Spring Returns
By Icy Sedgwick
Winter sunlight bleached the world into monochrome. The black skeletons of sleeping trees stood harsh against the blinding white blanket of unbroken snow. A solitary crow sat high in the branches above the ruined church, casting his gaze into the hollow shell of the nave. Years of snowdrifts cushioned the rotting pews, and the cracked flagstone floor glittered with ice. Tattered remains of tapestries fell limp against the walls like moth-eaten rags hung out to dry.
A hooded figure knelt at the top of the aisle, her head bowed in prayer before the wooden cross that hung above the remains of the altar. A statue of the Supreme Mother leaned drunkenly below the cross. A thick crust of frost covered her benevolent expression. Above the church, the crow cawed a harsh greeting, breaking the silent reverie of the stranger. Rising slowly, she gathered her cloak about her and swept down the aisle. Her trailing gown left furrows in the thin covering of snow.
Outside, she meandered around the graveyard. For a moment, ghosts of summer surrounded her with their happy chatter. The forest sang with the sounds of life back then, and the trees were clothed in their cloaks of green. Villagers still felt safe venturing into the forest, and they often stopped to enjoy picnics in the cemetery. They would talk to their dead, inviting ancestors into their lives as they ate. Children would sit on the graves, pressing flowers into the soil around the headstones.
The crow cawed again, shattering the illusion. The ghosts looked at her sadly as they faded, their dead voices withering into silence.
Pausing to examine the headstones that lurched left and right, the woman stopped beside a grave near the crumbling wall. The stone at its head was blank, but she knew that the grave was his. A red flower stood defiant above the snow that obscured the grave, turning its little head to greet the weak sunlight. She smiled as she knelt on the cold ground, running a finger gently across a velvety petal. He did not die in vain; life would return to the forest. She could begin to hope once more.
“The snow will melt, Imelda.”
She jumped at the sound of her name, whirling around to face the speaker. Waves of pure white hair partially obscured her face, her huge golden eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill down the porcelain skin. Swathed in a mantle of white feathers, she smiled weakly.
“Your Majesty!” Imelda dropped to her knees, bowing her head. She gingerly reached up and took one of the Queen’s pale hands in her own, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.
“Yes, I have returned. Cathor fought bravely, Imelda. You should be proud of your husband,” said the Swan Queen.
“Oh, I am, your Majesty, I am!” gushed Imelda. “I just miss him so terribly, you see. He was my whole life, my one great love. Though I am glad he was returned here for burial. Was that your doing, my lady?”
“Indeed it was. I could not bear the idea that Cathor would not rest near his home. It was even one of his conditions of battle, that he be returned if he should die. It truly pains me that he was slain, but the Raven King was forced to release me. There shall be no more winter here.” The Swan Queen stood up straight, an expression of regal majesty on her face.
The crow cawed a third time, his harsh voice echoing across the graveyard. The Swan Queen narrowed her eyes. Raising her free hand, she pointed at the bird with her index finger.
“And you! Evil creature. Be gone, leave this forest! You shall not return until fresh snow falls.”
The crow cackled, fluttering his wings in defiance. Imelda’s eyes roved across the nearby graves, searching for a loose rock. She carefully extracted her hand from the queen’s grip; she refused to let a mere bird defy her queen.
“I assure you that the Raven King holds no more sway here. I am telling you to leave, and you shall.”
A jagged fist-sized stone sailed through the air. It struck the branch a mere hand span from the crow. The bird flapped away from his perch, cawing angrily at Imelda. She simply sat back on her haunches, grinning at him. The Swan Queen suppressed a smirk. The crow screeched at them.
“Oh, hush now. This is the end of this; there is nothing your King can do for you now. Just leave this place. Leave the dead in peace, scavenger.”
With an angry flutter, the bird hauled himself high above the forest. He disappeared over the tree line, leaving a trail of avian curses in his wake. Imelda turned back to the Queen, but she had left the graveyard. The train of her gown left a trail of grass behind her in the snow, as flowers sprang into bloom from the edges of the graves. A deafening creaking filled the air as the trees shook off their shrouds of snow.
A smile slowly crept across Imelda’s face as she watched the departure of winter. Greenery crept across the forest floor beyond the churchyard walls, sending tendrils of life up the trunks of the mighty oaks. The moss that covered the rocks along the edge of the path rippled beneath its blanket of snow, shaking the white flakes to the ground as dripping water.
Imelda felt the weight of curious eyes on her back. She turned to face the trees beyond the church. A stag stood just behind the tree line, his intelligent brown eyes fixed on her. Understanding blossomed on his noble face, and he nodded to her. Imelda returned the nod as the stag leapt away into the darkness beneath the trees. He would carry the message with him, and soon the entire forest would know the news.
Imelda turned back to Cathor’s grave. She brushed away the last traces of snow and knelt on the wet grass. Running her hand across the rough granite of his headstone, she finally allowed herself to cry. Tiny shoots pushed through the soil wherever her tears fell. She laughed quietly.
“The Swan Queen has returned, my love, and she’s brought spring with her.”
Somewhere in the silence of the wood, Imelda heard her husband laugh. She lay down on the grave, and curled up like a cat before drifting off into the deep sleep of the weary. She slept without fear, confident that the Swan Queen would watch over her. She was safe now that spring had returned.
