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Once there was a young boy whose mother took him to a fortune teller. He told her that her son would become a famous singer and musician but only at the price of great misery. To ensure her son's future happiness the mother took her son up to the Kedùl mountain at the end of the Gardena valley where the Gannes witches lived and got them to cast a spell on the boys hands, so that he would never be able to handle a musical instrumnt without breaking it.

As the young man growing up he felt a passionate desire to play music, but any musical instrument he touched he broke, earning him the nickname "Man de Fjèr" - hand of iron. In time, unable to pursue his love for music, he became a hunter and woodsman in the forests near his home.

One day, whilst climbing up the forested slopes from the Duron valley to the Molingon pass, the huntsman heard beautiful music coming from amidst the trees. Approaching cautiously he saw a young woman, bathed in sunlight, singing and playing the lyre. Scarcely daring to breathe he stopped and listened enchanted for hours, until the sun began to set below the treetops when the fairy suddenly vanished. Enchanted the man resolved to return to the meadow the next day and sure enough, there she was, singing and playing as beautifully as ever.

For seven days the huntsman returned to the meadow to hear the woman sing, and on the seventh day he summoned up the courage to speak to her. He told her how sorry he was that he could not play the lyre to accompany her as his hands were too clumsy. The fairy gently took his hands in hers and examined them saying:

"A powerful spell lies upon your hands, and it can only be broken by great sorrow."

The huntsman, anxious to know more asked for her name. She responded:

"I dare not tell you my name, for the day you speak it, I will disappear from your life forever".

Weeks passed, and one evening the huntsman was walking in a dark part of the forest and saw in the distance a camp fire around which a company of dwarves were seated eating and drinking. Curious, the huntsman approach quietly and heard one dwarf laughing to another:

"That old lady thought she was being so very clever when she had her son's hands bewitched. Now he's gone and fallen in love with Antermòya and that spell will soon be broken."

Carefully the huntsman crept away pledging never to utter the name he had just learnt. But a few days later he spotting the maiden whilst walking in the forest and forgetting himself called out,


Instantly the ground opened up beneath the maiden and out rushed a torrent of cold dark water. With a cry the maiden vanished for ever, leaving behind her harp lying in the pool of icy water.

For three days the huntsman wandered around the newly formed lake in grief and on the third day he took the harp, and began to play a beautiful lament to his lost love. The spell that had bound his hands had been broken but at the cost of terrible misery, just as the fortune teller had predicted.

The Antermòya lake can still be visited today.

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