Winter Solstice

Winter is death.

That is all there is to it. Everything comes to an end and even the Sun God distances herself from the cursed land, abandoning us to the cold and the dark. Leaving us with nothing but a dwindling hope that a new life will arise from within the earth and afford us another portion of time and a harvest that might just see us through the next time of death.

I wish that was all there was to it, but there is more.

More death and despair.

The dying land summons forth the Winter Demon and we are compelled to make a suitable sacrifice to him lest he lays waste to us all. 

He is one and we are many, but we are weak and he comes to us in our darkest hour. The Winter Demon is legend and he is forever. It is said that he will herald our end when it is time. He is death himself and he is the end of all things. 

So we appease him, and then we wait.  We wait through the colder and colder nights and every morning we check the beds of those who have not emerged into the harsh and cruel Winter’s day. Even the light of those days is wicked. It seeks to burn and to blind and sometimes it succeeds in its ill intent.

Some mornings we drag out the dead. Those who the Winter Demon called to him despite our sacrifice. More, always he calls for more and he does not discriminate. Young and old, they freeze in the long and lonely night and often they are bound to their blankets and stuck fast to the ground they slept upon. It is hard work separating them from the earth that calls for their bones. The earth that they would go into were they to pass during the world’s phase of life. Instead these poor souls are taken deep into the woods for the Winter Demon to feast upon. He takes them all, devouring every last piece of them.

Sometimes we find large balls of hair and blanket. 

That is all we ever find when it comes to the remains of our Winter dead.

As the longest night approaches, our elders perform the ceremony of selection. The oldest of them is said to be touched by the finger of divinity. We know this because her eyes have become milky, they no longer see as we do. They see beyond the veil and they understand things that only come to us in dreams.

Vella is the oldest of our elders. How she lives while others die is beyond me. There is nothing of her. Her almost transparent skin is stretched like a drum over her bones. Every one of her movements carries with it a threat of disintegration, and yet she is strong. Her claw like fingers grip fiercely and those eyes pierce souls.

Ten sunrises prior to the longest night we gather around a large fire. The fire is more than we can afford. It is poor use of our limited resources, but there is no way around this. The rest of the winter will be colder thanks to this night, so we huddle as close as we can to those flames as though we can store their life giving warmth for many a day hence.

We gather around the fire and Vella circles us once, then again and in the next round she will place those cruel, bony fingers upon the shoulder of whoever is to be the sacrifice to the Winter Demon.

From the outset of Vella’s slow and painstaking circuits each and every one of us cringes and shrinks from her presence. There is something otherworldly about the woman and it leaks from her during the ceremony. 

The ceremony is conducted in utter silence, but I fancy I can hear the creaking of her bones and whisper of her breath. Those sounds could so easily be the Winter breeze playing through the trees, but I think not. Sometimes I think that perhaps I see things in a way that others do not. I have always stayed silent about this, it would not be received well. I wish to remain as I am and not made into something I do not want to be.

But sometimes that is not our choice to make.

On her third time around, I sense Vella slowing and I feel her eyes upon my back. In that moment I know something that I should not. Revealed to me is a dangerous knowledge and with that knowledge comes something even more dangerous; doubt.

Vella isn’t exactly a charlatan, but she is not all that she seems. Now I contain this powerful knowledge I smell something upon her that was not there before, or rather it was, but I was blind to it. That smell changes everything. I smell Vella’s fear. 

Her fear is a strange creature. It writhes, it hisses and it’s aroma is eye-wateringly acrid. Vella is driven by fear and I know that she fears the Winter Demon as do we all, but her fear goes deeper yet. She also fears something closer to home. Something that sits by the fire.

She fears me.

I try not to betray my confusion and curiosity at this. I sit there as passively as I can.

What is it that she sees?

As I wonder this to myself, I know she is considering sending me out to the woods on the longest night. She has paused before me and she is calculating possible outcomes, thinking about whether the Winter Demon will be pleased with me or unsatisfied with the selection. She does not know what to do with me. Nor what to do for the best.

What I do know is that she wants me gone. I am a threat to her and she wants to rid herself of me. The convenient end the Winter Demon presents is perhaps too easy and comes at too great a risk. I feel her gaze move from me and rest elsewhere and as it does my spirit sinks into the earth below me and wails with such a terrible grief that I cannot bear it. The intensity of what is about to happen is too much and I leave my body completely.

I awake to a moon. My eye lids open, but my eyes are still sleepy and will not focus. Then I see the moon smile down at me.

“Pally!” I say to my younger brother, “I dreamt of you!”

His face comes into focus now, “you could have waited to dream about me,” he says kindly, “you gave me a fright.”

At that final word I feel a chill rush up through my spine, chasing it is an utter sadness. A single tear oozes from my right eye, “you were chosen weren’t you?”

He nods gravely. He is being brave. It is a supposed honour to be the child that is chosen. To be chosen is to save the entire village. To be chosen is to be special and to live on, forever young in the memories of all the saved.

Pally was chosen because he is my brother. Vella has done this, and I know that I will confront her before the longest night. I will confront her and she awaits this moment. I didn’t just dream about Pally, I dreamt of her and I dreamt of the Winter Demon. Vella chose Pally and by choosing him she knew she was choosing me also. I cannot abandon my little brother. He is my blood and he is all I have, as I am all he has. This is how it is. This is how it will always be. I made a promise to our father and I will never, ever break that oath.

*

“I did not expect you so soon,” Vella does not look up, she does not have to.

“Why waste time?” I say, “I will need to prepare.”

“Prepare for what, child?” Vella emphasises child to remind me that I have yet to become. My value is yet small and I cannot hope to prevail in the face of what is to come.

“You know what I have to prepare for,” I tell her, “that is why I am here.”

“You are a fool,” Vella hisses at me.

“Fool?” I ask, “that is a poor lie, Vella. You are better than that.”

She cackles with a laughter like dry wood splintering, “I did not know what to do with you, child.”

“You wanted rid of me,” I tell her.

She turns those milky eyes upon me, “you know that?”

“And more,” I tell her.

She nods, “that much is true, but you do not know the why of it do you?”

“No,” I admit, “but often the why of a thing is a distraction, noise that can cost a person their life.”

She nods again, “sometimes the why of a thing is not in our hands, but in the hands of a higher power.”

“Is that what happened at the ceremony?” I ask her.

“Perhaps,” she says.

Now she is stroking her chin thoughtfully, “what we say here is between us.”

“Always,” I assure her.

She laughs again, but this laughter surprises and disarms me, this laughter is of the young girl she once was, “always,” she echoes, “you almost inspire me to dare to believe.”

“Believe what?” I ask her, but I know what she is talking of and it emboldens me.

“Your dream at the fireside,” she strokes her chin some more, “you saw him didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I tell her.

I feel her eyes bore into me, “and yet still I cannot see you.”

“You cannot…” I begin.

She shakes her head, “I see every single person of this village both the living and the dead, but you are an absence. I thought you to be a darkness, that was why I wanted rid of you, but I was mistaken in this. It isn’t darkness, no.”

“What is it then?” I ask her.

“You are hidden from me,” she tells me.

“And why would that be?” I ask her.

She smiles a wide smile that exposes a single tombstone of a tooth, “it is not for me to see you. You have a path of your own. You do not belong to me or this village.”

“Then who do I belong to?” I ask her.

Vella shakes her head, “that is also hidden from me. All I know is that you walk your own path.”

“You also know what I must do,” I tell her.

“I have a good idea of what it is that you will do,” she says, “but that has nothing to do with my sight. I was not born stupid you know.”

It is my turn to laugh and her quip and my laughter herald a turning point for us both. Hours later, I take my leave of Vella as a friend. Our fledgling friendship is special to me, we have reached an understanding and there is much trust between us.

I leave Vella and devote the rest of my time before the longest night to preparation. I barely sleep as I work and plan and meditate. Now the world turns in a different direction and I am changed.

If I have my way, everything will be changed.

*

As tradition dictates, Pally is led into the deepest and darkest part of the woods in the last of the Winter light before the longest night descends upon the land. The whole village accompanies him on his last walk and they do so in utter silence. 

There is a path that leads to the midst of the woods and the oldest of the trees. This tree is the Heart Tree and it stands taller and wider than all those around it. Set into the mighty trunk of the Heart Tree are huge metal loops. Through these chains are threaded and Pally is made to wear manacles at his wrists. 

I watch all of this wordlessly and intently. Pally and I never take our eyes off each other. I give him as much strength as I can. A part of me is with him and always will be, now I give him more. We are in this together. Be strong little brother. Be brave. We can do this.

I nod when the time comes and then we walk away. The village abandons Pally to his fate and no one looks back as they leave.

Before we reach the edge of the forest I slip away. No one sees me. Everyone has their head down. They are weighed down by the gravity of what they have done. Each and every villager shares the guilt and the blame. They have sent one of their own to a certain and terrible death. Never again will they see Pally.

He is the best of them and the village is diminished this day.

I watch the villagers break out from the tree line.

“Seize him!” barks Tylos and several of the men turn to where they expect me to be standing, stunned and frozen by this surprise turn of events.

But I am not there and I am not at all surprised. I see Vella, she is smiling. She has played her part as have I. Now it is all down to me. None of these men are warriors. They are farmers. They give up before they have begun. None of them looks back at the woods. They would not dare set foot in that place even if their lives depended upon it.

I run. 

I run back towards the centre of the woods while there is still light. I can see my breath blossom out before me as I crash along the path. I need to be at the Heart Tree before the last of the light dies in the sky. Pally needs me now more than he ever has. This is my destiny. This is what I am for.

I reach him in time and I undo the manacles. This is swift and easy work for me. No one has ever considered that a sacrifice would be aided and abetted by an accomplice in a bid for freedom.

“What are you doing?!” Pally protests.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I reply.

“This is madness!” he says, “you cannot do this!”

“Well I am,” I say.

He is now free, but he does not move.

I stare deep into his eyes, “this moment is mine, not yours. Back along the path, to the left is a hide. Go there. I will return to you once it is done.”

He does not budge, “the sacrifice…”

“If there is to be a sacrifice this night, it is not you,” I tell him.

He responds to something in me, and now he moves. I hear him run down the path, pause near the hide and then he disappears from view.

Now I take my place on the path. In my hands are two hunting knives and in my mind is a plan. I stand and I resolve to wait, but there is no need for that. I hear the rustle of the branches on the path ahead of me and I know he is approaching. I take two steps back to the edge of the path and as I do I catch my first glimpse of him.

The Winter Demon.

He is the size of the great white bear and he has that same white fur, only there is congealed blood all down his front and down his legs, as though he wears a suit of red, trimmed with fur. His round face is framed by long white hair and a big white beard and atop his over large head is a big red hat. 

He rounds the Heart Tree and sees me before him on the path. He doesn’t bother to look at the empty manacles, he understands what this is and what I am about. He towers over me and, placing his hands on his hips, his blood encrusted mouth opens wide as he laughs a loud and hearty laugh.

That’s when I throw one of the knives. It lands true, straight into that substantial gut. He places a huge hand on his belly, blood oozes out between his fingers.

“Oh!” he bellows, “you’re on the naughty list now!”

Then he lumbers towards me. His feet landing hard and heavy and his breath labouring. He is gigantic and I fight the fear rising up in me. Remembering myself, I back away into the undergrowth as he approaches, waving my knife as threateningly as I can. I have taken twelve steps off the path and he has followed me as I retreat.

He laughs his loud and uproarious laugh again. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

I stop, “one step closer and I will end you,” I say threateningly.

“You? End me!? You’re only a child! I’ll mince you up and put you into a pie!”

Then he takes the step I warned him not to.

There is a loud crash and a roar worthy of a giant bear. Then I join the Winter Satan in the hidden pit of spikes, using my knife to end his reign of terror. No more children will be taken this night or on any Winter Solstice ever again.

*

Later, we would return to the woods to retrieve the body of the vanquished Winter Satan. Somehow he was not so big and fearsome in death, but the villagers remained wary and fearful. It was Vella who broke the deadlocked silence, “the Winter Demon is slain! We’ll celebrate with a Winter Feast!”

And so fear and sacrifice gave way to celebration and feast, and as the years passed, the Winter Satan transformed into a misspelt and merry symbol of good and plenty.