In December I decided to write a story day-by-day on social media (posted on Bluesky, Instagram, and Facebook each day), for advent. Having completed the tale on Christmas Eve, I'm collating the whole thing here - and it starts like this...
It was winter, and the naked trees reached for the cold sky with twisted fingers. Bianca had wrapped up warm but the chill crept in around the edges of her clothes and worried at her skin. She knew it would get worse before it got better, for the night was only just beginning.
The sun hugged the horizon, staining the hills rust-red. Bianca set her back to the fading light and took the path up towards the high moor. She checked her pockets again, mentally ticking off each item; candle, hag stone, crow feather, chimes. The responsibility weighed heavy.
Up on the tops were the stones; unassuming in daylight, they took on looming significance in the dusk, seeming both larger and somehow less solid, ephemeral. Bianca found their centre, ignoring how they seemed to move, and placed her offerings. Candle lit, she rang the chimes.
Night had fully descended and she could barely see hand in front of face. She followed the path more by feel than sight, feet alert to grass, packed earth and stone, hugging herself against the chill settling in her bones. Now she must wait and see what came with the dawn.
The stars were bright as Bianca found a sheltered spot bordering the path and wrapped her shawl close, tucking its woollen fringes in to keep out the creeping fingers of frost. She couldn't risk sleeping in this cold, but she made herself comfortable and rested as best she could.
Snow fell heavy in the early hours. The sun rose on a world smothered in white, almost unrecognisable, even to Bianca, who had walked these hills since childhood. Stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers, cold in spite of her gloves, she made her way back up the slopes.
The heaped snow reshaped the landscape. Bianca worried she would lose her way, miss the true path. She couldn't see the stones or any other landmarks. Then on the high hill, she saw a great black crow atop a snow-crowned tree. It croaked a summons, and she followed it.
The crow led her down unfamiliar ways, twisting and turning through the snow-blanketed hills, till they came to a tree standing slightly apart from the rest. Its branches were a lattice-work of ice crystals, diamond bright. Bianca's breath caught in her throat at the sight.
At the base of the tree was an opening, a cavity deep in the trunk. Bianca peered into the shadowed arch but could not see how far back it went. She nodded to the crow, still watching with beady eyes, and ducked inside. Passing through the tree, she found herself in a tunnel.
The wood of the tree became stone under her hands, cold and hard as ice, as she moved forward, bent almost double, step by tentative step. It was almost completely black, but gradually a blue-grey light began to emanate from ahead. Bianca followed the passage towards it.
She emerged into a pallid landscape shrouded in mist and frost. It was silent; no wind, no water, no calling birds. No sun was visible in the sky, pale light simply surrounded her. Then into the hush and the fog, she heard something that was almost, but not quite, music.
Chimes and bell-like sounds echoed and overlapped. Bianca's mind tried to piece together a melody, some kind of purposeful design, but it was seemingly random, though beautiful. She walked in the direction that the sounds were coming from, following her curiosity.
She came upon a circle of stones, much larger and grander than the ones where she had left her offerings the night before. Within them were two great thrones formed from living trees, and seated on the thrones were two figures, their crowns woven from twigs and red berries.
Bianca approached them. She was not afraid, but she felt a sense of awe, as though she stood before something very old, very powerful. She saw they did not wear clothes, but rather their skin was covered in layers of frost-rimed leaves; each one different, each one beautiful.
They looked down at her, implacable below the twining branches of their thrones overhead. Bianca stood under their gaze, feeling the weight of it. The winter queen extended a pale hand and Bianca stepped closer to take it. The king spoke: ‘What is your purpose?’
‘I wanted to ask for safety and warmth for my family,’ Bianca said, ‘I left gifts, and lit a candle.’ The queen and king exchanged a long, unreadable look. Then the queen nodded and released her hand, gesturing out at the snow-laden firs. ‘Go now. We see you, and your gifts.’
Bianca stepped out of the circle, away from the thrones, and walked in the direction the queen had indicated. The strange musical sounds faded away behind her and somewhere ahead she thought she heard a crow calling. Soon she came upon a body of water, frozen and unmoving.
She followed the ice-bound stream, and gradually there was movement under the glassy surface. She walked further, and thought she could hear the trickling sound of it. Finally the water broke free of the ice and tumbled downstream, weeds waving. Bianca’s heart lifted with it.
The banks grew steep and snow mixed with mud underfoot. Bianca picked her way carefully but the ground was uneven, treacherous. She lost her footing and slid, rolling down onto her back. When her eyes refocused it was on blue sky and a lattice-work of bare trees overhead.
Bianca sat up. She had no idea at what point she had passed out of the realm of the queen and king of winter and back into the lands she knew, nor exactly how much time she had spent there, but the sun, hanging low in the sky, suggested that not much of the day remained.
There was still snow on the ground, but it did not feel as deathly cold as it had the previous night. As the light faded Bianca found her path homeward and was glad to see the lamp light glowing from the window. She hurried up to the door and went inside to join her family.
The fire burned bright in the hearth. Bianca could smell a pot of stew and meat on the spit, and was suddenly ravenous. Her sister brought a cup of warmed wine. ‘Where have you been then?’ her mother asked. ‘Through a passage into winter,’ Bianca replied, ‘and back again.’
It was the longest night. Together they sat up round the fire, hot food in their bellies and blankets and shawls around their shoulders. When the sky was barely beginning to lighten, the whole family laced up their boots and left the house to climb the hill up to the stones.
It had been more than a day since Bianca lit her candle, but its flame still burned. She felt again the cool pressure of the winter queen’s fingers in hers and the recognition of her gifts, her request. Then the sky bloomed pink and gold, and the sun rose; a glorious promise.
THE END
If you're reading this, I hope you had a Happy Solstice and a Merry Christmas, and I wish you all the best for 2024!
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