A Tale Dark and Grimm (3 page)

“To stone?” said the first.

“To stone,” replied the second.

“To stone,” echoed the third.

And with that, the three ravens shook their black beaks, sighed sadly, and flew away.

Faithful Johannes buried his head in his hands, for he had heard all. He knew what he would have to do, and that it could not come to good.

 

Just as the ravens had foretold, after the ship landed and the king and his wife-to-be had been greeted by all the servants and courtiers of the castle, a beautiful chestnut stallion cantered up to the group. The king, taken with the beast's beauty, announced that it would bear him in triumph back to the castle. But before he could mount it, Johannes slipped onto its back, drew a blade, and cut the horse's throat, soaking its silken coat with warm, red blood. It collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Cries of shock went up from the crowd. The other servants, who had never loved misshapen Johannes, whispered, “To kill the king's new stallion! Treason! Treason!”

The king looked back and forth between Johannes and the dead horse. Johannes's face had no expression. At last, the young king said, “Johannes was faithful to my father and to my father's father and to my father's father's father before that. He has always under-stood us. So I will under-stand him. If he does it, it must be right.”

Not another word was said about the subject, and the party proceeded, afoot, back to the palace.

When they arrived at the gate they saw a beautiful golden bridal gown, lying on a bed of purple roses.

“Oh! I shall wear it in the wedding!” the queen-to-be exclaimed, running to take hold of the marvelous garment.

But before she could reach it, Johannes grabbed it from the flower bed and strode into the great hall, where he threw it into the fire.

Again, the party was taken with cries of shock and dismay. The servants huddled together and whispered, “Treason! Treason!”

But the king hushed them. “Johannes has always been faithful to me and my family. So I will be faithful to him. If he does it, it must be right.”

 

The young king and golden princess were married the very next day. The princess looked particularly beautiful, her ocean-blue eyes brimming with joy. But Johannes watched anxiously.

They moved to dance, and the music began. But they had not taken two steps when the new queen suddenly swooned and fell to the ground. Before anyone else could move, Johannes swept in, lifted her to his chest, and carried her out of the hall.

He hurried through empty hallways, carrying the new queen in his arms, to a narrow, winding staircase that led to the highest turret in the castle—his private chamber. When they arrived, he placed her carefully on the floor, bent over her, and, with his two rotten teeth, bit her lip until he drew blood. Then, ever so tenderly, the unhandsome man sucked three drops of blood from her lip with his mouth.

The queen began to stir. But just then, the king burst into the room. He had followed Johannes all through the palace and had watched at a crack in the door as Johannes—his once faithful Johannes—had done something unspeakable to his new queen.

“Treason!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Treason!” The other servants quickly ran to their king's aid.

“King!” Johannes said. “Please! Trust me!”

“Take him to the dungeons!” the young king shouted. “Tomorrow, he dies!”

 

The next day, Johannes was led from the dungeons to the top of a funeral pyre. There he was tied as a torch was readied to set the great stack of hay and tinder on fire.

The king watched with his new queen at his side. She had fully recovered from the day before. But both wore black, and their faces were somber. “He was like a father to me,” the young king said. The queen took his hand.

The executioner lit his torch and brought it to the pyre, its sparks leaping eagerly at the dry tinder. Behind the king, the jealous servants muttered and smiled to one another.

But just before the executioner could set the pyre alight, Johannes called out, “King! To whom I have been faithful, and to whose father, and father's father, and father's father's father I was faithful before that. Will you allow me to speak before I die?”

The young king sadly inclined his head and said, “Speak.”

And so Johannes spoke. He told of seeing the three ravens on the ship. He told of hearing them speak. He told of their prophecy of the chestnut stallion.

And as he told it, he turned to stone, from the tips of his toes to the knobs of his knees.

All the spectators gasped. But Johannes went on.

He told of the ravens' prophecy of the bridal gown.

And as did, he turned to stone, from the knobs of his knees to the core of his heart.

In the crowd, mouths fell open.

Finally, he told of the ravens' prophecy of the wedding dance.

And when he had, he turned to stone, from the core of his heart to the top of his head.

And he died.

A great wail went up from all assembled. For they had learned, too late, that Johannes had been faithful to the very end, and had given his life for his king.

The king and the queen, in an effort to honor his memory, took Faithful Johannes, grotesque even in stone, and placed him beside their bed so that every morning when they woke up, and every evening when they lay down, they would be reminded of his faithfulness, and the great debt they owed him.

 

 

The king and the queen soon had a pair of beautiful twins, a girl and a boy. They named the boy Hansel and the girl Gretel. They were the light of their parents' lives. Hansel was dark like his father, with black curly hair and charcoal eyes. Gretel was fair like her mother, with hair that looked like it was spun from pure gold thread and eyes that shone like the sea. They were happy children, full of play and mischief and joy. So happy were they, in fact, that they nearly made their parents forget the faithful servant who had saved their lives, and how they had betrayed him.

Nearly. But not quite.

And one day, as the king played with Hansel and Gretel at the foot of his bed, and the queen was off in chapel praying, he began to cry. “He under-stood me,” the king said, “though I did not under-stand him.” He fell to the foot of the statue and wept. When his tears touched the stone, something miraculous happened. Johannes spoke.

“There is a way, king,” the stone Johannes said, “to rescue me from this rock, if you truly wish it.”

“Oh, I do!” the king cried. “I'll do anything! Anything!”

And Johannes said ...

 

 

 

 

And Johannes said, “You must cut off the heads of your children, and smear my statue with their blood. And then, and only then, will I return to life.”

 

 

 

 

The king collapsed on the bed, weeping. But he felt he had no choice. “You under-stood me always, no matter what,” he said. “So I will under-stand you.” He stood, beckoned Hansel and Gretel to his side, drew a sword from its place on the wall, and cut off their heads. Their lifeless bodies dropped to the floor.

See?

The king took their blood on his hands and smeared it on the statue. Just as he had foretold, Johannes returned to life, covered in the children's blood. And the king, despite the blood, and through his tears at his own children's deaths, threw his arms around his faithful servant, Johannes.

 

 

Nearly.

Johannes smiled his sweet, crooked smile and said, “You have under-stood me, at the greatest cost.” And he placed little Hansel's head back on his body, and little Gretel's head on hers, and instantly they began to leap and play as if nothing had happened, and as if they were not covered in blood. And the king threw his arms around them, and then again around Johannes, and they all laughed with joy.

 

 

Almost.

For just then, the king heard the queen's footsteps echoing in the hall. He looked at Johannes, back from the dead, and their children, covered in blood. “Quickly!” he said, and hurried them all into a wardrobe.

When the queen came into the room, he asked her how her prayers had gone. And she replied, “I can barely pray. I think only of Johannes, and how we failed him.”

And the king replied, “What if I told you, dear queen, that there was a way to repay our debt to Johannes, and to bring him back to life, but that it was a terrible way, and it would cost us everything that is most dear to us. What would you say?”

“Anything!” the queen cried. “Anything we can do, we must do! We owe it to him!”

“Even if it meant killing our two children?” the king asked.

The queen gasped. She fell to the floor and wept bitterly. At last she said, “I would never do it. I could never do it. But I know we should. We owe him our lives.”

“I couldn't agree more!” the king exclaimed. “And that's why ...” As he said this, he opened the wardrobe doors, and out came their two beloved children, all covered in blood, followed by a living, breathing Johannes. The queen screamed and fainted. The king threw a basin of water in her face, and she woke up and screamed again. Then the king explained it all to her, and she wept and laughed and threw her arms first around her children and after around Johannes, and then she held them all at once and wept and laughed some more.

 

 

Late that night, they lay in their beds, unable to sleep.

“Hansel,” Gretel said.

“Yes, Gretel?”

“Did you hear what Father said?”

“Yes.”

“He cut off our heads to save that ugly old man.”

Hansel was silent.

“And Mommy was glad that he did. Do you think they hate us?”

Hansel was silent still.

“I think we should run away,” Gretel said. “In case they want to do it again.”

“That's just what I was thinking,” Hansel answered. “Just what I was thinking....”

O
nce upon a time, two children left their home and walked out into the wide, wild world.

The land was dark as Hansel and Gretel made their way across the level turf beyond the palace moat. They had never left the palace by themselves before, and they knew little of the great world beyond its walls. But they had been frightened by what their father had done. And they believed firmly in their little hearts that parents should not kill their children, and they were resolved to punish theirs by going out and finding a family that was as nice as a family should be.

How to find such a family, though? They had no option but to walk, and walk, and walk, until they came across one.

So they did walk, on and on and on, until the firm ground became softer under their feet. Soon they found themselves in the midst of a muck-thick swamp, where will-o'-the-wisps danced and bullfrogs croaked. They became frightened. But on they went.