“Crysty! Look at this! And this! And this!”
Viola tried to show Crystalia everything at once and ended up showing her nothing. But Viola barely noticed the dropped packages once her father tossed another half-dozen presents into the air. Crystalia’s friend scampered over to the favors landing, leaving Crystalia to stare at her own tiny gift.
The girl slowly turned it over in her hand. No one but her late mother had ever given her anything before. Even then, it was always a functional item, like the kerchief she carried in her pocket.
With a mixture of dread and anticipation, Crystalia untied the ribbon. It fluttered to the ground as the tissue opened like a timid flower. Holding her breath, she nudged the last corner open. As she pulled the present from its wrapping, her lips curled down into a frown. It was just a stupid twig. Compared to Viola’s gilded baubles and satin trinkets, this was an embarrassment. She tried to hide the tiny piece of wood, but Viola would have none of it.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Crystalia said as she tried to shove the gift into her pocket, but Viola grabbed her hand and forced it open.
“Oh, how did you become so lucky? Can we trade? Please?”
Crystalia stood shocked. Was Viola teasing her? “Why would you want to swap?”
“Don’t you know? Crysty! This is part of an apple branch. The fruit of love.” Viola’s voice pleaded. “Please, won’t you exchange?”
“You want a piece of wood —”
“It’s a twig from the tree of Eros!” Viola tried to keep her voice hushed, but a few of the women looked ready to jump them for Crystalia’s prize.
“Really?”
“Please trade!”
Twirling the twig between her fingers, Crystalia murmured, “This must have cost a fortune...”
“Father had it shipped from the Queen’s Orchard.” Viola lowered her tone to a whisper. “He even cursed out loud when the courier asked for payment. It’s the most expensive of all the favors.”
With new appreciation, Crystalia sniffed at the bark. The faintest scent of apples greeted her nose. At least she thought it was apples. She had only tasted the fruit once before. Even at that, it had been dried and mixed with oats.
“Am I supposed to chew it?”
Viola nodded vigorously. “While you think of your greatest love. If your heart is true, he will be delivered to you.”
“Do I have to say his name?”
Viola swatted at Crystalia’s shoulder. “No, you silly! Why would you do that? He has to be a surprise!”
Chills broke out over Crystalia’s body. A surprise? What a surprise that would be.
“Just remember you can’t eat another thing until you are certain you’ve met him!”
“Nothing else?”
“Aye.” Viola nudged her with a wink. “Hope you ate a big supper.”
Crystalia’s eyes widened. “I’m not... I’m not going to actually do this... Do it now?”
“Why not?” Viola asked as she motioned to the surrounding crowd. “Everyone’s here. It’s the perfect time. You’ll draw him to you like a bee to wildflowers.”
Crystalia surveyed the throng. Did she even want one of these boys to notice her? But Viola looked at her with such enthusiasm that Crystalia found herself bringing the twig to her lips. She just had to chew this piece of wood, and the love of her life would reveal himself? Did magic like that really exist?
“If you don’t, I will!”
Protective over her little treasure, Crystalia turned away from her friend. Viola had her curls and lace. Standing in the mud in a faded cotton dress, what did Crystalia have besides this little twig?
With one last breath, Crystalia placed the sliver on her tongue and began chewing. At first tentatively, then with more urgency. The tart apple taste spilled from the bark.
“Well? What’s it like?”
“Tastes good,” Crystalia said between bites.
“No, do you feel anything? Do you feel different?”
Crystalia wished she could say she did, but she didn’t. What had she expected though? It was an expensive piece of wood, but a piece of wood, none the less. “No, sorry.”
With the excitement drained out of the moment, Viola turned back to the showering of gifts, leaving Crystalia standing alone. She knew it was silly to keep chewing at the twig, but it felt good in her mouth.
Looking around at the crowd, Crystalia tried to imagine whom she would wish for herself. The pool she had to choose from was poor. With this sorry lot of boys, she might as well spit the pulp out. But still she chewed on. Who knew what magic worked in the wood? Crystalia blushed. She was getting as bad as Viola.
But it was nice to dream.
Wasn’t it?
***
Stories centuries old tried to overtake his mind again, but Traven shook himself awake. Not that he didn’t love his Granny’s memory, but it was bad enough to be lost out on the Northern Plains; he didn’t need her to remind him of others’ peril. He had enough of his own.
Vision blurry, Traven used the back of his glove to wipe away the frozen snow on his eyelashes. The weather seemed to wiggle in and take hold of every part and parcel of his body.
Unconsciously, Traven’s hand wandered to his boot. Reassured his knife was still hidden, he gripped the reins again. Traven would never admit it to anyone, but he had made certain the secret sheath was fashioned after The Rider Who Did Not Know. He knew it was silly and perhaps childish, but he felt more the Hero with the blade safely stashed in his boot. Traven sighed. Not that the tiny knife would do him much good against the cold. He needed shelter, badly.
Not knowing why he bothered, Traven scanned the horizon. There had been nothing for days. Yet, what was that on the distant skyline? He blinked again and refocused. Before he had drifted off, Traven had noted a black blemish in the distance. He’d thought it no more than another snow mirage.
Over the course of the last three days, Traven had thought he had found five towns, two groves of trees, and several warm taverns. Each was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
But this splotch was too large, and the detail too great, to be mistaken for a delusion. Traven spurred his horse a bit. No, the once-tiny dot was now a messy sprawl. The Hero whooped into the stiff wind. He cared not about the town’s architecture — the place was his salvation. It might not be a Fold, but he would gladly take it.
Traven pulled out his cracked and frayed map. By the town’s squat walls and lack of ornament, Traven could only assume this was Last Hitch. Had he truly been out on the Plains for six full days? By the gods, he never thought that he’d last this long.
Lauger, Traven’s black stallion, twitched his tail, and a small spring enlivened the horse’s step. The smell of smoke and human refuse drifted on the wind. Still it smelled like civilization. Traven’s stomach growled so loudly that he was certain the gate’s guard could hear it. Lauger must have felt the same as he broke into a trot. The horse was weary but knew a stable lay ahead.
For a moment, Traven took in a well-deserved breath and allowed relief to flow through him. Safety was near at hand. He would not die out on the Plains. Granny must have been wrong after all.
Traven’s nose twitched as Lauger’s ears flicked backward. There was a new smell, one that was exotic yet familiar. Uneasily, Traven shifted in his saddle and took another sniff. The mouth-watering aroma of seared meat greeted his nostrils. Lamb or kid, he could not be sure. Awfully rich meat for such a poor town. Besides, what were they doing with an open brazier with night falling and dark storm clouds brewing on the horizon? Traven stiffened in his seat.
What day was it? On the long trek he’d completely lost count of the calendar. Quickly ticking the days off in his head, Traven spurred Lauger forward. The air was now thick with the bitter sting of sage and Spanish moss.
It could not be! Those smells were unique to only one event. An event that could spell the town’s doom. Traven’s map fell from his numb fin
gers and fluttered away as he urged his stallion forward.
It was the Solstice Eve, and this town meant to offer a sacrifice to the Winter god.
At a gallop, Traven charged towards the town gate. No guard stood posted. All were at the altar. He would have to admonish the garrison’s commander on their poor defenses. But all that could wait.
First he must stop the sacrifice – or all were doomed.
***
Crystalia reluctantly stepped forward with her father. He had jockeyed them into a position so one and all could witness their dutiful faces. After the hubbub of the Guild Master’s generosity, the priests had brought order to the crowd and began the burning of incense and musk. The strong scent stung Crystalia’s nose, and she wished to be far from here when the knife was brought down to end the kid’s desperate cries.
Chewing the last bit of bark between her teeth, Crystalia glanced around the crowd. Antony, the stable owner’s son, was picking a scab on his nose while his friend cleaned his fingernails with his teeth. Both had the look of eager anticipation. The brutal ceremony was a welcome break to their monotonous life. They could hardly wait for the killing to begin.
Who had she been kidding, wishing upon a stupid apple twig? What boy would she want anyway? Viola’s father had wasted his money; that was all.
The Commander’s horse picked its way through the tightly packed crowd. Dismounting, the tall officer climbed the steps to join the priest.
Thank goodness.
This whole thing would be over soon. Turning away from her scowling father, Crystalia cringed. As the priest raised his knife above the baby goat’s outstretched neck, the girl squeezed her eyes shut.
The crowd hushed so quiet that you could hear the wind rustle through the eaves. That was when a wild yell burst forth. A tortured scream. The throng milled, confused. The guards shouted, pointing back towards the gate. A man atop a huge stallion charged into the town square.
One word was upon his breath: “No!”
Several of the guardsmen tried to intercept the lone attacker, but his horse knocked them away with steel-tipped hooves. At the sight of flashing metal, the crowd broke, then ran.
Crystalia was nearly trampled as the throng panicked. Her father was nowhere to be found. The Commander barked out orders, but the square had descended into chaos.
The girl knew that she should seek shelter as the rest had done, but her feet would not move. They were more securely grounded to the spot than if she had used mortar. Crystalia was transfixed by the dark stranger. His hood flew back, allowing his black curls to flow behind him.
As he advanced, Crystalia could tell the man was born far south of the Treeline. What others might have mistaken as madness in his eyes, the girl saw sheer determination. Even after the priests had scattered, Crystalia stood firm. She simply could not move.
***
Traven ignored the fleeing townsfolk. They were of no interest. The only person that concerned him was the tall officer who stood defiant upon the makeshift platform. Traven reigned in Lauger and brought him alongside the platform. The officer’s jaw clenched, but his hand hung free of his scabbard, his sword undrawn.
Sheathing his sword, Traven pounded his fist to his chest, bowing his head in respect. “Forgive my trespass, Commander. I mean this town no harm, but I must ask you to step away from the altar.”
“I know not who you are, but you shall pay for this intrusion.”
Traven kept his tone even as he tried to quiet the shaking of his hands. The long ordeal out on the Plains had taken its toll. Traven feared he might not stay atop his horse long enough to convince the commander to abort this grievous ceremony.
“My men surround you as we speak. Surrender, and I promise your death will be quick.”
Traven brought his shield to bear. “This is the Emperor’s crest —”
“It proves you a thief, nothing more.”
With leaden fingers, Traven unbuttoned his near-frozen shirt to reveal the same icon tattooed to his chest, but the commander was unimpressed.
“Nothing but delusions of grandeur...”
Fighting to remain patient, Traven fumbled in his pack. These Northerners were as cold as their god. Finally, Traven pulled out a tattered piece of parchment. “This is an Edict from the High Council.”
“We pay no allegiance to your lords —”
“Your own Prince of the North has put his seal to it.”
The Commander’s fierce features wavered. “It could be a forgery...”
“Look for yourself. You have seen the wax emblem many a times. Examine it before you condemn me as a ruffian, sir.”
Traven nudged Lauger to the platform and handed the stiff officer the document. While Sky Shawl was officially within the Kingdom of All Men, they refused to bend to the crown. The only authority these Northerners respected was that of their own Prince.
The Commander’s eyes left Traven long enough to scan the parchment. Concern, then confusion, clouded the proud man’s face. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I shall explain. All I ask is that you delay the sacrifice until we can speak.”
“Then talk.”
Traven shook his head. “Not here. What needs explaining is best done without other ears.”
He motioned to the girl at the steps and the few brave townsfolk who had come out from their awnings. The Hero glanced around the yard. The town’s gate was already closed, and iron bars were being lowered over the wood. Archers were taking up position along the ramparts. His gambit had best work, or he would be taken by force. “Perhaps in your private chamber?”
“You dare take me hostage?” the Commander asked.
“I would never dare such a thing, Commander. Once we are within your walls and you hear my piece, I will submit myself to your authority.”
“You will surrender your weapons?”
“Once inside and alone.”
The Commander weighed Traven’s words, then nodded. “Follow me.”
The older man showed a spryness uncommon in a man his age as he mounted his stallion.
Traven’s sense of relief was so strong he nearly tilted from his saddle. Only his frozen knees, clenched around Lauger, kept him steady. It would not do to show weakness at such a time. The battle was far from over. The worst was yet to come.
How do you tell such a proud man that his god has gone mad?
***
Crystalia’s eyes teared over as the stranger and the Commander rode away. Waves of overwhelming delight and loss washed over her. He was the most perfect man she had ever laid eyes upon. Tall but not monstrous, tousled without being unkempt. He was perfection incarnate.
Oh, and to think she had been so near him.
Biting down, she let out a little yip. A piece of the apple’s bark must have gotten lodged in her teeth and nicked her tongue. A bit of warm blood filled her mouth with the taste of iron and salt. Could this be a sign? Could the lover’s apple have brought him to Last Hitch? For her?
Suddenly her legs felt weak, and she found herself wilting to her knees. Not caring that her good dress was now awash with icy mud, Crystalia began to cry. The moment was so pure and magical that it hurt just to think upon it.
“Crystalia! What are you doing, child? Are you hurt? Did he harm you?”
“No, Pappy. I’m fine.” But in reality the stranger had torn out her heart and ridden away with it.
“Then get out of the mud, girl! You are making a spectacle of yourself.”
More out of habit than obedience, Crystalia rose to her feet.
“Crysty, wait up!” Viola shouted over the now-crowded square.
“What does that one want now?” her father grumbled as Viola deftly wiggled through the excited crowd.
“You were so brave. You were right there. Right next to him!” Viola had not an ounce of dignity as she tugged Crystalia’s wrist. “You must come with me. Father and his friends are taking the buggy over to the garrison to wait on word from the comm
ander!”
Crystalia’s father jerked her again, yanking towards home. “We’ve had enough commotion for the day. Crystalia has chores to finish.”
“Pappy!” Crystalia heard herself exclaim. It was not like her to disobey her father, at least, not directly. What had come over her?
Viola wedged herself between them. “My father, the Guild Master, has requested her presence in our buggy, sir.”
Well, Crystalia certainly doubted that Mr. Lannister even knew her name, let alone that he would invite a commoner’s daughter into his private buggy, but she was not about to correct Viola. Pappy looked like he had his own suspicions, but even at Viola’s young age, she had more power in this town than the old shoppe keep.
“Go, then. But have dinner on the table by nightfall.” Without waiting for a response, Crystalia’s father turned on his heel and stalked back to the shop.
Viola clapped with delight. “We’d best hurry if we want a good spot to see the Hero.”
“But I thought your father —”
“Please. Father’s holed up with his cronies, wrangling over what is happening instead of going over there and finding out.”
Crystalia beamed as Viola pulled her into a hug. “Oh, Crysty, you were right next to him. You were so courageous!”
The girl nodded and hugged her friend back, but Crystalia knew the truth.
She was not brave – she was in love.
*****
CHAPTER 2
Wolves don’t wear no sheep’s clothes. They don’t have no needs, because they wears the skin of man.
Traven tried to keep Granny’s warning in the forefront of his mind, but it was difficult as the fire-warmed air of the Commander’s office melted his frozen bones. It was an effort just to stay on his feet as he waited for the Commander’s return. The older man had excused himself upon entering the Garrison and left Traven with his senior officers. No doubt the cagey Commander was trying to gather information on him, but Traven knew they would find none. In the Dead of Winter, news traveled slowly.
7 Folds of Winter Page 2
