A Divine Puzzle

His walking stick stabbed the snow, drilling for a semblance of purchase beneath the drifts. He pulled his collar tighter around his face as icy gusts slashed at his skin.

Everyone knew she was up here. You could see it for miles – a strange circle of sunny green atop the clouded white of the winter mountain, like an oasis in a desert. Everyone knew and nobody did anything. For three years. And everyone froze.

So, he was on the mountain, finally doing something.

As he topped the next rise, panting through frozen sweat, he saw the garden. Thick broadleaves ringed a field of veridian dotted with flowers. Birds chirped contentment and butterflies drifted lazily. In the middle of the field was a stump, and atop the stump, she sat.

He steeled himself, then stepped into the warmth of a perfect spring morning.

"Why are you here?" Before he knew it, he was standing beside her, and the melody of her voice played like a symphony through the field. He took her in – face and features more vibrant than he'd ever seen, hair at once shining gold, burning auburn, and deep chestnut. She wore a dress of colors both innumerable and beyond description.

He fell to his knees, placed his forehead to the grass. “Your Reverence."

A hand swatted the back of his head. “Oh, do get up." Annoyance sang through the field.

He stood. She sat upon her stump, legs crossed at the knees and a glare in her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Your Majesty – " he paused, removed his hat and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Majesty, I – uh – I'm here on behalf of the people in the valley, just there." He pointed. She didn't look. "I bring dire news."

She waved a hand. "I don't care."

"Majesty, please. We've been in the grips of winter for three full years. People are freezing and starving to death, you must – “

"I must? I must what, exactly?!" She was on her feet. Lightning split a sky that turned instantly, ominously dark.

He prostrated himself again and begged forgiveness. She slapped him again, and the looming storm was gone when he reached his feet.

A stump appeared next to hers. “Sit."

He sat.

"Don't talk."

He didn't.

They sat together in silence a while, her forlorn expression fixed ahead, his knees vibrating with anxiety. More than once he turned just slightly, prepared to ask his favor of the goddess. Storm clouds rumbled from nowhere with each movement, so each time he kept silent. What did she want? Not his plea, that much was certain. But she also hadn’t thrown him back down the mountain or smote him where he stood. She even conjured him a stump. 

"You're lucky," she said finally. The comment was clearly an invitation, but, when he said nothing – refused even to move – she added, “you can talk now."

A fire of anger lit within him. His courage joined it. "Lucky? Your Reverence, my people dying.” He softened his tone, forced a measure of fealty. “Please, I’ve come to beg you to save us. Bring us our first spring in years."

She waved a dismissive hand. He could talk, just not about that.

"But, Your Holiness..." She dismissed him again. He realized then how small he must be, mortal standing before a god. Creation before Creator. 

She gestured overdramatically and he finally noticed what, he guessed, he was supposed to notice upon his arrival. The object of her consternation lay in the grass before her feet. A contraption, of sorts. It was a wooden block, painted white and shaped like a triangle. Small holes dotted its broad face, two of which were filled with brightly colored pegs made of a smooth material he’d never before seen. More of the pegs littered the grass next to the block. A quick count revealed enough to occupy all but one of the holes.

“What is it?" he asked.

She sighed. "It's a puzzle.”

He wondered at this new godly artifact. What purpose did it serve? What would happen if the goddess solved it? He decided to ask as much.

“It’s a puzzle,” she repeated, annoyed. “You solve it.”

“But to what end?”

She rolled her eyes. He thought he heard her mutter something about “simple mortals”.

“Is it Holy? Can it bring us spring?”

The spontaneous thunderclouds were back. “No, you dolt! It’s a puzzle. You just try and do it. And I’m stumped.”

“Stumped?”

“Yes,” she sighed, her features contorted in a hopeless pout. When she noticed him staring, the glare returned.

"Is this why you’re here?" he asked, only just preventing himself from adding “instead of doing your job?” He understood the need for deference in dealing with any god – let alone the god holding the fate of his people in her very distracted hands – but his capacity for deference drained with every word she spoke.

"Yes. The stupid thing is driving me crazy." She fixed her glare on the puzzle again as if a strong enough stare would force its obedience. Maybe it would. What did he know about gods?

“But why here, Your Lordship? Why leave the heavens?”

She laughed then, a beautiful melody bathing the meadow in liquid joy. “Because the gods are no help whatsoever.” A past version of him would argue, but present circumstances had him nodding his agreement. “Plus their incessant bickering was too much of a distraction. I mean, who cares who’s late to what shift or who’s not ‘putting the work in’ or whatever? We’re gods! If a world breaks we can just regrow it no problem.” He felt like an ant in its hill.

A new strategy came to him, “surely your fellow gods miss you after three years? And surely the God of Winter grows weary working so long uninterrupted?”

That handwave again. “He likes to show off."

He joined her in glaring at the triangle, then sensed an opportunity. 

“Your Eminence, perhaps I could assist you with it.”

"You?" she huffed. "A god can’t solve this. What use do you think you'll be?"

"Another set of eyes never hurt,” he said as he lifted the puzzle from the grass. “Why don't you explain it to me?" She regarded him as dull thunder rumbled in the distance. It passed, and then she snatched the block from him and added the pegs.

"There's one empty space, see?" She held it up, pointed to the only hole without a peg. "You remove pegs by jumping adjacent ones over them into an empty hole." She demonstrated. "The goal is to remove all but one of the pegs. I've gotten down to two a couple times, but they're never next to each other so I can't make a final jump."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"And you've been stuck for three years?"

She sneered. "Try it, mortal."

He did, and ran out of jumps with four pegs remaining.

"Wait," he said. He set it up and tried again. Three. Then four. Then four again. Then three again. He growled. She hooted.

“Hang on. Can I change which hole is empty at the start?”

“Sure, change it. Won’t help.”

He did. Three. Changed it again. Five. Changed it again. Three.

And so, the battle for the fate of his people raged. Not a warrior standing against armies, or a prince negotiating with deities. Just a sweaty-palmed man sticking pegs in a block.

Three hours passed before he finished with two for the first time.

"Baha!" he jumped up, pumped a fist.

She rolled her eyes." Now's when it gets difficult." He rebuilt the puzzle and attacked it with a renewed sense of determination. Five.

His movements grew more frenzied as the sun slunk towards the horizon. 

Three. Three. Four. Three. Two! Four. Five. Three.

He cursed. Kicked the block, flung the pegs. Collapsed onto his stump, defeated.

The song of her laughter was a balm. "At least it's not just me."

She clapped him on the knee and stood, the indescribable colors of her dress shimmering in the sunlight. "Thanks for the laugh. I'm going to head back to work."

“Wait, what?” he said. “Just like that?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Watching you utterly fail at this has given me some perspective. I think we could both use a break.” She rested a warm palm on his shoulder and bent down until her eyes were level with his. “You can have your spring now.”

"No!" He roared. She sat – fell, really – back on her stump.

"No." he repeated." It must be solved."

She considered this for only a moment before a broad smile split her face. "I'll get the pegs!" she announced and dashed into the field. He scooped up the block and began to diagram the next approach in his head.

In the centuries that followed, in those moments of brief respite from the snow and frigid wind, when the haze ebbed and heavy clouds parted, people emerged from the warmth of their burrows and marveled at the mysterious green spot atop the winter mountain. It was said their salvation was trapped there, and if they could just free it, the snow would melt and their land would turn to paradise. Inevitably, a zealous few every generation made the trek to the top, but none ever returned.

And winter never left.