Page 12 of Weaving Winter

“Asajia Wildwalker,” I said.

“So, you are on the run and—” he indicated the corpse of the other scout.

“Those two came looking for me.” I stared at the body. Trying to hide the facts was useless. The scout would tell him that I was a fugitive, so I might as well be upfront and give this man my side of the story first. “I had no choice, if I didn’t want to be dragged back to the village. And I’d rather face the monsters and storms of this forest than go back to spend a life in servitude, especially to the sheriff who runs our village.” I straightened my back, wondering if he was going to let the scout go free.

“What did you do, and what was your punishment?”

“Five years servitude to the sheriff.” I shuddered. “I was late on my taxes. Life spent in servitude to the Garimorn means more than cleaning his house,” I added, feeling bleak.

Bran considered what I had told him, then said, “I don’t blame you.” His voice was gruff, but I saw no duplicity in his face. He gestured toward the corpse. “Bury that.”

“You can’t just—” the other scout began, but Bran silenced him.

“You have a choice. Come with us quietly, or join your companion in a common grave. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.” Then, with one last look at me, Bran headed toward his horse. “Let her ride on her horse, but keep the reins in hand. As for the horses ridden by the men, they’re ours. Get your asses moving. The storms are coming in fast.”

Within minutes, the men had dug a shallow grave and tumbled the other scout into it, covering him up swiftly. By then, the clouds had socked in so securely that not an inch of open sky showed, and their deep silver glistened so bright that it made my eyes hurt to look at it.

I glanced toward the ground, wincing.

One of the men noticed. “When the Snow Witch sends her tendrils, everything in the forest takes shelter. Don’t look too long at the clouds. They’ve been enchanted and they can burn your eyes as badly as the sun.” He began to lift me onto Yaran’s back, sidesaddle.

“I can believe it,” I said. “Can you hold me steady while I swing my leg over? I don’t ride sidesaddle and it’s uncomfortable sitting this way.”

With a startled look, the guard held me upright while I swung my left leg over Yaran’s back. He took up the reins and, with Bran leading us, we headed deeper into the woods.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As we wove deeper into the woods, I kept my mouth shut and my ears open. The snow began to fall shortly after we were on trail again, and it was coming down heavy, the flakes wet, large, and thick. I glanced at the sky, blinking as they fell against my face. We were headed for a white out. While I’d ridden with my father in snowstorms, we’d never been out in the woods in a storm that felt like this. It wasn’t just that it was snowing, but there was a cunning to the snow, the feel that it was driving an attack.

I’d heard about the Snow Witch when I was younger, but I’d always thought she was a myth. Centuries ago, the story went, a young witch lived on the edge of the Bramble Fel Forest with her mother, the Ice Crone. She was barely of marriageable age when men began lining up to woo her. Her mother didn’t believe any of them were good enough, and the Snow Witch wanted someone who could melt her heart. But every suitor who came to court her had something wrong with him. One was too coarse, one was too rough, another too finicky, another just looking for a maid rather than a wife.

Finally, when she thought she’d be a spinster forever, a young man appeared. Haron was kind and thoughtful, protective and generous, and before long the Snow Witch’s heart melted and she realized she was in love with him.

But before they could marry—for the Ice Crone approved of him as well—two of the men who had been rejected decided they would get their revenge. The Snow Witch’s beauty was renowned through the land, and the two brutes agreed that if she wouldn’t choose one of them, that no man would ever want her.

They followed Haron and the Snow Witch into the woodland one day. The couple was picking bilberries. Before they could get away, the ruffians caught hold of them. They assaulted her in front of her love, then stabbed him in the heart and sliced her face down one side, so she would be left scarred, forever reminded of her attackers. They left her by Haron’s body and went on their way.

The Snow Witch managed to make it home, and the Ice Crone took one look at her beloved daughter, beaten and savaged, and flew into a massive rage. She swore her daughter and the dead Haron would have vengeance, and did the only thing she could—she summoned a deep freeze to cover the Bramble Fel Forest. Everything lay still under the sparkling cover of ice. Trees broke under the weight, and animals died, caught out in the plunging temperatures.

The Ice Crone sought out her daughter’s attackers, and when they were out trying to chop wood, she summoned the wolves and they took the men down, devouring them alive.

But even the fury of the storm couldn’t quench the Snow Witch’s loss, and so her mother decided to give her daughter one final gift. She gave her daughter her heart—a crystal so cold that it burned with silver fire. The Snow Witch ate her mother’s heart and her power grew. While the Ice Crone was no more, the Snow Witch became a seething force of mist and snow and ice, and she retreated to the highest mountain top, where she lived ever after.

But she never forgot her beloved, and when the grief became too great, she would leave her mountain perch and drive through the Eiralpine zone, down into the northern forests, and bring with her storms that were seldom seen, snow and ice that could freeze the world.

It had always been a heartbreaking legend to me, but now Bran was saying that the Snow Witch was real, which made it not only heartbreaking but terrifying. I kept looking up at the sky, expecting to see her looming over us, staring down through the clouds.

After awhile, Bran held up his hand. We’d been riding steadily for what felt like hours, and my butt was getting sore. I had to relieve myself, too, but I had decided to hold out as long as I could. Although he seemed reasonable enough, I still had no idea what Bran’s plans were and causing as little trouble as possible seemed to be the best idea.

He and his men dismounted. I waited until he walked over to me.

“We’re breaking for a quick bite. I assume you could use…some relief?”

I nodded. “Thank you. But…” I looked around at his men, and the scout. “But where…” I wasn’t about to pull down my trousers around a bunch of strangers.

He stared at me for a moment. “I’ll walk you over to the bushes and wait for you.”

“I’ll need my hands,” I said, holding up my bound wrists.

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