The Winterbane

The tale of the Winterbane is a heroic story from another land, but popular even in the land of Arinoth. It dates back to early times during the Days of Heroes, when a foul winter was told to have stricken all the lands.

The Legend
In the reign of King Hrón, son of Beron who was king before him, came a great and long winter. Before the winter set, Hrón had gathered firewood and food into his castle, as was his custom. Every year, Hrón would engross a stock that would last a winter and the early spring months after. He harvested his supplies from the people of his kingdom, as was his right, and stowed it away for the winter's nights. He would keep his hearth warm and belly full, waiting out the winter, until the ground thawed again and the next harvest could be sown. But there was no warning, no prophesy from the soothsayers or sages telling of the winter that was to come.

And it was a cold winter indeed. When it befell the kingdom, it fell like a thousand warrior's arrows. Ice and rain freezing and falling first, coating the ground in an icy shell thick as a knight's shield. Then snow came, by the mounds, burying beneath all the creatures that wandered the earth, and covering the cobblestone roads of men. Bitter winds that bit and gnawed at your flesh, eating away until all that was left was the bone, harsh winds blowing over and chilling the hearts of men. No sun shone above, thick grey clouds always hung above blotting out the light. Outside Hrón's castle his people gathered, knocking and pleading to be let in from the cold, but Hrón would not show grace. He left them in the streets of his city, surrounding his castle, and remained inside his home until spring would come.

Yet the winter kept, and the people died. Many fell ill, others grew hungry as the food ran out, and there was none to harvest. Most game to be hunted had left for the lands beyond the southern mountains, knowing that food would be waiting there. Other herd beasts were kept by their masters, either butchered for meat or starved in the cold fields. Without meat of beast, and without grain of land, the people had no food, and again they pleaded to Hrón. But Hrón would not listen, and kept his gates closed. The bodies of the beggars pressed against his doors, pressed so tightly to keep each other warm that no marksman's arrow would pass through. As they died in the cold, their bodies froze together, one against the other, unable to be broken apart. That is why, to this day, that place is called the Sealed Gate. Others tried to leave with the wild game, thinking that they could follow their migration towards warmer lands with food in abundance. Though it is unknown if those people reached the lands south of the mountains, for they have fallen from our tales.

For five months the winter stayed, the food ran out, and more died. All the while king Hrón remained locked away.

The hunter, Gilamead, knew of the people's suffering. He said to himself, "It is time for this winter to end. The people of this kingdom are in misery. No cloak can keep their backs warm. No wraps will thaw their toes. There is no food to fill their stomachs, instead dry ash has filled their mouths."

Taking up his bow, arrows, and sword, Gilamead left for the westward hills, to where a druid woman lived. Her home was built into the hillside, a wall of wood placed at the opening of a cave, and a roof of straw hung over it, covered in snow. Her door was made of oak, and covered in bearskins to hold out the cold. Smoke rose from the hollow trunk of an old pine, whose roots were buried into the roof of her house, but no needles hung from the branches.

Gilamead came to the house and entered, finding the woman there. The inside of her home was filled with curious things, of plants and trinkets of the wilds. Gilamead confronted her, the druid woman of the westward hills, and said “Woman, you know as I that this winter has held the land too long. Tell me, so I may free the people from this long cold, how winter may be broken. I beg of you, consult with the spirits that you speak with, ask them how to end these cold and long nights, and return daylight to thaw the earth.”

The woman chuckled to herself, “Gilamead, son of Béin, hunter of the wilds, servant to Hrón, comes to me, an old hag, a witch in the hills, for answers to questions he can’t ask, for he does not know what they mean. To meddle with the spirits is to quarrel with nature, man may plow the earth, but he will toil to bend it to his will, and it will always freeze solid in winter, and thaw in spring.”

“Woman,” Gilamead spoke, “tell me, how may the ground thaw again?”

The woman smiled, “First, you must give me something for trade, my knowledge for a price. Give to me your bow, oh mighty hunter, and I shall tell you what I know.”

Gilamead refused. “If I gave away my bow, what tool shall I have on my quest? It would be if a smith gave away his hammer in trade for metal, or a king his crown for a plot of land. No, I must keep my bow with me.”

“Then on completion of your quest, you must swear you will return, and the bow shall be given to me,” the woman demanded.

“It shall be so,” said Gilamead.

The woman nodded, then spoke the old druid verse:

When winter falls, the ground will freeze

Still the rivers, bare the trees.

The White Elk climbs, to southern height.

Inside his shadow, lies winter’s night.

In antler rising, hold winter’s sky

Clouds of wind, and bitter ice.

The White Elk comes, and stays down here,

And then takes leave, once each year.

Gilamead, taking the druid woman’s words to heart, left her house immediately. He decided that this White Elk must be a spirit, the lord of winter, and by hunting and slaying the beast winter too would be killed. Gilamead would slay this beast, then let the blood run down to the streams of the mountains and break the ice that stilled them. So Gilamead left for the southern mountains, where the peaks stand tall, and the sun rises low behind their heights in the winter days. There he searched for the beast, tracked, and sat in the cold waiting for the White Elk. On the day that he found the elk, he drew his bow. He knew it to be the White Elk by the clouds in its icy antlers, the cold breath of snow from its maw, and the great shadow it casted on the lands north of the mountains. Gilamead drew back his arrow, and shot the White Elk in the heart. After the beast staggered, Gilamead drew his sword and struck it down, piercing its throat and killing it swiftly. He cut out the heart, the source of blood to break the streams, and he collected the antlers, as prize to bring back to Hrón the King.

On his way down from the mountain, he poured the blood into the springs that flowed down the hills. Then he returned to the druid woman’s home, and presented the bow to her as a gift, the bow that had slain the White Elk. Then Gilamead returned home, to the city of King Hrón, and presented to the King and his people the antlers of the White Elk, which still held the snowy clouds on the rack.

The people rejoiced on Gilamead’s return, glad that the hero had one, but winter did not break. Days passed, but the streams had not thawed, and spring had not returned. Outraged, the people cried out against Gilamead, and King Hrón had him arrested and bound, accusing him for meddling in the realm of spirits, in things he did not understand. He had Gilamead sent away to the tower, which was drafty and chill against the winter winds, as punishment for his crimes.

Now, Gilamead also had a brother, his name was Ånaris. When Ånaris heard of his brother’s arrest, he went to the king and pleaded before him to release Gilamead. King Hrón refused, but allowed Ånaris to have council with his brother while he was imprisoned. There, Gilamead pleaded with Ånaris to finish the quest, to restore the realm of the spirits, and urge in spring once more. Gilamead gave to Ånaris his sword, so his brother would not be without a tool on this quest.

Ånaris left, and swore by oath that if he did not return in a fortnight’s time with spring returning with him, that he would take the place beside his brother in prison. So King Hrón let him go.

Ånaris first went back to the druid woman’s home, and interrogated her why his brother’s quest had failed. She cried to him to be merciful, and told him of other druidic lore. “A bear, Sleeping Bear, who hides in his cave during winter. He walks by summer and sleeps through cold, and when he rises his roars shake the ice from the trees. His steps break ice from rivers, and he eats the fish that swim there. But all through winter Sleeping Bear slumbers, and no soul awakes him until spring’s coming. His cave lies in the north, where winter’s hold is more treacherous.” The woman also told him of several other spirits, who watched over the realm.

Taking the druid woman’s words, Ånaris stole back his brother’s bow and left. He traveled to the cave in the north, finding the Sleeping Bear’s den and sneaking inside. He found the bear lying deep within the cavern, deep in his slumber, snoring loudly as it echoed off the walls. Ånaris could not decide how to best confront the creature, so he snuck closer. As the bear smelt Ånaris’s skin he awoke, finding the young man in his den. Sleeping Bear rolled over and stood on his paws, he charged Ånaris, and bit and roared and growled, but the young man evaded him every time. Ånaris tried to escape the cavern, but the beast had blocked his way from the cave’s mouth. So he drew his sword, the sword of Gilamead, towards the beast, and readied his stance to strike.

But at that moment the bear stopped. It sniffed, and looked at Ånaris with suspicion. Then it rose, standing on two legs like a man, and a low, grumbling voice thundered from his maw. “I know this scent. It is the blood of the White Elk.” The Bear growled, “the elk would watch over the land while I slept, and the Robin would come and sing in my ear when the elk’s watch was over. I’d awake then, and take my watch over the realm.” The brow of the Bear furrowed, and he looked down to the young man before him.

Ånaris stood tall, wielding the sword of his brother, that had spilt the blood of the White Elk. The bear glared at the young man, “Why have you come and disturbed me, spirit-slayer?”

Ånaris pleaded, “I am Ånaris, son of Béin, brother to Gilamead the hunter. I seek an end to this winter. The druid lady of the western hills told my brother that the great White Elk was the watcher during the winter, and he went and slew the elk foolishly. Then, I too, went to the woman, and she told me that you were the watcher of spring. She also told me of the Red Hawk, who soars the sky during the autumn days, and of the Hare who bounds through the meadows in the summer. I beg of you, show to me how spring may return, so that my brother may be forgiven and my people will suffer no more.”

The bear yawned. “Spring will come when spring will come. Do not meddle with the spirits when they are taking their watch, and do not awake them when they slumber.”

But Ånaris was eager to prove himself, “But spring must return now! This winter has held long past its course, and the White Elk has been slain by misfortune, how will it ever end if the spirits have been slain?”

But the bear would not listen. It groaned, and fell back to its four paws, and sleepily walked back into its den. It flopped over on its side and began to snore, first saying “Leave me to my slumber, or I shall rip away your arms and eat your flesh. Do not come back here again.”

So Ånaris left, defeated and empty-handed. He came back to the kingdom, and the fortnight had passed. When the people saw that winter still held, and Ånaris too had failed the quest, they were outraged, and King Hrón also had him arrested. He said, “Bring out his brother! Tie both sons of Béin to the oak outside the city! Let the winter they have cursed on us kill them! Let the cold winds gnaw at their flesh until it has eaten them to bone!”

So Ånaris and Gilamead were chained to the tree, and were left there for the night to be killed by the cold. But when the morning came, the clouds broke away, and sunlight broke through to the earth and Ånaris felt the warmth on his skin. Ånaris awoke to the light, and began rejoicing, knowing that this was an omen of spring’s coming. He saw perched in the branches of the tree a Raven, and above it sat a Robin, and he yelled all the more. The people heard the young man, and soon gathered at the tree around him. They broke his chains, and release Ånaris, leading him to stand.

But Gilamead had died in the night’s cold.

Grief-stricken, Ånaris wept for his brother until midday, then he cursed Hrón’s name and his house, saying “On this day, to the end of days, may the house of Hrón have misery in all their lives! May they be wandering travelers, who no one lets into their homes for the night. May the winter always be on their backs, the cold be an enemy of theirs!” Then Ånaris wept again, and had his brother’s body buried at the foot of the tree as the earth thawed. There, he took Gilamead’s sword and drove it into the ground. “May this forever be remembered as the resting place of Gilamead the hunter, son of Béin. May all the sons of Gilamead and the sons of Ånaris,  and the entire house of Béin, forever protect this place and honor it as sacred land. And if any but a son of Gilamead were to ever remove the sword from where it rests, may then all the sons of Béin come and remove that desecrator from the earth, as they had removed the sword from its master. And may all the sons of Béin forever be the curse against Hrón and his house, to the end of time.”

Then Ånaris mourned for his brother, and from that day taught all of his sons and his brother’s to honor the sacrifice of their ancestor. As spring returned each year, Ånaris mourned again for his brother, who’s death in winter would forever leave his heart cold.

One day, as Ånaris mourned for Gilamead at the foot of the old oak, where the sword and master rested, Ånaris saw something move out from the woods. He saw walking from the trees a doe, and trailing behind her was a little white fawn.