The bear, an old male whose fur was
almost black, came out from the yew shrubs and moved some heavy steps
into the clearing. Then he stopped to sniff the air. All around him
the trees which delimited the clearing were mostly bare. Just a few
yellow leaves stood on the branches, while the majority had fallen to
form a cover onto the lawn and the undergrowth. The bear realised
that the scents in the cold wind had changed. They had become weaker
and streaked with a bitter mark, as bitter as the last berries eaten.
Resuming the walk, the bear passed
through the clearing and immersed into the wood. The river noise was
already faded at his back since a long time. The river itself was
just a blurred memory, something linked to satiation, to the mouth
filled with fish taste. The memory of a satisfied need.
By when he was at the foot of the
mountain, a giant covered of dark dense fir woods, which resin scent
still filled the air, the wind started blowing in irregular and
violent gusts, colder and colder. Bowing his head against a stronger
gust, the bear stood to wait. And after few instants, a slender and
dark figure came along the same path the bear was walking on. Moving
silently, the tall figure wrapped in a torn, hooded cloak, a long
sword completely made of ice at his hip, advanced till to stop in
front of the bear. A skinny hand, almost skeletal, stretched out to
pose on the big animal head.
“It's good to see you again, my
old friend”, Fynyass said, his voice soft like the falling snow,
powerful like the shriek of two colliding glaciers.
The bear looked at him with watered
eyes, while the pale and cold hand stroked slowly a long scar he bore
on its forehead.
“I remember when you got this:
still too young to harass the then alpha male.”
Maybe Fynyass had a sigh, but if it
was it got lost in the northern wind.
"Another year of fights has
gone.“ Fynyass uttered. “I bring you a little of rest, my
friend.”
Maybe Fynyass smiled, in the shadow
of his hood, but his face was completely hidden. The bear stared at
him for a while, with inexpressive eyes, then bypassed Fynyass and
resumed its walk. Fynyass waited for a while, then followed the
bear.
They went on to a regular pace among
the mountain spurs, where the ground sometimes became suddenly steep.
A valley opened in front of them, with craggy sides covered by
yellowish meadows and spotted of the white of boulders smoothed by
the weather and reddish of lichens. Just a little higher on the
steep sides of the valley the meadows changed in firs, grew dense,
and underneath their canopies mushrooms darkened by the frost
zigzagged in long rows disappearing into the shade.
Finally, they reached the access of
a cavern, a narrow fissure, like a gloomy wound in the cold earth.
The bear lingered on the threshold, turning to look at Fynyass.
“Go for it, my friend. You earned
your long sleep.”
The bear emitted a call which could
be a sigh, then entered the cavern and disappeared. Fynyass reached
a boulder close to the access, fixed the ice sword at his hip and
sat.
And there he waited, until the
nightfall, completely still while a half-moon danced above the
forest. And then he waited longer until the frosty white dawn poured
from the rim of the mountains. The day passed slowly and the sun
set down, then the stars run through the sky the very next night, and
when the morning came again the clouds hid the sun. Fynyass sat
there, on the boulder, watching over his friend's sleep, while the
wind blew and the snow fell. The servant spirits climbed down from
the eternal snow mountains and called him.
"Let's go to South." said
voices lost in the wind.
“No.” Fynyass answered.
"Let's bring the Winter to the
South, let's reach the Gates of the Summer."
“Not this year.” was Fynyass
answer.
"The tribes of the Ferocious
are strong again up the Carnach Mountains, ready to ravage the Low
Lands. They'll make a chariot for you if you ask, using their
enemies' bones so that you can arrive till the Tumulilands. We'll
freeze the waters of the Great River and we'll entrap in ice the city
of Rajkapur and its fleet."
Fynyass shook his head.
“Not this year.” he repeated.
"Let's retake what once was of
us. Let's cover with snow the land beyond the sea. Let's crush the
Walker, bury into the ice the Lion of the Summer!"
“Enough!” Fynyass shouted and
his voice was like the roar of an avalanche. “This year the
southern people will have a mild Winter.”
And there Fynyass staid, sat on the
boulder, watching over his friend's sleep.
The time run on, the nature silently
wrapped into the cold hug of the long wintry night. Stormy days
came, the snow piled up till to hide the cavern access. And then the
sun came back, low but blazing, white and cruel, which dazzled the
world whit its sharp reverberation on the immaculate snow. Elks and
stags migrated southwards, the wolves followed them and their howling
faded far away, where the wintry nights were less cruel. There was
silence all over, or there was the howling of the wind.
One day a maid arrived from the
South. The front of the snow receded before her, the grass grew
green after her. Fynyass watched thoughtfully her getting close.
“Has your time already come,
Spirit of Spring?”
“It has.” Erhis answered.
Fynyass hesitated, turning the eye
to the cavern access, visible again now that the snow had melted.
“You know that that is not
possible.” Erhis said gently.
Fynyass nodded. “For once, just
for once, I would like that it could be different.”
“I'm really sorry. You know this
is the last time you can watch over his sleep?”
“This is the reason I didn't turn
my the steps southwards, for this time.”
Without any other word Fynyass left,
going back to his throne of ice, among the sharp tops of the
mountains of the North. And over there, sat where the dark wind of
the North of the world never stops blowing, looking into the frozen
mirror of a lake which never ever had known the thaw, watched his
friend return to the forest thriving with life and fruits, wandering
in it along the whole Spring, getting wounded on Summer fighting a
younger male. And when the time for the salmons came to go back up
the river, when just the Autumn, the Winter's Herald, coloured
brightly those lands, and all the bears took position along the river
to fish as many salmons as possible to satisfy their hunger before
the long wintry sleep, the bear was defeated by another male and
chased away from the best fishing places. As fallen alpha male it
became prey to any other male, was wounded and chased farther and
farther, where few salmons arrived. Fynyass watched all this happen
in silence, his heart cold and slow.
The time came for Fynyass to be King
once again, and the King in Winter once again climbed down from his
mountains and walked the same path where always he used to meet his
friend. That year he walked till the clearing before meeting it.
It was a fur without any shine and
sharp bones visible underneath. Clotted blood stained the dark hair
yet. Too long was the road till the cavern for an old male wounded
and starved.
Fynyass stood close to the remains
of his friend, in silence, while the Wind of the North howled for
him, jerking the torn cloak and the dead bear's fur.
“In the end, my old friend, you
reached a better rest than any I have ever given to you.”
Maybe there was a hint of bitterness
in Fynyass' voice, but no one was there to listen to it. His voice
was the creak of dried leaves rolling over each other. The spirits
of the ice flew crazily in the air all around him, twisters which
lifted piles of yellow leaves.
“Let's go South, my friends.”
hissed Fynyass, the King in Winter. There was no mercy in his
voice.
And the Winter walked with Fynyass
to the South.
