Life during the Thaw

There’s only one thing that thaws the village Heart this time of year; the Gathering. For several months now the routes to and from the village have been impassable because of the snow, but now the suns warmth has brought freedom that the whole village celebrates.

Being so isolated strengthens, hardens the psyche. They live the long game; everything is in the preparation. They live as a community, everyone pulling together for the greater good; no one goes without; no stockpiling of goods that no one else can use. Greed is unheard of here, there is no need of it –that way would have led to an early death for all.

It’s not an easy time; hardships are endured but no one has to bare it all themselves. Each person has a part to play, from the youngest child to the eldest Wisen. The children are taught through game and verse how to look after themselves and care for the others, uphold the community. The Wisen share their knowledge and are revered for surviving so many Thaws.

Indeed the celebrations are as much for the Wisens as it is to be thankful for the newly found freedom. Strangely enough this freedom has done nothing to change the size of the population. One could say that it is the perfect society; that by being closed off for so many months has made the community stronger; it is one. So few people have a desire to leave, their roots run deep.

With the Thaw comes the Gathering. Like so much, this is a tradition going back longer than even the Wisened folklore allows. No one knows its origins and, like so much, it hasn’t changed at all in that time.

It’s the only time that strangers from another village are allowed into barter and celebrate with them. Due to the remoteness of Heart no one else even knows of its existence, no one else has ever visited and they know no different.

The other villagers are strange, to be sure. They speak in unintelligible klicks and grunts, but over the centuries the two villages have developed a complicated language of sign and mime that only the Wisen truly know.

And only the Wisen deal with the Woden folk from the other village. They are seen throughout the time of celebration but it is forbidden to engage them in conversation or stop them in the street. Children are taught to fear them with a reverence that almost borders on religious awe.

They are so similar to the villagers of Heart save for one striking difference; they are all adorned with ornate masks; branches like spokes emanating from the third eye. Different coloured woods and sized branches mark each Woden member as unique; as does the number of branches on the mask. Some have discussed whether the number of branches denote status, or maybe the colours; but all such conjecture is forbidden by the Wisen.

Samfire has spent her life knowing all this; knowing it is against the law to court their attention during the Thaw, but each year since she could run she has tried to get close to them, as has her twin S’wain; much to the chagrin of their parents.

But this year they are finally old enough. They have reached the age when they are courted. They must leave their parents shelter and be paired, to find their place in society. However, before this can happen the “Selection” must take place and both sisters can barely contain their excitement.

There are many among them that are fearful and distrustful of the Woden, but not Samfire or S’wain. They wish to be amongst the chosen, anointed by the song, bathed by their love and have prepared long and hard, done everything that was expected of them.. and more.

Their parents, mindful, try to keep their expectations low, have tried to dissuade them from even trying but their minds are made up, as one.

Born as twins, they have done so much together that all has become shared; pains and pleasures and all emotions. They are forever in each others company; if one should become anointed then maybe they both will be. Samfire wants it more than S’wain, who wants it for her sister.

Come the night of the celebration and all is prepared. During the final gathering when they become opened up to the Song of Woden they would open themselves up also to the other twin. For those who heard the Song of Woden would be anointed and chosen; and if one sister was picked then so would the other be.

No one knew what became of those who were chosen but year after year the Woden were welcomed back into the village and the celebrations happened again; and this year it would be Samfire and S’wain’s time.

Come the celebrations, despite being near opposite ends of the village hall, now packed with other hopefuls and celebrants, the Woden were all on stage; barely twenty this year when all other years there had been double that number. Neither twin could contain their excitement, each fuelling the others happiness, stoking it up to near fever pitch.

Suddenly, all is silent and the Woden stand facing them; their wooden masks more elegant and disconcerting than ever, energy seeming to radiate from them.

This must be it, Samfire thinks, giddy with the realisation that it is happening now. But nothing…. Nothing is happening; she can hear only silence. No sound save for the stagnant breathing of the Woden, pregnant with apprehension and menace? What is happening?

Some people are moving to the front of the hall, towards the stage… that should be Samfire! Wait…

S’wain is there, amongst the chosen! She has heard the song, but why has she not opened herself up to Samfire? She tries to shout out, to move to the stage to be with her sister but she can’t. She can not move or utter a word, can only watch with horror and bitter disappointment as S’wain joins the Woden, where she is given robes and a crown of unknown leaves and flowers. Standing there now, amongst the Woden, S’wain seems alien, not of the village any longer. Samfire can not contact her; there is no link anymore and for the first time Samfire is alone.

She can only watch as the Woden lead S’wain offstage with the rest, and when they are finally gone the lights all blink out like an out-breath before everyone is free to move again.

The lights stutter on once more and now there is celebration for the chosen, and for the gifts of the Woden.

All are jubilant, safe in the knowledge that they will survive for another icetime. But for Samfire there is only emptiness. She moves to the front of the stage, walks around to see where the Woden might have gone but they are nowhere to be seen; as if they never existed at all.

And the same for S’waine. Where once there was an experience shared now there is half a life. Samfire will never know why she wasn’t chosen or why S’waine never opened herself up. Part of her is happy for S’waine, or at least wants to be, but there is a phantom pain for a lost opportunity and a reconcilement that will never happen.