Introduction

Forward by Master-Historian Maritza Ortskt-Dukovna

Every country has its legends; the stories of people whose lives have transcended historical reality into that strange space between truth and fantasy. The Grand Duchy of Upper Danubia (or the Danubian Republic, as we prefer to call ourselves today) is certainly no exception to that common trend throughout humanity. In our case we have the stories of the Ancients, the Byzantine Priests who converted us, the exploits of King Vladik the Defender and his son-in-law, and songs about the Nymphs who defended the Duchy when almost all of its men had been killed.

However, Danubia’s favorite story has always been the saga of “Bezimyackta”, commonly translated into English as “the Girl-with-No-Name”. “Bezimyackta” shows up in historical records starting around 1750, and seems to have completely disappeared around ten years later. According to witnesses who claimed to have seen her, she was the prettiest, smartest, and nicest young woman imaginable. However, she was condemned to always be on the run, tormented by the Destroyer who followed closely behind her. In earlier versions of the story, the Destroyer, who at the time still was identified with the Christian Beelzebub, had a semi-human form and rode on her shoulder. Later, the story goes that she was running from the Destroyer. Because the Destroyer could never quite catch her, the Destroyer’s vengeance was inflicted on anyone the Girl-with-No-Name tried to love.

Bezimyackta’s adventures began at her home in Rika Heckt-nemat. The legend claims that she was so beautiful that the town’s other women couldn’t bear to look at her, and demanded that the council’s elders order her executed. Bezimyackta made a pact with the Destroyer to escape, and as soon as she was gone, the Destroyer condemned everyone in the town to die from the plague. Bezimyackta ran from province to province, trying to find love, protection, and peace. Many men loved her, and all of them died tragically. When the Girl-with-No-Name fled to Danubikt Moskt and the Grand Duke fell in love with her, to punish the Duke, the Destroyer burnt the entire capitol.

In the end, no one knew what became of the “Girl-with-No-Name”. For a decade she wreaked havoc on the people who crossed her path and then vanished without a trace. She became the favorite subject of campfire songs and a story to scare children, especially boys and teenagers. I think every mother in Danubia is guilty of telling her sons to avoid strange women who seem too beautiful to be true, especially ones in the woods or on the roads, because somewhere Bezimyackta continues her tormented voyage.

In 1855, on the 100th anniversary of the Great Fire that destroyed the nation’s capital, the famous Danubian poet and song-writer Danguckt Tok compiled the stories of Bezimyackta into a song, which, although over-simplified, continues to be the best-known version of the legend.

The girl condemned to wander
The anguish in her soul
Her Path in Life is destruction
The darkness rides her shoulder
In her eyes there’s nothing but pain
She will reach out to you
Yes, you’re the one who’ll save her
But take her hand
and her kiss will seal your fate
The Destroyer holds out his bait
and for you, oblivion awaits

One important job of the historian is to attempt to reconstruct the events that inspired a legend. Many historians will reject a legend on impulse, only to later discover archeological or documentary evidence that does indeed offer proof that events described in the story actually did happen. I take a different approach, because I believe that most legends are embellished truth, not pure fantasy. Those stories exist for a reason: they were based on something that at one time was factual. Therefore, we must start our investigation by taking these ancient stories at face value and only dismiss details as we find direct evidence that discredits them. Even when events turn out to not have taken place as described by the chroniclers, we can use other research to reconstruct what actually did happen and often end up with a narrative that is considerably more interesting than the one given in a simplified campfire song.

Bezimyackta, or “the Girl with No Name”, always fascinated me. As is true for many defiant Danubian children, I remember several times going out into the forest and looking for her, and receiving the switch for my efforts. As an adult, I pursued plenty of “serious” historical research endeavors, but in the back of my mind I always wanted to find the truth about the Girl-with-No-Name. Whenever I looked at church records and personal diaries for other projects, I always hoped to find some reference to her.

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