Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories

by Naomi Kritzer

  He followed me back down to the riverbank. The rest of the clan had heard about the stranger now. Everyone had brought their work down to the foot of the cliff, vying for a look at the stranger while pretending to be too busy to be interested. Zavier ducked his head shyly, but I could see him stealing looks at us.

  Luya waved Zavier to a seat next to her on the riverbank, and a dozen of the other women and girls joined us, with baskets of corn and apples and unshelled beans. Luya and I started shucking the kernels off the ears of dried corn. Zavier took an ear of corn as well and mimicked us. He was clumsy and slow with the task, though he picked up speed as he worked. Luya sat close by his side.

  “Where have you come from?” one of the girls asked.

  “Baltimore,” Zavier said.

  The girl tried out the word. None of us had ever heard of the place.

  “It’s a long way away,” Zavier said. “A long way away.”

  “What’s your clan?” one of the women asked.

  Zavier explained again that he didn’t have a clan, and started trying to explain what a monk was. Eventually he recited a lineage for us, but it seemed to be made up only of men, starting with someone named Saint Eric of the Bright Age and then Saint Paul from When the Sky Fell and so on down to someone named Father Julius.

  “You are the Shong clan?” he asked when he’d finished.

  “Yes,” Luya said, and recited her lineage. I saw Zavier give a little nod when she listed Merik as her father; he must have guessed. I wondered if he’d guessed that we were half-sisters; we didn’t look much alike. “There are seven clans near the river,” she said. “Shong, Shonsen, Shaycobsen, Shabaz, Oneel, Rosen, and Li. We get along with all the other clans except for the Shonsons and the Oneels.” Zavier listened quietly, shucking off corn kernels into the broad flat baskets.

  When Luya finished, I saw Zavier looking at me. My face grew warm and I looked down, then back up. He was still looking at me. “So you’ve come to tell us stories,” I said. “Are you going to tell us one now?”

  Zavier’s eyes crinkled a little in a smile. “Let me think,” he said. “I’m not sure which one to tell you first.” He reached into the folds of his robe and brought out what I thought at first was a box—then he folded it open, and I realized that it was sewn together, but like no clothing I’d ever seen.

  “What is that?” I blurted out, reaching to touch it. Zavier reflexively pulled it away from my hand, then seemed to catch himself.

  “It’s the Bible,” Zavier said, holding it out. “You can hold it if you’d like. Just be careful, I only have one.”

  I took it carefully into my lap. It was sewn together, but it wasn’t cloth. The outermost pieces were leather, but the inside pieces were thin and brittle. There were a few pictures, like we might draw on skins, but mostly there were thousands upon thousands of tiny black marks. Everyone else peered over my shoulder, but quickly lost interest.

  I looked up; Zavier was still watching me. “Do you have books here?” Zavier asked. “Writing?” I looked at him blankly. “How do you pass on knowledge, one person to the next?”

  “We tell stories,” I said.

  “Ah,” Zavier said. “No wonder you feud with the neighboring clans.” For a moment, he seemed to be speaking to himself; then he shook himself. “May I have the Bible back, please? You can look at it later, but I need it to tell my story.”

  I gave it back. “This book lets me tell a story exactly as it was told the very first time,” Zavier said, and flipped through to the middle. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and—” He paused. Then he sighed, and put the book down. “Perhaps telling the story exactly as it was told the first time isn’t the best way to tell it today.”

  We waited. I finished shucking the corn in my lap and reached for another armful.

  “Once long ago,” Zavier said, “There was a man named Jesus.”

  Zavier told a story about a man who was also a god, who died and came back to life, who would bring us all back to life when we died. Everyone listened politely. Zavier was not a very good storyteller. I don’t think he’d told this story before—several times he stopped in the middle of a sentence and said, “Oh—wait. But before that . . . ” Also, he didn’t know how to make a story very dramatic. Mostly his god-man just wandered around and talked a lot.

  When he was done, Luya stretched slowly beside me, and set her corn down. The last of the afternoon light reflected off her golden skin as she arched her back. “Now I have a story,” she said, and stood up. She shook her dark hair back from her face and closed her eyes for a moment, composing her thoughts. I rested my corn in my lap, waiting. Luya knew how to tell a story.

  “Long ago,” Luya said, “there were no clans and there were no Children of the Winter King. All the world lived together in one huge village. Then the Winter King came to separate light from dark.”

  We chimed in. “Separate light from dark, water from snow, strong from weak. The Winter King came to bring order.”

  Luya paced among us; I found myself leaning in towards her. Though she spoke to all of us, her eyes were fixed on Zavier, as if she was challenging him. Or shaming him, for his own inability to hold our attention like this. “When the Winter King came, most fled from Mesota. But a handful said, ‘This is my home. This will be my home always. I’ve seen cold winters—’”

  “—and I’ve survived,” we chimed in again.

  “All around Mesota, the world was taken by the Dark Heart of Chaos. But we are the Children of the Winter King. The Winter King brings cold to make us strong. As long as the Children of the Winter King accept His rule and His gifts, we shall always endure.” Luya sat down beside me and looked at Zavier again; behind her long lashes, her eyes glittered. “Such is His promise.”

  Zavier seemed to shrink a little inside himself, and he touched his book. He told us another story, this time about how the world was made, and we all listened politely. We’d have rather listened to Luya, though, even though we all knew the stories she would tell.

  ***

  THAT NIGHT, IN the darkness of the cave, I could hear Zavier tossing in the bed I’d made for him. Like me, he was not one to fall asleep readily. I often lay awake in the night, thinking about Luya and her easy way with everyone, wishing that my stomach didn’t turn over like an unsteady pot every time I had something to say. Luya was my best friend as well as my sister, but sometimes she teased me so much about my shyness that I had to stalk off so that she wouldn’t see me cry.

  Everyone in the Shong clan had to tell stories occasionally. Once after some of the young men from the Oneel clan had come across the river raiding, Luya had forced me to tell the story to the clan. I had stood up by the fire, painfully aware that everyone was looking at me, and my voice had sunk to an unsteady whisper. I stammered out what had happened as plainly as I could. Everyone had been kind about it, but they were obviously relieved when I sat down. Then Luya stood and told the story, and wrapped every member of the clan in her words like a cloak. I once overheard some of the clan adults saying that Luya could talk the wolf from his lair, if only wolves spoke the trade-tongue

  Zavier was an even worse storyteller than I was. That was probably why he couldn’t sleep.

  Zavier turned over again, his blankets rustling as he scratched himself. I could smell him from where I lay; he gave off the sour smell everyone had in winter, when it was too cold to bathe. It was difficult to tell how dirty his clothes were, since they had clearly started out brown. He hadn’t been very well-prepared for his trip, not given how far he said he’d come.

  I dozed off after a while, but woke to hear a bump from Zavier’s bed. He’d gotten up and was trying to find the cave entrance. I propped myself up on my elbows—it was nowhere near morning. What was he doing? I could see him duck out the mouth of the cave, a gray shadow in the moonlight. I waited for a few minutes, but he didn’t come back. Perhaps he’d thought the better of Merik’s invitation, but why would he l
eave in the middle of the night? I got out of bed to see where he’d gone, and nearly collided with him as he ducked under the overhang to come back inside.

  “People are coming,” he whispered.

  “What?” I said. “What people?”

  “Men and horses—coming across the river.

  Raiders. “Merik!” I shouted. “Raiders!”

  Zavier shrank out of the way as my father leapt out of bed and threw himself out of the cave mouth, shouting the alarm. Luya followed him, with a quick glance at me and Zavier. “What is it?” Zavier asked me. “Should we go out, too?”

  “Stay here,” I said. “This is for the men to handle. The men of the clan.” Luya had followed to watch, but we would be safer inside.

  Zavier peered out the cave mouth. “What are they doing?”

  “Chasing off the raiders. Probably from the Oneel clan. They come to steal our animals and food stores, or steal wives. It was lucky that you spotted them. Why did you get up?”

  Zavier hesitated. Then: “I had to relieve myself,” he said, and I could almost see his flaming cheeks, even in the dark cave. “I still have to relieve myself.”

  I smothered a laugh. “Use this basket—cover it when you’re done,” I said, and handed him the winter-pot. Zavier still hesitated. “I won’t look at you,” I said, even though it was too dark to see anything anyway. When he was done, I put the basket in its spot by the cave-mouth, to be emptied in the morning. Zavier went back to his bed, though neither one of us lay down. We could hear shouts outside, and splashing; no cries of pain, though, which was good.

  After a while, my father came back to the cave, Merik at his heels, and lit the lamp. “They won’t be back for a while,” Merik said, clearly pleased. “Good work warning us, Madri.”

  “It wasn’t me,” I said, and my voice cracked as Merik’s eyes narrowed with surprise. “Zavier saw them.”

  Merik looked at Zavier for a long, thoughtful moment. “Perhaps you were sent to us for a reason,” he said. “We’ll discuss this more in the morning.”

  ***

  ZAVIER WAS LESS of a novelty the next day; everyone wanted to talk about the raid. Luya made me stammer out the story for her and everyone else, and then left me alone. I took a basket of beans and went a little way down the river, so at least I wouldn’t have to talk to so many people at once. After a few minutes I heard an awkward footstep, and turned to see Zavier.

  “Thanks for raising the alarm last night,” he said, sitting down beside me. “I had no idea what to do.”

  I flushed—of course—and looked down at my beans. Zavier scooped some of the beans in his lap and started shelling them.

  “You know that book I brought,” he said. “I could teach you to read it, if you’d like, Madri. I could show you what those marks mean. They’re all words, you see. It’s like a story, but put down so that it will always be there.”

  I didn’t understand, exactly. Zavier finished shelling the beans in his lap, then leaned forward and brushed a patch of dirt smooth. He picked up a twig and broke it in half to make a sharp point. “Your name, ‘Madri,’ is written like this. M-A-D-R-I.” He scratched shapes in the dust. “This shape, M, this tells me to say an ‘mmm’ sound. Do you understand?” He explained how to sound out my name. “There are only twenty-six shapes. It’s not hard to learn, really. I’ve taught people to read before; it’s much easier than telling stories.” He looked up at me. “And if you learn to write, you can tell stories without talking.”

  Stories without talking. “All right,” I said.

  As evening fell, some of the young men built a bonfire on the shores of the river. Merik drew a circle in the dirt with a stick, and the adults of the clan sat down inside it, along with the small children who wouldn’t leave their mothers. Those of us who were approaching adulthood—plus Zavier—sat down behind the line, outside the circle of warmth. Some of the adults sat with their backs to the fire, so that they were facing Zavier. Merik gestured for him to speak.

  Zavier stood up. “Someone asked me today, ‘Why, if you were sent—of all your clan—to share your stories, why didn’t they send a better storyteller?’”

  I bet it was Luya who’d asked that.

  “I didn’t know how to answer,” Zavier said. “I never wanted to be a missionary.

  “When I took my vows, Mesota and the river clans were the last thing on my mind. I meant to study—read, translate, and pray. Baltimore is cold enough in winter for me.

  “But I was sitting at my desk, one freezing cold day, translating a text into the trade-tongue—when I heard a voice. God’s voice. ‘Go to the clans of the north, Zavier, at the edge of the snow line, to the ones who call themselves the Children of the Winter King. Find them, Zavier. Tell them my name.’

  “‘But I am no missionary,’ I said. ‘Surely there are thousands of brothers better qualified! Surely you can find someone better than me to do this!’

  “I told myself it was my imagination—or the crack of the log in the fire—or a fever coming on. But the voice came the next day, and the next night. Again and again. Finally, in early spring, I took what I needed and headed west. When I got to the river, I followed it north. And so I came here. Although I am the least of my brothers—and no storyteller.”

  “Why would your god send one so weak?” someone asked. “Why would your god choose you?”

  “I don’t know,” Zavier said, and sat down, ducking his face.

  Merik stood. “Perhaps he really did hear his god speak,” he said. “The tundra is warming—more traders come every year. Perhaps the Winter King’s reign is ending. Perhaps this new god’s rule will start soon.”

  Merik was only doing what any good clan-leader does, proposing the unpopular side of an issue, but Luya didn’t care. She stirred beside me and shouted, “No! The Winter King will rule forever!”

  “Quiet, Luya,” Merik said. “You will have a voice in our circle when the Winter King has accepted you as His child.”

  Luya rose. She might not have a voice in the circle, but she had everyone’s attention. The firelight glinted from her eyes. “The Winter King has not accepted Zavier,” Luya said. “Yet you repeat his nonsense in the circle as if it meant something.”

  “Hush, Luya,” Merik said. “Or you’ll be sent away where you can’t make trouble.”

  Luya closed her mouth with a final defiant look, and sat back down.

  “Luya may be only a child, but I think she’s right,” one of the other men said. “The Winter King has not broken his promise to us. Why should we believe this man?”

  “He warned us of the raid,” someone said.

  “That just means he can’t hold his beer,” Luya muttered beside me, and I could see that Zavier heard her, because he hunched his shoulders with embarrassment.

  Merik’s first wife Keris—Luya’s mother—rose. “I have a suggestion,” she said. “We have told Zavier he may be our guest until Autumn Equinox. Perhaps we should allow him to stay until first Winter’s night, then let him face the trial with Luya and Madri and their age-mates. If he survives the night, we will know that either Zavier’s god is strong enough to keep him alive, or that the Winter King has accepted Zavier as His own. Then we can consider again what he says.”

  There was a murmur of assent around the circle.

  “Zavier, approach the circle,” Merik said. Zavier obeyed, standing just outside the ring. “You heard the terms. Do you accept them?”

  Zavier nodded. “I do,” he said. I wondered if he knew what the trial meant.

  “Good,” Merik said. “We’ll discuss this again after first Winter’s night.”

  “If you’re still here to trouble us,” Luya said, pitching her voice just loud enough for Zavier to hear.

  ***

  “WHEN IS FIRST Winter’s night?” Zavier asked me the next afternoon. Zavier was shelling beans; I was mending my winter boots. I hadn’t mended them earlier in the year because I’d hoped I would outgrow them. No such luck. Luya,
of course, got new clothes every year, she grew so fast. I turned the boots fur-side-out and threaded my needle.

  “It’s the longest night of the year,” I said. “Ninety days after the equinox.” I bit the thread loose.

  “What happens that night? What’s the trial?”

  I looked up at him. He hadn’t known. “Why didn’t you ask before you agreed to do it?”

  “If I’d asked, I might have been too afraid to agree to it,” Zavier said. “And clearly it’s the only chance I have to bring you and your people to the faith. Besides,” he said, and flushed, “I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone.”

  I set my boot aside. “The new Children of the Winter King spend the night outside,” I said. “If you’re still alive in the morning, that means the Winter King has accepted you.” I pulled out the blue bead I wore on a leather thong around my neck. “Children of the clan wear these. Children of the Winter King wear red beads.”

  “And then you get to sit in the circle with the other adults?”

  “You can go anywhere you want, except for the Shaman’s cave, and it won’t profane anything,” I said. I could hear the longing in my own voice, although I was apprehensive. All of my age-mates were afraid of the trial, except for Luya. “And you can speak in meetings.” Of course Luya did anyway, but once we’d passed the trial, she’d be allowed to officially.

  Behind Zavier, Luya stepped out of the woods; I wondered how long she’d been eavesdropping. “Hey,” she said. She had a basket of apples on her hip; she sat down, folding her long legs up under her, and started peeling one. Zavier and I both fell silent, listening to the slipping sound of the knife in the apple. Luya raised her hand to her lips to lick off the juice, and her eyes met Zavier’s over the back of her hand.

  “So, Madri,” Luya said. “Have you decided which of the unmarried boys you’re going to want as your own?”