Of the Holly King and the Oak King
A retelling of a tale as old as time by Susurrus
To be read either as a story or as a meditation, I took a little bit of creative license.
The time has come once again. The Wheel of the Year has revolved 180 degrees, and it is the longest night of the year.
Deep in the most ancient of woods, where the trees are as old as time and as tall as the sky. Snow falls gently, but the world is alight with the sun filtering through the clouds and the treetops. The creatures of the wood are silent, nestled deep in their homes and holes. They sense the tension in the air.
You find yourself tucked between the roots of an old sycamore. There is a gentle swish, and you look up. Walking down the path that weaves between the trees is a mountain of a man. He wears a robe of burgundy trimmed with holly leaves and white fur, and it is it that makes the swishing noise. He carries a staff of dark heartwood. When youâre eyes finally find his face, his expression is grim. White locks fall from his head down past his shoulders, and he has a full beard of white, some braided and some left loose. Upon his brow is a crown of silver and holly, and from his majestic head grow a pair of astonishing moose antlers.
This is the Holly King, lord of Winterâs Nights and god above animal and man.
His path crosses near you, and although part of you wishes to retreat into the safety of your niche, you cannot move. He draws nearer and nearer, and his sparkling blue eyes alight upon you. He beckons, and you are drawn to him. Even at your height, you reach only his hip.
âStay calm, my child,â his voice resounds, deep with bass, like a blanket of snow. âA battle approaches, to which you may bear witness.â
He walks on, and you find yourself following.
You come to a clearing, and he motions you away behind a tree. âWatch child, but do not interfere. I have come to do what must be done.â
In the clearing stands another mountainous man, almost the Holly Kingâs twin. His hair and beard are golden brown, his robe of green, his staff of rosewood, his crown of gold and oak, and his antlers are those of an elk. Around his feet is a ring of grass and flowers, and the ring grows larger slowly, the greenery spreading. He holds his head high, and you can see his glittering green eyes against his majestic face.
This is the Oak King, lord of Summerâs Days and god above animal and man.
The two kings meet in the center of the clearing and with a clap, they grasp each others left forearms in greeting. The wood grows still and quiet, though you can hear them whispering, their words in the language of the trees, foreign to your mind but familiar to your soul.
After a few moments, they part, take a few steps back, and bow. Taking up their staves, the kings make battle, swinging their massive wooden staves and creating resounding claps of thunder every time the staves meet. Their feet follow a combative dance that theyâve danced for eons, and they circle each other, never losing their footing or giving each other reprieve.
You watch from behind your tree, your body trembling, but you cannot take your eyes away from the sacred ceremony.
Youâve lost track of time, but the battle has gone on for a long time. You begin to notice that the moves of the Holly King have become defensive, and that they are faltering quickly. Again and again the Oak King attacks, battering against the Lord of Winterâs Nights until he stumbles and falls to the ground. The forest grows deathly quiet.
As is tradition, the Oak King walks away. He has become the Lord of the Now, just as he does ever Midwinter. He will rule the earth and her seasons until the two are to make battle again come Midsummer.
When the Oak King has departed, melting away into the shadows of the forest, you rush from your hiding spot to the side of the Holly King. You help him to sit up, and plant yourself in his lap. Animals emerge from the forest, deer and birds and rabbits and badgers and bears and eagles, all to pay homage to the fallen Holly King.
He is not hurt, and holds you close as he catches his breath. The creatures come to rest, laying down and paying attention. He speaks to all present in the language of the forest, foreign to your mind but familiar to your soul. He reassures all that all is well, and that he will be back when the sun is at its peak to take his place as the Lord of the Now.
And with that, you stand, giving the mountainous man a final hug and looking into his eyes a final time. With a smile on his face and his blue eyes sparkling, he sends you and the animals on your way. You turn, and without looking back, follow in the footsteps of the Oak King.
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