Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Everything changed the day my father brought home the bear.

In Renmark, the summers were harsh, and the winters, harsher. During summer, the slopes of Mount Glarran were covered with wildflowers, and the cattle roamed at will, but the ground was unforgiving, and crops seldom plentiful, and we lived hardscrabble on the edge.

We were the People of the Snow. If it weren't for trading with villages below the Leanderial line, everyone would go hungry. The People of the Sun, who lived in the villages south of the line, provided crops that we couldn't grow in the high climes, and we traded meat and fish and hides for them. Luckily, the demand for game was ever present. Down in the valleys, the forests were thick with deciduous trees, and the seasons more moderate.

A skilled hunter could make a good living if his bow was steady and his aim, accurate, by trading skins and meat. And my father, when he was alive, was a renowned hunter.

He brought home deer and wild fowl to fill our pantry, and after that, he sold and traded with the People of the Sun. Every year, our family was able to pay our annual tithe to the Magistrate and sheriff, and we were respected by most of the town.

The tithes paid for the healers and the guards, and kept the officials in style. Nobody felt they were fairly taxed, but the burden was spread out in our village, with the old and infirm paying far less, and usually, grace periods were extended to those who were stricken with tragedy.

However, those who willfully ignored the law ended up in exile, separated from their families. And the dishonor spilled out to cloak their families, who were burdened with the weight of paying the back-taxes through coin or servitude, depending on the whim of the Magistrate. So far, our family had managed to make every payment on time, and we were considered valued members of the village.

But everything changed the day my father shot the bear.

Da brought it back to the house, dragging it behind his horse. He'd been out hunting when he ran across a fat black bear. If it had been a moose or an elk, no one would have cared.

But in our village, the bear was sacred. Nobody ever killed a bear—it was our spirit guardian. Bear Mother watched over our lands and people. She guarded the path to the Underworld. She was life, and she was death. We prayed to her for good hunts, and to Elieyana, the goddess who created Bear Mother. All hunting families were bound by soul to Elieyana and the bear, and it was sacrilege to take a bear's life.

I remember the night Father tramped in, dusting the early snow from his boots. My mother ducked outside to see what he'd brought home, and let out a strangled cry. Terrified, she begged him to get rid of the body.

"Take it back into the woods. Strip the meat and fat, and set the skull in the arms of Tree Mother. Beg for forgiveness, before anybody else finds out what you've done."

But my father laughed in her face. "Don't interfere in my affairs," he said, pushing her aside. "You're my wife. Stick to your place, woman, and mind the children and house. Leave supporting our family to me."

My father had been drinking, and my mother knew when it was futile to cross words, so she dropped the argument. It was better than being hit, and when Da drank, he became physical.

But word always gets out. My father had flouted the edicts, and it was well-known around the town that he scoffed at the gods who walked the sky, cloaked in the veils of shimmering lights. So when a neighbor saw the bear in our yard before Da could butcher it, well, soon the entire town knew that Bjorn Wildwalker had flown in the face of the law and shot a bear. But Da ignored the whisperings, even after the Truth-talker called him out on his actions.

Finally, when Da refused to submit for the honor tribunal, the sheriff struck a black mark against our family and people turned their backs on us. We were allowed to stay in the village, but my friends stopped talking to me. When my mother went to the shops, they filled her orders in silence. But life continued, although less comfortably, and eventually my mother and I became best friends, having no one else to talk to. For the next year, I resigned myself to living the rest of my life on my own, given no reputable family would approve to a marriage with me.

The day my father died, everything changed again.

A year to the day that he brought home the bear, Bjorn met his death when one of the water sprites seduced him into the creek. He drowned in a high-water stream, pulled under by the Nok, sucked dry of his life force.

I opened the door early morning to find his body on the doorstep, and immediately knew that everything was about to change. After the cremation, my mother silently returned the bear skull to the forest, placing it in the boughs of the Mother Tree. I went with her, and went down on my knees as did she, praying for mercy.

Our new life began with whispers around town. They didn't escape my mother or me—we heard them loud and clear.

Bjorn deserved it. He flaunted tradition…

Bjorn brought this on himself…

His poor wife and daughter. What will they do now…

We ignored the gossip as much as possible. We had to leave our grief behind, if we were to survive. My mother put away her pride and took in washing. She spent every day by the streams, washing other people's clothes. I, on the other hand, spent my days in silence, gathering berries and herbs from the forest to trade. I also took down enough small game for our dinners—my father had trained me to the bow at a young age. I brought home squirrels and birds, and I even managed to shoot fish in the streams. Soon, I learned to hunt deer, and the mountain rams. The rams gave us wool, as well as meat.

During this time, one friend continued to talk to me. Sanya's family was dead, although she was newly married, and they were low enough standing in the community that nobody cared who they talked to.

My mother and I fell into a pattern. We earned enough to trade for the food and supplies we needed. And, if we weren't as comfortable as before, we still survived, and our bellies were full.

However, Father's indiscretion followed us. Although the Sheriff had lifted the black mark since Father had died, we were still regarded as a bad influence. Now, someone might say hello to my mother or me, but few came to visit, and the only celebrations we were invited to were Sanya's. Still, as long as we had one another, my mother and I were content. And my friendship with Sanya helped keep me sane.

Which brings me to now. Two months ago, my mother died. A virus invaded the town and she caught it. Within two weeks, she could barely breathe, coughing up green mucus. No matter how many potions, spells, and herbs the healers gave her, the condition worsened. By the time the infection cleared our village, we lost over fifteen people.

So, I was alone, facing the world on my own, and that's when my trouble truly began.