The Tale of the Twisted Tree

Once upon a time there was a prince who fell in love with a lowly maiden.

He was the only son of an elderly king, she the only daughter of a poor peasant.

He spent his days idly, riding his horse, eating fine meals, hunting with his dogs, and sneering at any demands of royal duty. She worked from dawn till dusk helping her father with household chores, milking the lone cow, feeding the chickens, cooking meals, fetching water, and baking goods to sell at the market.

He was the prickly type, unhappy with few pleasant words and plenty of snarky remarks. She was the gentle type, happy and singing and always kind to others.

He had everything, but was never satisfied. She had nothing, but felt like she had everything.

The prince and the maiden were worlds apart, while only a hill and a meadow sat between the castle of the prince and the small hut of the peasant maiden.

The castle had vast grounds beyond a grand garden where a team of gardeners tended to exotic flowers and splendid fruit trees. One side of the garden opened to a thick forest full of wildlife to hunt, with a stream running through the woods, plenty with trout to fish. To the other side of the garden was the meadow leading to the hill, where rabbits burrowed into the ground for shelter, mice scurried through the tall grass, and all manner of birds lived in the trees along the hillside.

The little hut stood at the bottom of the hill, on the other side from the castle. It could not be seen from the castle, but the peaks of the tallest turrets of the castle could be seen from the hut, pointing towards the sky. There was a modest garden hugging one side of the hut, for growing a variety of vegetables and a little chicken coop in the backyard, where the chicks could roam free inside a fenced area separated just for them. The cow grazed nearby, in a pasture with the cows from other little huts, only coming home for milking and the coldest nights.

The maiden was beautiful with a sun-kissed skin and rosy cheeks, hair fair and shining like the glimmer of moonlight, eyes blue like the water in the stream that ran not far from the hut before curling around the hill and into the forest. She held laugh in those clear blue eyes and her perfectly shaped lips were quick to smile. She was admired by every man she encountered, but she was not interested in any of them.

 One day the prince had been especially restless and decided to take his horse out for a ride along the stream, with the idea to venture as far as the stream would take him. Not towards the sea, for there was nothing mysterious about the sea. He knew what lay at that end of the stream; he had ridden down to the harbor at the end of the stream often enough. He cared not for the fishing boats or the fishermen loitering in pubs after a morning of fishing. He wanted an adventure, and finding the mysterious spring that must be found at he beginning of the stream offered one.

Truth be told, if the prince had paid any attention to his lectures about his kingdom, he’d have known not to expect the travels of many days, not even that many hours. For the spring was but a little distance from the village pastures, up the next hill, though deep in the woods covering the hill, making it loom above the village almost like a mountain.

Between the village and the spring, not far into the forest, but not visible from the village, lived the village crone, known for her remedies and potions. She was respected by all and feared by many, with whispers of a shady past and dark magic, rumors enhanced by the murder of shiny black crows living in the trees around the cabin, keeping the crone company and sometimes doing her bidding.

Whenever these whispers reached the ears of the maiden, she laughed merrily, the sound of her laugh like the jingling of a dozen bells. Airy and light and delighted. It so happened that the crone was her own aunt, the older sister of the mother she had never known. She knew some of the rumors held true, while others did not, but she never let on that she knew. It wasn’t her place, they weren’t her secrets to tell. The rumors shielded the crone, giving her powers of protection, be they real or perception.

It so happened that the same day the prince set out for his journey to the spring, the maiden also happened to be her way there. She often visited her aunt when her father could spare her, helping her aunt foraging for mushrooms and the roots and leaves of special plants used for her potions and remedies, and carrying water from the spring for her.

It was said that the water from the spring on the hill was pure and held magical healing powers, but only when collected into a crystal bowl at the height of the day when the rays of the sun hit the spring through the trees, making the water glisten like a million little diamonds.

That day, the maiden left her father’s hut early in the morning, right after milking the cow and gathering eggs from the chicken. Every full moon, the milk from the cow and the eggs from the chickens gained special magical quality, thus becoming ingredients for potions and poultices and remedies rather than mundane bread and cakes – as delicious as the maiden baked them.

The maiden was carrying her bounty in a basked hanging from the crook of her arm, as she bounced along the path from the village to the hill where the crone lived. She was humming to herself, face basking in the warm of the summer morning sun. She loved the days after the full moon, cherished the time she got to spend with her aunt. For just like the moon changed the milk and the eggs, it also touched the plants in the forest, making that day the best for gathering anything that was not gathered during the night. For some plants had to be gathered right when the light of the full moon touched them.

The maiden reached the crone’s hut quickly enough and tapped lightly on the door. She heard the crone mumbling something inside, knowing she was busy working so she let herself in, set her basket on the little table in the middle of the room and sat down to wait. It did not take long for the crone to finish what she was doing and turn to her niece, smile on her crooked face.

“There you are, dear heart!” she crooned. The maiden rose to her feet and was immediately folded into a warm embrace, such as only those well loved will know. They settled to the chairs by the fire to plan their day. There was much to do, the time of the year being right for many plants not available at other times, paired with the magic of the full moon and the sun climbing up the curve of the sky.

Thus, they split the tasks and the crone went one way, the maiden the other way. She quickly filled her basket with all the roots and leaves and berries assigned to her, and was soon on her way to the spring with a deep crystal bowl in her basked now emptied of the forest’s bounty.

As the maid danced her way towards the spring, merrily singing a beautiful song with a voice as sweet as honey, birds gathered on tree branches to join in the chorus and rabbits, mice and squirrels all scurried around her, hopping right next to her or bouncing just behind her. She could not imagine being any happier than she already was. The sun kissed her cheeks as she lifted her gaze up towards the blue skies, and the gentle breeze ruffled her hair making it shine and glitter as bright as the sun itself.

Meanwhile, the prince had been following the stream up the hill, moving slowly as the woods grew thicker and the going got more difficult for his horse. Since he didn’t know how close he was to the spring, he didn’t want to leave the horse behind even if it would have been easier to continue on foot.

He was starting to doubt the wisdom of his quest when he heard soft singing from ahead. He still didn’t see the singer, nor did he know he was but a short moment away from the spring and along it, his destiny. Mesmerized by the singing, he dismounted his steed and decided to go investigate, tying the horse to a tree as by foot he could approach more quietly.

He crept through the brush as silently as he could, not wanting to startle the singer. Not out of kindness, for he was not naturally kind, but out of curiosity. Scaring the singer would only result in disappointment instead of sating his need to se the source.

He had not been walking for long before he pried the blue of a dress and the glimmer of what he thought was solidified sunrays through the trees. He moved a bit to see better and his breath caught and his heart stuttered at the sight before him. For there was the spring he’d sought, and knelt by it the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. She was sitting by the spring, a crystal bowl full of spring water by her side, animals and birds alike fluttering around her and napping at her feet. Her face was turned to the sun, eyes closed, hair like the rays of the sun framing her face and flowing gently down her back.

The maiden was oblivious of her audience, until a rabbit nudged her sleeve and she opened her eyes. On the other side of the stream stood a man, not much older than her. A stranger she had never seen, though with the finery he was dressed in, she could guess he was rich, maybe even royalty. Didn’t their king have a son? A prince only a little older than her? He was talked of, but never seen, for he disliked the common folk and everything that had to do with ruling the kingdom, or so it was said. A cruel prince, he was called.

The prince watched her face as she took him in. He knew the exact moment she guessed his identity and suddenly a well of sadness hit him like a flood. He knew what the folk called him, and he knew he deserved the nickname too, but he had not always been that way. He used to be full of laughter and mischief, joy and games. He was happy until the day his mother died when he was still of a gentle age, breaking his father’s heart and crushing all his happiness. Once upon a time he too had known love and been carefree.

“Please, don’t go,” he begged as he saw the maiden begin to gather her skirts and get up. At his plea she turned her bright blue eyes to him, considering. She let her gaze sweep him, stopping at his eyes and he felt like she was plunging straight to his muddied soul with those mesmerizing eyes of her. He worried what she might find there. Would she see only the shadows and darkness, or would she look past all that, to the light hiding behind, to the lost love and bitter sorrow buried deep down under the veil of indifference and even cruelty?

The maiden studied the prince. He was dark where she was light, he was hard lines where she was soft. His ebony hair brushed his shoulder in light waves, his nose and chin were sharp while his lips surprisingly full. His eyes were brown like  the bark of a pine tree – not solid dark brown but with a hint of gold mixed in. He was looking at her with slight alarm, but she could not see why a prince would be alarmed by her, a lowly maiden from a  poor village. She was the one who ought to be alarmed, but for some reason, she could not turn around an leave. She couldn’t even look away, let alone make her feet carry her home.

Slowly, she sunk back down on the ground, but did not resume her singing. The prince seemed as stuck to his spot as she was, both staring at each other in silence. A bird alighted on her shoulder and chirped something into her ear, breaking the spell. “Why don’t you want me to go?” she asked the prince, crunching up her face in confusion.

“Please, sing for me. I heard you singing, it lured me here, to the spot I had set out to find this morning. I did not expect the spring’s magic to be the most beautiful maiden I’ve ever seen, with a voice as sweet as honey. Please, sing for me, “ he pleaded again. That was the third please he’d uttered in the matter of minutes. He was confused at himself, as it was a word he had not used since his mother’s death. It must be the magic of the maiden, he concluded.

The maiden closed her eyes again, and softly started singing. She sang about the sun and the moon and the stars, of rainbows and butterflies and dragonflies, of birds soaring in the deep blue skies, and dragons and unicorns living alongside with deer and rabbits. And it all flowed into the prince’s veins, making them sing along with the maidens song, and he felt more alive than he had since his happy childhood.

Finally, the sun started to dip below the treetops and the maiden’s song came to a stop. “Oh! It’s getting late! I need to take this water before it turns sour!” she exclaimed and abruptly hopped up, picking up the bowl of water with her. “Wait! Can I hear you sing again?” the prince called after her, hoping she didn’t have to go yet, hoping she’d turn back. She didn’t, though. She did stop to think and reply: “I’ll be here every Leisure Day at the height of the day.” Then she was dashing through the woods again.

The prince returned to his horse, thinking that the spring itself was not much to behold, but what a magical maiden it had procured! He thought of this Maiden of the Spring all ride home, short as it was once he was out of the forest again, vowing to himself that he’d be there, at the spring come Leisure Day. He could not go on living without seeing her again, without hearing her sing again.

He didn’t notice that he was humming on his way in from the stable, nor did he notice the odd looks the servants shared.

The maiden ran to the crone’s hut as fast as she could without spilling the precious water. She should have been back long ago, and she was frantically trying to come up with a plausible excuse, for she instinctively knew she should keep the prince a secret. More so, as she had agreed on seeing him again at the spring.

As the hut came to view, she slowed down to a brisk walk and tried to calm her breathing. Taking a deep one, she tapped at the door and stepped in, setting the water bowl on the table. Her aunt was busy with her herbs and a potion was bubbling in a small cauldron above the fire, but as soon as she was able she turned to her niece. Her face was wrinkled with worry and scorn In place of a smile.

“Where have you been? It’s almost dusk, the water nigh souring!” she reprimanded, as she took the water bowl from the table and started pouring it into small crystal bottles. She measured some to the cauldron, then stashed the bottles in a cabinet with wisteria lining the shelves to protect the magical quality of the water.

The maiden waited for her aunt to be done with storing the water for the needs of the coming week before she set out to tell her tale: “I had the water in the bowl and was sitting by the spring as usual, singing with the birds, when I suddenly heard a cry from nearby. It was such a pitiful cry that I had to go see about it and what did I find? A rabbit had been caught in a snare, so I had to free him. It was hard work setting him free without harming him further, and then I had to tend to his wounds and that’s when I saw the sun was already descending, so I ran back with the water.”

“A snare! Who would dare set up a trap in my forest? Surely not anyone from the village!” the crone was angry now.

“No no, I’m sure not! Must have been a stranger, maybe someone passing through. It was on the other side of the stream, closer to the big road,” the maiden trailed off, hoping the crone wouldn’t ask more questions. Her lie felt fragile and brittle, and she promised herself she’d be more mindful of the time next time. Next time! She was already thinking about seeing the prince again when she shouldn’t have given him that invitation to begin with!

“Yes, you’re probably right, “ the crone pondered. “Anyway, it’s getting late, you better bet back to your father before it gets dark. Here, take these remedies for his arthritis and back, and thank him for the milk and eggs.”

The maiden sighed with relief as she set off after collecting the potions and her basket and hugging her aunt goodbye. She made her way home through the village, all the while remembering the eyes of the prince on her, the ache she felt for him, having found such sadness in the depths of his soul, hiding behind the darkness.

In the following weeks, the maiden and the prince met by the spring every Leisure Day, at the height of the day. Sometimes she would sing, sometimes they would talk softly about anything and everything. The maiden never saw a trace of the supposed cruelty in the prince. He was even kind to the animals that first had been wary of his presence. The prince wondered about it himself, believing it all to be due to the maiden’s magic.

They often shared some fresh fruit or a slice of bread and cheese or other such things either one of them had thought to bring to their rendezvous. The maiden tasted fruits she hadn’t known even existed, the juices sweet and bitter, tangy and heady. The prince tasted bread baked and cheese churned by his Maiden of the Spring, and he had never tasted bread as good and cheese as perfect as these.

One day, as they were sitting by the spring, sharing a meal, the prince gathered all his courage and took the maiden’s hands in his before declaring: “My Maiden of the Spring, you have saved me from myself. You have pulled into light what was hidden by darkness, you have shown me happiness and taught me kindness, both of which I had lost. But most of all, you have taught me love, you have shown me that I am capable of love, for I love you more than I could ever say. I would lasso the moon for you, I would catch the rays of the sun for you. Tell me you love me too! Tell me you will be mine!”

The maiden listened with breath caught in her throat, with tear glistening in her eyes, for his speech moved her so. When he stopped, she leaned in to kiss the prince, ever so lightly on his lips, before replying: “Oh, I do love you, as much as you declare you love me. I do want to be yours, but what about your father the king? What about my father, who thinks you cruel and evil?”

The prince saw the pain in her eyes and heard the truth in her words, but he refused to give in to their fathers and their prejudices. He pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms, as he pleaded: “Don’t let them destroy what we have! Give me time, I will make it all good. We can go away together, to a far away land, if that’s what it takes! I’d rather be with you than be a prince.”

The maiden felt sad at the thought of needing to leave the only home she’d ever known, but she knew that to be with her prince, she would. She pressed herself closer to the prince, savoring the warmth of his body against hers.

Little did the lovers know they were being watched. The king had grown suspicious about his son’s Leisure Day riding trips, from which he always returned in an uncharacteristically good mood, humming (humming!) and smiling even. Not that the king wasn’t pleased to see his son happy again, even as he himself could not find it anymore, but it was suspicious. And he wanted to know who was the girl who made his son smile so. For he knew it could only be that.

So, that Leisure Day morning he summoned his trusty servant to him, ordering him to follow the prince and report to him what he found out on his spying trip.

That evening the servant returned right after the prince, and gave the king his report about the maiden by the spring, and the pledges of love passed between the two. He had recognized the maiden, beauty as she was and was happy to tell the king that his son was smitten with the daughter of a lowly peasant. Happy, for the servant himself had once dared hope for the maiden’s attention, only to be refused, and that burned the man bitterly.

After leaving the king, the servant decided his revenge on the maiden was not full until he made sure her father gained knowledge of this secret alliance as well. Thus, he whispered tidbits of rumors here and there, until the message was delivered to the father by a concerned friend.

The next Leisure Day the lovers met again by their spring, eager to see each other and plan their future. They spread their meal and started feeding each other with bits and pieces while talking and gazing and holding hands.

After a while they both started to feel drowsy, so the prince suggested they lie down for a bit, just a short nap. He gathered her in his arms as they lay there on the ground by the spring. They fell asleep, limbs intertwined as they slept. Thus they fell into a sleep never ending.

For after the servant had told him that his son was planning to run away with a lowly maid, he had summoned his sorcerer and ordered a poison that left his son unharmed but would put any female to sleep, never to wake up. He then made sure the poison was steeped into some fruits and made sure the maids packed them in the picnic basket for the prince.

The maiden’s father, upon hearing that his daughter had been ensnared by the cruel prince, went to the crone with his news. The crone cooked up a poison that would only harm any male eating it, putting them to permanent sleep, and baked it into some delicious honey cakes for the maiden to take with her, to have some bite of sweet while on her errand.

So the lovers poisoned each other, unawares.

As they slept in each other’s arms there by the spring, the forest that had bared witness to their love took pity on them. The ground open up and roots gently pulled the lovers into the ground, entombing them in the roots of surrounding trees.

After some time passed, the souls of the prince and the maiden grew into trees themselves. The prince a pine tree, the maiden a birch, their trunks intertwined in an eternal embrace. The sun smiles at the lovers thus living on and together forever. If you’re real quiet, you can hear them sighing in contentment, as their branches gently caress each other.

Author's note

The twisted tree in th photo stands close to a river in a place called Pitkäkoski in Helsinki (Finland). We used to live relatively close to it, bicycling or driving there with our dogs now and then. The tree always intrigued me, it always felt magical, like an echo of a fairytale. I have thought about the tree sometimes in the years since we last went there; this morning this story started bubbling in my mind when the tree once again popped into my head. Now my fairy tale tree has its own fairy tale, its own origin story.