by Unknown
She made herself think only of the Lady Owl and her winged Court, the dreadful white stillness of her mountain kingdom, the promise of Owl aid, Owl justice.
Great-Aunt Mirna had spoken of the different sacred courts on long winter nights when the wind howled against the lodges, Bobcat Court and Wolf Court, Bear Court and Elk Court. Each had its own Lady and its own concerns, but the people of her village were Owl Clan. Owl Court was where they would always find justice.
The old aunt lay dead in the bloody snow now, her eyes empty, her hands fisted. She would tell tales no longer and no one remained in the village to listen. Jolice's boots crunched through the snow, step after step after step, and she was so cold, it seemed ice crystals filled her veins. Her feet were dangerously numb. She knew the signs of impending frostbite, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered save justice.
Long after darkness swathed the mountain, she skirted yet another jumble of boulders, then came upon a forest that matched Great-Aunt Mirna's tales, a stand of immense deep green pines growing so close together that the snow was markedly less beneath. Outside the trees, moonlight from the half-moon shimmered across untracked snow and it seemed someone, somewhere, watched her progress.
Jolice stamped the snow from her boots in a vain effort to get warm. "Lady Owl?" she whispered, her throat tight with misery.
Wind sighed through the pine needles, carrying their sharp aromatic scent. Nothing else moved, but still she had the impression of eyes watching. The air was thin up that high. Each breath cut through her lungs like a cold, cold knife.
"Lady Owl, please!" Ducking her head, she wove through the closely spaced trees. "I am Owl Clan, your kin!"
The White Owl is sacred, Great-Aunt Mirna said in her memory. Go before her only with gifts.
She had brought no gifts, she realized with a pang. Consumed with grief when she returned to the village and found the slaughter, she'd fled, seeking help, not thinking of tribute.
"I will make a gift," she said, gazing up at the stars dimly visible through the green-black needles. "I will! Just tell me what you want!"
Nothing answered. Perhaps all those winter night tales of Owl Court had been just an old woman's fancy. Fear coursed through her as strongly as when she had come back after a morning of gathering firewood only to find everyone missing or dead. She had been stupid, coming all the way up here when she should have hiked across the valley to Bobcat Clan or back down the river to Deer Clan and sought their help instead.
Hot salt tears brimmed in her eyes but would not flow. She was possessed of a sorrow so far beyond mere tears that her body did not know how to respond. Her legs gave way and she sank to the snow-covered needles beneath a huge pine. The corrugated bark was rough against her back. Weariness rolled over her like a great dark tide and then she slept in the ice-ridden shadows.
* * * *
You have brought me a gift, Lady Owl said.
Jolice opened her eyes and found an immense white owl, tall as a man, gazing down at her with golden eyes like suns. The wind gusted, loosening snow from the branches overhead to fall on her shoulder, but it only felt wet, not cold.
"No," she said, scrambling to her feet out of respect, "I was so upset, I forgot what my aunt said."
The golden eyes blinked. Child, you brought yourself.
The girl's head seemed so muzzy, she couldn't think properly. "I need help-" she said brokenly, unable to look away from that intense hot-gold gaze. "The women, the girls of the village, my mother and sister-!"
The owl spread its great wings, beating them so that she was inundated with cool pine scented air. Power tingled through Jolice's body as though every nerve in her body had been asleep all her life and had now suddenly woken.
I accept, the creature said, then faded into mist.
* * * *
"Wake, sister." A hand touched Jolice's chilled face.
Her eyes opened and she flinched back. Moonlight still gleamed on the snow just outside the pine forest. A woman stood before her, straight and strong, clad all in white leather and furs, shod in tall white boots bound with golden cord. Instead of hair, long white feathers covered her head, pale as moonbeams. Her brow was wide and smooth, her eyes fiercely gold. They gleamed in the dimness as though illuminated by some inner fire.
"Who—are you?" Jolice said, her throat still hoarse with grief. She was cold and stiff from sleeping in the snow and could not stop shivering.
"I am Sasalla," the woman said. She reached down to Jolice, grasped the girl's forearm and pulled her onto her feet with a strong sure motion as though she weighed nothing. "Until now, the youngest of Owl Court. I serve my Lady Owl." On her back, the woman carried a sinuous bow carved from ash and a quiver full of white arrows. "You seek aid from the Lady."
"Then—she is real." Jolice gazed around at the shifting moon shadows beneath the pines. Pairs of golden eyes blinked down at her from many of the branches overhead.
"If you did not know she was real, you would not have come into her court," Sasalla said. Stirred by wind, the long white feathers danced around her oval face.
Desperation had sent her up the mountain, not surety, hope that there might at least be some grain of truth in the old tales. Jolice did not know what to say. She bent down to brush snow off her leggings, then had to catch herself against the tree trunk when the snowy ground seemed to slant beneath her feet and her head whirled.
"You are hungry," Sasalla said. "My Lady Owl gives you leave to hunt her forest." She ducked her head and strode out from under the pines.
"But-!" Jolice darted after her, but the woman was gone. Jolice's chilled hands curled into fists. She carried only a small knife, totally inadequate for hunting. And even if she did catch something, how would she cook it? She had not thought to bring a flint when she fled.
She gazed around at the moonlit snow. The wind gusted and a spray of snow crystals pelted her face. Perhaps she should just go back to sleep under the trees until morning when it would be easier to find ground squirrel or pika tracks. But then she heard something, a faint thump, a rustling, and realized that she could see perfectly well even through it was still night.
A flicker caught her eye. She lowered her head and examined the snow. The whisper of paws lured her. Sharp curiosity drew her on as though, if she persevered, she would hear the end of an interesting tale. What was it making those intriguing sounds? She cocked her head, listening.
Then, careful to make little noise herself, she eased back into the aromatic pines, soon finding telltale tracks in the snow. She recognized the pattern. Hare. A large one. If only she had a length of cord to fashion a snare!
Hand braced on the rough bark, she slipped around the tree's immense bole and saw her quarry, an snowshoe hare in its white winter coat, normally almost invisible against the snow. But now she could see that its whiteness was an altogether different shade from that of the alabaster snowfall.
Her mouth watered and it seemed season upon season since she'd eaten. The hare gazed back at her with terrified black eyes and froze after the fashion of its kind.
Eat, something whispered in her ear.
She turned her head, but no one was there.
You must grow strong, if you are to prosper in my court, the voice said. Eat!
Her hunger was suddenly a burning coal in the pit of her stomach, threatening to consume her from the inside out if she did not act. With a despairing cry, she threw herself upon the terrified hare, grappled in the snow, then wrenched its neck.
Well done, child, the voice said.
Numbly, she drew her knife to skin the beast. "What—about a fire, Lady Owl?" she said, her voice only a whisper.
There is no fire in my court.
She nodded and made the first cuts along the back legs, slipping the skin off the steaming carcass as Mother had taught her. Repelled, she watched her trembling, bloody hands work. After she finished, she sat on her heels looking at the meat, thinking about it roasted or cut up in stew as Mother would
have served it. Her hunger surged, but she could not eat it raw. She could not!
My children are strong, the voice said. They never look away from truth, however unpleasant. They always do what they must, as will you, if you wish to dispense my justice.
Dead bodies scattered in the snow. The missing women and girls. Her family! As though her hands belonged to someone else, Jolice sliced off a bit of the warm raw flesh and raised it to her mouth.
It tasted unexpectedly delicious.
* * * *
After eating her fill, she buried the bones, skin, and offal in the snow, then curled up under the trees to sleep. She gathered a nest of pine needles, then closed her eyes and dreamed that her mother was looking for her, searching inside a musty unlit lodge filled with captive women and girls, going from each to the next, unable to believe that Jolice was not among them. She dreamed that her little sister, Larsi, sobbed with terror and exhaustion until her eyes were sore and red, calling out for her father and Jolice.
Father lay dead in the snow along with the rest of the village's men, boys, and old women, but in the dream Jolice tried to tell the child that she would find her with the aid of Lady Owl. Larsi could not seem to hear.
See where they are with your dream-eyes, Lady Owl said, and Jolice realized the immense owl stood beside her. You cannot rescue my daughters until you know their location.
Jolice tried, but the lodge was bare, the women and girls crowded together, theirs hands cruelly bound. She found nothing upon which she could orient herself. It could have been anywhere in the lands of the Nine Clans or beyond.
Walk outside the lodge, Lady Owl said.
"How?" Jolice whispered. The door flap was tied shut from without, the walls firmly pegged down against the chill.
It is your dream, the owl said. Use your feet.
Jolice looked down and it seemed her feet were no longer human. The boots that Father had made her were gone. She walked now on great talons like an owl. She willed her owl-feet to move and they carried her past the sobbing women, then through the lodge's hide wall which parted before her with no more substance than early morning fog.
Outside, two men stood guard. They had kindled a fire and now spoke to one another in low voices. The rest of the village slept. A brindle-colored dog rose as Jolice approached on her dream-feet, snarling, hackles raised.
One of the men spoke sharply to it and the beast slunk away, ears pinned, still growling.
"Brujel, some of them are so young," the taller of the two said. Jolice saw in the flickering firelight that his face was pocked as though he had survived a terrible fever. He looked to be in his thirties and wore a heavy coat trimmed in wolverine fur, the mark of a great hunter.
"They will grow," Brujel said. He was older, perhaps in his forties, and gray grizzled his long hair which was bound at his neck. "In a few seasons, our sons will need wives too."
Where, she asked herself, had she seen that style before?
"It will never be the same." The younger man glanced at the lodge and shivered. "If only they would stop crying!" He turned back to the dancing flames, his shoulders hunched. "We should have moved to another village and negotiated for new wives."
"Hirdlan applied to all eight of the other clans last fall after we buried the last Elk daughter," Brujel said. He jabbed at the fire with a stick and fat red sparks flew upwards with the smoke. "None of them would accept us because they feared we would bring the Choking Fever and then they too would lose all their women."
It seemed then that sorrow permeated the air, both Elk Clan's and Owl's, sharp and bitter. She edged nearer and the flames shifted, reaching for her hungrily.
The younger man flinched and craned his head, gazing past Jolice into the darkness. "Did you see that?"
"It was just a gust of wind," the older man said.
They had destroyed all the families in Owl Clan's village in order to replace their own. Now, two villages mourned! "Let them go!" Jolice cried. "You cannot amend death with more death!"
"The wind is rising," Brujel said. He huddled into his rabbit-fur coat. "We will have a storm tomorrow."
"Let them go!" She beat at them with her fists, but somehow she had wings now instead of arms and could only strike them with white feathers. They seemed not to feel the blows.
The younger man lurched to his feet, shivering. "It is so cold!" he said, rubbing his hands over his arms. "I'll get more wood for the fire."
Where are they, child?
She turned away from the guards. This was one of the Nine Clans. Their conversation had revealed that much. The Choking Fever, she had heard her parents talking of that this winter, how the terrible disease sickened everyone, but killed only women and girls, how no one would visit or trade with the infected village for fear of contracting it. But which one had it been? She had played with her sister, gossiped with her friends, fetched firewood and helped with other chores as required and paid little attention to the direr aspects of life.
Her owl-feet walked through the snow as the wind blasted down from the mountains, but, clad in white feathers, she did not feel the cold. She passed lodges, many empty with their untied doors flapping in the wind. Then she came upon a pole with an object fixed atop it. Though the night was dark, the moon occluded by clouds, she could see clearly. The stark bony hollows of an elk skull gazed down upon her.
She had come to Elk Clan.
Well done, child.
The scene faded into cloudy night sky and then she was asleep, white feathers caressing her cheek.
* * * *
She awoke at midday in her nest of pine needles. Sitting up, she ran fingers through her hair. "Lady Owl?"
A tall, elegant figure emerged from the shadows. Sasalla knelt in the snow beside Jolice. "My Lady Owl sleeps during the day as should you."
Jolice scrambled to her feet, which were still human, she saw, clad in the boots her father had made. "No, I have to rescue my mother and sister, now that I know where they are!"
Sasalla with her long white feathers and golden eyes gazed at her steadily. "Then go."
Jolice plunged out from under the cool pines into full sunlight. Brightness streamed down upon her, a great hot weight that threatened to burn out her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she could not see. Gasping, she stumbled back under the trees, heart pounding, seeing only searing spots as though she had looked into the sun itself.
"You are a child of the night, now," Sasalla said, "as are all who come to Owl Court. Sleep away the harsh day until the sweet cool dark comes again."
Her mother's tear-ravaged face rose in Jolice's memory. She heard her sister's sad voice again. "Then we can rescue them?" she said.
"We can try," Sasalla said. "But first you must learn to fly."
* * * *
Jolice woke again in darkness as the wind sighed through the pine boughs overhead. It seemed someone or something familiar and beloved had called her name.
"Mother?" She sat up and brushed pine needles off her shoulders.
The branches rustled, then Sasalla joined her. "She is still faraway, as are they all," the tall woman said, "in the village of Elk Clan."
"How could Elk Clan do that!" Jolice lurched to her feet, hands fisted. "They hurt everyone so that they could have what they wanted!"
"Humans often behave so," Sasalla said. "Young as you are, you know that." Her golden eyes gleamed through the shifting tree shadows and she took Jolice's hand in her cool fingers. Power tingled up her arm. "The Lady allows us to look into the past and see through other eyes when there is need. Look now."
Then Jolice glimpsed flashes of herself in that fiery gaze, times when she had been thoughtless, even selfish, thoroughly heedless of the love that had surrounded her. The viewpoint shifted and now she saw herself through her mother's perspective, a willful, fey child who thought mostly of her own needs with little care for the future. With a sob, Jolice looked away.
"You belong to my Lady Owl now," Sasalla said. "Those d
ays are gone. You are one of Night's little sisters."
"I have to rescue them!" Jolice said, blinking away tears.
"Then come with me," Sasalla said.
Together they walked out of the pines and then hiked up the mountain. The moon had risen and now drifted across the blue-black sky, illuminating a few scattered clouds. Sasalla looked so lovely against the snow, her figure white and gold, each step quick and sure.
"How long have you been in Lady Owl's Court?" Jolice asked as they scaled the boulders.
Sasalla kept climbing. Her snowy head feathers trailed behind her like a cape. "I do not know."
"Months? Years?" She was falling behind.
"It does not matter," Sasalla said. "You will find that such accountings are no longer part of your life." She sprang from rock to rock, never faltering.
Jolice could not match the woman's grace, but it was strange, she thought, how the night's chill no longer touched her. The sharp mountain wind blasting out of the north felt merely fresh and invigorating.
"Now," Sasalla said, stopping on the highest, craggiest rock, "if you are to be of any use to your family, the Lady says you must fly."
Laboriously, Jolice climbed the last few rocks to join her. Pine-scented wind buffeted her face. She swayed, trying to keep her balance. "How?" she said, crossing her arms. "I have no wings."
"My Lady Owl has already given you wings," Sasalla said. "Now you must find them."
Jolice stared back down the snow-covered mountain, the groves of pines and aspen studded here and there, the naked gray rocks, the frozen streams. "Do you have wings?" she turned to ask Sasalla, but the woman was gone. Jolice stood alone on the rocks in the chill night beneath the crystalline stars.
The wind blew. Above, between racing clouds, the stars glimmered, so much wiser than she would ever be. How can I have wings and not know it? she thought. Her hands explored her shoulders but of course there was only human bone, flesh, and skin.
She closed her eyes and tried to see herself spreading arms that had turned mysteriously to wings, sailing back down the mountain to the little valley where what was left of Elk Clan lived. The winter wind would buffet her face. Everything below would be tiny and insignificant. She swayed...
