Page 3 of Weaving Winter

It was tradition for brides to wear their mother’s bride-dress, and ours had been handed down through five generations. It hurt to think about selling the one link I had to the lineage of women who had walked before me, but I couldn’t pay the tithe with memories.

“I wonder if I have enough time to travel to Lake Shore. They have some wealthy tenants there.”

Lake Shore was the nearest village below the Leanderial Line, which divided the People of the Snow from the People of the Sun. I had a few regular customers there who bought meat and fat from me, but they didn’t know my history, and they wouldn’t care about my father’s foolhardy moves. The dress would just be a bride-dress, without any rumors attached to it.

“When will you leave?” Sanya asked.

“I’ll head out before dawn. That way I can be back by the next morning and, hopefully, I’ll have enough to pay the tithe. I can just plead my mother’s death clouding my mind and making me forget. He probably won’t believe it, but if I have the money in hand, I should be fine.”

Sanya nodded. “Leave early, before anyone is awake to see you go. I’ll go home and make you a basket of sandwiches to eat on the way.” She stood, glancing out the window. “I should get back. Dusk will be here soon, and I need to make dinner so we can rest early. I’ll be awake well before dawn tomorrow to put the bread in the oven. Don’t forget to drop by.” She gave me a quick hug.

As she left, I thanked my stars for her friendship. The moment the door closed behind her, I sprang into action. I hurried to my bedroom and laid out my riding clothes. A pair of leather pants with wide legs, a long blue tunic embroidered with silver threads, and a cape made of rabbit fur. I made sure my bow had a good string on it, and wrapped a spare string in a leather scrap, just in case.

After finishing the bread and half the cookies, I settled by the fire to sharpen my blades. My father had given me a silver dagger when I was sixteen. It was tradition for all Daughters of the Snow to be gifted a dagger on their sixteenth birthday.

So on the twelfth day of the Ice Moon my father and mother presented me with a silver dagger that was enchanted. It would never dull and never need polish. However, my short sword and axe both needed a sharper edge. I set to sliding them along the oiled whetstone as the fire crackled and popped, and by the time I finished it was dark outside.

I hung the small kettle half filled with water over the spit in the fireplace. Slicing a smoked hunk of venison into bite size pieces, I tossed it into the pot, added salt and some wild onions, two small potatoes, and a diced carrot.

As my dinner cooked, I headed outside to the stalls where I checked Yaran’s hooves, then readied the saddle and saddle bags. Come morning, I could be off before there was any chance of Garimorn showing up at my door. I should be on the road near dawn, if everything went right.

The horse was ready, and I packed up the bride-dress, setting it by the door. Lastly, I dug under one of the floorboards and brought out a small bag. There were a handful of coins inside—but less than half what I needed to pay the tithe. Torn about whether to take them with me, I finally tucked them back in the bag and—after digging a little pocket in the dirt—buried them beneath the floorboards again. Then, after eating dinner and finishing off the cookies, I crawled into bed, burrowing under the covers.

For the first time since my mother died, I felt incredibly alone. As hard as I tried to keep thoughts of the sheriff at bay, I couldn’t keep from going there. What would he do? I was late, so he could lawfully punish me, even if I came back with the money. My father had scared him—that much I knew. But I had neither my father nor mother to protect me. I was a grown woman, alone in the world, and I had to face my trials on my own.

My thoughts in turmoil, I finally managed to fall asleep, and rested uneasily till morning.

Dawn came early. I had trained myself to wake at will, and sure enough, outside, the faint hints of light barely crested the horizon. It wasn’t the sun per se—from now on, days with sunshine would be few as the long winter approached—but dawn glimmered through the clouds with a diffused light.

I gathered my pack and hooked up the sledge to the horse, then strapped the meat I could afford to part with to the sledge, along with the box containing the bride-dress.

As I swung atop Yaran’s back, he whinnied, then settled as I clucked to him. Slowly, pulling the sledge behind us, I headed out.

CHAPTER THREE

I slung my bow across my back, and my arrows were attached to saddle for easy reach. I also had my short sword strapped to my waist, and my silver dagger tucked in my right boot. The path toward the Leanderial Line was still clear of deep snow, though here and there a few patches of frost covered the chilled forest. While the days were still warm enough that it would melt by midday, we didn’t have long before the snows made travel difficult.

The Leanderial forest ran parallel to the Leanderial Line, and both were considered the border dividing the two nations. Further on in the world, there were other borders and other peoples, but they were so far away that they were almost a myth. No one I ever knew had made the trek south of the People of the Sun’s lands, at least they didn’t return to us.

Northeast of Renmark was another forest—the Bramble Fel—and that was one I seldom ventured into. It was a shadowed thicket with strange creatures within, and it was easy to get lost in Bramble Fel. The spirits of the land didn’t care for people, and they did their best to confound and confuse anyone who didn’t belong there.

But the Leanderial Forest was broad and free from most undergrowth. There were plenty of places to hide, but even if I drifted off path, it wasn’t all that difficult to find my way back. The energy here was lighter—the nature spirits more friendly.

I glanced up at the sky. It was nearly midmorning by now.

The path led into Lake Shore, the northern most village belonging to the People of the Sun. If all went well, I would arrive there by late afternoon, even though Yaran was dragging the wheeled sledge behind him. It wasn’t overloaded, and the path was relatively clear and compact.

As the horse swayed beneath me, I had time to think about the dilemma I was in.

What will happen if I can’t raise enough coin to pay the tithe?

I didn’t want to even allow my thoughts to run in that direction, but I had to face reality: failure was a possibility. I wasn’t sure how much consideration Garimorn would give me, given my mother’s recent death, and I didn’t want to find out.

As the morning brightened and the frost began to melt, I could smell the tang of the forest. All around me, the smell of decaying leaves lingered in the air, breaking down as the icy rains that preceded snow soaked the region. Luckily, today was foggy, but the sun was burning away the mist and clouds. I pushed the hood of my cloak back, inhaling deeply.

I held the air in my lungs. Other than worrying about the sheriff, I was actually content with my life. My happiest days were spent in the forests, hunting. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother. I loved my home, but I never felt the inclination to retire into the kitchen and stay there.

“Thank the gods Da taught me to hunt,” I said, talking to myself. “Maybe I should just build a small cottage in the woods and live there, away from town…”

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