7 Folds of Winter

by Carolyn McCray

  In his short life, late-night visitors were never welcome. He could still remember the time in Navastlan when the church had thought Miss Emmert a witch and came to haul her away for trial. This knocking tonight had that same authoritative tone and quality.

  It had not been until now, with all their discussion of talking animals and prophecies, that he realized those townsfolk back in Navastlan were right. Miss Emmert was a witch? Ornery shook his head.

  Even if she was, he was not afraid of her. He had never heard of a good witch, but he could not believe either Miss Emmert or Madame Hesper could be anything but decent.

  The ring of Miss Emmert’s heel announced her presence, allowing Ornery to hide before she strode past. Carefully, he snuck down the steps after her. Mr. Skelt was already at the front door, arguing with an armed soldier. Miss Emmert stood next to her brother, demanding an explanation for the guard’s rude behavior. Ornery crept down another step so he could hear their conversation.

  “It’s my duty as the Garrison’s —”

  “May I see your dispatch from the Commander, then?”

  The guard looked awkward and glanced over his shoulder to his lieutenant. “Ma’am, we have a missing girl, and all evidence points to the mishap occurring here.”

  Miss Emmert stared straight at the lieutenant who stayed to the back of his men. “Unless you have a declaration for entry from the Commander, you have wasted your time, which is better spent looking for the poor child. Good night, gentlemen.”

  Mr. Skelt tried to shut the door, but the guard shoved the hilt of his sword forward, jamming the door open. The lieutenant, a chubby, pasty officer strolled up and opened the door further.

  “With this many men, I don’t need an Entreaty. We are going to search this house, unless you have any further objections.”

  Each of the six soldiers unsheathed their swords and looked ready for a fight. Miss Emmert’s nostrils flared, and her cheeks grew reddened, but Mr. Skelt placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Not here, Sele. We have nothing to hide. Let them search and be gone.”

  The lieutenant smiled broadly and gave the signal for his men to enter.

  Miss Emmert regained her composure and smiled an equally insincere smile. “My mother is not well. If you could make this as quick as possible?”

  “I’ll need to interview Madame Hesper —”

  Mr. Skelt cut off Miss Emmert’s heated retort with a soothing tone. “Just be brief. I can answer any other questions you have.”

  The lieutenant was full of himself. “Do not worry. You and I will have a lengthy conversation.”

  Even Mr. Skelt’s visage wavered for a moment. Ornery was certain he saw a glint of silver in his otherwise black eyes, but both Mr. Skelt and Miss Emmert held their tongues, letting the soldier pass into the house. Ornery snuck back up the stairs and into his room before anyone discovered him missing from bed.

  There he lay, wide awake, listening to the men search the rest of the house. He kept expecting his door to fly open at any moment, but it never did.

  Looking over, Ornery realized that his door was no longer there. Where once had stood a large door and rusted doorknob, there was just a smooth wall, seamless from the rest of the room. Ornery sank further into his blankets. He was not so sure if he was scared, or thrilled, or a little of both. What he did know was that he needed to keep quiet. There were times in the past when he’d had to scramble under the floor of their wagon and into a secret compartment. Being wanderers made them more vulnerable to both the law and outlaws alike. He knew Miss Emmert was hiding him, keeping him safe.

  But from what?

  In the past, it had just been ruffians of one sort or another. Now, though, Ornery could not ignore the coincidences that were piling up.

  Madame Hesper had been right.

  First, Ornery discovered his heritage, then Madame Hesper lost her lifeline, now soldiers burst in during the night. Ornery remembered the feeling of foreboding he felt as the wagon had entered the town. He had wished to stay uninvolved, but it looked like they were smack dab in the middle of the town’s ordeal.

  ***

  Crystalia’s head bobbed and weaved as she tried to stay awake. This trip certainly would have been more tolerable if Viola had come along. The two girls could have talked all night long, reliving each and every moment Traven had graced their presence.

  “You are never alone,” a voice said.

  Spinning around in the saddle, Crystalia nervously checked the snow around her. Except for the long, lonely trail of hoof prints dotting the plains, there was not another blemish on the horizon. The moon glowed bright, illuminating the area so there was no chance of a creature sneaking up onto Crystalia.

  “You must be strong,” the voice continued.

  This time, Crystalia turned so quickly that she nearly fell out of her saddle. The girl had longed for a companion, but an imaginary one was not what she had in mind. There was such a thing as Waste Madness, but it normally took weeks to descend upon a traveler, not a handful of hours. Looking up, the moon seemed to shift on its axis. The familiar grooves and valleys disappeared, and a gentle face replaced the typical moon landscape.

  “You have a long road ahead of you,” the moon said.

  Crystalia closed her eyes and wished the vision away. She would not go mad. She would not succumb to the endless horizon. Crystalia concentrated on her quest — on her love of Traven. He would keep her safe.

  “There is much you should know, Crystalia.”

  How the girl wished she could close her ears as well as her eyes. She did not want the moon talking to her. At this point, Crystalia wanted no one talking to her. Peeking open her eyes, the moon still hung low with a kindly woman’s face. The visage smiled, and wrinkles crimped around the eyes.

  “I’m not talking to you,” Crystalia said, trying to be as firm as possible.

  “I didn’t know they grew them so rude this far north,” the moon replied.

  “But you are not real.”

  The moon seemed to nod. “You do have a point.”

  Maybe it would go away now, Crystalia thought as she tried to keep her eyes focused forward.

  “Not an accurate point, but I can understand how your manners might slip a bit if you thought me a figment of your imagination.”

  Crystalia was near tears. Would this vision not go away? Why was her mind playing tricks upon her? “Please, just leave me alone. I need my senses about me.”

  The moon appeared concerned. Well, as concerned as a moon could appear. “I mean you no harm, child. I felt your fear and hoped to calm it.”

  “You haven’t,” Crystalia found herself snapping. She immediately felt guilty for being so rude, but who had she really insulted? Herself?

  “There are many decisions to be made, daughter.”

  Stiffening, Crystalia answered, “I’m not your daughter.”

  “Do you not bleed each month? Are you not a woman now?”

  “Yes, so?” Crystalia answered, wary of a trick question. She hated it when the priests asked such obvious but sneaky queries. She hated it even more when it was her own mind doing the tricking.

  “Then you are my daughter. Your womanhood flows from my love.”

  Maybe if she just ignored the voice, it would grow tired of taunting her. Crystalia gripped the reins tightly and urged her horse forward. Perhaps if they picked up the pace, her mind would focus on the ride rather than this insanity.

  “You cannot outrun me, child. Where can you go where there is no moon?”

  Crystalia would at least like to try and find such a place.

  Finally, there was a great sigh from the moon, and Crystalia’s hair fluttered around her face.

  “When you have need of my assistance, simply speak your apology, and I will appear.” There was a pause, and the moon’s tone softened. “I know you do not wish to hear this right now, but do not forget Crystalia, that whatever happens, no matter how many other names you are called — you
are still Crystalia in your heart. It will be the part of you born and raised Crystalia that marries and bears children. Do not forget that when choosing your mate.”

  Crystalia turned to reproach the moon but found it hanging back in the sky where it was supposed to be. The woman’s face was gone, and the shadows and brightness were just that, nothing more. Crystalia allowed the horse to return to his plodding pace. She was alone again. Alone, and despite her brave words and scowl of irritation, Crystalia was indeed very frightened.

  *****

  CHAPTER 15

  Traven fixed his silk cuffs for the hundredth time as he followed Grave through the cavernous tunnels towards the dining hall. Yet every so often, much smaller hallways would shoot off at precarious angles. The passageways were barely tall enough for someone of Traven’s height, let alone one of the Giant’s.

  The Hero did not have time to ask questions, though, as Grave’s stride kept Traven hurrying three steps for each one the Giant took.

  What did increase the Hero’s speed was the aroma of freshly cooked bread. Did he smell apricot preserves and a bit of ale in that mix? As they approached the Feasting Hall, Traven could hear the hiss and crackle of meat on the spit. He was glad to see the Giant’s preferred cooked game, unlike Pale. Not that the Hero did not appreciate Pale’s offering of carrion at the Fold, but Traven was looking forward to a well-done slab of venison.

  As they entered the towering Hall, Traven paused. The ceiling was so high that he could not even begin to make out the details. In a ring sat a dozen Giants, each perched on their own marble throne. The sight was overwhelming. Grave must have been a midget to his people. These other men were twice his friend’s size, but they had the same blazing red hair with a sprinkling of gray.

  Traven straightened his back and strode behind Grave. Pale paddled alongside the Hero as if this was all very routine. The wolf’s only impatience was a constant query as to when the food would be served.

  Grave easily climbed a few steps to the central stage, but Traven had to stop. Pale bounded up the stairs and turned, wagging his tail. Traven was not so amused. Each of the steps rose so high that they came up past the Hero’s chest. There was no graceful way to scale these. Traven hesitated for a moment, hoping Grave might come to his rescue, but the Giant simply gazed at him with a slightly amused look on his face.

  Silence, so clear that you could hear each droplet of fat from the meat hiss on the fire, pervaded the room. There was nothing like a venture with such embarrassing potential to be undertaken with a rapt audience.

  Still, he was a Hero, and challenges were Traven’s lifeblood. Of course, he had always thought these endeavors would include such things as lopping off the head of a dragon or two, but Traven realized it was situations as banal yet forcible as this one that truly defined your character, or lack thereof.

  Pale barked again, piercing the entombing silence and bringing Traven back to the task at hand. The best and only way to scale these plateaus was to pull himself up far enough, then attempt to swing his legs over the edge.

  Before he started, Pale sent him an image of easily walking up a set of stairs. It seemed impossible, but Traven had learned not to ignore the wolf. The Hero scanned the room, but saw no other means to reach the stage. Looking up, he saw Grave’s eyes flicker to the far left with a bit of a head tilt. Traven backed away from the step and walked with as much dignity as he could scrounge.

  To the far left, he found a set of several dozen low steps, leading up to the stage. Stairs so short that a human babe could probably crawl up them.

  Face flaming red, Traven cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment, but only succeeded in enhancing it. Once alongside Grave, Traven bowed to the Gathering.

  Grave’s voice boomed, echoing off the cavern walls. “Behold, Chieftains. I present thee a Hero, a man who has proven himself worthy of our greatest gift, a human who transcends the boundaries of race and deserves our most treasured prize.”

  Traven stood at attention. One thing the Hero was used to was these formal ceremonies. Although the surroundings were vastly different, the protocols were invariably the same. How long had he fantasized of this day?

  But the Hero had never imagined it would take place in a far-off cavern. Traven had always dreamed of being endowed the Star of Hope with his family gathered around, his boyhood friends there — green with envy. But the Fates were seldom indulgent of Traven’s wishes, so he accepted their generosity in any form they chose.

  The largest Giant, seated in the center, nodded solemnly and clapped his hands together so loudly that Traven grimaced. “Let it be so!”

  Drums boomed, and a flute took up a shrill note. Traven leaned towards Grave and whispered, “I thought there was to be a test?”

  Grave smiled. “Aye, and you passed.” The look on Traven’s face asked the question for the Hero. Grave replied, “You entered a Feasting Hall to face a Gathering of Chieftains, unarmed. That alone bespoke your bravery and courage.”

  Traven was not about to tell Grave that the only reason he had not shown fear was that he did not know he was supposed to. By now, the Hero had become so used to Grave’s kind manner, he assumed all Giants to be gentlefolk. Now that he looked at the throng, he noticed the Chieftains each had an ax, sword or pike ready at hand — sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.

  Behind the Chieftains, a great curtain parted, and light streamed from the opening. Chanting rose to form a union with the music being played. Out from the light strode the most beautiful young woman Traven had ever laid eyes upon. Swathed in blue silk, she seemed to flow, rather than walk, towards him. Sharp blue eyes floated in a sea of alabaster skin. Her long, black hair shone in the firelight. It was as if the girl were a sculpture rather than living flesh.

  Again clapping his hands, the chieftain spoke. “I present to thee my daughter, Glacial. Born of snow and moonlight, she has been christened the Ice Princess. To you, Traven of Mount Shrine, we entrust, The Bride.”

  The Chieftain offered Traven the girl’s hand, but he was too stunned to take it. Pale nudged and prodded until Traven’s hand seemed to rise on its own and take the cool hand of the Princess. The wolf sent obvious images of Pale’s desire to have this over with so that he could settle down to a good leg of moose.

  Thankfully, the couple was asked to kneel, elsewise Traven’s knees would have given out on their own. The music and chanting began again, but Traven barely noticed.

  Only one word played over and over again in his head — Bride.

  ***

  Ornery found himself waking with the sure knowledge that someone was in the room with him. He did not fear, though, for he knew the smell. It was Miss Emmert’s lavender perfume. But as he awoke further, Ornery realized the person was not his caretaker, but someone else. Cracking open his eyes, he could make out a shadow moving around in the darkened room. Mr. Skelt.

  “Good, you’ve awakened. Come with me.”

  Rising, Ornery found himself to be clothed already, yet he could not remember dressing. He looked out the window, but it was still dark. Mr. Skelt escorted him through a door on the far side of the room, in exactly the opposite direction of the one that had been there before. The hallway they traveled was far narrower, and spider webs draped across the passageway.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Mother’s room.”

  Ornery rubbed at the little yellow crusties in his eyes. “Why?”

  Mr. Skelt smiled grimly. “To say good-bye, child. Plans have changed. You will be leaving before the first light.”

  Ornery did not know what to make of this news. He knew it did not bode well for Madame Hesper and Mr. Skelt, but it did mean Ornery would be off to see his father all the sooner.

  As they entered Madame Hesper’s room, Miss Emmert entered through another door. She was bundled against the cold and had a flush to her cheeks that spoke of icy wind and perhaps a touch of anger.

  “The soldiers have gone, but they’ll raise the full
guard and be back soon,” she said in a rush.

  “Do not worry so, Sele,” Madame Hesper spoke, exhaustion tainting her enthusiasm. “I will send a request to the Commander—”

  “With the forces brewing this night, it will not be in time. I sensed a darkness as we entered the town. The forces at work have no respect for civil authority.”

  Mr. Skelt tucked in his mother’s sheet. “We will be fine, Sele. It is you two,” nodding to Miss Emmert and Ornery, “who need to be upon your way before they batten down the gates.”

  Ornery sat upon the corner of the bed as the adults hashed out the last of their plan. He was tired, and so very tired of intrigue. Why could the world not just let him meet his father without all this strife? He had enough pain in his own heart. It was hard to be around so much more.

  “Are you sure this missing girl is the Snowy Maiden?” Miss Emmert asked Mr. Skelt.

  The tall man nodded. “Yes. I spoke with the Captain of the Guard. Crystalia Tender is one and the same.”

  “And you are sure she is not dead, Mother?”

  The old woman nodded weakly. “I would not be laid low in this bed if she had succumbed.” A look of anger crossed Miss Emmert’s face, but her mother raised a warning hand. “Do not think of it, Sele. I will not have that girl harmed to revert the power back to me.”

  “So it has been Fated. So shall I accept it.” Mr. Skelt said in a deep tone.

  How many times had Ornery heard Miss Emmert use the same phrase? Anytime he had railed against his heritage, his caretaker had used the saying as a mantra to soothe him to sleep.

  Calming, Miss Emmert asked, “But are we sure she is beyond the gates? She might have been kidnapped, maybe trapped somewhere in —”

  “Nay, the farther she travels, the weaker I become. She is far from the city.”

  “Then I shall bring her back and right this —”

  “You shall do no such thing.” Despite her weakness, the old woman’s words rang with authority. “You will take the girl to your bosom and teach her as I taught you. To do anything less would bring such disgrace upon this family that a thousand years could not wash it away.”