The Wooden
Snowman
By Martin
Calderwood
He
stood silently in the middle of the meadow, gazing toward the
mountains rising sharply two or three kilometers away. He had lost
track of how long he had been there. His surface, once white and
glossy, showed patches of brown and tan where the elements had worn
away the whitewash that allowed him to blend into the winter scenes
for which he had been created. His once bright copper metal hat, once
pointing straight, was now bent at a rakish angle to the right about
a hand span from the top. It had been no match for the branch that it
banged against as it traveled hurriedly from the town. The hat's
luster was gone and there were several other indications of the wear
and tear of nature upon its riveted surface, but it still remained as
secure as always to the top of his wooden head. His cone-shaped body
showed cracking in a few places but, considering everything, he was
in remarkably good shape.
He must have come from a
single, thick trunk, for his base was almost two-thirds a meter in
diameter. The top of the cone, upon which rested a smooth ball of
wood larger than a human head but smaller than a cow’s, had been
leveled off so the circular top was just over a large man's
hand-width across, providing a slight neck-like appearance for the
head.
He faced east
toward the greatest mountains and the rising sun. His left arm
pointed directly at the horizon line. Upon the tip of this smooth
appendage sat a small, flat, copper, sparrow-like bird toward which
the woodman's face turned to gaze. His right arm, bent at the elbow,
rested against the body. Though weather beaten, it remained securely
attached by sturdy wooden pegs placed there by the craftsman who had
created him all those years ago. This 'hand' held a slightly bent and
deformed cage that appeared too small to hold the bird. One wondered
if the figure was planning on capturing the bird or was freeing it
from the confines of the cage. The closed door apparently answered
the question, but still it could be asked by the curious.
The snowman's
face was also etched, but it had been faded by the sun which now
filled the meadow with warmth and light until giving way to the
spectacular cavalcade of the Northern lights. The facial features
were detailed by almost perfectly formed circles of coal. They gave
his eyes a slightly piercing stare as they seemed to gaze past the
little bird toward the mountains. The nose, also cone shaped, showed
evidence of having had real birds perched on its finger-long surface.
The mouth was made of coal chunks that had been closely embedded into
the wood in the shape of a gentle smile, meant to reassure the bird
he was supporting. One feature, not generally seen because of the
growth and dirt surrounding him, a circle of connected hearts
lovingly carved around the base of his body. These may have been red
or pink, but now they were simply worn and faded wood tones, blending
with the ground upon which he sat. Right now, they were completely
hidden by the several layers of snow that blanketed the meadow.
He had been
deposited in almost the exact middle of the stadium-sized meadow by a
mischievous Troll, pilfering one winter's night from a storefront
where the figure had been placed as part of the Yule festivities. How
long ago was not known, but fawns that had crossed the paths of the
meadows and forest's edge were now grandparents and the length of the
tree shadows that surrounded the clearing had grown much longer.
Behind him a
stream bubbled and giggled as it always had. Of course, he had never
seen the stream except for a brief glance when the Troll set him
down, picked him up, turned him slightly and set him in the position
he was now in. This arrangement must have suited him fine, as none of
the animals and other creatures who crossed the meadow ever heard him
complain.
Occasionally a
Troll would pass by. Other strange and magical beings also would
pass, but most ignored him, which also suited him just fine. Now, all
the larger animals had gone down to find forage because the first
snows had arrived early this year. In a few weeks, only his head
might show above the snow; if the weather was severe enough perhaps
only the tip of his bent hat. His only company now was the smaller
burrowing animals who, from time to time, would come over to sniff
him, making certain that he had not suddenly come to life. Naturally,
the predators that lived on such creatures also prowled the area and
over the years many a bloody struggle had played out before his
bright coal eyes. Never once did he turn away or raise a fuss, for
such was his nature.
*****
The fairy's
name was Bright Wing. She had lived all her life in the upper meadows
and deep gullies of the Northlands, ever since a great wind had blown
her here years ago during a great storm. Only recently, however, had
she come this far, and discovered the wooden snow man in the middle
of this isolated meadow. She had learned to love the cold, crisp air,
and if she got too cold she always had her magic to keep her warm.
The briskness, however, was invigorating, making her feel alive and
tingly as she flitted above the forest's southern edge. Over the
years she had become friends with the warm and tricky gnomes known as
Nissan. She had even conversed with a Troll or two, as well as the
occasional Elf or Dwarf that passed this way. For her, the solitary
life was fine: she could fly anywhere she wanted on a whim and come
back when she was ready to the peace and harmony of this area she
loved so much.
Tonight, she had been out
basking in one of the few clear nights the last few weeks had
produced. Above her the stars twinkled and the faint flicker of
Northern Lights danced just over the mountains, sending twinkles of
color above the peaks. It was the kind of night that she looked
forward to whenever one came. Usually, she was alone with the
animals and trees, but rustles and soft footfalls caused her to duck
behind the figure in the meadow. She watched curiously as two
Trolls, a father with his son on his shoulder, walked out of the
forest on the far side of the glade. They were obviously in high
spirits, laughing and roaring in obvious good humor.
Suddenly the boy squawked
and pointed toward the small figure in the shadows of the open area.
His father guffawed as set the boy down, growling something as he
did. The boy took off at a waddling run toward the wooden snowman, a
gleeful blat and bleat letting loose as he raced toward the still
form. He slipped and slid along in the knee-deep snow, coming to an
abrupt halt in front of the figure.
Bright Wing grinned
mischievously as the troll took another step, this time almost
slipping and falling into the figure. With careful precision, she
rapidly touched several places on the figure, sprinkling tiny bits of
sparkling dust as she did. She peaked out from behind the figure to
see the father looking down at his son, laughing and pointing.
Before the boy and his father could look up the Fairy shot skyward to
hide in the dark and twinkles of the night. Stifling a playful
giggle, she remained very still, hovering and watching as the father
arrived to help the boy up. The moment he was on his feet, the
younger Troll reached out and grabbed at the side of the body.
“That
tickles!” said the wooden figure, sounding very startled. Both
father and son leapt back in surprise as the ‘snowman’ spoke his
first words.
High above, the fairy
held her sides as she fought to keep from bursting out into gleeful
laughter.
“What?” asked the
wide eyed boy Troll as his father rushed up protectively.
“Ummm, that tickles?”
repeated the woodman. “That tickles! Do it again!”
Knowing his father was
near, the boy tentatively reached out and rubbed his rough hand up
and down the stranger’s weathered side. The figure instantly broke
into fits of giggling laughter.
“Again! Again!” he
cried.
This time the boy rubbed
the belly area with a rapid circular motion. The figure tried to
control the sounds that squeaked out of his mouth, but was only
successful for a moment. This time, he tried to twist away, bringing
his arm down to brush away the young trolls arm. The dad guffawed
and stepped closer to examine what he thought, until moments before,
was just a carving. After several moments he stepped back and made a
slight bow toward the creature who had been studying him with equal
curiosity.
“Me Greeg,” said the
Troll gently, then pointing to the lad, “this Var, son.”
“Hello,” stammered
the figure, not knowing what to think and yet somehow surprised that
he could think at all. “I don’t have a name.”
“How you alive
no-have-name?”
“I do not know. One
moment I was gazing at the mountains, and the next the little troll
was tickling me and I told him that it tickled. I am very surprised.
How did this happen?”
The big Troll shook his
head and shrugged. “Magic? Maybe.”
The woodman seemed to
ponder this for several moments as the boy bounced around, shouting
something about Jule gift and Yule friend. His father hushed him
with a cuff over the top of one ear then turned back toward the new
being.
“How long have I been
here?” asked the figure before Greeg could speak again.
“Not know,” said
Greeg softly. “I last here three winters ago. You here then.
Before, not know.”
Greeg thought back to the
time he had first seen the figure standing bright and white in the
midst of the meadow. The troll had been en route home from a nearby
human village, ten kilometers away. He had chosen to take a new path
and had ended up entering the open space from the west. He had seen
the figure and investigated, picking it up and examining it before
setting it back down facing eastward.
Greeg had decided to
visit the village and watch it years ago, because he was curious
about the strange people who were slowly invading the territory of
the trolls. Other trolls had actually moved deeper into the mountains
to avoid the loud and boisterous creatures who seemed to be as
wasteful as they were inventive. Greeg, on the other hand, had
decided to study man and learn as much as he could. Over the next
few years he had done just that and had even begun to copy some of
their traditions, including the celebration of the Jule (or Yule as
they called it), because it celebrated love and sharing and caring
for things - including the land. He watched as they put out food
for the animals and hung sheaves for the birds. He watched how the
children were cared for and how they laughed as they exchanged token
gifts of food and other small items. They also worshiped their god
of nature and life who had done great things for them. From his
hiding place Greeg had learned much and heard much and never once was
discovered. The Troll had even met and conversed with one of the
mysterious and almost mystical gnome-like creatures called Nissan.
From him, he had learned even more about the customs of the human
Jule days. The Nissan had promised to visit the troll’s family
with some gifts if they were good, and thus a new tradition had been
born that eventually many other trolls had copied
Finally, when he grew a
little bored with these efforts, Greeg did not return to the village
for several years. Then three years ago he had returned and found
them more numerous and organized. Many small, sharp-roofed homes now
surrounded a common field, and paths were deep as they cut into the
surrounding woods. Rock walls had been built, and several animals
now were protected therein, animals that were quite nervous as he
approached and slid into his former hiding place one night. When he
had finished his day-long study, he departed and chose the new way
home that had taken him to where he had first seen the figure who now
stood impatiently before him. After he had checked everything out he
departed, planning to come back another day in the future. That day
was put off much longer than planned because he had to care for his
young family. Greeg did not venture far from home until now, when
his son was old enough to accompany him on the journey.
This year he had decided
to take his son. Before, Greeg had not felt comfortable taking his
son too close to the village, which was now bigger than ever, with
more homes in it than he had fingers and toes. The boy had been
ecstatic when he was invited to come along, and he had pestered his
father with questions, making the older Troll talk more than he had
in years as he attempted to answer. It was everything Greeg could do
to get his son to calm down enough to insure they would not be
discovered as they sought a vantage point from which Greeg could
introduce his son to the dangerous and complicated humans. The two
had watched as long as the lad could be still, and when the boy got
fidgety the father took him out along the path, hoping they would
find a fine log to burn as the humans did during the day of Yule.
“What kind of magic?”
No-name asked finally.
“Fairy,” said the
troll finally, trying to find out where the perpetrator was.
Above them Bright Wing
shot up another dozen or more meters to avoid the Troll’s searching
eyes. She was already getting a little bored, but found she could
not draw herself away from it easily. She watched as the boy troll
bounded around the figure with unrestrained delight, occasionally
running up and touching or bumping the figure, which caused it to
look exasperated and wishful at the same time. The Fairy thought for
several seconds as, below her, the troll tried to figure out what to
do and what had happened. Bright Wing imagined what the Troll would
think if he knew that she was right above them. Then she thought of
another bit of mischief she could do.
From her pouch Bright
Wing removed a bit of dust, then, casting it in front of her, she
pointed her finger at the small cloud and it instantly formed a
straight arrow line which shot downward, striking the woodman in the
lower back area. The man seemed to shudder slightly as the magic
hit home, engulfing his body. Greeg instantly sensed the change and
followed the line upward, spotting the small fairy as she lowered her
arm. The frolicsome fairy knew she was discovered and, with a
flippant wave of her hand she darted from sight before Greeg could
point out the troublemaker to his son, who still danced and stomped
around the ‘snowman,’ leaving wet muddy prints in the snow.
No-name did not see the
fairy at all, but as the magic struck him he could sense a weird
tingling flooding his body. With a small grunt the newly created
being rose up on a set of short stubby legs similar to what a dwarf
might have, and turned and faced the approaching young troll.
“I will get you,”
teased the wooden man as he stepped forward.
Shrieking with mock fear
and delight, the lad turned and ran in a spiral-like path away from
the figure who pursued him excitedly, pumping his arms like a running
child, still clutching the little metal bird that had not been
acknowledged by anyone.
Greeg searched the sky
one more time. When he could not spot the fairy easily he turned his
attention toward the running pair of figures. Now he noticed a boot
like-form at the bottom of each of those stubby legs, apparently
made of the same copper substance as the hat. The pointed toes, it
appeared, were bent at a similar angle to the hat. The Troll did not
even pretend to understand how things had happened. Magic was
involved and that was enough for him. His only concern was how long
the magic would last and what would become of the figure when it wore
off. After several minutes of watching and pondering he made a
decision. Satisfied, he shouted at his son to come, just as the boy
slid to a stop near the icy stream. Var, knowing what was best for
his ears, turned and sprinted toward his father who stood some twenty
meters away.
The wooden snowman who
was rushing up along the bank also turned and followed his new
friend. The strange being watched as his friend reached out, just
as he started past his father, and grabbed onto an outstretched arm.
With seeming ease Var swung up onto Greeg’s shoulder. He come down
a-straddle around the large Troll’s head. As No-name raced
forward, he put on a slight burst of speed, then dropped his legs
back into his body and slid along the icy slush, coming to a stop
within a meter of the two trolls. All three laughed as the woodman
stood and waited for the troll to lead the way, without a word being
spoken.
As they walked toward the
edge of the open area No-name wondered how he knew all that he did,
having been made only a few minutes ago. When he asked Greeg, who
began to worry about having another ‘son’ pestering him with
questions, the Troll suggested that what the Fairy knew was likely a
factor in what No-name knew. Greeg also believed that No-name might
have memories from what the wood forming him knew, along with
memories of what he had seen while in his current form. The wooden
man seemed to take this as a matter of fact. To the Troll’s relief
No-name fell silent for the next half hour or so, no matter what Var
did to encourage his new friend to play and run around. Greeg
finally had to scold his son, who then ran ahead rather than get into
further trouble.
Greeg had chosen to
travel a few kilometers further west, away from the meadow and the
human village, to where a fire damaged area some fifty acres across
contained several damaged trees that still held good portions of
burnable wood. He hoped that they would find a suitable Yule Log to
take home with them. He trudged on, keeping one eye on his son and
enjoying the blessed silence. Every so often No-name would look at
his boots or try to move different things, but he said nothing as he
continued his process of self discovery.
They walked for almost an
hour, taking their time so Var could keep up and the Woodman would
have time to think. They talked briefly from time to time but for
the most part the distance slipped quietly by. Finally, the three
entered the burn area and stopped to drink out of a clear stream.
No-name did not drink, but placed his hand into the water. He still
clutched the little bird. He seemed totally unaware of it until Var
asked him about it. It turned out that he could let it go, and his
balled fist became a small hand that could grasp. No-name asked
Greeg to place the bird in one of the pouches he wore on his belt,
which the troll did. The Troll got the feeling, as he accepted the
flat cut-out, that the man of wood was finally coming to terms with
who, and perhaps what, he was.
It
was Var who first spotted what he thought would be the ideal Jule
log. The night was three-quarters through when they arrived in the
burn area. The young troll had scampered ahead while his father and
new friend talked briefly at the edge. The two had just entered when
Greeg’s sensitive nose caught the most dreaded of scents. Humans,
perhaps hunters, were coming down the hillside a few hundred meters
away. The soft breeze that would soon greet the dawn carried the
distinct smell mingled with blood and infection. Someone was
injured. There was also the distinct odor of dead bear, which masked
some of the unpleasant human smells.
Quickly, Greeg motioned
for his two charges to follow him into the craggy rocks that bordered
one side of the fire area. In moments, all three had deftly faded
into the shadows, looking for a suitable place to conceal themselves.
No-name, though he did
not understand, lowered himself down, his legs disappearing into his
‘cut off’ body, which settled gently down to the soft,
snow-covered ground, He positioned himself so he could have the best
view of the coming humans. His mind raced as he tried to put into
perspective what the Fairy thought of humans and his own memories of
how careful his creator had been as he was carved from a single log.
He had not seen a human since he had been ‘abducted,’ but he
recalled the children and adults admiring him as they prepared for
the coming holidays.
He also watched the
trolls. From a very young age, Trolls learn to freeze and blend in
with the rocks and trees of their surroundings. He watched the
breathing movement come to an almost complete halt and every sound
they made simply ceased. The woodman was astonished. While he
watched, the trolls simply became a common rock formation and a
battered old tree stump.
For his part, Greeg
watched the woodman hoping that nothing would happen to cause the
inexperienced creature to give them away. He had faith in the
self-preservation of fairy magic, but still he prepared himself to
act as needed to protect everyone -- including the humans.
The smells grew stronger.
Soon they were able to make out the sounds of conversation which
filtered through the cool night air. The smells told Greeg that at
least one of those coming was injured. The fact that they were
traveling at night told him that it was probably very serious.
His keen ears picked up
the conversation before he could actually make out the forms on the
edge of the burn. They must have realized that the path through this
area was a shortcut, because the men were urging each other to keep
moving and worrying that ‘Hans’ would not make it.
The first pair of humans
to come into view were carrying a large bear, strapped to a post that
they carried on their shoulders. Greeg was fairly certain, even in
this dim light, that he did not know the bear. Involuntarily, his
stomach growled as he realized he should have eaten. He was grateful
that the men did not hear the unusual noise.
The corpse bearers passed
without incident, followed by two men pulling a two-wheeled cart
piled high with wood. They were not talking at all and seemed
exhausted. Greeg figured the need for wood meant they did not dare
abandon their collection even if it meant a greater difficulty for
all of them. He also noted a dozen or so fine logs on the top that
would be very good for Yule. Greeg observed the bloody, torn sleeve
on one of the men, attesting to his efforts to help his friend.
Last to pass were the two
men carrying their friend, Hans, on a makeshift sling. The two were
conversing softly as they approached. Greeg strained to hear what had
happened so he could learn more about these rapidly encroaching
creatures known as humans.
“His
wife is going to need help regardless of how he heals. That cursed
bear got him good and it will take a long time for him to recover,”
muttered the nearest man.
“You have been saying
that since we started!” said the other man. “The village will
help him, we know that and unless we run into trouble we will get him
to safety in plenty of time.”
“Unless he starts to
bleed again.”
“He would have been
dead if you hadn’t killed the beast.”
“Bullet in the ear at
point blank range will kill anything. He was so intent on Hans that
he did not even sense my approach. If my first shot had hit squarely
we would not be in this trouble now. Damned thick skulls!”
“Stop blaming yourself.
Your second shot killed the beast. God was watching and we will be
fine.”
“If God was watching
this never would have happened!” spat the first man angrily.
The men with the litter
stopped to switch places, to avoid greater fatigue. As they set down
their burden, the sky flashed briefly and the auroras seemed to
explode overhead. For a brief moment, a single beam of brightly
colored light shot from the sky and fell upon the exposed face of the
injured man, illuminating all his features. Nearby, No-name stifled
a gasp by slapping his wooden hands against his mouth. The resulting
click sounded like dried sticks being broken in the distance. A few
meters away Greeg’s eyes opened wide in alarm. Var did not know
what to do, and shifted slightly on the rock, causing an inadvertent
second click of stone as the light vanished into the sky as
miraculously as it had appeared.
“Who’s out there?”
demanded the angry man, unslinging his rifle.
“What do you mean. I
didn’t hear anything.”
“Just shut up and
listen. May be a Troll, may be only a deer but I heard something,
and if it’s another bear after a meal, I am not going to let it
near!”
No-name had no clue what
to do. He had recognized the injured human as the one who had
created him all those years ago. Instinctively, he wanted to remain
hidden. Fairy magic and troll warnings fought his desire to help the
critically injured man. But the desire to help overpowered him and
he trundled forward into the light before Var could put a restraining
hand on him.
“Troll!” screamed the
rifleman.
The gun belched fire and
lead, splintering a small chunk off the side of the woodman.
Unaffected by the wound, No-name moved forward toward the litter.
“Creator?” he said
almost in a harsh whisper. “Creator!”
The angry man struggled
to reload his gun. His hands trembled in fear and rage. Nearby, the
other men were running toward them, weapons in hand. Suddenly a loud
roar bellowed into the woods, followed by a second higher and shorter
howl, like a wild animal. The men froze in confusion as a second
rumbling voice yowled threateningly nearby. Brush and rock shook and
quaked as Greeg created a scene set to terrify everyone in the area.
Var threw several large pieces of wood at the men, careful to miss
them, before ducking as a shot bounced harmlessly off a nearby stone.
Greeg stormed out of
cover, towering four or more meters over the terrified men. The
riflemen tossed his weapon aside and fled toward the others, who
turned and ran as the Great Troll emerged in all his rage. No-name
rushed forward past the remaining man who stood frozen in fear.
“No hurt! No hurt!”
cried Var as he ran after his father.
Greeg
stopped and grinned, listening to the diminishing noise of the humans
as they fled.
Moments later Greeg knelt
beside the injured man as No-name fretted and paced nervously close
by. The only remaining human hung back in fear but did not flee or
call for his companions.
“Fix him!” insisted
No-name as he stood, rocking back and forth in the snow. It was
obvious even to him that the human wood carver was in a very poor
condition, especially compared with how he was remembered.
“Fix! Fix!”
Insisted Var as he looked back and forth from the Woodman to the
first human he had ever seen up close.
Greeg nodded absently,
noting that the man was very weak. With learned patience he removed
the clothing, exposing deep wounds which extended almost to the neck.
With a word he sent his son to gather burnable wood so he could
build a small fire. The man groaned and tried to move. Greeg
restrained him with a single finger. He did not flinch when he heard
the click and felt the cold piece of steal against his neck.
“Leave him alone.”
The human voice was
terrified, yet pressing.
Greeg did not move, nor
did the Wood figure who stared at the human in horror. Behind them,
Var turned and watched, knowing his father was in no real danger at
the moment.
“Will end,” said
Greeg softly. “I help.”
The man trembled but held
the gun firmly, even tightening his finger slightly upon the trigger.
Greeg did not even flinch as he brought his arm forward, holding the
drawstring bag he had looped to his rope belt. The hammer fell, the
gun belched fire and smoke, the ball slammed into the ground two or
three meters beyond the Troll and the wounded man. Greeg’s arm had
moved in a blur, knocking the gun sideways. The man now stood frozen
in amazed fear as his mind slowly absorbed the fact that this troll
had moved as fast as he had.
“You help,” said
Greeg, turning back to the victim. “Bring water.”
Forgetting the hale
human, Greeg turned back to his patient. In the darkness his eyes
were much better than in the light. They noted bits of muscle and
flesh barely clinging to the open wound. His sensitive nose told him
that the wound was beginning to smell of death, so he carefully
sprinkled a pale grey powder into the wound. Patiently, he glanced
at his son, who was building a small fire. In moments it crackled
brightly. Seconds later, Var handed his father a burning stick which
he touched to the powder. The powder flashed for a moment. The smell
of warmed but unburned flesh filled the air. The other human raced
forward and poured the small flagon of cool water over the exposed
chest. Greeg smiled
“Good.”
The man shook his head in
amazement. “You wanted me to do that?”
Greeg nodded his head as
he began to administer another powder, which seemed to sparkle and
dance in the soft light of the fire. The man trembled and drew a
rasping breath. Greeg knew that there was nothing he could do. He
looked helplessly at the Wooden Snowman, his eyes full of sadness and
resolve, knowing that nothing short of a miracle could save the
human. Behind him the other human let the bucket drop as he somehow
sensed the end was near. The wounded man rasped and shook and began
to slowly exhale.
The healthy human’s
face whitened. He looked at the Troll, who now worked frantically on
the human. Never before had he seen anyone work harder to save a
life. Years of fear, bias, and ignorance fell away in seconds and he
found himself kneeling next to the Troll who somehow seemed smaller
then he remembered. Without a word he began to look for ways to
help.
“Please save him,”
whispered the man, not sure if he were praying or asking the Troll.
The Troll said nothing
and silently continued to work.
The man inhaled rapidly
as his eyes flew open briefly before slowly closing, as his muscles
and body began to relax for a final time.
Greeg would never know if
it were fairy memory or something else that caused the Wooden man to
speak. He knew he had not suggested it, nor did he want to consider
this kind of act for a human.
“Save him. Use my life.
Save him!” said the wooden figure softly but firmly.
Var and the human turned
and gaped. The woodman smiled.
“I have had a life that
I should never have had. These memories will rest with me until I am
returned to Mother Earth.”
“Certain?” asked
Greeg, knowing that the fairy mischief had really disturbed the
natural order of things. As he looked at the dying man and then at
the battered wooden snowman he was surprised at how well this magical
creation understood the world after such a short time in it.
The wooden being nodded
resolutely.
“Not do alone,” said
the Troll finally.
Suddenly Var realized
what was happening. “Noooo!” he wailed. “Not use No-name!”
His father was stunned
into silence as his son’s emotions registered deep inside him. His
eyes blurred slightly as he continued to work, hoping to avoid the
proposed solution. It soon became apparent, however, that though the
wounds were be slowly healing, the man did not have enough strength
to complete the process.
“I will talk with him,”
said No-name standing up. “Make ready.”
“How you know?” asked
Greeg as he watched No-name take his struggling son by the arm.
“I am a being of nature
and magic. I do not know how I know, I just do. The human created me
from dead wood. The fairy gave me life. I am certain she meant no
harm. This is my destiny. It is right and it will return nature to
its balance.”
“Wise,” was all the
troll could say.
Greeg listened to the
angry wails and sobbing pleas as his son fought that which he did not
understand yet. It was a hard lesson that every Troll child has to
learn, for even though Trolls are blessed with a great unity with the
powers of nature, their first obligation is to see that it remained
balanced Var had heard the words, now it was time to feel their
meaning. Greeg and No-name knew that nothing ever happened without a
purpose. Even though the Woodman was only a few moments in this world
he had realized a great deal. Such was the way of life.
As he hoped, Var’s
anger began to fade and a calm returned to the area. Greeg strained
to hear the words being spoken but could not, despite his sensitive
ears. The Snowman had chosen his distance well, just out of a normal
troll’s range for a soft conversation. He worked on now, only to
keep the body alive for what must be tried. When the pair finally
returned Var stoically blinked back tears of anger, frustration and
sadness.
Beside him, the human
stirred, as if he too had finally caught the vision of what was about
to be attempted. He began to pull back but Greeg touched him gently
on the shoulder.
“Must all touch No-name
and man,” said the elder Troll as he sprinkled one last bit of
powder on the human.
“Hans,
his name is Hans,” said his friend.
“One hand on Hans. One
on No-name,” said Greeg, placing his right hand on the human’s
chest. In it was a small carved stone figure.
Var followed his father’s
example. The human placed his left hand on his friend and gazed into
the pallid face.
No-name moved closer and
settled his legs into his body. Carefully, he positioned his arms as
he had held them for so many years.
“My bird,” he said
softly.
Greeg nodded and removed
the thin metal cut-out from the belt where he had tucked it. With a
soft sigh he handed it to the Wood man and then placed his hand on
the being’s round chest. Var and the human placed their hands on
top of Greeg’s.
No-name smiled and
glanced silently up at the sky as the Northern lights danced through
a slowly opening hole in the clouds. “I am ready. Thank you all.”
“Now Gods decide,”
said Greeg closing his eyes.
Var and the
human followed suite, leaving only No-name to witness the beam of
brightly colored light that emerged from the sky and touched him on
the shoulder. For a moment all was silent. No-name’s wooden fibers
tingled as the energy of life passed into the hands and down to the
human. The Wooden Snowman blinked once and was still.
Greeg felt the energy of
life flow through him. He willed a bit of his own great strength to
follow. He could sense the human next to him fighting the urge to
flee as strange impulses took hold of him, drained him, and released
him. He felt his son’s loss and felt life from his son join his.
Var would not let this process fail. Greeg added more strength.
In heart-beats it was
over. Hans took a deep cleansing breath. He would be forever
unaware of exactly what had been done for him and what had been
sacrificed.
The other human, whose
name was Steiner, sat down, totally exhausted as he glanced at the
wooden statue standing so close. What he had witnessed was
impossible, yet he knew what he had seen was true. He looked at the
Troll and then at his friend and noted that color was returning to
the haggard face. Already Steiner could see that the wounds were
closing slowly and Hans’ breathing was now softer and more even.
Steiner wanted to talk
but the large Troll shook his head. “Friends come. Powder dry.”
Steiner nodded. “Go.
And thank you!”
The Troll nodded and
after only a few footsteps, he had vanished into the surrounding wood
and rocks. Steiner looked around but saw nothing, just as he heard
the clatter of the returning humans.
Above them a few dozen
meters Greeg listened as the human, Steiner, teased his friends about
shooting a wooden figure they had spotted on the hill. Steiner said
that he recognized the figure as one that had been stolen years ago
and told them that he had dragged it down just to show them. The hot
headed gunman swore the thing was moving and demanded to know what
the roars had been and what they had seen. Steiner claimed that it
was a large elk that had been frightened by the fleeing humans.
As if timed to stave of
further discussion, Hans coughed softly. It was then that the other
humans noticed his improved condition.
“I removed the clothing
and found out he was not as badly hurt as we first thought. I
treated what I could and have cleaned him up and I think he is going
to make it...”
Greeg took his son by the
hand and flung him up onto his shoulder. The boy stifled a cry of
delight and clung to his father’s bushy hair as the pair
disappeared into the night seeking a place that would be safe from
the coming sun.
Behind them, a little
wooden figure smiled and looked slightly skyward as if he were
watching the Trolls vanish. Moments later he was picked up and put
on the litter next to his creator at Steiner’s insistence and the
long journey home began.
