The Wind in the Mason Jar

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[SCENE START] (SETTING: A kitchen that smells of dried sage and damp wool. Bunches of lavender and yarrow hang from the low rafters. On a heavy oak table sits a wide-mouthed mason jar with a thick cork stopper. Inside the jar, a miniature cyclone of silver-grey air swirls violently, rattling the glass.) (AELIANA, wearing a stained linen apron and wool stockings, is methodically chopping ginger root. She does not look at the jar.) BOREAS: (His voice is a whistling gale, muffled by the glass) Insolence! Unmitigated audacity! Do you not perceive the cosmic imbalance of my incarceration? I am the Breath of the Glaciers, the Sculptor of the Tundra, the North Wind who bends the pines of the farthest reaches! I demand a release befitting my station. I require a procession of twelve gold-trumpeters and a proclamation read in every square of the province! AELIANA: (Without looking up) You're rattling the table. I'm trying to get even slices. BOREAS: (A sudden, sharp gust hits the side of the glass) I shall freeze the very marrow in your bones for this indifference! I shall turn your tea to a pillar of salt and your hearth to a wasteland of rime! Unstop this vessel at once, mortal, and I may choose to spare your roof from the coming blizzard. AELIANA: (She stops chopping and looks at him. Her eyes are tired but calm) The blizzard is coming regardless, Boreas. That is why I caught you. My kale is stubborn this year. It refuses to sweeten because the nights haven't been cold enough. The leaves are bitter, and the villagers won't buy bitter greens. BOREAS: (A pause. The wind slows to a low, indignant hum) You have imprisoned a deity... for a vegetable? AELIANA: It is a very good kale. Very hearty. It just needs a proper, deep frost. A sharp, crystalline bite to the roots to trigger the sugars. BOREAS: I am the Harbinger of Winter! I do not perform agricultural chores! I do not "frost" for the convenience of a village herbalist! I demand a royal pardon, a feast of iced meats, and a monument of marble in the town square! AELIANA: (She picks up the jar and carries it toward the window) I can offer you a handful of honey-roasted walnuts and the satisfaction of knowing you helped a neighbor. Otherwise, I have a very sturdy cellar with a stone floor that is quite drafty. You can spend the next decade swirling around a pile of old potatoes. BOREAS: (The wind inside the jar becomes a frantic, tiny storm) You would dare? You would cast me into a cellar? AELIANA: (She opens the window. The autumn air is mild, almost lazy) It is a very quiet cellar. Very peaceful. But out here, the sky is wide. I can see the clouds gathering over the ridge. You look like you're itching for a run. BOREAS: (A long silence. The wind settles into a rhythmic, pulsing swirl) I shall require the walnuts. And you shall refer to me as the Great Frost-Bringer in your ledger. AELIANA: (A small, genuine smile) Deal. Just the north plot. Don't touch the peonies; they're sleeping for the year and don't need the shock. BOREAS: (Triumphantly) I make no promises regarding the peonies! (AELIANA pulls the cork. There is a sudden, deafening crack of air. A silver streak shoots from the jar, expanding instantly into a towering column of frost that blasts out the window and toward the garden. The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees in a second. AELIANA shivers, pulls her shawl tighter, and looks out at the garden, where the kale is suddenly glazed in a delicate, sparkling white.) AELIANA: (Quietly) Perfect. Just a touch of sweetness. [SCENE END]