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.
