Page 39 of Weaving Winter

“Are you one of the Wolf People?” I asked. I had yet to see any of them in their natural forms, but it seemed odd that the horses were so calm around them.

“I am,” Sparrow said. “If you’re wondering, horses like us because we can keep the actual wolves away from them.”

We were just rounding a curve in the forest—a thicket of trees so dense there was no room to walk among them—when I heard a noise. The air seemed to grow colder and I stopped, slipping off Yaran’s back.

“What the…”

Even under the sunlight, it looked like a web of ice was forming right before my eyes, between two large trees. It spiraled out, weaving threads like a spider, but I couldn’t tell where the origin point was. This was no arachnid’s creation, but a beautiful sculpture in ice, growing larger as we watched. It began at the center between the two trees, and spread out in all directions, the anchor lines appearing first, and then the threads connecting them all. As we watched, the crystals of ice fused together to form solid spokes.

“What’s that?” I asked, breathless. I’d never seen anything this beautiful in my life.

Sparrow stared at it for a moment, then he turned and raced toward his horse. “Come on! We have to get out of here. Now!”

I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. I was mesmerized by the flowing lines of ice. There was a magic to them that felt distantly familiar, as though I’d encountered it long ago, in a different time.

“Asajia! You have to hurry. She’s coming!” Sparrow rode up to me, holding Yaran’s reins. “Get into your saddle.”

I shook my head, trying to focus on what he was saying. “What? Who’s coming?”

“The Snow Witch. Can’t you feel the shift?”

I blinked, trying to decipher what he was saying. The words hit my ears, but they slid away just as fast. Confused, I turned back to the web, totally entranced.

“All right, I hate to do this,” Sparrow said, leaning down to sweep me up from the ground. I tried to push against him—the compulsion to return to the ice web was so strong. He dumped me onto Yaran’s back and I had a moment of clarity as I hit the saddle.

I swung one leg over her back and took the reins from him, my fascination turning to sheer terror. I could feel her now—she was coming in fast, on the north wind. Panicking, I turned to Sparrow.

“Please, I don’t want to leave you. Come with me now, please!”

“Lead on,” I said, finding my tongue.

He rode out, tsking to his horse. I followed, spurring Yaran on. We rode as fast as we could in the deep snow, but now I began to see the ice webs forming between trees along the way. I had lingered too long, and now we were in her territory. I wanted to apologize to Sparrow, but I didn’t want to slow us down. Every moment counted.

The winds began to pick up, swirling in an icy vortex, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw her following us. She was the Snow Witch, an ice queen as tall as the tree tops. She rose up above us, her long silver hair adorned with ice crystals flowed around her like the folds of a cloak. She wore a dress as black as the night, studded with a thousand snowflakes that glistened with every move. As I looked up, catching her gaze, I gasped. Her eyes were the colors of the northern lights, rippling in waves as she gazed down on us. With one single move, she could pluck us up, send us whirling through the air.

She was bearing down on us, but as she stared at me, she slowed. Something in her movements seemed to shift and she cautiously hung back, suddenly seeming leery.

“Ride!” I spurred on Yaran and went sailing forward, with Sparrow close on my heels. We plunged into the densest part of the thicket, and I gave Yaran the lead, hoping that he’d have the instinct to find shelter from the Snow Witch.

Sparrow was right behind me, and within seconds, he overtook the lead. “Follow me,” he called out.

Yaran seemed to understand what he said, because the horse turned and began to pace after Sparrow’s mount. Outside of the copse, I could hear the winds howling—the Snow Witch was trying to find a way in, but somehow, this part of the forest seemed to have some sort of protection against her. We rode as fast as we could, weaving among the trees, until we came to an actual path. The trail was covered with snow, but it was compacted, as though it had been here for years and worn down by countless feet.

There was something familiar about the path. I hadn’t ever been here, but it reminded me of another I had seen when I was very young, out with my father.

“This road belongs to the Forest Spirits. They inhabit every forest, but I have the feeling they’re stronger here in Bramble Fel.” I nudged Yaran into the center of the crossroads. Sparrow followed. As we stood there, I could hear the shrieks of the Snow Witch outside of the copse, trying to break through whatever barrier was keeping her out.

It was then that I noticed the crossroads was ringed with stones—tall and narrow, and as we stayed in the center, they began to glow with a pale blue light.

“What is this magic?” Sparrow asked. “Is it you doing this?”

I wanted to say no, because I honestly had no idea why they were glowing, but there was a little part of me that honestly believed I was making this happen. That the Snow Witch had appeared because of me, that the stones were glowing because of me.

“I don’t know what this is, but we’re protected from her in here. I wonder if this is the heart of the forest Giselda was talking about.” But it couldn’t be. We weren’t at the center of the forest, we were still barely in the outskirts of it.

“No, but this will lead us there. This road—do you know that when we first rode up, I didn’t see it. When you said something, it shimmered into view.” Sparrow cocked his head and looked at me. “Who are you, woman?”

“I told you, I’m Asajia Wildwalker.” But even as I spoke, a little voice inside whispered, But are you? Is this who you really are? Giselda said that you have a long ways to go in order to become who you’re meant to be.

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