Prevna was granted Sanctuary.
I didn’t encounter her often, given that I was often out training with Rawley or in the huntress area of the main hall. Sometimes though, now that I was able to walk on my own, Grandmother would call me back to her tent to offer blood for a ritual or to check in and I would see her there working on some small task that Grandmother set her to. Not even Sanctuary protected her from the simple fact that no one got to eat for free. And whenever I saw her there was always some small bit of food at hand, whether it was a bowl of pluckings saved from the noon meal or a handful of berries tucked into a pouch. Once or twice I saw her at a distance, swimming in the river despite the cold. From the rumors I heard, she was one of the few outside the water hole tribes who took to the water regularly.
If nothing else, I could appreciate that her arrival took some of the burden of the watching eyes, murmurs, and forced meetings from Fellen and I. As soon as she arrived and Grandmother made the announcement to the tribe, quiet conversations sprung up about the Picker girl, the white-lipped thief, that speculated about her blessing, the trouble she would cause, the unwelcome burden she already was. No one laid a hand on her, of course—they weren’t dumb enough to risk the goddess’s wrath, just like with us—but a new layer of tension buzzed through the valley as everyone waited for her to make the wrong move. Some people wasted time counting their possessions every day after she arrived. She hadn’t seemed dumb or oblivious enough to make such an obvious error, but I also couldn’t eliminate the possibility. I knew firsthand how difficult it was to let go and not use something you spent your whole childhood learning.
Fellen and I weren’t completely forgotten though, however much I wished we were. Some people simply had trouble grasping that the same tribe had children who completed one of the goddess’s trials and were involved with Sanctuary. Granted, we had the probability in numbers over many tribes, but it was interesting watching some people from other tribes start to keep their distance from us just in case the rare occurrences caught the goddess’s eye in a bad way. Rawley’s friends still kept close, but other huntresses stopped coming by for a quick chat or word of advice. That didn’t stop me from hearing the rumors though, and in a way I couldn’t escape from Prevna. Two thirds of the time I overheard a conversation her name or Fellen’s or mine was brought up.
So, I was more than ready to get away on a day when Rawley had left on a solo hunt and Fellen couldn’t get away from her mother. I needed solitude. Time truly to yourself was a rare thing in a tribe, as there was often someone else in view when you did activities outside and the lone huntress’s tents, the only single person tents, were too cramped to do much of anything productive. I craved that time. There was nothing quite as fulfilling as being alone and owing no one else my time or attention. When whatever I chose to do was up to me, and me alone.
I had more freedom than I ever had before in the valley. So I decided to create my own day of peaceful solitude and check out something I had always been curious about when we stayed in Grislander’s Maw: the stunted pine trees on the eastern side of the mountains.
The thought the goddess’s trees didn’t flourish everywhere drew me in a morbid and unsettling way. Of course, I knew that her territory didn’t cover all of the land—her sister had territory too, after all—but for the pine trees to struggle some place so close to home? I wanted to discover the reason for it. Was it really Grislander trying to break free or something more natural? I doubted the goddess’s power really was weak there or that she struggled to maintain control, but there had to be some reason why the trees struggled. I also thought it was my duty as a future whisper woman to know as much about the goddess and her aspects as I could.
Another added bonus was that it was the least populated area of the mountains, so I would be less likely to run into others than if I took a swim in the river or investigated some other spot.
My status as a huntress apprentice on “a training hunt” convinced the cooks to give me two easily portable meals of dried meat and bars made from acorn flour and berries. If I had to I would have leveraged the trial mark but it was unnecessary for such a simple request—a request I would never have been able to make as a healer’s apprentice. Still, from the way they kept glancing at my chin those watching probably thought I had threatened them with the goddess’s wrath if I didn’t get my food.
I took my time hiking to the eastern side of the mountains. Rawley’s lessons about the foolishness of pushing myself to exhaustion just because I could echoing in the back of my mind the whole way. I had to make sure I didn’t strand myself on the top of the mountain. The mere thought of that humiliation was enough to slow my steps. I also took breaks as I went. Resting by flowing water or against a tree and mulling through one train of thought or another was more satisfying than I was initially willing to give it credit for.
I followed the river back toward its sources for the first part of the small journey. For the most part I managed to pass by people before they recognized me and my glare kept those who did from approaching me. In that way, I got to enjoy the sun on my face in silence while watching others go about their daily activities. Men washed clothes, cooking implements, and other tools in the river while others took them to hang in the forest to dry. Some children, close to the twins age or a bit younger, laughed and splashed in and out on a shallow bank while they bathed in the cold water. A few herds of reindeer and elk as well as flocks of sheep drank from the river or ranged close to it as I passed. I saw, further into the valley, where a handful of rider tribes folk, young women and men, mostly, had cleared a wide area of snow and were racing each other across it on their elk. Not far away, an older man was leading another elk by a rope while a young girl balanced on a saddle on its back. She seemed uncertain, but determined. At one point a hopeful camp dog, tall and lanky with a rough mottled black and brown coat, wandered up to me for a treat. I scratched it behind the ears but, when it realized I didn’t have any scraps to give it, I received a look of betrayal and the dog wandered away again to look for better opportunities.
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Once I reached the point where the two rivers merged to form the one I had been following I turned west. Rather than crossing the river, my plan was to go up and around them. The back of the valley was formed by a sheer cliff, good only for birds and daredevils with more reach than I had. So, I had to go west where there was a more gradual incline from the valley into the mountains. I could have traveled through the forested mountain slopes from the beginning, but that would have made for tricker footing and slower traveling speed—and I had wanted to enjoy walking by the water.
I walked around various camps as I went. People busied themselves with repair work, making new tools or supplies, grinding bags of grasses and acorns down into flour, and a few games of chance with dice made from ankle bones. I heard snatches of gossip and advice being called as people went about their work as well as gasps of delight as one woman displayed her new hair comb to a group of friends. I rolled my eyes at that and ignored a brief flash of jealousy. I did, however, spend the next few minutes wondering what my hair would look like if I ever did anything with it other than braiding it into a plait. Rawley’s fancier hairstyles weren’t really an option, given that I knew I would never keep them up. Nor did I want to copy Fellen’s twin braids. I could let it fall loose and only pull the front pieces back, but that wasn’t very practical for windy days.
I shook off my speculation as I reached the tree line and focused on not tripping or losing my footing on the multitude of roots. I saw less people then, which was welcome. My shoulders relaxed and the need to keep tabs on everyone around me faded to the back of my mind. Instead I listened to the chittering of squirrels, the rustle of needles, and enjoyed the sharp, cold air. I ate the midday meal in the crook of a tree rather than sit in the snow. A large gray bird landed in the higher branches as I ate, but I didn’t try to hit it with my sling. The angle was bad and I didn’t feel like lugging it with me all the way to the east side of the mountains and back again if I did strike it well.
An hour or so after I ate I came across one of the Branch clan’s camps. They wove thick mats out of pine needles and strong string which were then tied to thick branches and used as platforms for their tents and gathering spots. Rope ladders, vertical and horizontal, were strung through the trees, connecting them together. From what I understood, they used heated rocks wrapped in cloth to keep from scorching or burning through their platforms while still keeping their tents warm. They also still cooked on slabs of thin rock on the ground to save the tree’s roots from the same fate and to provide a more even surface. A woman was singing and sitting against a tree trunk on platform while another practiced a dance formed more from head and arm movements than footwork.
No doubt they were preparing for the Heartsong celebration in a few weeks, the next big celebration before the Dark Night celebrations. Often there was little time for song and dance, but the goddess had decreed a few days of the year be dedicated to the pursuits as the Beloved took an interest in the activities and once moved the goddess to smile with her song. However, a balance had to be struck as music could more easily turn Her mood foul—it was said that song and dance reminded Her of Her sister. So the people and the Beloved got a few days to indulge and the rest of the time the activities were best pursued as part of more pragmatic tasks, humming while one worked for example, or saved for small amounts of practice.
I reached the crest of the eastern side of the mountains in early afternoon. I stopped and looked down at the scene spread out before me with wide eyes. The pine trees were more stunted, barely half the height of the ones everywhere else on the mountains, thinner, and more spread out. The ground wasn’t a nest of overgrown roots. Instead, it was easy for snow to fall through the branches and I could spot flat stretches where, if I were to push aside the snow, I would probably find dirt or grass. The trees also didn’t make all the way up to where I stood on the top of the mountain. There was a wide open stretch between where I stood—roots and branches woven together at my back—and where a scraggly line of trees grew down the mountainside. They really did look more like spires than broad, growing trees.
No wonder the Spire clan tended to the trees with such focus. The way they looked, I almost wouldn’t be surprised if Grislander broke free from his bonds right there and then. They certainly weren’t the vibrant green, busy trees with prickly needles or the tall, thick trunked trees with soft needles I was used to.
As I watched I caught sight several different people carrying poles over their shoulders with pots tied to each end. From what I could see, they each approached a tree purposefully and set down the pole and pots. Then they seemed to say something before pricking their wrists and letting the blood fall near the tree. After that they dumped water from the pots near the trees’ roots before carrying everything back the way they came.
The one closest to me, an old man, caught sight of me as he turned to leave and instead started to approach me. Irritation at the impending loss of my solitude set my teeth on edge.
He stopped a decent length away, just close enough that we wouldn’t have to shout to hear each other. “Not many wander to this side of the mountains. Do you have business with the Spire Clan?”
I drew in a breath and, rather than dismiss him like I was sorely tempted to do, answered with as much civility as I could muster. I gestured to the trees. “No, just curiosity.”
“Ah.” He glanced back at them. “We don’t get much rain over here. The goddess’s power keeps them alive, and we do what we can to help them grow, but unless the goddess consciously made them sprout again there’s only so much we can do.”
I scowled as he took the mystery and my opportunity to learn the truth for myself from me. When I spoke my voice was biting and hard. “They can’t die?”
He flinched at my tone but answered as placidly as before. “They were born from the goddess herself, I can’t believe they’d die unless She willed it.” He seemed to harden with resolve. “But they still can weaken, so we must do what we can to keep them strong.”
My mouth tasted sour as I glowered down at the trees. The banal explanation, the easy comparison, wasn’t what I was hoping to find when I spent the day hiking over here. I wasn't some tree that barely survived on its own nor did I like the reminder that the goddess could retract Her blessing at any moment, if She wished it--not that She had done so in any myth or legend I knew. Still, the disappointment and unease were unwelcome. I turned on my heel and walked back into the thick forest on the other side without so much as a word of farewell to the old man. For the news he bore he didn’t deserve it.