Fynyass, the King in Winter

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.