Chapter 7

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.

He nodded. "We can fix that." He lifted me down from the horse and then removed the rope from my hands, binding it around my waist instead. "I can hold onto the end while you're in the bushes."

I wanted to make a smart assed remark but decided to forego the urge. I reached for the saddle bag to get the roll of tessori. Before I could open the bag, he had gripped my wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting my tessori," I said. "I'm not going to use my hands."

His nostrils flared, but a faint grin shattered his hardened stare. "Allow me," he said, lifting up the flap covering the leather bag. He peeked in, then handed me the roll. "Come on, then." He led me over to a thick stand of tall ferns surrounding a tall bush.

I crossed behind it. After making sure he was turned the other way, though he was still holding the rope, I removed my gloves, lowered my trousers and finished my business, burying it in snow. Feeling much better, I gathered snow to wipe my hands on, then pulled my gloves back on. As I returned to where Bran was standing, he turned around.

"Thank you," I said. "Do you mind if I eat something? I'm hungry."

He shrugged. "My men are frying up some meat. We have plenty to spare, if you want to join us."

I glanced over to where the scout was sitting on a log, staring sullenly at the fire. "I'd love something hot, but I don't want to be near him."

"Is the sheriff in your village really so bad?"

It sounded like he was asking a real question, not making a judgement.

I nodded. "Yes. He's well known for using his servants—the women and girls—for his own needs. His wife never says a word. I think she's afraid that he'd cast her out if she did. Some women aren't cut out for a life on their own."

"And you are?" Bran led me over to a log near the fire but at a distance from the scout.

"I was brought up by one of the best hunters in my village. My father was one of the Horned Brigade. He single handedly took down a large cat who attacked him. He always brought in the most game, and we always had food to spare for friends who were in need. He taught me how to hunt early on, and how to make fire, how to skin and clean game."

"You say was. Is he dead, as well as your mother?"

I nodded. "He died a couple years ago. Then, my mother caught the cough going around earlier this year and death claimed her."

Bran cocked his head. "Why aren't you married, Asajia?"

I met his gaze. He looked truly curious.

"For one thing, I never met anyone I wanted to marry—at least not yet. For another, I'm known as…cantankerous."

He laughed. "Cantankerous? That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"To the men in my village, it is. But mostly…the year before my father died, he did something that blackmarked our family. Not enough to expel us, but close enough. After that, there was no possibility anybody who wanted their name clear with the Magistrate would consider marrying me."

I stared into the fire, realizing that talking to this strange man seemed incredibly easy. By all rights, given I was being held captive and I didn't know anything about him or what was going to happen to me, I should be scared witless. But I wasn't. I actually trusted him, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"You intrigue me," Bran said. "What did your father do that was so bad?"

"You're one of the People of the Snow, right? My father brought down a bear. The bear wasn't attacking him. He just…I suppose he was thinking about the meat and skin that he could sell below the Leanderial line. When he returned home with it on the sledge, the sheriff marked him, along with my mother and me. We spent the rest of his life living under a cloud."

Bran stiffened ever so slightly. "Ah yes, the bear…" He licked his lips. "Not all people in Bramble Fel identify themselves as belonging to People of the Snow, you know?"

"Really?" That was news to me. "I thought that everyone between the two lines belonged to the People of the Snow. We're forest folk, after all."

After a long pause, Bran said, "I'll get your food. Promise me on your honor you won't try to escape if I leave you sitting here alone?"

I nodded. Even if I wanted to try, the odds were against me. "I promise, while you fetch me food, I won't try to escape."

He handed me the end of the rope. "Don't untie the knots." As he stood, he added, "And don't think I didn't notice what you did there. I'll be back in a moment." With a grin, he moved toward the roaring campfire.

The heat was welcome. Even at our distance, it radiated through me, warming me from the inside out. I closed my eyes, leaning forward to let it radiate against my face. I wasn't sure what to think about Bran and his men. Who were they? And was he referring to himself when he said that not everyone identified with the People of the Snow?

"Long thoughts?" he asked, returning with a bowl of broth and meat. He handed me a spoon, and then a knife to stab the meat with. He also set a piece of cloth down with a large hunk of bread and cheese on it, along with what looked like a sweet bun. "Eat up. This weather takes it out of a body."

"How long before we reach your base?" I asked, cautiously sipping the broth. It was good, spiced with something that bit the tongue ever so slightly, and I drank it down, the warm liquid radiating through me. "Or…will I live to see your base?" I finally decided that I had to know what his plans were.

"Oh, no worries on that. Unless you do something stupid, I'm not planning on killing you." Bran glanced at the sky. "We've another ride, though shorter than this morning's, to reach the outpost. Once there, I'll decide what to do with you."

"And him?" I asked, nodding toward the scout.

"Same answer." He pointed toward the food. "Eat up. We break camp shortly." He stood, motioning for another guard to join us. "When she finishes, call me."

I ate as quickly as I could without getting sick. The food provided reserves and I needed as much fuel as I could, in case I needed to escape. Once I finished, the guard called Bran back.

"Do you need to tend to your business again?" he asked, pointing toward the bushes.

I wasn't sure, but took him up on the offer, just in case. Then, it was back into the saddle with my hands tied and one of the guards leading Yaran. We set out again, and without the fire, the day seemed icier and gloomier than before.

The storm clouds had firmly packed in, and the temperatures were still dropping. I raised my hands and adjusted the scarf around my neck to cover my mouth and nose, so my breath wasn't so harsh in my lungs. As the afternoon gave way, the silver light illuminated everything with an eerie glow. This was no normal storm, indeed. As it drew closer, I could feel the magic swirling in eddies. It was like being in the middle of a fast current that was trying to sweep me off my feet. I'd always had a feel for the woods, but this was something I wasn't used to. I'd never experienced anything quite like it.

The man leading me turned to say, "She's a frightening creature, she is. I've been through a few of her storms."

"I don't think we ever had one in my village. At least, not that I noticed. And I think I would notice this anywhere." I decided that, given the chance, I'd find out what I could. "What's your name? I'm Asajia."

"Pieter," the guard said. "And yes, if the Snow Witch brought storms to your village, you would notice. She seldom travels beyond the southern edge of the Bramble Fel Forest, though."

"Do you live in the forest?"

He considered my question for a moment, then said, "I'll let Bran answer that one, should he choose."

I backtracked quickly. "How bad do the Snow Witch's storms get?"

"Bad enough for people to die if they're exposed to her cold for long enough. During a few of the storms, the ice fall is enough to freeze people into a solid icicle. So we make for the nearest shelter when we sense one coming in. We were out on a scouting expedition this morning when we found you and your buddy over there."

"He's no buddy of mine," I muttered. "Don't lump us together in the same sentence," I added. The last thing I wanted was for any of them to put us together into the same room or cage.

"That bad?" Pieter said, a glint in his eye.

"Let's just say, I'd rather weather the Snow Witch's storm out in the open than find myself in his hands," I said. Realizing I wasn't going to get much information for now, I fell silent, trying to focus on the forest passing by. The storm riding the winds was strong enough to throw me off center, and it felt like tiny insects were jumping all over my body, but I knew that it had to be me reacting to the energy coming from the Snow Witch.

It was coming towards dusk when Bran shouted, pointing ahead of us. I strained my eyes to see the lights of what looked like a village ahead. As the woods opened into the clearing, I saw that a fence surrounded the compound. Tree trunks about as thick as a small pot had been sharpened into spikes at the top, and they were bound with leather straps, nestled deep in the ground to form a circular fence around the settlement. Inside the fence were tents everywhere, many of them small enough for two to three people. Still others were pavilions. The horses were stabled at a makeshift shelter, and next to the shelter were a number of large carts. The path led through the settlement, then out the other side.

I glanced around. There were some women, but most of them looked nothing like the women in Renmark. These women were muscled and they wore trousers and tunics like the men. Everyone's hair here seemed long, like mine, including the men. And everyone that I saw had to be at least five-eight, the women included. They were a fit, strong looking people and I wondered where they came from? Was this their permanent home?

Bran motioned to one of the blonds who was watching another woman who stirred something in a large cauldron. The cauldron and fire were protected from the wind and weather by a lean-to. Whatever it was, it smelled fabulous and the aroma of vegetables and broth and meat filled the air. My stomach rumbled. It had been hours since we broke for food, and I was hungry again.

The blond came over. Her hair was shorter than most, and she wore it back in a ponytail. She glanced at me, raising her eyebrows. "I'm glad you made it back before the storms."

Bran clasped her hand and hugged her like men hug—patting her on the back. "I was worried we might be caught in the open, but we made good time. I estimate we have an hour before they come through. Are the horses secured?"

"All is well, cousin. The horses are safe, the gear is stowed." She glanced at me again, obviously curious. "We have company?"

"We found her and the man over there in a brawl out in the woods. One man was dead. He and his buddy were attempting to capture her, apparently they were sent to drag her back to a life of servitude to their sheriff. Asajia, this is my cousin, Fenling. Fenling, Asajia's a hunter by trade, from the village of Renmark."

"You duff. Take those ropes off her this moment. I've heard of Renmark, and of their sheriff. He deserves to be on the wrong end of someone's sword, from all accounts. If she's on the run, then she has reason." She gave me a firm, but warm, smile. "You look exhausted."

I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't Bran's cousin coming to my defense. "I am. I've been on the road…I don't know how many days now. I escaped under the cover of nightfall. And whatever you've heard about Garimorn—the sheriff—it doesn't do him justice. He's a power-hungry asshole. Once under his power, you might as well write the rest of your life off." I shuddered. Just thinking about him still gave me the creeps. "Watch his scout. He'll do what he can to escape. That I know for certain."

"We'll make sure he doesn't," Bran said. "Fenling, can you find Asajia some clean clothing? She's worn the same garments for days. No offense," he said to me with a grin, "but you reek."

"No offense? That's an awful thing to say, except I know it's true. I could use a good wash up, but I know the storms are on the way?—"

"Come with me. I'll take care of you," Fenling said, leading me to the side. She glanced back at her cousin. "Bran, take care of that problem." She nodded toward the scout. "You know that his presence here won't bode well under any circumstance."

"My thoughts, as well." He nodded to me. "I'll leave you in Fenling's capable hands. Until the evening meal."

As I watched him go, I couldn't look away. Not only had he saved me from the scouts, but he was taking my side, and that was something I wasn't used to. As I realized that I wasn't going to be killed, for the first time in a long time, I started to relax. Whatever fate was planning for me, at least for the moment, I actually felt safe.

Fenling put her arm around my shoulders. She was taller than me—almost as tall as her cousin. And I could feel the strength in her body as she led me to a spacious tent, opening the flap for me to enter. Inside was a metal tub, not large but big enough to sit cross-legged in. There was a fire inside, with a chimney hole cut in the ceiling, and several large barrels of water. The rest of the tent held a cot, raised off the ground with what looked like a portable frame, a bench and a small table, and several chests.

"Here. Undress and I'll fill the tub. The water's hot."

"Hot? How did you keep it that way—" But I stopped as I saw that the barrels were steaming. "You can't keep those over the fire, can you? They'd burn."

"We have our ways. Don't worry about it for now. Just get in the tub and I'll pour water in for you to bathe. I think you'll fit in some of Daretha's clothes. While you wash up, I'll fetch an outfit until we can clean yours." She looked around, pointing toward a screen that divided off a small portion of the room. "If you need to use the privy box, which is over there, behind that screen, go ahead. The tessori is next to it."

I disrobed, throwing caution to the wind. She wasn't likely to attack me. Fenling set a rough bar of soap next to the tub, then added a scrub brush. I stepped into the metal tub and she began adding first hot water, then cold, until it was the perfect temperature.

As she headed outside, I asked, "Whose tent is this?"

She glanced back, a sly smile on her face. "My cousin's. The bath water was for him."

Before I could answer, she darted outside, leaving me alone with my thoughts.