“What has come to the birds?” said the young archer.

He had scarcely said this before he saw a big curving feather lying in the path before him.  The feather was larger than a swan’s, larger than an eagle’s.  It lay in the path, glittering like a flame; for the sun was on it, and it was a feather of pure gold.  Then he knew why there was no singing in the forest.  For he knew that the fire-bird had flown that way, and that the feather in the path before him was a feather from its burning breast.

The horse of power spoke and said,—­

“Leave the golden feather where it lies.  If you take it you will be sorry for it, and know the meaning of fear.”

But the brave young archer sat on the horse of power and looked at the golden feather, and wondered whether to take it or not.  He had no wish to learn what it was to be afraid, but he thought, “If I take it and bring it to the Tzar my master, he will be pleased; and he will not send me away with empty hands, for no Tzar in the world has a feather from the burning breast of the fire-bird.”  And the more he thought, the more he wanted to carry the feather to the Tzar.  And in the end he did not listen to the words of the horse of power.  He leapt from the saddle, picked up the golden feather of the fire-bird, mounted his horse again, and galloped back through the green forest till he came to the palace of the Tzar.

He went into the palace, and bowed before the Tzar and said,—­

“O Tzar, I have brought you a feather of the fire-bird.”

The Tzar looked gladly at the feather, and then at the young archer.

“Thank you,” says he; “but if you have brought me a feather of the fire-bird, you will be able to bring me the bird itself.  I should like to see it.  A feather is not a fit gift to bring to the Tzar.  Bring the bird itself, or, I swear by my sword, your head shall no longer sit between your shoulders!”

The young archer bowed his head and went out.  Bitterly he wept, for he knew now what it was to be afraid.  He went out into the courtyard, where the horse of power was waiting for him, tossing its head and stamping on the ground.

“Master,” says the horse of power, “why do you weep?”

“The Tzar has told me to bring him the fire-bird, and no man on earth can do that,” says the young archer, and he bowed his head on his breast.

“I told you,” says the horse of power, “that if you took the feather you would learn the meaning of fear.  Well, do not be frightened yet, and do not weep.  The trouble is not now; the trouble lies before you.  Go to the Tzar and ask him to have a hundred sacks of maize scattered over the open field, and let this be done at midnight.”

The young archer went back into the palace and begged the Tzar for this, and the Tzar ordered that at midnight a hundred sacks of maize should be scattered in the open field.

Next morning, at the first redness in the sky, the young archer rode out on the horse of power, and came to the open field.  The ground was scattered all over with maize.  In the middle of the field stood a great oak with spreading boughs.  The young archer leapt to the ground, took off the saddle, and let the horse of power loose to wander as he pleased about the field.  Then he climbed up into the oak and hid himself among the green boughs.