Page 8 of Winter Gods & Serpents

He was right, Nia was sweet and gentle at the same time fierce and demanding. She was determined to learn the normal way of living, that she’d never had before, and I’d promised to help her till the day of our last breaths. We had sealed the promise with the still lingering cut on my thumb and then mud, which had infected it, earning both of us a mouthful from the very delightful Alaric. Having to go through this was way easier than having to fight her head-to-head. That would waste me a whole good week from having to use all my mana to hold her off from killing me. Nia was terrifying in sparring, the blade was never of concern, she could rip your organs out with her hands and then lay them down to build you up again. Alaric originally sent her to train as a healer thinking she had a faint heart for blades, but when she had asked to join us in sparring she’d come back a fighter with intense detail on how to carefully pluck a heart out between the ribs without hurting yourself. So, there were three people I truly feared: Cai, Alaric, and Nia. To my luck all three on my side.

We made our way to the forest edge. The autumn wind brushed my neck and I shuddered; maybe it was just revulsion. Women wore beaming white gowns and floated above the juniper floor that started the forest. Red sashes loosely tied around their waists and in a similar fashion as mine a white cloth was covering half their faces only leaving eyes and forehead exposed.

Nia turned and wrapped a red sash around my waist and looked up at me in motion not to object, so I expressed my dislike the best I was allowed; I rolled my eyes, sighed, and let her continue. The drum sounded and all the maidens ran laughing and chatting through the thick of the dark whistling forest. Nia grabbed my hand pulling me to a run till we faced and stood alone with the branched giant alders of Soren surrounding all our sides and our shadows.

She let go of my hand and warned, “Don’t kick anyone too hard or Alaric will have to go down to the village mayor to apologize, again, for the one hundred time this week.”

“You have my word.”

“Then I have nothing, gods spare us all,” she said and disappeared away from my sight, enveloped by darkness.

My eyes cast heavenward, the single moon no longer shying between clouds, it had cast a halo on the tree crowns and darkness to our shadows. Flower and moon folk jumped around in jigs celebrating the night as they passed old grumbling enchanted oaks who demanded peace of rest. Like little children they tickled and teased the ancient creatures restless, and I could help but laugh. Shy forest spirits sprinted past trees rustling leaves and chattered truths of those they brushed against. They said one could speak to one’s soul. A trail of gold specks traveling the air was the only proof they even existed.

Love, they whispered and giggled, Oh, so much of it, young love. Gasps of their small voices shrieked in the air and I knew they had sensed me. Frost, sour frost, and…death.

I scoffed. They never had anything else to say about me but that very sentence. “Good to see you too, little busybodies.” I heard the swift wind bellowing escape they made away from me and I was left to the silence of the forest. Between cooing and the rustling of leaves I heard steps approach me and within seconds, a massive black cat nailed me to the ground; licking, growling, and purring.

“I missed you too, Memphis,” I said stroking her fluffy pitch-black mane. My most trusted companion, Memphis, a morph from lands of Aita. A creature that took shape of various animals, blessed by Dyurin, the God of all animals with gifts before ascending to the heaven of Neith. She was a gift from my mother on my tenth birthday, one that I have cherished more than anything. My companion since the days in my father’s kingdom.

I managed to stand and stroked her head, her eyes a piercing pale yellow, often reminded me of my own. “Ready girl?” I urged before taking off in a sprint with her shortly after me.

I ran, wind whistling in my ear, the forest grew thicker, my arm brushing branch after branch, my thighs burning and my feet tingling at the excitement of touching the ground. I felt free but caged at the same time by the oddly familiar emotion. Even if I was untouchable, unreachable, even if I was stronger and powerful, fear crept in every broken fragment of my being.

Strange arms wrapped around my waist from behind pulling me from my thoughts, grabbing me mid-air and thrusting to the ground along with them. We rolled on the ground from the impact, my head throbbing and my hands flat on a man's chest. I lifted my head to meet his gaze and an angry scowl framed my eyes.

“Are you alright?” he said in an oddly quiet voice that angered me further.

Alright? My luck with idiots was grand, they popped in front of me like wild mushrooms. “I was, before a boar toppled me to the ground.” Removing my hands from his chest I managed to dig a knee on the ground and hoisted myself up.

A rough laugh left his chest and he prompted himself on his elbows, eyeing me from top to bottom before meeting my glaring gaze. I almost unsheathed the dagger hidden in my boot offended by the audacity to look this calm after plunging someone to the ground with no obvious reason.

“Surely better being toppled by a boar than eaten by that beast that was chasing you,” he said all severe.

Confused I looked around, when realization hit me I turned to him. “Not every maiden is assumed to be in need of saving dear, surely you do not think I would not be able to handle a beast on my own?” I said straightening my skirt, hoping he would give me an answer as smug as him, reason enough to plunge my knife inch deep in his throat.

He stood, almost two heads taller than me, the silver moonlight paled his long golden hair pulled back from his head, his black eyes shone a flickering black fire and a few day’s stubble adorned his face. He bowed his head slightly. “My apologies miss, that vile creature had me assuming the worst.”

My eyes widened in offence. “That vile creature also belongs to me, so you now owe me and her another apology for jumping on your own rushed conclusions.” A roar erupted the silence of night and rustling tree branches approached our direction till gracefully Memphis came into view growling in his direction. She stalked past him and nestled around my back, her head just under my arm as I stroked the top of it.

He looked at me confused, shooting glances between myself and my morph back and forth. Before he could speak, screams and laughter surrounded the air and our attention shot towards the two women running from behind bushes giggling and chatting amongst themselves as two large men hoisted them up to their shoulders and pulled their sashes as part of the tradition. That meant the women were theirs to court for the rest of the festival night. Both waved towards the man who had just tackled me, clearly familiar with each other despite never seeing either of their faces in Fernfoss before.

“Do you think we have spotted her yet? We don't even know how she looks exactly, not that it would help they all look the same tonight,” one of them asked the man in front of me.

“Simply bad timing, we will continue in the morning, tonight we rest. Stay away from the ruins, I don’t wish to take back a halfwit dazed by spirits,” he responded.

“I don’t know if I even want to find her at night, they say she grows claws and her teeth extend like those of a wolf,” the other man said in a shudder. “I have not the slightest idea why the king wants to bring that demon back. What did the Adriatians call her?” he frowned remembering. “Ybris, yes, the hybrid.”

“Enough,” the man in front of me called sternly. “Call a royal such words one more time and I’ll toss you to a real demon.” Demon. Ybris. I was both of those, yet I was not.

The man assessed his words in a revolted and repulsed manner and begun to insist, “But—”

“Would you like to sleep by the ruins,” the man before me snarled and the other two bowed their heads lightly and dispersed. Soldiers, bounty hunters?

My sash felt loose, and I turned to find the man in front of me holding it between his fingers. “Do I have to hold you up my shoulder?” His head pointed to the men walking towards the forest. “Or will you kindly walk on your two feet along me? You are mine for the evening,” he exclaimed gleefully making it more a statement than an offer.

This man would already be choking on his blood if not for my ill-timed moment of panic. I turned towards the men who had the women still up on their shoulders, looking to prove what was chasing me. My prisoners, or my killers; Isjord or Adriata. They had their scabbards still fastened at their hips, facing the same direction, and dressed in an almost similar fashion. As I neared them closer, the man stepped behind me followed by Memphis who most certainly had detected my thoughts through our bond. My eyes rested heavy over their attires and the familiar insignia they were carrying. A blue crest adorned the shoulder of their shirt, a wolf at its centre, two arrows crossing behind it draped at the sides with golden vines. Isjord crest, my father’s kingdom crest. They were soldiers, Isjord patrol guards, and they were here for me. The crafter had been correct, I would return to Isjord after all.

A hand gripped my wrist. “If you are going to run from me at least let me have your name, I am Elias,” he introduced. And I would be his gravestone, would he not let go of me.