The Violet Fairy Book (18 page)

At the gate of the palace his nurse, old Birscha, was waiting for
him eagerly.

'Ah, Petru, my son, I knew you would have to come back,' she
cried. 'You did not set about the matter properly.'

'How ought I to have set about it?' asked Petru, half angrily,
half sadly.

'Look here, my boy,' replied old Birscha. 'You can never reach
the spring of the Fairy of the Dawn unless you ride the horse
which your father, the emperor, rode in his youth. Go and ask
where it is to be found, and then mount it and be off with you.'

Petru thanked her heartily for her advice, and went at once to
make inquiries about the horse.

'By the light of my eyes!' exclaimed the emperor when Petru had
put his question. 'Who has told you anything about that? It
must have been that old witch of a Birscha? Have you lost your
wits? Fifty years have passed since I was young, and who knows
where the bones of my horse may be rotting, or whether a scrap of
his reins still lie in his stall? I have forgotten all about
him long ago.'

Petru turned away in anger, and went back to his old nurse.

'Do not be cast down,' she said with a smile; 'if that is how the
affair stands all will go well. Go and fetch the scrap of the
reins; I shall soon know what must be done.'

The place was full of saddles, bridles, and bits of leather.
Petru picked out the oldest, and blackest, and most decayed pair
of reins, and brought them to the old woman, who murmured
something over them and sprinkled them with incense, and held
them out to the young man.

'Take the reins,' said she, 'and strike them violently against
the pillars of the house.'

Petru did what he was told, and scarcely had the reins touched
the pillars when something happened— HOW I have no idea—that
made Petru stare with surprise. A horse stood before him—a
horse whose equal in beauty the world had never seen; with a
saddle on him of gold and precious stones, and with such a
dazzling bridle you hardly dared to look at it, lest you should
lose your sight. A splendid horse, a splendid saddle, and a
splendid bridle, all ready for the splendid young prince!

'Jump on the back of the brown horse,' said the old woman, and
she turned round and went into the house.

The moment Petru was seated on the horse he felt his arm three
times as strong as before, and even his heart felt braver.

'Sit firmly in the saddle, my lord, for we have a long way to go
and no time to waste,' said the brown horse, and Petru soon saw
that they were riding as no man and horse had ever ridden before.

On the bridge stood a dragon, but not the same one as he had
tried to fight with, for this dragon had twelve heads, each more
hideous and shooting forth more terrible flames than the other.
But, horrible though he was, he had met his match. Petru showed
no fear, but rolled up his sleeves, that his arms might be free.

'Get out of the way!' he said when he had done, but the dragon's
heads only breathed forth more flames and smoke. Petru wasted no
more words, but drew his sword and prepared to throw himself on
the bridge.

'Stop a moment; be careful, my lord,' put in the horse, 'and be
sure you do what I tell you. Dig your spurs in my body up to the
rowel, draw your sword, and keep yourself ready, for we shall
have to leap over both bridge and dragon. When you see that we
are right above the dragon cut off his biggest head, wipe the
blood off the sword, and put it back clean in the sheath before
we touch earth again.'

So Petru dug in his spurs, drew his sword, cut of the head, wiped
the blood, and put the sword back in the sheath before the
horse's hoofs touched the ground again.

And in this fashion they passed the bridge.

'But we have got to go further still,' said Petru, after he had
taken a farewell glance at his native land.

'Yes, forwards,' answered the horse; 'but you must tell me, my
lord, at what speed you wish to go. Like the wind? Like
thought? Like desire? or like a curse?'

Petru looked about him, up at the heavens and down again to the
earth. A desert lay spread out before him, whose aspect made his
hair stand on end.

'We will ride at different speeds,' said he, 'not so fast as to
grow tired nor so slow as to waste time.'

And so they rode, one day like the wind, the next like thought,
the third and fourth like desire and like a curse, till they
reached the borders of the desert.

'Now walk, so that I may look about, and see what I have never
seen before,' said Petru, rubbing his eyes like one who wakes
from sleep, or like him who beholds something so strange that it
seems as if . . . Before Petru lay a wood made of copper, with
copper trees and copper leaves, with bushes and flowers of copper
also.

Petru stood and stared as a man does when he sees something that
he has never seen, and of which he has never heard.

Then he rode right into the wood. On each side of the way the
rows of flowers began to praise Petru, and to try and persuade
him to pick some of them and make himself a wreath.

'Take me, for I am lovely, and can give strength to whoever
plucks me,' said one.

'No, take me, for whoever wears me in his hat will be loved by
the most beautiful woman in the world,' pleaded the second; and
then one after another bestirred itself, each more charming than
the last, all promising, in soft sweet voices, wonderful things
to Petru, if only he would pick them.

Petru was not deaf to their persuasion, and was just stooping to
pick one when the horse sprang to one side.

'Why don't you stay still?' asked Petru roughly.

'Do not pick the flowers; it will bring you bad luck; answered
the horse.

'Why should it do that?'

'These flowers are under a curse. Whoever plucks them must fight
the Welwa
[1]
of the woods.'

'What kind of a goblin is the Welwa?'

'Oh, do leave me in peace! But listen. Look at the flowers as
much as you like, but pick none,' and the horse walked on slowly.

Petru knew by experience that he would do well to attend to the
horse's advice, so he made a great effort and tore his mind away
from the flowers.

But in vain! If a man is fated to be unlucky, unlucky he will
be, whatever he may do!

The flowers went on beseeching him, and his heart grew ever
weaker and weaker.

'What must come will come,' said Petru at length; 'at any rate I
shall see the Welwa of the woods, what she is like, and which way
I had best fight her. If she is ordained to be the cause of my
death, well, then it will be so; but if not I shall conquer her
though she were twelve hundred Welwas,' and once more he stooped
down to gather the flowers.

'You have done very wrong,' said the horse sadly. 'But it can't
be helped now. Get yourself ready for battle, for here is the
Welwa!'

Hardly had he done speaking, scarcely had Petru twisted his
wreath, when a soft breeze arose on all sides at once. Out of
the breeze came a storm wind, and the storm wind swelled and
swelled till everything around was blotted out in darkness, and
darkness covered them as with a thick cloak, while the earth
swayed and shook under their feet.

'Are you afraid?' asked the horse, shaking his mane.

'Not yet,' replied Petru stoutly, though cold shivers were
running down his back. 'What must come will come, whatever it
is.'

'Don't be afraid,' said the horse. 'I will help you. Take the
bridle from my neck, and try to catch the Welwa with it.'

The words were hardly spoken, and Petru had no time even to
unbuckle the bridle, when the Welwa herself stood before him; and
Petru could not bear to look at her, so horrible was she.

She had not exactly a head, yet neither was she without one. She
did not fly through the air, but neither did she walk upon the
earth. She had a mane like a horse, horns like a deer, a face
like a bear, eyes like a polecat; while her body had something of
each. And that was the Welwa.

Petru planted himself firmly in his stirrups, and began to lay
about him with his sword, but could feel nothing.

A day and a night went by, and the fight was still undecided, but
at last the Welwa began to pant for breath.

'Let us wait a little and rest,' gasped she.

Petru stopped and lowered his sword.

'You must not stop an instant,' said the horse, and Petru
gathered up all his strength, and laid about him harder than
ever.

The Welwa gave a neigh like a horse and a howl like a wolf, and
threw herself afresh on Petru. For another day and night the
battle raged more furiously than before. And Petru grew so
exhausted he could scarcely move his arm.

'Let us wait a little and rest,' cried the Welwa for the second
time, 'for I see you are as weary as I am.'

'You must not stop an instant,' said the horse.

And Petru went on fighting, though he barely had strength to move
his arm. But the Welwa had ceased to throw herself upon him, and
began to deliver her blows cautiously, as if she had no longer
power to strike.

And on the third day they were still fighting, but as the morning
sky began to redden Petru somehow managed—how I cannot tell—to
throw the bridle over the head of the tired Welwa. In a moment,
from the Welwa sprang a horse—the most beautiful horse in the
world.

'Sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from my
enchantment,' said he, and began to rub his nose against his
brother's. And he told Petru all his story, and how he had been
bewitched for many years.

So Petru tied the Welwa to his own horse and rode on. Where did
he ride? That I cannot tell you, but he rode on fast till he
got out of the copper wood.

'Stay still, and let me look about, and see what I never have
seen before,' said Petru again to his horse. For in front of him
stretched a forest that was far more wonderful, as it was made of
glistening trees and shining flowers. It was the silver wood.

As before, the flowers began to beg the young man to gather them.

'Do not pluck them,' warned the Welwa, trotting beside him, 'for
my brother is seven times stronger than I'; but though Petru knew
by experience what this meant, it was no use, and after a
moment's hesitation he began to gather the flowers, and to twist
himself a wreath.

Then the storm wind howled louder, the earth trembled more
violently, and the night grew darker, than the first time, and
the Welwa of the silver wood came rushing on with seven times the
speed of the other. For three days and three nights they fought,
but at last Petru cast the bridle over the head of the second
Welwa.

'Sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from enchantment,'
said the second Welwa, and they all journeyed on as before.

But soon they came to a gold wood more lovely far than the other
two, and again Petru's companions pleaded with him to ride
through it quickly, and to leave the flowers alone. But Petru
turned a deaf ear to all they said, and before he had woven his
golden crown he felt that something terrible, that he could not
see, was coming near him right out of the earth. He drew his
sword and made himself ready for the fight. 'I will die!' cried
he, 'or he shall have my bridle over his head.'

He had hardly said the words when a thick fog wrapped itself
around him, and so thick was it that he could not see his own
hand, or hear the sound of his voice. For a day and a night he
fought with his sword, without ever once seeing his enemy, then
suddenly the fog began to lighten. By dawn of the second day it
had vanished altogether, and the sun shone brightly in the
heavens. It seemed to Petru that he had been born again.

And the Welwa? She had vanished.

'You had better take breath now you can, for the fight will have
to begin all over again,' said the horse.

'What was it?' asked Petru.

'It was the Welwa,' replied the horse, 'changed into a fog
'Listen! She is coming!'

And Petru had hardly drawn a long breath when he felt something
approaching from the side, though what he could not tell. A
river, yet not a river, for it seemed not to flow over the earth,
but to go where it liked, and to leave no trace of its passage.

'Woe be to me!' cried Petru, frightened at last.

'Beware, and never stand still,' called the brown horse, and more
he could not say, for the water was choking him.

The battle began anew. For a day and a night Petru fought on,
without knowing at whom or what he struck. At dawn on the
second, he felt that both his feet were lame.

'Now I am done for,' thought he, and his blows fell thicker and
harder in his desperation. And the sun came out and the water
disappeared, without his knowing how or when.

'Take breath,' said the horse, 'for you have no time to lose.
The Welwa will return in a moment.'

Petru made no reply, only wondered how, exhausted as he was, he
should ever be able to carry on the fight. But he settled
himself in his saddle, grasped his sword, and waited.

And then something came to him—WHAT I cannot tell you. Perhaps,
in his dreams, a man may see a creature which has what it has not
got, and has not got what it has. At least, that was what the
Welwa seemed like to Petru. She flew with her feet, and walked
with her wings; her head was in her back, and her tail was on top
of her body; her eyes were in her neck, and her neck in her
forehead, and how to describe her further I do not know.

Petru felt for a moment as if he was wrapped in a garment of
fear; then he shook himself and took heart, and fought as he had
never yet fought before.

As the day wore on, his strength began to fail, and when darkness
fell he could hardly keep his eyes open. By midnight he knew he
was no longer on his horse, but standing on the ground, though he
could not have told how he got there. When the grey light of
morning came, he was past standing on his feet, but fought now
upon his knees.