Discover the haunting legend of Ruevit, the seven-headed Slavic god of war whose temple stood on the island of Ruyan until the twelfth-century crusade of Valdemar I. When a Christian army of seventeen thousand Danes and Germans besieges the capital of Korenitsa, three hundred immortal temple guardians make a final stand alongside the city’s people, fighting to the last. After the sanctuary falls, the conquerors plunder six swords from the idol’s belt—but the seventh remains locked in Ruevit’s wooden hand, unyielding to any warrior’s strength. A bishop reveals an ancient prophecy: only hands alone can claim the sword, and if a Christian succeeds, the Slavic people are doomed. All attempts fail, and as the sun sets, the idol erupts in heavenly fire, turning to ash without releasing its weapon. This powerful tale celebrates the unbreakable spirit of the Russian people, preserved by divine flame. Perfect for fans of Slavic mythology, epic last stands, and legends of sacred defiance, this beautifully translated story will inspire readers of all ages.
In the twelfth century, a Christian army of seventeen thousand Danes and Germans came to the Russian island of Ruyan, determined to conquer Korenitsa, the island’s great capital. The city’s defenders were few against such a host—only about five hundred trained warriors, with the rest being ordinary townsfolk. Yet every soul in that small capital took up arms and manned the walls, among them three hundred ritarii—the guardians of the temple of Ruevit—each of whom was worth a hundred mighty knights of the enemy host. For many days, the city endured siege. Arrows flew from the walls, felling men and horses; hundreds of Teutons, falling from the ramparts, perished in the fortress’s defensive moat. The defenders held firm. Day and night, battles raged and battering rams pounded the gates, until at last, after a multi-day assault, the enemy broke into the city. Even then, not only men but elders, women, and children fought upon the walls and streets. None surrendered; together, as one force, they stood against the Danes and Germans. But when most of the city was ablaze, the temple’s defenders—the three hundred “immortal ritarii”—sheltered pregnant women, small children, and their wounded within the temple of Ruevit, and prepared with their spears, swords, and axes to meet the army of Valdemar I. A new siege began. The Danish king lost his finest knights before the temple and was forced to deploy fire and stone-throwing engines against the Ruyan. Only after the last defenders of the temple had been felled by fire and stone did the Christians manage to break into the sanctuary and finish off the women, children, elders, and wounded within.
But the duel between darkness and light was not yet over: in the temple, beneath a red canopy of cloth, stood before the conquerors in all his majesty Ruevit—the god of the Russian’s inevitable military victory. With hatred and fear, the knights who had burst into his temple examined the colossus. It seemed to them that the god’s eyes—the eyes of all his seven heads—gazed upon them with condemnation and wrath.
A bishop was urgently summoned to the temple. Through his prayers and blessing, the Christians’ fear of the statue dissolved, and they resumed plundering the sanctuary before the god’s very eyes. Six magnificent, keenly sharpened damask swords, which hung at the idol’s belt, were immediately in the hands of the looters. Only the last sword remained—the seventh. The god’s wooden hand gripped its hilt firmly. No Dane or German could wrest the sword from the colossus. The Christians grew nervous and angry. One, unable to bear it, seized an axe to cut off the wooden hand that held the hilt of the precious weapon. But the bishop, arriving at the shouts, stopped this impulse. He extended his hand and calmed the knights. Drawing forth a Slavic scroll, he recounted its contents, which described that the seventh sword of Ruevit held a sign not only for the Ruyan but for the entire Russian clan and tribe.
“This sword,” said the bishop, “can be removed from the statue’s hand only without the aid of an axe or any other tool. It must be freed by hands alone, and let the strongest warriors attempt it. If, through blessing or prayer, some mighty Dane or German succeeds by the strength of his own hands in obtaining the magic sword, then it may be considered that the entire Russian people, and many Slavic tribes, will be finished. We shall conquer the Slavs and destroy them as a people, and the captured lands and riches will belong to us, the victors—above all, to us Catholic Christians.”
Having explained to the knights how to free the sword from Ruevit’s wooden hand, the bishop ordered all who wished—those unafraid to test their strength against the pagan god—to come forward. Soon, a sizable crowd gathered before the idol of the Russian god of victory. The bishop personally blessed each volunteer who wished to attempt the sword, reading a prayer each time and offering guidance. But all was in vain; human strength was insufficient. The magic sword remained in Ruevit’s hand. Several hours passed in the futile attempt to wrest the weapon from the Russian god. The Christians were in despair. Neither fervent prayers nor the bishop’s blessings helped.
And as the setting sun touched the horizon, the statue of the Slavic god of victory blazed. Instantly, from its base to the proud crests of its seven helmets, it was covered in bright, transparent flame, and without releasing its sword, it soon turned to ash.
The Christians understood: the unconquered Ruevit had departed into his fiery Iriy. The heavenly fire had taken the idol and forever preserved the invincible might of the Russian people—a might that now no force could ever destroy.