The Golden Reed and the Singing Maiden

Introduction

Long ago, in a kingdom nestled between the mighty Danube River and the endless rolling plains, magic still whispered in the wind and echoed in the rustling trees. It was a land of towering mountains, shadowed forests, and rivers that carried the secrets of old.

In this enchanted realm, a young prince named András lived in a grand palace with his parents, King György and Queen Ilona. Though he had everything a man could desire—wealth, power, and admiration—his heart was weighed down by a sorrow he could not explain. No feast, no hunt, nor any royal duty could lift the loneliness that clung to his soul.

One fateful night, he had a dream—a dream unlike any other. He saw a maiden with hair like spun gold, her eyes shimmering with sorrow. She stood beside a golden reed in the heart of a dark forest, her lips parting to sing the most haunting melody he had ever heard. The song wove through his very being, stirring something deep within him. But before he could reach her, she faded into mist, leaving only the echo of her song in his ears.

András awoke with a start, his heart pounding. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he had to find her.

The Longing of a Prince

At sunrise, András sought counsel from his father. King György, a wise and fair ruler, listened as his son recounted his dream. When the tale was finished, the old king stroked his beard, deep in thought.

"The golden reed," he murmured. "It is an old legend, whispered by grandmothers and forgotten by the young. Some say it is but a tale. Others claim it holds the truth."

Queen Ilona, seated beside him, frowned. "It is said that a maiden was cursed by a wicked sorcerer and trapped within a golden reed, hidden in the depths of the Black Forest. But no one knows if it is real or mere myth."

András clenched his fists. "Real or not, I must go. My heart tells me she is out there, waiting to be freed."

The king sighed. "The Black Forest is treacherous. Even the bravest warriors fear it. If you must go, take caution, my son."

No warning could dissuade András. That very day, he gathered provisions, armed himself with a finely wrought sword, and mounted his swiftest horse. The wind carried his departure through the kingdom, and the people whispered among themselves, wondering if he would ever return.

Into the Black Forest

The Black Forest loomed before him like a great beast, its twisted trees reaching toward the sky, their gnarled branches casting eerie shadows. The deeper he rode, the thicker the air became, as if the very trees were whispering secrets long forgotten by men.

Days passed. He followed no path, for there was none. Hunger gnawed at his belly, and exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but he pressed on. Each night, he dreamt of the maiden’s song, growing clearer with every step he took.

On the seventh day, he stumbled upon an old hut, half-buried in the roots of an ancient oak. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of herbs filled the air. An old hermit, his beard like silver threads, sat outside, watching András with knowing eyes.

"You seek the golden reed," the hermit said before András could speak.

András nodded, dismounting his horse. "Do you know where it lies?"

The hermit gestured toward the trees. "It grows at the heart of the forest, but be warned—dark magic binds it. The sorcerer who cast the curse still lingers in the shadows, waiting for a fool to try and undo his work."

"I will not turn back," András declared.

The hermit sighed. "Then you must take this." He handed the prince a small, silver flute. "When the time comes, play a single note. It may be the only thing that can save you."

András took the flute and thanked the hermit before continuing his journey.

The Golden Reed

At long last, András reached a clearing bathed in moonlight. There, swaying ever so slightly, stood a single golden reed among the tangled roots of the darkened forest. It shimmered as if woven from sunlight, standing tall despite the lifeless ground around it.

With reverence, András approached. The moment his fingers brushed the reed, a voice, soft and sorrowful, filled the air.

*"Who seeks me?"*

András’ heart pounded. "I am Prince András. I have come to free you."

But before he could do more, a terrible wind howled through the clearing. The ground trembled, and from the darkness, a figure emerged—a man clad in flowing robes, his face hidden beneath a hood of blackened silk. The sorcerer.

"You dare to take what is mine?" the sorcerer hissed.

"I will not let her remain trapped!" András declared, drawing his sword.

The sorcerer raised his staff, and from its tip, dark tendrils of magic lashed toward András. The prince dodged, slashing through the spell with his blade. The battle raged, light against darkness, steel against sorcery.

András remembered the flute. With shaking hands, he raised it to his lips and played a single, clear note.

The world seemed to pause. Then, the golden reed shuddered and cracked. A brilliant light erupted from within, forcing the sorcerer to stumble back, screaming as the very magic he had wielded consumed him.

When the light faded, the reed was gone. And in its place stood the maiden from András' dreams.

The Maiden of the Golden Reed

Her golden hair cascaded down her back, her eyes wide with wonder.

András, breathless, took a step forward. "You are free."

Tears welled in her eyes. "A hundred years I have waited. You have broken the curse."

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Erzsébet," she whispered. "I was a princess once, before the sorcerer took my kingdom and trapped me within the reed."

András took her trembling hands in his. "Then you shall be a princess once more."

Hand in hand, they left the cursed forest behind.

The Journey Home

The return was not easy. The land had been shrouded in darkness for too long, and the sorcerer’s lingering magic still tainted the air. But Erzsébet’s song—her voice, once bound, now free—banished the shadows with every note she sang.

When they reached the palace, the people of Erdőföld rejoiced. Erzsébet’s beauty and kindness captured their hearts, and her voice filled the halls with warmth.

King György and Queen Ilona, upon seeing the love in their son’s eyes, welcomed Erzsébet as their own. Soon, word spread of their love, and preparations for a grand wedding began.

The Song of Joy

On the day of their wedding, the entire kingdom gathered. Erzsébet stood beside András, her golden hair crowned with wildflowers, her eyes shining like the morning sun. As they exchanged vows, she sang—not a song of sorrow, but a melody of love and joy.

The golden reed, now planted in the royal garden, stood tall, its leaves rustling with a melody only the wind could hear.

And so, their legend lived on, whispered in the reeds and carried by the songs of those who still believed in magic.

András had found not just love, but the piece of his soul that had been missing all along.