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Once upon a time, as never before; and so on. There was once an emperor and an empress who had no children. They had gone to every healer and sorcerer, every old wise woman and reader of the stars, and all had been put to shame, for none could do anything for them. At last they turned to fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. Then, one night, seeing their devotion, God appeared to the empress in a dream and said, “I have heard your prayer, and you shall bear a child whose like will not be found upon the face of the earth. Tomorrow, let the emperor, your husband, go down to the river with his fishing rod, and whatever fish he catches, you must cook with your own hands and eat.” Day had scarcely broken when the empress went to the emperor and said, “Emperor, get up! Dawn has come to the village!” “What is this?” the emperor replied. “What has come over you today, waking me at such an hour? Have our enemies crossed the borders of my empire?” “By God’s mercy, I have heard nothing of the kind. But this is what I dreamed.” And she told him her dream. As soon as the emperor heard it, he sprang out of bed, dressed, took his fishing rod, and went down to the river. He cast his line, and before long he saw the float stir. He pulled it in, and what should he find but a great fish, all of pure gold! He nearly fainted with joy. And when the empress saw it, her delight was greater still. She could scarcely keep from swallowing it with her eyes! The empress cooked the fish herself, with her own hands, and they ate it. At once she felt herself with child. The slave woman who cleared the table saw a fishbone on the empress’s plate, and the thought came to her to suck it, so that she too might know the taste of the food the empress had cooked. No sooner had she sucked the bone than she too felt herself with child. Nine months later, in broad daylight, the empress gave birth to a child as lovely as a little angel. That night the slave woman also bore a son, the very image of the empress’s, so that there was no telling one from the other. Whatever the empress’s child was like, so was the slave woman’s. They were, as the saying goes, like two drops of water. The emperor’s son was named Busuioc, and the slave woman’s son Siminoc. They grew up together, and when they were old enough they were sent to school, where they learned in a single day what other children learned in a year. When they played in the garden, the empress watched them fondly from her window. They grew into young men, and they looked so much alike that no one could tell which was the emperor’s son and which the slave woman’s. They were both splendidly built, both had a winning charm, their words won everyone’s heart, and both were extraordinarily strong. One day they decided to go hunting. The empress had long been puzzling over how to recognize her own son, for with their faces and clothes so alike, she often could not tell one from the other. She thought of marking her son. Calling him to her, she pretended to look through his hair, and without his knowing it she knotted two strands together. Then the two set out to hunt. They ran merrily over the green fields and frisked like lambs; they gathered little flowers, wet themselves with dew, watched the butterflies flit and dance from blossom to blossom, and the bees gather wax and honey, and took great delight in it all. Then they went to a spring and drank the cool water, gazing their fill at the place in the distance where the sky seemed to sink down upon the earth. They wished they could go to the very end of the world to see the sky close at hand, or at least travel as far as those places where the earth is soft as jelly.

Then they entered the forest. When they saw its beauty, they stood open-mouthed. You see, never since their mothers had borne them had they seen anything of the kind. When the wind blew and stirred the leaves, they listened to the rustling and thought it sounded like the empress walking along with her silk gown trailing behind her. Then they sat down on the tender grass in the shade of a great tree. There they began to think and talk about how to set about their hunting. Nothing would do for them but to hunt wild beasts. The little birds flitting about them and settling on the branches hardly drew their notice; they had not the heart to pit themselves against such tiny creatures, though they loved to hear them chirp. The birds seemed to have understood as much, for they showed no fear; indeed, they sang fit to burst, while the nightingales trilled away with all their might, making their song sweeter still. As the two sat there talking things over, such a drowsiness came upon the emperor’s son that he could no longer hold himself upright. He laid his head in Siminoc’s lap and asked him to look through his hair a little until he fell asleep. Siminoc had been doing so for a while when he stopped and said, “What is this in your hair, Brother Busuioc?” “What should there be? How am I to know what you mean, Brother Siminoc?” “Why,” Siminoc replied, “I see two strands of your hair knotted together.” “How can that be?” said Busuioc. This troubled him so deeply that he resolved to go out into the world. “Brother Siminoc,” he said, “I am going away into the world, for I cannot understand why my mother knotted my hair when she was looking through it.” “Come now, Brother Busuioc,” Siminoc answered, “come to your senses and do no such thing. Even if the empress did knot your hair, I cannot believe she meant any harm by it.” But Busuioc would not be shaken in his resolve, and when he took leave of Siminoc he said, “Here, Brother Siminoc, take this handkerchief. When you see three drops of blood upon it, you will know that I am dead.” “May God help you find your way safely, Brother Busuioc. But once more I beg you, for the love you bear me, stay here and do not go wandering through the world.” “It cannot be,” Busuioc replied. Then they embraced, and Busuioc departed, while Siminoc stood looking sadly after him until he was lost to sight. Siminoc returned home and told everything that had happened. The empress was beside herself with grief. She wrung her hands and wept so bitterly that God preserve us from such sorrow. But there was nothing she could do, and she found some small comfort in the sight of Siminoc. After some time, he took out the handkerchief, looked at it, and saw three drops of blood. “My dear brother is dead,” he said. “I shall go and look for him.” Taking provisions, he set off in search of him. He passed through towns and villages, crossed fields and forests, and travelled on and on until he came to a little cottage. There he met an old woman and asked about his brother. She told him that his brother had become the son-in-law of the emperor who ruled those parts. When he reached that emperor’s palace, the emperor’s daughter saw him, took him for her husband, and ran to meet him. “I am your husband’s brother,” he told her. “I have heard that he has vanished from the world, and I have come to learn what has become of him.” “I believe no such thing,” said the emperor’s daughter. “You are my husband, and I do not know why you are pretending otherwise. Have you been deceived into putting my faithfulness to the test?” “It is nothing of the kind. I tell you in all honesty that I am not your husband.” But she would not believe him on any account. Then he said, “May God reveal the truth. Let the sword hanging on that peg leap down and cut whichever of us is in the wrong.” At once the sword leaped down and cut the young woman’s finger, and then she believed him. She received Siminoc with all due hospitality. The next day he learned that Busuioc had gone hunting and had never returned. He too mounted a horse, took hounds, and set off after his brother in the direction he had gone. He rode on until he reached the forest, where he came upon the Mother of the Forest. As soon as he saw her, he gave chase. She fled and he pursued, until, seeing no other escape, she climbed a tall tree and took refuge there. Siminoc dismounted, tethered his horse, lit a fire, took out his provisions, and began to eat beside the flames, tossing a morsel now and then to the hounds. “Oh, how cold I am!” said the Mother of the Forest. “My teeth are chattering.” “Come down, then,” Siminoc answered, “and warm yourself at the fire.” “I am afraid of the dogs,” she said. “Do not be afraid. They will not hurt you.” “If you wish to do me a kindness,” she said, “take this strand of my hair and tie up your dogs.” He put the strand of hair into the fire. “Ugh, what a foul smell!” said the Mother of the Forest. “That is the hair I gave you, which you have thrown into the fire.” “Oh, be off with you,” Siminoc answered, “and stop talking nonsense. One of the hounds swept his tail through the fire and singed it a little; that is what smells. Now come down and warm yourself, or else hold your tongue and leave me in peace. Stop pestering me.” At that she believed him and climbed down. Coming up beside the fire, she said, “I am hungry.” “What shall I give you to eat? Here, take whatever you like from what I have before me.” “It is you I mean to eat,” said the Mother of the Forest. “Prepare yourself!” “No, it is I who shall eat you,” Siminoc replied. And he set the dogs on her to tear her apart. “Stop!” cried the Mother of the Forest. “Call off the dogs before they tear me to pieces, and I will give you your brother back, horse, hounds, and all.” Siminoc called off the dogs. Then the Mother of the Forest heaved some three times and brought up Busuioc, his horse, and his hounds. Siminoc set his dogs on her again, and they tore her into tiny pieces. When Busuioc awoke, he was astonished to see Siminoc there. “Welcome, brother, and well met!” he said. “But what a long sleep I have had!” “You might have slept a good deal longer if I had not been here.” Then Siminoc told him everything that had happened since they parted. But Busuioc suspected that Siminoc had fallen in love with his wife, and would not believe him when he swore that such a thought had never once crossed his mind. He grew stubborn and jealous over his wife. Harbouring evil thoughts against his brother, he persuaded Siminoc that they should blindfold themselves and their horses, then mount and let the horses go wherever they might carry them. And so they did. Presently Busuioc heard a groan. He stopped his horse, removed his blindfold, and looked about, but Siminoc was nowhere to be seen. As it happened, he had fallen into a well and drowned, and had never come out again. Busuioc returned home and questioned his wife, and she told him the same story as Siminoc. Then, to make still more certain of the truth, he too commanded the sword to leap from its peg and cut the guilty one. The sword leaped down and cut his thumb. He lamented, mourned, and wept bitterly over the loss of Siminoc; he repented of his rashness, but all in vain, for there was nothing he could do to bring him back. Then, full of anguish and sorrow, he too no longer wished to live without his brother. Once more he blindfolded himself and his horse, mounted, and let it go into the forest where his brother had perished. The horse ran and ran, until—splash!—it plunged into the very well where Siminoc had fallen. There Busuioc too met his end, and from that time forth the emperor’s son, Busuioc, rose in the heavens as the Morning Star, and the slave woman’s son, Siminoc, as the Evening Star. And I mounted a saddle, and so on.