Serbian Fairy Tales E-Book

Mia Mirillia

• Herausgeber: Mia Mirillia
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A treasure full of magic, adventure and wisdom

Deep in the heart of the Balkans, surrounded by dark forests, sparkling rivers and mighty mountains, lives a world full of magical creatures, talking animals, cunning heroes and mysterious spirits. The fairy tales and legends of Serbia are rich in fantasy, full of poetic images and profound wisdom. They tell of unicorns that only meet those who see with their hearts, of dragons that are defeated by kindness, and of clever girls and courageous boys who bravely face the trials of life.

This collection of fairy tales invites you to immerse yourself in this special world and discover the stories that have been passed down from generation to generation for centuries - stories that invite you to marvel, reflect and dream.

For children, young people and adults - fairy tales for all generations

The stories are written in such a way that they captivate both young and old listeners and readers. The stories are exciting and imaginative, but never childish - and adults will also find much joy and inspiration in them. Each story is independent, offers new characters and unexpected twists and turns and yet remains deeply rooted in the old storytelling tradition of Serbia.

Whether as a bedtime story, a cozy read aloud by the campfire or a magical journey for yourself: These fairy tales touch the heart and soul in equal measure and allow readers to immerse themselves in a world where good triumphs in the end and wisdom is often more important than strength.

Courage, wisdom and the power of imagination

The characters in these fairy tales are not always kings or warriors. Often it is the simple shepherd boys, the clever farmer's sons or the courageous girls who defeat evil and find happiness through understanding, compassion and courage. The animals talk, flowers sing, fairies help or pose riddles - but it is always about more than just magic. They are about friendship, love, the value of truth and how important it is to follow your own heart.

These fairy tales don't just tell stories, they convey values that are timeless. They encourage us to be curious, to ask questions and to walk through the world with open eyes.

A journey into the fairytale world of Serbia - discover it now!

Whether for cozy hours of reading alone, for reading aloud to children or as a special gift for fairy tale lovers - this collection of traditional tales from Serbia is a book for the whole family. Immerse yourself in the fascinating world of Balkan fairy tales and let yourself be enchanted by adventures as old as the forests in which they were once told.

Start your journey now into a world full of magic, wisdom and wonderful stories. Let yourself be whisked away - the fairy tales are waiting for you!

Leseprobe

Serbian Fairy Tales

Enchanting stories from the heart of Serbia

Mia Mirillia

Contents

The three brothers and the dragon from the black lake

The clever girl and the golden tsar

The wolf with the silver eyes

The magic horses of the sun princess

The tsar and the talking falcon

The cunning of the poor shepherd boy

The enchanted castle on the glass mountain

The bear who wanted to be king

The daughter of the water dragon

The boy who understood the language of animals

The seven petrified brothers

The witch Baba Roga and the lost soul

The frog with the golden crown

The girl with the hair made of moonlight

The magic ring of the wise old man

The three golden apples

The giant on the Morava River

The cunning hare and the stupid wolf

The lost kingdom beneath the earth

The sad story of the black swan

The fairies from the green mountain

The silver pirogue and the realm of the water spirits

The three trials of the poor farmer's son

The curse of the jealous witch

The secret of the hidden well

The little fisherman and the magic carp

The beautiful Milena and the evil dragon

The cunning raven and the golden key

The singing flower from the valley of dreams

The shepherd boy and the unicorn of the forest

The three brothers & the dragon from the black lake

Once upon a time, in a distant land where dense forests hugged the mountains and endless plains were covered in wild flowers. There, where the mists danced over the fields early in the morning and the stars shone so brightly at night that it seemed you could pick them with your hand, lived three brothers. Their names were Marko, Jovan and Petar. They were the sons of a poor farmer who tilled his fields with hard work and had passed on to his sons a love of nature, life and justice. The brothers were as different as the seasons: Marko, the eldest, was strong and courageous, but sometimes impetuous. Jovan, the second eldest, was clever and thoughtful, his words were rare but well-considered. Petar, the youngest, had a gentle disposition and was kind to animals and people, but some people thought he was weak because of this.

One day, a rumor spread through the village. A dragon had risen from the deep, black lake that lay beyond the seven hills. Night after night it flew over the land, its wings as big as the roofs of the houses, and stole the farmers' livestock. Worse still, if a farmer got too close to it, it would disappear forever. People no longer dared to go near the lake, and their fear grew with each passing day. The fields lay fallow, the cows bleated orphaned in the pastures and the market in the village square fell silent.

The tsar of the land, a kind but old man, sent messengers. Whoever could defeat the dragon and free the country would be promised a golden crown and the hand of his daughter. Many young men prepared themselves, but none returned. The brothers heard the news and Marko was the first to sharpen his axe and saddle his horse. Jovan forged a sword that was sharper than the cold wind of winter, and Petar quietly wove an amulet from herbs and red threads, for he knew the power of small things.

When her mother found out about her plans, she begged her to stay. But Marko just laughed and said that a man had to fulfill his duty to the country. Jovan put his hand on her shoulder and promised that they would be careful. Petar kissed her on the forehead and vowed to do everything he could to return.

So they set off, the three brothers, leaving nothing but the trail of their footsteps in the dust of the paths. The journey was long, the nights were cold and hunger gnawed at their stomachs. But they stuck together, sang old songs around the campfire and told each other stories from their childhood days to dispel the fear of what was to come.

After seven days and seven nights, they reached the black lake. The water was as still as a mirror, but so dark that it swallowed up every color. No bird sang there, no frog croaked on the shore. Instead, a heavy mist lay over the water and a foul smell rose from the depths, as if evil itself was breathing there.

Marko was the first to call the dragon. He challenged the monster with a firm voice. Nothing happened for a long time, but then the surface of the water began to bubble and a sound as deep as the rumble of a thunderstorm shook the earth. The dragon rose from the waves, its scales black as pitch, its eyes red as glowing coals. Smoke rose from its nostrils and its claws cut the air like knives.

Marko, proud and strong, raised his axe and charged towards the dragon. But the monster struck with its tail with such force that Marko was thrown through the air and lay motionless on the ground. Jovan leapt over, sword in hand, and aimed for the dragon's soft belly, but the dragon only laughed, a deep, thunderous laugh that made the trees tremble, and with a single swipe of its claw it tore Jovan to the ground.

Petar stood there alone, his heart beating so hard that he could hear it rushing in his ears. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but then he remembered his father's words: courage does not mean not being afraid, but acting in spite of fear. So he grabbed his amulet, held it tightly in his hand and faced the dragon.

The dragon looked at the youngest and hissed contemptuously. Do you think, little worm, that you could defeat me now that your strong brothers have fallen? But Petar did not answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket and sprinkled the powder of dried basil and St. John's wort into the fog. A sweet, heavy scent filled the air, and for a moment the monster hesitated, its eyes narrowing.

Petar knew that the dragon only had its full power at night. But at sunrise, an old woman in the village had told him, his scales would soften like wax and his heart would be vulnerable. So Petar began to sing an old lullaby that his mother had once sung to them. The melody was simple, but it carried the warmth of home, the murmur of rivers, the buzzing of bees, the laughter of children. The dragon blinked, his eyes became heavy, his breathing slower.

The morning dawned and the first rays of sunlight slid across the lake. The light fell on the black scales and they actually began to shine, almost melting. Petar stepped closer, his heart pounding loudly, but he continued to sing, more firmly and bravely now. When the sun had fully risen, Petar pointed his brother's sword at the dragon's throbbing heart, which was now visibly beating beneath the thinning skin.

With a final hiss, the monster reared up, flailed wildly, but his strength left him and he crashed to the ground. The earth shook and the black lake retreated as if to bury its fallen master.

Petar was still standing there, his sword firmly in his hand, his gaze fixed on the huge monster that now lay motionless before him. The roar of the battle slowly faded, and in the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the soft lapping of the water on the shore. The black mist began to dissipate as if it had never existed. The lake, which had just looked like a dark, greedy mouth, now seemed harmless, almost peaceful, and the sunlight reflected on the surface of the water like polished glass.

Petar slowly lowered the sword, his hands trembling, but his heart was calm. He knelt down to his brothers, who were still lying motionless on the ground. With trembling fingers, he felt for their pulse. First he felt a faint throbbing in Marko, then in Jovan too. Their eyes were closed, but they were alive. Petar closed his eyes in relief, tears streaming down his cheeks. He quickly took the small vials of medicinal herbs from his pocket, which he had taken from the old herb woman's garden in the village, and moistened his brothers' lips with the bitter-smelling brew.

Marko was the first to groan and slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was dull, but when he saw Petar above him, a faint smile formed on his lips. Jovan soon stirred too, his forehead was bloody from a laceration, but his mind was clear. What happened?" he asked in a raspy voice, but Petar put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and told him what had happened. When his brothers learned how he had defeated the dragon with courage, wisdom and songs, they looked at him with different eyes, and the pride in their eyes was worth more than all the riches in the world.

Together, albeit weakened, the three brothers set about severing the dragon's head, as the tsar had demanded, to provide proof of victory. It was a difficult task, as the monster's scales were hard and resilient even in death, but they finally succeeded. They tied the head to a strong tree trunk, which they turned into a chariot, and harnessed their horse to it.

The way back was long and arduous. The brothers often had to rest to nurse their wounds, and the dragon's head was so heavy that the horse alone could hardly pull it. But on their way, they met people from the surrounding villages who, on hearing the news of the dragon's defeat, rushed to help. Men and women, old and young, harnessed their own horses, handed out water and bread, bandaged the brothers' wounds and sang songs of thanks.

When they finally reached the capital, it was a day of such clarity that the sky seemed bluer than ever. The sun was high in the sky and as the brothers with the dragon's head rode through the great city gate, people poured into the streets. Cheers erupted, flowers were strewn along the way, children ran laughing behind the carriage, and even the old people bowed deeply to the three brothers.

The tsar received them in the large square in front of the palace, surrounded by his advisors and the crowd. On his head rested a crown of pure gold, and at his side stood his daughter, the tsar's daughter Milica, whose beauty resembled the radiance of the morning sun. When the brothers stepped in front of the tsar and laid the dragon's head at his feet, a murmur rose in the crowd. The tsar stood up slowly, his eyes scanning the three men. Which of you slew the dragon?" he asked in a firm voice.

Marko stepped forward, about to open his mouth, but Jovan put his hand on his arm. They both looked at Petar, who was still wearing his amulet around his neck, and Petar, modest and humble, bowed his head. It was Petar who defeated the dragon, Jovan said loud enough for everyone to hear. Without him we would have fallen, without his wisdom, courage and gentleness the monster would still be standing on the shores of the black lake.

A silent moment followed, then the tsar stepped forward, took Petar by the hands and gently pulled him towards him. Your courage is great, young man, but your heart is even greater. The strength of the hands can smash dragons, but only the purity of the heart can truly defeat evil.

The tsar's daughter now stepped forward herself, looked at Petar with a warm gaze and it was said that her heart belonged to him at that moment. The tsar kept his word: Petar was married to Milica, but he did not demand a crown for himself. Instead, he asked that the land be at peace and that the fields that had been devastated by the dragon could be re-cultivated.

Marko and Jovan stayed by his side, honored as the brave brothers who were faithful to each other until the most difficult hour. The story of their deed was sung by bards and told in the villages, and many years later the children still sat around the fireplaces and listened to the songs of the dragon from the black lake and of the youngest who defeated evil with courage and songs.

And so they lived in peace for many years, and it is said that from the tears that Petar had shed that night on the banks of the black lake, a new river flowed, whose waters were clear and healing, and whoever drank from it grew courage in his heart.

The clever girl and the golden tsar

Far beyond the hills, where the fields glowed in a sea of poppies in summer and the forests were so dense that even the sunlight had trouble finding the paths, lived a girl called Mirjana. She was the daughter of a poor miller who spent his life grinding the farmers' grain while his daughter filled the sacks and drew the water for the wheel. But Mirjana was not like other girls her age. Her mind was as sharp as the knife she used to cut the bread, and her heart was as big as the sky over the endless expanses of land.

Even as a small child, she asked questions that made the old people in the village frown. Why the stars were in the sky, why the water flowed, where the birds went in the fall. She never stopped asking and even less did she stop looking for answers. When she wasn't sitting in the shade of the old mill, she could often be found by the stream, stacking stones and watching the water dance around her as if it were alive.

A tsar reigned in that land whose wealth was so great that no one in the entire empire knew the number of gold pieces he had. His palace sparkled in the sun, the battlements were decorated with gold leaf and the gardens smelled of roses, even in the depths of winter. But as much gold as the tsar possessed, his heart was empty. He sat alone on his throne, the crown heavy on his head, and his gaze often wandered beyond the walls of the palace, as if he were searching for something he could not name.

The tsar, so the story went, was looking for a woman, but not just any woman. She should not only be beautiful, but cleverer than all the others, clever enough to defeat him in a contest of wisdom. Whoever could ask him three questions to which he knew no answer would win his hand and sit by his side on the throne. Many daughters from rich houses had tried it, their fathers had provided them with the cleverest scholars, but each time it was the tsar who asked the better questions in the end. And so the throne remained empty beside him, and the empire waited for a queen.

Mirjana heard about this competition when an old merchant stopped by the mill one day. He told of the failed attempts of the others, of the Tsar's clever questions, and shook his head when he said that there was no one in the whole country who could surpass the Tsar. But Mirjana only smiled softly and her eyes flashed. She knew that wisdom was not always to be found in books and that wisdom often lived where it was not expected.

The next morning she tied her hair in a simple plait, put on her best dress, which was simple but clean and neat, and set off for the palace. The way was long, but she knew the paths through the woods, and the wind seemed to whisper soft stories in her ear as the birds sang their song. When she finally reached the golden gates of the palace, the guards looked skeptically at the simple girl in front of her. But she was undeterred, spoke calmly and confidently and demanded to see the tsar.

The tsar was sitting on his throne when Mirjana entered the hall. He looked surprised at the girl, who stepped in front of him without hesitation, her hands folded, her back straight, her chin raised. Who are you to dare challenge me? he asked, but his voice was not harsh, more curious. Mirjana bowed her head slightly and said, "My name is Mirjana, daughter of a miller, but wisdom does not reside in gold or titles. Wisdom resides in the mind, if you know how to use it.

The tsar smiled faintly and nodded. Very well, then ask your three questions, if you think it wise. Mirjana took a deep breath, took a step closer and asked her first question: 'Tell me, mighty tsar, what is the hardest thing in the world? The tsar leaned back, his gaze pensive. Many would have answered: the iron, the stone, the gold. But the tsar was wiser than that. The hardest thing in the world, he said after a while, is a man's promise that he does not intend to keep.

Mirjana smiled and nodded, but she didn't let herself be put off. Then tell me, Tsar, what is the fastest thing in the world? This time the tsar answered without hesitation: 'Thought, because it is everywhere before a word can carry it. Mirjana nodded again and her gaze became serious. And now my third question, Tsar: What is the most precious thing in the world? This time the tsar was silent for a long time. He closed his eyes and his face fell silent, as if he were listening to a song that only he could hear. Many things ran through his mind: gold, power, fame. But he knew it couldn't be any of these answers. Finally, he opened his eyes, his gaze met Mirjana's and he spoke softly: The most precious thing in the world is the heart of a person who loves sincerely.

Mirjana bowed slightly, then raised her head. Your answers, Tsar, are wise and correct. But if you will allow me, I will ask a question that you cannot answer with words. The tsar raised his eyebrows, his interest piqued. Then ask, if you dare. Mirjana took another step closer. If a man is alone, even if he has all the riches, what is he missing?

The tsar wanted to answer, but he paused. He saw the girl standing in front of him, her eyes clear and firm, and something stirred in his heart that he had not felt for a long time. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't say it. Instead, he stood up, stepped down from his throne and took Mirjana's hand.

You defeated me not with cunning, but with truth, he said softly, so that only she could hear. And because you understand people's hearts more than words ever could, you're the smartest person I've ever met.

The tsar still held Mirjana's hand in his, while a deep silence reigned in the throne room. The advisors at his side, the ladies-in-waiting, even the guards on the high pillars held their breath, for they sensed that something extraordinary had happened. The contest was over, not through a game of words, but through the silent admission of a truth that no one could deny. The girl from the mill stream had touched the tsar's heart, not with wealth, not with power, but with wisdom born of life itself.

Mirjana looked at the tsar, and there was no triumph in her gaze, but kindness. She had no fear, for she knew that she had not humiliated the king, but had shown him what he lacked. The tsar, proud and powerful, felt for the first time that his strength alone did not make him complete. That prudence was more than knowledge, that wisdom grew out of humility and that a man's heart was more precious than any gold.

The old court sage, a man with a long, white beard and eyes that reflected many years, slowly stepped forward. His voice was calm but firm as he said: "Your Majesty, you have always demanded that the wisest should sit at your side. Now she stands before you. The tsar nodded slowly, but it was not a command that came from him now, not a ruler's power move. Rather, he turned to Mirjana, his eyes sought hers, and he asked: "Will you walk by my side, Mirjana, not because I command it, but because your heart wants it?

Mirjana smiled gently, a smile that was warmer than the sun on the golden battlements of the palace. She nodded. 'If your heart speaks sincerely, Tsar, then I want it. Not for the crown, not for the palace, but because it is good to stand beside a man who can hear the truth.

A great feast was proclaimed, the like of which the country had never seen before. The gardens of the palace were filled with the scents of honey cake and roast lamb, music resounded from every corner and dancers whirled across the squares like petals in the spring wind. People came from all the villages, rich and poor, young and old, to celebrate the festival that was not born of power, but of wisdom and heart.

But Mirjana was not wearing a heavy silk robe or a crown of gold that day. She wore the simple dress of her homeland, a wreath of wild flowers adorned her hair, and yet she shone brighter than any flame in the hall. At her side stood the tsar, who had laid aside his crown to stand by her side as a human being and not just as a ruler.

People talked about this wedding for a long time, and for many years afterwards the old people told the children around the fire about the girl who had won the tsar's hand, not through beauty or wealth, but through cleverness and a good heart. And every time the story was told, the listeners nodded as if they knew: True greatness is not shown in what a person possesses, but in what they are willing to give.