The Light Of Midwinter
Author’s Note:
Happy Holidays all! The Light Of Midwinter is the follow up to the story I wrote for Meredith last Christmas, but now it’s a wintertide tale for everyone. We return to the Wilder Wood to join Felicity Broadfeather to see how the griffin-riding woodsfolk honor the midwinter in their own unique way. As such it’s not so much a “Christmas” story, but a story for those of us who like a fresh blanket of snow, a cozy fire, and to pull those we love in closer during the darkest days. I wrote this very much to be a story for the whole family, and believe kids as young as 7(?) will enjoy it as well. Please report back if you attempt a family read.
As always I don’t recommend reading the full thing on here so I’ve placed just the intro below as a sampler. If you’d like the whole thing you can find that…
New for this story, it’s an Audiobook!
After some requests for an audiobook version I’ve decided to give that a go so you can listen along wherever you like. Read by yours truly.
It was a wonderful winter in the Wilder Wood.
Honestly if you didn’t enjoy a winter like this there may be no helping you, time to pack up and head for the coast. Because this was a beauty. In the evenings great, heavy, white clouds would roll in from the coast and deposit just enough snow to keep things looking fresh and crisp and white and lovely. No wind, no biting cold, just fat happy flakes dancing their way down through all the heights of the wood in serene and joyous silence. As the snows set in and the light faded at its early hour, you’d tuck in, toes beside a fire, a smile set deep in your soul. That was out and you were in. And isn’t that a lovely thing to be. But then come morning, the clouds would have moved on leaving their fresh blanket behind and the pale sun would shine down to set every last flake to gloriously glittering. On roofs, on branches, on griffins curled up to roost for the night. Come morning you’d wonder why you ever wanted to be inside, and you’d journey out even if you had nowhere to go, just to be a part of all the beauty around you. Yep, if you didn’t like winters like this, maybe winter just wasn’t for you. Everyone in Twelvetrees said so.
The people of Twelvetrees and the whole Wilder Wood took to this marvelous midwinter with a genuine and admirable gusto. They let not the chill air nor the scant light deter them. They donned greatcoats colored of russet and camel and hemlock and holly. They pulled on boots that had seen too many winters, but they’d last one more. Surely. They wrapped up scarves, and pulled down hats, and yanked on gloves all hewn by their own hands out of the bounty of their forest. Thus clad, the Twelvetregians headed out to relish in the chubbly, slothful flakes as they drifted down in the evening, or in the finger-like shafts of pale light slipping between the branches above at midday. Because for them midwinter was more than just a series of short days, it was the Mothernight, a time outside of time, a time to hold each other close, to sing good tidings, to share a great many meals, and to emerge reborn into a fresh new year.
Of course in all practicality, that meant a great deal ado. There were feasts to arrange, cozy cabins to adorn, guests to invite, songs to sing. So despite the fact that the forest for hundreds of leagues around sat in quiet repose, patiently awaiting the sun’s return, the town bustled as lively as ever. Honestly, probably more so. Especially this year, it was a wonderful winter after all. Made all the more wonderful by the recent windfall the town had received. Thanks to a turn of luck, no one would go cold or hungry or lonely, not this midwinter, not this Mothernight, not for as long as anyone could imagine. Roofs had been repaired, new stoves installed, larders filled, and socks mended. It was set to be a spectacular season.
And the very village itself looked ready to celebrate. The homes of the woodsfolk clung to the sides of their soaring, titanic trees, they rose and rose through the heights, tucked into crooks, cantilevered cunningly between branches, or simply bound to the side of bare trunk, hanging in the free air for no reason other than to provide exceptional views both up and down. Their homes were always tidy, always cozy, always welcoming, but throw a fluffy white layer of snow on the roofs and railings all glittering in the morning light and the sight became nearly too much to behold. White smoke spilled out of chimneys up and down the heights for morning cook fires, spilling to join the few flakes that still spun free in the serene airs. Between the homes there were wide porches, swaying rope bridges, spinning rope elevators, and wide platforms shared by several houses for no better reason than have somewhere good to get together. All of these glowed blessedly with the warm-hued wood of the trees as they stayed free of ice and accumulation. The snows came in the evening, cold, and just enough to be better dealt with by a broom than by a shovel. It was a wonderful winter after all.
Then there were the griffins. If you don’t already know, the griffins of the wilder wood were a wondrous sort. Plenty favored eagles with their heads, forequarters and wings to be sure, but they could and did look like all sorts of birds, affixed to all sorts of cats out back. Raven and puma? Definitely. Kestrel and cheetah? Why not? Sounds fast as heck. A hobby and a housecat? You’d better believe it. And all these combinations were just the beginning, comparisons are just to give you an idea of build and feathering. Griffins through their own subtle magic grew feathers in all the colors of the rainbow. Mauve merlins, crimson caracaras, and kelly-green kookaburras. Too many to name or to imagine. The Wilder Wood was their wood, and they took to the frisky midwinter no less than the woodsfolk. They seemed to relish flying lazy circles around the magnificent trunks of the redwoods as they soared into the sky, stroking the feathery flakes with feathers of their own.
All of these pleasant, seasonal sights conspired to render our heroine’s melancholy attitude even more agonizing to bear, as she bore it, looking down on the fervent festivities. Felicity Broadfeather was, after all, the very reason for the town’s recent good fortune. The job of a lifetime had brought her, her crew, and her entire town a truly life-changing haul. She was the reason the roofs were repaired, the new stoves installed, the larders filled. Not the socks mended though, that was the good work of all the Twelvetregian mothers. It was everything she’d dreamed of and much more. She should be down there, part of the good-spirited effervescence of her people. But instead she sat up on the high balcony of her Nan’s canopy house, cup of tea left to go dead cold, as she looked down having everything she’d wanted, and still wanting more.
Down on the snow covered river road she could see a tradition unfolding she’d witnessed every year of her life. Pa Twotalons was hauling in the Mother Tree, adorned, as always, in his greatcoat of crushed carmine velvet, trimmed in white ermine. He was a great man, great in the sense of magnanimous, accomplished, kind and well-loved, but even more than that he was great in the sense that he was very, very large. A full head taller than anyone else in town, and even wider in the shoulders. But you’d think he was rather undersized to see him haul in the tree as he dragged it in on a tattered sledge, so large was the tree he’d selected out of the wood. Nearly ten fathoms tall, and just as round, full, bushy, and evergreen. If you or I saw it we’d think it a fairly lovely, old growth tree. But here amongst the giants of the Wilder Wood it was merely a sapling. For tradition demanded that each Mothernight the woodsfolk would find such a sapling, crowded amongst her sisters all fighting for light, and cut her out. She would stand then, honored in the town center for all the twelve eves of Mothernight. She would be decorated, praised with carols, and laden with offerings; she was in a very real sense the whole wood upon which these people depended wrought small. She would be loved. Then, upon the twelfth eve, she would be burned, burned ornaments, trinkets, adornments, offerings and all. Her ashes would be scattered over the roots of her sisters, feeding new life into the forest with her sacrifice. The whole balance of the wood in miniature. A fitting way to honor the shortest days that were, and the new year that came.
As Pa tugged the tree along, leaving a pair of little trenches in the packed snow behind him, those he passed stopped and bowed to the Little Mother, many turned and followed him along, singing. The Mothernight wouldn’t start for days yet, Pa just liked to be prepared just in case a big storm decided to blow in, but the woodsfolk had already been struck by a festive mood, and a little caroling was exactly what the beautiful day called for. Felicity could hear their loving, untrained voices rising faintly through all the heights of the trees. She smiled sadly to herself and sighed.
“What’s the matter, my Little Luck?” Nan’s soft, kind voice broke gently into Felicity’s reverie. “Not in the festive spirit?” The shuffling crone stepped softly beside her granddaughter and sat, shorter legs dangling next to Felicity’s over the porch edge.
“Oh, it’s not that Nan.” Felicity sighed again, not sure how to explain her the listlessness of her heart. “It’s all lovely, as always...just like always.”
“Something more you’d like to see from our little town?” Nan smiled up with her twinkling, mossy eyes.
“It’s just...things have gone so well around here lately.” Felicity danced around the risks she took when talking to Nan, she didn’t want her to worry. “I was hoping this Mothernight would be, I don’t know...different. Somehow.”
Nan placed a soft, withered hand on Felicity’s. “Bellies are full, stoves are warm, lips are smiling my Little Luck. You’ll learn in time, that’s all we ever need.”
“I know, Nan...I know.” Felicity sighed again.
“Well you know what I always say.” Nan smiled softly. “No Mothernight is complete without a little joy, a little service...”
“And a little love.” Felicity finished the refrain she’d heard all her life.
“So you do know it.” Nan patted her hand.
“Yeah, of course I do Nan.”
Just then, three colorful, laughing streaks flew out of the snowy canopy above them in a weaving, hollering riot. Hennie, Harper, and Hollis Harrier were three young triplets on matching triplet griffins all in primary red, blue, and yellow. Terrors of Twelvetrees. The Howdy Bunch. In Twelvetrees truly the entire village raised every child, but these three strained even the capacity of the hearty woodsfolk. Felicity had bonded the trio to three matching birds that all favored bobble-headed burrowing owls a few years back, and since then no one was safe. As they broke out of the canopy they knocked a clump of light snow that fell squarely onto Felicity’s resting griffin, Buckley, hitting him right in his handsome purple forehead. Setting him into wild-eyed, squawking indignance.
“Howdy Broadfeathers!” They laughed indistinguishably as they streaked away through the towering columns of the high trees.
Nan laughed her kindly chuckle. “Someone’s act of service should be teaching those three how to honor the Mothernight, for everyone’s sake. Bless their poor mother, she won’t have a moment to spare for days yet working down in the bakery.” She patted Felicity on the hand again and stood up laboriously. “Go down there with the people my Little Luck, a warm bun, a couple carols, and you’ll be in the festive mood in no time.”
“Alright Nan, you know best.”
“That’s right I do.” She kissed Felicity on the cheek and shuffled back into the cozy canopy house they shared.
A few hours, three warm buns, thirty seven smiles, and nearly as many carols later, Felicity was still not in the festive mood. Which was a shame; the buns were exceptional, wintry-spiced crispy on the outside and tender inside, the smiles were a joy, as always, even the carols had been passable, though her rusty voice still needed a little tuning in for the season. Buckley seemed more than satisfied by it all as they walked along the river. He pranced through the mounding fresh snow up on the banks, ignoring the bare pebbles down by the water, instead jauntily trotting with his amaranthine claws splashing in the light powder, wide wings neatly tucked down his back, squawking happily in the sunshine. His joy lifted even Felicity’s grinchy grouch heart.
But only lifted it for a moment, where ordinarily her heart would soar, and she couldn’t understand why. Light poured through the canopy, opened as it was for winter with about half the trees missing their leaves and the evergreens serving mostly to hold snow that reflected the light they caught. Down through all the heights the rays danced down till they hit roof and packed trail and crystal river, all of it heart-stoppingly beautiful. And still Felicity’s mind raced. She breathed deep the clean, cold air, and she willed all the world around her into stillness. Willed her heart to be full and contented. And the river ran on, and the distant carolers sang on, and Buckley jaunted on according to his own whims. It was no use, so Felicity walked on, maybe a visit to a friend would help.
The woodswoman and her griffin continued along the river until the bank curled in on itself and the barest tinge of sulfur sullied the rareified airs of the wood. The hot springs. Little springs burbled here and there all around Twelvetrees but here they burst forth in a laughing, bubbling riot. The bank climbed up steeply to the right, towards the colossal roots of the three largest trees in the wood, and in this cozy crook burst forth; steaming waters poured out to fill a whole array of pools. Carefully crafted, the pools of bright, clear water rose in tiers, twos and threes the climbed right up till they were overhung by the gigantic roots above. Buckley found a shallow pool by the river and lay down to splash about and give himself a bath. Felicity followed the well-trodden path that zigged and zagged up the bank between them looking for the hottest and deepest pool at the very top. The waters were an unbroken dark mirror beneath the overhanging root above which turned the pool into a proper grotto. She was told the middle of the large pool was nearly ten fathoms deep, who was crazy enough to get into the scorching waters and find out, she wasn’t sure. Felicity tried to peer into the shifting, steaming waters with little success. She was about to give up and carry on in her ornery aura, when up popped the head of a merman.
“Oh ho, hi hello there Felicity!” Declan Keel called out in his joyful, breathless, sing-songy voice; his cueball head and sleek shoulders parted the water with ease as he whisked across the pool to join her by the edge. “What a oh ho so lovely day here in your wood isn’t it?”
She sat on a wide flat rock on the pool’s edge and the merman slid out of the water to sit beside her. He was covered head to toe in tiny scales that glistened, ranging from teal to seafoam across his head face and shoulders to soft lilac and peach under his neck and arms. His eyes were all dark, like the bottom of the deepest lake, but still sparkled bright and kindly in the winter light. Left to his own devices, Declan would spend most of the day fully submerged in the pool, but when a visitor came calling he could easily sit on the edge for a time and enjoy the air. His webbed hands splayed on the smooth stone, while his lean legs hung into the pool, his long webbed feet stroked the water genty unseen below.
Felicity smiled softly. “Oh yes I do suppose it is Declan. It’s good to see you.”
“Suppose it is?!” He exclaimed, waving at the magnificent trees rising in snowy solidarity all around him, “What is there to suppose? This is one of the most beautiful places in all the wide world! I can see why you wanted some of those elvish jewels to help your people here. We certainly couldn’t improve the view, so we have to work on everything else.”
This made Felicity wince a bit. She’d first met Declan when preparing for her Greyweather job, and she’d lied to him. Not only was she a bad liar, but when she got them out she felt them all, heavily. Especially this one. She’d come to hold a great fondness for the young, chittering, over-eager merman. He was a forgiving sort though, and readily accepted her apology and was more than happy to come help her do some work around the town. The hot springs were just a sweetener in the whole deal for him.
Which was good, because Felicity was beginning to suspect that the apprentice may have surpassed the master in this particular case. Declan’s master, Eoin Onloch was known far and wide for his skill in artificing, but the miracles she’d watched Declan pull out of the tiny workshop he set up in the depths of the grotto here had her doubting that anyone in all the land could do much better. Artificing was a subtle art. Only rarely was Declan replacing things outright; more often he’d add a rune here, an inlay there, build some clever new addition and presto. A cookstove that burned only a third of the wood, a gutter that never clogged with ice, an oven that tripled the size of your loaves. It was good and honest magic. The people of Twelvetrees would be thanking Declan for years to come. It was subtle art, but one that required a truly encyclopedic knowledge of runes in twelve different ancient languages, the inlay properties of a heap of precious metals, the inclinations of a handful of fickle gems which had a tendency to prove unruly when used in magical artifice, and the staggering combinations of all these elements. Many of which were either useless, or actively dangerous, all of which were prone to misbehaving with even the smallest error in crafting. It strained belief to think this yapping youngling merman could contain such knowledge. But contain it he did. He’d arrived a few months back, with nothing more than a bandolier of tools strapped over his shoulder, set up shop in the grotto and got to work. He started with a skychair for Felicity’s Nan, and since then it had been non-stop wonders using the wealth of Felicity’s haul from the Greyweather job. But by now he was starting to run out of projects to take on for the good people of Twelvetrees.
“So you’ll probably be moving on here pretty soon huh?” Felicity probed, usure what to say. “Seems like you’ve fixed up just about the whole town.”
“Oh yesyesyes, soon enough yes.” He chittered. “I have a couple jobs left for the sky gardens to help them really take off next summer, but that’ll just about do it. Can’t say I’m too excited about it though! I’d spend forever in these lovely springs you all have here if I could. But Master will want me back in the Deeplake before too long.”
Felicity’s stomach dropped a notch even lower. Even all the wonderful gifts she’d envisioned for her town were coming to an end. Before long, time, as it always does, would turn these miracles from spectacular into mundane. She could already feel an itch growing inside her soul at just the thought of it. Her mind reached for the nearest thing at hand.
“Will you stay with us through the Mothernight? Till the new year at least? We certainly would love to have you through then, to say thank you for all your work.”
“Oh why thank you Felicity!” The exuberant merman beamed. “The Harrier kids told me all about your celebration of the solstice, what an idea! A time out of time! A whole marathon of meals and mingling and mulled wine! I’d be delighted to, thank you for the invitation!”
“Your Master won’t mind?”
“Oh I doubt he’ll notice, we merfolk don’t plan our holidays by the sun, we honor the Lady Moon. Our next big to-do isn’t for months yet, Sir won’t notice a spare few weeks. Besides, it’ll give me time to make sure everything is in perfect order.”
An idea crystallized in Felicity’s mind just then, something maybe, just maybe that would put her heart in the very best place for the wintertide. “I’m glad to hear that Declan, we’ll do our best to show you why the midwinter is so important to honor here in the Wilder Wood. But I do have another favor I’d like to ask of you...if it’s not too much.”
“Oh anything, I’ve been only too happy to help you all!”
“Well everything you’ve done so far has been so incredible, but I’d love to find a way to make this Mothernight, and all those to come, even more special than ever. A way to light up the long night if we can.”
“Ohhoohho!” Declan beamed, eyes sparkling, small teeth glinting in his eager smile. “What artificer wouldn’t love such a challenge? I think I might have just the trick.”
And so Felicity Broadfeather and Declan Keel put their heads together for the rest of the morning, contriving a contraption to dispel the darkness, bright light to midwinter, and make the Mothernight one to remember.
