Winter's Tales (7 page)

“But Mot, if all the people die in this one summer, you will have a full belly now, then be starving forever. Is a world with no life really what you want?”

Mot grinned. “When did you turn soft, Anat? When did you care about little people's lives? I have watched you reduce whole cities to puddles of blood. Come and join me, come and dine on death with me. And as we feast, I will tell you how your brother died. Baal died shivering and hiding, sneaking and cheating, then choking and gagging. He did not die like a god. He died like a … rat!”

Anat screamed, drew her sword, and leapt at Mot.

Mot stood up, raised his arms and called on his powers. But his main weapon was fear, and Anat did not recognise fear. Mot was used to ruling the dead, and the dead don't usually fight back, so within moments Anat had knocked him down to the floor of his own throne room.

Once Mot was on the floor, Anat ploughed lines in his flesh with her sword. She sliced him into tiny grains, then ground him into flour under her heels. She took handfuls of Mot up to the dry fields and scattered him far and wide, screaming all the time that he must give back her brother.

When she returned to Mot's throne room, to stir his blood into the mud, she heard Baal spluttering and choking. Anat slapped him hard on the back and Baal spat up the mud caught in his throat, then he took a deep breath and crawled out from under death's table.

So Anat returned Baal to life. Baal ended the endless summer, with cool rain in the valleys and cold snow on the mountains. And crops grew again.

But over the months of winter all the tiny ground-up particles of Mot, hidden deep in the earth, crawled towards each other and clung together. So the next year Mot rose from the depths and attacked Baal again.

Now, every year, Anat has to rescue her brother Baal from the hot grasp of the god of death, to allow the cool winds of winter to bring life to the earth. But Anat can never grind Mot up small enough to stop him coming back next summer.

Cree Folktale, Canada

Once, in the land near the top of the world, a little girl fell suddenly ill, coughing and struggling to breathe.

Her father and mother were afraid she would die, so as she lay wrapped in blankets by the fire, they asked the shaman, the wise man of the tribe, to help her.

The shaman felt the little girl's forehead and held her hand. He listened to her coughing and he listened to the rasping sounds in her
chest. “I hear footsteps crunching on snow. I hear feet breaking through the crust of the snow.”

The mother looked out of the door flap. “There's no-one there.”

The shaman smiled. “The footsteps are not here in the village. They are crunching through snow in her chest.”

He listened again. “I hear small light feet, struggling through the deep snow and the sharp crust. It's a little silver fox.”

He listened one more time. “As the fox moves away across the snow, your daughter's spirit moves further from her body. We must track the fox and bring her to your daughter. If we do not, your daughter will die.”

“I will go after the fox,” said the girl's father.

“No,” said the shaman. “I will go.”

“But we need you here, with our daughter,” said her mother.

“I will stay and I will go,” said the shaman.

So the shaman's body sat by the little girl, holding her hand. And the shaman's spirit went walking.

The shaman tracked the silver fox across the snow. He found her tiny neat footprints and he followed them. But as the shaman moved across the snow, he left no footprints.

He followed the fox for miles. When he reached a sheltered spot where the fox had stopped and rested, he stopped and rested too. He lit a fire, sparks drifting up to the stars.

As the shaman's spirit sat by the fire, the shaman's body warmed up. His hand grew warmer. He gripped the little girl's fingers and she started to burn with a fever.

“She is getting worse!” called the father.

“Shhh,” said the mother. “Sometimes worse comes before better…”

Miles away, the shaman's spirit put out the fire.

The girl cooled down.

The shaman followed the fox again.

He moved faster and the fox knew he was coming, so the fox began to run.

The fox's heart beat faster and faster with fear and exertion. The little girl's pulse got faster and faster and weaker and
weaker. The mother and father held each other tight.

The shaman's spirit caught up with the fox. He stood in front of her, blocking her way. His spirit danced round the fox, trapping her in a circle so she couldn't escape. He spoke softly to her, he calmed her down, then he pointed in the direction of the little girl's lodge. He broke the circle and the fox ran, in long skimming strides across the snow.

The shaman's spirit smiled and started the journey back.

The mother and father watched the stillness of the wise man's body and the pale face of their barely breathing daughter. Then a corner of the door flap was pushed aside and a little silver shape slid in.

The fox.

The fox trotted past the shaman's body and curled up on the blankets beside the little girl. The little girl sighed and rolled over. Her
breathing became stronger, her colour came back and she stopped coughing.

The shaman stood up, his body and spirit reunited. “She is whole now. Feed and care for the fox as well as the child, and they will both thrive.”

He left the family together. As he walked away, he made deep firm footprints in the snow.

Lapp legend, Finland

One cold sunny morning in the north of Finland, an old man stood on the bank of a fast-running river in the middle of a forest.

The river was bouncing with joy, because winter was ending, the snows were melting and the water was running away to the sea.

The old man was bent and grey, and he looked sadly at the far bank of the river.

“The river is too fast and deep for me to
cross,” he said, as a reindeer trotted past him.

The reindeer said, “Don't look at me, old man. I'm not going to help you across. I'm hungry and weak after the winter, and I'm off to find new spring grass to eat.”

The reindeer trotted away, leaving the old man on the riverbank.

The old man stepped nearer the edge of the foaming river.

A brown bear called from the trees, “Don't step into the river, old man! It will sweep you away! I will take you across.”

The old man said, “But aren't you also hungry and weak after the winter?”

The bear nodded. “There is very little to eat in the winter, so it's a hard time for us all. I'm no more than fur and bones just now, but I'm still bigger than you, and perhaps together our weight will get you safely across the river.”

The man clambered onto the bear's back, feeling the bear's sharp ribs through his soft fur, and the bear stepped into the river.

The water was heavy and fast, so the bear was pushed two steps downstream for every step he took towards the opposite bank. But he struggled forward, forcing his legs and chest through the water.

Eventually the bear reached the other side and pulled himself out of the river. The old man jumped off the bear's back. The bear collapsed onto the ground, wet, gasping and trembling.

Then the old man straightened his spine, his grey hair glowed gold and he stood tall and magnificent.

The god Ukko, in his true form.

The god said to the bear, “Thank you for your strength, your courage and your kindness. In return, I shall give you a gift. You will not starve through another cold winter. Instead you will fall asleep, fat and happy, in the autumn, then wake again to the plenty of spring.”

The bear smiled and went off to search for his breakfast. And Ukko walked straight and tall through the cold spring sunshine.

So that is why bears sleep every winter, while reindeer work hard, pulling sleighs through the snow.

Chinese myth

Long ago, when the world was new and the sky was new too, there were ten suns. Ten beautiful suns, each glowing a different colour: red and blue and purple and silver and pink and orange and lilac and green and yellow and gold.

The ten suns danced in the air, making the sky above the new land of China gloriously bright. But the heat of ten suns made the earth below too hot. Too hot for rain to fall,
too hot for plants to grow, too hot for people to work.

So the great warrior Houyi decided to save the plants and the people of China by dealing with the enemy who was creating all this heat.

“I shall save us all by shooting down the suns!”

Houyi lifted his bow made of dragon tendon, and his arrows made of tiger bone, and he aimed at the suns.

He fired his first arrow.

And the red sun burst. As the arrow pierced the centre of the sun, it exploded into thousands of sharp red sparks. It was sudden and loud and spectacular, like the first firework.

The people below cheered. But Houyi didn't stop. He pulled another arrow from his quiver and shot the next sun. Blue sparks exploded across the sky.