by Chloe Garner
“What?” Aistin asked.
“This,” she motioned. “This is the house you built for your goddess?”
He frowned, a dark cloud passing across his face, and she was ready for it. It was shameful, and she intended to tell him so.
“What kind of fool builds a house for a god?” he asked. “Do you put doors on it to keep him in?”
“What?”
“This is the priesthouse,” Aistin said. “Out there is the temple.”
Andie dropped her head, sarcastic.
“Out there.”
He looked exasperated.
“Yes, out there. Where else?”
“Temples have walls,” Andie said.
“Greeks must be very strange,” Aistin said, turning to leave. “And you’ve walked into our home uninvited. It’s very rude. Please leave.”
“You invited me,” she said.
“And I was happy to see you until you came storming in here, talking about putting the goddess in a cage.”
He looked startled at himself, and Andie laughed. His face reddened and she put up a hand.
“I’m sorry. I was just looking forward to a …” her words left her as the heat of her anger vanished. She put her hands out. “Big… building.” She paused. “Something beautiful.”
“We don’t use that word for buildings,” Aistin said, letting her back past him into the yard. She glanced at the shack.
“No, apparently not.”
He glowered as he followed her glance.
“You be nice. That … “ he used a word she didn’t know, “has been my home for a lot of years. But we use … “ another strange word, “to describe … “ foreign word, plural, “that we consider … “ unknown word. She glared.
“You’re showing off. My maid still points at a tree and says ‘tree’.”
He twisted his mouth, laughing.
“Things. When we want to call things beautiful, we say …” the same strange word again. Andie tried it, and he nodded.
“And that building is beautiful, to me. But this space, Andromeda. This is for the goddess.”
He spread his arms, and she looked around, actually seeing it now.
She’d spent so much time out in the woods as a child, and then riding with Saul, that she’d managed to miss it.
The very air was gold with sunlight, and ancient trees coiled their roots down into the dirt with the elegance of age. The forest canopy towered over her, the first limb dozens of feet above her head, but she could see the sky in this season. A few stray leaves caught the sunlight and burned gold, and the piles of leaves around the clearing made the light seem fuzzy and soft and warm. She rubbed her arms, remembering she was cold.
“You can’t be cold,” Aistin said.
“I’ve never been in snow before,” Andie said. She’d found that this statement made the greatest impact and required the least additional explanation. He looked stunned.
“You lived in a land of perpetual summer?” he asked, then held up a hand and disappeared into the little house again, coming back out with a fur cape that he draped over her shoulders. The weight of it was satisfying, and it smelled of woodsmoke. Andie shrugged deeper into it and sighed happily.
“No. We had a winter season,” she said, as he motioned to her and they began to walk. “It just never got cold enough to snow. I’ve seen it, from far away.”
“Your winter is like our …”
He used a word she’d heard before from Galinda, describing the seasons. Andie didn’t have a word that she could come up with to use to translate, as the Sambians apparently counted six seasons. Spring, summer, fall, and winter, she was pretty sure of, but they also had a pre-winter and a pre-summer. She’d come to think of them as ‘wet’ and ‘dry’.
“Yes, I think so,” she said.
“I like the snow,” he said. “We keep the temple clear for as long as we can, and then when it gets so cold and snows so hard that we can’t, we pack it all down and we just keep the stones clear,” he pointed, “where people come to pray. We don’t let the animals in here, in the winter, to keep the snow white.” He paused, a slight smile playing across his lips. “It’s very pretty.”
“Isobel told me I should come now,” Andie said. “I understand why.”
He nodded.
“Your Isobel is an odd woman. How much do you know about her?”
“She came to stay with my family when I was little,” Andie said. “She smiled when I brought her fruit.”
“A smile that is rare enough, for her, here,” Aistin said. “Was she very different, then?”
“I don’t know,” Andie said. “I don’t trust my memories of her. Why, don’t you remember her from then?”
“We only go to her house for high festivals,” Aistin said. “It’s hard to know what a person is like from those.”
“I think I know what Laukas and Elbing are like,” Andie observed. Aistin gave her a soft laugh and nodded.
“Yes, they are what they seem. You’re right. I just don’t trust appearances, I suppose, because I hope I’m not judged by my behavior, there.”
“You’re the high priest,” Andie said. “How can you not like being around people?”
“Who said I didn’t like being around people?” Aistin asked.
“You did. The way you acted all night.”
He put his hands behind his back, clasping one palm around the other wrist, and ducked his head.
“You speak the truth… louder than most.”
“If I’m being rude…” she said, trying to offer an apologetic tone.
“It’s not rude,” he said. “Just unusual. Maybe a … “ strange word “ of you being an outsider.”
“A what?” she asked.
“An outsider.”
“No, a what of being an outsider? She tried to repeat the word and he laughed. He paused for a moment, then held up a hand and left her where she stood for a moment, returning with an ornate headdress worked with amber. He pointed at the light as he turned it slowly.
“The way the light plays on it,” he said. “The features that catch the light.” He said the word. Andie wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but the headdress was beautiful, and she didn’t want to continue the grammar lesson.
“Is it yours?” she asked.
“We wear it for ceremonies,” Aistin said, leaving to put it away again and rejoining her.
“Tell me about those,” Andie said. They began walking again. Aistin clasped his wrist behind his back and nodded a rhythm as he collected his thoughts.
Their funny courtship lasted through the fall and wet season. She came to visit him and they would talk religion and philosophy and politics, or natural science and culture. Some days they just told each other stories. At first, Andie only went to see him once every few weeks, but as the wet season broke down into colder and colder days, she was going nearly every other day. His season at the sanctuary ended, and he met her in town to show her the way to the king’s estates, where he lived when he wasn’t at the sanctuary.
Andie still spent her days riding with Isobel and walking the beaches, hunting amber and other, more personal, treasures. Laukas would find her, occasionally, and convince her to leave Valerie tied with a fishing crew that he trusted, or at a seaside hut where he knew the occupants.
“What would they do with her, if they took her?” he asked. “Elbing would demand she be returned, and she’d show up in your stable the next day.”
“I wouldn’t ask him to do that,” Andie said. Laukas laughed.
“Like you could stop him. My brother is obsessed with justice,” he said. “He says that justice is the foundation of civilization.”
“And what do you think?” Andie asked. The ruddy man tipped his head, a grin spreading across his face as he thought.
“Bread. I think that bread is the foundation of civilization.”
“And Aistin would say that it is belief,” Andie said. “I think you are very well suited for yo
ur roles.”
Laukas laughed. His was a hearty laugh that startled some of the Sambians, but that made Andie think of sitting around the fire at home listening to people tell stories.
“And I think that you were crafted to be Isobel’s adopted daughter, with wits like that.”
She took it as a compliment.
She may not have enjoyed their winters, but the Sambians knew how to dress for cold. Over top of the straight dresses, they wore layers of heavy wool and animal skins. More than once that wet season Andie put a chair in front of her door and stripped naked in front of the fire, craving the feeling of being dry, but out in the cold, the layers of clothing were snug and warm.
And winter was still coming.
They’d gone through an elaborate process to close and seal the windows, and the stacks of firewood inside the castle were enormous. Galinda told her that some days they wouldn’t be able to go out. That the stable boys and the menservants would have to go out with Rafa and dig out the doors, just to let them open. Andie worried about Valerie, but Galinda swore that the barn was often warmer than the house, with all of the animals packed in there. Andie told the mare to stick close to Isobel’s great mare for warmth.
And then, in a night, winter struck.
They’d gotten a few, sluggish snowflakes earlier in the wet season, but Andie woke up one morning to find her room cold, despite a healthy fire. Her skin was cold to the touch, where it had been exposed to the air, and her nose was numb. She had it in mind to make a run for the fire, to go sit next to it, but when she sat up in her bed, the full, frosty force of the air hit her. She dove back under the covers, shivering.
That’s where Galinda found her, later that morning.
“Oh, you big baby,” she said. “It’s first snow. Aistin sent word that he wants you to come to the sanctuary for the first snow ritual.”
“You people go out in this?” Andie asked.
“Where do you think food comes from?” Galinda asked, pulling the sheets away. Andie made a split-second decision between fighting the young woman for them and bolting for the fire, and chose the latter, given that Galinda didn’t appear to be in any danger of losing control of the blankets. Galinda laughed as Andie went hopping across the cold stone floor, then huddled in front of the fire.
“Are you going, or should we send Aistin your regrets?” Galinda asked.
“I’m going,” Andie said. “But I want every fur in the house to wear.”
Galinda shook her head.
“This is just brisk. It gets much colder, yet.”
Andie shivered miserably.
In the end, Galinda managed to get her dressed and Isobel met her at the door.
“You should take Iovanna until you’re sure Valerie has her feet under her,” Isobel said. We didn’t get too much snow, but you don’t know how much she can take.”
Andie looked down at the pile of furs she was wearing.
“I might be able to get up, here, but how in the world am I going to get mounted up from there?”
“I’m sure Aistin will help,” Galinda said, teasing.
“Laukas or Elbing would just throw her up there, but Aistin would hurt himself,” Isobel said. “They have a mounting block with the animals. You should be fine.”
To her surprise, Andie found that Isobel intended to accompany her out to the barn. The woman’s great mare was tacked and waiting for her, and Isobel had the stablemaster give Andie a leg up. Andie was prepared to leave, but Isobel and Galinda held her back, arranging furs and capes.
“There,” Isobel said finally. “That’s as it should be.”
Andie twisted slightly to find Iovanna’s haunches completely covered in furs, and she realized what she must look like. Isobel saw her reach recognition.
“This is one of their high holidays,” the woman said. “There will be many people there who have heard of Aistin’s intents with you. Today you earn them.”
“Isobel…” Andie said. She was pleased at how she looked, like braiding her hair had pleased her all those years ago. Isobel was implying a lot more permanent kind of work, though, to keep up appearances. Isobel flicked her hand down the topmost fur again, then went to stand on a mounting block by the stable entrance and motioned Andie over. Andie nudged the mare into a walk and stopped next to the tall woman. Isobel made a pretense of arranging Andie’s hair, though it would certainly shift during her ride.
“This isn’t about changing you,” Isobel said. “Neither he nor I want you to change. This is about creating an image that people can believe in. Say what you will about his pagan religion, he and I both understand that people find it much easier to believe when they have grand things to look at. Today, you embody a princess for them. Tomorrow you can go back to being whoever you like.”
Andie sat a little taller.
“I can do that.”
Isobel smiled.
“Yes, you can.”
She reached the clearing on the great black steed and waited for one of the sanctuary attendants to come hold the mare’s head before sweeping herself to the ground. She’d thought through the motion most of the way there, knowing how easily she could get herself tangled up in the layers of clothing. Her hands were cold, even in their gloves, and her face stung in the breeze, but Iovanna put off a huge amount of heat that the furs trapped against Andie’s body, and in all she felt adventurous and fancy. Andie patted the mare as the attendant led her away and noticed that the people in the clearing had made a pathway for her. Their soft politeness turned to a quiet deference as she walked along the corridor, her head up. Aistin’s bright, delighted smile set off a surprising flurry of happiness in her chest.
“You came,” he said when he got close enough to have a small, private conversation with her.
“Of course,” she said. He looked at the crowd again, and Andie edged a fraction taller.
“I thought the cold might keep you home,” he said.
“I need to introduce you to Galinda,” she answered. “The girl has no mercy at all.”’
He found her gloved hand under the layers of fur and led her to a spot near the front of the consolidating crowd, before a pair of priests on the sand. Laukas and Elbing joined them after a few minutes, and then the king. After a time, the ceremony started. Here, there were no major surprises. There were chants and songs; they sacrificed a goat. Aistin stood next to her, and the crowd gathered for the ceremony gave the royal contingent an extra measure of space. Andie shifted her shoulder so that the layers of cape fell down her back and her arm touched Aistin’s through a pair of heavy sleeves. Without changing his posture, he slid his arm between the furs and her dress, holding her waist against him. She shivered, not from the cold, and he pulled her tighter. She missed most of the details of the ceremony.
Andie had always had a hardy composition, but the northern winters were foreign enough to beat it. She fell sick ten days after the winter ceremony. This was a vicious illness that left her sweaty and confused much of the time, and in her odd moments of clarity, Galinda often found her sitting on the floor in front of the fire, shivering. Her chest congested with phlegm, and her breaths bubbled. In the mornings, she would wake and roll onto her side and cough the contents of her lungs into a bucket that Galinda left by the bed. More than once, the coughs collapsed her lungs and she would feel a stab of panic over whether she would be able to reopen them on her next breath.
Isobel sat with her for long hours, murmuring quiet stories that Andie’s tangled mind couldn’t track, but the soft flow of words comforted her. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she understood them at all. A couple of times, when she was at her worst, Rafa joined them. She had a single clear image from these times, when the firelight caught Rafa’s hand as his thumb stroked the back of Isobel’s hand. He was humming. It brought her the same quiet it had as a child.
Some time after she fell sick, in between Galinda’s attempts to force her to drink - the water was so cold, it scorched her, but warm water made her t
hrow up - Aistin came. It was the first time he had been at the house since the harvest festival. Laukas had stopped in a few times for a meal and to chat about the weather and the harvest, and Elbing had been twice to update Rafa on raids around the territory, but Aistin had stayed away. Andie gathered that he mistrusted Isobel and her whole-hearted rejection of his religion.
She woke, her body aching everywhere that the sleep had vacated, and found him sitting in a chair next to her bed. In a corner, Isobel was rocking in a rocking chair and doing some kind of handicraft. As Isobel had never particularly enjoyed handicraft, Andie understood, even in her muddled state, that she was being chaperoned.
“I burnt amber for you,” Aistin said.
“Why?” she asked.
“To draw the goddess’ attention, and to help make you well,” he said, standing. He prayed for a moment, then drew a leather bag from inside of his clothing and poured a portion of its contents into his hand. He marked her forehead with it, then blew the rest of it over her. Andie might have heard Isobel snort, but then again it might have just been the fire.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, drawing the bag back closed and putting it in her palm, closing her fingers over it with his hand.
“I don’t know,” she said. The truth was she didn’t understand the question. She was feeling everything, so she was feeling just fine, but what she felt was awful. And she didn’t quite understand why he would ask. Something that had been squashed by the illness, deep in her brain, knew it was a perfectly rational question, but she had lost touch with that piece of her mind unknown days before. Her consciousness was a mire of physical discomfort and confused thoughts, like an animal in thick mud.
“Should have known,” Aistin said. “A girl from a land of perpetual summer would get laid flat by our winters.”
“Summer,” Andie murmured. Her mind drifted, not soundly in sleep, but in confused thoughts and sensation that lost track of the world outside of her body, and when she became aware of Aistin again, he was slumped in his chair, asleep. Late at night, she had rare windows of clear sentience, and she found herself in one of them now. She looked at Isobel.