Explore the inspiring Albanian legend of Gjergj Elez Alia, a tale of unmatched bravery, love, and sacrifice that continues to resonate through the ages/ Albanian Fables
Gjergj Elez Alia: The Hero of Nine Wounds
Gjergj Elez Alia, a warrior among warriors, was a name whispered with reverence throughout the land. For years, he had defended the soil of his ancestors, upholding its honor and dignity. With a mighty mace and sharp sword, he fought against invaders who came from the sea and the land, those who sought to trample, pillage, and destroy. None of these enemies survived to tell the tale, for Gjergj laid them all to rest, lifeless at his feet.
But in the countless battles fought for his homeland, Gjergj Elez Alia had received nine grievous wounds on his body. Now, for nine long years, he lay bedridden in his tower, forgotten by all, left to the mercy of fate. All, except for one—his devoted sister, who remained by his side day and night. She washed his wounds with water from a sacred spring, bathed them in her tears, and dried the blood with the long hair from her brow. She dressed him in the old garments of their father and wrapped his body in their mother’s shawls. His weapons, a symbol of his once-great strength, she carefully placed beside him, for whenever Gjergj glimpsed his weapons, he felt a spark of hope flicker within his heart.
Gjergj bore his pain with the dignity of a warrior, even as his sister tenderly cared for him. Yet, there was one sorrow he could not endure—the sight of his beloved sister, entombed alive beside him in the high tower, tending to his wounds, sacrificing her life to care for him. This grief crushed him more than his wounds ever could, rendering him breathless, as if death had already claimed him.
His sister, however, had never known joy. While her friends reveled in their youth, falling in love, marrying, and raising children, she remained confined within the tower, beside her ailing brother, her life devoted to his care.
Nine years passed in this way. In the ninth year, a dark shadow fell over the land. Word spread like wildfire of a terrible new threat—a black giant who had emerged from the depths of the sea. This wicked giant, stronger and more fearsome than any before, had placed a cruel burden upon the people: every household had to offer him a roasted lamb, and every home had to surrender a young maiden. The giant wreaked havoc day after day, burning villages, killing warriors, and spreading terror. His mace was so heavy that none could withstand it, his sword so sharp that it cut through the bravest of men, and his arrows pierced through armor and bone alike.
The land trembled under his reign of terror, and none dared to challenge him. Meanwhile, Gjergj Elez Alia lay in his tower, unaware of the destruction around him. No one came to seek his help, for they believed the once-great warrior had lost the strength to even step to his door.
But when the time came for Gjergj’s household to pay the giant’s cruel tribute—a roasted lamb and, worse, his beloved sister—his sister wept bitterly, her heart breaking as she lamented her fate:
“Oh brother, how has death forgotten us and left us behind?
Our mother and father rot beneath the linden tree,
and now your body rots alive inside this house.
Soon, my body will fall into the hands of the black giant…
Why doesn’t this tower collapse and bury us all inside?
Why doesn’t our home crumble to ruins?
For death is sweeter, my dear brother, than a life without honor.”
Hearing her sorrowful words, Gjergj awoke from his long slumber. His face was wet, and for a moment, he believed the tower had crumbled so much that the rain was pouring in. But as he looked around, his heart broke when he saw his sister’s tear-streaked face. Two streams of sorrow flowed down her cheeks, and from the depths of his anguish, Gjergj cursed the tower:
“Oh, curse you, my tower! May darkness cover you
from top to bottom. May the serpent make its home within your walls.
How did you let the raindrops fall into my bed so soon?”
But his sister, wiping away his tears with trembling hands, gently replied:
“No, dear brother, it’s not the rain that falls outside, nor the roof that leaks.
It is your wounds and the loneliness that have weighed on you,
and now my eyes shed tears, brother.”
Gjergj, overcome with love and sorrow for his sister, took her hand in his, stroked her face tenderly, and with eyes full of longing, he spoke with a fire he had not shown in years:
“Why do you cry, sister? Why do you break my heart so?
For nine years, my body has rotted alive.
In these nine years, your Gjergj has not known rest,
I have withered like a beech leaf in the wind.
Haven’t you had enough food and drink in these nine years?
Haven’t I provided you with clothes and shoes?
Have I ever burdened you with harsh words?
Or has your brother wearied you, and now you long to marry and leave?”
His sister took his hand and placed it on her forehead, replying with a soft voice:
“Oh brother! Has my suffering burdened you so much that you think this way?
May I be buried alive if the thought of marriage ever crosses my mind.
I have had enough food and drink, my brother
and I’ve had enough clothes and shoes.
Never have you burdened me with words as you do today.
You are my father, and you are my brother.
But today, Gjergj, I must cry for a great sorrow.
How have your legs not carried you to the door in these nine years?
Why has your sister not withered away in shame—may the sun wither her!
For how can I endure the shame of being sent to the giant’s door?”
Hearing these words, Gjergj forgot his nine wounds and his long suffering. He leaped to his feet, tall and proud, just as he had been before, a warrior among warriors. He turned to his sister and said:
“Sister, take my warhorse and ride swiftly to the blacksmith.
Tell him, ‘Gjergj sends you greetings and asks you to shoe his horse well
with iron horseshoes and heavy nails, for he is going to face the giant in battle.’
If he refuses, go to the next blacksmith and tell him the same.”
His sister obeyed, riding the horse swiftly into town, her heart filled with hope. When she arrived at the first blacksmith’s door, she repeated her brother’s message. But the blacksmith, who had long forgotten their bond, replied rudely, asking for her eyes as payment for his services.
Filled with anger, Gjergj’s sister replied:
“What are you saying, blacksmith? May your mouth dry up!
I thought I had come to a brother’s door,
but I see I’ve come to a beggar’s house.
These eyes I gave once and for all
to my mother and father, who rot beneath the earth,
and to my Gjergj, who rots with nine wounds above the ground!”
Without another word, she turned the horse around and went to the second blacksmith, who gladly shoed the horse, sending his blessings for Gjergj’s victory in battle.
That evening, she returned home to find Gjergj, dressed in his armor and ready for battle, standing tall beneath the linden tree. Though his body still bore the pain of his wounds, his spirit was stronger than ever, ready to defend the honor of his home and his people.
With resolve in his heart, Gjergj sent word to the giant:
“I have no maiden for you, giant,
and the lambs of my flock are not for you.
I have only one sister, but I cannot give her to you,
for there is no one left to tend to my wounds.
I await you for a duel in the field of honor.”
At dawn, Gjergj and the giant met in battle. The giant, clad in heavy iron armor, laughed at the sight of Gjergj’s frail form. But Gjergj, with the strength of his ancestors, fought bravely, striking down the giant with one mighty blow. The earth trembled as the giant fell, and Gjergj, victorious, returned home to his sister.
Together, they embraced, their hearts finally at peace, and as they held each other, they passed from this world. In death, as in life, they were inseparable, united by a bond of love and honor that would live on in the hearts of their people.
In honor of their great sacrifice, a linden tree was planted over their grave, a symbol of the strength and purity of their love. And though time may pass and towers may crumble, the song of Gjergj Elez Alia and his devoted sister will echo through the centuries, a testament to the courage and nobility of the Albanian spirit.
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