And they all lived happily ever after.
The End
Are there any small children in the room? If so, it would be best if we just let them think this really is the end of the story and hurried them off to bed. Because this is where things start to get, well ... awesome.
But in a horrible, bloody kind of way.
As the ship plowed through the purple sea, the new lovers made moon-faces at each other up near the bow. Faithful Johannes was sitting near the back of the ship, admiring the success of his plan, when he noticed three ravens alight on a mast beam.
The first raven motioned with his beak at the king and princess. “What a lovely couple those two make,” he said.
And the second said, “Yes. Too bad they won’t stay that way.”
The first said, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” the second replied, “when the ship gets to land, a beautiful chestnut stallion will canter up to the group, and the king will decide to ride it back to the castle. But if he does, he will be thrown from its back and die.”
“Good God, that’s horrible!” said the first raven. “Is there nothing anyone can do?”
“Oh, there is,” said the second raven. “Someone could kill the horse before the king mounts it. But what good is that? For if someone did it, and told why he did it, he would be turned to stone, from the tips of his toes to the knobs of his knees.”
“To stone?” asked the first raven.
“To stone,” answered the second.
The third raven, who’d been listening quietly, cut in at this point. “It gets worse, you know,” he said. “If, by some chance, the two lovers escape that danger, another lies ahead. For when they arrive at the gates of the castle, a beautiful bridal gown, made of pure gold, will be laid out on a bed of purple flowers. The princess will want to wear it, of course. But if she touches it she will be consumed by a ball of fire and burn to a cinder right there on the spot.”
“Good God, that’s terrible!” cried the first raven. “Is there nothing anyone can do?”
“Oh, there is,” said the third raven. “If someone were to pick up the dress before she could, and throw it in the fire, the princess would live. But what good is that? For if someone did it, and told why he did it, he would be turned to stone, from the knobs of his knees to the core of his heart.”
“To stone?” repeated the first raven.
“To stone,” confirmed the third.
“Nor is that all,” said the second raven morosely. “For if the two lovers avoid that tragedy, a final one awaits. When they are married and begin the wedding dance, the new queen will swoon, and fall to the floor, and die.”
“Good God, that’s the worst thing yet!” cried the first raven. “Is there nothing anyone can do?”
“Oh, there is,” said the third. “If someone were to bite the new queen’s lip and suck three drops of blood from it with his mouth, she would live. But what good is that? For if someone did it, and told why he did it, he would be turned to stone from the core of his heart to the top of his head.”
“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?”