Idriss Wolfskin followed the glacier waters of that river until he came to a waterfall and the beast had to turn aside. He saw no sign of the creature and smelled no trail; it had vanished, and Idriss wondered if he had imagined it all. Then his ears heard something from atop the falls, and he saw a maiden climbing the ledge, nearly at the top, and her pale golden hair caught the morning's dawn through a gap in the clouds.
Idriss called out to her, "Maiden, have you seen a mighty beast with a single horn upon its brow?"
The Maiden ignored the hunter and kept climbing. Annoyed, Idriss started to climb after her, calling up to her every now and then, but she always ignored him, instead focusing on the next rock ledge, the next handhold, the next toehold. The Maiden crested the falls, and disappeared from Idriss' view, but the hunter was already halfway up, his fingers strong, his doeskin boots sure upon the cliff face. When the hunter conquered the cliff edge he looked for the Maiden and saw her upriver with a knocked arrow in her elm longbow; she shot, and he barely cut the arrow in half with his magical sword. She turned and ran as Idriss chased after until they reached a glade with blue standing stones arrayed in a circle.
"You chase well hunter," called the Maiden with an arrow knocked behind a menhir.
Idriss crouched behind a boulder, his sword and spear in hand. He knew if he threw the spear, he lost his only ranged weapon, and she could loose two shafts by the time he closed the distance with the sword. So long as he stayed behind cover, it was a stalemate.
"Why do you shoot at me? What have I done to wrong you?" Idriss cried out.
The Maiden ignored him and edged around for a better vantage at her target.
Idriss heard something and on instinct he moved sharply to his right, just avoiding an arrow to the side of his head. Sheathing his sword, he picked up a rock and threw it at the Maiden while leaping from cover. By chance he struck the Maiden in the head, causing her to fall.
Idriss came upon his attacker, perplexed, and found her to be of surpassing beauty with locks that reached to her knees. Her clothing was well made, of fine leather and excellent stitching, and her longbow was crafted by a master's hand, inlaid with pearl and white opal. At her belt was an obsidian long dagger, the handle wrapped in rawhide. The arrows in her quiver were carved of poplar, and the arrowheads were lashed obsidian points. Each seemed a work of art to his eye. Idriss wanted her, and so he took her at the riverside, and made of her a wife.
When the woman woke, she wept, for she knew that she was a Maiden no longer.
"Why weep my wife? Am I not handsome to your eye? I am Idriss Wolfskin, and there is no greater hunter among my people. You will never starve as my wife, and our children will be envied by all. Come, we will return to the Mountain of my people."
The woman only wept, unable to stand let alone walk. She held onto her longbow and kept repeating, "What have you done?! What have you done?!"
The sun peered down upon the glade in another gap of clouds, and Idriss was horrified as he saw her change in front of his eyes from his wife to a great beast with the fetlocks of a goat, the body of a horse, and a single pearlescent horn that had once been a longbow. The beast stamped wild eyed, and gored Idriss with that single horn, piercing his breast and staining the river red.
Some time the following spring, a Huntress came to Mynydd Gwyll asking about Idriss Wolfskin's kin, and she left the hunter's cloak and arms swaddling an infant son. None of the Unseen Tribe could find the Huntress again, and the boy grew up knowing only his uncles and aunts. Urian Snowmane became the boy's guardian, and taught the boy woodcraft and the hunt." Mila smiled sadly at the end of her tale, while Bora harrumphed. He had completed his figurine, and a long lean wolf snarled between his hands.
"That is a terrible tale Mama."
Mila nodded. "Yes Daughter, it is, for the depths of a Man's heart is dark and terrible."
~
Snow fell from laden firs, and ice encased beeches bent by the wind. She ran atop it all, her hooves never denting the surface, never sliding for she was the Daughter of Rivers. Her breath steaming, she raced through the forest, the terror of the chase lending speed as the beast plunged through snow bank after snow back, its jaws slavering, its amber eyes glinting in the night.
She laughed at the beast's travails, dancing just out of sight behind a tree, emerging behind another. The beast howled long and low in frustration, charging through the drift with its massive chest armored with thick black and gray fur. Ahead was the structure of trees lashed together, the Fire Binders' domain. As the snow fell, she trotted past the blind eyes of the Watcher, and the beast roared in disappointment for the failed hunt.
~
Myra woke in darkness, her breath frosting the air in the loft. She slid her legs over the edge of her cot, two quilts wrapped around her body, thick sheepskin socks protecting her feet. She still wore her dress and blouse from the night before, mostly because it was the cleanest of her clothes.
Below she heard her father tap his shoes as he stuffed the rags into the gaps in the doorway. Snow fell in clumps to the wooden slat floor in clumps.
"Papa, has it snowed already?"
"Yes Myra, be quiet, I hear Bora snoring away, but better if we not wake him."
Myra was careful in descending from the loft in the darkness as her father tried to coax the hearth's fire from dormancy. It sputtered fitfully.
"We need to fix the chimney Papa, this is only the first night of many."
Jana nodded with a grimace, clothed only in his characteristic tunic, breeches and boots, a sheepskin cloak and hat his only protection from the weather.
"Uncle Bora said you do not feel the cold, is that true?"
Jana glanced at his daughter, his brown eyes like saucers of darkness. "I get cold, just like other Men."
Myra stooped by the hearth next to her father. "Papa, I had a strange dream."
Her father smiled as he added small sticks to the sputtering flame. "Tell me about it."
"I was not myself, but some kind of beast. I ran through the snows and something monstrous chased me."
"Hmm."
"It was not a nightscare, not like before, I remember not really being afraid, but rather, I was playful, as if the beast chasing me could never catch me, because it kept getting stuck in snow drifts and I walked on top of the snow as if it were solid ground."
Jana regarded his daughter fully, a serious look on his face. "Do not tell anyone else about this dream. It is our secret. Do you understand?"
"Yes Papa."
"Now, get another bowl of your mother's stew for me while I try to coax this fire so we do not all transform into realistic ice sculptures."
Myra nodded, perplexed by her father's words.
~
In the morning the chapel bell clanged the first frost, a tradition that even Sister Agnis relented for wisdom as neighbors checked on each other to see if anyone died or were in need.
"All's well!" was heard throughout the village from house to house, and Jana, Mila, Bora, and Myra set to work clearing the stoop and eaves of snow. Their roof was old and in need of repair like the rest of the residence, but neither Jana or Bora ever found the time. At least their woodpile wrapped around the house, an additional bulwark against the wind. Nothing was worse than trying to cut firewood in the cold and dragging it back. Myra remembered last winter grimly, mostly because she was the one pulling the sled with Uncle Bora.
The sudden frost took most of the village by surprise, and Myra found herself accompanying her father to help salvage whatever was left in the hayfields, as much for additional insulation as for their single milk cow in the backyard under the eaves. The sky was dark, the sun only a dim disc barely discernable, but the snows had stopped and only the frigid north wind remained, howling over the mountain's blue peak. Dozens of others from the village plied the hayfield, weary from the cold, stamping their swaddled shoes on the hard ground.
"Papa, two days ago the sun shone, the wildflowers smelled s
o sweet."
Jana smiled at his daughter, his bronze scythe held in a steady hand, oblivious to the cold, his breath frosting the air. "Everything can change with the wind."
END
About the Author
Silas A. DeBoer temporarily resides in the fifth circle of hell (some call it Oklahoma). A native born Nebraskan and life long student of history, philosophy, and legend, Silas makes a life with his wife Carrie and their five cats. Silas and Carrie enjoy role-playing games, video games, and reading for pleasure.
May all our readers recognize the blessings in their life, and do all they can to make this dark world a brighter place.
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