Her mother tried to dissuade her, but it was no good. She took her fur coat, wrapped a cloth round her head, and off she went to the forest. Her mother stood on the threshold, watching to see how Holena would manage to walk in the wintry weather.
The snow lay deep, and there wasn’t a human footprint to be seen anywhere. Holena wandered about for a long time, but the desire of the sweet apple kept driving her on. At last she saw a light in the distance. She went towards it, and climbed to the top of the mountain where the big fire was burning, and round the fire on twelve stones the twelve months were sitting. She was terrified at first, but she soon recovered. She stepped up to the fire and stretched out her hands to warm them, but she didn’t say as much as “By your leave” to the twelve months; no, she didn’t say a single word to them.
“Why have you come here, and what are you looking for?” asked Great January crossly.
“Why do you want to know, you old fool? It’s no business of yours,” replied Holena angrily, and she turned away from the fire and went into the forest.
Great January frowned and swung the club over his head. The sky grew dark in a moment, the fire burned low, the snow began to fall as thick as if the feathers had been shaken out of a down quilt, and an icy wind began to blow through the forest. Holena couldn’t see one step in front of her; she lost her way altogether, and several times she fell into snowdrifts. Then her limbs grew weak and began slowly to stiffen. The snow kept on falling and the icy wind blew more icily than ever. Holena began to curse Maruša and the Lord God. Her limbs began to freeze, despite her fur coat.
Her mother was waiting for Holena; she kept on looking out for her, first at the window, then outside the door, but all in vain.
“Does she like the apples so much that she can’t leave them, or what is the matter? I must see for myself where she is,” decided the stepmother at last. So she put on her fur coat, she wrapped a shawl round her head, and went out to look for Holena. The snow was lying deep; there wasn’t a human footprint to be seen; the snow fell fast, and the icy wind was blowing through the forest.
Maruša had cooked the dinner, she had seen to the cow, and yet Holena and her mother did not come back. “Where are they staying so long?” thought Maruša, as she sat down to work at the distaff. The spindle was full already and it was quite dark in the room, and yet Holena and the stepmother had not come back.
“Alas, Lord! what has come to them?” cried Maruša, peering anxiously through the window. The sky was bright and the earth was all glittering, but there wasn’t a human soul to be seen… Sadly she shut the window; she crossed herself, and prayed for her sister and her mother… In the morning she waited with breakfast, she waited with dinner; but however much she waited, it was no good. Neither her mother nor her sister ever came back. Both of them were frozen to death in the forest.
So good Maruša inherited the cottage, a piece of ploughland and the cow. She married a kind husband, and they both lived happily ever after.
VÍŤAZKO
Once there was a mother, and, being a mother, she had a son. She suckled him for twice seven years. After that she took him into a forest and told him to pull up a fir-tree, roots and all. But the lad could not pull up the fir-tree.
“You are not strong enough yet,” said the mother. So she suckled him for another seven years. When she had suckled him for thrice seven years, she took him to the forest again and told him to pull up a beech-tree, roots and all. He seized hold of the beech and pulled it up.
“Now you are strong enough. So you are Victor (Víťazko). Now you can provide for me.”
“Yes, I will. Only tell me what I can do for you.”
“You must get me a good house first, and then you can take me there,” said the mother, and she went home.
Víťazko took the beech-tree which he had pulled up, and, carrying it in his hand like a club, he started in search of a house for his mother. Following the wind, he walked by old roads and paths until he came to a castle. This castle was inhabited by griffins.
When Víťazko reached the castle, the griffins would not let him in. But he did not wait long for their permission: he smashed the gate and went into the castle and killed the griffins; their bodies he flung over the wall, and then he went for a walk through the castle. He was pleased with everything he saw. The rooms were nice, nine in number, but the tenth was closed. When he had gone through the nine he went into the tenth, and there he saw a griffin chained to the wall by three iron bands.
“What are you doing here?” asked Víťazko.
“I am sitting here, as you see. My brothers have chained me here. Untie my bonds and I will give you a splendid reward.”
“You must be a wicked old rascal if your own brothers tied you there. I won’t unfasten your bonds either,” said Víťazko.
So he slammed the door, and went off to fetch his mother to the castle. When he had brought her there, he showed her everything, but he did not open the tenth room, and he forbade her to enter that room, for otherwise there would be trouble. As soon as Víťazko left the house, the mother could not rest, and she kept on walking near the door of that tenth room, till at last she went in, and, of course, she found the griffin there.
“What are you doing here, and who are you?”
“I am a griffin. My own brothers chained me here. They would have unfastened my bonds again, but your son has killed them all. Untie my bonds and I will reward you, and, if you like, I will marry you,” said the griffin.
“And what would Víťazko say?” answered the mother.
“What could he say? We will put him out of the world, and you will be your own mistress.”
The mother hesitated long enough, but at last she consented, and then she asked the griffin how she could untie his bonds.
“Go into the cellar and fetch me a cup of wine from the last cask.”
The mother went into the cellar and brought him a glass of wine from the last cask. As soon as he had drained the first cup, crash! the first chain fell down. The mother brought him another cup and – well! the second chain snapped. So he begged her to bring him a third cup, and when she brought him the third cup the third chain broke too and the griffin was free again.
“But what am I to tell my son when he comes back?” said the mother anxiously.
“Oh! you must feign illness, and when he asks you what will save you, say that nothing can save you but a suckling of the earth sow. When he goes to get it, the sow will tear him in pieces.”
Well (but not particularly well!), when Víťazko returned from the chase, bringing a buck for his mother, she groaned and complained: “Alas! my dear son, your toil has been in vain. It is no use your bringing me this good food; I cannot eat it, for I am deadly sick.”
“Alas! mother, you must not die. Only tell me what would cure you, and I will bring it for you, even though it were from hell,” cried the good Víťazko, for he loved his mother well.
“I can only be cured if I get the suckling of the earth sow.”
Víťazko did not wait; he took his beech-tree and set off in quest of the earth sow. He wandered through the country, poor soul! for he did not know where to go, till at last he came to a tower, and there he found Holy Sunday.
“Where are you going?” asked Holy Sunday.
“I am going to the earth sow to get one of her sucklings. My mother is ill, but this will cure her.”
“My dear boy, it will be a hard task for you to get that piglet. However, I will help you. Only you must follow my advice exactly.”
Víťazko promised that he would follow it exactly. So first she gave him a long, sharp spit, and then she said:
“Go to the stable and take my horse. He will bring you to the place where the earth sow lies buried in the earth. When you have come there