The Red Swan

The Red Swan

Once upon a time, three brothers lived near a great forest. In the mornings, mist lay between the pines, and in the evenings the lakes grew smooth as dark glass.

The brothers had long since learned to look after one another. The eldest was cautious and quiet, the middle brother liked to joke even at the most unlikely moments, and the youngest was called Maydva. He ran so fast that his brothers said:

“If Maydva chases his own shadow, then the shadow will also ask for a break.”

Their father had left them a small bundle containing three special arrows. The brothers kept it safe and left it untouched unless they needed it.

One morning they agreed to set off in different directions and each return by his own route that evening. Maydva headed west.

It was an ordinary day until a strange red glow appeared among the trees. At first, Maydva thought sunlight had broken through the leaves. But the glow grew brighter and brighter. It touched the trunks, the grass, the stones, and even the water in the streams, as though someone had swept a broad brush across the whole forest, painting it the colour of the evening sky.

Then Maydva heard a long, drawn-out song.

He followed the sound and came out to the lake.

A swan was swimming in the middle of the lake, unlike any Maydva had ever seen. Its feathers were red, but no ordinary red. They shimmered crimson, then gold, then the colour of a glowing ember.

“What a bird…” Maydva whispered.

He fitted an ordinary arrow to his bow and shot it far ahead of the swan, hoping to frighten the bird into swimming closer. But the arrow fell into the water, and the swan did not even flinch.

Maydva tried again. And again.

The swan only turned its head and looked at him calmly, as if it knew very well why the young man had come.

Then Maydva remembered his father's bundle.

He hesitated. His brothers never used those arrows unless they truly needed them. Yet the red glow remained, and Maydva felt more and more certain that this meeting was no accident.

He quickly returned home, took three magic arrows and ran back.

The Red Swan was still on the lake.

Maydva fired the first arrow high above the water. It flew over the bird's wing and fell far behind it.

The second touched several feathers. They whirled above the water like little lights, but the swan was not hurt.

The third arrow glided so close that it caught a light ribbon among the red feathers. The ribbon wrapped around the shaft.

And then the Red Swan spread its wings.

“Stop!” exclaimed Maydva.

But the bird was already rising above the lake, carrying the third magic arrow with it into the western sky.

Maydva did not hesitate. He rushed after it.

He ran through the forest, through tall grass and hills. By evening the red glow ahead had turned into a thin strip on the horizon.

Finally, Maydva reached a settlement where people were just finishing their day’s work.

“Have you seen the Red Swan?” he asked.

They pointed to the west.

“It flew by during the day. Very quickly.”

“I’ll catch up with it,” said Maydva.

Someone laughed, but the kind girl from the elder’s house said:

“If you’ve decided to go, don’t waste the morning. It’s flying straight towards the sunset.”

Maydva thanked her, stayed the night, and set off again.

The next evening he reached the second settlement. There he was again given food, a place to sleep, and shown the way.

On the third night, when it was already dark all around, Maydva saw a small fire. An old man was sitting by the fire.

“Come in, grandson,” he said, as though he had been waiting for Maydva since morning. “You’re tired.”

A small pot stood in the corner. The old man barely had time to say:

“We ought to feed our guest…”

when the pot moved to the fire of its own accord.

Maydva blinked.

“Does it always do that?”

“When it’s in a good mood,” the old man replied.

The little pot bubbled softly, as though offended.

After dinner, the old man said:

“You are following the Red Swan. Don’t be so quick to think that your journey is only about the bird. Tomorrow you will meet another old man, and then another. Listen carefully.”

And so it happened.

The second old man had a little pot that did not walk, but almost danced, hurrying to the fire. The third little pot could talk and from time to time sang short songs about dinner, the road and people who forget to listen to good advice.

When Maydva had eaten, the third old man became serious.

“The Red Swan is part of a powerful wizard’s family,” he said. “The wizard once had a beautiful wampum ornament that he wore on his head. Messengers from a distant chief came and asked to borrow it, supposedly for a good cause. He trusted them. But they deceived him and kept the ornament. Ever since, they have carried it from place to place, showing it off and mocking the man they cheated.”

“Why doesn’t he take it back himself?” asked Maydva.

“Because the deception has taken away his strength. Every time his trust is mocked, he weakens even more. Many have tried to return the ornament, but have failed.”

The old man looked carefully at the young man.

“If you reach his dwelling, he will ask you to help.”

“I will try,” said Maydva.

“Not ‘I’ll try,’” muttered the singing pot. “Say, ‘I’ll do everything I can.’”

Maydva smiled.

“All right. I’ll do everything I can.”

The next evening, he heard a deep sigh in the distance. An exhausted wizard sat beside a lonely dwelling. Even his cooking pot behaved with dignity, though it was rather grumpy.

Something rustled softly behind the thin curtain.

Maydva immediately thought of the red wings.

The wizard told the same story about the lost ornament and asked:

“Will you go get it?”

Maydva nodded.

“I will.”

“There are many people there. You won’t defeat them by force.”

“Then I’ll have to find another way.”

The pot clinked its lid contentedly.

At dawn, Maydva set off.

By noon he could hear a commotion. A crowd had gathered on a broad plain. In its midst, a wampum ornament hung from a tall pole. People passed it from hand to hand, showing off what they claimed was a great prize.

Maydva hid behind the trees.

“You can’t do it by force,” he remembered.

He closed his eyes and thought of the smallest creature, the one that was hard to see.

A moment later, a tiny bird was buzzing above the grass. Maydva became as light as a hummingbird and flew closer. But there were too many people near the pole.

Then he became a tiny piece of white down.

The wind caught him.

The down drifted upwards and touched the knot holding the ornament. It slipped past it once, then again, and the knot came undone.

The wampum ornament began to fall.

But before it could touch the ground, a hawk swept over the crowd, caught it, and soared away.

“Hey!” the people shouted. “Bring that back!”

But the hawk was already flying over the plain.

“Kak-kak! Kak-kak!” his voice rang out far ahead.

The wizard heard the cry and knew Maydva was returning.

When the young man brought back the ornament, a miracle happened. The moment the wizard touched it, his back straightened, his eyes grew clear, and the whole dwelling seemed brighter.

“You have returned not just a thing,” he said. “You have returned to me what was taken by deception, and with it my strength and peace.”

They spent several days talking. Maydva was preparing to go home, but he still had not seen the Red Swan.

Finally, the curtain was drawn back.

Before him stood a young woman in a red dress, light as feathers in the wind.

“You were looking for me,” she said.

Maydva was confused.

“I thought you were a swan.”

“A swan too,” she replied with a smile. “I can take that form. I wanted to find someone who would brave a long journey and help my family recover what we had lost. But I am not a prize for someone’s courage.”

Maydva blushed.

“I don’t want you to be a reward.”

“Good,” said the Red Swan. “Then I’ll decide for myself. I want to see your homeland. If you don’t mind, we can go together.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

They set off east.

On the way, they again visited three old men. The first blessed them on their journey. The second gave them a bag of food. The third only winked.

“Where is the singing pot?” asked Maydva.

“Who knows?” the old man replied. “Perhaps it has gone on ahead of you.”

And indeed, when Maydva finally returned home, a familiar voice suddenly came from the corner:

“What took you so long?”

Then a second pot appeared, followed by a third and a fourth. All four began cooking supper so enthusiastically that Maydva’s middle brother laughed so hard he almost sat down in a bowl.

At first, the brothers were delighted to have their youngest brother home. Maydva told them about the Red Swan, the cheated wizard, and the stolen ornament. The Red Swan had plenty to tell them about her journey too.

Time passed.

But little by little, envy awoke in the hearts of the two brothers.

“Everything that happens to Maydva is extraordinary,” one brother grumbled.

“And everyone only listens to his stories,” the second one added.

One day they remembered that their father’s third arrow was still missing.

“You took it, so you must bring it back,” they said. “Go and find it.”

Maydva agreed, although the Red Swan felt uneasy.

The road led him to a deep valley where the air was quiet and the grass unusually green. There he saw a huge buffalo.

The buffalo spoke in a human voice:

“Go no further. The arrow you are looking for has already returned to your home. Your brothers knew you would set off on a dangerous journey. Envy has muddled their thoughts.”

Maydva was silent for a long time.

“Did they want me not to return?”

“They wanted to claim your achievements and everything you brought home. But sometimes people only understand their mistake when they see it right before them.”

Maydva thanked the buffalo and hurried back.

There was indeed a third magic arrow lying near the threshold.

His brothers’ voices came from inside. They were arguing over who should have the things Maydva had been given, and who was now in charge of the house.

Maydva entered.

He was so angry that he grabbed the magic arrow.

But before he could say anything, a large talking pot appeared before him.

“If you are all going to act foolishly,” he declared, “at least don’t do it on an empty stomach.”

The singing pot sang a funny song about three brothers who almost lost each other because of envy.

The small, nimble pot spun around the fire until everyone found themselves laughing.

The silence softened.

The older brother lowered his head.

“We have done wrong.”

The middle one sighed.

“Very wrong. And foolish too.”

“That’s more like it,” the pot grumbled.

The brothers asked for forgiveness.

Maydva looked at them for a long time, and then put down the arrow.

“Never again decide for me where I should go.”

“We won’t.”

The Red Swan added:

“And for me too.”

“Nor for you,” the brothers agreed.

That evening they ate together, and the four magic pots boiled, sang, argued about the seasonings and made sure that no one started another quarrel.

They say the brothers truly learned to live in harmony after that. And when a red glow appeared over the western lake, Maydva no longer reached for his bow.

He simply went out to the water.

The Red Swan stood next to him.

Together they watched the evening sky slowly paint the world the colour of a distant road—a road that had once been worth following to its end.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨