There was a winter when the snow seemed to just keep falling, day after day. The forest trails were buried and in the village there was scarcely anywhere left to pile the snow. Humans and other animals wild and domestic all suffered from the cold and difficulty in finding food.
On yet another cold and snowy night, the villagers huddled in their houses, the wind creaking in the rafters, hoping the snow would not break their rooves. When most had finally fallen asleep, in deepest dark, they were woken by a terrible bellowing from the forest. In their nightshirts, they came to their doors to call out to neighbours, asking whether anyone knew what was happening. Someone shouted that it sounded like a stag, perhaps chased by wolves or wounded somehow. It was agreed that nothing could be done till morning, and everyone returned to their beds. Sleep was elusive as the terrible sound continued through the night. All the dogs in the village joined the racket, unwilling to be silenced unless they were brought into the houses, given extra food and a spot by the fire. Many of the villagers rose from their beds in frustration and sat near their hearths with tea or hot milk, waiting for dawn.
The day broke cold with heavy clouds hanging just below the tree tops so that it seemed that as the people gathered in the village centre, they moved in a small space between white below and white above. Even then, the new snow was up to their knees at least, the trees and rooves were white, the fence around the village seemed more snow than wood. It was agreed that a small group of hunters and foragers, those most familiar with the forest and able to move well in it, would go out and see what was happening. The cries continued, albeit with moments of silence, presumably when the creature rested. Everyone was on edge, from lack of sleep and the unnerving sound, and it did not help when someone pointed out that if the animal had not been chased by wolves into its current predicament, they would surely be coming, drawn by the sound. Those who remained in the village were told to stay indoors as much as possible, not to venture outdoors alone, and not to go beyond the village gates at any time. Given the weather, staying indoors was what most people would have been doing anyway, at least once the paths had been cleared and excess snow pulled off of the rooves.
The men and women heading out went back to their houses to dress more fully for the forest, strapped on their snowshoes and met at the village gates. The group was alert and quiet as they moved through the forest. The hunters had bows at the ready. The woodcutters had axes, and the foragers and wise woman had their collecting knives handy. It was unlikely wolves would attack a group of humans, but in a winter such as this, there were bound to be hungry and desperate animals.
After some time trudging along unbroken trails, even their snowshoes sinking above their ankles in the fine cold snow, the sound led them into a deeper section of the woods, less often visited by humans. There, they came upon a low area with a dense growth of small willows, birch and alder. To one side was a small clear spot where the snow was deeper than anywhere else, blow in from the open wooded rise beyond, and trapped by the thickets. In this clear spot was, indeed a stag, black as the Mother’s Earth, snow halfway up his long legs, and surrounded by a wall of deeper snow all around. The hunters pointed out that he must have been sheltering in the lee of the thicket, perhaps feeding on tender willow branches. As the snow fell, he packed it under his hooves or shed it to the side, and it fell and blew even deeper outside the lee, resulting in him standing in a hole, surrounded by the snow. It looked as though he’d tried to charge into the snow, but it was packed hard by the wind and he was unable to move through. Now there wasn’t even room to turn around, and his head with a massive rack of antlers was pointed toward the thicket, so he could not leap out, either. The animal seemed exhausted, foaming around the mouth from bellowing, and looked toward the humans with increased panic, though they hung back not wanting to excite him more.
The group was divided on what action to take. Several thought they should dig a path out of the deeper snow, but they feared the sharp hooves and impressive antlers of the desperate beast, if they were not able to retreat quickly enough once he was free. A couple of the hunters suggested that the kindest thing might be simply kill the animal with a couple of well placed arrows. This would put him out of his anguish, and also provide meat for the village. Others were firmly against this, none more so than the wise woman—a black stag was an almost unheard of thing, and surely an animal belonging to the Great Goddess herself, to kill him would be a terrible offense. Yet they could find no other course of action that seemed practicable and met with agreement. In the end the only action they took was to cut fresh twigs and toss them where the stag would be able to reach them, so at least he would not go hungry, and would have energy to stay warm.
He did eat, but took only a brief break from his bellowing. The villagers could not imagine what or whom the stag hoped to call, but they knew surely he’d succeed in calling wolves. As they began the return trek, all feeling disquieted by their lack of resolution, and some uneasy with thoughts of what sort of omen or test this might be, they heard a howl, not so far away, and hurried back toward the village, wanting to reach home before the early winter night fell, hastened by the still heavy, low sky.
When the group re-entered the village, they called the rest out to meet them again, and shared what they’d discovered, and their inability to decide on a course of action. The other villagers were dismayed to hear nothing had been done, and indeed the stag could still be heard, bellowing in the forest. The group quickly erupted in argument and reproach- many supported one or another of the ideas the group had debated in the forest, and insisted the action should have been taken immediately. Again, there was no consensus, and they returned to their houses, sure only of another restless night.
Yet not everyone was ready to just wait and hope the forest would solve the problem on its own (or that the Goddess would intervene). When most of the villagers went inside, two boys and two girls lingered outside. All were in their early /mid teen years, still considered children, but soon to blossom into the obligations of adulthood.
There was the daughter of one of the herders. She was calm and organized, and always helped the others work together. There was the son of a weaver, quick with his hands and mind. The second girl was the blacksmith’s daughter, and fearless as though born of flame herself. The final boy was the wise woman’s son, versed in the ways of the Goddess and spirits of the forest, and a fine singer of both prayers and love songs.
Careful that no one was watching them, they quickly gathered a few things they might need- -snowshoes, a shovel, lanterns and torches, hatchet and knife, a roll of twine. They slipped through the door beside the heavy gate as the dark afternoon slipped to evening shadows of indigo, leaving the glowing gold of village windows and low plumes of smoke behind them.
The snow had slowed, and while the wind was erasing the track of their elders, it was still clear enough to follow, coupled with the intermittent roars of the stag. They went as quickly as they could, formulating a rough plan as they walked. The weaver’s boy began collecting willow branches as they drew nearer.
The group reached the edge of the clearing and stopped. It was now fully dark, and they could just see the stag a shadow in the faint light of their lanterns. He was aware of them, turning his head the little he was able, and bellowing once more. The teens set to work immediately, lighting their torches from the lanterns, as the weaver boy set to work with the willow withies.
The girls planted the torches in the snow in a semi-ring some distance away around the trapped animal, leaving his passage clear. As they placed the torches, they could see the glowing eyes of wolves, waiting not far away on a low rise; they worked as quickly as they could.
The wise-woman’s son had begun to sing as soon as the stag was in sight, pausing only to assure the animal the group was there as his friends, and uttering a short prayer to Black Mother Earth Goddess for her aid in freeing her beautiful stag. Soft and sweet he sang:
Blow spring breeze, my brow caress
Blow spring breeze my mouth to kiss
Like my lover's hands,
Like my lover's lips
So far away o'er endless white.
Blow spring breeze, melt the snow,
Blow spring breeze, make flowers grow.
Clear the road so long,
Lift the heart so drear.
Bring him back,
Oh blow, spring breeze!
The wolves, stood alert, watching the group, and as the boy sang , the alpha gave one spine chilling howl, causing the stag to shiver, then the canines laid down quietly. The stag, too, grew still, and seemed to calm , as he listened.
As one boy sang and the other wove, the clearing lit, the two girls set to digging, making a path from just beside the stag’s forequarters to the edge of the woods where the snow was shallower, in the opposite direction from where the wolves lay. They started a couple of metres away from the stag, not wanting to be in reach of his hooves and antlers when he broke free. They dug quickly, not trying to make a perfectly clear path, knowing the stag was well able to move through snow if it were just not so deep.
The singing boy moved slowly closer to the trapped animal, in the end lying on the packed snow just outside the snow well. Between verses he spoke low to the stag, assuring him that all would be well and he’d soon be free.
By the time the girls had roughly cleared a path to the woods, the weaver’s boy had made a closely woven wattle panel. They all gathered near the remaining snow block, and prepared for the last part of the plan. The singer was now near enough to nearly touch the stag, and while softly speaking to it extended his hand, urging the deer to remain calm just a few moments longer, not to be afraid of his friends, who were there only to help. The weaver boy slowly lowered the willow panel between the stag and the snow in front, causing the animal to take a half step back, but he was quickly reassured again by the other youth. Laying flat on the snow above, the girls were digging at the outside of the remaining snow, as quietly as possible to not stress the stag further. Finally, the wall was only a couple of handspans thick, thin enough the stag could break through, but far enough the girls could retreat out of his way first. They joined the weaver and began to press on the top of the wattle panel so the snow would begin to give way. The wise-woman’s son told the deer his moment was close, just wait a few heartbeats, and Now! he cried. Just as the wattle panel collapsed the last section of snow, the stag burst forward, the youths all fell back, outside of antler range, as he used the wattle for traction on the final mound of snow to leap out of his prison. He reached the edge of the woods and stopped, looking back at the humans.
The wolves had stood up, watching intently, but made no move to pursue. The stag raised his head in a final bellow, then before the astonished eyes of the youths, he made a leap into the air toward the woods, and suddenly there was a huge raven in the air where the deer had leapt. The raven flew back over the four, circling the clearing and croaking loudly, then began to fly into the forest. The watching wolves whined, the alpha howled once, long and plaintive, then they turned and slipped away into the darkness.
The raven lighted on a branch a short way into the trees and called loudly. It seemed he was calling to the four humans who had been too surprised to move. They looked at one another, and the herder’s daughter shrugged, saying they had to start heading home, which was along the path where the raven sat. The wise-woman’s son said this stag/bird must be the Goddess herself incarnated, they had to follow where it led.
They snuffed the torches in the snow, grabbed their lanterns and headed up the path. As they approached the bird, it began to fly again, following the route worn into the snow by the two groups of humans that day. They followed, but soon noticed another strange thing—the snow in front of them seemed to be melting away along the path, and they were able to walk more easily. The raven cawed impatiently and continued to fly ahead, the snow melting faster yet, till they were walking on bare ground. The youths looked at one another in disbelief , then began to laugh, and soon were running along the rapidly melting track, the raven flying noisily ahead, occasionally circling back over them before continuing.
They reached the village just as a group of their elders was opening the gate—they’d been missed and it finally became clear they were not at one another’s houses. Their parents heard their voices and pushed the gate wide just as the raven flew over their heads, into and around the village enclosure. Some were watching the strange bird in surprise, just as the four approached, and others were stunned to realise that the snow was disappearing all around the centre of the village and from the paths to the houses. Outside the gates, all was still white apart from the path back into the forest.
Several voices called out at once: What is happening? Where have you been? Where did this bird come from? Are you alright? And the four yelled back: We freed the stag! The stag became the raven! It melted all the snow! The Goddess has blessed us! Goddess is among us!
Parental concern now turned to hugs as all continued to look around in amazement. Finally the raven lighted once more, this time on a gate post. It looked directly at the children who’d freed the stag, croaked out a few more phrases in the lost language, and took flight, disappearing in the forest blackness. The four were each certain it was thanking them, though they’d have said they did not hear any words they understood. Several people swore that as it lifted into the air, they saw the shape of a young woman, black as the raven, others saw a crone. The wise-woman knew that it was all the same, whatever you saw.
From that day on, the weather turned, late winter slipping gently into spring, the snow running away to fill ponds, streams and wetlands. Soon, some hilltop pastures near the village were clear and the herders were able to take their grateful animals out—even the emerging remains of last year’s low grass were preferable to dwindling hay stocks.
After a scolding about risky behaviour, the four young people had been celebrated by the villagers for solving the problem of the stag and seemingly gaining the favour of the Goddess. Still, the regular business of life went on: there were animals to be cared for, wood gathered, tools mended, food prepared. On this day, chores finished or postponed, the four, closer than ever, had gathered to enjoy the sun and keep the herder girl company as she took her turn watching the animals grazing on the hill. They shared sweet bread the baker had slipped to them and a little watered cider. This was going to be a good year, they were certain.
The four youths were edging into adulthood, and the ancient being watching through the eyes of a black stag, unseen within the dark woods, knew the village, and the forest around it, was in good hands.
End
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