Discover the sweeping Slavic legend of “The Legend of the Severian Tribe,” an epic tale of pride, redemption, and the transformative power of love. When Prince Gleb the Black defies his priests and cuts down a sacred birch to build his capital, he dooms himself to childlessness and sorrow—until the Queen of Birches grants him a son on one condition: the boy must receive her blessing at three months old. But Gleb forgets his promise, and on the day his son is to be crowned, a black bird abducts the youth, carrying him to the palace of Mara’s daughter, where he lives for years without memory or identity. Three maidens attempt to save him through love, but only the third—whose heart burns with unwavering devotion—leads him to the birch grove, where the trees’ magical hymn destroys the witch and restores his memory. To rescue his savior from the sorcerer Morok, the young Prince wields the sword-kladenets, battles through transformations of falcon and bear, and triumphs through the power of true love. Perfect for fans of Slavic mythology, epic romance, and heroic quests, this beautifully translated legend will captivate readers of all ages.
Long ago, in times beyond memory, a mighty and powerful tribe—the Savirs-Severians—came from the east to the Don. Their prince was named Gleb, and he loved to wear all things black: black armor, a black papakha, and he favored black horses. For this, he was given the name Gleb the Black.
Beside the Seversky Donets, upon a vast hill, he founded his capital. The people named the city Chernigov, in honor of Gleb the Black. They built the capital city: they surrounded it with strong defensive walls and raised mighty towers. And upon the high hill, the Prince decided to build his castle-terem.
He climbed the hill and saw a great and beautiful birch tree.
“What shall I do?” thought the Prince. “I have no need of this birch here. I should remove it and build my home.”
He summoned the veduny—the sorcerer-priests—to ask their counsel. The volkhvy came to the hill, looked at the tree, and answered Gleb the Black:
“Prince, find yourself another place. Do not wrong the great Queen of Birches. If you touch this beauty, misfortune will come to you.”
Gleb thought, and decided to defy the counsel of the assembled priests.
“Then you alone shall answer before the great Queen,” the veduny shook their heads and departed.
The Prince ordered the birch to be cut down, and a terem to be built upon its spot.
Gleb the Black completed his palace, founded Chernigov, and around it the Severians built other cities. The Savirs became one of the strongest Russian tribes. All trembled before the Severians: Byzantines and distant Arabs alike.
Time passed, but happiness never came to the Prince. He had beloved wives, but not one could bear him a child. Gleb grew despondent, not knowing what to do.
He came again to the veduny and asked:
“Tell me, wise ones, how can I leave an heir to my labors? I have three wives, and from none a child. Perhaps I am to blame for everything? Perhaps the women are not at fault? Give me counsel—what shall I do? How can I help my misfortune?”
The priests looked at the Prince, sighed, and answered:
“Ride to the great Queen—the Birch. Bow to her and ask her forgiveness for the daughter you killed. If she forgives you, an heir will be born.”
Gleb sighed, thanked them, mounted his black horse, and galloped in the direction they showed him.
Whether he rode long or short, Gleb the Black came to the place he had been shown. A vast hill stood there, and upon it grew a gigantic birch—the Queen of all birches, all forests, meadows, and fields. The Prince climbed to the birch, bowed to her, knelt, and said:
“I did not heed my veduny, who told me the truth and warned me. I wronged you cruelly. Forgive me for killing your daughter, who grew upon the hill where Chernigov now stands.”
The birch rustled, lowered its branches to Gleb, and spoke:
“I forgive you, Prince. There is no evil in my heart toward you. You wished to build a city. Therefore do not grieve—return home, for a great joy awaits you there. One of your wives will bear you a son, and happiness will come to you. But remember what I tell you. As soon as he is three months old, bring him here to me, so that he may receive my blessing. Then no force, no evil, shall ever overcome the young Prince. But if you forget my command, you may lose him.”
The Prince rejoiced, bowed to the birch, leaped onto his horse, and raced home.
He arrived, entered the terem, and one of his wives approached him and said:
“Know, Gleb, that I carry your child, and soon it will be born.”
The Prince announced a grand celebration. All rejoiced at the news—wives, servants—and they began deciding who would nurse the child, who would teach him various crafts. Guests were summoned, feasts prepared.
So Gleb the Black was swept up in merriment that he forgot the birch’s command: to bring his son for a blessing.
In time, a son was born to the Prince, as the Queen-Birch had promised him. The boy was good in all things: handsome, healthy, strong—nothing better could be wished.
Gleb rejoiced more than ever: he threw a feast, and again songs were sung and round dances held in all the Severian villages—in Novgorod-Seversky, in Putivl, and in other cities of the principality. All rejoiced in the heir, who became more beloved than the Prince himself.
One month passed, then another, and finally the third—only then did Gleb the Black remember the birch’s command. He seized his child, raced on the fastest horse to the hill, and fell on his knees before the Queen:
“Forgive me, great and mighty one—I am late, late by just three days.”
But the birch was silent. Its branches did not descend; it did not hear the Prince.
Grieved, Gleb turned his horse and returned without the blessing to his principality.
He abandoned all affairs and began to watch over his son, to guard him, lest he lose him. And the son grew, developing swiftly in mind and body. At last he grew up, completed all his warrior’s training, mastered all the princely sciences of governance. He spoke all the languages known throughout the principality. His teachers, comrades, and friends loved him; each of Gleb’s wives considered him her own son. But more firmly than all, the father was attached to him. And the Prince began to forget the misfortune that was to take away his happiness, take away the young Prince, his only child.
And so the son turned eighteen. The Prince gathered all the boyars for a council and decided to transfer part of his power to the heir, so the son might learn to govern his principality and become a full ruler. The priests did not protest, nor did they propose another prince. Nor did they choose from the boyars, though there were young men no worse who could also become worthy princes. And the people loved the young Prince greatly; all knew it should be so—not because Gleb insisted on his choice, but because such was the will of the people. So it was decided.
The people gathered for the feast. Gleb the Black sat upon his throne; the boyars sat around the Prince in their chairs, level with him. A long carpet stretched from the throne across the entire hall. And onto it stepped the young Prince, all in white. He was to approach his father, kneel before him, before all the princes and boyars. Then Gleb the Black would place the crown of power upon him, and the assembled would congratulate him.
And just as the young Prince knelt, suddenly a huge bird, black as pitch, fell from the ceiling. It turned into a woman, embraced the youth with her great wings, and vanished. The young Prince vanished with her. Gleb the Black could not withstand such a blow—he fell unconscious. The Prince’s wives could not bear this grief; one after another, they departed to their ancestors. Gleb was left all alone—an old man with no one beside him: no beloved woman, no close friend. All had abandoned him, all had turned away, for they knew he had violated the command of the Queen of Birches.
Losing hope, Gleb the Black summoned all the veduny in the principality and asked them:
“Priests, you know all things. I beg your counsel—what shall I do? How can I save my son? Where shall I seek him? What will become of me, what will happen to the principality?”
The volkhvy thought, shook their heads, and did not know what to answer. At last, the wisest of them rose, bowed to the Prince, and said:
“You, Gleb, however you put it, are yourself to blame for your misfortune. From the very beginning, you should have listened to us. Now there is one salvation for you—the road to the birch. Beg from her the truth about your son. Only the Queen knows what has become of him.”
The Prince mounted his horse, gloomy and aged. He rode off slowly, stricken with grief, to the birch. At last he galloped to the familiar hill, climbed it, approached the sacred tree, fell on his knees before it, and began to plead:
“O great and mighty Queen, tell me how to live on? All the boyars, learning what great sorrow I brought to the principality, have turned from me. All friends and kin have turned away, all loved ones have refused me, all wives one after another have departed to their ancestors, because through me vanished the one all loved. Advise me—how can I save my son? Is the young Prince alive? Only he can return happiness to our people, to the principality, and to me.”
The birch swayed, lowered its branches, and began to stroke the Prince’s head, soothing him:
“Listen to me carefully, Gleb,” she said. “I know where your son is, and there is no great misfortune in his disappearance. The young Prince is alive, and you can bring him back—but you will have to wait a long time. He was abducted by the daughter of the goddess of death, Mara herself. She carried the young Prince into a dense forest where only firs and pines grow, and there stands her palace. He lives in a terem and speaks with a sorceress-servant and with Mara’s daughter. Your son serves her as a husband, but he remembers nothing of his past—he does not even know his own name. But there is one hope that may help you. For ten years, Mara’s daughter lives with the young Prince, and then for ten years she flies away to her mother in the heavens. And in that period, the youth will be left alone. If he finds himself a maiden who truly loves him, then the young Prince will remember who he is, and your son will return to you. Beseech the Creator, beseech Lada the Mother, that she may help him meet the maiden who can save him through true love.”
Time passed: a year, a second, a third—ten years went by. The unfortunate young Prince lived alone in the palace. Mara’s daughter, a dark beauty and sorceress, gave him orders, and he obeyed them without complaint. Her old servant, like her mistress, commanded him. The youth went hunting, performed all the household work he was told. But the young Prince remembered nothing: neither his name, nor who he was, nor whence he came. However he strained, his memory was empty.
One day, the dark beauty summoned her husband and said:
“Listen to me, husband. I am now flying away to my mother for ten years. Your mistress during this time will be my servant. Obey her in all things, without contradiction.”
Mara’s daughter gathered herself and soared into the blue heavens amid thunder and lightning.
The youth was left alone. He felt that some change might come. He gazed out the window day and night. Spring came. The young Prince threw open the window to meet it—to see the awakening of life in the forest, to hear the singing of birds, to see the first insects flying: butterflies, bees, bumblebees.
Suddenly a dove landed on the windowsill, and in its beak was a twig—a birch twig. Not a single birch grew around—only firs, spruce, and pines. The young Prince took the twig from the bird. And that twig gave him strength. He saw the light and his childhood: three women embracing him, playing with him; his father seating him on a horse; and the son kissing his parent and throwing his arms around him.
The witch burst into the room, snatched the twig from him, lashed him across the cheeks with the birch, and threw it into the fire.
“Do not dare, do you hear! You have no right! Obey me, as your mistress commanded you!”
She laughed in his face and went her way.
“What shall I do? I will go for a walk,” sighed the young Prince.
The youth walked through the forest, recalling all that the twig had shown him. He understood that the birch could give him light and tell him the whole truth. The Prince began to seek that tree, but nowhere could he find it. The youth traversed many thickets, forests, and groves. He saw elk, bears, and many other beasts, but nowhere could he find a birch.
Once he came out onto a clearing and saw maidens. They were dancing in circles and singing songs to Lada. The young Prince marveled that these beauties lived somewhere here. He stood, watching them. One of the maidens approached him and asked:
“Who are you?”
The young Prince answered:
“I do not know who I am.”
“How can you not know? Where do you live?”
“I live far from here, in a palace. And whence have you appeared in this clearing?”
“We have gathered from different villages and come here to a magical place of power.”
The youth turned, decided to leave, and the maiden asked:
“Where will you go?”
“I will go home. I have nowhere else to go.”
“Take me with you. I like you very much. I want to be with you.”
The young Prince took the maiden by the hand and led her to his terem.
They came to the palace, entered the house. The witch saw the youth with the maiden and cackled with spite:
“Well, no sooner has the mistress left the house than you have already brought yourself a wench!”
Sighing, the young Prince looked at the old woman, and the three of them began to live together. The maiden loved the youth and tried with all her might to awaken love in him. She cared for him, washed his clothes, cooked, and even treated the fierce sorceress well. But the witch, in response to her efforts, only smirked.
Time passed, but the youth behaved as if nothing had happened: he smiled, tried to do things, fulfilled all the maiden’s instructions and requests, and she kept waiting. She waited for at least a spark of love to appear in his eyes, but she saw only friendly regard. The beauty was for him merely a dear friend, a kind person, a good companion—and nothing in his soul changed toward her. Thus a year passed.
One day, rising before dawn, quietly packing her things, the maiden approached the sleeping young Prince, kissed him on the forehead, and left. Waking, the youth saw that the beauty had left him and would never return. The Prince understood then that he was strange, that he could not live like other people, that no one needed him—even this maiden had left him.
Thus the young Prince sat for a year, not opening the windows, not leaving the palace, only watching through the window as forest life went on.
At last, spring came. All living things awakened and reached toward the light. The first warm spring rains fell, a gentle wind blew, the sky brightened, and the sun, gaining strength, warmed the earth.
And the Prince decided to open the window again—to look at spring, to let it into his dark room. And as he was closing it, suddenly again, as last spring, a dove landed on the windowsill, and in its little beak was a birch twig. The young Prince seized the twig and saw his youth.
Now he examined it: how he saddled his horse, shot from a bow, ran races with other youths, leaped over bonfires, danced in circles, and sang songs with maidens. All this he beheld—but then the witch came up to him silently, took the birch, lashed the youth across the cheeks with it, threw it into the fire again, and left, cackling spitefully.
The young Prince rushed into the forest again, knowing he must find the birch, whatever it took—but for that, he must exert enormous effort. The Prince did not understand that he was bewitched, and wherever he went, wherever he appeared, he could not find the cherished tree. Days and weeks passed; the youth was utterly exhausted. And he began to lose hope that the birch would ever be found. Unnoticed, his feet brought him again to the familiar clearing.
Once more he saw the round dance of maidens and heard their songs. Once more a beauty approached him and chose him as her husband. As before, the Prince led her to the palace. The servant laughed at him long, and owls hooted beneath the palace ceiling.
With all her might, the maiden loved this youth, trying to please him in all things. But however she struggled, she could not help him. She saw that his soul was not thawing, not awakening. Thus two years passed. This beauty gathered herself quietly at night, packed her belongings, and left just as the first maiden had—forever, to seek her happiness with another youth.
The youth was left all alone and decided to go nowhere. For two years he sat in the palace, in his room, waiting for his wife to fly back—the one who commanded him. Everything became indifferent to him; the young Prince did not know how to live on.
Months passed, winter passed, and at last spring came again. And again the young Prince opened the window, and a dove landed on the windowsill with a birch twig. The young Prince caught the birch, gripped it tightly in his hand, and saw the throne hall, where the crown was to be placed upon him, and how a huge black bird fell upon him. At that moment, the old woman burst into the room, wanting to take the birch from the youth. But the young Prince gripped it firmly and pushed the witch out the door with his strong hands. Then he hid the birch twig among his belongings.
The youth fell into deep thought and decided that since he was, after all, some kind of prince—since they had wanted to place the crown of power upon him—then he must find his father and mother and all those he had seen. But the young Prince still could not remember his name. He did not know where to go or where to seek his home.
Again the Prince set out on the road. Now the youth went to seek not the birch, but his native Chernigov—but he did not know what the city looked like. The young Prince sought the places the twig had shown him, but did not encounter them; only dark forest surrounded him. He clambered over all the places in the vicinity, entered the most terrible thickets, crossed swamps and impassable dense woods. Long the Prince journeyed, until his feet themselves led him to a familiar place—the magical clearing.
Again he saw the maidens who sang songs and danced in circles. Again a beauty approached him and chose him, as the two before. She came with him to Mara’s palace. The old witch, meeting them on the threshold, cackled spitefully at the Prince:
“Well, you have brought a third one already?! Go on, go on—let us see how long this maiden stays with you. Will she run off at once, or wait a year or two as well?”
The youth showed the maiden the household and went to his room with heavy thoughts. The beauty began to help the young Prince—she washed everything, cleaned, cooked, denied him nothing, distracted him from bitter reflections with conversation. Thus a year passed, then another. The maiden began to understand that something was wrong with the youth—there was no love in him for her, though she could see how he tried and did everything possible to make her feel good. The maiden loved the young Prince so deeply that she could not leave for someone who would adore her. She was happy in her love and understood that she loved him even such as he was—not knowing even his own name. He was kind and close to her, and dear. The maiden knew she would never leave him, would be with him all her life, and would follow him anywhere. Only she did not at once realize that the strength of her love was insufficient to awaken him and raise him to an understanding of who he was. The power of her heart was not enough to resurrect the young Prince anew. The maiden began to understand that she was not fit to be his wife—not because he was not needed by her, but because she did not suit him. And the maiden began to be disappointed in herself, in her love, in her feelings. She began to feel worthless—unable to help a good man. The maiden understood that the youth was bewitched, that life had left him, that he was subject to some terrible force—and that force she could not overcome with her love. Then the maiden decided to leave the Prince—not to arrange her own life, but to help the youth.
Perhaps the beauty would come to him who would love him many times more strongly than she. Who would give him the strength that could awaken him, and the young Prince’s life would be complete. She herself decided to live out her days alone with her father and mother, to remember him and love him.
When the maiden began to pack her things, she decided to take at least something as a keepsake of him—and came upon the dried birch twig. She examined the twig, marveled, and decided to ask the youth about it. She found the young Prince in the courtyard.
He sat and gazed thoughtfully at the sky. The maiden pointed to the twig and asked:
“Tell me, why do you keep it, and for what purpose?”
The young Prince told her his story, hiding nothing, and then asked:
“Can you tell me where to find the birch? I have gone all around these parts, but nowhere have I seen it.”
“I know where to find such trees. There, whence I come from—many versts down the river from here—stands a whole grove of birches on a hill.”
The young Prince started:
“Help me find the birches, and then I will understand who I am and whence I come; I will remember where my home is. When I see the birch, I will be able to be born anew.”
The maiden fell into thought.
“But I wanted to leave. Perhaps I should not do so? Better to help the youth. To lead him to the birch grove. Perhaps this is the only thing I can do for him?”
The beauty agreed to help the Prince. The young Prince rejoiced, embraced the maiden, and asked her to pack for the journey.
At night, they took staves and fled from the palace of Mara’s daughter. They reached the river and set off downstream. Long they held their course: skirting windfalls, crossing little rivers, pushing through thickets. At last, the dark forests ended, the trees parted, and the young Prince and the maiden saw the grove.
Enormous trees stood upon the hill. The youth cast his gaze over the birches and rushed to them, to understand at last who he was, what his name was, and where his home lay.
Suddenly a hurricane wind rose, darkness fell around, thunder rolled, a terrible cry and noise erupted. The Prince turned and saw that very black bird that had once carried him from his home. And when the bird was about to seize the young Prince, a song of birches spread across all the surrounding land. The chorus of trees was so mighty and powerful that it drowned the roar of the bird and the crashes of thunder. The youth looked around and saw that from the magical song of the trees, the bird shattered into pieces, which immediately caught fire and turned to dust. The Prince understood that the hymn of the birches had saved him. He remembered his past—who he was, whence he came—remembered his father and three mothers, remembered the city of Chernigov and how to reach it.
Rejoicing, the young Prince rushed to the maiden—but nowhere could he find her. He found her village, but it turned out to be empty and abandoned. Whomever the Prince met along the road, no one could answer his questions: where was the beauty who had saved his life, where had the whole village gone? Then he decided to find his father and his city. The young Prince understood that the sooner he did this, the sooner he would find and help his savior.
The Prince learned from kind people in which direction Chernigov lay and set off home.
He walked by day, resting in villages by night. As soon as dawn broke, he set out again. Thus the Prince reached home and opened the gates of the palace with his mighty hands. The guards marveled at what bogatyr had come. The people began to ask who he was and whence he came.
The father heard the noise in the courtyard, came out of the terem, saw his son, rushed to meet him, and wept. The young Prince embraced his father and said:
“You understand, Father, I have returned, I have remembered everything—but I must find that maiden-beauty who saved me and led me to the birch grove. The birches rescued me, protecting me with a magical song that destroyed the black bird. But as soon as the witch turned to dust, the maiden vanished. I have gone all around the region, but no one knows where to seek her. A misfortune has befallen her—I know it. She needs help, before she perishes.”
The father looked at his son through tears and said:
“You know, son, you have a noble heart. I would never let you go from me. You have earned the right to be the ruler of our city and people. Therefore, prepare yourself—we shall ride to the council.”
Saddling two horses, the bogatyrs rode to the birch. They galloped to the hill, approached the great and mighty Queen, and bowed to her.
The birch smiled and lowered its branches:
“So I have awaited you. Father and son are together again, as I promised you, Gleb. But why is your son so sorrowful? How else can I help you?”
The young Prince told her all that had befallen him in the grove—how the maiden had saved him from the terrible spells of Mara’s daughter. And now he did not know where to seek this beauty or how to save her from misfortune.
The Queen of Birches sighed, stroked the young Prince’s head with a branch, and answered:
“I know that my sisters saved you with their magical song—the hymn of light. Our magic stopped the power of Mara, her spells. But while all this was happening, the evil Morok, Mara’s brother, abducted the maiden. Now she languishes in his deep dungeon. The sorcerer awaits you, to strike you down with his terrible fiery sword.”
The father grew frightened for the young Prince and pleaded:
“My son, where will you go? We have only just met after so many years, and you are leaving me again.”
The birch listened to the grieving father’s lament, swayed its branches, and said:
“Gleb, your son is noble and kind. He has a courageous heart that truly loves the one who saved him. Let the young Prince go, and I will help him. Beside my roots is hidden a sword-kladenets—more terrible than Morok’s fiery sword. Let the Prince take it. When he returns with victory, you shall place the weapon back.”
Father and son dug up the sword-kladenets. The warrior took the weapon in his hands, tested it, and pronounced:
“With this sword, one can boldly fight not only Morok, but Koschei himself.”
The Prince bowed to the birch, thanked her for the gift, and father and son raced home. A day later, the Prince prepared for the journey. He dressed as a true Russian warrior, donned chainmail and cuirass, placed a helmet on his head, hung the sword-kladenets at his belt, mounted the fastest and mightiest horse, and set out.
Many obstacles the bogatyr overcame: he swam across a stormy sea, crossed a scorching desert, traversed mountains high as the heavens, until he saw in the distance the castle of Morok. Its terrible palace towered amid a vast stone desert. Thanks to his heroic horse, the Prince coped with the obstacles.
He rode up to the castle, took a horn, and sounded a challenge to Morok for single combat.
The sorcerer flew out to meet the bogatyr on a black, terrible horse. He laughed a horrifying laugh:
“So you have come, to perish a terrible death here, before my palace.”
The young Prince met his enemy in mortal combat. Long they fought as men, but neither could overcome the other. However Morok tried, his strength was insufficient; he began to tire. Then the sorcerer turned into a huge kite. Seeing this, the Prince turned with his heart to Mother Earth and to the sword-kladenets—and became a heavenly falcon.
Again the bogatyrs fight to the death, but now in the heavens. Falcon and kite dive at each other, strike, tear their opponent bloody. Long they fought thus—a day passed, night passed, morning came, and neither yielded. The whole earth was covered with feathers and down.
In the end, the kite could not hold out. It crashed to the earth and turned into a huge tiger. Following it, having turned with all his soul to the goddess of love, Lada, the falcon fell to the earth and became a gigantic brown bear. The bear began to fight the tiger; the whole earth trembled, fur and blood flew in all directions. To the last, Morok held out. But still he could not withstand the bear. He rushed to the forest, hoping to save himself in the dark thicket. Then the bear caught up with the tiger.
But the evil sorcerer turned into a fiery whirlwind, and everything around blazed. And the bear was turned by the goddess of love into water, which flooded the raging flame. The fire died, and Morok perished.
The Russian bogatyr rose from the water and looked around: no evil spells remained, no fire, no sorcerer. The stone desert had vanished, and Morok’s castle had crumbled, leaving only ruins.
The warrior leaped onto his horse and raced to the remains of the palace. Long the young Prince wandered among them, until he saw a maiden chained to the walls. He tore the chains from her, and the exhausted beauty fell into his arms. And when she came to herself, she looked at him with tender eyes, and the young Prince asked:
“Tell me, my savior, whence comes such strength in me? How did I manage to accomplish the impossible?”
The beauty smiled, embraced him, and whispered:
“Your strength was born of your love for me—a love that I was able to awaken with my burning heart, and which no one and nothing can ever destroy.”