This episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a folklore story every Friday in 2024.

Long ago, in the northern reaches of Iceland, there was a farmstead called Skíðastaðir, where a wealthy farmer ruled with an iron fist. His wealth was immense, and he had many laborers working tirelessly, both summer and winter. The farmer was known for his strict ways, especially during the haymaking season. He demanded that the women servants cook meals only on Sundays, leaving the other days for hard labor in the fields. Church was out of the question, and reading the bible was forbidden. His farm was a place of toil, not of worship.

One Sunday morning, something strange happened. A mysterious man, dressed in white and holding a staff, was seen by many in the area. He was walking northwards over Vansdalsfjall, a mountain that loomed above Skíðastaðir. The man stopped at the top of the mountain, looked down upon the farm, and struck the earth with his staff.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake, and a massive landslide started to rumble down the slope, growing larger and more terrifying as it descended. This unstoppable force crashed into the farmhouse, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. All who lived there perished, except for one young girl who had, by some twist of fate, been away from the farmhouse at that very moment.

This girl had lived at Skíðastaðir for a long time, but her heart was heavy with sorrow. She was deeply troubled by the farmer’s godlessness, yet she remained kind and dutiful, earning the affection of her masters and fellow workers alike.

She often cooked on holy days without complaint, though her only reward was being allowed to scrape the pots clean. The winter before the landslide was one of the harshest anyone could remember. People and animals alike were starving, but the wealthy farmer refused to share his abundance, turning away those who came to him in desperate need.

The girl, however, could not bear to see others suffer. She would give what little she could to the poor and hungry, even offering them the scrapings from the pots. The winter was cruel to the animals too, and they died in great numbers, their bodies piling up as the cold tightened its grip.

Ravens gathered at the farms, searching for any scraps that might be thrown out. Moved by their plight, the girl threw out whatever she could from the kitchen. One raven, in particular, became fond of her, following her wherever she went outside. He was always there, waiting for her to share a morsel.

As spring turned to summer, the raven continued his visits, arriving early each morning at Skíðastaðir. The girl, with her kind heart, always saved a bit of food for him. On the fateful Sunday morning when the landslide occurred, she had risen early to cook porridge.

Eager to feed her raven friend, she hurried to scrape the pot before he arrived. But when she went outside, the raven was acting strangely. He wouldn’t touch the food she offered, instead fluttering around anxiously and then flying a short distance away into the field.

Puzzled, the girl followed him, determined to find out what was wrong. The raven flew a little farther each time she approached, leading her further and further from the farmhouse. She didn’t understand why he was behaving this way, but she trusted him and kept following.

Eventually, they had traveled some distance south of the homefield when the girl decided it was time to turn back.
Just then, she heard a terrifying roar coming from the mountain. She turned to see the landslide crashing down, sweeping away the farmhouse and everything in its path.

The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning—the raven had saved her life. Overcome with gratitude, she thanked God with all her heart for sending this wise and faithful bird to lead her to safety.

According to the Icelandic Institute of Natural History’s website

Raven – krummi eða hrafn

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