It was true. He wasn’t considered handsome, but it had never really bothered him. “They mind that I’m awkward and shy,” he said. Holla shot him a puzzled look, so he added, “Men are supposed to be strong.”

  That seemed to puzzle her further. “But you are strong.”

  Throwing his hands in the air, Otec gave up trying to explain something that didn’t make sense anyway. “Just stay away from people who hurt you.”

  Holla nodded in agreement. “And if you can’t, then kick them in the shins.” She grinned and let out a wild laugh. “Lok taught me that.”

  Otec tried not to chuckle and ended up snorting instead. His sister laughed harder, obviously pleased with herself. He tugged on one of her braids, glad she could still smile.

  He saw a block of wood and his fingers began to itch, so he snatched it up and sat on the cool grass. His knife peeled back the layers of wood one curl at a time. The uneven block quickly became an amorphous shape. Then the form began to appear, emerging from the wood as if by magic.

  He took a deep breath, hesitant to tell Holla something that would upset her. “Matka wants me to take her into the mountains.”

  Holla frowned and prodded the wandering snails back into alignment. “You just got back.”

  With the smell of the fresh-cut wood strong in his nostrils, Otec used the tip of his knife to form the beaver’s beady eyes, the clawed fingers, the sharp, rodent-like teeth. Steadily, Otec added chips to the delicate whorls piled around him.

  “I’m better in the mountains, Holla. I don’t like it when people look at me. I can’t talk around them.”

  Holla picked up a slender stick and started snapping it into even segments. “You talk to me.”

  He carved while he waited for her to sort out her thoughts. Holla wrapped the broken segments, held together by the bark, around her finger. “You don’t mind when I look at you,” she said.

  Instead of answering, Otec changed the subject. “Maybe Dobber could come over for dinner.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “He smells funny.”

  Chuckling, Otec handed her the finished carving. Her eyes lit up and she carefully tucked the beaver into her pocket. Then she turned away, squinting at the darkening sky. “Oh! Mother says I have to be home before the sun goes down.” Abandoning her snails, Holla ran away without looking back.

  Before dawn the next morning, Otec stepped outside, his breath a cloud in front of him. In the distance, he could see Matka waiting for him at the other side of the village, wearing the winter gear he’d sent to her, and carrying the bedroll on her back. In addition, she had slung a large satchel over one shoulder. He was surprised to also see two swords across her back. Unlike an axe and shield, swords took a great deal of training. Plus they were prohibitively expensive, which meant she probably knew how to use them.

  Otec hurried toward her, only taking a dozen or so steps before the door to the clan house burst open. Holla hurtled out, still wearing only her thin underdress, her long blond hair streaming behind her. “You didn’t say goodbye!” She came to a stop just before him, her face red. Otec held out his arms to her, but she hesitated, obviously hurt that he would leave again so soon.

  “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

  Holla tipped her head to the side. “Sometimes you have to lose a sheep in order to save the herd. That’s what Father always says.” It was a saying the Shyle often used when faced with two impossible choices. She wrinkled her nose. “Does that have something to do with why you’re leaving?”

  Otec nodded. Holla stepped forward, touched her warm hands into his cold cheeks, and looked into his eyes. “You’re scared,” she whispered.

  He tried to laugh it off. “I’ve been in the mountains all my life. They don’t frighten me.”

  She didn’t smile as she stared past him. “Matka is scared too.” He turned to glance at the highwoman, who was watching them from a distance. “She has bad dreams,” Holla added.

  “How do you know?”

  Holla didn’t respond, but her eyes darted up and Otec saw the same strange owl from yesterday. Perched on the barn, it seemed to watch Matka with its eerie yellow eyes.

  Otec let out a long breath. “I’ll look out for Matka, all right?”

  “I know. Clanmen always look after the womenfolk,” Holla said in a deep voice, trying to imitate their father, then laughed at her own joke.

  Otec leaned down and kissed his sister’s forehead, then sent her inside. He crossed the village, heading for Matka without looking at her. She fell in beside him, effortlessly matching his longer strides. He eyed her feet. “Go back to my mother and ask her to get you some warmer boots. Those are too thin.”

  Matka lifted her chin. “These boots are made by some of the finest cobblers in the world. They keep my steps silent, yet I don’t feel the rocks.”

  They’d drawn even with the tangle of tents at the outskirts of the village. Otec stopped. “They’re not warm enough. I’ll wait here.” No need for another teary farewell.

  Muttering under her breath, Matka spun around and headed back. A moment later, Jore slipped into view, the bruise around his eye an ugly purple. Otec tensed, not sure why the highman had waited for him.

  “I’m truly sorry about your sister,” Jore said in a low voice.

  Of all the scenarios Otec could have envisioned, this wasn’t one of them.

  Jore turned and took a step away, but then paused and said over his shoulder, “Remember this moment, clanman.”

  Otec narrowed his gaze. “Why?”

  Jore’s eyes swept across the sleepy village, his expression sad. “Just remember.” Then he slipped out of sight.

  Frowning, Otec pivoted with the intent of going after Jore to ask what he meant, but Matka jogged up behind him and said, “Let’s go.”

  He glanced at the well-used but serviceable boots on her feet. He thought they might be his younger brother’s.

  “Which way?” Matka asked.

  Otec pointed midway up the taller mountain that flanked the pass to the clan lands. They had taken no more than a few steps out of the village when a shadow passed overhead. He glanced up to see the enormous owl fly overhead and quickly move out of sight. Otec shuddered, his skin feeling itchy.

  Otec was keenly aware of Matka walking beside him. The way she moved with purpose. The way her gaze lingered on her surroundings, as if she had to absorb every detail before she could look away. But she didn’t seem aware of him at all, which bothered him. And it bothered him that it bothered him.

  “Just ask,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe she hadn’t been as oblivious as he’d thought. “Ask what?”

  She tipped her head back, staring at the watery blue sky. “What Jore and I were fighting about—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters that he hit you.”

  She let out a long breath. “Why do you care?”

  “Because it’s wrong.” The grass ahead shifted. Relieved to have something to focus on, Otec pulled out his bow and took three arrows in his hand.

  Matka lifted an eyebrow. “There are many, many wrongs in the world, Otec. You can’t right all of them.”

  The rabbit finally hopped out from the grass and looked at them, its nose quivering. Otec drew and released within the same breath, his second arrow ready to fly if the first missed. It didn’t.

  He put away his unused arrows. “But you can try to right the ones directly in front of you.” He trotted to the rabbit, took out his knife, and killed it cleanly, then began dressing it.

  Matka watched, arms folded. “That’s a very simplistic approach.”

  Otec wiped blood from his hands onto the grass and looked up at her. She stared up at the bursts of orange, yellow, and crimson splashed across the mountainside. “Something in particular bothering you?” he asked.

  She turned away. “Doesn’t matter anymore. He promised.”

  Otec raised an eyebrow, then tied the rabbit to the back of his bedroll and they started out again.

  “Did you take my drawing?” Matka asked.

  His ears went red again and he didn’t answer, didn’t tell her that it was in his pocket even now.

  “I went back for it later that night, but it was gone. You were the only one there.”

  “Why would I take your drawing?” he said tightly.

  “So you did take it.” She huffed as if pleased with herself. “Why?”

  It wasn’t so much the drawing as the person who drew it—a woman who realized the world wasn’t a bunch of big shapes, but very fine details stacked upon each other to form a whole. It was the details that mattered, the details that breathed life into art.

  Otec wanted to show her one of his carvings, to get her opinion. But his skills were rudimentary at best. He didn’t have the tools he needed to make something truly remarkable.

  “Very well, clanman. Keep your secrets. But when we return, I’d like it back.”

  “Why? You can always make more.”

  She didn’t answer at first. “That one was special. I wanted something that could make me feel this place after I left. Do you understand?”

  When Otec didn’t answer, she grunted. “No. You wouldn’t.”

  He stiffened, stung by her rebuke. Not wanting to talk anymore, he started climbing the mountain before they even reached the best spot. They were both too out of breath to speak much after that.

  Just before nightfall, Otec found the cave—really more of an indentation a half dozen arm-lengths deep. He’d slept here before, had made the fire ring of stones. “We’ll sleep in the cave.”

  Matka eyed the small space with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll take my chances out in the open.”

  He pulled the bundle of shredded tree bark from his bedroll and fluffed the fibers. Then he struck flint to striker until the welcoming smell of a campfire filled his nostrils. He fed the little flames gently. “I wouldn’t recommend it. There’re bears and wolves in these mountains.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I can handle myself.”

  Otec put a few larger sticks on the fire. “The wolves and bears don’t know that.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  A laugh burst out. “Why? Is it working?” The moment the words left his mouth, horror washed through him. But Matka only chuckled.

  The fire was going pretty well now. Otec set up a spit, and while the rabbit roasted, he divided the bread, cheese, and carrots his sisters had packed for them.

  He glanced over at Matka to see her folding fibrous squares of paper into a shape that resembled a goat, with little triangle folds for the horns. He squinted through the smoke and thought he saw words written in a strange script across the surface.

  Whispering a prayer he couldn’t make out the words to, Matka set the goat on fire, holding it in her hands until the embers nearly touched her fingertips. Then she released it into the fire, closed her eyes, and leaned forward to breathe in the smoke, which suddenly smelled sweet and musky.

  Otec watched her, entranced and a little uneasy. “What was that?”

  She sat back, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. “A prayer of thanks to the Goddess.”

  “Goddess? I thought you highmen followed the Balance, as we do.” To his people, the goddesses and their fairies were merely stories for children.

  “Even the Goddess is subject to the Balance.” When Matka dropped her head, the firelight darkened the hollows of her face, giving her statement an aura of foreboding.

  Otec shivered. “Which goddess—summer or winter?”

  Matka didn’t answer for a moment. “Both.”

  He glanced up at a flurry of wings to find the owl landing in a tree not far from them. Its gaze flew to Matka.

  Her face instantly went blank. After that, Otec gave up trying to get her to talk. They shared a silent meal as the sun went down and the temperature plummeted. They hadn’t gone very far up the mountain yet, but already he could see his breath. It wouldn’t be long before snow fell, trapping the entire village.

  After showing Matka how to lay out the furs, hide side out to keep her warm and dry, Otec curled up and immediately fell asleep.

  He awoke with a start sometime in the night, automatically reaching for his bow. One of the lambs was crying out in fear. Otec was cursing Thistle for not warning him and had come halfway out of his blankets when he realized it wasn’t a lamb. Matka was crying out. He froze, not sure what to do. She was speaking in Svass. He didn’t understand the words, yet he couldn’t miss the pain beneath them.

  Wearing only his wool socks, he crossed the cold ground to kneel next to her. She was tossing and turning, her short hair sticking up at crazy angles. He gently rested his hand on her shoulders and shook her. “Matka, wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open and she threw a punch. Otec managed to turn aside to avoid the worst of it, but he knew he’d wear the mark of it on his cheek. Her eyes cleared and a look of accusation crossed her face. “What are you doing?”

  He rubbed his jaw. She knew how to hit. “You were having a nightmare.”

  Her gaze strayed to the tree where the owl still watched her. Matka immediately looked away, clearly terrified of the creature.

  “This is ridiculous,” Otec muttered. And it could be dealt with easily enough. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed his bow and strung it.

  Matka kicked off her furs and started toward him. “No, don’t!”

  Ignoring her, he nocked an arrow and released. The owl dropped, landing with a solid thud. Its wings beat uselessly against the ground before it grew still.

  Matka swayed on her feet. “You should not have done that.” She turned to look at him, genuine anger in her gaze. “You’ve drawn their attention!”

  Otec tossed his bow down. “Whose attention? It was just an owl.”

  She glanced at the carcass and her eyes seemed to close involuntarily, a look of relief washing over her.

  “You could just say thank you,” Otec growled, then fed some more wood to the fire. His gaze passed over Matka—she was still staring at the carcass, her body tense.

  He sighed. “When we were little, my mother would tell us to say aloud what we wanted to dream about. It worked, some of the time. At least, my nightmares went away.”

  For the first time, Matka seemed to soften a fraction. “Holla said the same thing.” She studied Otec warily. “You’re a lot like her, you know.” Coming from her, it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment.

  He and his sister certainly looked alike, but then all his family had wild blond hair and pale features. “She never stops talking,” he said, shaking his head. “I try my best never to get started.” He picked sticks and pieces of leaves out of his socks.

  Matka studied him. “No, not in that way. Obviously, neither of you have any patience for injustice. But it’s more than that. It’s like you’re . . . innocent. Like the world has never shown you its darkness.”

  He tossed in another log, pretending he didn’t understand. “It’s dark now.”

  “It’s like you think this is what life is. These mountains, this valley, these people. That family loves you and home is a safe place.” Her voice sounded void of any feeling, but Otec knew better.

  “It wasn’t for you?” he asked, unable to imagine anything different.

  Matka sighed, and it was as if her prickly exterior hardened back up. “This place—it is sharp and soft, the kind that takes your breath away and lets you close your eyes without fear. Where I’m from, there is only sharpness, the kind that cuts deep.

  “There are things you don’t know, clanman,” she went on. “And those things could get you killed. I won’t deny I’m glad she is dead, but she will be back. And it will be worse—for both of us.”

  “What does that mean?” Otec glanced at the dead owl again—Matka already believed in fairies, so perhaps she was the superstitious sort.

  “Next time, don’t help me.” Matka rolled over and pulled the furs over her head. She murmured in a language he could not understand, and he imagined she was asking for dreams.

  Otec let Matka sleep in the next morning. He figured she probably hadn’t had much rest the night before—he certainly hadn’t, not after that bit with the owl. Instead, he’d found a block of wood and begun carving.

  As soon as it was light, he’d taken the owl’s carcass and buried it, then set a heavy rock on top of the loose soil. Just in case.

  By the time Matka finally stirred, Otec tucked the half-finished carving out of sight and handed her a breakfast of bread with ham, sheep cheese, and raspberry jam.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and asked brusquely, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Because you need your rest if we’re going to make it to the waterfall today.” Otec set about eating.

  “Where is it?” Fear tinged her voice as she stared at the spot where the owl had died.

  “I buried it.”

  Seeming relieved, Matka started stretching her muscles. Her face was overtaken with endearing little winces as her joints popped and cracked. Wishing he hadn’t noticed, Otec finished eating and began packing up their camp. Matka clumsily tried to roll up her own furs. He knelt next to her and showed her how to disperse the a flint and striker, packets of food, a small axe, extra socks, as well as some personal items so they didn’t create a pocket and slip out later. He tied off the ends so nothing fell out and helped her settle the roll on her shoulders so it wouldn’t pinch or rub her raw. She watched him like he was a strange creature she couldn’t figure out.

  Otec felt her eyes on him as he started up the mountain, noting landmarks as he went. He naturally fell into his rhythm—breathe in, wind blows, breathe out, steps fall. Listen, watch, learn. But he couldn’t forget Matka and her watching eyes.

  They reached the sheer cliff face. “I’ll go first then toss the rope back down to you,” Otec said. “Settle the loop around your chest and tighten it up.”

  Folding her arms, Matka turned toward him. “I insist we go around.”

 

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