Mighty Mikko: A Book of Finnish Fairy Tales and Folk Tales. Fillmore Parker
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“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” snarled Suyettar. “You’re dreaming! Go back to sleep!”
A few hours later when he woke again, he found the lovely square of embroidery on his pillow.
“Who made this?” he cried.
Suyettar was busy combing her snaky locks. She turned on him quickly.
“Who made what?”
When she saw the embroidery she tried to snatch it from him, but he held it tight.
“I made it, of course!” she declared. “Who but me would sit up all night and work while you lay snoring!”
But the King’s Son, as he folded the embroidery, muttered to himself:
“It doesn’t look to me much like your work!”
After he had breakfasted, the King’s Son asked for news of Osmo. A slave was sent to the place of the serpents and when he returned he reported that Osmo was sitting amongst them uninjured.
“The old king snake has made friends with him,” he added, “and has wound himself around Osmo’s arm.”
The King’s Son was amazed at this news and also relieved, for the whole affair troubled him sorely and he was beginning to suspect a mystery.
He knew an old wise woman who lived alone in a little hut on the seashore and he decided he would go and consult her. So he went to her and told her about Osmo and how Osmo had deceived him in regard to his sister. Then he told her how the serpents instead of devouring Osmo had made friends with him and last he showed her the square of lovely embroidery he had found on his pillow that morning.
“There is a mystery somewhere, granny,” he said in conclusion, “and I know not how to solve it.”
The old woman looked at him thoughtfully.
“My son,” she said at last, “that is never Osmo’s sister that you have married. Take an old woman’s word—it is Suyettar! Yet Osmo’s sister must be alive and the embroidery must be a token from her. It probably means that she begs you to release her brother.”
The old king snake has wound himself around Osmo’s arm
“Suyettar!” repeated the King’s Son, aghast.
At first he couldn’t believe such a horrible thing possible and yet that, if it were so, would explain much.
“I wonder if you’re right,” he said. “I must be on my guard!”
That night on the stroke of midnight to the sound of silver chimes Ilona came floating up through the waves and little Pilka, as she appeared, greeted her with barks of joy.
As before Ilona sang:
“Peely, peely, Pilka, pide,
Lift the latch and slip inside!
Past the watchdog in the yard,
Past the sleeping men on guard!
Creep in softly as a snake,
Then creep out before they wake!
Peely, peely, Pilka, pide,
Peely, peely, Pilka!”
This time Ilona gave Pilka a shirt for the King’s Son. Beautifully embroidered it was in gold and silver and Ilona herself had worked it in the Sea King’s palace.
Pilka carried it safely to the castle and left it on the pillow where the King’s Son could see it as soon as he woke. Then Pilka visited the place of the serpents and before the first ray of dawn was back at the seashore to reassure Ilona of Osmo’s safety.
Then dawn came and Ilona, as she sank in the waves to the chime of silver bells, called out to Pilka:
“Meet me here to-night at the same hour! Fail me not, dear Pilka, for to-night is the last night that the Sea King will allow me to come to the upper world!”
Pilka, howling with grief, made promise:
“I’ll be here, dear mistress, that I will!”
The King’s Son that morning, as he opened his eyes, saw the embroidered shirt lying on the pillow at his head. He thought at first he must be dreaming for it was more beautiful than any shirt that had ever been worked by human fingers.
“Ah!” he sighed at last, “who made this?”
“Who made what?” Suyettar demanded rudely.
When she saw the shirt she tried to snatch it, but the King’s Son held it from her. Then she pretended to laugh and said:
“Oh, that! I made it, of course! Do you think any one else in the world would sit up all night and work for you while you lie there snoring! And small thanks I get for it, too!”
“It doesn’t look to me like your work!” said the King’s Son significantly.
Again the slave reported to him that Osmo was alive and unhurt by the serpents.
“Strange!” thought the King’s Son.
He took the embroidered shirt and made the old wise woman another visit.
“Ah!” she said, when she saw the shirt, “now I understand! Listen, my Prince: last night at midnight I was awakened by the chime of silver bells and I got up and looked out the door. Just there at the water’s edge, close to that little boat, I saw a strange sight. A lovely maiden rose from the waves holding in her hands the very shirt that you now have. A little dog that was lying in the boat greeted her with barks of joy. She sang a magic rime to the dog and gave it the shirt and off it ran. That maid, my Prince, must be Ilona. She must be in the Sea King’s power and I think she is begging you to rescue her and to release her brother.”
The King’s Son slowly nodded his head.
“Granny, I’m sure what you say is true! Help me to rescue Ilona and I shall reward you richly.”
“Then, my son, you must act at once, for to-night, I heard Ilona say, is the last night that the Sea King will allow her to come to the upper world. Go now to the smith and have him forge you a strong iron chain and a great strong scythe. Then to-night hide you down yonder in the shadow of the boat. At midnight when you hear the silver chimes and the maiden slowly rises from the waves, throw the iron chain about her and quickly draw her to you. Then, with one sweep of your scythe, cut the silver chains that are fastened to her ankles. But remember, my son, that is not all. She is under enchantment and as you try to grasp her the Sea King will change her to many things—a fish, a bird, a fly, and I know not what, and if in any form she escape you, then all is lost.”
At once the King’s Son hurried away to the smithy and had the smith forge him a strong iron chain and a heavy sharp scythe. Then when night fell he hid in the shadow of the boat and waited. Pilka snuggled up beside him. Midnight came and to the sweet chiming as of silver bells Ilona slowly rose from the waves. As she came she began singing:
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