The Legend of the Snow Queen | Aphotic Adaptation

CHAPTER ONE

The sky was a sea of grey as the clouds grew, looming over the small village which stood separated from the harsh cold of the mountain which lay hidden by the birch forest that too hid the village from the mountain; protecting it from the extreme cold the mountain offered.

Some of the younger men were still working on the earth, tilling it as the sky grew dark above them. The small church gong began to ring signalling the arrival of the night as little girls clutching onto their porcelain faced dolls that were dressed in garish garbs to hide the dampening straw that gave them weight ran into their homes to escape the impending winter.

The younger boys were still embroiled in their game – using their bright imaginations to turn the sticks they clasped as sharp swords; whacking at each other with intent.

‘’Get to the homes,’’ said the young man who dragged a rusty plough behind him as he was flanked by three other men his age. One carried a pick axe; the other wielded a long machete as the youngest was given the duty to kraal the ox back to its enclosure.

‘’Please, Sanzhar let us play for five more minutes,’’ implored the boy with a galaxy of freckles on his face – the defunct spokesperson for the younger boys.

‘’You heard the gong? That means GET TO THE HOMES!’’ The young man gripping the machete bellowed. He too had a cluster of freckles on his face.

The boys dropped their sticks and began to run ahead of the young men who continued to walk to the small wooden church that was painted white but had greyed over the years due to the harsh winds that eddied around it.

‘’You didn’t have to be so harsh to the little ones, Aleks,’’ said Sanzhar to his best friend.

‘’You are too nice to those pests, Sanz,’’

‘’Isn’t one of them your brother, Aleks?’’ joked Artem.

‘’Go and leave that ox with the rest of the cattle, Artem. We’ll save you a seat’’ said Sanzhar dragging the plough, leaving it to the side of the small church with a ‘chink’ as he set it on the ground.

As the young men walked into the church they were greeted by the elders who as the little boys were embroiled in their own contest but instead of sticks they clutched onto bibles.

‘’WE ARE DOOMED!’’ Yelled one elder,

‘’WINTER IS COMING! SHE SAID SHE WILL RETURN!’’ yelled another,

‘’WE WILL NEVER HEAR HER COMING!’’ yelped another elder with a long grey beard.

‘’ENOUGH!’’ said the head priest boldly over the arguing congregation, ‘’winter is not yet quite upon us. We still have time. And lest we forget, we have the great birch forest between us and the mountain. Our hunters are skilled and can trace down black bears and protect our animals from the hungry wolves. There is still hope.’’ He continued with the whole congregation at his command.

‘’How do you know they can do anything for us?’’ yelped a villager.

‘’No one has seen her walk; she can’t leave a trail for the hunters to follow?’’ stated the fellow villager beside him.

The congregation erupted in calamity once again. The high priest, Kirill was a patient man. He was indeed a wise man whose family line began at the foot of the mountain. This was his home and he was about to risk everything to protect it, his family and the rest of the villagers. Unbeknown to him was the stirring presence that had just awoken from a deep slumber during the sunnier and warmer seasons...

Catch the continuation next Thursday for the next installment.