Episode 156 – Seven Wishes – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 110 Show Notes

Source: Swedish Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’re headed north to Sweden for some unlikely child heroes. You’ll learn that you really should be careful what you wish for when magic is involved, that sometimes magic is just hard work, and that you should never trust a bicycle. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a young girl will set out into the wild to rescue her kidnapped brother. 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 156, “Seven Wishes”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week’s story comes from Great Swedish Fairy Tales, collected by Elsa Olenius and translated by Holger Lundbergh, though the story itself was written by Alfred Smedberg based on the stories he heard in his native Sweden as a child. Once upon a time there was a boy named Olle Niklasson. The story makes it clear that he is a very odd-looking child, claiming that if you had seen him standing by his bundle of firewood he’d collected from the forest and scratching his bristly, unkempt hair, you’d laugh in his face. His lumpy, lumpy face with a nose like a potato and cheeks like two bulging mushrooms squished together. It apparently wasn’t enough that poor Olle was ugly, he was also so lazy that, if he tripped and fell, he could barely be bothered to make the effort to stand back up again. He was also a foolish lout, unable to tell the difference between a squirrel and a crow even if it took wing and flew away. Things are definitely not coming up Milhouse.
On this particular day, as on many days, Olle was ambling awkwardly through the forest, mouth hanging wide open and arms swinging wildly akimbo. He moved so crudely that anyone could have been forgiven for thinking he was a monkey instead of a boy. Even the magpies laughed at him (but then again, everyone knows that magpies are assholes). He had amassed a small bundle of firewood by gathering loose sticks, as I mentioned, but now he was wondering just how in the hell he was supposed to pick it up and carry it home. I want to stress that Olle was, as noted, unbelievably lazy and so he hadn’t collected many sticks and all of them were quite small. A seven year old could have easily skipped home with this bundle, but 13 year old Olle (who was as strong as a bear for all that he thought himself as weak as a little lamb) was convinced that his poor back could never bear the weight.
As he was fidgeting and procrastinating, the young man noticed something slithering through the grass. It was a deadly viper (the story isn’t clear on the type of snake except that it is very definitely venomous) but it wasn’t paying any attention at all to the child. Instead, it had coiled up and was staring intently at some small creature it intended to devour. Following its gaze, Olle spied a cute little frog hopping obliviously towards the waiting serpent. Olle couldn’t begin to understand why the frog was heading straight for death’s waiting jaws, but we’re to understand that the slithery fiend had hypnotized the small amphibian with its gaze.
Olle didn’t much care to watch the poor little frog get eaten but what to do about it? He glanced at the small pile of sticks sitting right next to him. He could probably grab one and drive off the snake but that sounded like an awful lot of work. He sighed deeply and just leaned closer to the frog. From up close, he could see that the poor thing was shivering in terror but unable to stop hopping slowly towards its doom. Now and then it even squeaked quietly through the awful spell cast by the viper. Olle sighed in exasperation that he was being forced to watch that absurd little frog commit froggy suicide. “Look you silly git! Just hop away? Go in literally any direction except that one! Can’t you see the long black snake waiting for you to get close enough to gobble up you short, fat fuck?”
That was the most words Olle had ever strung together in his 13 years and the effort exhausted him. He had to take off his hat and wipe the sweat of that tremendous speech off his forehead. And it was a complete waste since the frog didn’t stop its slow funeral march. Er, hop. Still shivering in terror, the frog hopped closer and closer until there was just one last hop between it and the viper’s waiting maw. Olle lost his temper that he had been forced to spend so much effort on his little speech to no avail. He grabbed one of those sticks close at hand. “Hey you fat frog! Are you going to make me do everything? Lazy bastard.” And he poked the frog with his stick, knocking it away from the viper and into some tall grass, hidden from the snake’s eyes.
Now that the hypnotic gaze was broken, the little frog hopped up onto the pile of sticks to stare soulfully at its savior as though trying to convey its thanks. Olle wasn’t picking up what the froggo was putting down. He sighed with deep exasperation. “What, I gotta lift you now too? That firewood was plenty heavy already without your fat ass on top of it.” The frog just kept sitting and staring. Now it was Olle’s turn to be spellbound by a creature’s gaze. He locked eyes with the frog, both of their mouths agape as the viper slithered away, disappointed.
The spell was broken by a soft tinkling laugh from the frog, as clear as silver. It jumped down from the sticks but what landed in the grass wasn’t a frog but a beautiful fairy girl. She had rosy cheeks, eyes the color of a noonday sky, and curly hair like spun gold. It was an astonishing sight, but all Olle could think to say in response was ‘Oh.’ “Oh yourself. I bet you’re wondering why I was a frog a moment ago. Well, I made a huge mistake yesterday – I laughed at a little frog that was hopping its slow, terrified way towards a snake’s gaping jaws. I didn’t realize that snakes had hypnotic eyes like that to draw their prey towards them. It was very cruel and wicked of me and so I was punished by becoming what I had mocked for 24 hours. That was yesterday at noon, so I had only ten minutes left in my sentence when that viper showed up and charmed me too. If you hadn’t come along, I’d be dead for sure. You’re my hero!” “Oh,” said Olle again.
The fairy was nonplussed by this lack of response but she soldiered on. “In thanks for your good, brave deed, I will grant you a reward – seven wishes. And unlike a certain animated Genie, you can wish for whatever you want without limitation. Literally whatever you wish for will come true, but be careful because literally whatever you wish for will come true. Don’t wish carelessly or you’ll live to regret it.” That’s what we call Chekov’s warning.
Olle cocked his head at this, considering carefully. Well, as carefully as he was capable of which, as we’ve addressed, wasn’t actually all that careful. “Well, that was interesting. Seven wishes, huh? What should I wish for?” He glanced at the pile of sticks he had gathered which, I remind you, he could easily carry home. “That’s it! I wish for the firewood to run home all by itself and carry me on its back for a change.” If this were a monkey’s paw situation, there would be some clever twisting of the wish like having the sticks run back to their home in the deep woods. The fairy was playing Olle true though and so this loosely worded wish worked out exactly as he said.
As soon as he finished speaking his wish aloud, he felt himself thrown across the pile of sticks, the force of it knocking the wind out of him. I don’t know if this was a purely magical force or if the sticks grew arms and legs to carry Olle and run him home. I prefer to imagine the latter. They raced through the forest with such speed that twigs, pebbles, and moss went flying behind them. The terrified teen had to dig his hands into the pile and cling on for dear life. They flew like the wind over hill and dale, galloping around stumps and boulders. Somewhere along the way, he lost his hat and his wooden shoes. His face was whipped by bushes and branches as they raced, and poor Olle bellowed like a cow from the pain.
It wasn’t a terribly comfortable ride but, in no time flat, the bundle of sticks reached the small cottage where Olle lived. They tore through the gate and into the yard before screeching to an abrupt halt right at the house’s threshold. Surprised by the sudden stop, Olle was tossed off and rolled across the floor to crash into the wall. He sat up rubbing the lump that was already forming on his head. The commotion summoned Olle’s mother, who thought the family pig had escaped the croft and was rampaging through the house in search of snacks. She came rushing out of the bedroom with a broom in hand to corral the pig. She stopped when she saw her son, her expression puzzled. Olle could offer no explanation except ‘Oh.’ He was so shaken by his rough ride that he had plumb forgot all about the snake and the frog slash fairy.
His mother was used to these kinds of shenanigans from her son, so she just helped him up, brushed him off, and gave him a bag of almond candy. Olle was easily distracted by sweets; whenever he got ahold of something tasty to eat, he couldn’t do anything but sit and eat until he had gobbled it all up. And that’s what he did now – he sat down on the steps and ate all the almond candy up in a wink. His wish had worked out more or less the way he’d meant though it had certainly hurt more than he’d expected but he’d kind of forgotten about the wishes as well. All too soon, the candy was gone. He sighed, staring at the empty bag. “I wish I had a pail full of this candy and could eat as much of it as I wanted.”
And with no muss and no fuss, a whole pail full of candy was dumped in his lap in response to this wish. With the gleeful gluttony of a much younger child, Olle grabbed almond candy by the fistful and shoved it in his mouth. You know those cartoon dust clouds where all you see are way too many random limbs poking out at odd angles? He basically looked like that. He hunched over the pail chewing and chewing for a full fifteen minutes. At last, the entire bucket was devoured, leaving Olle as fat and round as a sausage. I’m pretty sure that only happens in cartoons, but our erstwhile protagonist is already acting pretty cartoonish so maybe it’s not that far fetched. Plus magic I guess?
It wasn’t until all the candy was eaten that the kid realized just how shitty he was feeling. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone who was even a little more with it than Olle was. Eating a literal bucket of candy in fifteen minutes is enough to give anyone a massive stomach ache. Holding his tummy and wailing in pain, the teen crawled into bed like a drunk. His squealing was louder than the family pig could ever have hoped to be and, as he’d hoped, it soon drew his mother. Worried, especially since her son couldn’t seem to explain what had happened to him, she sent for the doctor.
After a very short examination, he decided that Olle had clearly eaten something that didn’t agree with him and prescribed digestive bitters. They are supposed to help with heartburn, cramping, and indigestion by making your body release more stomach acid. It also apparently makes you vomit (at least according to the events of the story) because he spent the next hour puking all of that almond candy back up. Once he was done purging, he was finally able to explain to the doctor what had made him feel so bad. This doctor had a very unorthodox approach to medicine, even for the time period in question. Hearing that Olle had wished for a bucket of almond candy and then ate it all in one sitting, he took up a hazel stick and beat the everloving shit out of the kid. So much for the Hippocratic Oath.
The experience was enough to keep the teenager on the straight and narrow for a whole week. That was when his mother thought him recovered enough for chores and sent him out into the garden to weed the carrots. Olle dragged his feet out towards the carrot patch reluctantly but, instead of doing any work at all, he just lay down in the dirt to rest up. The best shade in the garden lay under the branches of a great cherry tree that grew in the middle of the garden. This time of year, the tree was heavy with the biggest, sweetest, reddest cherries you ever saw in your life. Unfortunately for Olle, the lowest branches of the tree were still very high up, higher than he could possibly reach without climbing the tree. Someone with more sense and less ennui would have found a ladder to climb up and pick some of the fruit to munch on while lazing about, but not our lazy, lazy boy. No, he just stared up longingly at the fruit so far out of his reach, jealous of the crows and magpies that winged onto the branches so easily. Their happy cawing as they plucked big, ripe cherries and flew away made him unreasonably angry. How dare they enjoy something that he wanted but couldn’t have! Olle licked his cherry-less lips and sighed deeply. “I wish I was sitting right at the top of that tree.”
The teen seems to have forgotten that he still has five wishes left, but the fairy certainly hadn’t. In a twinkling, Olle found himself leaving the earth behind in a rush and sailing up towards the top of the tree. It was almost like a great wind was bearing him aloft, except that there wasn’t actually any wind. The magical, invisible force carried him all the way to the very tippy top of the cherry tree and deposited him there, hanging from the highest branches. Oops.
It was quite the precarious predicament, but Olle wasn’t concerned about the danger. He was far too occupied with all of the succulent cherries that were suddenly within reach. Squealing with delight, he began picking and eating every piece of fruit he could get his hands on. Things might have gone alright (though I don’t think Olle had a plan for getting back down except for wasting another wish) if he hadn’t been so lazy that he left the gate open behind him. With nothing preventing it, the family pig sauntered into the realm of forbidden delights AKA the garden. It rooted up a few vegetables to munch on and then wandered over to the cherry tree to scratch its back.
This was a very large pig and it really went to town with the back scratching. Up at the top of that same tree, Olle was tossed back and forth like a leaf in a storm. He hadn’t been holding on so much as dangling, so when the tree shook violently thanks to the pig, Olle was launched out to tumble back to earth ass over teakettle. Branches broke beneath him as he fell, painfully slowing his descent. When he landed on the pig’s back, it’s harder to say who was more surprised or who squealed the loudest. On the plus side, the family never had to worry about the pig wandering into the garden again, gate or no gate. For his part, Olle spent the next week covered in long red scratches on his hands and face along with a busted nose and a black eye.
You’d think that the kid might have learned something from his string of careless wishes and their series of painful complications, but no. If there’s one thing Olle is good at, it’s not learning anything. As soon as his scrapes and bruises stopped hurting, he pretty much forgot all about them. Thus it was that, just a few weeks later, he ended up in his next risky adventure.
On that particular day, Olle was headed into the village. He rarely bothered to walk so very far because he was, as I keep reiterating, so very lazy. The story doesn’t say why he was making the effort today, but he was apparently muttering and complaining to himself, dragging his feet as he went. A cloud of dust went by as a person on a bicycle went pedaling by much faster than Olle was (and not just because he was moving as slow as humanly possible in protest at having to walk at all). Olle sighed. “I wish I could sit on a bicycle like that and ride all over the countryside.”
As these things go, this seems like a more reasonable and harmless wish. Not that Olle remembered that he still had wishes to use. He was thus quite surprised to find himself astride a bicycle the very next instant, racing down the country road towards the village. He wasn’t entirely sure where this bicycle had come from or how he had come to be riding it (see, he really doesn’t remember the whole wish thing), but he wasn’t one to pass up an easy opportunity. Pedaling for all he was worth, he raced along at breakneck pace. It’s worth noting that Olle had never ridden a bicycle before, so this was very much a trial by fire. It’s honestly impressive that he managed to keep it upright and moving forward without wiping out entirely, even if he was screaming in terror at the top of his lungs the whole time. Of course, part of his wish was to ride it all over the countryside, so he might literally have magic supporting him right now.
He had exactly as much control over the contraption as you’d expect, so he wandered all over the road, nearly colliding with passersby and scaring the bejeezus out of cows and people alike. If he had managed to keep to the roads, he might have been okay but, having basically no idea what he was doing, Olle couldn’t keep the mischievous machine from wandering out into the countryside in a bid for freedom. Again, the poorly worded wish is probably at fault. The young man tried to stop pedaling, but it didn’t work. Now he knew that it was definitely the wish making this happen. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his feet from pedaling and he was carried over the bumpiest parts of the country, teeth rattling in his jaw. People stuck their heads out of their homes to see what was making that godawful racket and watched Olle speeding by, bouncing over hills and meadows, through cornfields and gardens, over fences and ditches and stone walls. “Help me! Someone get me off this crazy thing!”
The villagers would have liked nothing better than to have stopped Olle’s madcap dash across their fields and meadows, destroying their crops and scattering their livestock. They muttered angrily as he whizzed by, scattering piglets to squeal into the forest, spooking horses that leapt their fences and disappeared over the horizon, and breaking up flocks of chickens who flew up to the roof to cackle in anger. Seeing that Olle apparently had no concern for the damage he was doing (they had no way of knowing that he literally couldn’t stop thanks to magic), the villagers gathered in large numbers armed with sticks and farm tools to make Olle stop. By force.
The town elders led the way as the farmers marched out towards Olle and his speeding bike with violence on their minds. The bicycle lunged towards them like a living, angry thing, bucking like a furious bull to try and scatter them. It knocked the hat off the sexton, skinned the parish clerk’s legs, and whacked the richest farmer in the area in the stomach, leaving him gasping for air like a fish. Olle was so terrified the whole time that he nearly fainted. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He should have, but he didn’t. Still, he did know that the more he hurt the villagers trying to stop him, the angrier they were going to be when they finally succeeded. “Oh, I wish this wretched thing would break into a hundred pieces!”
Maybe not the most elegant solution, but an effective one nonetheless. The bike instantly swerved towards a nearby stone wall and smashed into it at top speed. As he had wished, the machine shattered into exactly 100 pieces. And Olle himself? He somersaulted over the handlebars, flew over the wall, and landed in a clump of stinging nettles on the other side. He squealed at the shock and discomfort, which was a bad idea. It let the villagers, whom he had momentarily lost after busting through the middle of them, know exactly where he had ended up. His bike was ruined, which meant he couldn’t escape as they vented their anger on the young man. He had ruined their crops, ravaged their fields, and killed three pigs and four chickens in his mad dash through the village.
The knot of villagers marched up towards the nettle patch, fully prepared to beat the everloving shit out of Olle for his many, many offenses. When they saw him huddled in terror, exhausted and helpless, as he tried to extricate himself from the nettles, they took pity on him. It was clear to them that he hadn’t meant to do any of it, he had simply gotten in way over his head. Lowering their weapons, they left Olle unbloodied and went back home. “Poor lad, and no wonder. He’s so stupid that he had no idea what he’s doing or the harm he caused. No surprise given that he never learned to read.”
Olle limped all the way home, aching from the crash and burning from the sting of the nettles. It was a long, slow walk so he had a lot of time to think about what the villagers had said. “Am I really that stupid? And is it all because I can’t read? That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but maybe if I could read, I would be smarter and then it would make sense.” He sighed. “I wish I could read.”
Finally, Olle had made a truly sensible wish. We learn here that, apparently and for no explicable reason, the fairy’s magic was such that whenever the boy made a foolish wish, it came true immediately. When he made a sensible wish instead, it came to him gradually and in a way that seemed less like magic and more like hard work. Olle didn’t just suddenly have the knowledge of how to read appear in his head like the bicycle had appeared under his ass. No, he just got a burning desire to learn how to read on his own. Day and night, the young man spent every spare moment struggling over books and learning how to read them.
He did have magic supporting him, so he learned fairly quickly for someone who was entirely self-taught. He was soon devouring any book he could get his hands on. In doing so, he learned a great deal and broadened his understanding of the world. He did indeed begin to see how foolish and lazy he had been for his young life. And now that he knew better, he resolved to do better. He began to help his mother with chores without being asked and he began to use his free time to develop hobbies and enrich his life. He became a much more well-rounded person than the one who mere months ago had been too lazy to get up if he fell down and was angry at birds for eating cherries.
One day, the new and improved Olle was walking through the forest when he found the little fairy again (who we find out may have actually been none other than the fairy queen herself). He recognized her instantly and suddenly remembered all about his adventure with the snake and the frog. Hey, growth is a process and besides, he hadn’t really had any reason to think about her or her wishes for some time now. The fairy looked up at the passing human. “Good day, dear Olle. You wasted five of your wishes very foolishly, but your sixth wish was wise indeed. You only have one left, so think carefully about how you want to spend it. After this, I won’t be able to help you.”
Old Olle would have just said the first thing that popped into his little head and damn the consequences, but new and improved Olle had learned patience. He stopped and pondered this question for quite a while. His newfound love of reading and his new determination to help his mother and those around him had changed his perspective completely and so he wanted to make sure he didn’t make another silly, wasteful wish. Finally, he nodded to himself. “I have it. I wish to be a good, useful person.”
The fairy smiled at Olle. “That is quite a wise wish. I dare say you couldn’t have made a better one. I shall grant it but, like with your last wish, it will come to you slowly and of your own efforts for anything gotten any other way isn’t worth much at all. Goodby, Olle, and good luck in life.” And with that, she was gone, but the fairy was as good as her word. Olle continued to improve, becoming a pillar of his little community. Through study, compassion, and hard work, he became sensible, useful, and good.
Everyone began to like this new Olle, who was no longer lazy and useless. The wiser and kinder he became, the more handsome he seemed as well. To be clear, there’s nothing magic going on here, it’s just that his personality is shining through and coloring his unchanged physical appearance in a more positive light. The story finishes by saying that only the lazy and wicked appear ugly, which is common in fairy tales but not a lesson I agree with. If life has taught me anything, it’s that beautiful people are not necessarily good, nor are good people necessarily beautiful. And the laziness bit seems a bit ableist for my taste. Still, as an avid reader myself, I overall appreciate the message of this story, even if the moral is a bit heavy-handed. And so, with Olle’s wishes spent to achieve a richer, fuller life, 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 dynamic duo are Dag and Daga.
This story also comes from Great Swedish Fairy Tales, collected by Elsa Olenius and translated by Holger Lundbergh; this one was written by Harald Ostenson and was originally collected in From Bland Tomtar Och Troll, or Among Gnomes and Trolls. When Dag and Daga’s parents died, they believed that they would never stop grieving. It’s not an uncommon way to feel when grief is fresh, especially after what I have to assume was a tragic accident of some sort, but even the worst pain does eventually become more bearable. The two were orphans now and so could depend only on each other to tend to the little cottage that was now their responsibility.
They had a lot of spunk and spirit, and so they managed. They tended the goats, milking them each morning. They went out to pick mushrooms and berries, which they boy Dag would sometimes exchange in town for some flour. His sister Daga would cook porridge for them to eat and bake bread as her mother had taught her. Dag was quite skilful with a bow and arrow for his age, and he went out into the woods as his father had taught him to bring down wild game to supplement his sister’s cooking. He would often come back with a hare or a grouse, and once or twice he even managed to bag a deer. It wasn’t an especially easy life they were now living, but they were content and they had each other. They lived like this for several years, always helping each other out in whatever way the other needed.
One day, Dag went out hunting as usual but he was exceedingly late in returning. Daga waited for him to come home at sunset for dinner, but he didn’t. She stayed up all night waiting for her brother, but she saw no sign of him. When the sun rose in the morning, she stopped waiting and went out to look for him. She knew vaguely where he had been planning to hunt the day before, so she headed out the same way that he had gone (or at least in the same general direction).
About midday, she came upon a bank of wild roses. Sticking out of it, Daga saw the feather that sat jauntily in Dag’s cap and she gave a shout of joy and concern. He must be inside the rose bush, though she couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t come home. Was he hurt? She raced forward to check on him, only he wasn’t there. His hat was, but it was hanging all by itself on a high branch. Dag had been here, but he was gone now. She was disappointed of course, but at least she knew she was on his trail now. She searched the area around the roses carefully and, a little farther on, she spied his bow and arrows sitting amongst the ever-thickening wild roses. They grew so tightly coiled there that she couldn’t even approach the area to collect them, try as she might.
Daga stopped, confused. “How in the hell did he manage to even get in there? I couldn’t make it without an axe to hack through the branches and clear a path.” She didn’t have an answer for that, but she did at least have an idea now. She hurried home to get said axe and returned to the wild roses. By the time she returned and chopped her way through to the bow and arrows, night was falling. It was too late to return home again. Daga camped right there in the clearing she had made and went to sleep.
The next morning, she woke early and returned home to prepare for the next part of her search. She packed up a bundle of food and let the goats out to graze. She wasn’t sure how long she would be gone, so this way they could look after themselves for a while. Taking up a sturdy walking stick, Daga set out for their nearest neighbors to ask for help (which is a very sensible and mature thing to do that people in these kinds of stories rarely think of). Unfortunately, they refused to help. “He’s been missing for several days already. If he’s run into mischief, it’s not like you’ll be able to do anything to help. You’re just a girl, so you won’t be of any use. You should leave him to his fate and come work for us instead. We can pay you in food and lodging, and you won’t have to put yourself in danger. If you go out looking for Dag, you’re probably going to disappear too.”
Daga was disappointed in their answer, but it didn’t affect her resolve. She already knew that it was dangerous, but there was no way in hell that she was just abandoning her brother. He needed her help and goddamnit, she was going to help or die trying. Saying goodbye to the unhelpful neighbors, she returned to the woods. Picking up Dag’s trail at the wild roses, she headed deeper into the forest. She walked between ancient trees and over towering mountains, often moving until her legs were so tired that they nearly collapsed underneath her. When that happened, she would rest a while before trudging on again. She slept on beds of moss beneath the sheltering boughs of fir trees, her dreams troubled at the fear that some wild animal would come and eat her up while she slept, but nothing ever bothered her.
That seems like incredible luck, but it wasn’t quite. See, Daga wasn’t as alone out there as she thought. If she had been watching behind her as carefully as she was searching in front of her, she might have spotted the tiny old man with the incredibly wrinkled face following her. He had been there since she had left her cottage for the last time in search of Dag. This was the tomte of their little home, a kind of guardian gnome. Have you ever seen those little lawn gnome statues with big beards and tall, pointed red hats? That’s a tomte. They are a spirit of a home, tiny and hard to spot as they work around the house in exchange for porridge with butter (exactly like the kind that Daga often made and left out for him). They are loyal and mischievous, with a strong sense of humor and shocking amounts of power. Daga had earned this tomte’s loyalty, and so it was following along to try and keep her safe. When she fell asleep on the forest floor, he kept watch beside her to drive off any wolf or wild beast. All he had to do was stare intimidatingly at the curious beast and they would decide that it was safer to seek dinner elsewhere.
Daga had been walking for hours on this particular day, many days into her search for Dag, so she sat on a moss-covered rock to rest. The trees were glistening with fresh dew (the canopy thick enough to keep it from evaporating in the sun) and the chaffinches sitting in the treetops were singing merrily. It would have been a lovely scene if Daga wasn’t so miserable about her inability to catch up to her missing brother. The longer she looked without finding him, the more afraid she was that she would never see him again.
Suddenly, she heard an entire pack of dogs start barking nearby. Daga froze, unsure what to do, when a handsome young prince walked out of the trees in a richly made hunting costume. His eyes met hers and he froze, captivated, before calling out to his attendants. “Look! I have stumbled across a beautiful forest princess. She is the loveliest creature I have ever seen and I must have her as my bride. Quickly, hurry to the castle and fetch a sedan chair to carry her back with us.”
Daga didn’t much care for the sound of that, but she also knew that she needed to tread carefully with someone so clearly rich and powerful. “My lord, I beg you to let me go. I am searching for my missing brother, who has been stolen away. I cannot be your bride for I am no princess, only the daughter of a poor hunter who died years ago.” The prince nodded but was not dissuaded by her plea. “Please come with me to my castle. As for your brother, I will have my servants find him for you. It will be much easier for them since they can split up and cover more ground. Plus, they know the area better than you.”
The sedan chair the prince had ordered arrived soon thereafter, putting an end to the discussion. Daga realized she didn’t have much choice but to agree to go to the prince’s castle, whether she wanted to or not. He certainly had the ability to force the issue if he wanted, and at least this way she had someone looking for Dag still. The servants escorted her into a beautiful room in the palace where ladies-in-waiting were, well, waiting. At the prince’s command, they changed Daga out of her dirty clothes and into a magnificent white gown. The prince himself placed a golden crown on her head and encircled her arms with golden bands.
“These gifts are yours in welcome. You may keep them even if you do not become my bride.” That’s at least a little reassuring. It had earlier sounded like the prince had just decided that this marriage was going to happen, but maybe he intends to try and woo her rather than simply trying to command her. Now attired as a proper princess, Daga was led into a large hall crowded with lords and ladies. She was seated in the place of honor beside the prince, and he was as courteous and attentive to her all night as if she had been a real princess. Maybe he doesn’t believe her profession of poverty or maybe he’s just smooth.
Things seemed to be looking up, at least until Daga was in her bedchamber that night. As she was preparing for bed, she overheard two valets gossiping. “Have you heard? The prince is sending seven of us to go out into the forest to search for some lost hunter who disappeared out there. What a drag.” “Yeah, I know. Sucks to be you. But hey, you can always just head out, camp for a few days, and then come back and say you couldn’t find him. Who’s gonna know whether you actually search or not?” The first valet laughed. “Like we could find him even if we did try. Poor bastard’s probably been grabbed by the trolls. There’s been so many of them these last few years.”
Daga’s heart dropped into her stomach at this awful conversation. Once she was sure they were gone and she was alone in her bedchamber, she gathered up all her belongings, tied them in a portable bundle, and slipped out of the castle. She was so stealthy that no one saw her leave, never mind that she was still dressed in the fancy white dress and golden crown. Daga couldn’t possibly have slept in that plush bedchamber knowing that her brother was in danger. If she didn’t head out to save him, clearly no one would. It was up to her.
And, unbeknownst to her, it was also up to the tomte. As she walked sadly under the forest canopy in the darkness, he followed along behind her as he had this whole time. The palace tomte had welcomed his traveling comrade and given him a velvet suit to match Daga’s finery, along with some fine pointed shoes. He had quite liked it but, when Daga snuck out of the castle, he went with her. Like I said, tomte’s are extremely loyal to those who have earned it.
The trees grew thicker and the night grew darker as Daga headed deeper into the forest. Up ahead, she saw two monstrous trolls lurking between the trees. Their huge round eyes shone in the darkness and their massive hands were poised to snatch up anything unlucky enough to wander close. Daga froze, terrified to try and sneak by but unwilling to return to the safety of the palace. The trolls took advantage of her fear by creeping slowly forwards, hands twitching in anticipation. All at once, they stopped, considering the scene. Then, inexplicably, they turned tail and scurried away. Daga couldn’t understand why, though she was grateful. You and I of course know that they had seen the protective tomte lurking behind her and had been cowed by the ferocity of his glower.
Once they were gone, Daga kept moving. When the sun rose in the morning, she sat down to rest. She had come a long way from the castle now, and was confident that she was hidden in the thick trees. Surely no one would find her and drag her back to the castle now. As she rested, she took off the golden crown, the golden bands, and the fine white gown. These she stashed in her bundle, changing back into her own comfortable clothes once more. They were better suited for moving through the woods anyhow.
Now properly attired, Daga set out again. She walked all day until, as it was nearing sunset, she came across a child. This little girl was so ugly that Daga couldn’t be sure whether she was a human or a troll, but she was clearly dressed like a girl. This stranger seemed friendly, or at least not overtly threatening the way the two trolls the night before had been, so she greeted her kindly. “Hey there! I’m looking for my brother, Dag. He looks a lot like me. Have you seen him? He was out hunting many days ago but he never came home, so I went out looking for him. Do you know where I can find him? Please?”
The strange little girl cocked her head quizzically. “I have indeed seen your brother, and I can tell you who took him.” She eyed Daga’s ragged clothes with a disdainful sniff. “But only if you can give me a gown fit for a princess.” Daga smiled. “Oh, but that’s easy. I actually do have a princess’ gown here in my bag!” She took the fine white gown that the prince had given her out of her bag and held it out. The strange little girl (who was, by now, clearly a troll child) was visibly surprised by this. She had meant her offer more as a taunt and an insult about the raggedness of Daga’s clothes, but trolls are magical creatures and so their word is binding. With trembling fingers, she took the dress. “The Flying Troll of Sky Mountain is the one who caught your brother,” she snapped angrily. “And if you go to Sky Mountain, then he’ll catch you too.” Clutching the white dress, the troll girl raced off into the forest.
“The Flying Troll of Sky Mountain,” said Daga aloud to herself. “That’s a very strange and intimidating name, but it doesn’t matter. If he has Dag, then I’ll just have to find a way to get to Sky Mountain.” And so she set out once more with only a slightly less vague idea of where to go. It took her seven weeks of searching before the great mountain finally towered on the horizon before her. It loomed above the trees, dark and imposing with turrets and battlements of a gloomy castle clearly visible on the summit. This then had to be Sky Mountain, home to the Flying Troll and likely prison of her brother.
It took another three days of endless walking for Daga to circle around the foot of the impossibly steep mountain in search of a way up. Alas, the whole thing was essentially a sheer cliff, and every inch of it looked impossible to climb. On the third day, she met a squat, hunchbacked dwarf. As she always did, Daga approached with a kind greeting. “Good evening, little Father. Do you know how I can get to the top of Sky Mountain? Is there a spot where I can begin the long climb?” The dwarf laughed mockingly at the girl. “Sky Mountain, eh? Yeah, I know the way up but you can’t afford the information. ‘Less you give me two heavy gold rings for my trouble, you’ll never know.” And he laughed again at the absurdity of this obviously poor little girl being able to afford such a steep price.
Daga grinned. The prince had inadvertently provided her with a solution yet again. She rummaged in her bundle and produced the two golden bands. “You mean like these here?” That stopped the dwarf’s cruel laughter. He was surprised that she had met his price and furious that his careless offer, which had been intended as cruel mockery, had come around to bite him in the ass but, like the troll girl, he was bound by his word as a magical creature. Snatching the gold and biting it to make sure it was real, he gloomily led her to a place where a small crevice in the rock ran up the mountain in a zigzag pattern. It was easy to overlook and, without the dwarf to point it out, Daga would never have found it. “That’s the only place you can even hope to climb. If you’re strong and agile and got a good head for heights, you can maybe make it up to the castle. I bet you’ll fall and break your fool neck instead though. Bad luck and bad riddance.” And with that he vanished, clutching his golden rings.
It was late and Daga didn’t much care for the idea of braving the climb in the dark, so she camped for the night. When the sun rose in the morning, she clambered up into the crevice and made her slow way up Sky Mountain. It was every bit as difficult, dangerous, and exhausting as the dwarf had made it sound. For most of it, she had only the tiniest ledges and outcrops to use as hand and footholds. Very rarely, she would come across a spot where the crevice became a little deeper and leveled out. Whenever she reached these respites, she would sit and rest, sometimes even lying down if the space was big enough. The ground receded far below her, so far that it made her dizzy to even think about, so she didn’t dare look.
For nine days, Daga climbed until at last, she reached the top. There was a path leading away from the crevice and towards the troll castle, which loomed out from jagged, craggy rocks scattered with boulders that seemed ready to fall into a deadly avalanche at the slightest push. It made for an anxiety-inducing walk, so her heart jumped in her chest when she heard a shout from up ahead. Daga looked up to see her brother’s head pop out from between some of these rocks. Dag was pale and haggard, but he was also still very much alive. “Sister? Get out of here! Run!” Daga shook her head stubbornly. “Hell no. I haven’t walked a hundred miles through the forest and spent nine days climbing a mountain to turn around and leave you here. I’m here to rescue you, Dag, and I mean to do just that.”
Her brother sighed deeply. “And I appreciate it, really I do, but it’s impossible. If you stay, the only thing you’ll find is the same awful imprisonment I’m trapped in. The terrible troll flew me up here to slave away for him, hammering out gold. Since I couldn’t (and I wouldn’t even if I could), he cast a spell on me. I’m completely trapped in this stone, Daga. I can move my head a little, but that’s literally it. This is how I die.” His sister could see that it was true – Dag’s head seemed to sprout right out of the rock itself. She sat down and wept at the futility and unfairness of it all. Once she was cried out, she stood up, brushed the dirt off, and marched towards the castle. Things might seem hopeless, but Daga wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Inside the castle, she saw the eponymous Flying Troll sitting on a great golden throne. He was every bit as terrifying in person as he had been in her nightmares, and the horde of goblins and sprites around him hammering away at the anvils and forges of the castle didn’t help matters. When the human girl entered so boldly, everyone was so surprised that they all dropped whatever they were holding. It caused a great clatter, drawing the Flying Troll’s attention and ire.
Daga approached as humbly as she could manage, stopping with a polite curtsy. “Mr. Flying Troll, sir? Please let my brother go. Don’t keep him trapped in that rock out there doing no one any good – let me take him back home with me.” The troll laughed, a sound like grating boulders. “Did you really climb all the way up my mountain thinking that I would just let that little asshole go because you asked nicely?” He leered at Daga, leaning closer so she could see all of his enormous teeth. “Then you’re a naive fool.” He sat back. “But you’ve got moxie kid, and I like that. I’ll tell you what – you produce for me a solid gold crown fit for a queen before I count to three, and I’ll let you and your little pipsqueak brother walk out of here in peace. Fail, and I’ll drag your ass up into the air high above my mountain and I’ll let you drop so that your corpse goes splat right next to your brother’s face.”
The troll didn’t wait for Daga to agree because this wasn’t an offer, it was a threat. As his cronies laughed cruelly, he raised one warty finger. He grinned at his toadies, and they all laughed even harder, opening their mouths so wide that you could have thrown half an ox into them. He held up a second finger. Before he could reach three though, Daga had gone into her pack and pulled out the crown that the prince had given her. The laughter dropped into dead stillness as she held it out and dropped it onto the troll’s two extended fingers.
The Flying Troll was furious at being thwarted but, as we’ve seen, he was bound to keep his word as a magical creature. He hadn’t given it fairly, but he had given it nonetheless. Snarling curses, he snapped the fingers on his other hand, freeing Dag from his rocky prison. He and his sister walked away from the troll’s castle trying their best not to hear the howls and screams of rage and pain coming from behind them. They didn’t want to be able to imagine what was happening back there as the Flying Troll vented his fury on his court, but the sounds would always haunt their nightmares. Together, they began the long climb back down the mountain.
This seems like a natural end to the story, but there’s one loose end to wrap up. See, the prince hadn’t given up on his mystery princess. One of his ladies-in-waiting had also overheard the lazy servants discussing their plan to only pretend to look for the missing Dag and leave him to die, and she had told the prince the next morning. He immediately understood why she had felt she had to leave but he wasn’t willing to leave it at that. Ordering the faithless valets to be punished, he set out after Daga. The forest was dangerous and he was worried about her facing it all alone and unarmed.
He followed her trail and found the brother and sister as they were just arriving back at their humble cottage. Daga was surprised to see the prince. She’d figured he’d just had a passing fancy and would forget about her as soon as she was out of sight. Instead, he’d come all this way to apologize for the terrible treatment she had received at the hands of his servants and to ask her again to be his bride. He had clearly come ready to launch himself into the teeth of the Flying Troll if it had come to that, and this moved Daga’s heart. For his part, hearing how cleverly Daga had used his gifts to free her brother only made him love her more. The two were soon wed and lived happily ever after. The story doesn’t mention what happens to Dag, but I have to imagine that he has a secure place at court and a much better life than he could ever have had in that small cottage.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, on Bluesky as MythsPodcast, and on Mastodon as MythsYourTeacherHated. 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.
I want to apologize for all the technical issues with some of the last few episodes. There was something weird going on with the way Audacity was exporting the files after the most recent update, but with the help of their technical support, I believe I’ve got it resolved. Thanks to everyone who reached out to let me know that the episodes were broken.
Next time, we’ll catch up with our old pal Lacplesis the Bearslayer for another chapter in the Latvian epic. You’ll learn that God is kind of a dick to the Devil, that you should really keep an eye on your cattle, and that the Devil is the reason humans have free will. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll get into the sordid history of one of the greatest conflicts never told – the Silly Goose War. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.