Death of the Green Man

Green grass stretched lengthening arms to the cerulean sky. The day jewel shone down with warmth on those below in the park that busily sang and wove the celebratory garlands into the boughs of the trees. Sleepy dryads hummed back from the trees and opened their eyes, only stepping out a short way to lean against their tree boles after waking enough. The tails of each creature wagged softly back and forth while the count was made.

An hour passed as the air grew heavier with song during the count. Each tree was discovered both alive after the winter and each of the dryads awake for the day. The celebrants turned their attention to the flowers next, each scaled, feathered, or furred being coaxing them fully open, sweet talking them into releasing their most potent fragrances.

As the day jewel achieved its zenith one of the rays enlivened a crystal mounted on a heavily wrought pedestal in the middle of the clearing, spraying rainbows over the entire park from the tor it was mounted upon. The wind stirred the unbound hair of the celebrants, tugged on their robes, and swirled the now lengthening ribbons of the pedestal on the currents.

All eyes turned to the tor itself when the earth creaked and the previously hidden cave entrance beside the pedestal opened to day. Ostara stepped out of her hibernation chamber within the tor and raised her arms in benediction to her faithful before following the spiral path down to walk amongst them again.

Her faithful rejoiced. Ostara rejoiced, restored during her winter’s rest to her youth so that she might continue her sacred duties. Green eyes swept over the assembled and sought the Green Man. Surely soon he would come to her after emerging from his own cave. A soft smile curved her lips as she wondered what sort of male he would be this cycle and what sort of antlers would rear protectively over her during their long dreamed of reunion.

Ostara, trailing the vines that made her garb, reeled amongst her worshipers and supped on the dainties they provided from their labors. In return she breathed into them vitality to replenish them from their own long winters. They followed, weaving, as she made her way through forests and fields in her eagerness to find him. Laughter rang through the fens and dells while her cloak grew ever longer and spread through her realm.

His forest as she drew near had a different feel than that of the last year. Drear grey mist wended wraith-like as if winter only was just beginning. Ostara slowed and ceased to dance. The dragons, forest cats, deer, dryads, flower sprites and other assorted Folk likewise felt heaviness cling to their limbs. She motioned them to stay behind but as one their wagging heads broadcast their dissent to her request.

She could not demand, dared not demand. Thus, they followed the goddess into the shroud.

Stagnant energy barely swirled around her as she swam through it. No buds greeted her, nor did any form as she tried to push her energy into the plants around her. Reaching out she felt no answering reach, heard no answering subvocal call. The land beneath her lay still.

Dread rose. Ostara carried on with a pressed fault where lips once were.

Further in skeletons, some picked clean and other not, lay where they had fallen. The blades, spears, and arrows of man scratched hungry fingers between earth and sky. Her followers bunched closer together and to her. None dared to raise a cry even though all recognized some member of their loved ones they expected to see alive and dancing toward them.

She turned again, her verdant green dulling, skipping summer and heading straight for early fall. Wordlessly she bade them again to stay behind, or better yet to return to their homes. Once again each refused, pale and wan.

Ostara sighed, drooped. Age creaked through her bones far too fast as her skin darkened. Lead rose and lumped around her heart.

Ostara’s feet picked a slow path to the cave. She noted that even the moss and lichen seemed dull and dead as if the very life had been drained. Cold seeped in and her leaves began to fall, long hair beginning to whiten the closer she came to where the Green Man should have been sleeping. Eternity seemed to pass by before she stood before the rock, heaved aside. Litter and the chaos of battle spread around. Blood stained the ground and the scent of death, an unnatural death, filled her nose.

The goddess lurched. Her hand met the stone. Her belly emptied itself at the threshold. Hands held back her hair while others tried to soothe and sustain. The world spun, tilted, then righted itself. At last she straightened.

Someone caused a light, she did not register who nor how. Her worshiper took it quietly before her and lighted her way into a once familiar and now blood painted home. They found his inner chamber where he would have slept on his throne, and where the marriage bed should have been waiting for her. No bed, not even a sheet lay where they had spent eons sharing the gift of physical expression.

Ostara’s eyes rose to the throne, but found it empty. She inspected the chamber again as thoroughly as she could and found him. Though he had skewered one of his attackers and pinned him to the wall it was clear there had been far too many for him to take on when woken from his winter sleep and mostly part of the forest itself.

Ostara pulled the sword from his back and then followed that with his own sword. Both bodies dropped to the ground and her foot met the dead man’s head before she lugged her mate to their bed. She arranged him carefully, stroked his cheek and kissed his antlers before attempting to rouse him. No spark of life could be found for her to kindle and reawaken.

Ostara shook and wailed, lashing out and forcing the record caught in the cavern walls to replay. Her teeth gnashed as she watched the forest lord’s last moments. She paled as she saw how he had been stolen, and by whom. The gentle goddess wretched again, kissed his last shell, then rose and took up his sword with a nod. Her eyes blazed as she made her vow.

“I will find him. I will free him. I will rebirth him. The audacity of Man will not go unavenged.”

Her worshipers trembled in fear at this oath. It is the last that we saw of her, though some months after color and life returned to the Green Man’s forest. Never as vibrant nor as lush, and certainly not as wild. Thus we pass this story down hoof, to claw, to fin, to paw. We know that they have her too, but not how nor where. We believe that others of their ilk followed and sought after each other but as the world tamed we also believe that more and more of them are captured sparks, likely in some vault somewhere as humans are so fond of doing with their stolen treasures. Pass this story on to your young and pray that somehow the spirits and deities of nature may be released. Remember what once was for us.