Jason Weiser (0:00)

Quick disclaimer One character puts another in a controlling, abusive situation. 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. 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 Devilkin 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 set in 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 prince in place of a ruling monarch, where the prince is the ruler and not the son of the ruler. I just went along with that. So anywhere I say prince it means basically king or zhar. 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, Prince Mistafor needs a pair of new shoes and he's going to control a peasant boy's entire life just to get them. Goria heard it was an honor to be chosen by the prince. Goria showed skill young with his fingers, with his mind. He wanted to build bridges, palaces. The prince, though named Mystafor, 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. There 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 lest a fellow students all find them right before the master came through, he ascended Goria. The boy resolved to make the most of this honor, the one that he had been given to learn from the best shoemaker in the kingdom. But before long, he was the best shoemaker in the kingdom. Scowls from the other boys and the misty eyes of his master watched him. The day the prince himself arrived and announced that Goria had won the position, Korya saw his personal workshop. It was twice the size of his master's, and his master's had been crammed with servants and students. This one had the greatest tools in the kingdom, bolts of soft leather and silks all his. The seneschal told him he had a fortnight. The prince would like a pair of shoes, and if Goria the shoemaker was wise, he would make more than one. Goria made twenty dozen pairs. Two hundred and forty pairs of shoes. There were so many shoes that the seneschal had to designate a ballroom for the prince's choosing. The prince Mistafor was an enigma as he strode the aisles, his walking stick tapping the floor. His countenance soured anytime Goria tried to tell him the significance of this or that pair, how one exemplified the conventions while the next defied them and elevated the craft. Goria apologized. He should assume his prince already knew all that he was, after all, the prince. A long sigh emanated from Prince Mistafor 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 prince asked. Goria chuckled. They were shoes, though. They were two hundred and forty pairs of shoes. Four hundred and eighty in all. Three hours of sleep a night for two weeks ringed his eyes underneath a greasy, scraggly mop of hair. The prince's walking sticks stopped clicking on the stone floor. I save you. 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 prince's voice grew into a yell. Goria 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 prince's walking stick cracked on Goria's cheekbone as the shoemaker fell to the floor. You call me a liar and now I'm worthy of just your acceptable shoes. The prince smeared Goria's blood on his chin as he raised the Young man up to look him in the eye. The prince was merciful. Goria would have another chance, another and another, until he got it right. But his insolence and failure would have consequences. Goria heard it was an honor to be beaten by the prince. At least that's what the physician said as he set Goria'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. Goria hadn't heard it over his own screams. The prince, it seemed, was careful to avoid Goria's hands, fair and merciful as he was. When Goria walked From the infirmary 10 weeks later, with only a slight limp, he found the seneschal 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 seneschal said he hoped Goria had learned from his previous lesson. The prince desired a pair of shoes. Goria did better. The prince communicated in both word and deed, losing consciousness quickly this time, Goria only had a few fractures and he could leave the infirmary to get some good air to speed his recovery. Goria found the seneschal and asked for some payment for his services so he could go to the public house. The seneschal only chuckled. 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 up his neck, Goria found his coat. There was no way out. Without money, he couldn't get much farther than a day from the city before the prince sent his men to recover his investment. Finding a single copper in his pocket from his days at the master shoemaker's house, Goria 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 ales in before his inhibition and his control slipped. Sobbing and sprawled face down on the table, Goria said, I wish the devil would free me from this master of mine. Ringing out in front of him. Though Goria hadn't seen or heard anyone approach, a voice asked, why are you in such a passion, my good lad? Looking up, Goria saw the well dressed man in front of him. Fearing for a moment that this man, who was as out of place in a public house as Goria himself was in the palace, was a spy or a chaperone. But the El got the better of him. Goria 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 Goria. Goria got to talking. He had no idea, but he knew there was no escape. I know your master. The stranger sighed. Goria must be freed from his cruelty. And as recompense, Gorya would be married to Mistafor's daughter, the Princess. Gorya laughed and wait. He didn't mention that his master was Mystophore. 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. Goria 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. Come here. I'll prove it, the devil said and took Goria out into the daylight. Wait. How is it morning already? Lay down on the ground facing the sun, then rise and take two steps backward, the Devil King commanded. Goria saw no harm in heeding 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, or rather his shoes and his pants, his coat. He was dressed like a prince. This is impossible. Goria marveled. Not if you're an actual devil, which I am. I've been very clear about that from the start, the Devilkin said. Squinting, The Devilkin marveled he looked even more like Prince Dardavan, the princess's betrothed, than the Devilkin had initially thought. Well, this would be easy. They'll know it's me. Goria began to panic. The Devilkin laughed. Oh, that was funny. No, no, they wouldn't. Not for several reasons, actually. One, no one even saw him before Goria 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? Goria asked. The devilkin clapped. That's right. Take three steps back. Goria did, blinked, and a white Marble palace was in front of him. As Goria 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 Devilkin invited him to eat his fill. As he did, the Devilkin asked, why not just kill him? Goria stopped eating. Who? Mistafor? He sighed. It had crossed his mind. If the Devil King could fulfill this wish, he could easily fulfill another. But Goria 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 Goria would suffer. No, he just wanted freedom. Hmm, the Devilkin said, and then made the nature of their agreement clear. He would do this for Goria, but someday he would ask something of Goria, and Goria must not refuse. Goria, maybe wondering if it was a good idea to make a deal with an actual devil, thought about the alternative. He agreed. Just then the Devilkin turned as if he was listening to something on the wind. Alright, he's gone. Who's gone? Goria asked through a mouthful. You? The Devilkin smiled. Prince Dardavan's ship had just sailed on business in another city. It was time for Goria to get married. A disembodied voice told Goria to freeze. Goria stood in a familiar place, ready to jump out of his skin, knowing that at any moment he would 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 Goria 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 bridle. Oh, you. Goria pointed and growled. You. Your shirt is tucked into your underwear and you have food in your teeth. Prince Dardovan 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 Pratushkin, 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, Mistafor, Goria's boss, strode out. The captain of his guard thundered next to him. I don't care how you do it, just find him. Don't touch his eyes or hands, but do whatever else you want. He doesn't need his legs to make shoes. The prince grumbled before turning to Goria AKA Dardovan, with a 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? Goria froze. Here he was, looking his boss square in the eye, not cowering from the floor, but as an equal. And Mistafor the prince had no idea who he was. The devilkin hadn't changed his face at all to look like Dardovan. It was simply that Mistafor wanted to believe the lie, and he did. And seeing this face, one that stood slightly below his own, not stone and severe but obsequious, well, it filled Gorya with confidence. As the prince announced his arrival. It appeared to be the case for everyone else in the household that they all believed he was Dardovan, 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 and your family turned out of its house. The prince, however, would. The princess Dogata was a bit cold to him, wary and watchful. But with the type of man Dardovan was, Goria could hardly blame her. Remember seat one, a voice said in his ear. Goria shamelessly took the first seat, forcing Mistafor 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 if her father would come speak to her in a different room away from Dardavan. Mistafort chuckled that that was very rude. This man was her future husband. She could say anything in front of him. Not responding to that statement, Dogata left the room. The prince apologized and rushed after. We'll see what the princess knows, but that will be right after this. February is sneaky. It's short, sure, but so are the days. Yeah, it no longer gets dark at 5:30. It's 5:45 now. I still hate that. If I remember, I forgot something I needed for dinner. It's a cold, dark trip to the supermarket and dinner is delayed and everyone, mainly me, is grumpy. That's why Home Chef is amazing. Fresh food delivered right to your door. Everything you need for a warm, comforting, easy meal. The recipes are super simple to follow. Even I can do it and people really love it. Home Chef is rated number one by users of other meal kits for quality, convenience, value, taste and recipe ease. And because you don't know what type of day you're going to have or dinner you're going to need, they have so many options from Gordon Ramsay's restaurant quality recipes, their Home Chef culinary collection, classic meal kits to express options and a dedicated family menu. Plus, it's affordable. Home Chef customers save an average of $86 per month on groceries for a limited time, Home Chef is offering my listeners 50% off and free shipping on your first box. Plus free dessert for life. Go to homechef.com legends that's homechef.com legends for 50 off your first box and free dessert for life. Homechef.com legends must be an active subscriber to receive free dessert. The new year is here. That, I mean, if it's, if that's a surprise to you, then you should probably go get a calendar. It's almost March. I was wondering if you could buy calendars on Wayfair and I looked it up and it turns out yes, they have every conceivable calendar that I could dream up. No matter your taste. I also asked Karissa and it turns out that that's where we got our hall calendar. Who knew? Not me apparently. I was super excited when Wayfair wanted to work with us because we've been using them for years. We might have something from Wayfair in every room. And there's of course the guest room that I mentioned last time, bed, tables, chair, done. It's no longer hanging over my head and I can move on to other areas. I think next up for us is the outside hardscape and fire pit area because we have one of those now and I want to think about warmer times. And I will say, unlike seemingly everywhere else, it seems very easy to shop on Wayfair and stick to a budget. Like for instance, I'm looking at The Abhipsa Acacia 5 person patio, conversation sets with cushions and the entire thing is no joke. Almost half the price of just the love seat. At another furniture place. I also sorted price high to low and found that you can go incredibly fancy on Wayfair if you want. Basically, they have everything your home needs in every taste for this season. And when it comes to outdoor furniture, the season you're looking forward to, I cannot wait for it to stop snowing. Get organized, refreshed and back on track this new year for way less, head to Wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's W A Y-F A I R.com Wayfair every style, every home. That is not Dardovan, doghata said. That is Goriathe shoemaker all your men are out looking for. Ms. Dafour 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. Dogata crossed her arms. Mistafor popped his head out the door frame and squinted. He didn't see it in 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 Dardavan cuts the brown bread first. He is not Dardavan who would only eat white bread, mistafor said. Sure, okay. That was a very low possibility for embarrassment. He would order and observe. When the hot steaming loaves were placed in front of Dardovan, he took his knife and cut a piece of brown bread. Mistafort's 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 Mistafhor took a deep breath. My dear and honored son in law, Prince Dardovan, how is it that you cut so much brown bread and no white? He asked. It was awkward, yes, but it was a valid question. Dardovan seemed to freeze, eyes looking down, and then the slightest briefest nod turned into a bigger one. Ah, yes. Dardovan laughed. Brown bread. Peasant food. You already know, don't you, since you served it? Do I? Mistafor felt equal parts rage and embarrassment for having treated Dardovan 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. Dardovan called for Petushkin, his 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, dardovan said, placing the bread on the plate and handing it to Poushkin. One piece of bread. What would that do? Princess d' Agata laughed. Not much, my love. Not until he salted it. Dardavan 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. Petushkin waved for some servants to go take the plate, and he would see to notifying the beggars of their future prince's 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 around 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. Too soft hearted for my tastes, but the people sang his praises. Dardevan laughed. Of course, though Prince Mistafor knew all this. Of course. The prince smiled. He just wanted the others to see for themselves. Okay, that was an obvious pivot, the Princess Dogata said when her father pulled her aside on the way back to the table. Not another word, Ms. De Fort 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. Four asked. Goria smiled. Certainly. Goria felt a tinge of despair when 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 Goria's smile faded. No, no, no, no. The prince looked in and was everything as he commanded? The room, warm and comfortable, had a bed and chairs next to a crackling fire, but Goria only pinched the bridge of his nose before calling it, yelling for Petrushkin. The little servant scrambled and then stood up straight, but also somehow stooped to avoid eye contact. Yes, this is my room. Koria pointed. Petushkin began to tremble. Oh. Oh no. Yeah, oh no. Gorya looked back to the little man. Where is my 300 pood bed? I am so sorry, Master. Petushkin dropped to the stones. You will be, Goria replied, and wait for Petrushkin to give the order and then return. I did actually know that you slept on a bed that weighed, what, 3,500 pounds? The prince said while Petrushkin 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 gold and jewels, goria said. No other way to sleep. So I bring it with me. They are bringing it up, Petrushkin, AKA the Devilkin, said when he returned. We never told them which room you'd be in, mistafor said. Please, Prince, you must have people who know what they should do yet fail to do it. I will be merciful though, he will have another chance, Goria said, put his gloves on and began by backhanding the Devilkin across the face. Goria hated it, but the Devilkin assured him that he did not feel pain the same way as humans, and that this exterior was 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 Goria finished and the same servants that carried in the 3,000 pound bed walked off and Petrushkin wiped the blood from his quickly swelling eye, Goria thanked the prince. Petrushkin will stay with me should I need anything for the night, goria told the king, who offered to have his men bring a cot for the servant. But Goria shook his head. No. Since he has deprived me of my bed for a moment, I will deprive him of his for the night. He will sleep on the stones. Goria paused for a moment, then broached the topic. He said he had been thinking about all night. I know that we have the wedding planned 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 Dardovan and the family, but tomorrow. There was so much that still had to be done, and the guests were en route. Dardovan's own mother wouldn't even be there yet. Seeing the dampening expression on Goria's face, he waved his hands. Tomorrow. It was impossible, but it could could be moved up. They would talk about it in the morning. Goria 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 Devilkin said. This was going to be a longer night than he thought, but it was okay. Goria 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 Devilkin said. So what's next? What do we do? Remember one more, the Devilkin said, taking the basin of water and cleaning the human wounds on his human face. The orb. That's right, Goria said. There was a knock at the door. Goria waved for Petrushkin 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. Coria 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 light he needed. It was more dazzling than a meteor in the sky. She blinked. Right. And this orb. He had it. Petrushkin, who had slipped out of the room only for a moment, but not to go to the Antaroom but to Dardovan's bedside on the ship, returned with a magical glowing orb. Dardovan had, but the story won't address at all. How much would it absolutely blow their minds to see one of those night lights that just projects the scene on the ceiling? Anyway, he said goodnight to his betrothed and smiled and said he was looking forward to being her husband. As the door closed on Dogada, 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 Dardovan 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 and his servants. Anyway, go to bed, Mistafor commanded, and he wouldn't hear anything else about Dardavan and Goria. We'll see the princess make her final play at revealing the imposter, but that will be right after this this episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. It's February, the month of, of course, heart shaped boxes and flowers. It can be easy to think everyone has it all together in their love lives because, well, we only live in our own heads looking out. But the truth is that we're all at different spots in our interpersonal journeys and therapy can help you find your way. I've been in a relationship for going on 20 years now, and Carissa has definitely stuck by me and supported me and loved me through tough times. But for me, understanding my feelings and working through stuff and being the best version of myself is one of the best things I can do for our marriage. 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