Snow Lilies

In rural North Dakota, Hunting, a winter-long town, home to less than a thousand, the sun is low in the sky, barely scraping past the tops of the trees. Hunting is isolated but entirely self sufficient, the lake provides water and fish plenty for the townspeople and despite the dense layer of snow all year round, the soil yields a large amount of crops of all variety, half kept for Hunting, the rest exported to the nearby towns of Williston and Epping.

When most of the children Kiera had grown up with turned sixteen, they left as soon as an opportunity arose. This was the beginning of the 80’s, like magpies, they were drawn to the neon, the sounds, the wild idea of a town that wouldn’t fall asleep when the sun went down. This was the power of the American dream, of course it’s different for every generation but the only thing that’s guaranteed is the mass exodus of teenagers from their home to anywhere else.


Kiera, one of the few left under the age of forty, felt entwined with Hunting. Her existence was meditative and natural. She felt a tight connection to her home and couldn’t quite understand why anyone would want to leave. The mountains and the lake were like a monastery to her, something she revered with her whole heart. Each day she followed a routine - rising early with the sun, a light breakfast in the kitchen, followed by a long and paced run around the lake, back home for lunch and a shower. She would spend the remainder of the day in her cabin at the lakes edge, salting and drying fish that the fishermen would draw out of the water only a few metres away - after this, returning home for a much needed bath and a small supper of fish, finally watching the moon over the mountains as she settled down for the night. An almost unchanged routine for the past twenty years. Like anywhere, Hunting had seasonal changes but the distinction between summer and winter was vague, maybe a slight easing up in the snowfall but you would be hard pressed to notice.

This was an early winter morning, the air was biting but not unusually so for Kiera, after a few minutes running, she had worked up a temperature enough to negate the numbing air. The snow was piled up beneath her and would crunch then spring back, giving Kiera the sensation of weightlessness and fluidity as she carried on round the lake. A pristine white blanket lay behind and before her, the only markers of how far she had come were the trees that Kiera had memorised over the years, the ones with missing branches, or hearts carved with a knife by young lovers.

Out of the white, she noticed a spec of red. To anyone else this would have gone unnoticed, but for Kiera this was a jarring stain that she could not overlook. The further she ran the larger the spec became. It was not in her nature to pry, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Through the tree trunks and snow laden branches, the spec of red was now the size of a dime, then soon after, a golf ball, then a dinner plate. The chill of the air froze in her lungs as she saw what she had managed to miss up until this point. By now she was on the edge of the lake with the body only a few steps away. 


A man lay in repose watching as Kiera walked on the balls of her feet over the frozen lake towards him. The man was neat, with a sharp suit and kempt shoulder length hair. His face was calm and contented despite his lack of left leg below the knee, which continued to leak blood. Layers of muscle and sinew had turned into meaty shards with ribbons of jagged skin here and there. Leaning on his right elbow, this man looked almost comfortable, as if his missing chunk of leg had conveniently turned itself into a deep crimson circle rug to protect him from the cold of the frozen lakes surface. Kiera was in a haze of disorientation and nausea, she felt a swirling hum inside her stomach.

“Kiera?” His voice was delicate and faint, yet it cut through her mind’s fog.

“Yes…how did you know?” She felt as though her insides had retreated from the surface of her skin, blood rushing away from her skin.


“You are very important to us. I’ve come to talk with you about a proposition that I hope you will find interesting. Do you have a moment to talk?” Forgetting the man’s situation, struck by something more profound, she mustered a wordless nod. “Wonderful! Of course this is not the best of circumstances but a better time than any don’t you agree? You come around here this time every day don’t you?” 


How does he know? Kiera wanted to ask, but felt that things had moved beyond questions like this. Again, a silent nod.


“I want to talk to you about a plant. A flower that will heal the world’s ailments, medicine that will bring peace. With this power, brings the ability to do tremendous good, or make a few men very wealthy. If they find the power of this resources and decide to make it into a commodity, the world will turn to war, worse than we have ever known, the rich will get richer and the poor will face unimaginable destitution.” His tone suddenly somber, the salesman pitch had dissipated and became something more sincere. “In Tibet we have a similar climate to here. Our soil in dense with nutrients and we have fertile lands that we are grateful for. But unfortunately we are only able to cultivate this flower for a few weeks a year, the rest of the time we are granted with a warm sun that turns the snow capped mountaintops into a verdant countryside” 


“I understand,” words felt unnatural coming from her mouth, tense and stilted,“how can I be of any help?”


“I never thought you’d speak again!” Kiera’s slight willingness had restored the warm glow on his face. “I’ve been living in those mountains” motioning with his free hand backwards to the peaks beyond the lake and beyond the fir trees, “I’ve been watching you. Don’t be alarmed, it is part of my role, I’m a scout of sorts. We have been working with the people here, and we believe that you are the perfect suitor to take on the responsibility. We need someone willing to work the land here and help with our cause whilst maintaining its confidentiality. This requires a specific kind of person, I’m sure you’ll agree.”


Kiera’s gaze was now fixated on the mountains. How could I have not noticed someone living up there? These peaks were embedded into her routine, everything she did was under the view of the mountains. He must have been here through the winter, he can’t have made it through the nights without a fire. Kiera’s thoughts were becoming cloudy once again, she was desperate to see something on the peaks, anything to show someone had lived up there, just to quell the unease in her heart.


“Who are you?” 


“Think of me as a messenger.” 


As if the matter was settled, he slid a briefcase across the ice to Kiera’s feet. “$20,000” more money than Kiera could ever imagine,“use this to help you. You may need to set up camp in the mountains.”

Remembering this man’s condition, Kiera bolted to the town to get help.

“So this Mongolian fella, what’s his deal? He’s working with people in the town? Half the population’s here and not one person has mentioned dealings with a Mongolian” a stout police officer was listening to Kiera with half an eye on the television behind her.

“Tibetan.” Despite the burning anger filling her face, Kiera continued, unwavering and steady, “he will lose blood and maybe his life if we don’t help now.”


Kiera had relayed the conversation she had had just moments before, remembering to omit anything about the plant to the officers. She felt wrong withholding information, but she knew she had no choice.

She had imagined interrogations from watching them in the movies, the bare metal table, grey walls, a single lightbulb hanging low over the table. This felt more like a social club to keep the men occupied, some were playing cards, or whittling, most were gathered round a boxy television. The police station was perched on top of a bar, which made it the only two-storey building in the town. With windows on all four walls the officers had a panoramic view of the town at all times.

“Listen, just look over to the lake. you’ll see him from here,” Kiera instructed, leading the officer up to the window.

But there was nothing. Just the immaculate white of the lake. No suited Tibetan, no sign of blood, just the lake they had all seen countless times before.


“Tell you what, get your friend to hop over here and we’ll try and help him out. We’ll lend him a hand, or maybe he needs a foot” elbows jabbing one another, a swarm of jeering and laughter, like schoolboys tussled in rapturous delight. There was a rage filled fire behind Kiera’s eyes, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t even sure she believed what she was saying anymore, “you’re on your own miss,” a parting shot from the officer.

Desperate, Kiera dashed back to the lake. Out of breath and struggling to see, she floundered, with the light of the sun reflecting off the ice and dazzling her. The officers, watch from behind the window, they are entertained for a minute or two by her frantic darting, like a wasp drowning in sugary water. This is how she feels, a trap laid just for her, it is too late for her to get out, she has no choice but to give herself over to it, it is bigger than she will ever know.

Her feverish state is halted by a black notebook she has trapped under her right foot. She picks it up to inspect it. It is small but carries a substantial weight in her hand. A deep, black leather with no signs of wear, embossed with a delicate ‘K’. Kiera. There is a hundred dollar bill marking a page. Kiera turns to it and finds a pressing of a flower. It is not completely unlike other flowers she has seen before. It is similar to a lily yet even though it is dried and pressed, it glows. It’s effect is wholly consuming. Kiera feels something close to a religious experience, here, under the watch of these mountains she feels, she believes everything that she has been told by the messenger. Everything up till now, the routine, the running, the fish, the solitude, has brought her to now. She feels this with her whole heart and is grateful to the messenger, to the sky, to the air in her lungs, to the mountains in front of her. She turns back to the dried flower in the book and notices a passage written underneath: 



For K,

A lost animal is alone and curled

Up into itself, it doesn’t know

Yet that you will come for it


You are the healer, the sister,

The light and the seeker,

Rid the world

of all that does not glow

With love and with spirit

Use the peace in your heart

and forever share it,

M

The beating in her heart was hushed, held in mid-beat by a steady focus. She does not know if she has ever felt love but there is a powerful, all-consuming warmth that is now within her. Kiera puts one foot in front of the other and walks forward, in the direction of the mountains.