They say that long ago when Mons was young, he ruled over a small valley amidst tall mountains. He and his people farmed the land as he had been taught by his mother and father watching the seasons change under the wheeling stars. They had learned well, but they also did many things that others did not: they harnessed the power of the river to turn great stone wheels to grind their wheat, and cut channels in the ground so that the river would flow through their fields. Although other peoples maintained that the traditional way was better, because of these things they lived in plenty.
But one year, Mons looked to them, and said: We are wise in the ways of growing and ordering things, and so we have no need of storing seed corn against catastrophe. Let us plant it all, and have the greatest harvest that’s ever been raised, and show all the people of the world that it is we who best understood the teachings of my parents, and it is we who shall conquer the world. And so they planted all their seeds, and started them early so that the harvest would be great.
And the seedlings emerged in good time, and began to unfurl their delicate leaves, but just as the seedlings of their crop emerged from the womb of the earth, a great and bitter wind flowed down from the dark mountains to the north, and all the new made leaves froze. The people of the village walked out of their humble mud huts, and looked in despair at the fields with their dusting of snow, for as the Sun rose over the hills, the light warmed the plants and the ice in their veins melted, and they fell to the ground.
And the people of the valley looked at their shining chieftain, and said “Lord Mons, what shall we do? We have done as you bade, and planted early and all of our seeds are now wasted, and we will surely starve.”
And Mons looked at them, and said “We will find a way, but in the meantime I will go into the mountains and find the demon that brought this fell wind, and we will live in confidence that this will never happen again.”
And so Mons climbed into his chariot, and went into the mountains, while his people scavenged food, and found what little they could, and there was great hunger and starving amongst them.
But Mons traveled up the path into the tall mountains where no wheel had ever been. And the going was slow, though his horses were nimble, for a chariot cannot climb over rocks. And so he climbed on two feet in his bright armor the color of shining honey, up over the rocks with his sword in hand.
But as he climbed, the air grew chill, and the wind blew hard and the cold bit his hands, and the armor grew cold, and burned him with it’s chill, and even he - Mons - grew afraid, and wished that he had brought furs like animals wear to keep himself warm against the winter winds.
And still on he climbed, until he came to a great pinnacle, and he saw a great shape as of a bird perched above the precipice. And the bird flapped its great wings and a howling gale blew him off his feet, and he heard laughter on the wind.
But always Mons was known for his cunning, and he took off his armor, and smeared his body with soil and ash, until he blended into the rocks. And he waited for nightfall. And when night had fallen, and the mountains were lit only by the peering eyes of the stars, Mons climbed the rock, with a rope about his shoulders, and reached the birds’ feet. He saw that the bird was giant, its talons like daggers of ice and its beak sharp and cruel. But Mons saw also that it slept, and that the night was calm. So he tied a loop in his rope, and threw it about the giant beast and trapped its wings.
But the bird shook and screeched out in anger, and the mountain side shook with his rage, but Mons held firmly, and would not let go. And the bird shrieked: You shall regret this!
And Mons said: I shall not, for your winds have caused many of my people to starve, and we are the future of the world. It is to us that you shall submit, for we are clever, and dexterous in the work of our hands.
And the bird ceased to wrestle with the rope, and said: We shall see. And then he stood calmly, and silently and looked out over the land.
Mons tied the rope to a giant boulder so that the bird would not be able to escape, and climbed back down. He washed himself in a mountain stream, and put back on his shining armor, and collected his chariot, and when he arrived back in his valley he looked to the people as he always had, and he said:
- Fear not! For I have battled the God of Winter, and I have subdued him, and not more frosts shall come to our valley, and we will live in plenty.*
And the people looked gratefully to him, and though there was still starvation, the weather was calm, and they were able to gather food, and they suffered less than they had first supposed. At first.
For at first the weather grew mild, and the air was calm. And then the weather became warmer, and still the air sat in the valley without movement. And the air grew thick and damp. And the people languished. And disease came, and the people and the fields filled with rot. The river turned murky and brown, and there was much death. And the people turned to Mons and said: Shining Prince! What are we to do, for while we may no longer fear the winter, now we die of the heat and the stale fetid miasma of the air?
And Mons said that he would find the Monster that brought on the pestilence, and left again in his chariot. But though he searched hard and long, he found no cause, but always - from far away - he heard laughter. And so, eventually, he climbed back into the mountains, and left behind his chariot, and put down his armor. He captured a goat that lived amongst the crags, and dressed himself in its fur, and made his way back to the pinnacle, where he was watched with a mirthful eye.
- Ah,* he heard a voice say, so you have returned and regret your folly?
And Mons bowed down to the creature and said: It is clear that there are things that I do not understand, but my people are dying, and as their prince, I must submit to your will.
And again, the giant bird laughed, and he said: You are young and arrogant. There are Others much older, and more powerful than you, and though you may sometimes harness our power, we have concerns beyond your small patch of land, and the mere people it contains. You are not important to us.
And Mons said:* What must I do?*
But how the bird responded, no one knows. Perhaps some bargain was struck between them, for though Mons untied the birds’ wings and great winter storms returned, while Mons was king, the weather was milder, at least for a time.
And Mons claimed to his people that he had subdued the bird, and that the bird had feared his lash and bright sword, and desired the freedom of his wings, and took that in exchange for his promise that he would be gentle with Mons followers, but no one knows the truth.
And soon after, Mons brought a wife from the forest, and they had many children, and the people prospered. And while some said it was because of Mons’ wisdom and strength, others thought that there was a secret which could not be discovered because those that knew him said that from that day on, Mons’ eyes knew fear.