A Winter Fairy Tale

There once was a boy who loved his father so much that he accepted an invitation from his father to go on a snowshoe hike through the woods. This boy, who we shall call Hans, was not an active child, and preferred instead to read books about elves and castles, and watch television shows, and play tabletop dice games with those same elements in them, and he definitely did not like being cold. His Dad, however, loved to hike and Hans loved his Dad, so he screwed up his courage, got on his winter clothes, poles and snowshoes and followed his Dad out into the forest behind their house.

That was when Hans had understood why his Dad wanted to go for a walk today, and why he wanted Hans to come along: there had been a heavy snow the night before, and in the dim yellow glow of the cloud smothered sun, the world was bulging with a white purity that covered over all of the hard edges of the world, making everything look fluffy. This was a light snow, like white, speckled down feathers of crystal. Everything had an ethereal glitter to it, as though encrusted with diamonds and silver. The sight took his breath away, but he took only a moment to admire the landscape before his Dad called to him from ahead, and Hans trudged into the low hanging archway of the forest.

They were still in sight of the house when the first trial occurred: as Hans was walking, the laces in his right snowshoe came loose and he toppled over. His Dad had already disappeared from view in the short moment it took for Hans to fall over, and he did not see his son fall over. Hans called out to his Dad, but there was no answer. Hans took his poles and got himself up as best he could. The snow was deep, at least three feet, and Hans first instinct was to use his hands to push himself up. However, all that did was to push his arms into the snow up to his elbows, which did no good. Just then, his Dad came galumphing back, and stood next to him.

“Use your poles,” Dad said. Hans used his poles and got himself to a standing position, with some help from his Dad. After that, Hans’ Dad helped his son tie the snowshoes properly, and they continued on. Hans watched the puffs of his breath as though he were a dragon, and wondered, not for the first time, if dragons ever sat in their caves and watched the clouds of sulfur gas spew out of their nostrils with as much keen interest. Hans looked up and noticed that his Dad was, again, well ahead of him, but Hans kept up at the pace that was comfortable for him. It was cold, but not uncomfortable. He was bundled up and well insulated, but snowshoeing still felt like walking in a dream, and the glittering, snow heavy branches that waved at him and lazily dropped clumps of snow in his path added to the feeling that he was in a dream.

To his left, he thought he caught the sight of something green, however. Earthy, really, there was also a flash of something red there as well. He turned his head but it was gone. Hans thought that he was imagining things, like the time he went to a live theatre performance of “Peter and the Wolf,” and he thought he saw wolves everywhere on the walk home. He did not think this was a wolf, however, because it was much too small.

“Try to keep up, Hans,” his father called back. The voice sounded far away, as though he had marched miles ahead. Knowing how fast his father could walk, Hans would not be too surprised if that were the case. He turned towards the direction of his Dad’s voice and his Dad was nowhere to be seen!

“DAD!” Hans’ voice echoed weakly even in his own ears. Maybe he was simply tired. He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep voice and yelled even louder. “DAD!” Again, the wind and cold carried it away in the opposite direction. His Dad was nowhere to be seen. Hans hefted his poles and continued on in the direction he saw his Dad’s tracks. The snow piled up around his boots and sat like rocks on his snowshoes. Hans leaned over and thought to simply dust the snow off of his snowshoes, expecting it to be like the gossamer flakes he had seen before. His gloves smacked wetly against the slush on his shoes, and when he looked at his hand, it was wet along the edges. This was more of a wet, April snowfall, instead of a dry January snowfall. The rest of the snow around him, however, looked like fluffy snow. He jabbed at it with his poles, and the snow puffed into the air at the slightest movement. He heard a rumbling off to the right, and as Hans turned, he saw another flash of green and red. Hans carefully lifted one foot and shook off the sludge, and then carefully shook off the sludge from his other foot. From the corner of his eyes, Hans thought he saw a movement to his right. When he turned to look, there was nothing there. He expected that the air would become heavy, but instead the air became somewhat thin and colder than it was a moment ago. As he stood there in the middle of the forest path, he was ambushed by a series of clumps of snow that leapt down onto his head, disintegrating into a shower of glittering cold powder as soon as they landed on his head. To Hans it seemed almost deliberate, since there was no sound or sight of squirrels or anything else that could have caused the snow to fall.

Hans hefted his poles, gave his shoes another set of shakes, and followed the path that he felt his Dad had taken. Despite what he saw to the right or the left, he kept his head down and soldiered on until he came to a sight that brought him up short.

The path emptied out into a large copse of Fir trees that formed a perfect half circle in the middle of the path, with the sparkling carapace of ice and snow that clung to the branches of the evergreen trees. To Hans, this was a temple or the audience chamber of the Ice King’s palace. If there were an Ice King, this would be where he would hold court, and this would be his season. There were seven large mounds of snow and something else around the edges of the palace, and these seemed to sway this way and that, even though there was no wind. There was the sound of earthy rumbling, however, and the largest mound heaved upward onto two legs the size of trees. The snow covered a wiry body like a cloak, with pine branches for a crown and tree roots for a beard.

Hans stood in amazement and then began calling for his Dad again. The tree figure recoiled slightly, amazed at the noise. The other mounds began to heave to their feet, rumbling like lake ice in the Spring. Hans’ voice was carried away in the wind, and so he turned around to try to escape. Behind him were smaller versions of these creatures, with red caps and saucer like eyes. Hans was terrified.

“It’s okay, little fellow,” the tallest Troll rumbled. “We know where your Dad is. He is out looking for you, since he lost track of you a moment ago. All you have to do is pass through our gauntlet and you’ll be reunited with him.”

Hans turned and began to walk, again, into the ice palace, thinking that is where his Dad was. “Let me ask you a question,” he said to the Troll.

“Yes,” the Troll rumbled.

“I speak without a mouth, and hear without ears. I have nobody but come alive with the wind. What am I?”

“A riddle!” the Troll exclaimed.

“No, an echo,” replied Hans. He made a labored attempt to push past the Troll but was caught by small branches.

“That was not my answer, my friend,” the Troll replied. “But, since you want to play, here is one for you. ‘My rings are not of gold, but I get more as I get old. What am I?’”

Hans pushed against the branches, but they kept hold of him. He looked down at their brown and grey bark. The Troll nodded at him, and where the bark had worn away with age, he saw …

“A Tree!” Hans’ feet were released and he stumbled forward. Off in the distance, he could hear the muffled sound of his Dad calling to him. He returned the call and this time he could actually hear his voice echo in the forest.

“One more,” Hans turned to the Trolls and asked, “If you have it, and show it to other people, I’m gone. What is it?”

The Troll giant smiled and placed his finger next to his nose. “A Sexual Assault Conviction! You’re not the first person to pass through our woods, you know. We see a lot of weird things …”

Hans pondered that for a moment. He could hear his Dad’s voice become louder and clearer. “The actual answer is ‘a secret’ and it was meant to be poignant, but I think I like your version better.” The Troll turned its back on Hans and became a mound of snow and bush again as Hans cleared the Ice Palace. His Dad appeared at the tree line and waved at him. Hans waved back. They met and hugged in relief. “Dad, the next time we go for a walk, let’s stay on the path, okay?”

“Nothing interesting ever happens on the path, Hans,” his Dad replied, placing his finger next to his nose.

The End