BEFORE THE ROSE BLOOMED

BEFORE THE ROSE BLOOMED:

A RETELLING OF THE SNOW QUEEN

adapted by Sandra Dermark

(to illustrations by Lars Gabel)

Deep in a vault beneath the Hall

of Legends is a tale of love and lust,

fire and ice. Magic. Reflection. Word-

spinners repeat it only when they must,

for implicit within the seven-act

drama is a call for introspection.

But this storyteller has lived well,

and has no fear of this fable. So if

you dare, settle in with a hot cup—

protection against the approaching

chill. Are you ready? Let’s begin.

ACT ONE

All right, let us begin, and when we reach
the end of our tale, then we shall know
so much more than what we know already!
Once, beyond the reach of memory,

a certain archangel incited rebellion

in heaven. But its faithful army

prevailed, and the Fallen were exiled

to Earth, where Lucifer took the name

Satan and angel became demon.

Angered by their defeat, jealous

of the beloved people, the imps

set out to cause mischief among

the human race. Some realized great

success in this, but others grew lazy,

and not a few succumbed to lust.

One particularly clever demon

(having founded an academy for

aspiring young imps) titled himself

Demon King and determined to marry

a certain human princess. But when

he came courting, he was met with

ardent distaste. “The world is far

too beautiful to spend my days looking

at such an ugly creature. And the sun

is far too warm to lie beside someone

with a frozen heart. I will not marry

you.” That might have discouraged

a less clever demon. But this one

crafted a mirror of enchanted ice,

and its magic was quite horrible.

For anytime someone gazed into it,

everything beautiful in the world

seemed ugly. The most magnificent

flowers appeared wilted, the orange

glow of a perfect sunset looked rusty-

brown, and the fairest human on

all the earth resembled a monster

more hideous than the demon

himself. The looking-glass itself

was exquisite, its frame carved

in intricate detail and its surface

polished to perfect smoothness.

The princess knew nothing of its magic,

and its beauty was tempting. Even so,

intuiting a trap, she refused the gift.

The furious demon unfurled his long-

unused wings, and flew the mirror

toward heaven, so that it might appear

a wasteland to any human who looked

upward at the sky. But the higher

he flew, the more slippery the mirror

became, until at last it slipped from

his grasp. It fell to the earth, shattering

into a billion shards, which swarmed

and swirled throughout the world,

buzzing like great hives of killer bees.

This caused terrible trouble,

for a single flake lodged in an eye

or heart infected it with the mirror’s

magic. A great many were attracted

to the princess, since the mirror

was always meant for her. One large

sliver pierced each of her eyes, turning

their sapphire-blue crystal pale.

Another burrowed into her heart,

growing with each beat until there

was nothing left beneath her breasts

but a miniature iceberg. The demon

laughed, then deepened the curse.

“Now you will never know love,

my Snow Queen. You may search

and search the earth for affection,

but any man who kisses you more

than three times will freeze solid. And

the only place you’ll ever know warmth

is in the Land of the Midnight Sun.”

She was borne away by a swarm of ice,

which carved a palace for her from

a glacier near the North Pole. The demon

sent her there with a parting gift.

“One day every year, at the winter

solstice, while the sun refuses to rise,

you may see beauty. And if you should

find a human heart warm enough

to thaw yours, you may know love.”

With a throaty chuckle, he returned

to his demon school, knowing the odds

were longer than long. And that

is how the beautiful, frost-hearted

Snow Queen came to live in a castle

of ice at the frozen tip of the world.

ACT TWO

Many hundreds of miles away, in a very

small town where acquaintances were friends,

except when they weren’t, lived a girl

named Gerta and a boy known as Kai,

which was short for Kassander, a name

he found much too unwieldy for daily

use. The pair had been friends since

the long days of childhood, having

adjoining backyards and grandparents

who often shared tea, and sometimes

a pint or two. In the growing seasons,

Gerta and Kai spent long afternoons in

the garden, tending prismatic flower

beds. Both favoured the richly scented

roses, though she preferred crimson

petals, and he tangerine. The joy

they shared in the warmer months saw

them through the gray of winter.

And as they journeyed through time

toward adulthood, everyone in the village

assumed they would one day marry,

so pure was their love for one another.

Kai grew into a handsome young man,

tall and strong, from long days hauling lumber

and firewood. Gerta learned to weave

intricate patterns, designs inspired by

her beloved blooms. A wedding was not

far away. But then came an unusually

early winter storm. Ice flurried through

the town, filling the streets with a strange

buzzing noise. This was very strange, and

no one could guess the source of the sound.

Kai’s curiosity was piqued. When he wondered out

loud what it was, his grandmama decided

it must be snow bees. “Do they have a queen?”

asked Kai. Every hive had one, didn’t it?

“Well, of course, child,” agreed Grandmama.

“The Snow Queen. And she is beautiful

to behold, but her heart is carved of ice.”

Kai didn’t quite believe it until that same

evening, just as the sun set, when motion

beyond his frost-curtained window

caught his notice. He cleared a small

spot, and when he looked out into

the fading light, he found a striking woman,

pale as freshly drifted snow, peering

back at him. She knocked on the glass.

“Please open the window. I saw you earlier,

hauling wood on your sledge. I might

have work for you.” Kai felt compelled

to comply, and in a single blink, a swarm

of ice bees rose up and flew inside. One

sliver lodged itself in Kai’s right eye; another

burrowed into his heart. They were so

tiny, he barely felt pain, but though

the Snow Queen herself didn’t change

in appearance, everything else did.

The cheerful fire shrivelled to cold

embers in a smoke-stained hearth.

The walls leaned, peeling paint, and

the threadbare carpet revealed

a splintered parquet floor. Grandmama’s song,

only seconds before so lovely, now

sounded like a tomcat’s yowl. And Kai’s

heart felt as if it had frozen near solid.

Some instinct told him that if he could

only touch Gerta, his love for her might

thaw the ice. But when he glanced

across the way at her window, it appeared

shuttered, and her house dilapidated,

as if no one had lived there for a very

long time. Kai fell into such despair

that when the Snow Queen urged,

“Come with me,” he took her hand

and followed docilely to her sleigh.

When he climbed in beside her,

she covered him with a rich ermine

stole. Then she kissed him, and he felt

a spark of warmth, but only a spark,

and his life as he knew it fell into

the tracked snow behind them.

When he asked where they were going,

the Snow Queen answered, “To my grand

palace.” And when he wanted to know

why she had taken his hand, she told

him, “Because I need someone to care

for me.” She didn’t say that rumours

of his love for Gerta had crept far and

wide, all the way to her ears, and she knew

she must see this thing for herself.

She’d travelled a great distance to Kai’s

town and spied on the young couple,

witnessing such affection between them

that a little piece of her own heart

melted. Perhaps, enchanted, Kai would

grow to love her, too, freeing her

from the demon’s curse. So they flew

across the snow, crows caw-cawing

overhead, to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

ACT THREE

Kai said goodbye to no one, and not a single

soul had seen him go. When someone

vanishes into thin air, people talk.

“He’s gone looking for work,” some said.

“He’s fallen for another, and run off,”

opined others. After many days with no

word, no sign, everyone came to believe

Kai was dead. Everyone except Gerta.

“I don’t know where he went or what

he’s done, but my heart would tell me

if he had succumbed to some threat

of nature or human. No, my Kai is alive.”

She waited patiently through winter.

But with the spring thaw, as tender green

shoots pushed up through the earth,

preparing the land for future summer, she knew

she must search for Kai. “Before the roses

bloom, or how will I ever look at them

again?” Despite all best-intentioned advice

to the contrary, Gerta packed a few days’

food into a rucksack, and off she went.

Her quest would have been dangerous

enough for a young woman alone, but

dark magic prefers no interference,

unless it is its own. The road from town

went east and west, parallel the river.

Gerta called out to the sparrows,

“Do you know which way Kai went?”

But the little birds just sang, “We’re

here. We’re here.” So Gerta cried

to the river, “You must have seen him

go. Tell me which way to travel.”

Rippling waves lapped against the bank.

“Come here,” they seemed to say.

“Come here.” When Gerta reached

the beach, she found a little skiff

tied there. “Get in. Get in,” heaved

the water. So she did, and the river

rose, spiriting her away. With no oars

nor sail, Gerta was at the mercy

of the current. After a time, she slept

in the soft April sunshine. She dreamed

of roses. Dreamed of ice. Of a sleigh

aloft in a winter sky. Somewhere, midst

the swirling images, the solution

to her puzzle appeared. But when

she woke, tossed into the bow as the boat

bumped against the shore, it was gone.

Gerta stepped onto the shimmering

sand and stretched, and when her back

was turned, the river coaxed the boat

away. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Now what?”

But there was really only one decision.

“Well, I suppose I must walk.” It wasn’t

until hours later that she remembered

her rucksack. All her provisions were

somewhere downriver. But, despite

the gnaw in her belly and blisters

forming on her feet, her love for Kai

drew her forward. On she trekked,

into the purpling evening, until at last

she reached a tidy cottage. Her knock

did not go unanswered. “I’m sorry to

bother you,” she told the bent old woman

who opened the door. “I’ve travelled

all day, and I’ve lost my rucksack and...”

A tear or two spilled from her eyes.

“Could you spare a crust of bread?”

The crone (for that’s what she was,

though her magic was tepid with

great age) allowed, “Come in, come

in, my dear. Tell me about your journey

while I fix you a plate. There’s plenty

here. My garden is bounteous, and

it never sleeps.” That much, at least,

was true. “Please help yourself to

some cherries. They’re fresh from

my orchard.” Gerta thought it odd

that trees would bear fruit in April,

but with one bite of a luscious red

cherry, all suspicion melted away,

and she told the old woman about

her quest to find her love before

the roses blossomed at home. Caught

up in her own story, Gerta didn’t ask

the crone how she had come to live alone

in the wilderness. Had she, the witch

would not have confessed that she was

in the employ of the Demon King.

Still, she wasn’t truly wicked, only

intolerably lonely. Few enough people

passed that way. The spell she cast

on the turnip stew wasn’t meant

to harm Gerta, only to lull her into

forgetfulness so she might stay for

a time. “I’ll fix you a bed in front

of the fire, where it’s cozy.” Gerta

drifted off to the sound of crackling

wood and slept dreamlessly. The next

morning, after a breakfast of grains

and honey, she followed the crone

out the back door. The garden was

one hundred meters wide, and bordered

on two sides by very tall walls. The far

end was nowhere in sight. “Oh!” said

the girl. “All I can see from here to forever

are flowers in bloom and trees bearing

fruit. But how is that possible?”

The old woman answered easily, “As I

said, my garden doesn’t understand

the constraints of time. You may partake

of anything you see. Except...” She gestured

toward the tallest tree in the yard.

“Don’t eat that fruit. It’s bitter poison.”

Gerta hardly cared. The garden offered

her much pleasure for countless days.

Every flower had a story to confess, and

bird choirs sang in leafy branches. The old

woman fed her well and in the evenings

recited poetry and ancient tales of woe.

All thoughts of home and the boy

she loved skittered off into the far

regions of Gerta’s mind. She might

have stayed right there for the rest

of her life, but one afternoon she noticed

a raven land on the tree of poison fruit.

He plucked one and, before she could

offer warning, gobbled it down. Gerta

waited for him to fall to the ground.

Instead, he ate another. And another.

“Dear raven,” said Gerta. “How do you

feel? I’m told that fruit is poisonous.”

The raven looked down with one black

marble eye. “Poison?” he cawed. “This

fruit is quite delicious. Eaten it for years.

Hasn’t killed me yet.” Then off he flew.

Next, a crow landed on the tree.

He, too, ate the fruit without incident.

“Oh, crow. Why would the old woman

warn me not to eat from this tree?”

If a crow could smile, that’s what he did.

“Do you not read your Bible or Torah, child?

What is it she doesn’t want you to know?”

Then he tossed her a fruit. “Eat. So sweet.”

Gerta ate. One bite, and she remembered

her home. Another, she recalled her

own garden and the greening roses.

When she finished the fruit, she saw

Kai in her mind’s eye and remembered

her quest. “Oh! I have been here much

too long. But how will I escape

the garden? Do you know a way out?”

The crow blinked. “Indeed I do. Will

you take some fruit for your journey?

I’ve found it a wise thing to do.”

Gerta gathered as many as her pockets

could hold, then followed the crow

to a small gate in the wall, barely big

enough for her to squeeze through.

With great force of will she did, and on

the far side she found spring and summer had

come and gone. “It is autumn, and

winter approaches. I have to hurry,

but which way? Where did my Kai go?”

ACT FOUR

Another day, her cry might have gone

unheeded. But Mr. Crow had taken

an interest in the girl, circling above

her as she hurried away from the garden,

throwing glances over her shoulder.

No one followed, however, and after a safe

distance, she slowed to a stop, winded.

It was then she noticed her companion.

“Might you have seen Kai, Mr. Crow?

He’d have passed this way in late winter.”

She went on to describe her beloved,

and how he had disappeared. Now,

the crow spoke human fluently,

a benefit of eating fruit from the garden’s

Tree of Knowledge. Still, he enunciated

carefully, so as not to squawk.

“That is a very sad story of love gone

astray. I myself am engaged, and

should the love of my life disappear,

I would search the ends of the earth

for her.” Perched atop a formidable

rock, he considered a minute, then

said, “Come to think of it, I did see a lad

about that age pass this way last winter.

He was dressed in travelling clothes...”

Gerta nodded her head. “As well

he would, and the timing was right.

It must have been Kai. Tell me the colour

of his hair. Was it like summer wheat?

And was he tall and broad-shouldered?”

“Well, yes, he was quite a strapping

young man. He wore a cap, but as I

remember, what peeked out at the nape

of his neck was that very shade.” Truthfully,

he’d seen none of that, but he wanted

to give her the slenderest ray

of hope that she was indeed on

the trail of her beloved. “Oh, then,

I’m certain it must have been my Kai.

And where do you suppose he went?”

The crow told her what he knew.

The story was that a princess who lived

in a castle nearby happened to be a girl

who loved books and the knowledge

they allowed. She yearned for a companion

who was articulate and well-read, and

so the news circulated that her prince

must be this type of gentleman. Many

tried, for she was lovely and a princess

of some means. But when they arrived

at the palace, even the best-spoken

fell mute. Only one was able to pass

her test. Gerta’s spirit soared. “That

might have been Kai. We spent many

evenings together in the company

of books. But...” Sadness weighted

her suddenly. “Did they marry, then,

the princess and he?” The crow couldn’t

say, but either way, “I have to know

and I’ll be happy if only he is alive.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise,

but it can be exceedingly difficult for

a stranger to gain entry to a palace.

Luckily for Gerta, however, Mr. Crow

had an inside source—his fiancée.

She let them in through the kitchen

door. “The princess and her prince

are in the library, taking tea. Come

with me.” She led them up a back

staircase to the uppermost floor.

The library was immense, and books

spilled from floor-to-ceiling shelves.

The door to the veranda was open,

and a lovely cool breeze blew in

from the sea. The princess and her

young man sat close to the open

air, with their backs to the hallway

door. But Kai was not in the room.

Gerta breathed a loud sigh of relief

before breaking down in tears,

startling the princess. “Who are you,

and how did you find your way in here?”

She might have called for the guards,

but the strange girl was so distraught,

instead she said, “Tell me your story.”

When Gerta finished, the princess, too,

was crying, and even the prince (for,

indeed, they had married) had a shine

to his eyes. “How can we help you?

Will you dine with us and stay the night?”

Gerta agreed to start her journey

fresh in the morning. When she woke,

a small carriage and two coachmen

waited for her at the castle door.

“Oh, thank you!” she called toward

the library windows as she climbed

up inside. “Farewell, friends.” She did

not know that the royal couple lounged

late in bed that morning, nor that

they were unaware of the generous gift.

ACT FIVE

Neither could Gerta know that the road

was infamous in the land, or that they

travelled toward the heart of the Forest

of Thieves. She was too content to nibble

on the figs and scones provided, a gift

from the Demon King, who was well

aware of her journey and its possible

consequences. Before long, she swooned

with drowsiness, and when she woke,

it was with a jolt. “Who dares trespass

in our woods?” A time-shrivelled face

materialized at the window. “Why,

it’s a lass, and a comely one at that. Get

out, get out. I suspect you are quite tender

and will make a splendid meal.” Gerta’s

head was still thick and she heard only

what she wanted to, which was “Get out

and I will make you a splendid meal.”

She wasn’t really hungry, but didn’t

want to seem rude, so she climbed

down from the coach, where she was

apprehended by a band of thieves.

Gerta might have found herself upon

a serving platter, had the youngest

of the bunch not taken an interest.

“Leave her be, Mother,” she commanded.

“Let me interrogate her, see what her

business here might be. Perhaps, should

she disappear, someone might come

looking for her.” Now the girl, Phoebe,

was simply in want of some company.

Thieves, on the whole, are a closemouthed

lot, and not much good for conversation.

She took Gerta by the hand, pulled

her off toward their camp as the thieves

dismantled the coach piece by piece.

“Tell me, girl, why are you here? I’m

in need of a good story. Recite it well

and I’ll make sure it’s rabbit on the table

tonight.” Gerta repeated her tale, and

it brought tears to Phoebe’s eyes, for

such love could warm even the coldest heart.

The encampment was cheered by

a ring of fire, circled by substantial

tents. On the far perimeter, the horses

were kept and, much to Gerta’s delight,

in their midst stood a reindeer. He looked

hungry, so she fed him two of the garden

fruits from her pockets. In the highest

boughs of the tall pines roosted feral pigeons—

ugly birds, and not the brightest. But in one

nest a pair of mourning doves cooed.

Gerta quite enjoyed their soft song,

and sought to reward it with another

of the fruits. Amiably, she nibbled one,

too, and suddenly understood her danger.

While the robbers saw to supper, Phoebe

asked Gerta to tell her more about Kai,

and how he had come to vanish.

The mourning doves overheard and after a while

began to coo in the human language,

which the fruit had given them.

“We saw your young man, Kai, you call

him. He passed this way, sitting beneath

an ermine wrap in a sleigh beside

the Snow Queen. To Lapland, they went.”

While pigeons are terrible gossips,

and rumour is a tool of the devils,

the Demon King holds no jurisdiction

over mourning doves or caribou. “Lapland!” cried

the reindeer, possessed of human speech.

“That was my home when I was a calf.”

Gerta drew close to the downy-coated

hoofed animal, whispered into his ear, “If I can

secure your freedom, will you take me

to Lapland and help find the place where

the Snow Queen has sequestered Kai?”

The reindeer agreed happily, for the idea

of running upon the snowy plains

of his homeland again filled him with joy.

Gerta waited until after the evening feast,

when the thieves all took to swigging

amber liquid from a very large bottle.

Eventually, they all staggered off to bed.

It was then she approached Phoebe,

who had drunk not a little herself

and toyed nervously with a very sharp

knife. “Put your weapon down, friend.

You know my quest. Will you help me

on my way again? I have little to give—”

“Are you a spell caster?” interrupted

Phoebe, for she had witnessed

the change in the animals. “Share

the secret of your incantation and

I shall let you go.” In truth, magic

made her nervous, though she lusted

for such power. “I am not a witch,

only a girl. I gathered the fruit

of knowledge from a tree in a garden

far from here. If it’s of use to you,

I will share what I have. But you must

promise to let the reindeer carry me

on my journey.” The deal was struck.

Gerta gave Phoebe half the remaining

fruit, and the thief untied the reindeer.

Gerta climbed upon his back. But before

she could go, Phoebe stopped her. In a quite

uncommon gesture, most likely spurred

by rhum consumption, she wrapped

Gerta in a thick cloak and gave her

a hamper stuffed with meat and bread.

“Lapland is cold all year round, and winter

fast approaches. Goodspeed.” The reindeer

ran off before she could change her mind.

ACT SIX

The only knowledge the reindeer

needed to find the most direct route

to Lapland was instinct, drawing him

home. The line they took was straight,

but still it took many days, and by

the time they reached his familiar turf,

the hamper was empty, and so was

Gerta’s stomach. A small trail of smoke

led the reindeer to a lopsided cabin

at the very edge of the snowy plain.

“Oh! See how it tilts. However does it

stay standing?” wondered Gerta out

loud. She was almost afraid to knock

on the door, thinking the tapping

might tip the structure all the way over.

But the house stayed mostly upright

and the old Laplander woman who

answered was happy enough to let

them inside and fill Gerta’s belly

with the excellent fish she had been

preparing. As she cooked, the reindeer

repeated Gerta’s story, but only after

his own, which he thought the most

fascinating. “You have come such a very

long way,” said the woman, “but you have

farther to go. I saw the Snow Queen pass

by not long ago. She has a home in Finmark,

and that, I’m sure, is where she is now.

My dearest cousin lives in Finmark,

and she knows more about the Snow

Queen than I do. I will send you with

an introduction, for she is shy about

strangers, even those as interesting

as the two of you. But, please, take my

spare muff, as it is much colder there.”

And so, they were off again, toward

the Northern Lights, which danced

in the sky, leading them to Finmark.

The Lapland woman gave Gerta a pouch 

of dried salted fish, for her cousin loved the treat

and found it hard to come by. On the skin,

she wrote, Please help this young lady

in her search for the Snow Queen.

Her story has touched my heart, which

I have long believed immune to such

things as love. Oh, cousin! How I miss

my soldier, so long gone, and I know

it must be the same for you. So many

have stories, often left untold except

in certain company. So many, whose

lives are changed forever at the hands

of the Demon King. But Gerta knew

nothing of this as she resumed her journey.

After many more hours of travel, the reindeer

stopped before the Finmark woman’s home,

which stood much straighter than that

of her Laplander cousin. Indeed,

Gerta found the Finmark woman quite

suspicious of strangers at her door.

But the pouch, with its message on

the skin, plus the delicious dried codfish

inside, was enough to allow her through

the door. Again, she talked about her Kai

with such affection that the Finmark

woman nearly swooned from the telling.

“Dear, dear girl. The Snow Queen is even

now only a mile from here. But you will

not easily gain entrance to her palace.

She wears the curse of the Demon King,

and it both controls and protects her.”

The reindeer then drew the woman

to one side and asked whether she might

possess some potion or other means to

give Gerta the strength to fight the curse.

“The girl needs nothing from me,” responded

the Finwoman. “She holds a powerful weapon.

Neither demon nor queen can conquer it.”

The reindeer understood, and when

Gerta urged, “Please, can we go to Kai

right this moment?” they left without

delay, and he ran as fast as he could

to the Snow Queen’s palace. He set

Gerta down beside a holly bush adorned

with red berries. “You have fulfilled

your promise.” Gerta stroked his forehead

gently. “You are free.” The reindeer

was happy enough for his freedom,

yet left reluctantly, for he had come

to care deeply for the girl and her quest.

Unbeknownst to either of them, word

of their arrival had rippled to the lair

of the Demon King. He conjured, from

shards of ice, a company of sharp-

quilled porcupines and razor-clawed

wildcats, and raptors with talons like knives.

In the ever-dusk of winter solstice,

the beasts came marching, and for

the first time since her journey began,

Gerta felt truly afraid. “Our Father who...”

She sent the words of the Lord’s Prayer

toward heaven. With each expelled breath,

her frozen exhale formed an angel, and

soon an entire phalanx, wearing

helmets and carrying spears. They thrust

them into the ice-hewn beasts, shattering

them into hailstones, insignificant

in size. With the help of her heavenly

protectors, Gerta marched straight

up to the door, and it opened for her

as if commanded. The hair at her nape

pricked. Her face flushed hot, despite

the cold. And she knew, “Kai is very near.”

ACT SEVEN

Kai, in fact, was very near, but though

Gerta’s intuition screamed it was so,

just down a long corridor and across

a frozen hall, he couldn’t feel her presence

at the door. Couldn’t hear the sound

of her call or smell the drift of roses

on the air. Kai lay, prone, on a polar bear skin,

at the foot of the Snow Queen’s throne.

His skin colour was an odd shade of blue,

bordering aubergine or black. He would have been

dead of the cold already, except every

now and again, his queen would warm

him with the heat of her gaze, and her hot

cold lips would graze his face, enough

to keep him barely alive. All this, Gerta

saw in the instant she burst into the hall,

flanked by angels so beautiful their very

presence lit the chamber. As it happened,

it was the afternoon of the winter solstice,

the one day of the year when the Snow

Queen could discern beauty. At the sight

of the angels, she fell to her knees. “Oh!

Never have I witnessed such a thing, not

even when I was a child.” She wept openly.

Kai stirred from his oblivion. “What is it?”

he asked, struggling to sit upright.

“What do you see?” But when Gerta rushed

to his side, he couldn’t recognize her,

for she looked ugly as any witchy old hag, with

the piece of mirror still lodged in his eye.

“What is it? What do you want from me?”

Gerta drew back, horrified that her Kai

didn’t know her. But an angel whispered

in her ear, reminding her of the power

of the Demon King’s enchantment. Gerta

reached into her pocket, withdrew

the last of the fruit from the garden tree.

“Please. Eat. This will make you strong

again.” Kai might have refused, except

the angel fixed him with her eyes, and as

he stared into the depths of their

pools, he was encouraged to taste

the fruit the girl offered. One bite,

and he knew. “Gerta? Yes, Gerta. I know

you...” A rush of memory flooded

  his eyes, washing the evil shard away.

“You are as beautiful as your guardians.”

He opened his arms and Gerta fell into

them eagerly, her own eyes wet against

his chest. The salt of her tears soaked

through his shirt, skin and flesh and

breastbone, all the way into his heart.

It began to thaw immediately, beating

surer and louder. As blood coursed, warm,

through his arteries, his veins, Kai flushed, and without

thinking, he kissed Gerta full on the lips.

The gesture filled the Snow Queen

with hope that such love might still

await her somewhere. “You shall stay

together forever,” she declared, “though

I will miss your company, dearest Kai.

Thank you for brightening my days.

Return to your village, where, I suspect,

a happy homecoming awaits you.”

Cloaked in a fine warm mantle of love,

Gerta and Kai left the palace, hand in hand.

The air was sharp, and the light low,

but Kai paused to promise, “I’ll never again

leave your side.” At the bush with red berries

stood the reindeer and his own mate, ready

to carry the couple home, under the protection

of angels and before the roses bloomed.

EPILOGUE

The tundra gave way to rhododendrons,
the rhododendrons gave way to pinewood,
and the pines gave way to deciduous forest
of beech and chestnut: the Thieves' Forest,
as Gerta recognised it. And then, suddenly,
riding astride a magnificent steed she recognised too
(it was one that had drawn the princess's carriage),
there cantered a dark maiden with pistols on her belt,
coiffed with a scarlet bonnet. And, as she fired
a loud gunshot into the air as a salute,
she recognised Gerta, and Gerta recognised her:
"Phoebe!" Grown weary of the thieves' lair,
the fierce robber maiden had filled her pockets
from their coffers, taken the best horse
from the princess's carriage, loaded her guns
and set forth on her own across the wide world
for self-discovery. After embracing
joyfully the other maiden, she turned to the lad.
"You must be Kai... quite the rough rambler!
I wonder if it would be really worth it,
questing to the ends of the Earth for his sake!"
She slapped Gerta on the cheek for auld lang syne,
and the blonde asked of the fate of more friends:
"The princess and her prince?" "Oh, they are on
their honeymoon, travelling through foreign realms."
"And the crows?" "Mr. Crow was shot down
by some huntsman. Now his widow wears
a ribbon of black crêpe on her left leg,
and squawks night and day, but I believe it's
much ado about nothing!" Then she asked
Gerta and Kai for their address. "All right!
All's well that ends well, return to your village,
and, should I pass by, maybe I'll visit you!"
She dug the spurs into the horse's flanks,
and, waving goodbye, galloped northwards, 
through the pinewood, while the fiancés turned south.
The Robbers' Forest now seemed so far brighter,
full of birdsong, and, once back in their kingdom,
the bearded barley of March soon gave way
to the periwinkles of April, and these
turned to the full-bloomed roses of scented May,
as the sun began to shine warm once more
and the skylark sang before the rooster at dawn.
Till one day, right behind a gentle hill,
they saw a high church tower in the distance,
above a cluster of red rooftile eaves,
and recognised the tune to which it pealed.
"Home!" Gerta and Kai stormed down the slope, 
recognising the streets through which they'd left.
Within an instant, they were finally 
on their own street, at the door of Gerta's place. 
The rose arch on the balcony had never been in such full bloom.
Everything was just like it had been before, 
and there was nothing new under the sun. 
The old cuckoo clock tick-tocked at the same old steady pace. 
Only upon peering into the little mirror 
did they realise that now they were 
young adults, good-looking and clever-eyed.
The roses were in bloom as usual on the balcony, 
and, from the window, one could see 
two child-sized chairs that they had already grown out of. 
Kai and Gerta sat down on those chairs. 
They had forgotten the past as if awakened from a long dream, 
and it seemed that they had never left home at all. 
Holding one another's hands, he looked into her green eyes, 
and she looked into her friend's icy blue orbs.
Then, Grandmama returned from church, hymn-book in hand, 
and she did not recognise the good-looking young people 
until Gerta and Kai sang their song once more.
The old lady shouted with glee and cried for joy
 as she embraced them, recognising her own granddaughter 
and said granddaughter's best friend. There were both of them, 
all grown up and yet children at heart, 
and it was springtime, the warm, lovely fair season.
A fortnight later, the tower bells 
whose sound they had recognised from afar 
were pealing for their marriage.
Nine months later, when the Snow Queen returned 
southward at the head of her army 
and coursed through the streets, 
the same bells pealed once more 
for the christening of the loveliest little twins: 
one of them named Kassander just like his father, 
and the other named Gerta after her mother.
It would be impossible to tell
 of all the moments of happiness 
spent by this hopeful young family: 
moments of adventure like their assistance 
at the coronation of their young Queen and Prince Consort, 
or the twin children's birthdays, or visits 
from the ever restless and bold traveller Phoebe; 
and everyday moments full of emotion 
such as the funeral of the beloved grandmother 
or being parents of their two own children.
We must say that, every winter, 
the Snow Queen peered in through the windowpanes 
on a certain street in a certain town in a certain kingdom,
 to behold the only one who had warmed her icy heart 
and made her feel what pain was like. 
She saw him happily married and father of two, 
cozily snuggled up with his loved ones by the fireside, 
and she thought of how irrational and unworthy of her 
it had been to fall for that young mortal, 
who was made for the life he currently led.
Gerta and Kai lived for a long time together in that land, 
without any tension with their children, 
who played during the warm seasons 
in the shade of the rose-bushes of yore, or in their relationship. 
They lived until they died with winter at the door, 
summer in the cupboard, autumn in the cellar, 
and springtime within their hearts.