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The village sang with activity. Aunt Bee led the charge through the busy stalls as I struggled to keep pace. The small woman flitted from cart to stand with purpose and a seemingly inexhaustible amount of energy as the vendors smiled and took her coins. They looked her in the eye, they inquired on her family, and handed over their goods in return. Invariably, those smiles would fade and those eyes would lose focus as their gazes slipped over me. They far preferred to pretend that my aunt shopped alone rather than to acknowledge me at her heels. To see me would mean acknowledging what I was. It would mean acknowledging what she had done: that my mother had betrayed them all.

I pulled my bonnet lower over my face as Aunt Bee repeated the steps to the dance with each vendor on her extensive list and loaded my already groaning basket with more goods. Of course, we weren’t the only ones out and stocking up on supplies today. Every wife, mother, and reluctantly helpful child in the village milled around the stalls and carts. The little ones’ brass bells tinkled as they jogged to keep up with mamas and sisters as they ran their errands. Tension permeated the air along with a crisp Autumn wind that whipped at braids and pulled at hats, bonnets, and skirts. This would be the last market day until next month.

No merchants were willing to travel with the Longest Night looming on the horizon. Not that I blamed them. The broad plains that the merchant roads traversed were flat, treeless expanses that left anyone caught out utterly exposed. On the road, there were no Rowan trees, no iron tipped Wall, no Guardsmen, no Temples to protect them. Ordinarily, the small wards would be enough to deter anything seeking trouble. Iron talismans were worn by adults and brass bells worn by children until their twentieth name day. Salt was carried by all in their pockets and the bottoms of shoes. And, of course,we had  the Witch Marks; angular insignias carved into wooden wagon frames, embossed into leather harnesses, and blessed by Priests. But, on the Longest Night, the creatures that prowled the land in the darkness were at their most powerful. And the small wards were simply not enough. Every sane man, woman, and child would take shelter in the Walled Cities and villages scattered around Aeris, and Heliosol help those who were left out.

As if responding to my dark thoughts, a particularly bitter wind ripped through the crowd and managed to tear my bonnett away. Black strands waved in front of my face as I tried to push my hair back enough to see where the cursed thing had flown off to. I peered up and down the narrow street for the scrap of white material and nearly jumped out of my skin as a small hand took my elbow in an iron grip. Bee appeared by my side as if she had been conjured from the air itself. Frowning, she jerked her head to the left. I followed the gesture and felt my stomach roll inside my abdomen. Leaning against one of the wooden, thatch-roofed houses was a Guardsman. The hood of his red cloak was thrown back to reveal his face, a handsome one that leered at me now and in his hand...my bonnet. The bit of cotton fluttered lamely in his large paw, like a small animal in the claws of a predator. And Weaver was most certainly a predator.

He gave me a hunter’s smile and held the bonnet out toward me. An invitation and a trap. Why should the hunter run down his prey when he could have it come to him? The narrow lane seemed to tighten further and my breath came in quick bursts. Trapped. The word clanged through my brain ringing primitive alarm bells. It rattled my teeth and skittered down my spine. Fear, cold and oily slithered down into my stomach where it settled like a weight.

That smile widened...and I knew. I knew that he knew what he was doing to me, the turmoil that he was causing inside my chest. But more than that, I knew that he was enjoying it.

It was that knowledge that sparked...something. Something hot and angry that flared to life within my breast. It clawed its way up my throat, scorching everything in its path. The fear fed the blaze as it roared higher, filling my mind and the space behind my teeth. It threatened to unmake me and undo all that I had worked for.

My body began to shift forward on its own, but before I could move more than a step, indomitable Aunt Bee materialized beneath his nose. Her gaze was hard, unyielding, and focused on Weaver. His eyes widened in surprise and his weight shifted to his heels. Lesser men would have quailed and averted their eyes at the blatant reproach. Shocked, the flames that had been threatening to consume me turned to ash on my tongue. In a flash, she snatched the offending head cover, tipped her chin in the briefest of nods, and continued on down the lane without breaking her stride, leaving us both blinking stupidly in her wake.

Without looking back, I scurried to catch up, only daring to breathe once she had hooked her arm through mine once more. She pitched her voice low so that the wind would snatch away her words as she said: 

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“Got a mean streak as long as my arm, that one. You can see it in the eyes.”

I nodded dumbly and tried to persuade my leaden fingers to knot the bonnet’s ties beneath my chin. Where had that fire come from? That rage that had almost tipped me over the point of no return. It had disappeared just as quickly as it had come and now my legs felt weak, as if I were recovering from a fever. But today, I would be useful. So, I steeled my spine and continued with my overloaded basket through the wind-whipped market. I tried to forget the Guardsman and the fire altogether.

Soon, as the sun reached its zenith, the great brass bells pealed from the end of the street, calling all but the Guardsmen on the Wall to gather in the temple. Like the turning of the tide, the crowd began to move as one to the open doors of the temple. We filed in and sat, shoulder to shoulder on the rough hewn wooden benches arranged in neat rows. Bells jingled around the necks of children and the few of us too old to be children and too young for our talismans. My own twentieth name day was approaching with the Winter and time was running out for my plans.

A thin young man with pale gold hair stepped up onto the raised dais at the head of the chapel and smiled beatifically at the gathered congregation. His limbs were delicately formed and he arranged himself gracefully at the pulpit, his name clearly suited him. Cleric Hart was the newest addition to our community, a transfer to train under and serve the High Priest. Ultimately, he would replace the aging clergyman upon his death. A bitter feeling writhed in my gut at the thought of the old man’s passing, it tasted sweet but soured on my stomach all the same. Satisfaction. To put a name to the feeling weighed on my stomach even more, but I knew why. And he knew why.

“Brothers and Sisters under the Sun!” Hart began and beamed out at us all.

“Blessed are we this day! Blessed are we to come together under His gaze to see another fruitful year of harvest come to an end. Our Father has nourished our fields with His light and looked upon our labors favorably! And it seems it has not only been food and stock than we have been blessed with, I see no fewer than four new babes this month, all delivered gently in His Sight.”

He waved his hands and each of the new mothers stood, babe in arms, and smiled sheepishly at the crowd. Each of them had the same tired smile and tell-tale purple blooms beneath their eyes that spoke of late night feedings and soothing. But, one girl in particular caught my gaze and stared back with something more. It was a look that I had seen on hunters who had faced great beasts, traveling warriors who had seen comrades cut down, and behind the fatigue and the joy, it lingered on her features too.

The smell of sweat and blood, her cries of fear and heartbreak, all of it washed over me again. Aunt Bee squeezed my hand lightly between our skirts. I shivered. She had been there, as the girl’s family wouldn’t dare ask for me by name. But, they would ask for Bee, and knew that I would come too. The cleric that had come from the temple had already come and gone. He had prayed over the struggling mother for hours, but as the light waned, he had informed the family that it was in the Father’s hands now.

As soon as he had gone, we were fetched into the fading light. We settled into a familiar rhythm, Bee getting water boiling and tearing linens into strips and I assessing the struggling girl, Cat, who had laboured far too long. I put my hands on her abdomen and my heart sank. The child was turned around in the womb, and no amount of pushing would get them out alive. Death was coming for both of them.

Ahead of me, I heard Cleric Hart begin his sermon. His voice rose with passion in his testimony and he poured his soul into his invocation. But my mind is still in that back room. Blood up to my elbows, my pulse pounding in my ears, Cat’s erratic sobbing as I tried to adjust the babe in the birth canal…

Then something shifted, the child’s shoulder, I think. But Cat’s cries rose sharply as the babe made his grand entrance into the world. I won’t forget the way Cat looked at me, that evening or today. I knew what I had to do.

“Brothers and Sisters, remember, the Longest Night approaches. Fall not into the temptations of the Deceiver. Board your homes and resist any calls you may hear in the Darkness. Our courageous Guardsmen will walk the Wall and continue to be our shelter against the Deceiver’s agents, they will also perform door checks on the Night itself. Be sure to have your home secured! Go forth with the Blessings of our Father, Heliosol. May His Light shine upon you!” Hart concluded. 

As one, the crowd stood and formed a line that eddied out of the temple doors. Cat brushed against me with her son in her arms and dropped something heavy into my apron pocket. I didn’t acknowledge the object and she didn’t acknowledge me as we were swept together by the river of our people and out into the sun.

Aunt Bee started for home, pulling me along with her. A flash of dyed red wool fluttered just out of my line of sight. Bee’s shoulders tensed, and I knew that she had seen it too.

“Bee? Can we talk to Uncle Heron tonight? About Tern?,” I asked. She didn’t stop, or pause, or so much look in my direction. But after a moment, she said:

“I think that’s probably best, love.”

I thought my heart might burst for all it had taken flight. No, I would push Weaver, the fire, the Priest, and the merchants from my mind and not spare them another thought. I had bigger plans.