Kodroth stoked the fire with the tip of his long knife. The cold wind of the mountains sliced through him everywhere the heat did not touch. Owl, his companion, stood perched at a branch of the dying tree, belly full with the entrails of the hunt she had shared with the man earlier.
A long way down the icy cliff, the yellow light of similar fires could be seen at the village of Springbrook. The moon shone like silver over the frozen river on the edge of the land. All was quiet.
— Hate the quiet, Owl. Hate it. I know ’tis our job to look over Springbrook, I know ’tis our responsibility. But it is so damn quiet.
Owl did not answer. She couldn’t, for she’s an owl. But had she the wherewithal to do so, she’d point out that Kodroth should stop whining and look at the path ahead. Someone was coming.
— What do you see, girl? Someone’s coming! At this hour? Wha- they fell!
Concerned, Kodroth grabbed his staff and ran to where the figure had collapsed. The snow showed a growing red-ish dark stain. Rolling over the body, he saw a blonde woman of exotic features — skin white as bones picked clean, tall, thin limbs that would not resist a blizzard, and yellow eyes. She wore fabrics woven with metal and jewels and skins of animals not of those lands. A great ragged cut was the source of the flowing blood. She seemed unconscious at first, but opened her eyes very narrow when held.
— Brynn… have I finally reached you? The night comes, we need to be ready.
With a hoot, Owl said what Kodroth had been thinking: ’tis a dreadful omen, this is. Whatever brought her insides out may still be around. And this talk of night to come…
— Come, Owl! Let’s see if Zakaria can save this girl.
— Nonsense, Glain, she’s not well! Put her on her feet and you might as well kill her!
— We must send the foreigner away, Kodroth. You know the rules. We come to them, they don’t come to us. When the purifying blizzard comes, we shall be the chosen people. We must keep our village se-
— Nonsense, I say! You have been listening to Beltran too much! This girl stays as long as I say, if you want the watchers to remain loyal to your leadership.
The two argued outside the stone cabin where Razeena rested. Unbeknownst to them, the girl listened to their every word. From the comings and goings of the village, she had had a somewhat clear picture of the characters who now held her fate in their hands.
There was Kodroth, a short-tempered brute with the instincts and manners of a dire wolf. He had been spending his days by her bedside since she woke up, but at nights he always left. She had asked him where he went, to which he answered “‘Tis my watch”. In the time they had together so far, a kind of silent bond of trust had been born, and she knew he would defend her best interests, even though she was not sure why.
Glain was the political — and, apparently, religious — leader of this people, always on about keeping their location secret and about some sort of salvation to come. And Zakaria, the old lady who owned the house she was lodged at. She was one Razeena had had more time with, although the woman never said a word. She had a welcoming way, though, with a soft touch and an everlasting smell of roots and spices following her steps.
Other than that, her interactions with the village were limited: her injuries did not allow for more than a few minutes standing up, and it was not yet clear that she was out of danger. All this caused some apprehension on the lady, although she found it difficult to really worry about anything. In fact, she felt separated, distanced from all preoccupations, as if floating across life — maybe because she could not remember a thing from before she woke up at Zakaria’s.
She was desperate at first, but when she realised she had no recollection of whatever it was that she should be desperate about, the feeling faded, leaving behind only a calm emptiness. Only one thing hammered from time to time in her mind incessantly: who in the name of the these damned mountains is Brynn and what the hell is the night that comes?
— It is an omen, Kodroth. A bad omen.
— Dreadful, it is. Dreadful.
The old men and women shook their grey-covered heads and rustled their beards and grasped their own hands together. This council of elders met whenever such signs appeared. A two-headed buffalo is sighted, someone thinks they saw a winged creature shadowing the fields, the sort. A girl almost cut in half talking in ominous terms must have been the closest they have ever gotten to an actual augur.
— Whatever it is, it is not the girl’s fault. Glain would have her expelled from the village. ‘Tis a death sentence! I did not save her life only to give her back to the snow.
— No, no, of course not Kodroth. But you have to understand Glain. His fervor may be exaggerated at times, but remaining hidden has saved Springbrook from many a harm. This is giant land, boy. We hang to this land like clams to the rock, and survive only by keeping our little shell tightly closed.
— Razeena is recovering. It will probably be at least a month before she can hold her weight, let alone face the snow. And she was already leaf-thin when she arrived. She won’t be going nowhere soon. Let me take care of her, discover her truth, discover what is the night that comes.
Hoot! Owl cried and shook her head. She thought all the talk was pointless. She knew what they had to do. There was one in these mountains who would know of such secrets. If they wanted insight on the omen brought about by the stranger, they would have to…
— …seek out Jaran. She is old as rocks and has the sight. She receives men in her Court, from time to time.
— To toy with them and then kill them! She is a giant! How could you send me to her Court?
— She is not a youngling vying for dominance, Kodroth. Jaran sat at the Red Stone when the mothers of our great-grandfathers reached this land in times past. The varou and the other clansmen say she is seen as a goddess among them.
— I couldn’t leave my post. I have to watch the path, keep us hidden.
— You’ve trained the young well. They will hold your watch while you do this task.
— It is not something we should take lightly, Kodroth. Blood-covered snow arriving at our footsteps. A girl attacked by a force unlike any animal that roams the land at this time of year. And this talk she brings. We must see what is to be seen.
“We must see what is to be seen”, repeated the Council in unison. Kodroth knew the decision had been made, and kept his silence.
— You must not reach Jaran’s Court empty-handed, though. That would be folly. Remember, she is a leader, a queen, maybe even a Goddess. There are records of meetings with her in the past in the Ledger. Unfurl it, seek for guidance.
The Ledger was an ancient tapestry where all important facts of the village were recorded through time. It was kept rolled up in the feast hall at the main square. Each Council added more fabric and more stories to it.
Kodroth looked stern while looking at his people’s past. His heart pounded, a feeling of defiance arising from having such knowledge at the tip of his fingers. Springbrook was everything to him. His people, his family, his duty. He would defend them with all might and keep strangers away, always. But now, he had to look back and seek guidance on the world beyond the snowy hills around the village.
He knew there was good reason to keep hidden from the world, although his dealings with outsiders had been few and short. He had heard stories of the giants’ ferocity and warmongering, enlisting men and varou to their aid through promises of glory or violence. He also knew the closest hamlets of humans like him tried to remain equally inconspicuous among the giants’ politics, while the varou were a wildcard as their lupine nature would demand — sometimes placid or contemplative as a crescent moon in cloudy skies, sometimes rowdy and expansive as a full moon.
He did not know, however, that things had not always been thus. Every year the Ledger was recounted to the people of Springbrook, but they rarely went much further than one generation or two. In the past, he now saw, the peoples of these mountainous paths were active in the dealings of giants and varou, and there were even larger consortia of the villages of men and women. They aligned to giant lords and made blood pacts with packs of varou, vied for the power to maintain stability in this harsh place.
Jaran was cited many a time in these farther stories. She was depicted as a fierce warrior in full plate and carrying a long maul that crackled with the sound of thunder. Springbrook seemed to play little role in all this, but for occasional gatherings at her Court among the company of greater vassals.
Something changed at a certain point. The human settlements became less unified, the varou more concerned with their own interests. The giants were divided in two factions, one led by Jaran and another by a former general of hers, Buandu. It is unclear why, as by this time the leaders of Springbrook had already started to adopt a secretive stance, but the emergence of Buandu seemed to have spoiled the delicate balance of the region.
Besides the history lesson, Kodroth also found the answer to a more immediate question: how to ensure reception at Jaran’s Court. It seems the men of Jaran’s Alliance held a symbol of their allegiance, a “rainbow gem”, as it was called. Kodroth had no idea what it was, and knew no one in the village had anything of the sort. However, if there was somewhere to find it, it would be at the old Tomb of Elders, a place where the leaders of these companies of men and women were buried, according to the Ledger.
The location was not far — three or four days on foot in good weather.
