Within the Bone

III. An Oracle

This stretch of woods always brought back fond memories, despite the dark and unnatural nature of the foliage. Deadwood was a place very few ventured, the black twisted trees reaching bare, pleading claws up towards the clouded sky. The ground was rocky and uneven. The people of the Red Mountains considered it cursed. Maybe that was why Mara felt so at home. That and the years she had spent learning the wisdom of the woods from Aamu.

The old woman was the finest trapper within the bounds of Sjaligr's domain, one of the only people who had looked at Mara with some measure of approval. It was no charity: Aamu expected the girl to keep up, to help empty and place traps, to carry the dead animals, to split and carry wood, to help fletch arrows and braid bowstrings out of sinew. Aamu had no patience for people who couldn't pull their own weight, which she said often was why she made her home away from the city.

Mara smiled faintly as she passed the standing stones where Aamu first showed her how to make fire with flint and steel. It was exhausting, time consuming, and anything but easy. These days she was an expert and knew to carry char cloth, but at first it had been a good many sparks and no flame.

Why don't you just use magic? I know you can, the girl had asked the first time Aamu had shown her the trick.

Can and should ain't the same, my girl. All power comes at a price. Best not to use it when your head and hands do just as well.

This path took her close to Kalevi's home, but it also took her to Aamu's cairn. Whenever she was in this part of the woods, Mara made certain to stop near it. No one was immortal, not even a woman as cantankerous as Aamu. She had died in the winter, taken in her sleep by a fever. Few mourned her after a life lived separately from Sjaligr and all its people, as she was just the stranger of the woods who brought the finest furs to trade every now and again.

Mara stopped before a pile of stones waist-high, stacked six feet in length and three feet wide. Time's hands softened the edges of the stones and moss grew on most of them. Little, pale blue wildflowers bloomed around the base where the shaking hands of a teenage girl had planted them so Aamu would be surrounded in the beauty of the woods that she had so admired in life.

A large standing stone, about three feet in height, marked the north end of the mound as a headstone, carved with stone-cutter's tools stolen and then returned with no one the wiser. Aamu Frost-Weaver. Gone from us full of wisdom, full of grace. The huntress knelt by the headstone and placed one hand on it, leaning into it. Her forehead touched the cold stone. "I miss you," she said softly. "I'm sorry I haven't been by."

She gave no sign when she heard a twig snap behind her. It was a quiet, barely there sound, but it was enough to tell her that she was not alone. Mara contemplated her options. Her shield and wrapped bow were still across her back, but she could easily draw her sword. The person behind her was approaching slowly, but she heard the shifting in the fallen leaves and the movement of armor.

Mara turned and drew as she stood, facing the stranger with a bare blade. The man was as tall as her father, but much broader in the chest, a bull of a man wielding a spear and shield. Mara almost winced at that sight. His much longer reach would be a problem if this came to blows. He was also better armored, wearing a mail hauberk and a rounded cap helm with a spectacle guard shielding his cheeks and around his eyes. The symbol of Valkaldr was stamped into the metal of his brow.

"I don't want any trouble," Mara said as she shrugged off her satchel slowly. She made no move to unsling her shield, not yet. "We have no quarrel."

"I know blades such as yours. Only Sjaligr has midwinter steel," the man said, his tone hard. "You have come to these woods seeking Kalevi."

"I'm just a hunter," Mara said. "I wander these woods often."