Winter Blossom watched the final pink petal tremble on the flower. The naked branches of the cherry tree were stark and black against the pale sky.
“I can’t do this,” the High Priestess whispered, staring up at a night sky devoid of stars.
The petal shivered in the chill wind, and Winter Blossom shivered too.
“Please don’t go,” Winter Blossom said. “We can’t do this without you.”
The little scrap of pink had held on for weeks. Hundreds of bright, brave little flowers unfurled into blistering cold, a dazzling show of defiance. Hundreds had withered and shrivelled away, claimed one by one by the frost. This remnant clung on still. One last shred of summer in the depths of winter.
“What reason is there for me to stay?” retorted the High Priestess, her tail swishing in agitation, her ears flattening against her head. “Our work is over. It’s done.”
Finally, the petal surrendered. Winter Blossom’s breath caught in her throat as it twirled downward. A faltering spiral that ended on the frost-rimed corpses of its predecessors. Fallen flowers carpeting the ground beneath Winter Blossom’s cloven hooves.
Winter Blossom hesitated, and then unleashed her greatest weapon. “Barley,” she murmured, and she saw the High Priestess go rigid. “Don’t.”
All was still. A land of snow and ice, black trees stretching skeletal fingers into an uncaring sky as the first flakes of the morning began to drift down. The wintry breeze ruffled Winter Blossom’s mane, and she curled her leonine tail closer around her legs. It was over.
The High Priestess drew herself up. Brittle as an icicle. That name was profane; had not been spoken in years. “That’s not who I am anymore.”
Winter Blossom steeled herself, and took a single step forward. Frozen flowers crunched beneath her hoof. Somewhere in there was the final petal, crushed now along with all the rest. Winter Blossom took a second step, and a third. There was no reason left to stay.
No. The High Priestess was as remote and as untouchable as the Goddess they all served, but beneath all the frost there were still flashes of Barley. The mare with the lopsided laugh and the flyaway hair.
The journey south was long. Rolling snowdrifts giving way to plunging valleys and rearing hills. Twisting mountains like dragons teeth. Snow-pregnant clouds blotting out the pale winter sun. And the endless crunching steps of a mare putting one hoof before the other.
“We can’t stop now,” she pleaded. “We’re so close."
Winter Blossom slipped. Only barely recovered herself in time to avoid falling face-first into…she frowned, and scraped at the slushy snow. The ground underfoot was wet. Squelchy. Brown. Beneath the snow, for the first time in moons, was mud. The land was thawing.
“Then don’t stop,” the High Priestess snapped. “Finish it. But I…I can’t be a part of this anymore.”
Like a snowball tumbling down a mountainside, spring took hold. Growing stronger with every southward step Winter Blossom took. Green grass sprang up through the white blanketing the world, saplings poked their heads out and unfurled fragile green leaves. Rabbits shed their white coats in favour of a warmer brown.
Anger rushed through Winter Blossom, hot and ugly. “A part of it? You’re our leader. You’re Her voice. This has all been you.”
And one yellow morning, the kiss of the sunlight on her back warm as a cat beside the fire, Winter Blossom saw it. A low hill topped with six tiered rooves rising above one another, corners curlicued like a jester’s shoes.
“Not any more,” the High Priestess said grimly.
A breath hissed out between Winter Blossom’s teeth. “I’ve found it.”
Winter Blossom set her hooves. “I won’t let you just walk away from us.”
“You sure have,” someone answered, and Winter Blossom almost leapt out of her skin.
“You want the job?” Her voice was full of disbelief. “Fine. Take it.”
Winter Blossom shrieked, and a mare emerged from the undergrowth with a lopsided smile on her face. An earth pony, her coat a dark brown the colour of rich fertile loam, broken only by a splash of white on her nose. Her mane was fairer than her coat, a sunny yellow with frizzy hairs drifting in different directions.
Her heart pounding, Winter Blossom stepped forward. “You really mean it?”
She was the prettiest stranger Winter Blossom had ever seen.
The High Priestess snorted. Her yellow eyes flashed with contempt.
“Calm down,” the stranger said. “So I can welcome you to the temple of the Goddess.”
“Do it properly, then.” There could be no room for misinterpretation. “Say the words.”
“The temple of the Goddess,” Winter Blossom breathed reverently. At last.
The High Priestess’ voice took on the cadence Winter Blossom knew so well from the rituals. “I am no longer acolyte, voice and High Priestess of the Goddess. I hereby appoint you as my successor, Winter Blossom. Serve Her in my stead.”
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” the mare said brightly. “I’m only a novice in Her service, but now you’re here we’ll all move up a rank.”
Winter Blossom shut her eyes, expecting a surge of power to flow through her hooves, her scales, her horn.
“Really?” Winter Blossom was still entranced by the temple — and the sparkling yellow eyes of this mare — too torn between the two to fully attend to what was being said.
The High Priestess waited, her antlered horn tingling with anticipation. The touch of the Goddess, the whisper of Her voice in the recesses of her mind. But nothing came.
That asymmetrical smile widened. “Come on! I’ll give you the tour.”
She opened her eyes, stared at Barley. And Barley, her lip curling into an ugly sneer, turned on her heel and vanished into the hot, empty night.
She whirled, and the slap of yellow tail-hairs across her muzzle jerked Winter Blossom back to herself. “Hey, wait! What’s your name?”
As the High Priestess fell to her knees on the hard stone steps of the temple, she thought she heard laughter drifting out from the inner gates.
The stranger giggled. “I’m Barley.”
