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.
Well, not really.
More like, The Beginning. For it is here that the tale of Hansel and Gretel truly begins.
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 ...
There are no young children in the room, right? You’re certain? Okay ...
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.”
Remember what I told you would happen when Hansel and Gretel finally showed up?
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?”
