THE TREE OF MAGIC
Very early in the morning the Minstrel rose from his couch. He opened
the door and looked out. The sun was not yet up, but a tinge of yellow
in the eastern sky foretold the coming of brilliant day. The stars of
the Great Bear were still visible, twinkling dimly above the pine
trees. The air was sharp and biting; the frost lay thick on the
hilltops and the barren moorland; patches of newly formed ice glared
white in the marshes.
“What a fine day for my journey!” said the Minstrel.
Presently the Graybeard’s son brought the red reindeer to the door and
harnessed it to the birchwood sledge.
“You will have a fine day for your journey,” he said.
The Graybeard helped the Minstrel into the sledge; he wrapped the robes
of fur around him and threw over his shoulders a bearskin cloak that
was both ample and warm. Then he packed beneath the seat a store of
food for the long journey—eight large jars of bread and deer meat, yes,
nine great jars of toothsome victuals.
“Farewell, kind host and skilful surgeon!”
“Farewell, great guest! My blessings go ever with you!”
Thus the good-bye words were spoken. Then the Minstrel seized the reins
and cracked his long whip. The reindeer leaped forward; the journey was
begun.
Swift as the wind the well-built sledge glided on its course. Loudly
the birchwood runners rang upon the frozen ground, smoothly they sped
over the hoarfrost and the glistening ice. Through fens and woodlands,
across the meadows and the moorlands, the red reindeer rushed
unwearied, never pausing to rest, never thinking of food.
For one whole day the Minstrel held the reins and shouted urgently to
his faithful steed. Yes, for two days and two long, silent nights he
sat in the sledge and drove onward with no slackening of speed—so
impatient was he to reach his dear home land, to behold his own
fireside. The third day came, and still onward flew the tireless
reindeer. The fourth day came; it was half gone when the Minstrel
uttered a shout so joyful that the woodlands rang with the sound, and
the wild geese in the marshes answered it gleefully.
He shouted again and again, for now he was among familiar scenes. Here
was the forest road which he had often travelled in his youth and later
manhood. Here was the long, rough causeway across the treacherous fen
land—he knew it so well that it seemed like the face of a friend.
Straight ahead, only three leagues farther, the little village of
Wainola was nestling warmly in a wooded glen close by the sea; in that
village was the snug cottage which the Minstrel called his home; and in
that cottage was the fireside around which his friends were sitting and
bewailing his absence. What wonder that he shouted so joyfully!
All at once, however, his joy was dimmed; the memory of something
unpleasant came into his mind. A cloud passed over his face, and the
last shout died, half-uttered, on his lips. The birchwood runners
bumped hard on the rough causeway. The reindeer slackened its speed; it
seemed ready to sink in its tracks. The Minstrel’s mind was far away;
it was with the grim, gray Mistress of the Frozen Land. For suddenly he
had thought of the promise he had given her—“I will send you Ilmarinen,
the skilfulest of smiths; he will forge the Sampo for you.”
In another hour—yes, in half that time—he would meet Ilmarinen face to
face. Would he be able to redeem his promise?
“I am a wizard; I can do wonderful things by magic,” said the Minstrel
to himself. “If my friend, the Smith, will not be persuaded, I will
prevail upon him through other means.”
Then he chuckled to the reindeer, and the birchwood runners glided more
smoothly over the causeway.
On the farther side of the great fen there was a grove of pine trees,
and in the midst of the grove was a green, grassy space as round as the
moon and as level as the sea. At this spot the Minstrel paused; he
brought the reindeer to a sudden stop. He leaped from the sledge and
began to draw magic circles upon the ground. He muttered strange words
which only wizards and magicians know. He lifted his arms above his
head, and sang a song so weird and wild that the pine trees shuddered
and shrieked.
He ceased; and instantly in the centre of the green space a slender
twig sprang out of the ground and grew. It grew and grew, unfolding
leaves and buds and blossoms. It grew and grew until it became a
flower-crowned tree which seemed to pierce the clouds and sweep the
solemn sky. No one knows how tall it might have grown. It might have
grown till it touched the stars had not the Minstrel bidden it to cease
expanding.
Then he sang another song quite different from the first—a song so
sweet, so persuasive, that the wild creatures in the forest and the fen
came out of their dens and listened to it. The white-faced moon heard,
and sat herself down among the branches of the tree of magic. The seven
stars of the Great Bear also heard; and they came circling from the sky
and began to dance and play amid the leaves and blossoms.
Cunning, indeed, was Wainamoinen, cunning and old; and when he saw the
work of his magic, he was pleased beyond measure. He clapped his hands
together in triumph; he leaped and danced around the tree like one gone
mad. Then he climbed into the sledge and sat down upon the furry robes;
he shook the long reins and spoke gently to his steed. Slowly and
thoughtfully, as one well contented with himself, he drove onward along
the well-known pathway that led towards the village. His sharp gray
eyes looked first this way and then that; his ears were open to the
slightest sound; all his senses were alert.