by Lari Don
The fox.
The fox trotted past the shaman’s body and curled up on the blankets beside the little girl. The little girl sighed and rolled over. Her breathing became stronger, her colour came back and she stopped coughing.
The shaman stood up, his body and spirit reunited. “She is whole now. Feed and care for the fox as well as the child, and they will both thrive.”
He left the family together. As he walked away, he made deep firm footprints in the snow.
Ukko and the Bear
Lapp legend, Finland
One cold sunny morning in the north of Finland, an old man stood on the bank of a fast-running river in the middle of a forest.
The river was bouncing with joy, because winter was ending, the snows were melting and the water was running away to the sea.
The old man was bent and grey, and he looked sadly at the far bank of the river.
“The river is too fast and deep for me to cross,” he said, as a reindeer trotted past him.
The reindeer said, “Don’t look at me, old man. I’m not going to help you across. I’m hungry and weak after the winter, and I’m off to find new spring grass to eat.”
The reindeer trotted away, leaving the old man on the riverbank.
The old man stepped nearer the edge of the foaming river.
A brown bear called from the trees, “Don’t step into the river, old man! It will sweep you away! I will take you across.”
The old man said, “But aren’t you also hungry and weak after the winter?”
The bear nodded. “There is very little to eat in the winter, so it’s a hard time for us all. I’m no more than fur and bones just now, but I’m still bigger than you, and perhaps together our weight will get you safely across the river.”
The man clambered onto the bear’s back, feeling the bear’s sharp ribs through his soft fur, and the bear stepped into the river.
The water was heavy and fast, so the bear was pushed two steps downstream for every step he took towards the opposite bank. But he struggled forward, forcing his legs and chest through the water.
Eventually the bear reached the other side and pulled himself out of the river. The old man jumped off the bear’s back. The bear collapsed onto the ground, wet, gasping and trembling.
Then the old man straightened his spine, his grey hair glowed gold and he stood tall and magnificent.
The god Ukko, in his true form.
The god said to the bear, “Thank you for your strength, your courage and your kindness. In return, I shall give you a gift. You will not starve through another cold winter. Instead you will fall asleep, fat and happy, in the autumn, then wake again to the plenty of spring.”
The bear smiled and went off to search for his breakfast. And Ukko walked straight and tall through the cold spring sunshine.
So that is why bears sleep every winter, while reindeer work hard, pulling sleighs through the snow.
The Last Sun
Chinese myth
Long ago, when the world was new and the sky was new too, there were ten suns. Ten beautiful suns, each glowing a different colour: red and blue and purple and silver and pink and orange and lilac and green and yellow and gold.
The ten suns danced in the air, making the sky above the new land of China gloriously bright. But the heat of ten suns made the earth below too hot. Too hot for rain to fall, too hot for plants to grow, too hot for people to work.
So the great warrior Houyi decided to save the plants and the people of China by dealing with the enemy who was creating all this heat.
“I shall save us all by shooting down the suns!”
Houyi lifted his bow made of dragon tendon, and his arrows made of tiger bone, and he aimed at the suns.
He fired his first arrow.
And the red sun burst. As the arrow pierced the centre of the sun, it exploded into thousands of sharp red sparks. It was sudden and loud and spectacular, like the first firework.
The people below cheered. But Houyi didn’t stop. He pulled another arrow from his quiver and shot the next sun. Blue sparks exploded across the sky.
As he fired more arrows, the sky was lit up like a celebration by purple, silver and pink sparks. The people were singing and dancing, but the remaining suns were terrified. They rushed about the sky, trying to escape from the arrows.
Houyi was a wonderful archer, so the points of his arrows followed the suns, anticipating their panicked circles in the sky. He shot them down one by one, in a whirl of orange sparks, lilac sparks, green sparks and yellow sparks.
As he reached for his final arrow, the last sun, wailing in fear, dived out of the sky towards the earth, and hid in a cave.
As Houyi strode off to search for his prey, the people hugged and laughed.
Now there were no suns in the sky. At first the dark and the cold were a relief. The earth wasn’t baked dry, the people weren’t hot and tired. Everyone welcomed the very first winter.
But soon people started to shiver and the plants which hadn’t grown without water now couldn’t grow without light.
The darkness and the cold lasted for so long that the people stopped celebrating and started to fear the dark and the cold. The first winter made them miserable.
So the people called to Houyi, “If you find the last sun, don’t shoot it, ask it to return to the sky!”
Houyi tracked the last sun to a cave, with a rock covering its entrance, and he asked the sun to come out.
But the sun recognised Houyi’s voice, and knew this man had killed all his sisters and brothers, so the sun wouldn’t come out.
Then all the tribes of China asked the sun politely to shine again. But the sun had heard those people cheer and laugh as the other suns burst and died. So the sun didn’t leave the cave.
All the animals wanted winter to end, so they also asked the sun to return to the sky.
The tiger roared a demand for the sun to come out. But the roar just frightened the sun further to the back of the cave.
The cow mooed a plea for the sun to come out. But the deep lowing moo was so sad that the sun hid even deeper in the earth.
Then the cockerel stood on top of a small hill and crowed. He didn’t ask the last sun for anything, he just raised his sharp head and sang.
“Cock a doodle doo!”
The last sun wondered who was so happy.
“Cock a doodle doo!”
The sun crept to the entrance of the cave.
“Cock a doodle doo!”
And the sun saw the bright little cockerel singing a bright loud song.
“Cock a doodle doo!”
The last sun decided that there was still hope and happiness in the world after all. The sun bowed to the cockerel and the cockerel bowed to the sun. Then the last sun returned to the sky, to shine down every day.
The sun gave the cockerel a gift of a red crown. And in return the cockerel sings every morning to welcome the sun with a cheerful song, and to make sure the sun never leaves the earth to suffer such a long dark cold winter ever again.
Blind Winter
Viking myth
The Viking gods were a rowdy family, always fighting, feasting, arguing and heading out of Asgard to challenge giants to battle whenever they got bored. But the Viking gods all agreed on one thing: their fondness for Baldur.
Baldur was the Viking sun god. He was the god of summer and light and warmth. He had curly red hair, a big bright smile and a huge loud laugh, so he lit up every room he walked into.
Baldur was the Viking gods’ favourite god.
But one night Baldur’s mother Frigga dreamt that Baldur was going to die. That would be a distressing dream for any mother, but when a god or goddess dreams, it’s a glimpse of the future. Gods’ dreams come true.
So Frigga asked Odin, the chief of the Viking gods, for permission to try to protect Baldur, to try to change the future.
“I know it’s not easy to divert a dream,” she said, “but surely no-one wants Baldur to die?”
And no-one did. When Odin consulted the gods they agreed that the god of summer was so important, so bright and warm and cheerful, that it was worth trying to prevent the dream coming true.
So Frigga crossed the rainbow bridge from Asgard to earth and she asked everything she could think of to promise not to harm Baldur.
She asked fire to promise, she asked water and earth and stone to promise, and they all promised not to harm Baldur.
She asked wind and metal and disease, and they promised too. She asked the birds of the air, the fish in the sea, the animals in the field and the plants with their roots in the ground. She asked them all to promise not to harm Baldur. They all loved the sun god and they all loved summer, so they all promised.
Frigga returned to Asgard and announced, “I’ve done it! Baldur is safe!” She listed everything she had asked not to harm her son, everything that had promised, and the gods agreed that Baldur was now definitely safe.
Because they were Viking gods and because Baldur’s safety was a great excuse for a celebration, they feasted!
During the feast Loki, the Viking trickster god, saw a chance for a little bit of mischief.
“I have an idea,” he called out, at the end of a song about counting giants’ toes. “I have an idea for a game! If nothing can harm Baldur, then we can throw anything we like at him and it won’t hurt him.”
This sounded like an excellent idea to the Viking gods. So Baldur stood at the far end of the hall and the other gods threw things at him.
Thor threw a soup ladle at Baldur.
It bounced off and Baldur laughed.
Freya threw a stool at Baldur.
It bounced off and Baldur laughed again.
Tir threw a shield at Baldur.
It bounced off too, and Baldur laughed his great loud warm laugh.
The Viking gods thought this was a great game. So the next time they had a feast, they played it again. They brought the strangest things they could find to throw at the sun god:
Small boats.
Large sheep.
Sharp hats.
Garden sheds.
They awarded themselves points for hitting different bits of Baldur: on his knees, his tummy, his chest, his nose…
They even had a name for the game: Let’s Chuck Stuff At Baldur!
It became the most popular way to end a feast, with lots of shouting, and that great big warm smile and great big loud laugh from Baldur as another spear or frying pan or table bounced off without harming him.
But Loki noticed that one of the gods never joined in the game, and Loki saw a chance for a bit more mischief, or perhaps something more than mischief.
The god who wasn’t joining in was Baldur’s brother. Baldur was god of summer, sun and light, so his twin Hodur was god of winter, cold and darkness. And Hodur was blind.
As the god of winter sat in his dark corner, surrounded by flurries of snow and with ice creeping up the legs of his stool, Loki sidled up to Hodur and asked, “Don’t you want to join in?”
“I would love to join in, but I can’t. I can’t see to choose something to throw and I can’t see to aim at Baldur. So I can’t join in.”
Loki leant in close to Hodur’s ear and said in his most charming, most persuasive voice, “Would you like me to help you?”
Hodur said, “Yes please, that would be very kind.”
Loki smiled and left Asgard.
He crossed the rainbow bridge to earth, and began searching for something that Hodur could throw.
Loki had been listening when Frigga listed everything that had promised not to harm Baldur and his quick trickster’s mind had noticed one little gap. So he searched for a forest, then he searched through the forest for an oak tree, then on the oak tree he searched for mistletoe, with its plain green leaves and bright white berries.
He was searching for mistletoe, because mistletoe is a parasite. Mistletoe doesn’t get its goodness from the earth, it sucks the goodness out of the tree it grows on. So mistletoe doesn’t have its roots in the ground. And Frigga hadn’t asked mistletoe to promise not to harm Baldur.
So when Loki found what he was looking for, he broke off one sprig of mistletoe and sharpened it into a dart. Then he returned to the feasting hall in Asgard, where the gods were still throwing boots and hammers at the god of summer.
Loki walked up to the god of winter and whispered, “Do you still want to play?”
“Yes please.”
“Then hold out your hand.”
Loki put the dart in Hodur’s hand, Loki closed Hodur’s cold fingers round the dart, Loki lifted Hodur’s arm and aimed it at Baldur’s chest.
Then Loki stepped back into the shadows.
Loki said softly, “Throw it.”
Hodur threw the dart of mistletoe straight at his brother’s chest.
The mistletoe, which had promised nothing, flew through the air. The mistletoe hit Baldur’s chest, pierced his skin and drove right into his heart.
Baldur, beloved god of summer, fell down dead.
And Baldur stayed dead. The Viking gods, with their games and tricks, were closer in nature to fragile humans than to the immortal gods of warmer lands. So when Baldur died, he stayed dead.
Summer died, and summer did not come back to life. Summer did not return.
The Viking gods were horrified at their sudden loss and they had no idea who was responsible.
Was it Frigga, for forgetting to ask mistletoe to promise?
Was it Hodur, for throwing a dart at his own brother’s heart?
Or was it possibly someone else?
Loki moved further back into the shadows, wondering if the blind god knew who had put the mistletoe, the weapon of winter, into his hand.
Then he heard Hodur tell the others, “I didn’t choose the weapon, but I know who did. I recognised his voice. Loki offered to help me play. Loki put the dart in my hand. Loki told me to throw it.”
Loki had already left the hall, but now the Viking gods knew who had tricked winter into killing summer.
The Viking gods hunted Loki down and eventually they caught him in a net of his own making. But the terrible revenge they took on Loki started a new story rolling, a story which led to the battle of Ragnarok and caused the end of the Viking gods’ world.
Five White Eagles
Venezuelan legend
Caribay was the daughter of the chief of the Mirripuyes tribe, but people said that she must really be the daughter of the sun and the moon. How else could anyone explain the brilliance of her eyes, the gleam on her skin and the shine in her long black hair? She seemed to be made of light.
Caribay knew she was beautiful. Every day she dressed to show off her beauty. She wore beads on her clothes, bone collars round her neck and flowers in her hair, all to make herself more beautiful than anyone else in the mountain tribes.
One day she was at the riverbank, searching for shiny pebbles to sew onto her poncho, when she saw five white eagles fly overhead.
She had never seen anything more beautiful, not even her own reflection in the water. The eagles were so elegant and their feathers gleamed so perfectly white.
Caribay was jealous of their beauty. “If I had those white feathers in my hair, then I would be even more beautiful than the sun and the moon.”
She followed the eagles as they flew higher into the mountains. She tracked their shadows on the ground, hoping the birds would grow tired of flying before she grew tired of following.
The five white eagles flew higher and higher. Caribay was a fast runner and a nimble climber, so she kept pace with them for hours, but eventually she began to tire.
So she shouted, “Oh sun in the sky, I am told that my beauty echoes yours. Help me trap these eagles so I can pluck their feathers and become as beautiful as you.”
The sun watched the girl chasing the eagles, then he sank below the horizon so she could no longer see their shadows.
Caribay sighed and continued to follow the eagles in
the dusk, tracking their pale gleam in the darkening sky and the sound of their occasional wingbeats in the air.
And she yelled, “Oh moon in the sky, I am told my beauty echoes yours. Help me trap these eagles so I can pluck their feathers and become as beautiful as you.”
The moon looked down and saw that the eagles were tired of being chased by the girl shrieking behind them. So the moon threw down her rays to touch the eagles.
The five eagles settled on the five highest peaks in the Sierra de Merida. The eagles stayed still, their white feathers edged by moonlight, as Caribay scrambled towards them.
“Well done, moon, at least you’re more use to your beautiful daughter than the sun,” she gasped, and she reached up to yank out the first eagle’s tail feathers.
When she touched the eagle’s tail, she screamed, because it was not soft and warm like feathers should be. The eagle felt solid and cold.
The moon had changed the eagles into the icy peaks of the mountains.
The eagle turned round slowly to look at Caribay, its beak sharp and hard as a blade, its eyes shining with the chilly light of the moon.
Caribay screamed again and ran down the mountain. “I don’t want the white feathers any more,” she shrieked. “Just let me go home.” But she couldn’t find her way home. She ran round the mountains, lost in the dark, screaming and shrieking.
As she ran and shrieked, the eagles shook themselves and settled more comfortably. When they moved, their smallest feathers fell, whirling cold and white through the air.
Those feathers were the very first snowflakes.
Caribay never found her way out of the mountain tops. As she ran and shrieked, she became the spirit of the wind. So now, Caribay is often heard but never seen, which is very frustrating for a girl who loved to show off her beauty.
The white eagles still live happily on the tops of the five highest mountains. All year round, the eagles can be seen as five gleaming white peaks.