Maiden, Mother, and Crone

Untitled Part 1

Though his fingers ached and bruised on the ice cold strings of his harp, Cygnus Vismond played out the icy dawn. In other lands, the Yule was a holiday to rival all others, but from the group of stone houses, clinging to life on the bank of a frozen river, there would no celebration. As he played, seated just within the stone chapel, Cygnus looked down through the frost-coated square and blindly accepted the fact. Only countries with a god would celebrate major holy days; the people by the river had no deity to worship.

As the dwarf Winter sun rose like a ball of crystal over the distant trees, Cygnus stopped his playing. Tomorrow was Yule, and it would surely come and go with no consequence, just as it always had. But why would there be a priesthood with no god? He wondered, for what seemed the thousandth time. For he was the priest of this godforsaken place, made so by the rulings of a church with no disciples, by the judgment of people without faith. His family had lived in the church for generations, and had nothing to do but wear the robes of holy men and play pretend.

Little by little, the houses on the square began to wake, candles lighting in the windows. Today was a hunt day. His people would go into the forest to chase boar or elk. Women emerged from a door near the chapel, already dressed warmly, each holding a quiver and a bow. "Cygnus," a dark haired archer darted towards where he sat, her eyes casting a hopeful glow, "will you bless our arrows so they fly straight? We hope to catch enough for everyone in the village today."

Sighing, Cygnus waved her off. "You know I cannot help you. You'll be better off without my help. I have no power to lend you."

"I just thought... Maybe if you tried? It would make me feel better at any rate." She smiled, offering her quiver.

Cygnus shoved his cold-bitten fingers under his furred vest. "I think not." He snapped. "Be off with you. If you truly want to feed us, you need to put in the work." He knew it was cruel, and he hated the sadness that fell upon her face like a closed door, but as she turned to walk with the others, he felt a sense of relief at being left in peace. When no one was expecting anything from him, how could he possibly disappoint?

The village emptied, even the children pulling on toy weapons and toddling after their parents. Soon, only the healing houses were left inhabited, the infants and invalids not yet fit to experience a hunt. Cygnus's family had left him no weapons, and no hunting gear. Only specially made tools could be used to properly kill an animal, anyhow. He rose, sliding a buckskin cover over the harp.

His brother had crafted the harp with his own hands. It had taken Mars three years to perfect his creation, to make the wires that would become strings, to carve scenes of their people into the body of the wood. Just after completing the harp, on a feverish Summer night, Mars Vismond had drowned in the river that fed the earth with life. A dual priesthood had been bearable; now, left alone, Cygnus was furious with his brother for leaving him alone to his duties.

"Brother, if you were here, I would send you to the afterlife again," Cygnus vowed to none but himself, closing the heavy chapel doors behind him as he retreated into the warmth. He could not help but picture other towns, already preparing to celebrate. Other families, whole and at ease. He supposed it would be the right thing to do to go and wish his brother a happy Yule. He covered white-blond hair quickly under a furred cap, pulling a larger coat on over his simple flaxen clothes, plus vest and mid length skirt. While temperatures spiked in Summer months, the Winter was bitterly cold and required as much outerwear as Cygnus could reasonably still walk in.

Feeling as though he would bowl over into the snow at any moment, Cygnus forged a clumsy path towards the frozen riverbank. It seemed much closer than it actually was, and it took him longer than was desirable to reach the outcropping of earth where his brother had last stood on land. The surface of the river was blank, an unmarred canvas, beneath which lay the bones of Mars Vismond. In his mind's eye, Cygnus could see them perfectly; a murky twilight under the ice, a few brave fish scouring the rocks for Winter algae, and thrust between them in some chasm or crack, a jumble of ribs and long bones, vertebrae, and fractured skull.