Stray Leaves from Strange Literature and Fantastics

The Healing of Wainamoinen

...She is all fair, the Goddess of Veins—the Goddess Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins. Marvelously doth she spin the veins of men with her wondrous spindle, with her distaff of brass, with her spinning-wheel of iron....

Like the leaping of the mountain stream, like the rushing of a torrent, the blood issued from the knee of Wainamoinen, wounded by his own axe through the craft of Hiisi the Evil, through the malice of Lempo, the herder of wolves and bears.

The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen had knowledge of all wisdom, all speech that is eternal, all magical words save only the word by which wizard wounds are healed. He invoked the magical art, he uttered the awful imprecation; carefully he read the Original Words, pronounced the runes of science.

But he had forgotten the mightiest words—the Words of Blood, the charmed words by which the palpitant torrent is checked, by which the gory stream is held back, by which invincible dikes are cast athwart the places broken by iron, athwart the bites made by the blue teeth of steel.

And the blood ceased not to gush bubbling from the wound of the hero, from the knee of Wainamoinen.

The aged and valiant Wainamoinen harnessed his steed to his brown sledge; he mounted upon the seat, smote the swift horse, and cracked his great whip adorned with pearls.

The steed flew over the long course, drawing the brown sledge, devouring distance. Swift as wind was the driving of Wainamoinen, until he neared the dwelling of the sorcerers, the first of the habitations of the wizards. And he halted at the threshold, and cried: “Is there in this habitation any man learned in the knowledge of iron—any man who can oppose a dike to this river, who can check this torrent of blood?”

A child, a little child, was seated in the middle of the floor; and the child answered, saying: “There is no man here learned in the knowledge of iron—no man able to assuage with his breath even the bruises of wood, nor to ease the pain of heroes.... Go thou to another habitation.”

The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen made his great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon the flanks of his rapid courser. Swift as lightning his course, until they came to the middle dwelling; and Wainamoinen halted at the threshold, and cried aloud: “Is there in this habitation any man learned in the knowledge of iron—any man able to oppose a dike to this river, to check this torrent of blood?”

An aged woman was there, lying under her blankets, chattering, babbling, within the furthest end of the recess of the hearth—an aged woman with three teeth only—the wisest woman in all that country. And she arose and drew nigh unto the door, and made reply, saying: “There is no man here learned enough to comprehend the misfortune of the hero, to ease his pain, to stop the river of the veins, the rainfall of blood, the torrent of blood out-rolling. Go, seek thou such a man in some other habitation.”

The aged and valiant Wainamoinen made his great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon the flanks of his swift steed. Lightning-wise he followed the long way leading to the highest habitation. And he descended at the threshold, and leaning against a pillar, cried aloud: “Is there in this habitation any man learned in the knowledge of iron—any man able to oppose a dike to this river, to check this torrent of blood?”

An aged man dwelt within the great fireplace. His voice roared from the recess of the glowing hollow: “We have checked mightier ones, we have enchained swifter ones, we have overcome greater dangers, we have broken down loftier obstacles—even by the Three Words of the Creator, by the utterance of the Original Words, the holy words. By them the mouths of rivers, the courses of lakes, the fury of cataracts, have been overcome. We have separated straits from promontories; we have conjoined isthmuses with isthmuses.”

The aged Wainamoinen descended from his sledge, and entered beneath the old man’s roof. A cup of silver was brought to him, and a cup of gold; but these could not contain the least part of the blood of Wainamoinen, the blood of the noble god.

The old man roared from the recess of the hearth—the long-beard cried out: “What manner of man art thou? What hero? Already have seven cups, eight great vessels, been filled with the blood flowing from thy knee! Ah! would I could utter other magical words—even the great Words of Blood! But, alas! I have forgotten the origin of Iron.”

Then said the aged Wainamoinen: “I know the origin of Iron; I know the birth of Steel. There were three children whose origin was the same: Water, which is the eldest; Iron, which is the youngest; Fire, to which the middle rank belongs. And Fire soon displayed its rage; flames lifted themselves insolently, and waxed vast with pride. The fields were consumed, the marshes were scorched in that great year of sterility, in that fatal summer which devoured with inextinguishable fire all creatures of nature. Then did Iron seek a refuge, a place wherein to hide.”...

The old man roared from the recess of the hearth: “Where did Iron hide itself? Where did it find refuge in that great year of barrenness, in that fatal summer which devoured all creatures of nature?”

The aged Wainamoinen, the valiant Wainamoinen, made answer: “Then Iron hid itself; Iron found a refuge in the extremity of a long cloud, in the summit of an oak stripped of its branches, in the budding bosom of a young girl.... There were three virgins, three affianced maidens, who poured forth upon the ground the milk of their breasts. The milk of the first was black; the milk of the second, white; the milk of the third was ruddy. Of the virgin whose milk was black, Flexible Iron was born; of her whose milk was white, Fragile Iron was born; of her with the ruddy milk was born Steel.... Then for two years Iron hid itself in the midst of a vast marsh, upon the summit of a rock where the white swans laid their eggs, where the wild duck hatched out her little ones. And the wolf rushed through the marsh; and the bear rushed into the sterile plain; and they tore up the earth that concealed the Iron. But a god, passing through that barren place, saw the black sand that the wolf had torn up, that the bear had trampled beneath his feet.... And that day the Iron was taken out of the marsh, and purged from the slime of the earth, and purified by drying from the humidity of the waters.”

The old man roared from the recess of the hearth: “So that was the origin of Iron? that was the birth of Steel?”

But the valiant Wainamoinen made answer: “Nay! not yet has the origin of Iron been told. For, without devouring Fire, Iron may not be born; without Water, it may not be hardened. Into the workshop of the great smith it was borne, into the forge of Ilmarinnen; and the mighty craftsman, the Eternal Smith, said unto it: ‘If I place thee within my fire, if I put thee into the flame of my forge-fire, thou wilt become arrogant, thou wilt wax strong, thou wilt spread terror about thee, thou wilt slay thy brother, thou wilt kill the son of thy mother.’... Then the Iron within the forge fires, under the blows of the hammer, sware this oath: ‘I have trees to rend, hearts of stone to gnaw; no! never will I slay my brother, never will I kill the son of my mother.’... Then did Ilmarinnen soften the Iron within the heart of the furnace, and shape it upon the anvil. But ere dipping it into the water, he tested with his tongue, he tasted with his palate, the creative juices of Steel, the water that gives hardness unto Iron. And he cried: ‘This water is powerless to create Steel, to harden Iron. O Mehilainen, bird of Hiisi! O Herlihainen, my bird-friend! fly hither upon thine agile wings; fly over the marshes, over the lands, over the straits of the ocean! bring me honey upon thy feathers; bear to me upon thy tongue the honey of seven meadow-stalks, of six flower-pistils, for the Steel I am going to make, for the Iron I wish to harden.’... But Herlihainen, the evil bird of Hiisi the Evil, brought the venom of blood, the black juices of a worm that his lizard-eyes had seen, the hidden poison of the toad; and he gave these to Ilmarinnen for the Steel which was being prepared, the Iron that was to be tempered. And suddenly the Iron quivered with rage; it growled; it moved; its oath was forgotten; like a dog it swallowed its own oath, and it slew its brother, it murdered the son of its mother. Even now it plunges into flesh, bites the knees of men, rages so that blood flows and flows and overflows in vast torrents.”

The old man roared from the recess of the hearth: “Now I know the origin of Iron, the fatal destiny of Steel!” And to his memory came back the Original Words, the great Words of Blood; and he cursed the Iron with magical curses, and quelled with caressing speech the panic of the fleeing blood. And the hurt of the Iron ceased, and the red torrent stayed its flowing.

Then the old man took within his fingers the extremities of the veins, and counted them, and uttered the magical prayer:

All fair is she, the Goddess of Veins—Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins. Marvelously doth she spin the veins of men with her beautiful spindle, with her distaff of brass, with her spinning-wheel of iron.... Come, O Goddess of Veins! Come unto me! I invoke thy succor, I call thy name!... Bring hither in thy bosom a roll of ruddy flesh, a blue skein of veins, that the wound may be filled, that the ends of the veins may be tied!...

And suddenly the hurt of Wainamoinen was healed: the flesh became firmer than before; the severed veins were retied, the severed muscles rejoined, the broken bones reknit.

And many other wonderful things said and done by the old man within the recess of the hearth are told of in the Fourth Rune of the ancient Kalewala.