Page 17 of Weaving Winter

I changed and crawled under the thick blankets. My face was chilly, but the blankets and the fire held the dropping temperatures at bay.

“One. I had more before my father brought home the bear.” I told her the story as she sat behind me, brushing my hair. “He was a good man, but he didn’t believe in the gods, and that was the beginning of my family’s downfall. He broke the rules and we all paid for it.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“Do I what?”

“Do you believe in the gods?” Fenling blew out the candle on the stand next to her cot.

I sat up, bundling the blankets around me. In the glow of the firelight, her eyes gleamed and I thought they looked almost animal-like.

“Yes, actually. I do believe in the gods. I can feel them, sometimes. I can feel the spirits of the forest. I’m a hunter, but I would never take down a bear. The bear spirit is the spirit of my people, and we live thanks to the gods of the hunt. Elieyana, she who created Bear Mother, guards us, but she asks one thing: we do not dishonor the Bear’s spirit. My father couldn’t feel the spirit of the forest. He was an excellent hunter, but he didn’t live by instinct. He observed, but he didn’t…feel. I’m not sure if I’m explaining myself well enough?—”

“I understand. My people are connected to the forest spirits, as well. Was he good to you and your mother?”

“Good enough,” I said. “He only beat my mother when he was drunk, and that wasn’t all that often. He provided for us, and while he was quick to anger, most of the time, he yelled rather than used his fists.”

Fenling nodded. “I’m glad for that. And I’m sorry that your family went through that kind of public shame.”

“Will you answer something for me?” I asked.

“That depends on whether it is my place to answer,” she said.

“Are you…are you and your friends People of the Snow? Your cousin seemed to indicate that you don’t consider yourselves as such.”

She paused for a moment, then said, “No. We are not. We belong to neither the sun nor snow. Nor do we live as nomads like those above the Eiralpine Line. We’ll explain later. For now, rest easy, and sleep deep. You are safe here.”

I burrowed down under my covers, listening to the sound of the crackling flames. Outside, the wind picked up and began to blow steadily against the tent, but the canvas didn’t fail. Late at night, I woke to the sound of howls outside. I couldn’t tell if it was the winds or whether it was some animal. But the howl sent shivers through me, and I was grateful I was safe inside the tent with Fenling by my side.

Morning arrived and, when I woke, I pushed myself to a sitting position. My back ached and my shoulders were stiff, and my legs hurt from riding so much over the past days.

Fenling was by the fire, and she turned, carrying a mug. “Here, drink this before you rise and dress.”

“What is it?” I asked, sniffing the mug. It had a fragrant, almost floral, scent.

“Lingonberry tea. It will brace you for the morning and give you nutrients that will boost your health.” She was still in her nightdress, and she sat beside me, carrying a second mug. I lifted the covers for her to slip beneath them and we sat there, drinking our tea, waking up.

After a moment, I asked, “How are the storms?”

“We had so much snow last night, and a thick layer of ice to block the paths. We won’t be going anywhere for a few days. They’re still raging, but the Snow Witch’s ire usually doesn’t last long. While it does, however, we’re effectively trapped. We can make it over to the main pavilion for meals, but no one goes out of camp without permission.”

“Your cousin is the leader, isn’t he?” I already knew the answer to that, just from observing everyone at dinner, but it never hurt to ask for confirmation.

“Yes, he is,” she said. “At least here, in our contingent.” She licked her lips, then shrugged. “He’s fair, know that. Above all else, he is just.”

I nodded. “He seems so.” I shivered again, pulling the blankets around my shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Sit near the fire. The heat will penetrate. When you’re out on the road for so long, the weather becomes a blessing and a curse, depending on the clime. But here, in the Bramble Fel Forest, there will always be a chill that’s hard to shake, even on summer days.” She yawned again, then stretched. “We should get to the pavilion for breakfast, before the food runs out.”

With that impetus, I gritted my teeth, threw back the covers, and dressed. Fenling did the same, and we headed out into the storm, to brave our way to the mess tent.

CHAPTER NINE

The dash from our tent to the breakfast pavilion was harrowing. The winds were whistling past, catching the trees up so they whipped wildly. Snowflakes whirled in vortexes as they slashed against my face. The ground was covered up to mid-calf, and here and there trails of footprints broke through the crust of snow and ice.

While the breakfast pavilion wasn’t far, by the time we reached it I was chilled to the bone. We stumbled in and immediately gathered near the main brazier, warming ourselves before taking our place at the table we’d eaten at the night before. The tent was noisy, but the howling of the wind had drowned the sound of voices while we were outside.

Breakfast consisted of sausages, hot cakes, and fruit compote. I followed Fenling to the table we’d sat at the night before. Bran was there, already, and when he saw us coming, he motioned for two more plates. The trays of food were piled high in the center of the table, and as I sat down and accepted a plate, it occurred to me that my life had changed completely within less than a fortnight’s time.

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