Throwback: Witch, Wizzard, Winter
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Welcome to Stories Podcast. I'm your host, Amanda Weldon. Today's story is a throwback episode. Tune in to hear one of our classic stories from the archive that you might have missed the first time around.

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Witch, Wizard, Winter Once upon a time, a little girl named Silva sat by her window and wished for snow. It was the depths of winter, that dark time between Christmas and spring when the snow usually fell wet and heavy and perfect for snowmen and snowball fights and sledding.

Usually fell is the important part there, because so far, wish as she might, the little girl hadn't seen more than a faint flurry of flakes. "'Come on, Father Frost!' she whispered. According to legend, Father Frost was an ancient wizard who lived on a nearby mountain.

He had power over the storm clouds and the snow, and it was he who ushered in winter, and then, a few months later when spring took over, ushered it out again. At least, that's how it was supposed to work.

Silva's little village in the shadow of Father Frost's mountain was supposed to get plenty of snow. Piles of it, even. It usually fell in fat, wind-driven flakes and formed big, fluffy, white, miniature mountains all over the village square. All the villagers would gather there and sled and wrestle and drink hot chocolate with big, ghostly plumes of steam.

Silva liked hers with extra chocolate and marshmallows floating on top. Ooh, she could almost taste it, could almost feel it warming up her little toes. Silva? called Grandpa Nicola from his chair by the fire. Come now, it's time for bed. Silva sighed and padded off to brush her teeth and put on her pajamas. Maybe it would snow tomorrow. There was always a chance.

She woke the next morning to her grandpa calling her from the kitchen. "'Silva, come see! It's wonderful!' "'Is it snow?' she said, whipping off her blanket and stumbling from her bedroom, still wiping the sleep from her eyes with a tiny fist. "'You tell me!'

Silva ran to the window and gasped. There was snow. Not just a little, either, but mounds of it. Piles of it. Great, heaping, leaping mountains of it. Finally, she said. Thanks, Father Frost. Grandpa, can I go out and play? He smiled at her and held out her hat and gloves. She squealed in delight, hurriedly pulling on her snow clothes.

She spent the day making snowmen in the village square and waging a snowball war with other kids, and finally ended her day with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The snow kept falling all day, the pristine white mountains covering everything in a clean, glistening sheet. It was perfect, and she couldn't wait to do it again the next day.

When she woke up that morning, she hurried into the kitchen and found her grandpa by the front door, shoveling away. She walked up, curious. Shoveling again? she asked. Grandpa grunted, straightening up and holding his lower back with a wince. Snow just keeps on coming. See for yourself.

Silva looked out the door and gasped. The snow was falling heavier than ever. Already it was halfway up the door. In some wind-driven piles, it was nearly as high as the village roofs. Wow, she said. Wow nothing, Grandpa said, probably grumpy from all the shoveling.

We went from no snow to too much snow. If this doesn't let off soon, we'll be tunneling to the market. Silva laughed and got her snow gear on again. She made for the village square, but no one had shoveled it out, and it was nearly impossible to walk through. Thankfully, Silva was small and light enough that she could walk on top of the snow.

She waved at the adults that pushed through the heavy piles, and they waved back at her half-heartedly with exhausted arms. When she went to bed that night, the snow was still falling. The next morning, she woke up to a cold house. She peeked out from under her covers and watched her breath twist into smoke in the freezing air. She noticed that not only did she have on her blanket, she had Grandpa Nicola's as well.

That was sweet of him, but he must be awfully cold. She grabbed the quilt and dragged it behind her into the kitchen, where she found Grandpa, digging at the front door again. Grandpa, why is it so cold? What's going on?

Can't light the fireplace, he said, closing the door behind him. Snow's filled the chimney. Snow's buried just about the whole town. The council has called a meeting in the village square to see what we can do about it. I'm heading that way now. You can tag along. Silva agreed and the pair donned their gear. Once they were ready, Grandpa opened the front door and she saw what he had been working on.

It was a tunnel, one just big enough to crawl through. It led into the snow and then turned towards the village square. Wow, she breathed. Whole town was up all night digging, he said as they crawled on in. We'll surface at the square and talk there.

Soon, the tunnel sloped upwards and they emerged into a snow-covered square. All over, people climbed from tunnels and huddled together atop the mountain of snow. The adults sunk in, but Silva was still able to walk on the top. They started talking the way grown-ups do when they talk about serious business.

Silva knew that sort of whispered yell meant that it was both important and also dangerous. It went on for an hour while all around them the sky was dark with clouds and the snows grew deeper. Finally, Grandpa Nikola shouted out, Enough! I will go! This got Silva's attention. She walked over and laid her head on his shoulder, only possible because he was sunk into the snow.

Where will you go, Grandpa? She asked nervously. She'd lost her parents when she was young, and her grandpa had raised her from a toddler. She loved him fiercely. The sky has been dark for too long, and the snow falls endlessly, he said then, his face serious.

What's more, the Winter Witch has been spotted nearby on the mountain. We fear that she has enchanted Father Frost and he can no longer control the snow. Someone must tunnel up the mountain and wake him, and I have volunteered. Father Frost, thought Silva. So he was more than just a legend. But up the mountain...

She remembered how tired her grandpa had looked that morning just shoveling his one short tunnel. How would he be able to tunnel all the way up the mountain before the village was buried? How would anyone? Silva thought about it long and hard while the adults planned grandpa's trip. And then she interrupted. I'm going to go find Father Frost, she said. It has to be me.

The villagers all told her no, that she was too young and too small, that the tunneling would be too much for her little arms. No, child, Grandpa said. I'm afraid it has to be me. Look, she said, walking into the middle of the circle. I'm light enough that I don't have to tunnel. I can walk right up the mountain. I've done it before. In the summer we have, Grandpa said.

Right, but you'd have to tunnel and I can just walk. I can climb it in a day and it would take you weeks. The villagers looked at one another and at Grandpa most of all. He heaved a big sigh and Silva knew she had won. You can go, he said. I don't want to send you, but you're right. You're our only hope for getting there before we're buried for good.

The villagers all went home and came back with their warmest clothes and furs. They piled them on Silva until she looked like a lumbering baby bear as much as she did a girl. On and on they came until Silva had to actually shake some off because she was sweating underneath all the layers. Finally, when she was ready to leave, her grandpa hugged her. As he did, he slid a necklace over her head. "'What's this?' she asked."

Grandpa Nicola held up a slim silver tube that hung on the necklace's end. This is the winter whistle, he said. Father Frost left it with us in case of emergency. I tried blowing it yesterday morning, but I don't think he heard. When you get close enough, you blow it as loud as you can, okay? I will, Grandpa, she said. Good girl, he replied, ruffling her hair.

Now you better get going if you want to make it to Father Frost by dark. Silva nodded and started down the path that led up the mountain. The villagers watched her go from their snowdrifts and tunnels. Soon the village was gone completely and there was nothing but towering snowdrifts and the twinkling silence of deep winter.

The path grew steeper as she went. It was fortunate she was able to walk on top because the higher she went, the more ice there was mixed in with the snow. Tunneling never would have worked. It's up to me, she said to herself. I won't let Grandpa down.

Now for a quick ad break. We'll be back with the rest of the story after this. If you'd like Stories Podcast and other favorite kid podcasts ad-free, subscribe to Wondery Plus Kids on Apple Podcasts.

Here's something magical for our listeners. Imagine turning the adventures you hear about from stories into real-life experiences. With Groupon, your family can discover activities that mirror the tales we share, like visiting a castle, exploring a zoo, or crafting your own masterpiece in an art class. When I checked out Groupon offerings in my area, I saw an amazing deal on a whale watch right nearby.

My family and I will definitely be doing that this summer. Your next magical family day might be hiding in the Groupon app too, just waiting to be discovered. Groupon is offering our listeners a very special promotion to get your adventure started. Use code STORIES30 to get 30% off when checking out at Groupon before May 31st. That's code STORIES30. Groupon. Adventure is just around the corner.

Thanks, and now back to the story. She made good time up the mountain, and soon she attracted some unwanted attention. Near the mountain's peak, hidden in the log cabin of Father Frost, the Winter Witch sat brooding. She stared into an orb of solid ice, and within its frozen depths, she saw Silva making her climb. The Witch had worked hard to find and enchant Father Frost.

Even now, he was beside her in his chair, snoring peacefully. He loved snow as much as she did, but he didn't have the courage to bury the world in it. Fortunately, the witch did. But first, she had to get rid of this girl, this intruder. She began to whisper a spell into her ice orb. It shuddered and hummed and crackled. On the mountainside, Silva felt herself grow suddenly tired.

Her feet felt heavy as lead weights in her boots. Her eyelids begged to be shut. Her whole body felt like it was pushing through the snow, even though she still walked atop it. Maybe a little rest won't hurt, she thought. The winter witch's magic flowed over her like ice and she laid down in the snow, eyes sinking fast. Just a little nap.

She started to drift off and then she rolled and the silver whistle pressed cold against the skin of her neck. Hot chocolate, spring breezes and summer suns, warm baths full of bubbles and everything else cozy and good. Silva was flooded with these feelings and she snapped awake. The witch, she said, knowing it to be true. She used a sleeping spell on me, but the whistle stopped it.

She clutched the whistle tightly and tucked it under her coat so it rested always against her skin. The whistle stopped it! I need to get to Father Frost! With the whistle warming her, she hurried up the mountain. After hours of hiking, she finally saw it. A tidy log cabin tucked away near the top of her little mountain.

It was made of tight-fitted timbers and it was the only thing on the mountain not completely hidden by the snow. She had made it. She trudged up. Was the winter witch inside? What could she do? She tried to peer in through the windows, but they were too frosted to see. The door, then? She took the wooden knob in her hands and turned it slowly, easing open the door, quiet as a mouse.

Inside, she saw the witch sitting at a small table and staring into a crystal ball made of ice. Across the room on a sturdy bed snored Father Frost, all in furs of white and red. Father Frost, she whispered, but she was too loud.

The witch turned from her crystal ball and glared at her. She was tall and slender and seemed somehow jagged, like an icicle. Her eyes were a snow white with no hint of color. Her smile was twisted and cruel. You! I thought I left you sleeping on the mountain. You should be buried under a foot of snow by now.

You won't bury me and you won't bury my village, Silva said. I used to wish for snow, but this is too much. You have to stop, the winter witch laughed. You may have woken up, but you're still just a child. How do you think you can stop me? I can't, Silva said. But he can.

She pulled the silver whistle from her coat and the witch seemed to recognize it. Her eyes went wide and she screamed with rage. Um, it's not yours, Silva said, and it never will be. She put the whistle to her lips and blew, and no sound came out. The witch laughed. That's not the magic whistle at all, you fool. It didn't even make a noise.

"'Didn't make a noise to you,' Silva said, smiling wide. The witch spun, eyes wide. Behind her, Father Frost yawned and stretched like a man waking up from a deep sleep. While the witch was distracted, Silva darted past her and pressed the whistle into the old wizard's hand. "'Father,' she whispered, "'the winter witch put you to sleep, but I blew the whistle!' He blinked first at her and then down at the silver whistle."

Thank you, child, he said with a wink. Now stand aside for this next part. He stood and walked towards the Winter Witch. She chanted spell after spell, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, she picked up her icy orb and held it like a weapon. Winter could last forever, she said. You love winter, you old fool. You should be on my side.

All good things have their time to begin and their time to end, he said. All bad things as well, and your days of mischief are over. He drew in a deep breath and blew into his silver whistle. A beautiful note filled the room, something between a caroling voice and an icy tinkle. Soon, the log cabin began to shake with the power.

"'You'll ruin my work!' the witch cried. "'All!' Father Frost didn't reply but kept on blowing his mighty note. The cabin rocked so hard that timbers rained down and a hole opened in the roof over the witch. A second later, the clouds above the mountain parted and a ray of sunlight streamed down and hit her like a spotlight. Immediately, her skin began to glisten and run like an ice floe.

She cried. And then, like a snowflake on a stove, she puffed away in a cloud of steam. Her icy ball fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces, and those too were burned away by the sun. For a moment, all was silent. Then Father Frost turned to Silva, eyes twinkling. Should have done that years ago, he said.

You've done well, little one. Take this whistle back to your village with my thanks. He handed the whistle to Silva, who took it with wide eyes. Now let's see what we can do about all this snow. But first... He looked around the cabin and finally seemed to find what he was looking for. An old sled made all of wood.

It hung crookedly, the trembling house having knocked it from its hooks. Father Frost took the sled and brought it outside, setting it in the snow in front of his cabin. Silva followed behind, curious. Sit, child, he said. This sled will take you home. Thank you, Silva said, happily settling onto the sled. Do you think you could do me one favor? For my hero? Anything.

"'Maybe leave, like, just a little snow? Enough to play in?' He laughed. "'I'll see what I can do.' "'Oh, and your sled. I won't be able to carry this back up to you. It's too heavy.' "'Keep it,' he said. "'It's your reward for waking up an old wizard. Least I can do.' Silva started to say thanks again, but Father Frost put his boot to the back of the sled and pushed her off.

The sled tipped forward, paused for a long moment, and then rocketed down the mountain. It rode along the top of the snow as Ilva herself had. For a moment, she worried about rocks or trees hidden in the fluffy depths, but the sled seemed to steer itself, roaring and slaloming in wide turns. She screamed, eyes watering with the speed and fun of it.

The sled, the wonderful wooden sled, turned a trip that had taken hours into just a handful of minutes. Before she knew it, she saw the great, snow-covered, tunnel-pocked mound of her village. "'Silva!' Grandpa Nicholas called as she coasted into the village square. "'The snow has stopped! Did you do it? Where did you get that sled? What's going on?'

She started to answer, but just then, the storm clouds overhead puffed away and the village was bathed in sunlight. Immediately, the snow began to melt and steam into the air. Layer by layer, the village began to emerge around them. First was the peak of the old church, then the roofs of the taller houses, then the windows, and finally the doors. The village looked on in amazement as their town was reborn.

Finally, the sunlight retreated a bit, returning to its normal winter glow. Silva looked at the ground and saw that a half a foot or so of snow remained. Just the right amount for playing. She did it, someone called. Silva did it.

The village erupted in cheers and they had a grand party to celebrate. There were snowball fights and snowmen built, and best of all, hot chocolate with extra chocolate and marshmallows floating on top. Soon after, winter gave way to spring. Silva was sad to see it go, but she knew it would be back next year. All good things have their time to begin and their time to end, she said to herself, thinking of Father Frost.

See you next year, old friend. She smiled up at the mountain and then, smelling spring on the wind, went outside to pick some flowers for her grandpa. The End Today's story, Witch Wizard Winter, was an adaptation of a Bulgarian myth written for you by Daniel Hines and performed for you by me, Amanda Weldon.

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