Ekke's Fairytales

THE RED SNOWDROPS

Stories written during war-time internment and after

for his children Silke, Uwe [Wally] Peter and Konrad

by Ekkehard Beinssen

Translation: Silke Beinssen-Hesse

1940-1945

A Christmas Story

There was once a man who lived with his wife in a land far to the north where it was very cold in winter. They had three children. One was four years old and called Wibke, the second who was almost three was called Ulli, and the youngest was just a year old and called Pitt. The house in which they lived was made of big logs and situated in a valley in the middle of a forest in the high mountains. When winter came and the snow began to fall the father said to the mother:

“Soon the big snowstorms will start and then we will be snowed in for many months and unable to get to town. In a week’s time it will be Christmas, so it is best if I go to town tomorrow and buy the stores for the winter.”

“And when will you get back?” asked the mother.

“It is a long way to town,” said the father, “and the snow is already quite deep. But on the morning of Christmas Eve I will be back again.”

Early the next morning the father pulled on his heavy boots and shouldered a big bag.

“What are you doing with the big bag,” asked Wibke.

“I am going to carry our provisions for the winter back in that.”

“Are you going to get us some toys in the city?” asked Ulli.

“The toys are brought by the Christchild,” said the father, “but only if you have been good children.”

“Do you think we have been good?” Wibke and Ulli asked together.

“If you stay good till Christmas and don’t forget to say your prayers, the Christchild won’t forget you.”

At that the father kissed the mother and the children and stomped off through the snow with his great big boots.

The week passed and the snow fell from the sky. Every morning the mother had to shovel away whole piles of it from in front of the door. And on the evening before Christmas Eve the children stood at the window before going to bed and watched the snow fall in such big flakes that it looked as though feathers were coming down from the sky. The children were happy because tomorrow was Christmas and the father would be coming back from town with his big bag and the provisions for the winter. But the mother was not happy for she too saw the big snow-flakes and thought of the father who would be somewhere out in the forest stomping through the high snow with his big boots and his heavy bag. When the children said their prayers before going to sleep the mother said:

“Pray to God for Father too that he finds his way home through the forest and doesn’t get stuck in the deep snow.”

Wibke and Ulli prayed for their father; Pitt was still too little and was already fast asleep in his cradle.  

The mother was too worried about the father to go to bed. From time to time she put away her knitting and looked out the front door. It was still snowing. At length, when it was very late at night, when all the animals of the forest and the children in their warm beds were fast asleep, the mother was finally so tired that she had to go to bed too. But before she did so she stepped outside one last time and there saw that a hundred thousand stars were shining. All the snow that had been hanging in the sky had fallen onto the earth; the clouds had disappeared and the mother could even see three angels flying high in the sky. They were probably angels the Christchild had sent out to get Christmas trees from the forest. The mother was happy because the sky with its stars and the flying angels looked so festive and Christmassy and because the father would now soon be back at home.

Next morning the children played in the snow and the mother cleaned and tidied the house and stood in the kitchen baking cake and Christmas biscuits. From time to time she looked out at the children and the forest from which the father should be coming. But it was midday and the father had not come; then it was afternoon and he could still not be seen. When the mother went out to fetch the children in they could see she had tears in her eyes because the father was still not back. And the Christchild had not come yet either. At that point the children too began to cry. Should the Christchild have forgotten them? And where might the father be? - Yes, where could he be?

The angels knew: the same angels the mother had seen flying overhead the night before. For the Christchild had sent the angels down to the big forest to cut Christmas trees. It wants everyone to celebrate its birthday and to that end the angels take lots of green fir-trees out of the deep snow every year. For, as you all know, Christmas is the Christchild’s birthday and the halo which it wears on its head is its birthday crown. The angels once fashioned it from pure star gold and every year it is polished with the first snow-flakes so that it always shines particularly brightly at Christmas.

Now the night before, as the angels were flying over the isolated house, the first angel saw the light that was still burning in the mother’s room and called out to the others:

“Look down! There is a house here. It is so isolated that it could easily be missed. We have to make sure to remind the Christchild of it.”

“That is not necessary,” said the second angel. “I am the guardian angel of the three dear little children that live there. The Christchild has already made a note of it.”

Then the third angel said: “Look! There are beautiful Christmas trees over there. Let’s fly down.”

And the three angels spread their wings wide and dropped down to the earth.

The father, for his part, was on his way back from the city. It was tiring walking through the deep snow and he only made slow progress. The big bag with winter stores was so heavy that he sank deep into the snow with every step. He had now been walking towards home for a very long time and had still not covered half the distance.

“Today is Christmas Eve,” the father thought, “and I cannot possibly be home in time. The snow is so deep and the bag so heavy and by now I am so tired. Mother and the children will have to celebrate Christmas Eve without me.”

And he became quite sad. -

All of a sudden he saw footsteps in the fresh snow. They looked just like footsteps on the beach where people have walked barefoot on the wet sand, except that the footsteps that the father saw were all golden.

“Who can that be,” he thought. “I have never seen golden footsteps in the snow before. And who would walk barefoot in this cold?”

He quickened his pace and followed the footsteps.

And what did he see when he reached a place in the woods where there were a whole lot of small Christmas trees? Three angels with big white wings and long silver curls. And each of the angels had a halo just like the Christchild, only narrower and made of moon-silver.

The angels were so busy selecting the finest of the trees that they did not hear the father approach. Only when he called out did they turn around and come running up to him. And the father saw that everywhere their feet touched the ground the snow lit up with a golden gleam.

“What are you doing all alone in the big forest and why are you so sad?” the angels asked the father.

So he told them that he had been to the town to buy stores for the winter but that the snow was so deep everywhere and his bag so heavy that he could only make slow progress. He still had a long way to go before reaching home and that meant that he would not be able to spend Christmas Eve with his wife and his children. The angel said:

“Dear man, don’t be so sad. Christmas is the festival of joy and the Christchild wants everybody to be happy on his birthday. You must be tired after your long and difficult trek. Go just a little further and you will find a hut. Go in and light a fire so that you won’t be cold. Then lie down on the straw and rest. And tonight when you are asleep we will come and fetch you and carry you home on our wings. You will then be allowed to enter the Christmas room with the Christchild. First the children will have to sing their carols outside the closed door and then you can ring the silver bell. The door will be opened and just imagine the joy when the children see the tree and all their beautiful toys. But you will be invisible; no one must know that you are in the Christmas room. For, to tell the truth, God has forbidden us angels to carry humans like you through the heavens. But on the Christchild’s birthday he is sure to close an eye and even though he will see it with his other eye he will not be angry. That way you can witness the delight and happiness of the children when they enter the Christmas room. Later we will carry you back to your hut.”

And now listen to what happened: When the mother went outside the house on Christmas Eve to call in the children and had tears in her eyes because she thought that neither the father nor the Christchild would come anymore and when the children also started to cry, all of them suddenly heard the tinkling of a thousand sleigh bells. It sounded as though a whole lot of icicles were clinking together and when the children looked out of the window, they could see that the Christchild had been there because just beside the window there was a beautiful Christmas tree full of burning candles. The Christchild, however, had departed again in its sleigh with such speed that neither the mother nor Wibke and Ulli could see it properly; perhaps that was also because they still had tears in their eyes. Only Pitt saw everything quite clearly. His eyes were shiny and bright because he just loved the golden halo of the Christchild.

My, what jubilation there was! They all rushed into the house. The mother dressed the children in fresh neat clothes and it was off to the door of the Christmas room. The children and the mother sang their Christmas carols in front of the closed door, just as the angels had said they had to. Then the father rang the silver bell, the door burst open and - Christmas had come.

At night, however, when the angels were carrying the father back to the hut on their great white wings and God quickly closed one eye again, they could hear Wibke and Ulli calling out through the open window: “Thank you, dear Christchild, for the beautiful tree and the beautiful presents. And please send us back our father safe and sound!”

Pitt was already asleep in his cradle and smiling happily in his dream...

The Guardian Angel

Summer had come to the valley where the log-house stood. Early of a morning the father would go off into the forest and up into the high mountains to fell trees. Then when it was winter again and the snow lay deep on the ground, he would pull the logs down into the valley like giant sledges, there to load them onto a train and sell them in the great stone city.

On this particular morning, when Wibke, Ulli and Pitt woke up and went into the kitchen to get their breakfast, they saw that their mother was busy kneading a cake.

“What is it going to be?” asked Wibke.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” said the mother, ”so we will bake a nice cake. When Father comes down from the mountains to have a rest from his hard work that will make him happy.”

“We’ll be happy too,” cried Wibke and Ulli.

“Pitt too,”cried little Pitt. He had now learned to speak a bit and could walk as well.

“To make it taste really good we should bake it with blueberries. At the moment the blueberry bushes in the forest between the big fir-trees are full of ripe blueberries. When you have finished your breakfast, Wibke and Ulli, you can each take a little basket and go out and pick blueberries. Come back when your baskets are full. But don’t go too far because there are high cliffs and precipices in that direction. It’s easy to fall down. So stay close to the house, then nothing will happen to you.”

After breakfast Wibke and Ulli set out with their baskets.

“Look after your little brother, Wibke,” the mother called after her.

There were so many blueberries in the forest that the children picked only the biggest and best and their baskets were soon filled. But Wibke and Ulli had only paid attention to the blueberries and not to each other. Without noticing they had gone in different directions. When Wibke looked up after a while to show Ulli how much she had picked, she could no longer see him.

“Ulli, Ulli, where are you?” cried Wibke. But Ulli did not answer. Wibke became worried. Mother had said that she was to look after her little brother.

“Ulli, Ulli,” she called and ran back and forth through the blueberry bushes under the firs. “Ulli, where are you?” But Ulli was nowhere to be seen. Then Wibke thought of her mother’s warning: Make sure you do not go too close to the cliffs with their terrible precipices.

“If only he doesn’t fall down there,” Wibke thought fearfully. She ran so fast that she spilt many of the lovely blueberries she had just picked. The birds followed her and pecked up those she had lost.

Suddenly she came to one of the big precipices. She saw it only after she had tripped over a root and fallen. She had let go of her basket; it rolled on towards the cliff, fell over the edge, and down to the depths. Wibke got a terrible shock because she had almost fallen down along with it.

Because the basket with all those lovely blueberries was lost and because her little brother could not be found and she too was now lost and unable to find her way home, Wibke began to cry. - Just then she heard a voice:

“Why are you crying, child?” Wibke looked up and through her tears she saw a beautiful big angel, her guardian angel, standing beside her.

“I have lost my way and I can’t find my little brother Ulli. I don’t know how to get home.”

“Nothing has happened to your brother,” said the angel. “Ulli ran straight home when he could no longer see you. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“But how can I find my way home?”

The angel said: “Come along and I will show you the way.”

And the angel took Wibke by the hand and led her through the forest. Soon they came to a broad path that ran through the firs.

“Go straight ahead along this path and it will take you home. I will walk behind you and look after you."

So Wibke walked down the forest path and behind her walked the angel. The halo of the angel shone so brightly that all the forest animals came up to the path to see what it was. The deer came with their young fawns, the hares, the rabbits, and the squirrels, and on the trees by the side of the path sat the birds.

When the creatures saw the angel their eyes grew wide and soft and the birds sang more beautifully than they had ever sung before. On the path sat a painter who had come up from the big stone city to see the forest with its birds and animals, and everything he saw he painted onto a canvas. He had just finished the picture when he noticed Wibke coming along the path with her red and white checked dress and her green apron. So he quickly painted her onto the picture as well.

“What are you doing all alone in the big forest?” the painter asked Wibke as she approached him.

“I lost my little brother and was looking for him and then I lost my way as well. But my guardian angel has shown me the path that will take me back home.”

“Your guardian angel?” the painter laughed. “But angels don’t exist and you certainly cannot see them.”

“But my guardian angel spoke to me,” said Wibke, “it is walking behind me.”

When Wibke turned round, however, to show her guardian angel to the painter, the angel had disappeared and could no longer be seen.

The painter laughed again and said:

“You are a silly child if you still believe in guardian angels. Big people don’t believe in angels.”

“But I saw it,” said Wibke. “A moment ago it was still behind me. My father is a very big grown-up man and he still believes in guardian angels.”

The painter laughed again. “I don’t believe that angels really exist. Where do you live, my child?”

“Down in the valley in the log cabin,” said Wibke.

“That is a long way from here,” said the painter. “I had better take you home. I think I can do that more effectively than your guardian angel, that doesn’t even exist.” He packed his painting utensils into his knapsack, took Wibke by the hand, and off they went.

The angel had told the truth. Ulli had really been home for quite a while and had said that Wibke must have lost her way. So the mother had gone to search for her, had met the father, who was coming back from work, on the way and they were now searching the big forest together for Wibke.

When they were getting quite desperate because they could not find their little daughter they suddenly saw the painter holding Wibke by the hand coming towards them on the forest path. - What joy! The father invited the painter to come home and have dinner with them. And the painter was only too happy to do so as he was very hungry.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” the painter suddenly asked the father.

“Of course,” said the father. “They look after children when they are in danger.”

At that the painter just laughed again: “A big man like you that still believes in guardian angels!” The father said nothing.

But now listen and hear what happened when they came home. The father asked the painter whether he was allowed to see the picture he had painted. ”I’d be delighted,” said the painter and took the canvas out of his knapsack. And lo and behold, when he looked at the picture he saw that what he had taken to be the rays of sun in the evening sky was in reality the guardian angel with its gleaming halo that was walking behind Wibke on the forest path. Without even knowing it, he had painted the angel on his picture.

“The angel is there,” cried out Wibke. And the painter had to admit that he had painted the angel himself even though he hadn’t recognized it for what it was. From that day on the painter knew that there were guardian angels that looked after people.

Now the mother served up coffee and the blueberry cake and everyone was happy. Pitt had six little teeth by now and was given a piece too. His whole face was covered with blueberries: that is how good it tasted.

Wibke, however, has made up her mind to look after her little brother better next time.

The Winter Organ

In the valley in the north the snow was still deep although it was almost Easter. The log cabin in which Wibke, Ulli and Pitt lived with their parents had snow up to the window ledges; its low roof was still covered with a thick white blanket and from the guttering hung icicles in all shapes and sizes: thick and thin, long and short, as though they were the glass pipes of a winter organ.

At night when all the animals were asleep and the sky was stretched over the earth like a black silken cloth embroidered with golden dots, when the wind along with every other sound had taken cover under the blanket of snow, you could often hear a gentle ringing and tinkling as though dwarves were striking icicles with silver hammers. Then people said: “The Winterking is playing his organ.”

One evening, the ringing was so loud that the father went to the bedroom of his children quite late and said to the mother: ”The winter-organ has never played so clearly and beautifully in this valley before and the stars look like great drops of gold tonight. I have already seen quite a few of them fall. Let us carry the children out into the fresh air so that they can hear and see these marvels too; for it is probably the last time the organ will play this winter. A moment ago I heard the earth sigh under its cover of snow as though it were about to awaken from its winter sleep and the arms of the firs seem to be growing weary too. Many of them have already thrown off their burden of snow.”

The children were all in bed and the mother had been on the point of putting out the light. But she was also keen to hear the music the father was talking of. Everyone was quickly wrapped in their woollen blankets, the father took Wibke and Ulli on his arms, the mother took Pitt and out of the warm room they went into the cold winter night. The children, who had been very cosy in their beds, felt the cold air on their faces like the icy, crystal-clear water of a mountain stream and their cheeks grew red and started to tingle.  It seemed as though they were drinking the air, it was so cold in their lungs.

“Oh just look at the big golden stars,” cried Ulli.

“See over there; one of them is falling onto the earth right between the firs,” Wibke called out, pointing excitedly to where the silent white firs stood on the eastern mountain.

“Oh,” cried Ulli, “when it’s Easter and the snow has melted we will go up there and look for this star. It must have fallen right between the blueberry bushes.”

“It is not very likely that you will find it,” said the father. “By then it will have been fetched by the forest dwarves who live between the roots of the old trees. For all the gold on the earth originally came from the sky but the cunning tribe of dwarves is quick to carry it underground and very reluctant to hand it back again.”

On the edge of the forest under the firs there was a bench that the father had built in summer because from there you had a beautiful view of the valley and the tree covered mountains. That is where they all sat down. The light shining through the window of the log cabin threw a warm yellow glow onto the snow.

“I can’t hear the winter organ,” said Ulli. “Has it stopped playing?”

“The organ plays all winter in every silent night as long as the snow is still covering the ground,” the father explained. “The reason why you can’t hear it is that you are so noisy and chatter so much; for it plays very softly. It sounds like the bells of a church far behind the mountains. Be quiet and listen. I can hear it again.”

The children were quiet immediately. Only Pitt would have liked to say something. For he could see the golden light of a star reflected in an icicle and wanted to grab it. But he was already too tired to reach out and soon fell asleep on his mother’s shoulder.

The others listened, hardly daring to breathe. For suddenly the great, lonesome night was filled with music, with delicate, pure sounds, very soft and distant but also close and distinct, as though all this wasn’t out there between the mountains and firs but inside, close to the heart. It seemed the stars were calling to the earth from their infinite distance, or that the needles of the firs had turned into the tongues of bells and were gently striking the tiny, glass-like snow crystals.

“Tonight the great master himself is playing the winter organ,” the father whispered mysteriously.  “I have never heard it played so beautifully. It must be his farewell concert for winter. You can sense the coming of the warm south wind that will throw back the white blanket from the earth. Easter is close. Soon the Easter bells will ring instead of the winter organ.”

“Will we hear the Easter bells too?” Wibke asked softly.

“How could we hear the Easter bells,” replied Ulli. “We are so far away from all the villages and towns that no sound of church bells carries into our valley.”

“All the same,” said the father, “you will hear the bells of Easter. In the first warm spring night all the snowdrops push their heads through the earth. Then the little people come out of their winter hide-outs, the dwarves and elves and gnomes, and ring in the spring with snowdrops. When that happens, the deer in the forest stand still and listen. The sound tells them that winter is over and that the juicy grass in the meadows and dales will become abundant. At Easter time you will certainly hear the Easter bells.”

When the children were back in bed, Wibke sensed that she had been called. She opened her eyes and looked out the window into the dark, star-spangled sky. It suddenly seemed to her that someone was standing at the window and signing to her to come. At first she was a bit frightened but then she sat up in her bed which was directly under the window and pressed her face against the window-pane to get a better view. That made her nose go flat and her warm, moist breath fogged up the glass all the way down from her nose.

Standing outside in the snow was a man who was even taller than the father. He was dressed in white polar bear fur and had a huge white beard that hung down over his knees. His face was old and wrinkled and his eyes were as grey as the sky when it is about to snow; but his body was strong and sturdy like the trunk of an old mountain oak. He had thrown a second polar bear skin over his shoulder. His walking stick was a young fir-tree that he had broken off at the top and pulled out of the ground along with its roots to which the moist soil was still attached. The old man stepped towards the window and whispered something which Wibke could not quite catch. So she opened the window a little and asked softly:

“Who are you, old man, and what do you want? If you would like to warm yourself at the fire then just knock on the door. My father will be happy to let you in and give you a warm spot for the night.”

“I am not cold and I don’t need shelter,” said the old man. “I am looking for you, my child.”

Wibke was a bit scared. She didn’t know whether the old man was a good or a bad person. But he had such friendly eyes and in spite of his gruffness his voice sounded so kind that she didn’t close the window straight away but asked ”What do you want of me? Why are you looking for me?”

“Tonight you heard the winter-organ. I am the great master your father was speaking about who was playing it. Because you were listening so intently, I have decided to show you the winter-organ if you want to come along with me. Tomorrow morning, when the morning star becomes visible over the eastern mountain, you will be back at home.”

“What about my brothers,” asked Wibke, “can they come along?”

“They are still too young,” replied the old man. ”But next year, when there is snow in the valley like there is today, I’ll take Ulli along. Tomorrow you can tell him about what you are going to see tonight. But come now, we still have a long way to go.”

This was just marvellous! Wibke, who was wearing only her woollen night-dress, was wrapped in the polar bear skin, the bundle with Wibke in it was covered with the man’s long beard so that only her head was showing, and thus, comfy and warm on the old man’s arm as on the branch of a tree, she set out with him into the snow-covered, wintery forest.

How strong the old man was! What huge steps he could take! Wibke was sitting like on a swing. When she looked up she could see the stars accompanying them far above the crowns of the firs, while beneath them the snow, thrown up by the huge fur boots of the old man, sparkled in thousands of little crystals. He tripped a few times and had to lean on his stick. That always made him a bit grumpy and he scolded:

“Those root-gnomes! Naughty, nasty people that take delight in hurting others.” When Wibke looked at him in surprise he explained: “They are distant relatives of the dwarves, but stupid, lazy and dull. They live between the roots and take pleasure in tripping up wayfarers by putting obstacles in their path and making them stumble and fall head over heels. By the time a traveller is back on his legs, those thieving gnomes have stolen all sorts of things from his pockets and carried them into their caves under the fir-trees.”

“What does a root-elf look like?” Wibke wanted to know.

“Like this!” the old man, who had just stumbled again, cried. He was holding up a wriggling little fellow by the scruff of his neck. He had grabbed him as he was just about to disappear into his hiding-hole again.

“He looks like a real dwarf,” said Wibke and poked her head out from under the beard of the old man to get a better view.

“Let me go!” screamed the little elf. “Let me go!”

“Haha,” laughed the old man.” It’s not that simple. You’ll have to pay for your freedom.”

“I’ll give you a crystal but let me go!”

“That’s not enough. Don’t you have anything better among your treasures?”

After some thought the little man said: “If you let me go without hurting me, I will give you a new star that has only just fallen from the sky. Will that do?”

“Yes, that will do,” the old man replied.

“Then let me go so I can fetch it for you.”

But the old man knew the root-gnomes and that they were not only thieves and deceitful highwaymen but also dishonest about keeping their promises.

So the little fellow, who was trembling all over, called out to his relatives and colleagues to bring the star, the new one that had only fallen from the sky that night.

“But hurry up,” the old man called after them. “I can’t wait for ever.”

“Oh!” Wibke cried with delight, clapping her hands, “that is actually the star that I saw fall from the sky. Have the dwarves found it already?”

“Just look,” said the old man.

There was a bit of a gleam under the giant fir-tree. And when the star was pushed up to the surface by a few of the gnomes, a golden light poured out over the snow all around. The old man bent down and picked up the star; after that he let go the root-elf who disappeared into his hole among the roots as fast as a little mouse.

“Take it,” the old man said, “I am giving you the star. It is a piece of heaven that has fallen onto the earth. If you are ever in trouble, press it to your heart and your guardian angel will come and help you. If you are finding it hard to be good, press it to your heart and you will not want to be bad any more. And in later years, when you may suffer sadness and distress, press it to your heart and it will comfort you.”

Wibke took the star in both her hands and pressed it to her heart. A wonderful feeling of warmth flooded through her; light was now glowing around the two of them as though the golden sun of winter were shining through the forest. Wibke was ever so happy! She wanted to thank the old man but didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to say anything,” the old man said as though he had guessed her thoughts. “I know you are happy and grateful. Look after it well. Tomorrow its own light will have died away but that is nothing to be sad about. All the stars only shine on earth for the single night on which they fall from the sky. After that they only look golden.”

In the meantime the bearded old fellow had climbed up the mountain with giant steps and crossed the tree line at the foot of the glacier.

“This is where I am at home,” he said. “The glacier is my fortress. Now you will see the winter organ and my golden treasures. He struck his stick against the wall of the glacier three times and a huge gate opened leading into a great hall, as large as the inside of a cathedral. It had rows of pillars all around, except that they were not of stone but of ice, enormous pillars of ice which carried the dome and gave out a blue light that softly lit up the hall.

The old man gently set Wibke on the floor and together they walked hand in hand through the pillared halls of the glacier fortress which seemed to have no end. Finally they came to a great gate of shiny ice beautifully decorated with snow crystals and ice fern. Upon a sign from the king the double doors sprang open and Wibke stood blinded in a flood of golden light.

When her eyes had accustomed themselves to the glow, she saw before her the winter organ, built of thousands of shimmering icicles and gleaming in supernatural beauty. For a long time she stood dumb with wonder. At last she turned her face to the old man and said:

“How beautiful! But where does all this golden light come from? The whole hall appears flooded with gold.”

“That is the dragon’s treasure,” the old man said. “Look in here.”

On the floor in the middle of the hall was a slab of thick transparent ice and when Wibke looked down she saw the dragon’s treasure gleaming deep down below. There were crowns and swords, lances with golden heads, countless numbers of golden chains, rings, bracelets set with the most beautiful jewels, goblets and buckles, brooches and pins, cups and plates and the finest table ware, all of pure gold, one piece more beautiful than the next. Wibke was blinded by so much magnificence. Then the old man began to relate:

“This treasure once belonged to the old Viking kings. Many thousands of years ago they ruled over all this land now called Europe. They were good kings, those old Viking chieftains, who ruled their country justly and peacefully. But once upon a time a huge dragon came into the land from the East. He stole the king’s treasure and concealed it in a cave high up in the Dragon Mountains. And along with the dragon, disorder and rebellion descended upon the land. For every day the dragon took twelve virgins from the surrounding villages and consumed them live to slake his enormous hunger. The people demanded of the king that he free them from the curse of the dragon. So the king sent out a call to the young men of the country to venture forth and kill the dragon. Many followed the call but all were vanquished by the monster. Finally the young son of the king, Gol by name, set out to fight the dragon. He was reputed to be the strongest warrior in the land, a man who knew no fear. For three days and three nights he fought with the monster and at last struck off its head with one powerful blow. But he himself was so badly burnt by the fiery breath of the beast that he also died soon after. He died in my arms,” said the old man. ”His last words were: You are the eternal one. Keep the treasure in your glacier fortress till such time as war and rebellion and wickedness are banned from the earth. You are to deliver the treasure only to him who returns peace and order to the world and restores good will amongst the peoples of the earth. But this time has not yet come,” the old man added sadly and thoughtfully.

“And when was it that Gol slew the dragon?” asked Wibke who had been listening to the story of the old man attentively.

“Many thousands of years ago.”

“You are as old as that?” Wibke cried out in amazement.

“As old as the mountains and the glaciers,” the old man answered. Then he took Wibke to the far end of the hall, set her onto a bench covered with furs and said:

“Now I shall play for you on the winter organ. When I do so, all the icicles in the forest and the valley will vibrate in harmony and create that fine, bell-like ringing that sounds as though dwarves were tapping them with silver hammers.”

The old man ascended the steps of ice and sat down at the organ and Wibke saw that the Winterking was now wearing a white ermine coat and a crown made of precious blue stones. When he then started playing Wibke closed her eyes and it seemed she was floating through the wintery world, carried by the silver music. Soon she went to sleep on her bench and the music of the winter organ followed her into her dreams.

When Wibke awoke it was dark around her. The music had stopped. She sat up and suddenly saw to her amazement that she was in her own little bed. Outside the morning was beginning to dawn and the morning star stood high above the eastern mountain. She remembered the words of the old man: “Tomorrow morning, when the morning star is above the eastern mountain, you will be back.” He had kept his promise.  But how had she got back? Had the Winterking carried her home as she slept? No, surely that would have woken her. Perhaps it had all been nothing more than a dream? Perhaps she had not really been there at all. Yes, of course, it had to be a dream.

Just then she felt something hard and heavy in the pocket of her nightshirt and her heart rejoiced. She knew then that it had been a real experience; she had not dreamed it, for from her pocket she now took - the golden star!

She never discovered how she returned from the hall of the Winterking. But when she told her parents and brothers about her night’s adventure the father said that he too had once been the guest of the Winterking and had seen the dragon’s treasure. Wibke had not dreamed that; it had really happened.

The Light in the Forest

It was winter again in the log cabin far in the north and almost Christmas. This was the third Christmas since the father had been carried home by angels from his shelter in the forest, and a year after the Winterking took Wibke to his castle of ice.

Things were very busy in the log cabin on the morning of Christmas Eve. The father still had things to finish off on the toys he had been making for his children: a hobby horse for Pitt, who was four years old now, a strong bow and arrows for Ulli and a dolls’ wardrobe for Wibke. The mother was baking and preparing the Christmas meal. Wherever the children went, they were sent away. In the end, they didn’t know where to go any more. They themselves had started making their presents for their parents weeks ago; under Wibke’s direction the brothers had pasted coloured paper onto boxes and painted bookmarks quite beautifully. When the three kept on turning up in their father’s workshop so that he had to quickly hide what he was doing, he eventually said:

“How would you like to decorate our front entrance with branches so that the Christchild is welcomed with a fine festoon when it comes. Go into the forest to the spot where the spring of the mossy brook bubbles up and the animals come to graze; you can collect branches from the young spruce trees there. You should be back here again in two hours time.”

The children were delighted with this proposal. They quickly put on their wind-jackets and snow-boots, shouldered their little knapsacks into which their mother had packed some apples and snacks, and then they set out towards the snow-covered woods.

They soon came to the spot where Wibke had been given the fallen star by the Winterking. The children saw little tracks there between the firs and criss-crossing over the path.

“They must be the tracks of deer,” Ulli surmised.

“No, they’re not deer tracks, Ulli,” Wibke replied after a close inspection. “It’s root-gnomes. Look, each of the impressions appears to have been made by a tiny boot. Pitt’s tracks look just like that, only a bit larger.”

“Can you actually see root-gnomes?” Ulli asked, because he would have loved to see a little fellow like that.

“The Winterking said that they are so quick and smart and so good at hiding that only very few people have ever caught sight of them. But,” Wibke said, after giving it a bit of thought,”let’s see if we can trick them.”

“How are you going to do that?” Ulli asked.

Wibke put on a cunning grin: “Let’s hide behind that fallen fir-tree. The root-gnomes are sure to have their cave underneath one of the big trees over there.”

“What if they don’t come out of their hole, though,” Ulli said doubtfully.

“Just do as I say,” said Wibke and took Pitt by the hand. “But you have to be completely quiet otherwise they definitely won’t come.”

Once the children were squatting behind the log, Wibke took a cardboard star she had covered with golden foil to hang on the Christmas tree out of her coat pocket. With a quick movement, she threw it down between the firs to the spot where the tracks could be seen. The sunlight glinted on the foil so that it looked as though a real star were falling from the sky.

The root-gnomes must be constantly watching the sky and the forest from their hide-outs, for no sooner had the cardboard star touched the ground and you could hear a rustling under the firs. It was not long before you could discern the tip of a pointy cap and immediately after, the wrinkled, bearded face of a root-elf. Pitt saw him first and was about to call out loudly but Wibke quickly clapped her hand on his mouth.

“Be very quiet and still, Pitt, or the little dwarves will hear us and run away.”

But the little fellow had already heard it with his pointy ears, for Pitt had hardly opened his mouth before he disappeared again. “If we keep very quiet now, he might come back,” Wibke whispered.

The children lay perfectly still and hardly dared to breathe. There was complete silence in the forest. Only now and again you could hear a sighing and rustling when one of the trees threw off some of its heavy load of snow.

Suddenly Ulli, who was sitting in the middle, nudged Wibke and Pitt and cautiously pointed to the old fir-tree below them. The children saw four, no five little root-gnomes come out carefully and, following the short whistle of one of them, run out with rapid little steps towards the star that was gleaming golden in the white snow. Together they grabbed hold of the five corners to lift the star which they took to be very heavy due to its size. But because a cardboard star is very light, even for root-gnomes, they all fell backwards into the snow. The children thought that was very funny and had to laugh. Pitt in particular screamed out loud in delight. At that point the gnomes realized that they had been deceived. Scribble-scrabble, they were up and gone, disappearing between the roots.

“That was a brilliant idea, Wibke,” said Ulli enthusiastically, after he had finally stopped laughing. “This way we actually got to see the root-gnomes too.”

Wibke was very proud that she had managed to trick them but tried not to show it, only saying: “But now we have to get going and find the spruce trees.”

Before they continued on their way, Ulli quickly jumped down and retrieved the cardboard star which the gnomes had left in their fright.

“Can I have the star?” begged Pitt.

“What do you want to do with it,” Wibke wanted to know.

“If father lifts me up, I’ll hang it on the very top of the Christmas tree and then when the Christchild comes we’ll tell him the story and then he’ll laugh and be happy.”

“I don’t mind you having it,” said Wibke. She drilled a hole in one of the points, pulled string through and hung it around Pitt’s neck.

“Let’s hope the root-gnomes don’t try and steal you, though,” she said.

“I’m not afraid,” said little Pitt. “They’re much too scared; and I’ve also got really big muscles now. I’d knock down one of those silly dwarves any day.”

“Not dwarves, root-gnomes,” Wibke corrected him.

“Same thing,” protested Pitt.

Wibke and Ulli laughed but Pitt was offended and took off by himself on the track to the mountains, puffing up his fat red cheeks.

Eventually they got to the spruce trees. They were all so hungry after their strenuous walk that they decided to eat their cake and apples first. Ulli, who was thirsty, walked over to where the spring of the mossy brook gurgled, lay down on his stomach and drank the crystal clear water as it bubbled up fresh from the ground. Then they started to cut the spruce branches. Ulli had taken along his father’s pen-knife for this purpose and it didn’t take long before each one of the children had a big bunch of branches which Wibke tied together at the bottom so that they could be carried more easily.

“Now we’ll have to hurry up a bit to get home. These days the sun goes down early and after that it gets dark very quickly. Come on.”

But just as they were about to shoulder their rucksacks again, there was a sudden festive hush all around and a golden gleam spread over the snow covered mountains. Immediately after that, they heard a ringing and tinkling coming from the dense fir forest as though a thousand sleigh bells were sounding. The children stopped and listened and even once the ringing of the bells had died away in the distance, they still stood as though in a dream.

“What was that,” asked Pitt who had grabbed hold of his sister’s hand somewhat anxiously.

Wibke and Ulli knew what it was. “That was the Christchild in its reindeer sleigh,” they whispered in unison.

“It was probably on its way to our house,” said Ulli. “What a pity we weren’t home when it brought the tree and the presents. And our festoon wasn’t ready either.”

Ulli was really sad. But Wibke reminded him:”The Christchild has a lot of places it has to go to on Christmas Eve and lots and lots of children to visit. We should be glad that it was prepared to come all the way through the forest to visit us.”

“Come on,” cried Ulli, “let’s hurry up so that we can be home soon. But we’ll definitely take along the spruce branches. Perhaps the Christchild will pass by our house again on the return journey and see our festoon then.”

They quickly started on their way home.

The children had surmised correctly. It was actually the Christchild driving up to their house through the forest. Now the Christmas tree was standing in the living room and all the presents were displayed. All that was missing was the children.

The parents stepped outside the door of the log cabin and searched the forest with their eyes.

“Where can they be? They should have been back long ago. Do you think they could have lost their way?”

“I don’t think so,” said the father. “Wibke and Ulli are so familiar with the path to the spruces, I really can’t imagine that they could get lost.”

“One of them might have fallen and hurt themselves,” the mother worried. ”Something must have happened otherwise they would not have stayed out so long.”

“It’s better if I go and look for them,” said the father. “There has been no snow since this morning so I can just follow their tracks. Would you mind staying here in case I miss them.”

With his mind made up, he walked back to the house, put on his high snow boots, grabbed his walking stick and the first aid kit and took the long sledge out of the shed. To it he strapped woollen blankets and a lantern at the front. Then he set off taking big strides. When he reached the edge of the forest he turned around one last time. The mother was standing in the light of the open door and waving.

It was a moonless night. In the forest it was almost completely dark; only the snow threw up a weak reflection of the glitter of the stars. Since the last snowfall nobody but the children had walked the path to the spruce trees. Consequently the father had no difficulty following their tracks by the light of the lantern. When he at last reached a rise from where, by day, one could see right over to the snowdrop meadow, a small clearing where the mother deer and their fawns liked to come to graze, he could see a gleam which he could not explain to himself. He was about to continue when he noticed that the tracks of the children went both ways. They must have come up to here on their way home. They had probably seen the light too and had left the path to investigate what it might be. Immediately after, he found the spot from where the tracks led through the untouched snow to the snowdrop meadow. He was sure to find the children soon now. He quickly jumped onto a rock and called out in his loud, deep voice: “Hullo, children, where are you?” then he curled his hand around his ear and listened intently for any sound from the silent world of the forests. And from the mountains there came a soft reply: “Hullo, children, where are you?” the echo of his own voice.

But wasn’t there another sound that came back with the echo? Yes, now he could clearly discern Ulli’s voice. The father called one more time. Then he ran along the children’s tracks as fast as he could, pulling the sledge behind him.

A considerable time had passed since the father had gone out to look for the children and the mother had been to the door again and again to see if they were coming at last. But she was always forced to go back into the house disappointed and worried. For outside there were only the silent forest and the high snowy mountains; but no light could be seen and no voice answered her calls. Now it was also starting to snow big heavy flakes and soon the forest could no longer be seen because of the falling snow.

When she was about to go back in again, she thought she could hear a far away call. She called back but heard nothing more. Perhaps she had been mistaken. She listened as hard as she could for any sounds coming out of the cold winter night.  

After the sleigh of the Christchild passed through the forest the children hurriedly began to make their way home, carrying their fir branches. Soon they came to a rise and from there they could see a golden gleam down in the meadow below. They stopped to look; there seemed to be no explanation for the strange light. It looked as though some of the glow that had surrounded the sleigh of the Christchild like a golden mist had been caught on the snowdrop meadow. So they decided to go and have a quick look. They left the path and ran down to the meadow as fast as Pitt could follow.

The closer they approached the brighter the gleam became. Suddenly they could hear a soft cry.

“Perhaps a fawn has lost its mother,” Ulli suggested as the children stopped to listen.

“That is not the cry of a fawn,” whispered Wibke, “that sounds like a little human.”

They hurried on and, lo and behold, when they came to the edge of the snowdrop meadow they saw a tiny angel lying there in the snow crying bitterly. It was the angel’s halo that sent out the soft golden gleam. It had spread over the whole meadow because every snowdrop and every ice crystal wanted to reflect a little of the sacred light.

Now the children reached the angel. Wibke picked it up out of the snow and nursed it on her arm just like a real little mother. She noticed how the angel was shivering with cold for it was wearing only a shirt and was barefoot.

“We will have to dress it warmly,” said Wibke, “it is dreadfully cold.”

“I’ll give it my woollen jacket,” said Ulli.

“And it can have my woollen scarf,” cried Pitt, tugging at the scarf which was knotted round his neck.

“And I will give it my coat; we can wrap it up in that. Then we will carry it home to the warm fire as quickly as possible.”

The children threw their knapsacks onto the ground to take off their clothes.

“I’ll give him my socks too. I can walk in my boots without socks,” said Pitt.

They then dressed the angel which was still crying and finally Wibke wrapped it in her coat and hugged it tightly to her warm body. Now it stopped crying.

Wibke sat very still on her rock and just could not believe that she was holding a real angel in her arms while Ulli and Pitt squatted in the snow and marvelled at the miracle.

When the angel had recovered a little and lifted its head with the golden halo to look around, Wibke said to it:

“How is it that you were lying in the snow and why didn’t you fly back to heaven?”

Then the angel told its story:”I was helping the Christchild paint toys for the children on earth along with the other angels. When everything had been done and the Christchild was about to commence its great Christmas journey down to earth, I asked if I could come along. But the Christchild said I was too little. The earth was at present covered with snow and it was bitterly cold down there. Under no circumstances could I come this year. - But I so much wanted to see the earth and go with the Christchild. So when the reindeer sleigh was being loaded, I secretly hid in the back between the bags of toys without anyone noticing. Then the great trumpets of heaven sounded and down the Milky Way we went at a breathtaking speed. My, was that marvellous! But when we arrived on the earth, oh dear was I cold! The road also became rough and uneven so that I bounced up and down between the bags of toys. I had to hold on with all my might. Then when we crossed this meadow the sleigh hit the big rock on which we are sitting and I fell out and was left in the snow. Oh, if only I had not been so disobedient! Oh, if only I had done what the Christchild told me!” And the little angel began to cry again.

“Why don’t you just fly back to heaven?” asked Ulli.

“Because one of my wings is broken.”

“Does it hurt, you poor thing?” asked Pitt.

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” answered the angel. “But I can’t fly anymore. How will I ever get back to heaven?”

“We will take you home,” Wibke said comfortingly. “You will like it there. You can sleep in my bed.”

“And you can have my eiderdown,” Ulli interrupted.

“And you will be allowed to sit at the table in my high chair,” Pitt cried out eagerly, “and play with my train and ...”

Wibke interrupted him: “We have to go home now. Do you want to come along with us?”

“Oh yes,” the angel said happily. “But how will I ever get back to heaven?”

“We will nurse you and when your wing has healed then you will be able to fly back to the Christchild in heaven.”

The children had not noticed how late and dark it had grown. Black clouds were hiding the sparkling stars completely. But the angel’s halo glowed so brightly that everything round about gleamed in its light.

Just as they were shouldering their knapsacks again to make their way home they heard a distant call.

“That sounded like Father’s voice,” said Ulli. “Perhaps he is looking for us.”

“Quickly call back,” said Wibke, “you have the loudest voice.”

Ulli took a deep breath and called as loud as he could: “Hullo Father, we are here!”

The father had not understood the words when he was standing on his rock and trying to work out what the gleam in the direction of the snowdrop meadow might be. But through the echo of his own voice he had recognized the voice of Ulli and, after calling out again, he had run down to the snowdrop meadow as quickly as he could.

The children walked up to meet the father, Wibke in the middle with the little angel in her arms, Ulli and Pitt on either side. Ulli had shouldered Wibke’s rucksack because she had so much to carry as it was.

The mother had remained at the door when she thought she heard a call from the forest. She listened intently whether it would be repeated. There! Now she heard it again. That was the father’s voice and it sounded quite cheerful. He was singing Christmas carols. The whole forest rang with his strong voice and it became ever louder. They are sledging down to the valley, thought the mother and went out to meet them. Now they would have arrived at the edge of the forest. Suddenly it seemed that golden snow-flakes were falling from heaven and a golden glow spread across the meadow.

“That’s like a miracle,” the mother thought.

But you should have seen how happy she looked when the father pulled up the sledge with the children, all of them uninjured and with bright red cheeks, and when she saw that Wibke was holding a real little angel in her arms.

There had never been such jubilation, such festive joy in the little log house on Christmas Eve! And to have a real little angel for a visitor! Not many people have experienced the like. It was the most beautiful Christmas that any family on earth could have celebrated that year.

The angel stayed in the log house with Wibke, Ulli and Pitt; it was wonderful for the parents too. Every day they grew fonder of their little visitor and nobody wanted to think of the time when it would have to return to heaven. But one day the angel said:

“Now my wing is healed. I can fly again. Tonight I will have to go back to heaven and ask the Christchild to forgive me for being so disobedient.”

Everybody was very sad.

“Can’t you stay with us and be our little brother or sister,” the children begged.

“I would love to stay with you,” said the angel. “But angels are only allowed to be on earth if the Christchild has permitted it or if God has given them a special task to fulfil. Heaven, not earth, is the home of angels. The earth is only for humans. If I come back, I can only do so as a real human child. And that needs the permission of the Christchild or God.”

“Would you like to come back to us as a real little human, a brother or sister for Wibke, Ulli and Pitt?” the mother asked expectantly.

“I would certainly like to,” the angel assured her.

“Oh,” cried all the children,”promise us that you will ask God for permission?”

“I’ll promise, because I love you all so much and it is so beautiful on earth.”

That made the children very happy.

The very same night when a deep, sparkling, starry sky was spread out above the valley the little angel flew out of the window on its long journey back to heaven.

“We’ll wait for you,” the children called out and waved till the angel could no longer be seen with the naked eye.

The Christchild happened to be with God at the time, telling him of its long winter journey to the earth. They too saw the angel fly through the vast skies and heard what the children called out to it. The Christchild waved at the Angel Gabriel: “Bring me back the little escapee. Its wings are still too weak for such a long journey.”

The great angel dived down with its huge shining wings. To the children, still standing in front of the door of the log cabin it seemed like a gleaming shooting star and all three of them were ready to make a silent wish.

The Christchild asked God the father: “Will you permit it, Father?”

And God smiled as only God can smile, so kindly and beautifully and mysteriously, and nodded.

Spring came to the valley that year with splendour and magnificence. It was Mother’s Day and the children sneaked out of the house in the early morning to pick flowers for their mother. Then holding their colourful bunches they knocked at the door softly. The father opened it and put his finger to his lips smiling mysteriously. And what did they see when they walked up to their mother’s bed? There was a tiny child in her arms.

“Look, it is our angel,” the mother smiled and it seemed to the children that a little of the gleam of the halo was still over the bed.

“Now it is your little brother.”

“Oh it kept its promise,” the children cried out in joy and surprise. “Now it will always stay with us and we will love it so very very much.”

The Test: A Summer Story

The winter was over and summer had descended upon the land once again. It was a beautiful summer, warm and bright, as though the sun wanted to lavish all its radiance and warmth upon that valley in the north.

At lunch one day the father said: “Tomorrow I am going to go to a place on the other side of the Dragon Mountains on the shore of the mountain lake; I have to fell trees there. The stream is going to carry enough water this year to float the logs down and in town they are now paying good money for fir logs. Mother, could you prepare a knapsack for me with enough provisions for a week because that is how long I am going to stay.”

When the children heard this they called out in unison: “Can we come along? Oh, Father, please let us come along. We have never been to that spot with the big fir trees by the mountain lake and it is summer holidays now and we don’t have to do any schoolwork!”

“I have to go by myself,” said the father. “You are all still much too little and useless to go on such a big hike.”

“No, we’ll be able to manage. We’ll be useful. You can depend on us. Please, father, let us come along.”

The father looked at his three children one after the other, thoughtfully and sternly. Then he said to Ulli: “Lately you have shown me that you are not reliable and not obedient either. Remember when I asked you to get the axe from the shed because I needed it urgently. You did get it but instead of coming back straight away you stopped off to play on the way and came back so late that I no longer had any use for it. That was neither obedient nor reliable behaviour.”

“But,” Ulli started and wanted to make some excuse. But the father cut him off and turned to Pitt:

“And you want to come to the mountain lake with me, you little cry baby. Do you think I’d enjoy listening to your howling for seven days? Lately it’s enough just to look at you and you start to cry. When I am in the forest, I’d much rather hear the soughing of the trees and the murmuring of the brook.”

Pitt, who was just going through a weepy stage, was about to start crying again but then he saw that his father was beginning to laugh. He quickly controlled himself and swallowed his tears.

“And what about me?” asked Wibke. “Can I come?”

The father looked at his daughter as though he wanted to ask something of her: “I think it would be better if you stayed with Mother and helped her with little Hell. Don’t you think so too?”

“Perhaps,” said Wibke a little sadly. “I’d really love to come along but I am also happy to stay here and help Mother.”

The father nodded at her. “I like to hear that. You have become a sensible and useful human being. You make me happy. If Ulli could be more obedient and reliable and Pitt braver and less of a whinger I would take them along. But as it stands, no.”

With that the father got up and went back to work. After lunch the two boys climbed up into their castle. It was a cubby built of boards high in a fir-tree on the edge of the meadow. There they held a council of war. They really wanted to go; but how could they persuade the father to let them. In the end, they came to a decision. They climbed down and went over to the other side of the meadow where the father was busy repairing a fence. Ulli was the spokesman.

“Father,” he began after taking a deep breath, “if you take us along, I’ll prove to you that I can be obedient and reliable and Pitt will promise that he won’t cry once on the entire trip, no matter what happens. For he can do it if he wants to. Look!”

With that Ulli gave Pitt a resounding slap on the cheek, just as they had arranged he would. It really hurt a lot.

Pitt gritted his teeth. The tears nearly came after all but he quickly fought them back and just said with fury in his voice:

“You idiot. It wasn’t supposed to be that hard!”

But Ulli wasn’t listening: “See Father, he can do it and you’ll find out that I can too. Just regard this trip as a test. Please take us. We’ll definitely keep our promises.”

The father had to laugh: “Can you put up with a slap like the one Pitt took? Pitt can give you back the one you gave him. Hit him, Pitt.”

Pitt reached out as far as he could and hit Ulli on the cheek with all the force he could muster. He put his whole fury into the blow. Ulli turned once on his own axis and although he too bravely suppressed his pain, he did say accusingly to Pitt:

“You ass. I certainly didn’t hit you that hard.”  

“Well,” said the father, “you do seem to be serious about what you said a minute ago.”

Then he had a bit of a think while he tested the blade of his axe with his thumb; in the end he said: “Very well, you can both come along. But you have to realize this trip will be a test for both of you; a test of obedience, reliability, and courage. If you pass the test you can come along more often; if one of you fails or both of you fail, you will both have to stay home in future. Perhaps you are on the way to becoming men after all. Let’s see. I wonder what the outcome will be.” Pitt and Ulli both leaped into the air for joy and gave their father a big hug. Then they ran home to tell Mother the good news.

By early morning on the following day the three were on their way; the big father and the two little men. The father was carrying a large knapsack with a folded tent and blankets strapped to it. Ulli and Pitt carried small knapsacks and each had an axe over his shoulder. For the father had made it a condition that they had to help with the tree felling.

To get to the mountain lake they had to cross a fairly high mountain ridge on tracks that were steep and rough and which were crossed more than once by raging mountain streams. This was still true primeval forest and the path with its log bridges was the only sign of human intervention in the natural landscape.

When they passed a particularly wild and deeply fissured gorge Ulli asked: “Is it really true that dragons once lived here or is it only stories that people have made up?”

“It is true that there were dragons in earlier times,” the father replied. “Even today you can still occasionally find the bones of these huge creatures.”

“But there aren’t any dragons still alive, are there?” Ulli asked.

“We can’t be completely sure of that for, up to now, humans have not reached every mountain, every abyss, every corner of the earth, or the depths of the oceans. It is possible that somewhere on earth there are still descendents of those giant monsters.”

“Do you think it is possible that there could still be dragons here in these forests and mountains?”

“I don’t think so,” said the father. “But you can’t be completely sure for even in our mountains there are places where no human being has ever set foot. In earlier days there are sure to have been dragons here and it is not for nothing that these mountains are called the Dragon Mountains.”

“I am glad you are here, Father. I think I would be afraid to walk through the Dragon Mountains alone,” said Ulli.

“Me too,” Pitt said emphatically.

They reached the mountain lake just before dark. The father chose a nice meadow on the edge of the forest and beside the lake where he erected the tent with the help of Ulli and Pitt. Pitt had to go and fetch water, Ulli wood, and soon they had a jolly fire burning on which the father cooked dinner: Rice pudding with raisins. Then they collected dry foliage for themselves, spread their blankets over it, and before the evening star had followed the sun over the western horizon all three of them were already fast asleep. Ulli dreamed of giants and dragons all night. Pitt, for his part, dreamed of a lake made of rice pudding into which raisins were dropping like hail from a storm cloud overhead. The dream should really have made him happy but he cried miserably in his sleep because there was so much rice pudding with raisins out there while he was so full that he couldn’t eat a single spoonful

Next morning they were up at first light and straight after breakfast they set to work. The father with his big axe chopped down the firs and the children had to chop the branches off the felled giants. Whenever a big tree was close to falling the father called out to the boys to get back to a safe spot. They would then run over to a high rock from where they could watch the fall of the giant with cheers and shouts.

On the third day of their sojourn on the mountain lake the father chose as his victim a particularly tall and massive tree. Around eight o’clock it was just about ready to fall. The father called out his usual warning to the boys who were working close by. But the boys did not hear his call and little Pitt, who wanted to ask his father something, ran directly towards the giant tree as it began to fall. He heard the creaking and crashing but got such a fright that he didn’t know what to do and just stood where he was, crying, exactly on the spot where the tree was due to fall. At the last minute the father became aware of the impending danger. With giant steps he jumped under the falling tree and towards Pitt, grabbed him and threw him five meters through the air to the side. Pitt fell onto a soft cushion of pine needles and was saved, but the father couldn’t get to safety himself. A large branch hurled him down and pinned his calf to the ground so that he was caught and couldn’t move.

“Ulli, come and help me,” the father called.

Ulli was already coming as fast as he could, for he had heard the father’s cry of pain and little Pitt screaming.

“Stop crying, otherwise we won’t be able to come along again,” Ulli called out to his brother in passing. Pitt immediately took control of himself and also came running.

“My leg is broken, Ulli,” said the father, “and the branch is pinning it down so firmly that I can’t free myself. Quickly get your axes and chop the branch off.”

Both boys rushed off while the father, fighting his pain, tried to work out what to do next. To have a fractured leg a long day’s walk from home with no other people anywhere around whom you could ask for help was a pretty desperate situation.

It wasn’t long before both boys were busy chopping through the branch which was as thick as someone’s thigh. It wasn’t easy work for the wood was hard and the position awkward. More than once the father called out to the children to take a rest. But all they could think was to free their father; they paid no attention to their own tiredness and the blisters on their hands. Eventually they reached the point where the branch broke from the trunk and rolled off the father’s leg.

“Bravo, boys,” the father cried. “You managed that in double quick time. Now let’s have a look at the damage.”

He got out his pen-knife and cut open the leg of his trousers.

“Yes, he said, “the shin bone is broken. I won’t be able to walk. It will take weeks before my leg has healed. What should we do? But” he continued after a pause,”first I will have to see whether I can somehow get to the tent.”

“We’ll carry you, Father,” said the boys. In spite of his pain, the father had to laugh. “I don’t think you’ll manage that. Pitt; run over to the tent and get a blanket. But be quick.”

While Pitt raced over to the tent the father said to Ulli: “When you asked me whether you could come along, you said I was to regard this trip as a test. Now you have an opportunity to show that you are reliable, courageous and obedient. It is a difficult test but I think you will prove worth your salt.”

“What can I do, Father?”

“You will have to cross the Dragon Mountains all by yourself and run home to tell Mother what happened. She is to notify the men from the lower lake and ask them to come to my help and carry me home. But the men don’t know this spot on the mountain lake so you will have to go back with them and lead them. Do you think you can do all that?”

Ulli had to swallow hard. To be going alone through the Dragon Mountains, alone across the log bridges and through the wild gorges! What if there were dragons there after all. Ulli was frightened. He imagined all sorts of terrible things that could happen to him on the way. So he didn’t answer straight away.

“Have a good think about whether you want to do this. But it is our only way out.”

Now Pitt came running with the blanket. The father pushed it under his broken leg, the boys had to hold the blanket on the left and the right by its four corners so that the leg was raised and not dragging along the ground. Then he crawled backwards like a three legged crab to the tent where he could lie down on his bed.

After the boys had helped the father, who was in considerable pain, to find a comfortable position, Ulli said with brave determination:

“I want to try, Father. I want to cross the Dragon Mountains and get help.”

“And you won’t be afraid?”

“I will,” Ulli answered, “but that doesn’t matter. You will see that I am reliable and that I’ll bring help. Do you believe me, Father?”

The father looked his son in the eye: “Yes, I believe you. And if you do become scared and tired on the way, remember that you carry the responsibility for Pitt and me. The longer I lie here, the worse my leg is going to get. But if you can get help quickly, it will soon heal once I am back at home.”

“You can rely on me, Father,” said Ulli. This was the first time he had made a decision where he was fully conscious of the responsibility he bore and knew that he would fulfil his mission even at the risk of losing his life.

“You, Pitt, will stay with me. You are going to have to make the fire, cook the food, fetch the water and do all the things that I can’t do myself.” Pitt’s breast swelled with pride: “I will do everything you need me to do. And you’ll see, even if I burn myself on the fire I won’t cry.”

In all haste, sandwiches were spread for Ulli and he was even given an entire sausage to eat on the way. He was to drink from the forest streams. It was around ten when Ulli waved back towards the tent for the last time before he started off on the narrow track through the dense primeval forest.

Ulli’s heart became heavy once he could no longer see the tent and his father and was walking all alone between the firs. He told himself that whatever happened, he had to master his fear, even if he didn’t get home till the middle of the night. - The middle of the night! - Ulli tried to calculate how long the walk up had taken, when they had been with their father. They had left home shortly after sunrise and had arrived at the lake about an hour before dark. By now it was ten o’clock already. He would have to walk in the dark for quite some time.

“If I walk very quickly and don’t rest at all on the way, I won’t have to walk through the dark for so long. And the last stretch of the way is not as wild and dangerous.”

He tried to buck up his courage.

Around three he did put in a stop after all, ate two sandwiches and had a bit of a rest on a soft bed of fir needles. He was quite tired by now and had almost gone to sleep. But he quickly pulled himself together and set out again. For goodness sake, he mustn’t go to sleep or stop for too long. He had to win the race with night. He had already crossed three raging streams and soon the fourth one would come. That was the most dangerous. There the log bridge was only just above the water and that was like a wild whirlpool and plunged into the depths as a waterfall only a few meters on. Once he had crossed that stream, the worst would be over.

It was eerily quiet in the forest. But in the distance there was rolling thunder and every now and then when he could get a view of the peaks of the Dragon Mountains through the trees, he could see that there were deep black clouds over there through which lightning flashes were racing like fiery tongues.

Ulli started to become worried and walked more quickly. If only he could get to the last bridge soon! But however fast he ran, there was always another turn of the track. He was also running in the direction of the storm and the claps of thunder were becoming ever louder.  It wasn’t long before heavy drops fell and the wind swept through the forest like a hissing dragon. Branches dropped from the tree-tops, fir-cones came down and curtains of rain. Ulli was drenched to the skin.  The thunderstorm was directly above him now and he was so frightened that he would have liked nothing better than to crawl into some little hole. But he remembered the father’s parting words: “Keep in mind that you now carry the responsibility for Pitt and me.” So he gritted his teeth and bravely ran through the blinding lightning flashes and the crashing thunder.

Eventually the storm moved on and soon the sky was blue again and the thunder was dying away in the distance. “Thank goodness, that’s over,” thought Ulli. Now only the last bridge remained to be crossed. But where was it? It should have come up a long time ago. Could it be that he had lost his way?

Suddenly he heard a terrible rushing and roaring. Ulli thought he could hear the ground shaking. It became chilly and the air was filled with a misty spray. The fear that had passed with the thunderstorm now returned. - If only the father were here. He always had an explanation for anything creepy. But Ulli was now completely alone. For a moment he thought of turning back; then he remembered the promise he had given himself: to go on, even if it could cost his life.

When he eventually came to a bend in the path he saw the origin of the thunderous rushing and stopped dumbfounded. The mountain stream over which the last bridge led had become a tearing maelstrom and had torn away the log, the only possibility of getting across. The connection with home had been torn away. Ulli sat down on the path and started to sob helplessly. What was he to do? Go back? He was sure his father would not be angry if he turned back now. He had proved his courage when he continued on in spite of thunder and lightning strikes. But would that be ‘being reliable’? In the end it depended on him whether the father received help or not. No, he had to be not just brave, but reliable too. He had to go on! - But how?

Ulli began to consider his options. Somehow or other he had to cross the stream and there must be a way to do that. The father had always said that nothing was impossible if you kept a clear mind and a firm will.

He would have to climb up along the edge of the stream till he found a spot where it was not quite so deep and where you could climb across over rocks or a tree-trunk that had happened to fall that way. Then he would have to go down again on the other side till he came back to the path.

Holding on to roots and rocks he made his way up-hill. It was slow progress. Gradually the day was coming to an end too and it was growing dusky. “If only I could get to the path before dark,” he thought and hurried as much as possible in the difficult terrain.

When it was already getting dark, he at last saw a giant fir that had been struck by lightning and fallen across the chasm. That was his salvation. He had to get across it. But when he started to crawl across the tree trunk and saw the giddy depths below he was once more gripped by fear. Then he thought of his injured father again and of his responsibility. Everything depended on him!

Without looking down, careful but determined, he worked his way across the trunk to the other side. When he was finally on firm ground again after climbing down a branch for the last little bit, it had become so dark that he could hardly make out the ground in the shadow of the forest. All the same, he stumbled on in the hope of reaching the path for once on it he could find his way home even at night. With the onset of darkness, however, the root-gnomes became active and put roots and vines like snares in his way so that his shins and ribs became bruised and sore. But he was not afraid of the gnomes; they were just a pesky nuisance and couldn’t inflict serious harm. Then he started to think of dragons again and what he was supposed to do if he should suddenly encounter a monster like that. He was really afraid of dragons.

After a while he came to a stream that didn’t carry much water so he could walk along its banks without a problem. Gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he could make reasonable progress.

But what did he see, to his horror, when he rounded a turn of the gorge?! Weren’t those two fiery eyes there on the other side of the rock wall? His heart stopped: “A dragon”, he thought and stood petrified with fear. When finally a fiery breath seemed to blow out through the hole between the eyes, flaring up and throwing off sparks, Ulli knew that he was undoubtedly facing a real dragon. Now there was no help but flight.

Just as he was about to turn and run off he listened again. That sounded like the laughter of men. Yes, those were the voices of men. Was there no dragon after all? Or had the dragon captured the men? But surely then they would not be laughing. He could hear it quite clearly, the rough wild laughter of several male voices. Summoning up his courage he crept closer to the lights, taking care that the glow of the dragon’s breath did not fall on him. As he came closer he saw, to his surprise, a cave with three exits. In it a fire was burning and around the fire sat four bearded, wild looking men. They were playing with dice and every time a die was cast and one of them won, that wild, raucous laughter would ring out.

“Who were these men?” Ulli asked himself. “They could be robbers, maybe murderers, who are hiding out here in the forest.” What should he do? He was about to sneak past the cave quietly when the thought struck him that they might not be evil men after all. Perhaps they would even be prepared to carry the father home. He had to give it a try.

Without much ado he jumped into the cave and right amongst the men. They got such a fright that they leaped up from their seats and cried out in astonishment. But when they realized that the cause of their dismay was only a small, rather tired and frightened looking boy, they burst out laughing and could not contain themselves for some time.

At last the biggest man with the bushiest beard caught Ulli round the hips, lifted him up and sat him on his knee. Then he said with amusement and not without some admiration in his voice:

“How does a little fellow like you get up here to the Dragon Mountains? What is a little gnome like you doing all alone in the dark forest on a wild night like this? Don’t you have a father to look after you?”

“Yes, I have a father,” Ulli replied. “But he is lying in his tent with a broken leg, miles from here. My little brother Pitt is with him and looking after him. I was on my way home to fetch help but the torrent has torn away the bridge and so I had to go this detour to get across the ravine.”

“And weren’t you afraid all alone in the dark forest?”

“Yes, I was afraid,” Ulli replied with honesty, “I was afraid of you too, you look so wild and dangerous. But somehow, I have to get help for Father.”

“Well done,” said the bearded fellow, “you have more courage than many a man.”

Ulli glanced round at the men in turn. Then he asked cautiously and suspiciously: “And who are you? Are you murderers or robbers? Are you going to hurt me?”

At that the men laughed their rough laughter again: “Is that what we look like?”

“Yes,” retorted Ulli, “you look a bit like that.”

“We may look like that,” said the slim man with the red hair, “but you don’t have to be afraid of us. We won’t hurt you.”

“If you aren’t murderers or robbers then what are you doing hiding in this cave in the Dragon Mountains? Are you by any chance woodcutters like my father?”

“We are treasure hunters,” the man they called Fritjof answered. “We are here looking for the dragon treasure.”

“A dragon treasure?” Ulli asked with wide-eyed amazement.

Then Fritjof told him that they came from the far north. They were descendents of the Vikings. In the legends of their people there was an account of a treasure that a dragon had stolen many thousands of years ago which lay buried in a cave in the Dragon Mountains. A prince, a very strong hero from the heath lands, had killed the dragon. But he had not been able to find the treasure, so deep in the ground had the dragon buried it.

“And now you are looking for the dragon treasure?” asked Ulli.

“Yes,” replied his friend.

Ulli breathed a sigh of relief. Treasure hunters did not necessarily have to be bad men. Perhaps they would help his father. But before he could ask, Fritjof said: “Where is your father and where do you live?”

“We live in the low meadow and my father is at the mountain lake.”

“How far is it to the mountain lake?”

“I walked from ten in the morning until now and hardly rested on the way. It is a very long way.”

“And you went by yourself all that way?”

“Pitt had to stay with Father. He is a bit too small anyway.”

“Anyone would think you had Viking blood in your veins.”

“I have,” Ulli said proudly. “Father has told me all about the old Vikings. His ancestors were Vikings too.”

“Fellows,” said Fritjof. “The man lying out there is one of us, one of our race. We will have to help him right away. Are you ready, you Dederick, you Knut and you Sven?”

The three men nodded. “Let’s get going right away, Fritjof,” said Dederick. “We’ll piggyback the little fellow. He can sleep on the way.”

“Well let’s be off,” said Fritjof and got up, swinging Ulli onto his shoulders.

The three younger men extinguished the fire, took their axes and knapsacks and out they went from the cave into the darkness of the forest. Ulli was floating high up on the shoulders of Fritjof. He was so tired that he soon dropped to sleep. He didn’t wake again till the dawn was breaking and was most surprised that he was no longer on Fritjof’s but on Dederick’s shoulders. He hadn’t even noticed the changeover during the night.

Since Ulli’s departure the father had lain in his tent, unable to move and in severe pain. He was worried about Ulli. The wild storm that Ulli had encountered on the way had hit the lake too and the father’s thoughts were with Ulli constantly. He had to think of the bridge across the torrent. Would it have stood up to the storm? What would Ulli do if it had been washed away? In the meantime Pitt had been busy. He had fetched wood and water from the lake and had cooked rice pudding according to his father’s instructions. He had been extremely hungry and had had three full plates himself. He had then made coffee for his father and later washed up everything in the lake. In the afternoon the father had sent him off to the forest to cut poles for a stretcher. Pitt had got them, peeled off the bark with his penknife and put them in the sun to dry. There were also a lot of other little jobs Pitt had to do for his father and he had done them all to satisfaction. By night he was so tired that he dropped off to sleep in the middle of dinner.

Because of his pain the father could not get to sleep and when dawn broke he was still awake thinking of Ulli. Would he have arrived home?

As he was pursuing these thoughts he suddenly heard a call from the forest. Was it a human being or just an early bird? He sat up and dragged himself to the entrance of the tent. There it was again. That was Ulli’s voice, he thought excitedly. He quickly woke Pitt. “Pitt, get up and listen. Isn’t that Ulli calling?”

Pitt rubbed his eyes. “Where is Ulli?” he said sleepily. But then both of them quite clearly heard Ulli’s voice calling: “Father, I am coming and bringing help.”

The father was afraid to trust his ears. So soon? That couldn’t be possible. But there it was, four large bearded men stepped out of the forest onto the meadow and the first was carrying - there was no denying it - Ulli on his shoulders.

“Ulli,” the father called back. “Good on you Ulli. How did you manage that?”

But Ulli only waved his arms about furiously.

The Vikings splinted the father’s leg and then carried him down home through the mountains on a stretcher. They had made the stretcher from the poles Pitt had prepared and from a blanket. When Ulli and Pitt, who had walked the first part of the way, started to get tired, Dederick took one and Sven the other on his shoulders; the boys loved that. Towards evening they arrived. They could see the light of the log cabin from afar. Ulli ran ahead to prepare Mother for the shock. The Vikings lay the father on his bed and Knut, who had some training in these things, splinted the leg properly. Fritjof said he was sure the father would soon be able to walk again.

In the meantime the mother had made a tasty meal and had brought out the home-made mead. Before the exhausted children were put to bed the father said to his sons:

“You have both passed the test. You have proved that you can be obedient, courageous and reliable. I am proud of you. And my particular thanks go to you, Ulli, for getting help so quickly.” At that Ulli and Pitt were very proud and happy.

The Red Snowdrops

As Fritjof the Viking had predicted, the father’s leg healed in a few weeks and he could go out into the forest to fell trees once more. Ulli and Pitt were often allowed to come along and Wibke too occasionally took part in these excursions, cooked for the men and kept the tent tidy. The year before, her mother had taught her to distinguish edible plants from those that could not be eaten and now she cooked the tastiest dishes from the herbs, roots, and mushrooms she collected in the forest herself. Pitt was a particular admirer of Wibke’s cooking skills and maintained that her herb and mushroom dinners tasted much better than the bland rice puddings he had been so fond of the year before. One late summer’s afternoon, when the father was returning home from the mountain lake with his three children, they heard a shot in the distance. All four stopped dead and listened.

“That’s sure to be the Vikings,” the father said. “They are still searching for the dragon treasure and won’t ever find it. The stupid men don’t know that there are many other treasures in the world that are so much more beautiful and valuable than a dragon treasure like that, even though they may not gleam quite so brightly.”

“What treasures are you talking about, Father,” Wibke had asked, when suddenly they heard the hoof-beat of a frightened, fleeing animal. It sounded like the frantic throbbing of a fatally wounded heart. Just then a young fawn burst out of the forest thicket and came running towards them along the narrow path, blind with fear.

“A fawn” cried Pitt. “A little white fawn.”

And since he happened to be in front of the others he knelt down on the path and spread out his arms to catch the fawn.

Did it sense that the little human would shelter it or had it just reached the end of its strength? Who knows, but it threw itself into Pitt’s arms, laid its head on his breast and looked up at him imploringly with its dark, frightened eyes. It was shaking all over and Pitt could hear its little heart racing.

“The poor little fawn, the poor little fawn,” Pitt repeated again and again and stroked its warm, soft fur to comfort it. In the meantime the others had caught up and stood marvelling at what they saw. When the father bent down he noticed that the little creature had been wounded. It drew back in fear when he examined the bullet wound in its right flank as though it remembered a similar human figure that had recently fired the shot.

“They’re not going to hurt you, they’re not going to hurt you,” Pitt whispered. “I’ll look after you. I can take it home and nurse it and feed it, can’t I Father?”

“The wound isn’t bad,” said the father. “It should heal soon. But will you promise that you will always take care of the little creature properly? Don’t forget that you will have to begin cutting grass now if you are to have enough hay for the winter. Winter is long and the snow is often deep. Many a little fawn starves in winter.”

“You can depend on me, Father,” Pitt assured him. “I will look after it all by myself and never forget to feed it.”

“Then you are allowed to take it home and it shall be yours because it fled into your arms. In return you have the sole responsibility for its survival and well-being.”

“Oh thank you,” Pitt cried ecstatically and rose from the ground with the fawn lying quietly in his arms.

“You can keep it in the fenced meadow behind the house. There it will have plenty to eat and be safe from dogs and hunters. But now we have to make tracks. It’s getting late.”

They had not gone far before they rounded a bend and saw a man approaching them. It was Fritjof, the Viking and treasure hunter. Tall and broad in the shoulders, he outstripped the father, who was by no means small himself, by almost a head’s length. Like a real giant, thought Ulli, who was gazing up at the bearded face of his friend from below. But now he was angry with Fritjof for injuring the little white fawn. The father too looked angry.

“You should never have done that, Fritjof. Don’t you know that all white animals are sacred? They are not allowed to be hunted. White deer, white stags, white hares, white ravens, they all belong to the Winterking, who also owns the dragon treasure which you will never find. For the Winterking keeps it concealed behind his glacier walls and no axe and no crow-bar can break down those walls.”

Fritjof did not seem to be listening. His eyes were fixed on the fawn which Pitt was holding lovingly in his arms. And then as they followed the direction of Fritjof’s eyes they all noticed what only Pitt had seen up to now, namely that the fawn had a little golden bell around its neck.

With a single grasp Fritjof took hold of the chain and seized the bell.

“Give it back,” said Pitt. “The bell belongs to the fawn.”

“Yes, give it back,” Wibke and Ulli cried angrily. But Fritjof only laughed. “The bell belongs to me now. It is part of the dragon treasure. I am keeping it. As far as I’m concerned you can have the fawn, you little mite.”

“Give it back,” Ulli cried furiously and beat at Fritjof with his clenched fists. But he might as well have fought an old oak tree. Fritjof didn’t even seem to notice the attack. “Lay off, Ulli,” said the father and put his hand on Ulli’s shoulder to calm him down. “And you, Fritjof, you and your comrades, leave our valley. You have laden enough guilt upon yourselves and have brought disaster to all of us. For the Winterking will take revenge. We will have a severe winter this year.”

Fritjof merely laughed. “Are you afraid of the old iron-beard? If he wants to take up the fight with me and my friends just let him come. I am not afraid of him.”

Fritjof looked so wild and determined when he said these words, so huge and fearless, that Wibke grew frightened and secretly hoped that the Winterking would not do battle with him. With a scornful and challenging laugh Fritjof departed. But before disappearing between the firs he turned around once more and called back: “And thanks for telling us where to find the dragon treasure. Now it will soon be ours.”

Then he went off into the forest singing a war song. The echo of his deep voice filled the valley.

The father and the three children walked home silently for the rest of the way. Even late at night, when they were in bed, they still heard the wild war chants of the Vikings drifting through the night from high up in the Dragon Mountains and the red glow of a huge fire shone through the forest like the evil eye of a dragon.

All autumn the white fawn leaped around the meadow and grew and thrived thanks to the juicy and plentiful fodder. It had become so tame that it would run up to anyone who came into the meadow and let its head be stroked and its ears fingered. Eventually it even became so accustomed to the house and its people that Pitt could leave the gate to the forest open. Whenever the sun was warm the fawn looked for a shady spot in the forest but it always came back when Pitt called it or in the evening, when it grew dark. If it sensed a stranger in the area it would flee to the house and seek refuge with the humans it knew.

Pitt also worked hard and made hay. Every day he went out into the meadows with the sickle that his father had given him, cut grass, spread it out to dry, and then carried it into the empty shed in the enclosure. Often Wibke and Ulli helped him too. And so with persistent hard work the shed had filled right up to the roof by the time winter arrived. There was no doubt that Pitt had been conscientious. His little charge was not to go hungry in winter. When the first snow fell, and it fell early that year, the father built a small shelter beside the shed. In it Pitt made a bed of soft straw for the fawn so that it could spend the night protected from snow and storms.

Oh, how Pitt loved the little creature. He often disappeared for long periods at a time. If you looked for him then you could usually find him on the straw beside his fawn, stroking it or talking to it. In gratitude the fawn licked the hair at the nape of his neck and sometimes his ear-lobes too; that tickled terribly but he really liked it all the same.

As the father had predicted, it turned out to be a long, severe winter. It began to snow steadily much earlier than usual and the snow piled up in front of the door. Herds of deer came down from the mountains to trek to the warmer and flatter regions in the south of the country, as though they sensed what was to come. The valley in the north became deserted.

Once, when one of the big herds passed close to the house on its journey to the south, Pitt’s fawn leaped out of the gate and joined them. Pitt wanted to run after it and fetch it back but the father stopped him.

“Animals know better than we humans what is good for them. Let it go off with the others if it wants to. Its wound has healed, thanks to your care. I am sure it will come back in spring.”

Pitt was heartbroken and cried bitterly.

But in the evening the fawn was back in its shelter on the hay, to the delight of all the children. It had changed its mind and would now probably stay with them all winter. That night Pitt gave it a particularly big heap of hay to eat.

The Vikings had declared war on the Winterking. They wanted the dragon treasure, no matter what the cost, and the Winterking for his part had accepted the challenge. It happened in the following way. The four men took up their positions on the top of the glacier and Fritjof with his powerful voice demanded that the Winterking hand over the dragon treasure or else they would destroy his glacial castle. The Winterking retaliated with a storm that brought ice and snow and almost blew the four men off the slippery glacier. With beards frozen stiff, all dishevelled and bruised, they returned to their cave, lit up a huge fire to warm their stiff limbs, and held a council of war.

In the course of the following weeks the men set about to conquer the glacier with picks and crowbars. The Winterking allowed them to proceed. He had to laugh at the foolish humans who believed they could conquer his glacial fortress with picks. Then one night when they were dead tired and sitting around the fire in their cave Fritjof said to his friends:

“That is not the way to go about it. We can go on hacking and shovelling for years and never get to the heart of the glacier. We have to be more cunning. The Winterking is using the elements to fight us. Tomorrow we will start to fell trees; we will then drag them to the edge of the glacier and pile them up for an enormous bonfire. After that we will light it and the fire will melt the glacier. Then the treasure is ours.”

The others enthusiastically agreed to Fritjof’s plan.

That was what the father saw when he looked towards the Dragon Mountains in the long winter nights and could find no explanation for the red glow. Night after night the flames flared around the glacier, as though the fire came from the depths of a crater. One night a thunderous roar filled the valley as though a huge avalanche had come down and in the morning, when the first rays of the sun struck the snow-clad Dragon Mountains, the father saw that a large section of the tongue of the glacier had broken off and fallen into the abyss.

So the fight of the elements, snow, ice and frost against fire, continued all winter and the fire ate its way down deeper and deeper into the slowly melting glacier. The Winterking brought ever wilder storms, ever more biting frosts, avalanches of snow and icy rain into the fray, while the Vikings felled ever more trees and slid them down icy slides into the fire. The mountains became barer and barer till at last all the big firs in the vicinity of the glacier had been felled.

It was already mid April and still the wild winter storms swept through the valley. It had snowed without a break for three days, as though it were still in the deep of winter.

At breakfast the father said: “Tomorrow is Easter. Will winter never come to an end? What will become of us if spring does not set in soon? Our stocks of wood are diminishing, food is getting scarce, and the snow is so deep that it will be quite impossible to get down to the town to buy new provisions.”

“Yes, it will be a sad Easter tomorrow,” the mother agreed.

“By the way, Pitt,” his father asked casually, “how has your fawn weathered the last storms?”

Pitt’s face turned a fiery red. He couldn’t give his father an answer and admitted that he had not seen or fed it for the last three days. It was the first time that he had neglected his duties.

Filled with apprehension the three children rushed out into the enclosure. The shelter was empty. The fawn had gone. All they could find was the fresh trail of the little hooves in the snow; it led through the gate and into the forest.

Oh, how Pitt began to fear for his little charge. Now he also remembered that upon waking in the morning, just as it was getting light, he had heard a shot coming from the direction of the forest. The children quickly put on their snow-shoes and set out, anxiously following the trail.

Deep in the forest they eventually came to a place where the trail suddenly appeared to stop; but the fawn was nowhere to be seen. It seemed as though it had grown wings and flown away. Soon, however, Pitt found the tracks again, five metres from where the old trail had stopped. And then they saw the terrible thing:

The snow was dyed red at this spot and next to the tracks, which had been drawn apart through a series of great leaps, ran a trail of blood drops. The children followed it as fast as they could. It wasn’t long before they came to a secluded place in the woods, a little meadow enclosed by high trees; in the middle stood a huge oak tree. The father had named it the shady glade. There, close against the trunk of the oak, the children found the fawn. It had coloured the snow a deep dark red with its blood. And it was dead. Pitt laid the lifeless little head in his lap and caressed it. All the children wept bitterly.

Just then a little man stepped out from the hollow in the trunk of the oak. He had a long white beard with icicles in it that tinkled like bells whenever he moved his head. On his head he wore a thick fur cap and in his hand he carried a large stick. Wibke, who as we know had met the Winterking, thought that he looked just like him, only much smaller.

“I have been sent by the Winterking,” the little man said. “I am to tell you that spring will not come to this valley till the guilt that the humans have laden upon themselves has been expiated.”

“But what can we do?” asked Pitt, who considered himself to be one of the guilty ones because the sacred white fawn had died due to his negligence.

“Yes, what can we do?” the other children also wanted to know.

“Listen,” said the little man. “The white fawn that is lying dead before you is Osatara, the goddess of spring. She was shot by Fritjof, the Viking. Until such time as Osatara has been raised to new life and Fritjof and his followers have ceased to desire the dragon treasure and to assail the fortress of the Winterking with fire, spring will not come to this valley. At Easter the winter storms will still be raging and it will be as cold as in the depths of winter.”

After a pause the little man continued: “And now I will tell you how you can contribute to averting the disaster from this valley and lifting the spell that the Winterking has placed upon it. Do you want to help?”

“Oh yes, we do,” the children cried eagerly.

“But how” asked Pitt “can the little fawn be made to live again? It is quite dead.”

“Listen,” said the little man once more. “You there,” and he pointed to Wibke, “know all about herbs. Go and look for the herb Healall. When you have found it, bring it back here and give it to the little fellow,” and he pointed at Pitt. “He is to rub it in his hands and then put it on the wounds, here where Fritjof’s bullet entered and where it came out. Till your sister’s return you will have to keep watch beside the fawn so that the wolves don’t tear into it. I will leave you my club as a weapon.”

“What about me? What can I do?” asked Ulli, who was dying to be allotted a task too.

“You, my lad,” said the little man,” are to go up into the Dragon Mountains to the cave of the Vikings and bring Fritjof a message from the Winterking.”

“But how will I find the way there?” Ulli asked with some concern; he was quite anxious about the long way through the deep snow.

“Follow the trail of blood till you come to the spot where the fawn was shot. There you will see a rock to your left. Fritjof fired the shot from there. You can pick up his tracks from there. If you follow them they will take you to the Viking’s cave.”

“And the message?” asked Ulli.

“You are to tell them that the Winterking is prepared to give each of the four Vikings a precious piece from the dragon treasure if they agree to return the golden bell to the white fawn and to leave and go back to the north from where they came. If they accept the proposal then they will find their gifts at that spot on the mountain that is lit up longest by the rays of the setting sun. Fritjof is to give you the bell and also its chain. You for your part are to bring it back here as quickly as you can and the little fellow is to hang it round the fawn’s neck. For the bell is Ostara’s magic bell. Only when it is around her neck can she turn back into her true shape. And before that has happened there can be no spring. - Now go and do as you have been bidden.”

With that the little iceman disappeared into the hollow tree once more.

They were difficult tasks that the children had been set. With heavy hearts the older two said farewell to Pitt who, in spite of being very much afraid, was determined to defend to the last his poor little fawn whose death was in part his fault. He took the club which the little iceman had given him firmly into his right hand and never let it go, least of all when he heard a howling sound at nightfall that could only come from hungry wolves.

Wibke knew the herb Healall. Her mother had shown it to her and had also told her that it was extremely rare. But how was she to find it under the deep snow? She set out for the place where her mother had once pointed it out to her. But in the snow everything looked different than it did in summer so that she soon lost her way and no longer knew where to go. Tired and full of despair she squatted on a rock and tried to fight back the tears and the terror that were rising in her.

All at once she remembered the star which the Winterking had given her and which she always wore around her neck.

“If you are ever in trouble hold it to your heart and your guardian angel will come and help you”, the Winterking had said. She pressed it to herself fervently.

Suddenly she heard a rush of wings above her and when she looked up she saw two white ravens. They seemed to be calling something out to her that sounded like “there, there, there”.

Perhaps they want to help me, Wibke thought hopefully. She got up and followed the ravens; they always flew just ahead of her. When she was almost too tired to walk on, she heard the silver murmuring of a little stream that seemed to be flowing under the heavy snow cover. There the two ravens alighted on a stone and pointed their beaks towards a place in the snow, all the while calling “there, there, there”.

Wibke hurriedly dug away the snow with her hands and there on the edge of the stream she actually found a small plant of the miracle herb. She quickly picked it and after thanking the white ravens she followed her own trail back with new zest, refreshed by hope and joy.

It was night by the time Ulli reached the cave of the Vikings. On the last stretch he was so tired that he would have loved to lie down in the snow and just go to sleep. But he too had heard the howling of the wolves and fear spurred him on. In the cave he would at least be safe from the wolves. When at last the forest ended and he stepped out of the firs he again saw the fire in the cave like the glowing eye of a dragon. Before it grew dark he had made sure to take note of the spot where the last rays of the setting sun struck the mountain. It seemed to him that he could see something like gold glittering there. The final thirty meters to the cave were so steep and icy that Ulli could not manage them any more. With his last strength he called the name of his friend Fritjof. Then he lost consciousness and fell. When he came to again he was in the cave. He was sitting on Fritjof”s knees and the other men were rubbing his hands and feet which had been frozen quite stiff. A huge fire was giving out cosy warmth.

“Well,” said Fritjof kindly, as Ulli opened his eyes. “Are you feeling better? Is your blood circulating through your veins again?”

“Yes,” said Ulli, “but how did I get into the cave? Did you hear me call?”

“Yes,” replied Fritjof. “When I went out I saw you lying down there. We have been trying to wake you up for the last hour. You almost froze to death.”

“I didn’t even notice anything,” said Ulli. “It doesn’t hurt at all to freeze to death.”

“And now tell us, my lad, what has brought you to our cave a second time. Has your father broken his other leg?”

“My father is well and his leg has mended nicely. This time I have come with a message from the Winterking.”

“Would you believe it?” the men called out in amazement and Fritjof laughed and asked incredulously: “What sort of a message do you have from the Winterking? Don’t you know that we are fighting an all out battle with him? It is dangerous for little boys to go where Vikings and demigods are at war.”

“I know it is dangerous and we could see your battle from our valley right through the winter. But I had to bring you the message.”

“And what is this message for which the Winterking has chosen of all people a little whipper-snapper like you?”

At that Ulli informed the Vikings of what the little iceman had told him in the name of the Winterking.

Fritjof would not believe him. “You dreamed that, my boy, when you were lying half frozen in front of our cave.”

But when Ulli assured him that he had seen the golden presents of the Winterking on his way up, just where the last rays of the evening sun struck the mountain, and that they were sure to be able to see the spot from their cave, the men stepped out and Ulli, on Fritjof’s arm, showed them where it was.

In the light of the full moon they could see a golden gleam and when they looked closer they could see blinking swords with golden hilts. Then they knew that Ulli had spoken the truth. With huge strides the Vikings sprinted up the mountain, attracted by the magical gleam of the gold. Ulli did the trip on the arm of Fritjof who had hurriedly thrown his bear-skin over him.

When they reached the top they saw that the swords had been rammed deep into the rock; each of the men hastily seized his to pull it out. But, strong as they were, not one of them could budge his sword by as much as a hair’s breadth. As they looked at each other in astonishment they suddenly heard a mighty voice.

“Lay off, Vikings, that is not the way. First Fritjof has to hand over the golden bell of Osatara.”

When they gazed up in amazement they saw the Winterking standing on the summit of the mountain, great and powerful, his beard of ice clanking. With admiration, even with awe, the four men gazed on the noble, kingly figure. Then the Winterking went on:

“You have fought valiantly. You are men whom I respect. You want the dragon treasure but I can tell you that you will never find it. Even if you were to melt my entire glacier with your fire, you would not find the treasure. So I am making you this proposition: Stop your pointless quest, leave this valley, and promise that you will never shoot my sacred white animals again. Promise also that in future you will use your strength for the good of your people and of humanity and not for greedy and selfish purposes. Then I will make peace with you and as a parting gift and token of my respect give each one of you a golden sword from the dragon treasure. But keep in mind that the swords will only strike their target if they are being used in a just cause. If they are used unjustly they will become soft and pliable like wicker switches. Do you accept the treaty?”

The men glanced at each other for a moment. Then Fritjof called out loudly: “I accept it and will keep it.”

“So will I,” the others called too.

“Then give the little bell to the boy, Fritjof.”

Fritjof took the little bell from his pocket and gave it to Ulli whom he had meanwhile set down on the ground. Ulli received it with both hands as though it were a precious jewel.

“Now draw the swords out of the rock. They are yours.”

The Vikings who had not been able to move the swords before now drew them out of the rock as though this were made of butter. They raised their golden swords high and greeted the Winterking with deep respect.

“And you, Ulli,” the king continued, “go as fast as you can to where your brother and sister are waiting for you. As long as you have the bell with you will not feel tired.”

Then there was a clap of thunder and a ray of lightning so bright that Ulli and the four Vikings were completely blinded. When they regained their vision the Winterking had disappeared.

After a brief farewell Ulli hurried off on his way.

Meanwhile Pitt had bravely kept his lonely watch beside the dead fawn. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t afraid. On the contrary, Pitt was quite terrified, above all when he heard the wolves howling in the distance. But it is the sign of true courage that you are afraid and still do not give up your position. Pitt would make a dependable man one day. Pitt was also miserably cold and just could not find a way of keeping warm. A few times he crawled into the hollow trunk of the tree. It was warmer there but he became so overwhelmed with tiredness that he was afraid of going to sleep.

Once, when he had again retreated from the cold into the tree trunk and was on the point of dropping off, he suddenly heard soft footsteps and the sound of heavy breathing. When he cautiously came out of his hiding-place he found himself looking straight into the eyes of a huge wolf that was sniffing the dead fawn; it then turned towards the cavity in the tree. Before he had time to think, Pitt took his club and hit the wolf on the head with all the strength he could muster. The beast gave a single terrible howl and then dropped down and was dead. It was only then that Pitt woke up properly; he just could not believe that he himself had slain the huge wolf. He touched the monster carefully with his foot. Perhaps he wasn’t quite dead after all. But the wolf did not move. There was blood trickling out of his snout. Pitt must have hit him just right. Probably the club of the little iceman was a magic club. Pitt was as proud and happy as could be. It is true, he could hear other wolves howling in the distance, but now he was no longer afraid. He was sure that the magic club would save him a second time too.

The round Easter moon was crawling across the sky incredibly slowly and painting black shadows onto the white snow. Then at last Pitt heard a call from the distance and recognised Wibke’s voice. He wanted to rush off to meet her but quickly restrained himself. He knew he wasn’t allowed to leave his position. But already Wibke was running towards him across the moonlit meadow and holding the herb Healall in her hand. Full of joy, Pitt ran up to her and threw himself in her arms. And a moment later Ulli was there too. How happy the children who had been given such solitary tasks that night were to be together again. They quickly ran over to the dead fawn.

“What is that?” Ulli cried suddenly and stopped as he caught sight of the wolf lying beside the dead fawn.

“Oh,” said Pitt, “I just gave him a tap on the head a few minutes ago and he was dead right away.”

Ulli just couldn’t believe his eyes. His admiration for Pitt took on enormous proportions. Wibke stood rigid with fear. She had always been particularly afraid of wolves.

“Are you quite sure he is completely and totally dead?”

“Sure,” said Pitt and fearlessly kicked the wolf in the stomach. “Do you think a live wolf would let someone do that to him?”

Wibke was satisfied and handed the herb Healall to Pitt. He cautiously rubbed the juicy leaves between his palms, careful not to lose anything. Then he gently put half on the side the bullet had entered and half on the other side and hung the bell that Ulli had brought back round the neck of the little deer once more. As he did so he said earnestly, almost as though he were saying a prayer:

“Please, dear little fawn, come alive again and forgive me my negligence.”

When he had spoken these words a dense white mist wafted down onto them from the crown of the ancient oak-tree and through it the astonished children saw a silver light shining with ever greater intensity. The mist transformed itself and grew even denser and took on the shape of a flowing garment. Then, when the moonlight was shining clearly once more they saw that the dead body of the fawn had disappeared and before them in legendary splendour and beauty stood Osatara, the fairy of spring. The silver light which they had noticed initially emanated from a large star she wore in her hair. Her white robes were covered all over with magnificent spring flowers and her many-coloured wings resembled those of the most beautiful butterfly.

“I am grateful to you, children, for redeeming me,” said the fairy. “Now spring can come at last. You are tired from the exertions of the night and still have a long way home. Here, drink a sip from this silver beaker and you will be as fresh as though you had slept all night.”

With that she handed the children a little silver chalice and each of them took a sip. It tasted sweet, like honey, and had the aroma of spring flowers. Their tiredness passed away that same moment.

“And now I will take you home to your parents,” said Osatara and took the children by the hand.

“Oh, our poor parents,” Wibke suddenly realized. “They must have been so worried. I have only just thought of that.”

“You need not be concerned,” said Osatara. “My father, the Winterking, sent the little iceman to your parents to tell them that you were well and that I would look after you. They were not to worry because you would soon be home again.”

That put the children’s minds at rest and as they walked on through the forest with the fairy of spring they noticed that everywhere the snow was beginning to melt and when they looked around they saw the snowdrops were pushing their heads through the cover of melting snow. They could also hear a soft fine tinkling, as of bells, for which they could at first find no explanation.

“Those are the Easter chimes of the snowdrops,” said Osatara. “Humans can only hear the sound when they have taken a sip from the silver cup. Listen carefully. You may never hear it again.”

 Silently the children walked through the awakening forest and listened with delight to the delicate music of the Easter chimes. Suddenly Wibke knelt down in the snow.

“What is that,” she cried, “I have never seen anything like that.”

“They are red snowdrops,” the fairy explained. “When I was shot by Fritjof I ran through the forest in terror on my way to the oak tree where you later found me. Wherever a drop of my blood touched the snow there is now a red snowdrop. From this day on, each year at Eastertide there will be red snowdrops in these places beside the white ones, in commemoration of my resurrection from death which the three of you made possible. And in future, whoever finds a red snowdrop will have good luck for the rest of the year.” With that she picked a few of the red flowers and gave them to the children.

At the edge of the forest the fairy took leave, kissed each child on the brow and promised to bring a greater than usual variety of flowers this spring. Then she wafted away.

The children raced across the meadow to the house and hugged their parents. There was so much to tell. Now it would be spring and they had made it possible. They were all very proud.

A little while later, the Vikings came too. You could hear them singing their wild old songs from afar.

And Fritjof had something good for his friend Ulli.

“This time I am the one to bring you a message from the Winterking,” he said. “He is pleased with you and sends you this golden ring from the dragon treasure. It is a magic ring which gives courage and strength in any struggle for a worthy and just cause. - Pitt may keep the magic club which will only deal out blows if it is directed at something evil.”

The boys were very proud and happy.

They celebrated the Easter festival together. Mother served up a delicious meal and the men finished off a small barrel of mead. In the meantime the children searched for Easter eggs and little Hell, who was already walking on his short sturdy legs, found most of all.

That year there was no one who celebrated a happier Easter.