“That is very great strength,” said Golden Tress. “Now move these tubs of water so as to make them change positions. Place the right-hand tub on the left and the left-hand tub on the right.” Ivan did so with perfect ease.
“Now,” said Golden Tress, “let me tell you why I asked you to do this. In one of these tubs is water of strength, but in the other, water of weakness. Whirlwind always drinks the water of strength, and puts it on the right side, so we must mislead him or you will never be able to overcome him.” Thereupon they made their way up the winding stairway to the apartment of Golden Tress, in which stood the shining throne made from a single emerald.
Golden Tress sat down upon this throne and composed herself, as if she were expecting a visitor. “In a short time,” she said, “Whirlwind will fly home. Come and hide beneath my purple robe so that he may not be able to see you, and when he enters and runs to try to embrace me reach out your hand, which is now a hand of heroic strength, and seize his club. He will rise high and ever higher, but do not therefore release your hold upon his club. He will fly out of the window in the roof, and will carry you over seas and over precipices, but do not in dizziness release your hold upon his club. After a while Whirlwind will grow weak and will return to this palace and go down to the cellar, but do not release your hold upon his club. He will drink of the water in the tub on the right hand, but see that you drink meanwhile of the water in the other tub.
“When he has drunk well, he will grow weak, and then you must take his sharp sword from his girdle and hew off his head with it. As soon as his head falls to the ground you will hear voices behind you crying, ‘Strike again, strike again.’ But these will be the voices of tempters, and your answer to them must be, ‘A hero’s hand strikes once to kill, but never once to maim.’”
Ivan had scarcely disposed himself under the flowing purple robe which swept down upon the green and translucent base of the throne of Golden Tress, when suddenly the room grew dark and everything within it trembled and creaked. Whirlwind flew to his castle, and no one saw his form until he struck the courtyard stones. Then he became a goodly young man with a changeful restless face, and strode quickly into the castle carrying his club with a flourish, until he came before the emerald throne.
“Tfu, Tfu, Tfu,” he said, sniffing disgustedly. “There is an odour of Russia here. Have you had visitors?”
“I cannot tell why you should think so,” said Golden Tress. Then Whirlwind came forward and held out his arms to embrace the mother of Ivan, but with a quick movement the heroic youth stretched out his hand and seized his club. “I’ll eat you,” cried Whirlwind in a passion of anger, and Ivan replied, “Well, either you will or you won’t.”
With a piercing shriek Whirlwind turned and mounted quickly upward. He passed with a howl through the open window in the roof, and then his form was changed, but what it was now no one knew or was able to describe, for as often as any one opened eyes to look at him he filled them with dust and water; if any one sniffed him he made them sneeze; if any one tried to lay hands upon him he buffeted them in the chest and turned them about like weather vanes, all the while crying out, “What is my shape?” Only pigs could see him and knew of what shape he was and they had no powers of description.
It was well for Ivan that in this furious flight he kept a firm hold on Whirlwind’s club, for as he rushed on over the world he kept shrieking, “I will smash you! I will lay you low! I will drown you!” But as his club was firmly held he was powerless to give a knock-down blow, and presently, wearied out with his own fury, he grew weak and began to sink. Then he turned homeward, and alighted gently and wearily upon the stones of the courtyard, where he became a young man with a restless peevish face, listlessly bearing his club, which would have trailed upon the ground if the heroic hand of Ivan had not upheld it. He made what speed he could to the cellar, and at once took a deep draught of the water of weakness, while Ivan, dropping the club, ran to the water of strength, of which he drank long and contentedly, and so became the first mighty hero in the whole white world.
Seeing that Whirlwind had now become weak to extremity he took his sharp sword from his girdle and cut off his head with it. Then from behind him he heard voices crying, “Strike again, strike again, or he will come to life.” “No,” cried Ivan in a heroic voice which in spite of himself seemed to echo throughout the world. “A hero’s hand strikes once to kill, but never once to maim.” Then without loss of time he made a fire, burned the body of Whirlwind as well as the head, and scattered his ashes from the ramparts of the castle to North, South, East, and West.