The Twelve Wild Swans Page 3

  Sure enough, the queen conceived a child. Although her twelve sons were placed in a locked room under the strongest guard, at the moment of the baby girl’s birth, they turned into swans and flew out of the open window, never to be seen again. The king and queen named the little girl Rose, and Rose grew up alone in the castle. She was never told of the existence of her brothers or of how they had come to be lost. But as she grew, the child felt lonely, and she was aware of the shadow of some mystery or secret. She became more and more curious. She took to asking all sorts of questions of the most unlikely people, and so it was that one day as Rose approached womanhood, she finally heard the whole story from her old nurse, who had known her brothers well and still grieved for them.

  As soon as Rose heard the nurse’s story, she knew what she must do. “No matter what the cost,” she vowed, “I’ll find my brothers and break the spell that binds them.” She bade farewell to her parents and walked out of the castle gate with only the clothes she was wearing and a loaf of bread.

  She found herself in the wildwood, and she was lost at once. Her soft princess hands and her delicate princess clothes were soon scratched, torn, and dirty, but Rose continued on her way until she found a little stream. Here she stopped to rest for a bit, to drink and wash and eat some of her bread. As she rested, an Old Woman suddenly appeared. “May I have a bit of your bread, child? I’m so hungry…”

  Although she had little to offer, Rose shared her meal with the Old Woman, and as they talked and ate, Rose poured out her story. “My dear girl,” said the Old Woman, “if you follow this river to its end, it will take you to the ocean. Swans live there, by the side of the sea. Perhaps there you will find your brothers.”

  Rose followed the Old Woman’s advice, and when she arrived at the seaside, she found a little hut with twelve narrow beds inside. Sure that she was soon to be reunited with her brothers, Rose waited by the hut. The sun began to set, and in its last rosy light, twelve great swans swooped out of the sky. As their feet touched the earth, the sun set, and before Rose’s astonished eyes the swans turned into handsome young men. “I am your sister!” cried Rose.

  Her brothers stared at her, horrified. “What have we done!” they cried. “We have vowed to kill the first young girl we meet, because our misfortune came to us through a girl!” Rose shrank back from them, but in this moment the Old Woman appeared again. She faced the frightened, angry brothers: “Break that wicked vow, which you never should have made. Can’t you see? This is your own dear sister. Only through her can you be restored.” And she disappeared as quickly as she had come.

  All through that night, Rose and her brothers talked and planned. The next day was Midsummer Day, the longest day of the year. Only at this time could the swan brothers travel across the sea to the magical land of the powerful fairy called the Fata Morgana. The long daylight hours allowed them enough time in swan form to cross the trackless ocean safely. Otherwise they would turn to men as the sun set and plunge helplessly into the gray and heaving sea. Now they planned to bring Rose with them. During the short night, the thirteen wove a strong basket of willow in which Rose could ride while the swan brothers carried her on a journey Beyond.

  As dawn broke, the brothers changed shape, and all of them grasped the basket with their bills, lifting Rose into the sky. They flew and flew, until it seemed their strength must fail, but as twilight came on they spied a huge rock jutting out of the surf, and here they landed just as they began to shape-shift. With Rose in the middle, the brothers huddled on the rock through the short night as the surf broke and crashed around them. When dawn came, they rose again into the sky. They beat with their great powerful wings ever closer to the land of the Fata Morgana.

  As another long day came to an end, they saw the coastline of a strange new land open below them. As they began to dip down toward the earth, Rose spied a glittering fairy castle in the clouds. “What is that beautiful palace?” she cried. “That is the castle of the Fata Morgana,” answered her brothers, “where no mortal may come.”

  In the green hills of the coast lay a cave, where the swan brothers lived when they were in this land. Here they landed, glad to be safe on the green earth again. As the sun set, they assumed their human shapes and went into the cave to rest from their journey on beds of soft and fragrant boughs. As Rose slept, she dreamed, and in her dream she entered the fairy castle.

  Through doors and hallways both strange and strangely familiar, Rose walked in search of the Fata Morgana. The castle seemed to glow with a transparent inner light, the color of darkness if darkness could shine. When Rose found the throne room and approached the Dark Fairy herself, Rose saw that she, too, was shining, lit up from within. It seemed that the Fata Morgana knew Rose’s question without words, and at a slight movement of the fairy’s hand, a vision opened up in Rose’s mind. She saw that she must make twelve shirts from wild nettles, one for each of her brothers. If she could complete this task in solemn silence, neither speaking, laughing, nor crying, when she threw the shirts over her brothers they would be restored to their human forms, and the spell would be broken. The vision faded, and the face of the Dark Fairy was clear again before her. “It will not be easy,” she said. “It is up to you. Do you say yes or no?” “Yes,” said Rose quietly, and it was the last word to fall from her lips for many years.

  Rose awoke, safe among her brothers in the green cave. She rose at once and went into the woods to gather nettles. She worked in silence, harvesting, soaking, pulling out the fibers, spinning thread, weaving cloth, and cutting and sewing the shirts. When the nettles stung her, she did not cry out. When she and her brothers sat together around the fire at night, eating and talking, she did not laugh or tell tales with them. The brothers knew somehow that her task was for their benefit, and they became accustomed to the fact that she no longer spoke. And so they all lived for a time in peace.

  But one day as Rose sat outside the green cave, spinning her thread, who should ride by but the king of that land. He was struck by her mystery, her purpose, and her beauty, and he fell in love with her at once. She was also of an age for love, and so she gathered up all her things and, mounting the horse before him, rode back into the world of men. They loved each other well and would have been very happy had it not been for the jealousy of his mother, who feared this strange, speechless young woman with her odd ways.

  Since Rose no longer lived in the forest, when she needed more nettles for her work, she had to harvest them from the churchyard. Here among the gravestones there grew a great healthy stand of nettles. Although she feared the Lamia—snake-bodied women who fed on the bodies of the dead—she feared being questioned more, and so she harvested her nettles at night. The king’s mother watched her secretly, and in the morning she went before the king. “A witch!” she cried. “That’s who you’ve married and brought among us. What would an honest woman be doing in a graveyard at night? Why doesn’t she explain herself?” The king defended his love and refused to listen to the accusations, but the whispers grew behind Rose’s back.

  A year passed, and to her joy, Rose gave birth to a beautiful little baby. But while the new mother slept, the jealous old queen stole the baby and threw it off the castle walls into the waiting mouth of a huge wolf. Then she killed a puppy and marked the young mother’s mouth with blood. “Alas!” she raised the alarm, “the witch has eaten her own child.”

  Again the king defended Rose, but the whispers behind her back grew even stronger. She could not speak to defend herself or to let loose her terrible sorrow at the loss of her beloved child. She spun and wove and sewed with more determination than ever, but her eyes filled again and again with unshed tears. Now she knew what the Dark Fairy had meant: “It will not be easy.”

  Another year passed, and again Rose was brought to childbed. Another beautiful baby was born, to the rejoicing of Rose and the young king. But again the old queen stole the child and threw it into the waiting jaws of the wolf, marking the mother’s mouth with puppy blood
. This time the king could not overrule his frightened counselors and his terrified populace. There was too much evidence, too much suspicion and rumor, and the people demanded that the witch be burned. Rose was thrown into the dungeon, along with her handiwork (which no one wanted to touch). All that long night, while the people erected a stake and prepared a great bonfire ready to burn her, Rose sewed and sewed. She was almost done with the last shirt.

  At dawn, the executioner’s cart came for her and carried her to the stake. Still her fingers flew at her work, and she neither spoke nor wept. She was tied to the stake, and the fire was thrust in under her. As the flames began to leap about her, there came a great rush of wings out of the sky. Twelve swans swooped into the square over the stake, beating out the flames with their wings. As each landed, Rose threw a shirt over him, and each was transformed into a strong and handsome man. They boldly surrounded her, keeping the people back, as the burning wood burst into green leaf and blooming roses instead of flame. “I am innocent,” cried Rose, and she fell down as if dead.

  The young king stepped through the people and plucked a single rose from the pyre. As he laid it on Rose’s breast and gathered her up, she sighed and awoke. At that moment, the crowd parted again for the Old Woman leading a little child and carrying a baby snugly wrapped. She had been the wolf that had snatched up the babies, and she had raised them safe and sound until they could be restored to their parents. “Here are your beautiful babies,” she said to Rose and the king. “Care for them well.” And so, they lived happily ever after. But the last shirt was not finished; it lacked the final sleeve. And so it was that Rose’s youngest brother was left to live out his life with one human arm and one swan wing.

  ONE

  Leaving the Castle

  Comments on the Story

  A queen makes an ill wish: she would trade her twelve strong sons for one daughter. The girl is born; the sons are transformed into swans and fly away. Rose grows up in ignorance of their existence but with a gnawing sense of something amiss. When she finally learns the fate of her brothers, she decides she must find them and save them. And so she leaves the castle and sets out on her quest.

  When we approach this story as a guide through an initiatory journey of empowerment, we recognize that nothing in it is quite what it appears to be. Our queen is more than a queen, and the daughter she wishes for is more than an ordinary daughter. The clue is found in that classic fairy-tale formula of “hair black as the raven’s wing, lips as ruby red as blood, skin as white as snow.” The red, the white, and the black are the colors of the Goddess—the young moon, full moon, and old moon, respectively. They are also the colors of the cycle of life. According to archaeologist Marija Gimbutas, in the Goddess cultures of old Europe white was the color of death, of ice and bone and the snows of winter; black was the color of earth, of the darkness of the womb, of gestation; red was the color of blood, birth, menstruation, and life.

  The queen wishes for a daughter who will embody the Goddess herself, the full cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth. Our queen-priestess needs an heir, someone to whom she can pass on her power and knowledge of the mysteries unique to women. We might think that twelve fine, strong sons would be enough for any woman, but without a daughter, the cycle is not complete.

  The sons in this story are not ordinary sons. They are twelve—the number of months in the solar year, the signs of the zodiac. Our queen is the mother of time itself. Rose, her daughter, will be the thirteenth moon that completes the lunar cycle.

  The queen makes an ill wish. She would trade all twelve of her sons for a daughter. In the manner of fairy tales, her wish is granted.

  The practice of magic rests on the power of the word. We say it will be so: we make it so. The more personal power or structural power we have, the more weight our words carry and the more we must be responsible for them. We make a thousand ill wishes every day, harbor hundreds of impulses that we quickly suppress. But a queen, a person of power, must be wary of what she allows herself to voice. The worst danger in magic is that we may get what we ask for.

  The Old Woman who appears is the Crone incarnate, guide and teacher who practices “tough love.” She teaches not by imposing punishments but by making us face the consequences of our actions. And so Rose is born, and the brothers, in spite of all efforts to protect them, are transformed into swans.

  Rose grows surrounded by secrets and evasions—as do so many of us. While she may be the living representative of the Goddess, she takes on individual form and personality. When we work with the story, we become Rose, facing her challenges and undergoing her transformations.

  Rose senses that something is wrong, something is missing. She doesn’t know what, but she knows that her world is not complete. Her distress, her uneasiness, is the beginning of her quest. An initiation journey often begins with the perception that something is wrong. We undertake a process of transformation because we want more than what is given. We sense that some loss requires restitution; some balance must be restored.

  So Rose asks uncomfortable questions, until finally she is answered with the truth. In this she functions as a model feminist heroine. But as soon as she learns the truth, she accepts responsibility for restoring her brothers. While most of us, faced with her situation, would weep, cry, engage a therapist, or form a support group for Adult Siblings of Avians, Rose simply determines to rectify the situation.

  This is one of the most challenging points in the story. Rose didn’t ask to be born, and she never consented to having her brothers changed into swans. This whole mess is not her fault. Yet she knows intuitively that only she can heal it.

  Rose has come to the same starting point each of us must reach when we begin a magical journey. Like Rose, we all live in a world in which many things are wrong. The Goddess tradition does not preach perfection. The universe may be perfect in its inception, that instant before the big bang when all existed as one incredibly tiny, multidimensional point of perfect symmetry. But that perfection isn’t much help to us on a day-to-day level. And ever since then, things have been unfolding with a high degree of randomness and a certain amount of chaos, with plenty of room for mistakes to be made. We honor that imperfection, because it is that very quality of randomness that allows for freedom, for creativity and spontaneity. But the price we pay for living in an exuberant, unpredictable, surprising universe is about the same as for attending a wild, unpoliced party where you can crank the music up loud and smash your glassware in the fireplace: there’s a certain amount of cleaning up to do.

  We each inherit many, many ills we did not create. The path to personal power requires that we know what we are called to heal and what we are not called to fix. In our personal lives, we did not create the families we were born into. We did not build the castle, nor did we contribute to its design. We may or may not be able to heal its ills. Sometimes trying to heal our families may simply embed us more deeply in their destructive patterns.

  To gain the insight we need, we must step outside the castle walls, out of our usual frame of experience. Magic teaches us to create portals, to open doors and dare the wilderness.

  Collectively, too, we live in a castle not of our own design, full of secrets and inherited ills. None of us alive today created our heritage of sexism, racism, poverty, social injustice, war, or environmental degradation. Sometimes these conditions may oppress us personally; at other times we may benefit from them directly or indirectly. We can respond with rage, with guilt, with grief or paralysis, but none of these will help matters much. Only Rose’s response, the willing undertaking of responsibility, can lead to healing.

  Women may be rightfully resentful of the many times we are expected to clean up after others. Youth may be enraged at the environmental, economic, and social messes they inherit. Working with this story in Germany, we touched the deep pain and anger felt by many postwar Germans about their country’s Nazi heritage, the guilt the younger generation inherits over the genocide perpetrated be
fore they were born.

  Nonetheless, as women and men of conscience at the beginning of the twenty-first century, we are called to become Rose, to develop those qualities of courage and responsibility that can lead to healing. And so the brothers become the endangered redwoods, the homeless person on the street, the war victim crying in a far-off land, and the unresolved pain in our own homes and hearts.

  A journey of initiation must be undertaken willingly; it cannot be imposed from without. Rose voluntarily takes on her task; no one requires it of her or even suggests it to her. In fact, others do their best to talk her out of it. But her deepest intuition tells her that this task is hers and hers alone. Only she can save her brothers.

  We live today in a castle that has expelled many wild swans, many values that might open the heart to the wild and take us soaring on the wind. The work of this beginning chapter is, first, to recognize that something beyond the castle exists—that something, someone, is missing. We must be willing to keep asking questions until we find out what or who that is. If we choose to take on the task of healing, we will need the skills of magic, which can open a doorway in the walls that enclose us.

  We cannot rectify every mistake or heal every wound. The work of this chapter in the story is to learn to hear the deep call within, to recognize, as Rose does, what challenges do belong to us. When we answer the call with courage and responsibility, we begin a process that will transform us as deeply as it changes the world around us.