429: Slavic folklore: The Devilkin Made Me Do It

The story moves on from there, but it is present.

“Please see the post on mythpodcast.com for more info.”

This week, on myths and legends, we're in Slavic folklore, and we'll see that if that creepy, controlling guy just wants to give you so much stuff for free, you might want

to take a second look at that contract.

And that if a stranger in a bar offers to solve all of your problems, and that stranger looks like a literal devil, it might actually be a great deal. The creature this week is just making things difficult for people who want to cosplay as giants with spiky clubs and chains with actual human heads on them. This is myths and legends episode 429, the devil can made me do it.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. This episode is something of a Slavic fairy tale. At an Eastern Europe, it's not super concerned with place or history, but before we dive

“in, just a short note on some of the wording.”

The originals use prints in place of a ruling monarch, where the prints is the ruler and

not the son of the ruler, I just went along with that, so anywhere I say prints, it means basically kangaroos are. And real quickly, there's a character named Dardavan in there. But I introduce him as Dardavan, and going back over the episode, I guess I just flipped a coin every time I said the name, because apparently I say both throughout.

I noticed this way too late to fix it, and it would sound weird to add that many changes in post, so sorry if it's annoying. Though most people probably wouldn't have noticed it, had I not mentioned it at the top of the episode. Anyway, prints missed a foreign needs a pair of new shoes, and he's going to control

a pleasant voice and tire life just to get them.

Gorya heard, it was an honor, to be chosen by the prints.

“Gorya showed skill young, with his fingers with his mind.”

He wanted to build bridges, palaces. The prints, though, named Mr. Four, needed a personal shoemaker, and the boy was a quick study. It was so long ago that he barely remembered his parents' faces when he was offered a better life in the palace.

They are he joined a class of other boys who were skilled and smart, and though there was intense competition, and he learned to guard his boots he crafted, less to fellow students to all find them right before the master came through, he ascended. Gorya, the boy, resolved to make the most of the sonner, when he had been given to learn from the best shoemaker in the kingdom, but before long, he was the best shoemaker in the kingdom.

Scals from the other boys, and the misdias of his master watched in the day that prints himself arrived, and announced that Gorya had won the position. Gorya saw his personal workshop, it was twice the size of his masters, and his masters had been crammed with servants in students. This one had the greatest tools in the kingdom, bolts of soft leather and silks, all his.

The Senate shall told him he had a fortnight. The prints would like a pair of shoes, and if Gorya the shoemaker was wise, he would make more than one. Gorya made 20 dozen pairs. 240 pairs of shoes, there were so many shoes that the Senate shall had to designate a ballroom

for the prints as choosing. The prints, Mr. Four, was in a nigma, as he strode the aisles, his walking stick taping the floor. His countenance sour, and he time Gorya tried to tell him the significance of this sort of that pair.

How one exemplified the conventions, while the next to fight them and elevated the craft. Gorya apologized, he should assume his prints already knew all that. He was, after all, the prints. A long sigh emanated from prints, Mr. Four, when he found the end of the last row, and he nodded at the door.

The guard outside, closed it. I asked you to make shoes. How difficult is that for a shoemaker? These are not shoes. What are these?

The prints asked. Gorya juckled the, they were shoes, though they were 240 pairs of shoes. 480 and all, three hours of sleep and night for two weeks, ringed his eyes underneath a greasy, scraggly mop of hair. The prints' walking sticks stopped clicking on the stone floor.

I bring you out of your disgusting little hovel with those stinking creatures you call

parents.

“I give you a chance, and a life, and what do you do with that?”

You call me a liar. The prints' voice grew into a yell. Gorya did not understand, these were perfect shoes, sure some of them might be a bit much, but there were plenty that were perfectly acceptable. The heavy end of the prints' walking stick cracked on Gorya's cheekbone, as the shoemaker

fell to the floor. Call me a liar, and now I'm worthy of just your acceptable shoes. The prints' smear Gorya's blood on his chin, as he raised the young man up to look him in the eye. The prints' was merciful.

Gorya would have another chance, another, and another until he got it right, but his insolence and failure would have consequences.

“Gorya heard it was an honor to be beaten by the prints, at least that's what the physician”

said, as he set Gorya's arm. The last time, the last time, you know, when he gave the young man a wooden rod to bite

down on, if the physician said anything the first three times he said a bone, Gorya hadn't

heard it, over his own screams. The prints' it seemed was careful to avoid Gorya's hands, fair and merciful as he was. When Gorya walked from the infirmary, ten weeks later, with only a slight limp, he found the Sennisho waiting. There was a disappointment, a shame in the man's eyes, words that couldn't be spoken

before didn't need to be spoken now, both men understood the world in which they lived. Opening the door to the workshop, the Sennisho said he hoped Gorya had learned from his previous lesson, the prints' desired, a pair of shoes. Gorya did better, the prints' communicated in both word and deed, losing consciousness

quickly this time, Gorya only had a few fractures, when he could leave the infirmary to

get some good air to speed his recovery. Gorya found the Sennisho, and asked for some payment for his services, so he'd go to the public house, and the Sennisho only chuckled a payment he received his payment. He had been educated by the best in the kingdom, he'd been fed and clothed, the job was the payment, living in the house of the king was the payment, feeling the cold, panic

creep of his neck, Gorya found his coat, there was no way out. Without money, he couldn't get much farther than a day from the city, before the prints' Sennish's men to recover his investment, finding a single copper in his pocket, from his days at the master's shoemaker's house, Gorya could at least go for that drink at the pub. The infirmary's bitter wine hadn't done much for his tolerance, so he was only two

ails in before his inhibition and his control slipped. "Sobbing" and sprawled face down on the table, Gorya said, "I wish the devil would free me from this master of mine," ringing out in front of him, though Gorya hadn't seen or heard anyone approach.

“"A voice asked, "Why are you in such a passion, my good lad?”

Looking up Gorya saw the well-dressed man in front of him," fearing from a moment that this man, who was as out of place in a public house as Gorya himself was in the palace, was a spy or a shaperone, but they all got the better of him," Gorya said his master beat him. "He was cruel." These gashes on his face were nothing compared to what he just endured 10 weeks ago.

The stranger took a seat and asked why anyone would beat Gorya. Gorya got to talking. He had no idea but he knew there was no escape. "I know your master," the stranger sighed. Gorya must be freed from his cruelty, and, as recompense, Gorya would be married to Mr.

For his daughter, the princess, or he elapted. Wait, he didn't mention that his master was Mr. For, and how would the stranger manage that anyway? "Well, I'm a devilkin," the devil said, "you called me and, on your summons, I came. I will serve you," Gorya blinked. He either needed to stop drinking because this was all ridiculous,

or he needed to keep drinking because he was in the company of a devil.

Wait, how was it morning already?

“Lay down on the ground facing the sun, and then rise and take two steps backward.”

The devil can command it. Gorya saw no harm in heating this request. His boss was already the devil, what harm was it listening to an actual devil? He laid down, got up, took two steps backwards, and then did not recognize his feet. Where, rather, his shoes and his pants, his coat, he was dressed like a prince. This is impossible, Gorya marbled. Not if you're an actual devil, which I am, I've been very clear about that from the start.

The devil can said, "Squintine, the devil can marveled." He looked even more like Prince

Dardavan, the princesses betrothed, and the devil can initially thought, "Oh, this will be easy. Don't know it's me," Gorya began to panic. The devil can laughed.

“"Oh, that was funny. No, no, they wouldn't." Not for several reasons, actually.”

One, no one even saw him before. Gorya, the shoemaker, he might be somebody where he comes from, but to the palace, he was nobody. He was invisible. Two, the minds of the rich and royal wouldn't let them even entertain the idea that a prince could actually be the shoemaker. Everything that made them special, which is nothing because they're not inherently special, would evaporate. If they admitted to themselves that a shoemaker in a nice coat with a

palace could just as easily be them. Palace, Gorya asked, and the devil can clap. That's right. Take three steps back. Gorya did, blinked, and a white marble palace was in front of him. As Gorya walked in the palace, his palace, musicians seated on either side of the hall, began playing instruments, and he found the table laid out with costly food and drink, and the devil can invite him to eat his fill. As he did, the devil can ask,

why not just kill him? Gorya stopped eating, who? Mr. Four? He sighed, it had crossed his mind, if the devil king could fulfill this wish. He could easily fulfill another, but Gorya didn't want the prince to die. He didn't want that weight, and as terrible as he was, the kingdom was at peace. If he died, all that could go away, and people worse off than Gorya would suffer. Now he just wanted freedom. Hmm, the devil can said, and then made the nature of their agreement

clear. He would do this for Gorya, but someday he would ask something of Gorya, and Gorya must not refuse. Gorya may be wondering if it was a good idea to make a deal with an actual devil, thought about the alternative. He agreed. Just then, the devil can turn as if he was listening to something on the wind. All right, he's gone. Who's gone? Gorya asked through a mouthful, you, the devil can smile. Prince Dardavan ship had just sailed on business in another city.

It was time for Gorya to get married. A disembodied voice told Gorya to freeze. Gorya stood in a familiar place. Ready to jump out of his skin, knowing that at any moment he will be recognized, and best case scenario, beaten to within an inch of his life, and then forced back to work. "You're thinking like a kind-hearted peasant," the voice said. "With empathy, you are rich and

powerful now." Gorya might take his horse to the stables and make small talk with the grooms.

Prince Dardavan stands in the courtyard, coughs, stamps his foot, and berates the first servant who comes to help him. We talked about this. I am so sorry, my Lord. The groom rushed to grab the horse's bridal. "Oh, you, Gorya, pointed in Gorya, you, your shirt is tucked in your underwear, and you have food in your teeth. Prince Dardavan growled and walked away. Okay, when it comes to berating, that was yes, pointing out bad things, but it really was just helpful information.

“You need to get better at this," the voice said. "If one of your household servants introduces”

himself as "Pretushkin," that's me. And when the time comes, beat me and don't hold back. These people love asserting the illusion of their innate superiority through random violence. The Prince, Mr. Four, Gorya's boss, strode out. The captain of his guard, thundered next to him.

else you want. He doesn't need his legs to make shoes." The Prince grumble before training Gorya,

aka Dardavan, with smile. It was always so wonderful to see his future son-in-law,

“but he thought the man was half a world away on business. What was he doing back so soon?”

Gorya, froze. Here he was, looking as boss square in the eye, not towering from the floor, but as an equal. And Mr. Four, the Prince had no idea who he was. The devil can hadn't changed his face at all to look like Dardavan. It was simply that Mr. Four wanted to believe the lie, and he did, and seemed this face, one that stood slightly below his own, not stone and severe, but obsequious. It filled Gorya with confidence. As the Prince announced his arrival, it appeared to be

the case for everyone else in the household, but they all believed he was Dardavan. Even though it was usually the case that whatever the Prince declared to be reality was, in fact, reality. Even when pesky details, like reality, contradicted. Facts would not have you beaten, in your family turned out of its house. The Prince, however, would. The Princess, doggata, was a bit cold to him. Wary and watchful, but with the type of man Dardavan was, Gorya could hardly blame her.

Remember, seat one, a voice said in his ear. Gorya shamelessly took the first seat,

forcing Mr. Four, the Prince, to take the second, and laughing that he was glad to honor his future son-in-law. The Princess, though, rose, and asked for father would come speak to her in a different room. Away from Dardavan. Mr. Four chuckle that that was very rude. This man was her future husband, she could say anything in front of him. Not responding to that statement, doggata left the room, the Prince apologized and rushed after her.

We'll see what the Princess knows, but that will be right after this. February is sneaky, it's short, sure, but sore the days. Yet no longer gets dark at 530, it's 545 now. I still hate that if I remember I forgot something I needed for dinner, it's a cold dark trip to the supermarket,

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Head to wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's W-A-Y-F-A-I-R-dot-com, wayfair, every style every home. That is not Dart-A-Von, to God-a-Set. That is Goria, the shoemaker all your men are out looking for. This, of course, said that that was ridiculous. Yes, it is ridiculous that you're letting your shoemaker

sit at your table in the seat of honor and marry your daughter,

Dougata Cross-Drams. Mr. Forpupis Head, out the door frame, and squinted, he didn't see it.

And the political fallout alone, if she was wrong, I'm not wrong, but I have a test, she said.

“Brown bread and white bread, bring out both. If that Dart-A-Von cuts the brown bread first,”

he is not Dart-A-Von, who would only eat white bread. Mr. Forpupis Head. Sure, okay, that was a very low possibility for an embarrassment. He would order and observe. When the hot, steaming loaves were placed in front of Dart-A-Von, he took his knife and cut a piece of brown bread. Mr. Forpupis Eyes went to his daughter, who smiled and then looked to her father, urgently tilting her head, with a look that said,

either say something or just execute this guy. Prince Mr. Forpupis Head took a deep breath. My dear and honored son-in-law, Prince Dart-A-Von, how is it that you cut so much brown bread and know what he asked? It was awkward, yes, but it was a valid question. Dart-A-Von seemed to freeze, Eyes looking down and then the slightest, pre-fist nod turned into a beer one.

“Ah, yes, Dart-A-Von left. Brown bread, peasant foodie, you already know, don't you?”

Since you served it, do I? Mr. Forpupis Head equal parts rage and embarrassment. For having treated Dart-A-Von so kindly? Well, you served brown bread at the royal table, so of course you know my father's custom. I had hoped to be quiet about it, but I suppose I can speak on it. Dart-A-Von called for Potushkin, the servant, who appeared with the bag. My father, as you know, was a particular man. He wasn't overly generous, but he did have his traditions.

One of which was giving the first cut of brown bread to the beggars, Dart-A-Von said,

placing the bread on the plate and handing it to Potushkin. One piece of bread, what would that do? Princess, to God-a-Lapt. Not much my love. Not until he salted it, Dart-A-Von nodded, the wrinkly little servant opened the bag and salted the bread with gold coins, pouring and piling them until the thick slice was completely covered. Potushkin weighed for some servants to go take the plate, and he would see to notify the beggars of their

future Princess Generosity. It wasn't hard to collect them, and soon the table was summoned to the outer wall, where they watched a group of beggars pass her on the plate, each taking a piece of gold, round and round until the plate was empty, and then they tossed the bread to a stray dog. To soft-hearted for my taste, but the people sang his praises, Dart-A-Von laughed, of course though, Prince Mr. Ford knew all this. Of course, the Prince smile. He just wanted the

others to see for themselves. Okay, that wasn't obvious, pivot. The Princess, Dugata said, "When her father pulled her aside in the way back to the table, not another word," Mr. Ford demanded, and they made their way back behind the group in awkward silence. Well, my future son-in-law, it has been a wonderful evening. May I show you to your room, Mr. Ford asked. Gloria smiled, certainly. Gloria felt a tinge of despair, and they passed the hall

of his workroom, but shook it off. As he was directed up to a marvelous wing, he hadn't even been allowed to lay eyes on. A servant opened the door, and Gloria's smile faded no. No, no, the Prince looked in, and it was everything as he commanded. The room, warm and comfortable, had a bed and chair as next to a crackling fire, but Gloria only pinched the bridge of his nose before calling yelling for Potushkin. The little servant scrambled, and stood up straight,

tremble. Oh, no. Yeah, no. Gloria looked back to the little man. Where is my 300-food bed? I am so sorry, master. Potushkin dropped to the stones. You will be, Gloria replied, and we for Potushkin to give the order, and then return. I did, actually, know that you slept on a bed that weighed, but 3,500 pounds, and the Prince said, "What Potushkin was gone?" But you bring that with you? I don't. My servants do. I'm sure you too, sleep in a bed that's weighed down by one and a half metric tons of golden jewels.

Gloria said, "No other way to sleep." So I bring it with me. They are bringing it up.

Potushkin, aka the devilkin, said when he returned. We never told them which room you'd be in,

“Mr. Forced. Please, Prince. You must have people who know what they should do yet failed to do it.”

I will be merciful, though. He will have another chance. Gloria said, "Put his gloves on, and began by backhanding the devilkin across the face." Gloria hated it. But the devilkin assured him that he did not feel pain the same way as humans, and that this exterior was a little different than a human getting a tear in their coat. It might not function as well, but it didn't hurt. By the time Gloria finished, and the same servants that carried in the 3,000 pound bed

walked off, and Potushkin wiped the blood from his quickly spoiling eye. Gloria thanked the Prince.

Potushkin will stay with me. Should I need anything for the night? Gloria told the king.

Waffer to have his men bring a cop for the servant. But Gloria shook his head. No. Since he has to

“pride me of my bed for a moment, I will deprive him of his for the night. He will sleep on the stones.”

Gloria paused for a moment. Then broached the topic he said he had been thinking about all night. I know that we have the wedding plan for the following week, but I would like to move it up to tomorrow. The Prince's eyes almost fell out of his head. Well, no one was more excited than him to have Dartavan and the family, but tomorrow there was so much that still had to be done in the guests were in route. Dartavan's own mother wouldn't even be there yet.

Seeing the dampening expression on Gloria's face, he, he waived his hands. Tomorrow,

it was impossible, but it could be moved up. They would talk about it in the morning. Gloria smiled. thanked his future father-in-law, and closed the door. As soon as it clicked

“shut, he breathed. Oh my gosh. Does someone know someone knows?”

Someone knows the devil can said. This was going to be a longer night than he thought, but it was okay. Gloria did well and could really think on his feet. The trap someone was laying for you only served to help you. It's not lost. The devil can said. So what's next? What do we do? Remember? One more. The devil can said. Taking the basin of water and cleaning the human wounds on his human face. The orb. That's right. Gloria said. There was a knock at the door.

Gloria waived for Pritushkin to go and answer it, and it was the princess. There with a dozen candles. She was holding the matches herself. She brought him all of his tapers that he liked for his room. Gloria grinned, rising up and telling his love that she knew him well, or he thought she did. The magic orb he had provided all the life he needed. Quote. It was more dazzling than a meteor in the sky. She blanked right and this orb.

He had it. Pritushkin, who had slipped out of the room only for a moment, but not to go to the onto room, but to Darvann's bedside on the ship, returned with a magical glowing orb. Darvann had, but the story won't address it all. Sibar, how much would it absolutely blow their minds to see one of those nightlates that just projects the scene on the ceiling? Anyway, he said good night to his betroth and smiled and said he was looking forward to being her husband.

As the door closed on dogata, she stopped forcing a smile. Then she gasped when, turning, she found herself looking directly into her father's face. Stop doing this. You know about the magical orb we aren't going to address, you love Darvann, and his casual disregard for human life. Besides, the alliance will help us, it will save us, and he is troublingly good at beating people like I know I do it, but he elevates the form by nearly destroying it in the servants.

Anyway, go to bed, Mr. Four Commanded, and he wouldn't hear anything else about Darvann. I mean, Goria.

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That's better h-e-l-p.com/miths. They got a-did not love, Dardavan. She didn't love any of the suitors that had come for her. Dardavan was vain and stupid. He could be controlled. Sure, she would have to have some children, but with his travels and deep, abiding disinterest in anything that wasn't himself, her life would essentially be her own. This man, though, she didn't know this man. While she knew of him,

he was a climber. One of the kids her father plucked from the worst parts of the city, and trapped to work for him. But he not only made it out, but in a week's time would be her husband, then he was only one knife in the dark, or a trip through the kitchen, and poisoned beef away from having power over all of them. This would not do. But what will you do? Her ladies and waiting asked? Mainly because they were paid to care intensely about whatever Princess Dogata wanted.

The key is the orb. Princess Dogata pays through him. It has a backstory we're not going to address, but it is one of a kind. The bed, the clothes, they could all be fake. He can't fake this. If we can get it, we can prove he is not who he says he is. We, the ladies and waiting said, the orb, much like one of those nightlates for toddlers, had a sleep timer, where it would shut off and, around midnight, the room was completely dark. With only the soft breathing

of Gloria, and his 3,000 pound bed. Princess Dogata was out in the hall listening, and commanded one of her ladies to go in there and get that orb. The lady, but the same inclination toward defiance as both the Seneshal and Gloria before his chance meeting with a devilkin, did as her mistress commanded. And it was only a few seconds later that the princess heard the gasp in the accusations. Oh shoot, we've made. She whispered to the other ladies and they took off back

toward her room. Is it not a shame for you pretty girl to rob your future lord and master?

“You must leave me now a pledge for your conduct. He said, and then took my slipper and headdress,”

the lady described how dart of an servant had found her the moment she walked in the room,

demanded those items, and then let her leave. First, don't call him that, he's not dart of

on, Dogata said, and second, she was disappointed by the woman's failure. The next one would have better luck. The ladies looked at each other, wondering about the words, next one, and each hoping it wasn't them. It wasn't them for all but one of them. She, too, tried to sneak in the room around 1 a.m. and she, too, was caught by the little servant, who demanded her slipper, headdress, and jacket. Dogata, who really should have realized she was following a very particular pattern.

Instead, just came to the conclusion that all these young woman failed because they weren't her. She was the princess, and therefore better, if she wasn't a completely superior person in every way, while she would be the princess, it almost made too much sense. No, if she wanted something done

The servant hissed in the darkness? It is not becoming the daughter of so renowned a father

“to be plotting such tricks. Therefore, I must beg of you, Fair Lady, to leave me a pledge.”

Knowing how this went, and that she had no other option at this point if she, an unmarried princess, was found in the room of a man, even her betrothed, it would be scandalous, even dangerous. She gave up her headdress, slippers, and dress, slipping back to her room without another word. I have a riddle for you. Prince Mr. Forest said to his future son and law the following day, "At lunch?" The devil can a toll gory of the prince would ask a riddle, but he didn't tell

him he would have to wait all day for the set-up. The talk of moving up the wedding had yielded nothing, with Mr. Forest continually pushing it back, so it had been something of an awkward few hours. Actually, I have one for you first, Gorya said. Mr. Forest's eyebrows arched,

“okay, great. The bad thing about being the most enthusiastic person when it came to riddles was that”

you were always asking everyone else riddles. Yes, please, he would love to do a riddle for once.

Okay, here it is. I went to walking your green meadows and caught three goats, and stripped from each of them three skins. Gorya said, and sipped his lunch wine. Mr. Forest thought about it. That made no sense. Goats didn't have three skins. Okay, I'm getting the impression, Mr. Forest didn't actually like riddles. That he just liked knowing something other people didn't. Being the authority when it came to

questions on that matter, because he pretty much gave up after "goats don't have three coats each." The most literal, most obviously incorrect interpretation of what Gorya said. Are you sure you want to know? Gorya asked. Mr. Forest begged him for the answer, and so Gorya summoned a servant, Petushkin, and asked him to bring the skins from the three goats. Moments later, three servants brought three chests in the courtyard, where the Prince

and Gorya stood. He wrote the goat skins. Gorya said and stepped back. Mr. Forest vaguely recognized

what was in the first two chests. Women's dresses and stuff hardly seemed like even a metaphor for

“gut. He froze. When he opened the third chest, recognizing it instantly. Where did you get this?”

He looked up with rage and terror. It was left in my room last night. Gorya said. In light of that answer to the riddle, Gorya would like to revisit the topic of moving up the marriage date. Do you still think he's Gorya? The shoemaker? The Prince asked of his daughter? She said of course. So why was your dress left in his room? Prince watched her face. And it told him everything. She was obviously cagey.

First denying, and then saying something about his magic orb, which her dad really did not need

to know. Whoever you think he is, you're marrying him. Today, the Prince declared. The Prince couldn't believe it. This was ridiculous. He was such an obvious fraud, and now we was extorting a marriage before the real Dardavan returned. The Prince laughed. The real Dardavan. This is the real Dardavan. And if she truly felt he was a fraud, she shouldn't have gone and done what she did and forced their hand. So Gorya, aka Dardavan, and the Princess were married.

The real Dardavan returned later in the week for his wedding. He did so on foot, and alone, and closed he purchased from a merchant on the way, because someone had run off with all of his servants, outfits, horse, and bed somehow. And you think we're going to fall for that Gorya, the Prince laughed. Gorya had been gone for a week, he should have stayed away. The audacity of the man to think he could come back and try a gambit like this.

After the guards subdued, Dardavan, they took him to his workshop. Where, for months, he put up a spirited resistance to the Prince's will. Refusing to make any shoes at all, claiming that he doesn't know how to do that. What does all of this even mean?

war, where he died, which is the actual ending of the story. But back in the timeline of our story,

the next week, Gorya was walking through the gardens, alone, when a form appeared in front of him. It was the stranger from the end. You have a debt to me. The devil can said, Gorya nodded. He knew. Everything he had experienced over the past few days, that was more than he could have hoped for. He had been born a peasant, but he would die a Prince. That's nice, but not before you fulfill your side of the agreement. The stranger cocked in eyebrow. That is my side,

right? Gorya asked, I get to be a Prince, but you get my soul. You drag me to hell.

“Why would I want your soul? The devil can ask. That's what the fiddle contests are for. Now,”

I want to go home to to hell. Gorya asked, what is with you and hell? No, the pond. Obviously, the devil can said. Gorya took a deep breath. Oh, okay, the pond. Wait, how was that? Obvious. The devil can, it seems, used to live in a pond at the heart of the royal gardens. One day, without realizing it, a maiden washing linen's dropped a ring into the pond.

It must have had some holy, otherworldly power because it drove him from his home. Was it like Solomon's ring that binds demons? Gorya asked as they circled the pond. The devil can said he wished he'd get close enough to see, but it literally painted him, so he had no idea. He needed a member of the royal family who could drain that pond, and pull out

the ring so he could finally go home. It couldn't have been any of them. He gestured to the palace.

Though they all have their vices and temptations, it had to be someone he knew he could trust to fulfill the other side of the bargain. It had to be Gorya. Wait, so I just have to drain a pond, and then I get to keep everything. Gorya asked, no, no, like eternity in hell. Well, first take out the ring and fill the pond back up, and the hell thing was, that was Gorya's

“thing. That wasn't the devil can's purview, but essentially, yeah. So that's what Gorya did.”

He had the pond drained, took out the ring from the muck himself, and had it stored away in case he ever needed to ward off any devilkins after that he had it refilled. Then one beautiful morning, Petuchkin dragged a boat out, so he could row for Dartavan and Dogada. Please take a seat, Mr. Gorya. Your Highness, Petuchkin gestured to the boat. It's a joke we have. Gorya said to his wife, Ephraim glared at Petuchkin,

where he calls me by the guy, you all thought was me, but who's actually down in the workshop, and not making shoes really kind of tarnishing his own legacy. Master Gorya, she knows, Petuchkin interrupted. Gorya turned to his wife, the princess. She nodded, yeah, almost immediately.

“But you still married me? Chose me? Gorya sat back stunned.”

Nope, I tried to have you killed multiple times. Dartavan was a known quantity. You weren't. Still aren't, but you're better, she said. That was his close to an "I love you," Gorya was going to get any time soon. So he shut up and took the win. Potuchkin rode the pair out into the middle of the pond, or marking numerous times how he couldn't swim, and he was so excited for that trip he was planning later, and all those future events on his calendar, but he wouldn't go into

you, but definitely existed. When they were finally settled, Petuchkin looked down and slapped

his forehead with a palm, cushions. He forgot to set out the cushions, couldn't have their royal back sides on bare wood here. Picking up the cushions he stood, turning him with him in his hands, he began to wobble. To God, I looked to Gorya, and then Petuchkin, that was all completely unnecessary movement. He was rocking the boat himself. She said, as Gorya covered his mouth in mock panic, and Petuchkin continued to treat the boat like a stairmaster.

He could sit down at any moment. Petuchkin, nooo! Gorya reached forward, and Petuchkin wobbled, and then threw himself overboard. "Curse you Petuchkin, for being so unsafe in the water when you previously stated you could not swim. Curse you!" Gorya leaned over the boat and shook his fist.

Gorya, still looking over the edge of the boat, said, "The devil take him. I want him no longer,

“and then winked." It might have been his imagination, but it was as if the depths of the pond”

itself winked back. I saw that wink that you did, by the way. Princess DeGotta said, "We're not going to talk about whatever it was that just happened. I don't know what you mean, my servant drowned. It was sad." Gorya picked up the ores. "Hmm, yeah, he sure did, honey." She said, and they rode towards shore. "And that's the end of our tale. We're told Gorya lived happily under the guy's updard

of on. I do like how the story plays with some tropes. The devil can hear is really just looking for a good man who will honor his agreement and help the devil can get home, and he doesn't actually harm Gorya at all. It's also kind of funny to me that the princess knows it's him

“immediately, and it's so obvious to her, yet even with the continuum reminder that hey,”

this is the guy everyone is looking for and an obvious fraud. The prince still doesn't see it, and the princess plays essentially a Cassandra type role. Next week or back in Finnish folklore, but the story of why you shouldn't pick up hitchhikers who are actual demons. Real quickly, if you'd like to support the show, we still have a membership thing on the site, and Apple podcasts. For way, way less than the price of a lays of embaked potato chip,

shaped like the US state of Ohio, you can get ad free and bonus episodes that are objectively better than a $225 B tier chip, shaped like a C tier state. Check out mythpodcast.com/membership or find us an Apple podcast for more info on the membership. The creature this time is Jack and Irons, from Yorkshire, and the United Kingdom. If you see a giant

walking the road with a spiky club, your first thought might be hey, I don't want to mess with that guy,

and you would be right that should be your first thought. It also might be your last thought, and I know this might sound like I'm hating on people whose idea of fun is going on the North York shore more as with a spiky club and waving it around, but if that is your idea of a good time, you know, everyone has their own things they like to do for fun and far be it for me to judge you,

“but you should be aware of the cultural context if you weren't already. It's complicated.”

If you go out and do so with the heads of your victims, dangling from chains, wrapped around your body, well, you've kind of crossed a line from someone who just enjoys swinging a spiky club around and the dark to kind of an actual monster, because that's what Jack and Irons wears, and at that point it kind of feels like you're making a very specific choice. I'll be real,

I owned a sword once, and it was fun to swing around. I've never been like, hey, what if I then

take the sword and then run up to people at night and enthusiastically show it to them, well, also while wearing a half dozen human heads. Well, the first part of that is questionable and it'll advised, it's definitely the second half that's the problem, because the heads invite the question of, are those real heads? Why do you possess human heads? How are they affixed onto the chain? Is it through the air situation or a strong hair braid looped onto the chain? Also,

probably the most pressing question, what about that open spot there? Am I next? All intense and over-committed cosplayers aside, when it comes to Jack and Irons? Yes, you will be next. You definitely want to run, if you see a very large man with a spiky club wearing human heads out on the road at night, who might be a personification of the danger of the crossroads on the middle of nowhere. But you also probably want to run from anyone excitedly showing you their spite club

and human head collection. That's a pretty solid rule just for life in general. That's it for this time, myths and legends is by Jason and Coressa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke For Free and the creature that weak music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more the music we use to the show notes. Thank you so much for listening and we'll see you next time.