Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The soap was utilitarian and a little rough, but on the plus side, it smelled good—like lavender—and the texture provided exfoliation for my bruised and filthy skin. Too many days in the same clothes without a chance to wash up left its toll. I grimaced as I scrubbed a scab where I'd scratched my arm on a stand of branches.

The bruises Garimorn's thug had left were deep blue. In a few days they would turn purple and then yellow, before fading, but right now, when I looked at them I couldn't help but feel proud of myself. I didn't like the thought of taking lives, but it was an eat-or-be-eaten world. My mother and father had taught that to me when I was young. Life and death were a fine line's distance from one another, and sometimes, you won. Sometimes, you lost.

I thought about hunting through the tent, but Fenling would be back soon, and I didn't want her to catch me rifling through her cousin's things. I decided to stay in the warm water as long as possible.

A little while later, Fenling entered the tent. "All done?" she asked.

I nodded and she handed me a towel. I wrapped it around me and stepped out of the tub, glancing back at the water. It was filthy. I grimaced. "Ugh, I guess I was…"

"Would you like me to pour water over you to rinse off any leftover grime?" Fenling asked.

I nodded. "Thanks."

She set down the clothes she was carrying and filled a pitcher with water from the heated barrels. I stepped back in the tub, stretched out my arms and she poured water over me, from shoulder to floor.

"I didn't wash my hair because I wasn't sure how cold it was going to get and with all this hair?—"

"I bet it takes forever to dry," she said, examining my locks. "It's thick and wavy, and I love the color. It's beautiful. I wish my hair grew that long but it stops at my shoulders and never seems to lengthen past that."

"It's pretty, though," I said. "Straight hair is always shinier than curly. Anyway, yes, it takes forever for my hair to dry, so I figure I can wash it in a couple days."

I finished drying off and she handed me the clothes. I was surprised to see she'd brought me a dress instead of trousers and a tunic. She also brought me a camisole which was snug enough to keep my breasts from bouncing, and a pair of under-leggings. They were ankle-length and would add an extra layer of warmth. She had also brought a pair of boots and some socks.

I slid on the leggings and camisole—they were snug but they fit. Then I pulled the dress over my head. It was fitted at the bodice, but the skirt flowed out, and it stopped at my calves. I sat on the bench to put on the socks and then I tested the boots.

"You have a good eye. Everything fits well. Thank you, and thank whoever provided these clothes." I looked around. "Now what?"

"We go eat." She led me out of the tent, over to one of the bigger pavilions. A surge of noise echoed out from the canvas structure, and as Fenling pulled back the door flap, the smells from earlier wafted out. Bread and soup or stew, roasted meat…my stomach rumbled. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"I've mostly been living on bread and cheese the past…I think I've been on the road close to a fortnight? I'm not sure. At least eight or nine days? It's good food but doesn't take the chill off like a hot meal." I followed her over to the table where Bran was sitting with several of his men.

"Fenling, Asajia, have a seat," he said, glancing up from his plate. "Fill your bellies." His eyes glittered as he caught my gaze, and he didn't look as harsh as he had out in the forest proper. Maybe it was being in the company of his people, but he seemed almost merry.

Fenling motioned for me to sit beside her on the opposite side. The others at the long table had left two spots open on the bench. I glanced down the row. There were three women and four other men at this table, and there were four other tables, all full. That meant about fifty people. I frowned, looking around. I didn't see the scout anywhere.

As if reading my mind, Bran said, "He's been dealt with. You won't have to worry about him again."

I froze, looking up to meet his gaze. I wanted to ask what he meant, but the feral light shimmering in his eyes made me pause, and I realized he meant it. I'd never have to deal with the scout again. I wasn't sure what they'd done, but I decided to forego asking.

"Thank you," I said.

Fenling handed me a bowl of the stew, and one of the men opposite her handed me a large roll and a crock of butter. I murmured another thank you and dove in.

Bran stood, whistling loudly. "Everyone, I want you to welcome our guest Asajia. She'll be staying with us for a while. Please help her find what she needs."

There were shouts of welcome and a few waves. Bran waited for a moment, then said, "Our trip was successful. We found what we needed to. We'll ride out the Snow Witch's storms, and then head south for supplies."

"What about Eleago?" one of the men asked.

"I'd rather not go back there right now," Bran said. "There are stirrings that make me worry about my brother's rule."

I started. I'd heard the name somewhere, but I couldn't remember. "Eleago?"

"Our home," Fenling said. "Where we hail from. It lies at the northern edge of the Bramble Fel Forest, right below the Eiralpine Line."

I nodded, wondering how far away that was. The Eiralpine Line was quite a ways north of Renmark—at least two week's journey, as the crow flew. "Who runs your village?" I had no idea if they had any dealings with Renmark, but I wanted to find out before I got there.

She gave me a solemn look. "Don't worry. We won't send you home. Bran's a fair man, and he won't force you to return to your village." She worried one lip, looking as though she wanted to say more, but then she shook her head and went back to her meal.

I peeked at Bran, who was wolfing down his meal. There was an energy to these people that I wasn't sure of, but being in the midst of a group of them only emphasized that, whoever I was dealing with, they weren't the normal folk I was used to. They struck me as a warrior race, but the roughness was missing. Whatever the case, I had time to figure it out. I returned to my meal.

The food was delicious, settling easily in my stomach. My eyes fluttered and I yawned, covering my mouth as a deep weariness ran through me. Between the warmth of the bathwater and the food, I began to feel how very tired I was—both physically and emotionally.

"I'll get you settled into bed when we finish the meal," Fenling said. "You look like you're ready to fall asleep in your plate."

"I am," I said. "I had to leave Renmark quickly." I suddenly thought of my mother's bride-dress and felt incredibly sad. I had sold it for no reason.

"You look wistful," she said.

"I am. I did something I'll probably always regret, and it wasn't killing the scout who came after me, although I'll probably always have nightmares about that." I sighed. "Never mind, it's in the past and there's nothing I can do about either action, except learn to live with both."

Fenling nodded, and to my relief, she didn't push me for an explanation.

After the meal, several people came up to greet me. I struggled to remember their names—I was so tired—but Fenling rescued me and escorted me out.

The winds had picked up and they whistled through the camp, biting against the skin with a bitter edge. The pavilions and tents were well staked, but the standards flying from raised poles whipped back and forth with a fury. Fenling led me to a smaller tent, raising the flap for me to enter. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in a small drum in the center, the smokestack leading through of a hole in the center of the top of the tent. There were two cots set up, along with a small table, a couple of chests, a portable privy behind a screen, and a cask of water.

"You'll be staying with me," she said, pointing to what looked like a freshly-made bed. "You may sleep there. The blankets are heavy and will protect against the storm. She settled herself on the other bunk. "We should sleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow the storms will be raging fiercely." She pointed to a pile of wood. "If you wake and notice the fire running low, stoke it so that it won't go out. The woodpile is right by the tent flap. The warmth is our only protection against the anger of the Snow Witch."

"I always thought she was a myth," I said, spying the heavy nightshirt laid out for me. "I can't thank your cousin enough for coming along when he did. I'd have died at the hands of Garimorn's scouts because there's no way in hell I'd allow them to drag me back. Best a death in freedom, than a life spent in servitude."

"He's that bad?" Fenling asked, stripping off her clothes.

"Worse." I glanced around. "Where are my weapons?"

"Your dagger, sword, and bow are safely stowed. You'll get them back soon enough." She shrugged. "We have to take some safety measures?—"

"I understand," I said. And I did. They had no idea if I was telling the truth. I could be a mass murderer, for all they knew. Unless… "Do you have a shaman with you?"

"We have a healer, and we have a witch woman. She consulted her crystals and the gods assured her that you are no danger to us." As Fenling changed into her gown, she let her hair down and brushed it quickly. "Would you like me to brush your hair?" she asked.

I shyly nodded. "Thank you. My mother used to brush my hair. I miss that. I miss her," I whispered. "I'm alone in the world, and it's a frightening place to be."

"Didn't you have friends back in Renmark?" Fenling asked.

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.