’s side, and the dull clangs summoned the twelve witches who had flown in (with Lacplesis secretly in tow). The stew in the cauldron was ladled out to them, along with the meat of a suckling baby pig. On the far side, he could see a door leading to another room, much smaller and empty except for a huge, bloody chopping block. The walls, floor, and even the ceiling of this room had been dyed a foul, bloody red from the lifesblood of countless creatures over untold years. Beyond, Lacplesis could see another door leading still deeper in, but he couldn’t see what lay beyond. Each of the witches took their bowls and filed into this deeper chamber, lost from sight. Naturally, Lacplesis followed after them.
The door led to another, brighter chamber lined with chairs and tables. The walls were a strange, pale color, as were the pair of matched stoves at one side. One of the oddly hued stoves held glowing coals, and the other pure white beans. The witches were scattered throughout the room at the various tables, eating in absolute silence. So far, these terrifying witches have done nothing except call everyone in for supper. Other than the strange menagerie, the Devil’s Pit isn’t really living up to its name just yet.
Yet another door was set in the far wall of the room, with another large room of high, vaulted ceilings visible beyond. This room glowed with a strange golden color and was filled with twelve beds. As he watched, the assembled witches finished eating, tidied up, and cleared their dishes. The eldest crone spoke again. “Come into the kitchen everyone, and my spells will grant you sharpened vision. Your suitors will soon be brought to this place, so all of the brides should prepare themselves.”
Lacplesis hid in a corner of the kitchen and watched as the old hag gave each of the witches a glow up, brushing their eyes with a pot of powder. Afterwards, each woman’s eyes glowed with a mystic light from the ensorceled powder. Lacplesis searched among the gathered women for Spidala, but he couldn’t make her out from all of the other identically dressed women. Once they were all made up, the crone left the pot with the remainder of the powder sitting there as they went…somewhere. The story doesn’t really say. He had enough space to grab the magic powder and apply some to his own eyes, granting them the power to see through illusions and veils.
He turned to look at the scraps of the witchy meal and, with his newly unshackled eyes, he saw the true form of their gruesome feast. It was not piglets that had been their meat, but human children. He could see the torn, gnawed limbs of a dozen children tossed in a heap in the kitchen. What he had taken as sausage was in fact living snakes boiled alive and still squirming in agony in their own gore. The room with the chopping block, which he had taken to be dyed with blood he now saw was actually made of solid copper, as were the chopping block and the axe, though the Bearslayer could think of no reasons for this to be the case. The strangely pale room was made of solid silver, even the tables, chairs, and lamps. What he had taken to be stoves were instead revealed to be great silver chests, one brimming over with gold and jewels, and the other with flawless pearls.
He peered now through the final door and saw that the golden room was, naturally, made entirely of solid gold. The ceiling glittered with swirling golden veins, and the beds and pillars dotting the space were all made of pure, solid gold. The witches now gathered in the silver room, and each dropped her robe to reveal herself entirely naked beneath except for a pair of golden shoes exactly identical to the ones he had noted on Spidala as she crept out of the castle.
The old crone went to a cupboard and drew forth from it bejewelled necklaces to hang around slender necks, shining golden bracelets to encircle lithe arms, and strings of pearls to thread through their hair. As she did so, Lacplesis finally spotted Spidala and he realized why it had been so difficult to spot her initially – other than the elder hag, each of the witches was young and intoxicatingly beautiful with a face that promised wicked games, and a body that backed that promise up. He thought that each possessed a rare, devilish beauty.
Thus dressed in nothing but riches, they took their robes in hand and went to the copper chamber. Spidala approached the copper cutting block and took the axe in her hand. A log was placed on the block, and Spidala struck it with the copper axe, hissing words in a strange voice as she swung: “Today I am first to strike this block square and true, but I will not admit it in the light of day.” From the crack in the log, the snarling, twisted form of a demon clawed its way out. It was dressed in finery befitting a lord, and Spidala took it by the hand and led it into the golden chamber of beds, still naked as a jaybird. The two chose a bed and got down to fucking. Meanwhile, each of the other beautiful young witches was doing the same, one by one, and each heading to the bedroom with a demon dressed in a black velvet coat, a tricorn hat, and boots shined until you could almost see yourself in them. The horns curling out from behind their ears spoiled the effect just a bit.
Soon, only the old crone was left in the copper room. “Tonight, I am last to strike this block square and true, but I will not admit it in the light of day.” As the axe struck home one last time, the Devil himself crawled howling out of the log, wearing a hat made out of human fingernails for both ‘ick’ and ‘what’ factor. Like, I could understand a hat made from a skull or something metal like that, but fingernails? That’s just weird dude. He smiled at his greatest witch. “Has all been made ready?” “All is prepared, my Lord.”
The Devil’s smile widened, and he turned and struck the log himself. Savage heat blasted out of the room like a furnace as flames erupted from his blow, though neither he nor the witch reacted to the fire. When the conflagration died away, the log had been replaced with a golden carriage and the axe had transformed into a fierce dragon, harnessed to it. The witch and the Devil mounted the carriage and rode the, like, twenty feet to the room with the beds. What can I say, the Devil is a dramatic bastard. The dragon lay down on the floor, snoring smoke and flame.
The young witches were summoned from their demonic lovers by the entrance and rose to gather around their Dark Lord in all their naked glory. They rushed to the kitchen to seize pitchforks, then heated the tines white-hot in the dragon’s flame. They then circled around the carriage, weapons roasting the air by the door. The old witch smote her staff on the ground and cried “Come forth!” A hole was then ripped in one of the walls, vomiting a horde of hairy, hideous demons dragging a prisoner, deathly pale and unhealthy looking. Lacplesis knew him – he was Kangars, a famous holy man and hermit, who lived alone in the hills. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he watched this horrid procession.
The Devil strode towards the helpless holy man. “Your end is nigh, sinner! Your wickedness has caught up with you, and now you face your end, ripped and mangled by the slavering jaws of a dragon with the encouragement of red-hot metal to speed you on your way! Meet thy doom!” Kangars, probably pissing himself in totally rational terror, dropped to his knees and begged for his life. “Let me live just a little longer, oh great Dark Lord, and I swear I will serve your will in whatever way you ask.” The Devil considered the cowering man. “Normally, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself holy man, but I have a situation.” Much like the famous song The Devil Went Down to Georgia, the Devil was in a bind ‘cause he was way behind, and he was willing to make a deal. “The faith of the people here in Perkons is strong, and keeps too many of them out of my grasp. Luckily, it just so happens that a horde of foreign invaders are on the march, seeking to force an alien faith on the people. I would love to see them fuck shit up and set up their god here – many of their priests are already mine, and I have a much richer harvest of souls where they control the world.
“I’ll tell you what, Kangars – go out and spread the news of this new faith. I’ll give you another 27 years, so long as you spread this…Christianity. Swear on the razor teeth of this dragon’s maw that you will give up your faith in Perkons and seek to undermine their gods and their heroes, and bring new priests into the fold of this new faith. Swear to be my traitor, and to burn and slaughter any who would oppose my will. Do this if you wish to live.” Kangars bowed his head in supplication and vowed to serve the Devil exactly as he had laid out. In this place, before the Devil himself, this vow was unbreakable. Kangars was now a servant of evil, body and soul.
The Devil threw back his head and laughed, then announced the night to be at an end. Trailed by the witches, he strode back to the copper room to return to the depths of hell, surrounded by the bowing forms of the old crone and the once-more black clad witches.
Lacplesis had seen enough. He snuck out of his hiding place and began to make his careful way back out of the Devil’s Pit. He pocketed a document that he found on his way out to serve as proof of all that he had seen this night. He breathed a little easier when he finally stood under starlight again and felt the cool wind of the open air on his face. He knew he couldn’t tarry though, and quickly hid himself once more inside Spidala’s log. It rose again into the air and began to fly home.
And that’s when the trap sprung. The old crone raised her voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “We have an intruder in our midst dearies – a spy! Lacplesis is here, and has watched all that has happened this night in secret. He has seen you in the golden room, naked and squealing on demonic dicks.” Spidala grew pale at these words, and the burgeoning flickers of a crush on the Bearslayer died and went cold, replaced with a hard, cruel hate. “Why did you wait until now to say something? We should have fed him to the dragon!”
The hag gave her a cutting look. “Our master chose not to interfere during the rite; you would do well not to question him. Lacplesis will be dead soon in any case. He is here, now, hiding in your log. He hopes that it will carry him safely back to the castle, but you’re going to dash that hope, along with his body. You and Sereniete take him to the great whirlpool Staburags; drop him in, log and all, and ride back with her. No mortal can escape the inexorable pull of that dread whirlpool. Tonight, Lacplesis dies.”
And that’s where we’re going to leave poor Lacplesis (which, you might remember from Episode 59, is more or less where we first came in). We’ll be coming back to this epic tale at some point in the future, where we’ll see Lacplesis’ meeting with the nymph who saved his life and continue on in his incredible adventure, For now though, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is the lietuvens (lietonis).
We’ve come across a number of variations on the night hag, a creature conjured up by the very real phenomenon of sleep paralysis (most recently in Episode 64), but the Latvian lietuvens is a unique flavor. This particular tortured, murderous spirit is the soul of a murder victim, especially a child, though it can also arise from the natural if untimely death of an unbaptized child (which is definitely a result of the influence of Christianization). Most often, the lietuvens is the spirit of someone who was strangled, drowned, or hanged and whose body has been left to rot unburied and forgotten. It is cursed to haunt the earth and steal the breath of living souls to make up for the breaths it was supposed to have taken in life, bound to torture and murder for however many years the soul should have been alive if it had not died suddenly and violently.
The wretched creature is usually described as a small, hunched child whose fleetness of foot belies its small size and unhealthy appearance. The creature is said to only strike at noon or at midnight, attacking its sleeping victims (which makes that midday nap a hell of a lot more dangerous). The lietuvens will enter its victim’s home through some small hole or crack, up to and including the keyhole. As is common for variations on the night hag, the lietuvens will crawl on its victim’s chest, preventing it from moving if it awakens from the nightmares that it sends out. During an attack, the creature will slowly strangle its victim, weakening it over time and leaving the poor human exhausted and short of breath, often leaving off the attack just as the mortal victim is on the verge of death. Inevitably, this will eventually result in the human’s death during one attack or another if something isn’t done.
Unusually, the lietuvens is said to be able to attack domestic animals along with their human owners (though not all sources agree on this aspect). It is however limited to attacking only those humans and animals who were born during the hours of darkness, possessing no power over anyone born in daylight. Fortunately, there are a number of reported ways to free yourself from the curse of a lietuvens, should you find yourself under attack. The most popular and most powerful is known as the lietuvens’ cross, which comes in two varieties: a single and a double. The single is your basic five-sided star, or pentagram, and the double is a pair of pentagrams overlaid on each other. Both are drawn in a single, unbroken line. Both are signs of protection against creatures of darkness and are symbols of the morning star. The double, also known as an auseklis, is the more powerful of the two and is the more commonly used defense. It’s not uncommon to see them carved on doors, thresholds, and other entrance points as a defence against the lietuvens and other harmful spirits. Drawn properly, such a rune will protect a home from invasion by a lietuvens and free its victim from the spirit’s influence. Drawn improperly, it will do absolutely nothing.
Another option for ridding yourself of this spiritual parasite is to seal the entry point the lietuvens is using. They are said to always enter and leave by the same crack, so filling the entry point will do the trick, though there are some specific requirements to get the job done. The hole must be sealed with a piece of mottled wood, cut with the left hand and brought into the house by the thick end. All of this must be done in the middle of the night, while the lietuvens is inside its victim’s home. If done properly, the lietuvens will shift into the form of a beautiful woman and remain in the house until a door or window is opened, at which point it flees but is powerless to return to that home again (having left a different way than it entered, though I don’t really know why that matters). I have to suspect that people have used this as an excuse to explain away a cheating spouse.
The third way to end the attack of a lietuvens is to seek out its unburied mortal body (which would basically be an episode of the show Supernatural). The bones, once found, must be buried in a cemetery with full ritual and honors to appease the restless spirit. If you’ve found the right body, a thunderstorm will rise during the burial, culminating in a lightning strike just as the lost soul is carried away into the afterlife. The final and simplest way is to move your left pinky toe or big toe while the lietuvens is actively sitting on your chest. It’s power will try to paralyze you, but if you can move the toes of your left foot, you will frighten the monster and drive it away for the night (though it will do nothing to prevent it from returning the next night, so you’ll need to use one of the other three options to be rid of it for good).
Animals are usually protected from attack by a lietuvens’ cross, as it is the simplest and most effective solution. You can also tie a knife, comb, or scythe to the afflicted creature’s back in the night, warding off the lietuvens. In this situation, the blade has the power to injure the shade, scaring it away. You might also be able to catch it in the act, hiding behind the animal’s left ear during the attack. If so, you should strike the spirit with a rowan stick to drive it off for good. So if you’re having nightmares of evil children and coffee just isn’t waking you up like it used to, you might want to be on the lookout for a lietuvens (and maybe learn how to draw a proper double pentacle).
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff, whom you can find on fiverr.com.
Next time, we’re off to ancient Greece for one of my personal favorite stories (and a podcast milestone). You’ll learn about the geography of hell, about the care and keeping of magical creatures, and about the power of song. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll engage in some light midnight kidnapping. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.