Puu walked quickly over the frozen ground. No sun yet, but his arboreal eyes didn’t need sunlight to see. He shook snow from his needles and pressed on.
Few animals lived this far north. Hares huddled in their warrens, snowy owls hunted despite the lack of light. Puu ignored them as they swerved to avoid his dark shape.
Tall stones blocked the sky up ahead, a jumble of towers and fallen rocks. Would he see the sun beyond them? It had been so long since he’d seen the sun. He wanted it to be there, hanging in the sky just beyond those rocks.
He stepped in among the towers of stone, the rock beneath his root-legs no warmer than the ice he left behind. Lichens ate slowly into the rock, turning them to soil where summer vegetation would flourish briefly, taking advantage of the days when the sun never set. Hard to imagine now, when the sun never rose.
But somewhere beyond these rocks, the stories said, was a land where the sun appeared even on this day, this solstice.
A trail led through the rocks. Did animals pass this way often? Or was it something else? About halfway up the first rise, Puu caught a glimpse of light off to one side. He stopped, and the flicker approached him, a lantern swinging lightly from a stick.
Puu was amazed by the lantern itself. He’d heard of such things, but they belonged in the same tales as the solstice sun, objects of the lands in the south where snow died.
It was only when the lantern came close that he thought to look at the one who carried it. He resembled the few humans Puu had seen, though shorter and more twisted. The creature held the light close to Puu and squinted at him, then asked, “Have you been good this year, child?”
“I’m not a child. What are you?”
The creature—Puu wanted to call it a goblin now that he’d seen it better—mumbled something as he stepped closer, his voice like old winter’s when the wind blew deep and sad. When he stopped directly beside Puu, his voice became comprehensible. “But have you been good this year? That’s the question.”
“I…sure, I guess. Good enough.”
“Oh, do you think so?” The goblin cackled and danced a few steps then stopped abruptly and peered at Puu again, as if trying to discover what exactly he was. “But you’re not a child, are you? Why didn’t you tell me that? Are you habitually a liar?”
Puu tried to explain that he had, but the goblin was talking again. “You’re looking for something. I know these rocks. I’ll guide you.”
“I don’t think I need…”
“You need my light anyway to see. Come, follow me.” The goblin scrambled off to one side where there might have been a trail. The lantern had stolen his night sight so he wasn’t sure.
“Who are you, though?”
“I told you that already,” the goblin said and stamped a foot impatiently.
“I don’t think you did.”
“Belsnickle. I know these rocks. Now come.”
Puu shrugged his limbs and followed Belsnickle along the new path. The goblin led him among tumbled rocks, higher and higher, and Puu realized he’d never told this Belsnickle what it was he was looking for. How could he lead him to the solstice sun?
He stopped in the path, and shortly the lantern came bobbing back. “You stopped. Have you been good this year?”
“Why do you keep asking that? No, don’t answer. Where are we going?”
“I’m leading you through the rocks.”
“Through? So we’ll soon be getting to the other side, the south of these hills?”
“Yes, yes. Have you been good this year?” Belsnickle didn’t wait for an answer, but resumed leading Puu along the path.
As they walked, Puu imagined what the sun would look like at winter solstice. The summer sun stayed all day and always appeared powerful. The equinox suns seemed to divide the day perfectly, giving the impression of fairness and equality. The sun as warrior, the sun as judge. What would it be in winter? Weak as it peeked over the southern horizon? An invalid, perhaps. Or a scholar, pale from study.
Finally they reached a north-facing cave on the side of one of the towers of stone. Belsnickle stopped.
“Why are we here? We can’t see the sun from this side.”
“Just head inside and you’ll see. Have you been good this year?”
Why did he keep asking that question? Was there something about it he was missing? As he was about to enter the mouth of the cave, Puu remembered the little goblins, kriskinckles, who roamed the countryside at solstice, tricking children who were caught wandering unless they could honestly say that they’d been good.
He stopped and stood straight, his upper branches brushing the lip of the cave. “Yes, I’ve been good. And I won’t enter your cave.”
Belsnickle jumped and danced, saying “Enter, enter.” But Puu turned and headed back down. The goblin’s words followed him, but something seemed to keep the little figure stuck beside his lair. “No, come back. You’ve not been good, and I’m owed a victim.” As the words became fainter, Belsnickle seemed to realize he needed to pretend friendliness instead of anger. “You’ll find what you want through here. A window. Yes, that’s it. A window to see the sun rise on the other side of this tower.”
By the end Puu could barely catch the words, but they made him pause. Perhaps the height of the tower was a helpful thing. He looked for a trail to take him around the rock instead of down and soon found one.
Around the other side he looked over a southern land of evergreens and broken rocks, a land that saw the sun even in the winter time, however briefly. The trees themselves seemed radiant with the secret knowledge of the winter sun.
And then it rose, breaking the horizon gloriously. Was this truly the same sun he could see all day long in the summer? He stared as it went from half a circle to full, like a pine-cone seen sideways, like the coins of humans but stamped from light. Pale, as he’d imagined. Not a warrior, not even a judge. But not weak. It was still the sun, after all, and a promise that it would soon return in full.
Within minutes the sun set, and Puu turned back toward his northern home, his needles full of the sight of the solstice sun.