On the seventh day a white swan flew down as though inspecting his boat, a gray goose made its nest under the well-hung rudder, and a flock of swallows sat twittering upon the gunwales. “Ah! Perhaps the words that I need so badly have been stolen by some of these birds. Perhaps they are concealed in the head of a swan, in the brain of a goose, or under [[122]]the tongue of a swallow. I will examine into this matter and see.”
The next day, therefore, he took his bow and arrows and went hunting. He slew a whole flock of swans; he killed great numbers of geese; and hundreds of swallows fell, pierced by his unerring weapons. But in the brains of all these creatures he found not a single word, nor yet so much as the half of one; and under the tongues of the swallows, there was nothing uncommon.
The Minstrel was not wholly discouraged. “Perhaps the missing words are beneath the tongue of some four-footed animal,” he said. “Perhaps a squirrel, perhaps a summer reindeer, or perhaps a gray and skulking wolf is hiding the precious secrets in its throat or between its jaws. I will search and find out if this be true.”
So, for nine days—yes, for ten days of terror—he went stalking hither and thither through the woodlands and the meadows and the boggy thickets, shooting every timid creature that his eyes could see. He slew an army of squirrels; he killed a field full of reindeer; he slaughtered gray wolves without number. Cruelly, as one devoid of pity, he filled the forest with sorrow [[123]]and death. He found strange words in plenty, groans and shrieks and cries of pain, but among them all there was not one syllable of magic.
At length he ceased his bloody work, he laid his weapons down, grief overcame him, and sorrow for the destruction he had wrought. All night long he sat on the sand beside his unfinished boat and bemoaned his evil fortune. All day he wept—but his mind was strong within him, and he would not give up his undertaking. On the second day, as the sun rose red above the hilltops, a raven flew croaking among the trees. “Caw! caw! caw!” cried the bird of ill-omen.
“Stop your cawing! Stop your crying!” shouted the Minstrel, full of anger. “Did Tuoni send you hither to taunt me? Begone! Return, I say, to your master, Tuoni!”
The bird flapped its wings, and Wainamoinen heard from far in the forest the echo of his words, “Tuoni! Tuoni!”
Then a strange thought came into his mind. He leaped to his feet, he clapped his hands, he shouted his oft-repeated maxim: “None but cowards say, ‘I dare not!’ ”
“You speak truly,” said a voice beside him—[[124]]it was the voice of Sampsa, the little man of the woods: “You speak truly; and since you are not a coward, what will you next dare to do?”
“Far away, on the world’s edge,” answered the Minstrel, “there is a land of silence and fear, the Land of Shades, the kingdom of Tuoni. Many men have travelled thither—heroes not a few, woodsmen, fishermen, even fair women and tender children—but never has any one returned to tell of that land. All things that are lost, all things that are forgotten, are stored away there; they lie in King Tuoni’s treasure house waiting for the day when all things will be remembered. The three magic words that I desire are hidden there—the raven, Tuoni’s bird, has reminded me of it by his croaking.”