7 Folds of Winter

by Carolyn McCray

  “You look well,” his mother said, patting his knee.

  “You look worn. Go inside and rest.”

  A frown covered the old woman’s face. “I wish that I could. My mind keeps spinning. There is so much I need to know, to learn. There is no time to sleep.”

  Holt took the bells from his mother’s hand and began playing a lighter tune. The Fays danced and swam faster with the beat. He smiled before he turned back to his mother.

  “Lie down at the least and close your eyes. Your body may have its own ideas.”

  “But —”

  “Mother, do not fight me on bedtime.” Holt took on a chiding tone of a parent. “What was it you used to do to Sele and me when we bucked lying down?”

  Madame Hesper chuckled a bit, and Holt could see her hands relax a little. She carried far too much weight of the world upon her shoulders. He would not have her succumb because she pushed herself too hard. It was only a few days ago she was upon her deathbed. He knew even her energy had limitations.

  “I would not have you complaining I held double standards,” his mother said as she raised up on cramped legs.

  “Nay. That is for Sele to do.”

  As she turned to inside the litter, she squeezed his shoulder. “And she does it well enough for a whole brood.”

  Holt smiled into the moonlit night. Tragedy had struck and torn at their family with the viciousness of a rabid dog. The world had turned, and their lives were forever altered, but still, some things had not changed. There were still jokes to be told and joys to be remembered.

  Holt jumped as a voice spoke from the night.

  “Do you mind some company?”

  He turned to find Ekoli standing at the edge of the curtain. “I would be delighted.”

  That certainly was not a lie. But Holt was not sure if the experience would be entirely pleasurable. He had assumed his intense attraction to the fallen goddess would fade once his bloodlust was under control.

  Unfortunately, Ekoli looked as appealing and lovely as she had the night she fell from grace. Just her mere presence sent goose bumps up his arms. He found it hard to carry on a normal conversation. Not that one could call any discussion with a previous deity, normal.

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  Ekoli gave a wan smile. “Would that I knew the difference. This mortal body has so many feeling states that I cannot keep track of them.”

  “Aye. The demigods might list that as one of our advantages.”

  “Then they would be wrong,” she said with more than a bit of bitterness to her tone. Ekoli realized the sharpness of her words and softened. “The pain has lessened, and the bleeding has stopped, so I assume that my body recovers from the injury.”

  Holt stayed silent for a moment. It was obvious the goddess needed reassurance and support, but he did not feel he was the one to administer it. What could a man Cursed say to a divine creature such as Ekoli?

  “I lied a bit back there,” the goddess admitted.

  “When?” Holt asked, intrigued. Not often did the deities admit deception, especially not a goddess of light such as Ekoli.

  “In your state, back at the Fold, I did not think you ready to hear the all of it.”

  Holt tensed. He had not anticipated the discussion would turn to his Curse. He would rather leave that subject unvisited for eternity. “I am sure you had your reasons. There is no need to explain.”

  “It was I who Blessed the Leaf Weavers. It was I who instilled the Vampyr into their blood.”

  As Holt’s hands stilled, the bells fell silent. Holt could barely breathe, let alone make music. The litter stalled to a halt, but he did not care. How could this goddess, a goddess he had worshipped in the truest sense of the word, create such torture? Why had she not rescued him from it years ago? He had so many questions but none would form on his lips.

  “You are angry?” Ekoli asked.

  Angry? No. He was livid. He was betrayed. He was devastated. He was far beyond angry.

  “Why?” he choked out.

  “The rest of the story is true. The Dew Forest was invaded by a clan of Molesters from the west. Five tribes of Leaf Weavers had been wiped out. They were a peaceful people with no skill at warfare. If I had not intervened, they would have been destroyed.”

  Holt’s fury burned on his lips. “Why did you not just damn the Molesters? Rout them from the Forest?”

  “The Molesters were under the protection of Serpentine. Unless I wished war amongst the gods, the only option I was left with was to find a way to strengthen my worshippers. I fought fire with fire. I gave the Weavers a gift of inner potential. A Blessing to help them throw off their attackers.”

  “There had to be another way!”

  Ekoli sadly shook her head. “Magick is not always easily rendered, even for a goddess. For every gift, there is a price. The Weavers were shown their animal ferocity and could tap into that force for battle. Their payment was to live at night and always guard that primal power within.”

  “It is too high!”

  “Tell me, Holt, did you think that way when you saved your mother’s life? Does it hurt you to think you helped defeat a Drakol? Were you angered at me when you were able to open the Fold and saved us all?”

  Holt wished he could answer her questions, but he could not. In those moments that she recounted, the Curse had, in fact, been a blessing. But what of the previous decades he had suffered for no apparent reason? What of the others who lost control and were hunted down like animals?

  “I was given no choice in this matter. Nor do any of the other victims who receive your ‘blessing.’ It is thrust upon us.”

  Ekoli looked long out across the plains. Holt recovered his senses enough to begin playing a tune, setting them in motion again. Finally she spoke. Her sad tone alone captured his heart and thawed his anger.

  “For that I am sorry. My motivations were pure, I assure you. It is difficult to remember when you live up beyond the clouds that time travels differently on earth. It was but a blink, and my people had forgotten their roots and the reason for their blessing.”

  “So it was never your intent to have Vampyrs running amok, infecting innocents?”

  The goddess shook her head, and a tear sprang to her eye. Her next words seemed very uncomfortable. “When I saw what the Weavers had done with my gift, I became enraged. I turned my back upon them and would not hear the cries of trapped souls. For this, you owe me your ire.”

  “You mean, you knew? You heard my prayers each night to release me from the Curse?”

  “Aye. I was numb to your pain.”

  Holt sat stunned. Sele had always said the gods were fickle and pernicious. To survive the Curse, Holt had clung to his faith. How else could he have endured the decades of torment? He had to believe there was a higher purpose — a reason that he had been so Cursed. Now, to find out it was nothing more than a whimsy of a goddess who no longer cared to take responsibility for her actions? This was too great a burden.

  Ekoli tried to explain further. “I did not know what pain truly was until now.”

  “Try feeling like this for decades,” Holt spat out. He might be able to forgive her for creating the Curse, but never for letting him linger in it.

  “I have upset you.”

  Holt only snorted at her words. What had she expected? That he would somehow feel better knowing his agony had meant nothing to her? Silence stretched as they glided across the snow.

  There was nothing more to say.

  *****

  CHAPTER 29

  “The ride was wild. The mountains quaked with anger, and the wind howled its rage. Had their horses not been fleet of foot, they would have fallen into the Pit. Earth tumbled and rolled. Whole mountains collapsed upon themselves, marking the passage of an era. With a mighty storm bearing down upon them, The Man Who Did Not Know led them on their headlong flight.”

  Granny was part right, Traven thought. The excerpt that kept rolling around his mind was fr
om a story entitled “The Clash of Stone.” But the way his grandmother had told it, there was no Catacombs or Gullet. Yet her description of their narrow escape was letter perfect.

  At first, Traven had to be convinced to flee the dying Gullet. It had taken the side of the mountain cracking for Traven to put his heel to Lauger. Before they had crossed over the next peak, the entire mountainside was crumbling. The group had lurched forward, never knowing if the next step they took would be their last. The Catacombs had sunk into a giant Pit. A great black hole marred the wintry landscape.

  And it was all the Hero’s fault. All this Traven had caused.

  At first, he had felt elation and pride for surviving the Gullet, only to find that his victory had doomed the whole region. The Cider Fold was no more, because of him. The news had struck him more deeply than any Cravens’ fangs wound ever could. It seemed unreal. How could he have laid low an ancestral sanctuary?

  No matter the how, Traven had done it. Any chance the Hero had at being selected as the Hope was dashed. One was not crowned the savior of the world when he went about destroying sacred sites. No, more likely when this was all over, they would flog him for his disastrous accomplishments.

  Yet with all this brewing about his mind, it was a far different matter that preoccupied him. He could no longer deny it or make a joke of it.

  His Granny’s stories were uncannily accurate. Oh, for certain, she had the facts a bit jumbled, and the timeline was askew, but overall the tales were, at their heart, true. How could Granny have known? He would have liked to ask her, but she was no longer of this place. Granny had passed away before she could see him knighted and named Hero. Her secrets died with her.

  “It shouldn’t be far!” Miss Emmert shouted over the wind.

  Traven was beginning to wonder if they would ever reach the trapper’s cache. It was near dawn, and they still had not found shelter from the elements. Given a few more minutes, they would be caught in a storm that was wailing from the higher peaks. It was as if Winter himself was breathing down upon them, punishing them for their blasphemy.

  Glacial stirred in his arms and whimpered a bit. She had been brave over the rough ride, never complaining of the jolting gait. They fled over craggy rocks and slippery snow. The bleeding had stopped, but the suction wounds inflicted by the tentacles were beginning to fester. There were red welts up and down her arms and neck. The Princess stayed conscious, but he did not know how much longer she could hold on.

  The other girl, the one that had come to him in ghost form, had fared far worse. She had not moved a whit since they fled into the peaks. Her still form was held tight by Miss Emmert. Ornery had tired and finally agreed to ride the White Wolf. Pale was the only one happy amongst them. The wolf was certain food was on the horizon, and the boy on the wolf’s back was not much heavier than Glacial and was far better company.

  “There!” Miss Emmert pointed to a barren slope of snow.

  Before Traven could question her further, Miss Emmert guided them to what appeared to be a random spot.

  “Start digging!” Miss Emmert said as she carefully lifted the unconscious girl to the ground.

  Traven helped Glacial dismount then made certain she sat near Miss Emmert. “Stay here.” Turning, the Hero began digging alongside Ornery and Pale. The work was strenuous in the biting cold. How much snow did they need to move, anyway?

  Glancing over his shoulder, Traven checked on Glacial. Her eyes were on the boy digging next to him. What did she find so fascinating about Ornery? Granted he was some kind of Centaur hybrid, but what did he have that Traven did not? Never had the princess shown such interest in him. The Hero was not sure how he felt, and at the moment did not bother to explore it. There was work to be done if they hoped to survive the wicked storm.

  ***

  Crystalia’s rise to consciousness occurred fast and cold. She startled awake with her rear side near frozen and with a throbbing headache. The dreams of flowers and weddings were replaced by snow and more snow. Carefully, Crystalia rose to a sitting position and let her head stop spinning. The Princess Ornery had saved sat next to Crystalia. The poor thing looked far worse off than even Crystalia felt. Her hands were marred by blisters, and she hugged her knees, rocking in the snow.

  A few yards off, everyone else, including the horses, were digging. It was then that she saw the Hero. Saw him with human eyes rather than through the reflection of the moon. How glorious he looked. Sweat rolled down his brow, and dark curls bounced as he shoveled. Crystalia flew to her feet.

  “Traven!” Despite her swimming head, Crystalia threw herself at the Hero. He turned in time to catch her in his arms. Crystalia relaxed into his embrace. “Oh, Hero. How I have waited for this moment!”

  She squeezed him tight and wished she could melt into this body, fusing as one. Leaning back, she looked into his dark eyes. Closing her own, Crystalia pursed her lips, waiting for his kiss.

  “Child, do I know you?” the Hero asked as he released his arms from around her back.

  Crystalia was flustered but tried not to let it show. The poor dear was confused and shaken by his trials. “Hero, it is me. Crystalia, from Last Hitch.”

  The Hero’s brows furrowed. “The girl that was near poisoned at the tea?”

  “Aye!” Crystalia said and hugged him more tightly. “You saved me, and now I have helped save you.”

  Traven pulled her away from his chest and held her at arm’s length. “For that I thank you, miss. But I really must dig if we are to weather the blizzard.”

  With that he turned back to his work.

  Crystalia felt the breath leached out of her. “Traven! You have nothing else to say to me?”

  To her shock, he shrugged his shoulders before turning away. “No.”

  Crystalia did not know whether to start crying or shouting. How could he be so cruel? Had he lost all memory of what they had meant to each other? Miss Emmert was at her side and tried to lead her away.

  “Come, child. Let us discuss this.”

  “No!” Crystalia shouted, not caring if an avalanche swept them all away. “I’m not a child. I’m the Hero’s love!”

  Traven turned back. “I swear I did not touch her!”

  “You kissed me! You gave me this!” Crystalia said as she shoved her hand towards him. The Hero looked sincerely confused. Did he truly not understand the bond that worked between them?

  Miss Emmert interrupted. “Traven, it is true. You planted the soul sexton upon her palm.”

  The Hero backed away a step. “I did no such thing.”

  Gripping Crystalia’s shoulder to keep her from launching at Traven, Miss Emmert explained. “I do not think you knew what you did, but it was your kiss that set her in motion.” Miss Emmert paused for a moment. “Please. Let me make a proper introduction. The Man Who Did Not Know, would you gently meet the Snowy Maiden.”

  ***

  “The Snowy Maiden.” Traven found himself repeating the name as if trying to assimilate the title. He knew nothing of the girl from Last Hitch, but he knew much of the Snowy Maiden. The Man and the Maiden were supposed to be great loves. They traveled the world together, and romance always brushed their path. How could this slip of a girl be his intended?

  “This cannot be.”

  “It is!” the girl near shrieked. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Miss Emmert tried to calm them both. “Crystalia, Madame Hesper warned you that Traven might not return your affections. You are but one of many who might be his soul mate.”

  “But I have the sexton!”

  Hugging the girl, the woman continued to console her. “That you do. But we must see how this all unfolds. The prophesies are unclear.”

  “The story of the Catacombs had the Snowy Maiden as my companion...” Traven said, half-conscious that he spoke the words out loud.

  Miss Emmert nodded as she stroked the girl’s hair. “Aye. Yet you in actuality traveled with the Ice Princess. We cannot take any myth at face value.”
<
br />   The girl sobbed bitterly in Miss Emmert’s arms. “But he smiled and kissed me!”

  Traven felt a tad guilty. He had not done anything untoward to the girl, but neither had he shielded the girl’s feelings the way he should. Traven liked the attention of any young thing he met and seldom had cared about their emotions. Now this girl had traveled across the Plains and into Winter’s grip because of his careless flirtations. Once again Traven was reminded of why he was not worthy to be crowned The Hope.

  “I’m sorry that I do not love you. I meant nothing—” Traven tried to comfort the girl, but she would have none of it.

  “Get away from me!” Sobbing, the girl was led back a few steps by Miss Emmert. There was no repairing the girl’s heart with a few awkward words, so Traven went back to digging.

  “Over here!” Ornery shouted and pointed downward. Traven and Pale joined the boy. He had uncovered the outline of a door in the side of the slope. Quickly they cleared the snow and the wolf sniffed at the partially opened wooden door.

  Through Pale’s mind, Traven could sense there was food for certain in the hut, but also the smell of death.

  “Well?” Miss Emmert asked from behind.

  “It’s a cache, all right, but Pale fears foul play,” Traven reported.

  Miss Emmert shrugged. “Do we have any other choice?”

  The question did not require an answer. The Hero pulled his sword and motioned for the boy to back away. Pale took the point as Traven knocked the door in. The wolf’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. The room was simple but large. A fire pit sat in the front of the chamber, long cold. Some food was stacked in the back. Littered in the center were four dead bodies. They were frozen through — obviously dead for a while.