I did not respond. I did not want to show her how much these words hurt me. I am not good enough for Mother, and she believes that it would be better for everyone if I tried harder to conform.
Perhaps she is right. Perhaps it would be better for everyone. But if I become like them, and stay indoors sewing and cooking, and welcome the courtship of some village boy, then I would not be myself. How can I teach others if I lose my own self? I would slowly become one of them, and become complacent. People who are complacent do not try to change things. I must remain strange. I have to make a difference. I have to be the difference.
I know that I am contradicting myself. I already am different, but I get nothing done.
Oh Sister O, please do not tell the others of my failings.
Your novice,
MARESI
Dear Jai,
Winter continues. More snow has fallen and the nights are bitterly cold, but the sun is already bringing a little warmth and light to the days. Now is the time to take to the woods for hunting and fishing. It is usually only the men and boys who ski out on hunting trips with sledges full of supplies, but Father has always taken out whichever of us was old enough to cope with the hardship: first Náraes, then Náraes and me, and finally all three of us. I had been looking forward to this hunting trip for a long time. I am itching all over from these endless days spent inside, though reading aloud and my little “school” have helped to pass the time. Besides, I have always enjoyed these ski trips and missed them even when I was at the Abbey.
Mother and I packed food for the journey: rye bread; matured goat’s cheese Tauer had given me; a cured sausage we obtained through trade; a small pouch of salt. The hens are not laying currently, so alas there were no boiled eggs. We were counting on mainly eating what we could hunt or fish. Father made me a new pair of skis. They are beautiful, with fur on the underside of one so they slide well on the hard snow crust but are not too slippery on the slopes. We wrapped ourselves up in every warm garment we own, and I was glad for the long woollen underpants Mother had knitted for me. I had knitted myself a pair of thick gloves and a cap, and then I wore trousers of homespun wool and two shirts, one very thick woollen sweater I inherited from my grandmother, and my woollen cloak on top of it all. Thus equipped, off we went: Father, Akios and I. Jannarl had considered joining us, but opted to join Máros instead and set off a couple of days before.
Father pulled the sledge behind him, so Akios and I were free to just ski and enjoy the fresh air in our lungs. The sun was shining as we set off, and the magpies were chittering in the bushes around the frozen, snow-covered stream. We followed the stream eastwards into the forest. There were no ski marks to follow on the hard snow crust, and it was so smooth that it was a constant struggle to prevent the skis from slipping and sliding in all directions. It had snowed a great deal, and the forest was beautifully adorned: the snow-laden branches bowed deeply towards the ground. It was quiet—as quiet as only a forest under a blanket of snow can be. A kite flew silently overhead. And yet, when I pulled down my hood and listened very closely, I could hear a tone resonating from the very earth. At first I thought the freezing cold must be causing something to resonate, but the tone followed us throughout the forest. The others did not seem to hear it. It sounded like a string someone had plucked long ago that was still vibrating with a barely audible tone. It rippled through my skis and boots and into my body, causing my teeth to hum.
I think it was the tone of Rovas itself, and as the day rolled on and we skied ever farther my whole body began to hum with it as well. It was a pleasant sensation and it gave me the strength to keep up with Father’s pace even when my legs and arms were shaking with strain.
Father returns to the same place every winter, a whole day’s ski from the village. It is not far from the offering grove. He built a little shelter there long ago, situated close to the river but far upstream, where few pass. It is good hunting ground and one can fish in the river too. Night was falling by the time we arrived so it was too late to fish or set traps. We pulled off our skis and Akios removed the pack from his back. Akios and I fortified the shelter with fresh, dense fir branches and Father chopped wood and cleared a place for a fire in front of the shelter. Then he took some dried kindling from his sledge and before long we had a lovely blazing fire. I took the little kettle out from our pack, filled it with snow and hung it over the fire, then once the snow had melted I dug out some herbs to make tea. It was wonderful to sit by the fire warming our hands on the wooden cups we had tied to our pack, while steam rose from the brew, darkness tightened around us and bright winter stars lit up one by one. Our breath hung like clouds around our faces and the fire crackled and fizzled as it melted the surrounding snow. My toes were cold in Father’s old boots and the air nipped my nose, but I was content sitting on an old hide rug between my father and brother, nibbling on rye bread. It was like old times, when I was little and knew nothing of hunger winters or travels away from my family. For that time I was simply Maresi Enresdaughter, on a winter hunting trip with my father, and it felt good, Jai.
Sometimes I wish I had never gone to Menos. I have not dared admit this to anyone else, but I think you might understand. Yes, the Abbey gave me so much—safety, food, knowledge, reading, and meeting all of you—but at the moment it is making my life so difficult. So… convoluted. Before I left, everything was much simpler. I used to fit in. Now my head is too full of thoughts and questions that I would not have, had I never gone away.
Writing this, an even more painful thought just struck me. Perhaps I do not regret being sent to the Abbey as a child. Perhaps I regret leaving it, and all of you, behind. Still, it is too late for regrets now.
I know that you have never slept in a snowy forest, Jai, so let me indulge you. First we laid out a dense mat of fir branches in the shelter. Then we spread an animal hide on top and slept tightly snuggled together with a second hide over us. It was as warm and cosy as anything. We put wood on the fire before going to bed, and Father woke twice in the night to feed it, to keep wild animals at bay. I was awoken when he stirred, and lay for a while listening to the crackling fire and the murmuring tone resonating from the ground before sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
We rose before the sun. My hood was stiff with frost and both Father and Akios had icicles in their beards, but none of us had felt cold during the night. We shook the frost from the hides and I made us some more hot tea.
“Let’s lay the traps first,” said Father, “so we can collect the catch this evening, if there is any. Not likely though. More likely to get the first catch tomorrow. But we can spend the day fishing.”
We scooped snow onto the fire and set off each in our own direction. Akios has been hunting with Father several times and knows all the best places to set traps. I was nine years old the last time I went out hunting and had no memory of where the animals tend to go. The hard snow crust revealed no tracks as clues either, but I chose three places that looked promising and set up snares.
The day was sunny and cool, and melted snow dripped from tree branches, but the crust held out well and I did not fall through it once. I hate breaking through the crust, as it is difficult to free oneself again. I skied down to the river and found Father already fishing with a long line through a small hole he had cut in the ice. I borrowed his axe and cut my own hole in the ice a little upstream, then found a small tree stump, dragged it onto the ice and sat down. Then it was just a case of sinking the hook into the hole and slowly pulling it up again, over and over…
Though I enjoy sleeping in a wintry forest, I do not enjoy ice fishing. Sitting still is unbelievably cold and boring—especially if you get no bites, which I did not. Akios joined us a little later in the day and immediately caught a trout and two big fat female perches full of roe. I caught nothing. The hum of the earth was intensifying in my body and making me squirm where I was sitting. Eventually I tied my line to the stump and called to Akios.
“You can keep a
n eye on this. I have to ski to warm up a little.”
He raised a gloved hand in answer.
“Don’t stray too far,” said Father. “I saw the scratch marks of a bear on a pine trunk to the north of here.”
“So I will ski to the east,” I said. Then I pulled on my skis, picked up my staff and crossed the river. The way up the riverbank was tough, despite the squirrel skin providing some grip on the underside of one of my skis. I had soon left my family and the river behind me and was skiing directly eastwards. There was a humming vibration in my feet and ears. Soon my blood was pumping faster and I began to warm up. The sun had just about cleared the treetops to my right. I heard my breathing resound between the trees as rhythmically as axe chops. A kite surprised me with a sharp shriek overhead. Then suddenly the forest ended.
I looked out across a long, treeless hillside where I was dazzled by the sun glittering on the snow. On the far side, at the forest’s edge, I saw a handful of working men and a large, shaggy horse attached to a cart. I had forgotten that winter is the time for felling timber, when logs can be easily transported to collection points along the river to be transported downstream when the ice breaks up. These were not the nádor’s men, but ordinary woodcutters like Kárun; yet my body tensed with alarm. Woodcutters are often freelanders, living alone and travelling from one timber-felling area to the next. Unknown men, unaffiliated to village or province. I became aware of how lurid my red cloak must be against the white snow. The kite circled above the men and screeched several times in quick succession. It felt like a warning. I had to flee at once.
As soon as I regained control over my shaking legs, I turned around and skied faster than I have ever skied before, back to Father and Akios.
Father looked with concern at my flushed cheeks as I swooshed onto the icy river.
“Bear?”
I shook my head and caught my breath. “Woodcutters. Not far from here, to the east.”
“Did they bother you?”
“No. I skied away as soon as I saw them.”
Akios had come over to boast about his recent catch, but when he overheard, a wrinkle appeared in his frost-white brow.
“A timber-clearing area, this far north?”
“Hasn’t happened in living memory,” Father said slowly.
“Awfully close to the offering grove,” said Akios.
“And the burial grove.”
“But this land does not belong to the Crown,” I said. “They cannot fell trees here.”
“All of Rovas belongs to the Crown, Maresi,” Father said coolly. “The only rights we have are those issued to us by the Crown.”
After that I found it difficult to relax. The strange men were so nearby, and it made my skin crawl. We had caught a decent amount of fish—or rather Akios and Father had. I had no luck with the fishing at all. Akios and I skied back to our camp with the catch while Father did a circuit to check the traps. We spent the afternoon cleaning the fish and removing their spines to make them easier to hang up to dry once we got home. I lightly salted a medium-sized trout and then Akios grilled it over the fire while Father and I flayed, skewered and cooked a hare from one of his traps.
As darkness fell we sat down to eat delicious, oily trout with our hands. Suddenly—something moved at the edge of the sphere of firelight. Father’s hand flew to his axe and Akios leapt to his feet. I had no time to think at all, because the appearance of a fur-clad figure directly in front of us filled me with fear.
“That smells good,” came a voice, and Akios visibly relaxed.
“Kárun!”
Kárun came to a halt, leant on his ski pole and peered down at us. He was on skis, and dressed in a fur hat and waistcoat that looked like wolf skin.
“Blessings on your hearth,” he said, and smiled. The skin around his brown eyes wrinkled amiably.
“Blessings on your journey,” answered Father. “What brings you here?”
“I saw Maresi in her red cloak earlier today so I knew you must be nearby.”
“Sit, please!” said Father, scooting over. “Plenty of food to go around.”
Kárun removed his skis and leant them against a tree. My heart was still pounding from the shock and my mouth was all dry. I took a piece of fish, my hands shaking, and passed it to Kárun once he had sat down between Father and Akios. He took it and looked me in the eye.
“Did I frighten you?”
“A little. I saw the woodcutters today and I thought…” I trailed off. Kárun nodded.
“Sorry about that. But they are good men this year. Rovasians, no vagabonds. The foreman is from Urundien, of course, with orders from the nádor. But you have nothing to fear from them.”
I swallowed and felt the tension melt from my body.
“You’ve come very far north.” Father wiped his mouth with a gloved hand.
“Yes.” Kárun popped a piece of fish into his mouth. “And I don’t like it. The land here is sacred. The nádor is sinking his teeth and claws ever farther into Rovas. But we would never raise an axe against a sacred tree, you know that Enre.”
Father poked the fire. “Are they paying well this year then?”
“The pay has remained the same for many a year. I manage. I’ve no one else to feed.” He swallowed the last of the fish and gave Akios a friendly shove. “And how are you? Has it been a long winter?”
“Not as long as usual. Maresi’s been reading to us and it feels like we’ve travelled the world from our own home!”
Kárun smiled. His face changes a lot when he smiles. It becomes lighter, more likeable. Akios gestured in my direction with his gloved hand.
“And Maresi has a school now!”
Kárun looked at me. “Now that is good news!”
I squirmed. It was difficult to receive praise for a failure. “It is only my sister’s eldest, Akios and Lenna who come,” I muttered. “I teach them to read and write and a little counting. It is hardly a real school.”
Father poured some of the tea I had made into his cup and handed it to Kárun, who took a sip.
“I’ve come on far with my building project,” he said. “I got the roof on before the snow came. Last spring all I had was stripped logs and uncleared ground.” He looked straight at me, and it felt as if his eyes burned right through to the heart of me. I can still feel it. “Then I laid the first log.”
Father smiled. Akios yawned and Kárun set his cup down in the snow.
“Well, I’d best leave you now. I still have a way to ski to our night camp.” He got up and tied on his skis. As he took hold of his ski pole it seemed that something occurred to him. “I almost forgot,” he said, and reached for an item that was bound to his back.
It was a pair of boots. Brand new and thick-soled, made of fine, soft leather, with buttons of white bone.
“You’ve been walking around in your father’s worn-out boots,” he said quietly. “I had some tanned leather left over, and I inherited my mother’s cobbler tools, and maybe a bit of her knack as well.”
“She was deft with the leather needle,” Father agreed.
Kárun handed me the shoes. They smelt pleasantly of leather, and shone in the firelight. Kárun had greased them well.
“Been working on them by the fire through the winter evenings. We can’t fell trees after dark so there’s plenty of fireside time. When I saw you today I rushed to finish them off.” He rubbed his cold-chapped hands together.
I have not had footwear of my own since I left the Abbey, where we only ever wore sandals. I looked up at Kárun with my jaw dropped.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be off then.”
Kárun turned around and skied away between the snow-covered firs. He was gone.
I thought that my father would make some sort of pointed comment, but he just washed Kárun’s cup out with a little snow.
“Remember last hunger winter?” he asked my brother. “Kárun brought game to all the homes that were struggling, until the snow made hunting imposs
ible.”
Akios nodded. “He never asked for anything in return either. Even though he has so little himself.”
“His father was a terrible man. Wicked towards wife and son alike. As long as he lived I wouldn’t let your mother go to Jóla alone, because that meant passing Eimin’s cabin and you never knew what he might do. Remarkable that Kárun turned out such a decent fellow.”
“How did his mother die? He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Akios washed the fish from his hands in the snow.
“She was sick. His father refused to call for help, and when Tauer came to their house he chased him away with bludgeon blows and foul words. Kárun was only young at the time, not much older than Maressa.”
I looked down at the boots in my lap. There was so much work behind them. To get all that leather together. To cut everything just right. The even, patient stitching. I thought of him as a little boy, alone with a violent father. I quickly blinked away the tears before Akios could notice and tease me for it.
Later, as I lay between Akios and Father, beneath fragrant fir branches, wrapped so tightly under the hide that only my eyes and nose peeked out, Akios whispered in my ear.
“Do you realize that you didn’t even say thank you, Maresi?”
That was unforgivably rude of me. I have to visit Kárun next time he is in the village and thank him properly. To think that I got new boots made specially for me! I have tried them on and they fit well, but there is also extra space inside for thick woollen socks. My feet will never be cold or wet in these. I will wear them as I walk around the village, wander in the forest and work in the garden and fields. It is a greater gift than he probably even knows. I can hardly believe that he made them just for me. It has the marks of a proposal gift, but without the proposal. We have only spoken to one another a handful of times. And he has never made an attempt to approach me in the way a man does when he desires a woman. As Géros clearly did.
Maresi Red Mantle Page 14