Mother Winter

An Ancient House

I carefully approached the woods to the left side of the house, certain that my watcher was hidden somewhere within.  My eyes scanned the area for any sign of movement, but there was none save the movement of the wind in the trees.  I then stopped before I actually entered the forest, and I called out, "You, out there, the one who watches.  Would you be so kind as to let a half-frozen soul such as mine dwell in your house for a night?"

At first I thought my watcher wouldn't reply.  But then she did.  "That depends on what thou art doing out here in the forbidden lands in the depths of winter."

It was the witch.  I knew it somehow, though her voice had an unfamiliar accent and her words were archaic.  Her voice was not the voice of a young woman, not that I expected it to be.  Tales of the witch had been told for at least three generations, so she properly ought to be as ancient as any mortal human could get.  I sensed no malice in her voice, but there was a sort of bitterness that I knew could turn to blinding rage in a heartbeat.  A shiver went up my spine, and I considered carefully what I wanted to say.

"I came to seek help on behalf of my family, my clan," I replied finally.  "It was whispered in story that there was one who lived here who could help me."

There was another long silence, and I could feel suddenly the witch's piercing gaze boring right through me.  "There is none here who would help thee, descendant of Kalevar," the witch said in a cold voice.  "It would have been best if thou hadst stayed in thine land and sought the help of those more willing to give it."

Desperation filled me, and I lashed out in anger.  "Who are you to turn me away before I have even managed to finish my plea!" I exclaimed.

It was then that she revealed herself, stepping out of the darkness of the forest and into the cold starlight.  I couldn't see her face, for it was still in shadow, but I could tell that she was furiously angry.  "Who art thou to demand hospitality from me?" she hissed.  "Thou art but a son of Kalevar, a most wicked and deplorable man!  When hath his descendants dealt me and mine anything but grief?"

"So that makes it alright for you to condemn my family to death?" I demanded.  "I swear upon my honor that neither I nor my father nor my mother nor any of my siblings have dealt with you falsely, and if we are indeed children of such a man, he is no kin of ours!"

The witch paused and seemed to regard me more deeply.  After a long minute, she said quietly, "Thou mayst stay for a night.  But after that, thou shalt go.  I have no patience left for thee, or for thy kind."

And with that pronouncement, she sang a few notes and a fire was lit in the hearth of the house.  By the flickering light of the fire, I saw that the door was open and led to a cozy interior filled with the artifacts of the reindeer-herders who shared this land with us.  I looked back at the witch, suddenly understanding, and I saw her face for the first time.  She was indeed no young woman, but nor was she a bent-over crone.  Her face was deeply lined in places but still retained the healthy flush of youth.  Her hair, though streaked through with shining silver, was still mostly raven-black.  Her eyes reflected the fire-light, and I saw that they were not wholly black as the stories claimed, but a very dark brown and filled with ancient grief.

"Do not tarry at the doorway, descendant of Kalevar," the witch said quietly.  "Thou dost not have the same immunity as me to the chill of the Northland."

Indeed, I could hardly feel my fingers, and my toes were just about as numb.  I hastened inside and shut the door, immediately feeling the warmth of the fire on my face though I was still many feet away.  I approached the fire, welcoming the sting of returning warmth on the skin of my face and my limbs.  Newfound hope surged in my heart, for though the witch had given me warning, I was certain I could make her change her mind.  She had, after all, invited me into her home.