In the harsh lands of the west, where sand and dust polish the stone, the country folk still remember Garina’s legend and her father, the terrible giant Gondol. Though few elders agree on the ending, all say it happened many winters ago when men lived more frightened than in our days. The villagers hid, sitting by their fires, fearful that the forest dwellers might come knocking at the door.
Many malignancies still survived in those days, like the endless snakes that nested beneath the frozen lakes. You could see them, if you dared, silently dreaming right there on the other side of the ice. But the biggest nightmare of those simpler times was, without any discussion, giants. Monstrous creatures that could grow as tall as a tower, with the strength of a hundred oxen; they roamed, reaped, and ravaged the realms to everyone’s despair.
Now, the worst of all, Gondol is remembered wandering during that forgotten age, casting long shadows over those who crossed his path. Whole burgs and castles would shut their gates and tremblingly pray upon recognizing the familiar set of thundering footsteps. Gondol, fairly or maybe not, gained a certain fame as a bringer of misfortune and master of calamities. He would often fall asleep in fields or forests: burrows and creeks crashed; furrows and seeds ruined. “Harmless!” some would claim. “The giant didn’t mean to!” But Gondol would proceed to bathe in rivers and the clearest of lakes until they dried up or became befouled with all his stench.
Gondol was also a giant miller. On his back, he carried a magnificent mill with four long blades that would never stop turning as it ground seeds, grain, grapes, and barley. It must also be known that Gondol was a bit too fond of wines, spirits, and beers concocted in his fabulous mill. “Forgive him,” the more pious pledged, “because he’s just one big drunk.”
But while always being inebriated, the task of producing the drinks became quite a chore. For this, Gondol had a lonely pink-haired girl who worked day and night in the mill while he walked in search of better winds and supplies. She was Garina, the cherry-cheeked daughter. No one knew for sure how she had fallen into the clutches of the giant. Most agreed that she was the kidnapped princess of a fallen kingdom, but the wisest whispered about a pink fallen star the giant had saved one night while standing on the highest mountain peak in the west.
Since then, Garina had devoted herself to serving in the mill and looking after her father, who couldn’t stop getting himself in trouble. To make things worse, Gondol had sought the company of three tiny men who had proudly settled themselves on his shoulders and never stop filling the poor giant’s head with the oddest ideas. The first one was a buffoon who never stopped making antics; then there was the thief he had saved from the gallows; and finally, there was the bitter soldier who had endured many wars.
All who saw the Garina girl felt great sorrow. And they said:
“Look at this poor cherry lass! Slave to the bibulous giant. So beautiful, with her cloud-like pink hair. How can such a sweet girl endure these burdens? Heaven must have sent her.”
And Garina did not utter a complaint or try to flee from the mill on her father’s back. Dressed in a white apron and a white headscarf tied over her puffy cotton hairdo, she carried the water from afar, sewed the sack of flour, and bottled carefully the nectars that pleased her father so much. All the sageness the giant lacked ended up in the daughter.
One day, the giant came to a village that was celebrating the Harvest Festival because it was the end of summer and crops had been rich. Everyone was in the square, celebrating and dancing in wide, colorful ribbon circles. Then the fool who wanted to laugh climbed into the giant’s ear and said:
“My friend, why don’t you blow a storm so that these people will stop merrymaking? Don’t they know that you are the true king?”
And Gondol, without thinking twice, he puffed himself with air and blew with all his might, knocking everything in its path: carts, cows, oak trees, and even lifting the skirts of many ladies attending the fair. When Garina saw this, she jumped quickly to the cellar and uncorked the barrels of the best wine. The purple waterfall was carried by the giant’s breath, and it later fell as rain over the whole town. The villagers rejoiced and collected the wine with pans, cauldrons, and hats. This was not the joy intended by the fool. He mumbled and complained, but the giant walked on.
The next season, on the road, they met highborn people traveling in a beautiful carriage adorned with the figures of a thousand animals and beasts made of gold, silver, and gemstone eyes. Now came the thief’s whispers:
“My friend, look at those who think themselves grandiose in richness. Take it all from them, for no one can be wealthier than you.”
And while the giant weighed these words in his clouded head, Garina poured flour on her table and prepared enough dough for a castle. She put nuts, berries, and fruits of all sorts and colors. Gondol walked half-asleep to the carriage when the daughter threw her doughy blanket so finely made it cooked under plain spring sunlight and turned the carriage into a delicious, fruity pie. The giant, instead of gold, saw only golden crust; instead of rubies and gems, he saw berries and apples. The thief whimpered, but the giant shrugged and left. Garina believed there was no evil in her father’s heart. It was the drinking and the three bad companions that led him astray.
Finally, on the last spring night, they reached Senlac Hill, a field of many bonfires. So, the soldier climbed onto Gondol’s shoulder, took off his helmet, and asked:
“Comrade, don’t you know what army camps are in front of us? They are the normand traitors who killed my knights. Let’s seize the chance to collect debts and take our revenge.”
Gondol stood hidden by the dark of night. Garina, fearless, guessing the evil plans, found the four brightest lanterns with the best oil and hung them carefully at the end of each arm of the windmill, so the lights would work as warnings. The three men shivered and creeped with tattering teeth down the giant’s back to escape and abandon Gondol. And so it was, four dancing stars were glowing pink in the night, so brilliant that the warriors sounded the alarm and surrounded the groggy giant.
In truth, every troubadour and storyteller tells a different ending to the tale. Some say Garina saved the giant by throwing a feast where all the precious aged barrels were given away as compensation. Others claim that Garina’s voice could not be heard over the roar of the marching and the weapons. A dreadful battle ensued; the mill caught fire, and the giant fell in the middle of a fiery swamp made of his own blood and wine.
Whatever version you believe, know this for sure: even today, the fathers from that harsh part of the world keep one tradition alive. When their daughters turn fifteen, all fathers present them with the same gift: a necklace, ring, earring, or bracelet made of a rare pink gemstone, carved in the shape of stars. A symbol to thank all Garinas out there for what they do for their own silly old giants.