Tension permeated Matus’ room, its toll evident in his young charges’ glassy eyes and grim silence. Kaja and Chessa snuggled together, Mila squeezed in the middle, their tails wrapped around each other in comfort. Jaromil paced, worry creasing his brow, his long, lanky arms crossed on his chest. Feodor sat alone, his gaze downcast.

Someone pulled back the leather flap to the room and Matus instantly rose to his feet to intercept the newcomer. “Any word?” he asked quietly, all too aware of the five pairs of eyes boring into his back.

A deep sadness showed in the messenger’s eyes and Matus knew the answer before the words were spoken. “No sign,” the messenger whispered. “Juri is still scouting the valley, but it doesn’t look good.”

Matus took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said. After the messenger took his leave, Matus turned back to his students.

“They didn’t find him,” Mila stated, her voice cracking.

“No,” Matus replied somberly. “Not yet.”

It had been a couple of weeks since Mila’s father, Jakub, went missing. With the influx of predatory beasts in the region, the fishers had been forced to go further afield—to the branching streams across the valley and even to other mountains—so they could find enough fish to meet the demands of the Skolka. And, in order to cover all the extra ground, they were often making the journey alone rather than in teams. Jakub had been on such a trip during the mid-autumn, eager to catch what he could before the fish settled on the river bottom for the winter and became more difficult to get to. He never returned. He wasn’t the first of the Skolka to go missing since the troubles began, but he was the first this close to Matus and his students.

“Juri is still searching,” Matus said hopefully. Kaja perked at the mention of her father’s name. “They have been friends for countless winters—if anyone can find Jakub, it’s Juri.”

“What if they don’t find him?” Mila pleaded. “What if they can’t find him? I can help, I can—”

“Mila,” Matus said, gently but firmly. He knelt down and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Everyone is doing their very best to find him. Juri is looking as we speak. Jakub wouldn’t want you to risk yourself looking for him. As hard as it is, you must wait. We must wait.”

Mila made no indication that she agreed with, or even processed, what Matus was telling her. Kaja cuddled closer, stroking the side of her grieving friend’s face with a loving, sympathetic hand.

Matus stood and stared out the window, down at the residential huts below. The situation on the mountain was becoming dire, to the point where it might become necessary to abandon the tabor and Skolka afterall. Matus imagined the huts empty and unkempt, misshapen by thaw, their floors littered with detritus. He could almost see the ancient blue walls of the tabor slowly, tragically melting over time, devoid of the iceshapers’ nurturing magic. Generations of zmaj were raised in these halls, in these rooms. Following that tradition, Matus was due to finally take his students on their first pilgrimage to the sacred glacier, Dusanek, next winter—an important rite of passage for any young zmaj. Would they be denied that rite? Were they the last to live here?

Jaromil joined Matus by the window. He had grown so much that Matus no longer had to look down to talk with him eye to eye; yet he was still a child and Matus was responsible for him. All of the children were looking to Matus for strength and guidance, as they had since the time they entered the tabor as younglings.

Only, this time, Matus didn’t have any answers.

*

*

Nights in the Skolka grew long and frigid as the seasons changed, bringing with it a stream of steady snowfall that blanketed the mountain in pure white. Yet what should have been a time of celebration for the villagers was haunted by loss, grief, and uncertainty. Jakub had not been found, despite dedicated searches that lasted weeks, and since his disappearance two others had also gone missing. Stretched far too thin as it was, the Skolka made the painful decision to stop looking—a decision that first outraged, then aggrieved, Mila and her mother.

Kaja and the other children were distraught as well, unable to bring Mila out of the deep depression her father’s absence plunged her into. She became withdrawn, moody, and unusually quiet. The children took Mila to Great Elder Bonifac’s hut, where he would regale them with stories of the outside world, supposedly shared with him by travelers, in an effort to cheer Mila’s heart. He told them about talking beastmen, fiery plains of orange sand, and colorful cities lined with gold. But not even his tales of the vast salt waters at the ends of the world and the giant, wooden vessels people made to cross them could recapture Mila’s interest. Kaja frequently held Mila’s hand, snuggled her cheek, and reminded her that she loved her. But Mila would only smile sadly, her violet eyes hollow and dark, and whisper, “I love you too, Jaja” as if the very act of speaking pained her.

The children still met in their secret cave as often as they could, though some of the magic had been drained from it without Mila’s boisterous enthusiasm and leadership. Chessa tried her best to assume some of that role, coming up with new games and activities they could all do together, but it always felt wrong to look for fun in the shadow of tragedy and distress. Many times, they would merely sit quietly, taking solace in each other’s presence.

It was one such day in early winter that would change the trajectory of Kaja’s life forever.

“I had a dream about him,” Mila said, scratching a stick across the frozen ground of the cave in regular patterns. Her eyes never lifted from her task. “I dreamed that he came home with a rope of mountain trout—the biggest, most colorful fish ever caught, with red and juicy flesh.” Feodor and Jaromil perked at this detail. Kaja was just glad that Mila was talking at all. Mila continued. “He told me that he followed a stream beyond the valley, to a grove with a crystal-clear pond. There were so many fish in the pond that it could feed the Skolka forever and ever. He told me that he’d take me there, and that it would all be okay. . .” Mila’s voice trailed off.

Kaja felt her heart breaking. Searching for something, anything, to say to bring Mila back, she said, “do you think it means something, Mimi?”

Mila lifted her head and Kaja’s spirit lifted with her. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s his way of telling you that he’s okay,” Chessa suggested.

“Oh,” Mila said, sinking her head back down to her knees.

“Or maybe he’s telling you what he found,” Kaja interjected. She was elated when she saw Mila respond to what she was saying again. “The Great Elder says that sometimes dreams can show you things. Maybe there really is a pond of forever fish and your dad is trying to tell you about it.”

Mila’s eyes went wide with hope. It was the first time Kaja saw light on her friend’s face in a very long time. “You really think so?”

Kaja nodded. “We should tell mentelj about it, maybe they can send someone to—”

“No,” Mila said curtly. The sudden shift surprised Kaja and the other children. “They’ve already given up on him, and all the others, even though I begged them not to,” she explained acidly. “They aren’t going to believe anything I have to say.” Feodor and Chessa exchanged nervous glances, but didn’t interrupt. They had a feeling that they knew where this was heading, and it made them very uneasy.

“Okay. . .” Kaja said, not sure what else to do.

“But what if we went to search for it?” Mila posed. She became increasingly animated as the plan came together in her mind. “We can go down to the valley and look for the stream that leads beyond the mountains. Yeah, maybe that’s where Papa went. Maybe that’s where they all are. If we can find them, if we can find the pond, we can save the Skolka. We can move away from the mountain and the beasts, and we’ll all be okay.” The joy Kaja felt at seeing pieces of her old friend back was dampened by the uncertainty growing heavier inside her heart. She just wanted to give Mila some comfort and hope, but it was rapidly spiraling out of their control.

“Mila,” Chessa said softly. “Remember what mentelj said. Your father would not want you to put yourself in danger for him. We should do what Kaja said and tell someone.”

“And why couldn’t we handle it ourselves?” Mila retorted. “I’m better with magic than most of the adults, and Jaro is the best tracker in the tabor. We know how to hunt and fish. And if we’re all together, the beasts won’t dare mess with us.”

Chessa furrowed her brow and hardened her voice. “Mila, we’re still just kids.”

“You’ve seen nearly fifty winters! That’s basically an adult. We’re not going to be ‘kids’ much longer.”

Kaja watched the back-and-forth, feeling more and more guilty and responsible for triggering this whole mess. “I’ll go with you, Mimi,” she finally said timidly.

“Jaja!” Mila brightened. “Are you sure?”

Kaja nodded, her cheeks flushing. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll go.”

“Oh, Jaja, thank you.” Mila nuzzled Kaja’s cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with me.” Kaja blushed harder, knowing the words to be true. Mila had protected her her whole life, ever since the very first day she entered the tabor and Mila defended her from Feodor’s hurtful words. Kaja could always rely on Mila, and she wanted Mila to be able to rely on her too.

“I can go,” Jaromil said. “I don’t want you girls to go alone.”

Seeing his best friend fall in line, Feodor bit his lip. “I guess it would be cool to see a pond of forever fish. . .” he relented.

Then all eyes turned to Chessa. She huffed and pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it,” she said, as if to remind them all where she stood on the issue one final time, “but I’ll go.”

Mila squealed with excitement and, to the others, it really seemed like she might be returning to her normal self. Kaja smiled. If it made Mila happy, if it brought light to Mila’s eyes, then Kaja was ready to do anything—even break the rules.

Even face down the beasts.

*

*

With everyone in agreement, the days following were solely dedicated to planning their journey. What to do in the wilds seemed simple and straightforward, and the paths into the valley were well-known so there was little chance of getting lost. But the main issue the children always came back to was how to get away from the Skolka without anyone noticing and bringing them back. Mila was singularly focused on forming the plan—to the point of obsession—and would spend every waking moment brainstorming and discarding different ideas. Kaja didn’t know how to feel about it. She wished they could talk about other things sometimes, but Mila only ever wanted to talk about the plans.

Soon enough, the details took shape. The children would need to leave during a sufficiently distracting enough time where their absence would not be noted until they were too far away to pursue. So they settled on the idea of leaving the day of the solstice—the most festive time of the year, though somewhat overshadowed this winter due to the neverending troubles the Skolka faced.

So while the adults spent the weeks leading up to the solstice preparing for the celebration, Kaja, Mila, and the other children spent the time on preparations of their own. They stockpiled a small collection of frozen whitefish and rabbit jerky by stealthily pocketing portions of their everyday meals, and worked on weaving pack baskets they could use to store any food they caught in the wilds. Kaja made sure to whittle extra darts for her blowgun, just in case. She had gotten better at channeling her magic, but it was still unpredictable and she didn’t want to risk dragging the rest of the group down with her ineptitude. She was determined to be a useful member of their party.

It was mere days away from the solstice when Kaja received an unusual visitor at the tabor: her father, Juri.

At first, Kaja was worried. Was her mother okay? Did her father bring more terrible news about the state of the village? But her anxieties were soothed by Juri’s gentle smile and affectionate greeting. “Your mother and I would like you to come home for the day,” he explained. “Mentelj already said it was alright.”

Kaja hesitated but ultimately agreed. She hadn’t been to her parent’s home in many months, as she usually only left the tabor to see them on special occasions. Perhaps their visit was related to the solstice? Or, Kaja wondered with dread, did they somehow find out what she and the other children were planning?

“Don’t worry, Kaja,” Juri said on their way home. “It’s good news, you’ll see.”

When they reached the familiar little hut, Juri pulled back the door and ushered Kaja through.

“Hi, mother,” Kaja greeted softly, but her remaining words caught in her throat.

“Kaja, dear,” Sveta said, bracing herself to stand. Her stomach was swollen and cumbersome, but Sveta moved with as much grace as she could muster. She caught her daughter staring and smiled. “This is why we wanted to see you,” she murmured, touching her belly fondly. “You’re going to have a baby sister soon.”

“A. . . a baby. . ?” Kaja’s quiet voice trailed off. Her heart beat faster, the blood rushing in her ears and drowning out her mother’s words.

“She’ll be born in late winter,” Sveta explained tenderly. “Do you want to meet her?” She reached out and took Kaja’s hand in hers, then pressed their hands flush against her skin. Kaja shyly let her fingers relax, and felt her unborn sister shift and turn as if in response to her touch. A wave of love and wonder immediately washed over her. There had been so much evil plaguing the Skolka lately, turning Kaja’s thoughts dark and unpleasant, but this baby, her sister, was like a ray from the cool winter sun.

“What is her name?” Kaja asked.

Sveta clucked her tongue and exchanged a soft glance with Juri. “We were thinking of calling her ‘Ajla’.”

Ajla. Love and light. Kaja thought it suited the baby perfectly.

“As a big sister, you’ll have more responsibilities,” Juri said. “She will look to you for guidance, protection, and love.” Kaja nodded in reverence. She was the youngest of Matus’ students and, while she had always been kind and gentle with the younglings of the tabor, she had never felt the responsibility of being the eldest. Not really. She was beginning to understand why Chessa was the way she was, or how Mila could so fearlessly stand up to others on Kaja’s behalf. Now it was her turn. She had to be all that and more for her little sister.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

That night, Kaja couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, the gentle sound of her classmates’ snoring seeming more like thunderclaps in her ears. She couldn’t stop thinking about her unborn sibling, about what it meant to be a big sister. She thought of Mila and their plan to find the pond of endless fish, and the Skolka’s supposed salvation. Was it a responsible thing to let her friends walk into certain danger just to keep Mila’s hope alive? She could sort of see now why the adults had made the choices they did. They knew that sometimes protecting the people they loved required them to make difficult decisions. Unpopular decisions. Heartbreaking decisions.

Kaja picked at the fraying edge of her blanket, worry and uncertainty pressing her further and further down into the floor as the night went by around her.

*

*

Before Kaja knew it, the day of the solstice had come. The Skolka was buzzing with activity as they prepared to celebrate and honor winter at its peak—on the darkest day of the year. After their lessons, the children met at the cave as they had planned. Between the preparations for the festival and the night of singing and dancing, they hoped that the adults wouldn’t notice their absence until they were far out of reach.

As they took final stock of their supplies, Kaja’s stomach turned. Would mentelj come looking for them? Would her father? What if they were just putting more people in danger? She imagined everyone, desperate for some cheer in such fell times, realizing that yet another tragedy had befallen them. She imagined her little sister growing up alone. Could something like that really be the right thing to do? Lost in her thoughts, Kaja didn’t even realize that Mila had been talking to her.

“Jaja?” Mila’s tone indicated that it was not the first time she had tried getting Kaja’s attention. “What do you think?”

Kaja didn’t know what Mila had been asking her about. As if in a trance, she just blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t think we should go,” she murmured.

The atmosphere in the cave instantly iced over. Mila blinked, like she couldn’t comprehend what Kaja was saying. “I don’t—why would you say that?”

“It’s too dangerous, Mimi,” Kaja said, her resolution growing stronger. This was the right thing to do, she could feel it from the tip of her horns to the fins of her tail. “What if something happens to us?”

Mila made a face. “Nothing’s gonna happen to us. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t know that. I don’t want you to get hurt—I don’t want any of us to get hurt.” Kaja paused, grasping around for some middle ground. “We can still tell mentelj about your dream. They can still look.”

“Maybe we should listen to Kaja,” Chessa added gently. Feodor and Jaromil nodded and agreed. It was clear that they were relieved that Kaja had spoken up. Mila’s expression went dark.

“Please. . .” Kaja said. “We should trust mentelj and the other adults. . .”

“And why should I?” Mila snapped. “They couldn’t find Papa! They didn’t even care! Even when I begged and pleaded—they didn’t care!” Mila’s breathing quickened and Kaja thought that she was about to cry. “If we don’t go, he’ll be gone! Forever. He’ll be gone. . .”

“This is hurting you, Mimi. Please, I’m scared for you. . .”

“What do you know about hurting?” Mila began to angrily shove a few belongings into a pack basket. “Fine, stay here. I’ll go alone if I have to.”

“We don’t want you to go at all,” Jaromil said, placing a hand on Mila’s back. She slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me! I’m going with or without you.” Mila’s eyes were large and puffy now, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll find Papa. I’ll find all of them,” she sobbed between sentences. “I’ll find the pond of forever fish. I’ll save the Skolka. . .” She wiped her nose and sniffled. Then, dropping her basket from limp hands, she fell to her knees and cried.

“Mimi. . .” Kaja whispered, reaching out a comforting hand.

“Don’t call me that, Kaja,” Mila wept, “as if you’re my friend! You’re not scared for me, you’re scared for you!” Kaja felt like a series of knives had been plunged into her chest. She stood, dumbstruck, unable to say or do anything as Mila rushed past her and out of the cave.

“Mila!” Chessa cried, to no avail. “Oh, Kaja,” she said sadly. “She’s just hurting, she didn’t mean it. Deep down, she knows you’re right. I know it.”

Feodor placed a hand on Kaja’s shoulder. “That was brave,” he said.

“I don’t feel brave,” Kaja replied miserably. “Maybe we should just go, like we planned to.”

“No,” Chessa said firmly. “No one is leaving. She just needs some time to cool down. She’ll realize soon that you only want what’s best for her.”

The children sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, fidgeting and searching for something to do.

“We should go back,” Jaromil finally suggested. “Get ready for the solstice. Maybe the midnight dance will cheer Mila up a little.”

“You guys can go,” Kaja said solemnly. “I just want to be alone.”

Chessa, Jaromil, and Feodor exchanged hesitant glances. “If that’s what you want, Kaja,” Chessa said gently. “Come find us tonight.”

“I will.”

Her friends were halfway out the door when Kaja called for them again. “If you see Mimi and she seems okay, can you tell her I want to talk? I want to explain everything to her.”

“Okay, Kaja.” Chessa nodded. “But don’t be upset if she doesn’t want to, though—she won’t stay mad at you forever.” That said, she and the boys vanished beyond the cave’s mouth. Kaja took a deep breath of the frigid, winter air and laid on her back, her arms spread wide.

She didn’t know it yet, but it was the last time Kaja would ever see them.

*

*

Bonifac grabbed his walking stick and shuffled to the door of his hut. The sun was going down early and he thought he should head into the village for the anticipated solstice celebration. He swung the door open, squinting into the distance, his eyes adjusting to the dimming light.

Instantly, he knew that something was wrong.

The mountain was eerily silent—devoid of birdsong or even wind. Clouds gathered on the horizon, swirling ominously around the setting sun. An unnatural shadow crept slowly, insidiously, across the sun’s orange face. An ancient instinct stirred within Bonifac. This was what Dusanek had been speaking of, the reason he had called Bonifac down from above the tree line to this little Skolka.

Bonifac clutched his walking stick with a determined, yet shaky grip. “They’ve found us,” he whispered. “They’ve come.”

*

*

Odar plucked a large, green cone off the pine branch, turning it over in his fingers. It was heavy, laden with the pine nuts he sought. For his son, Jaromil, they were among his favorite snacks. Odar already had a basket of ripe cones, but was harvesting a few more than he usually would so he could share them with the rest of the Skolka at the solstice celebration.

Happy thoughts passed through his mind, memories of celebrations from years past. He recalled images of dancing, remembered sounds of singing and laughter, and always the gentle touch of the breeze through the chilly forests. As he moved from tree to tree, selectively harvesting only a few cones from each, he felt the concern that had plagued him recently begin to melt away. The community was in a difficult, uncertain time, but hopefully it would pass. One day, things would be like his happy memories again, full of song and dance. Jaromil would grow up in peace and contentment just as Odar had.

It was then he noticed that the woods had gone silent. Even at night, there was usually a bird or other creature calling in the trees. Now, only the wind whispered through the pine boughs above his head. His keen eyes peered into the darkness of the forest, his ears strained for any sound.

A snap—a crack of a twig—echoed through the crisp air.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Odar called, turning. He saw nothing.

Suddenly, something slammed into him from behind. He dropped his basket, pine cones scattering across the snow and frozen leaf litter. Strange arms clamped around him, grabbing at his throat. Odar thrashed, kicking at his assailant. He clenched a fist, a long, razor-sharp icicle materializing in his hand, and jabbed it backwards. The magical ice shattered against his attacker’s metal breastplate.

A searing pain tore across Odar’s throat, followed by a hot, wet sensation pouring over his chest and soaking into his hide tunic. His vision swam, he couldn’t breathe. His assaulter let him go and his legs immediately gave way beneath him. Crumpled on the ground, Odar clutched weakly at his throat, his hands coming away coated with blood.

His vision darkened. He could not see his attacker—just a shadowy, blurry shape looming over him. More such shapes emerged from the treeline, from the direction he had heard the stick crack. He had been tricked, duped into turning towards the sound and away from his would-be assailant. The shapes moved quickly, running low through the forest, making less noise than the wind in the trees. Odar realized in horror that they were heading towards the Skolka.

Odar tried to speak, to cry out a warning, but only a choking gurgle came out. His eyes squeezed shut as he clenched his teeth and struggled to breathe. In his last moments, he focused everything he had on just one thought, as if he could deliver this word to his son and the other children by pure will:

Run.

*

*

Kaja was crouched down in the cave, tracing circles in the snow with a stick, when she was hit by a sudden and unexpected wave of debilitating fear. Her heart instantly leapt into her throat as she instinctively dropped everything and alerted her senses. What was happening? She fought between the desire to remain hidden in the cave and the need to find her friends and family. She was still alone—Mila had not come back so they could talk. Very quickly, she made the decision to return to the Skolka.

The moment Kaja crawled out of the cave, she was jolted by another shock of terror. She bent low to the ground, eyes darting around the dark forest in frightened confusion. There was something in the woods—something that radiated a powerful bloodlust. Had one of the fearsome beasts found her? Alone she had no chance of defending herself. She had to get back to the Skolka, and safety, as quickly as possible.

Kaja pushed forward into the darkness, her breath rattling in her throat. She panted as she dodged rocks and brushed aside branches. As she neared the Skolka, a strange acrid odor choked her and burned her nostrils. Kaja had rarely smelled such a scent but she recognized it all the same—

It was the smell of fire.

She skidded to a stop on the outskirts of the Skolka, looking into the sky with horror. A column of black smoke and glowing embers billowed up from the tabor’s canopy, blocking out the stars. The ancient trees of the Skolka were burning.

Kaja couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. Had something gone wrong during the festival? Had errant lightning struck one of the trees? Kaja felt her legs moving beneath her once again, carrying her forward. As she got closer, screams and shouting echoed above the roar of the crackling fire, some in familiar draconic and some in a language that Kaja didn’t understand. Had outsiders come to the Skolka? Her confusion and terror compounded, yet her legs carried her back automatically, desperate for any sliver of familiarity.

She kept running until she was amid the chaos erupting within the village bounds. She couldn’t see anyone through the suffocating fog, only the shadows projected onto the hazy glow of the firesmoke as her people fled and others pursued. The outsiders wielded weapons, the gruesome sounds of blades through flesh and the ragged moans of the dying a terrifying contrast to what should have been a night of song.

“Mentelj!” Kaja called hoarsely. “Mom! Dad!” She trembled, panic overwhelming her. If she could just get back to the tabor, to Matus, to Mila and her other friends—they would know what to do. She would be safe with them. She would—

Kaja’s knees weakened and she stumbled. That was when they struck.

A giant hound of roiling shadows leapt between her and the tabor, staring her down with eyes the same burning red as the embers that danced in the air behind it. It lowered its head and growled. Kaja had never seen an animal like it before. It wasn’t a creature of this world.

The beast charged and Kaja recoiled defensively, too shocked to think clearly. But before it reached her, she at last felt a familiar presence. Bonifac, moving at a speed Kaja would not have expected from a Great Elder, cut the hound off from its attack and struck it with his palm. It yowled and drew back.

“Elder!” Kaja cried, at once relieved to see someone she knew and frightened by the violence of their meeting. But Bonifac wasn’t focused on her. She followed his line of sight to a figure half consumed by smoke. He wore strange, dark clothing and held two swords stained with blood. The eerie metallic mask, devoid of any emotion or embellishment, concealing his face reflected the orange glow of the flickering flames. The stranger spoke a few words in a language Kaja couldn’t understand and Bonifac’s magic surged in response, an icy blizzard swirling around him.

Bonifac looked her in the eye. She would never forget his expression of both agonizing despair and determined ferocity. “Run, Kaja. Dusanek will shelter you.”

“But—”

“Run!” Bonifac pushed her behind him and unleashed a bestial roar at their foe. He crouched on all fours, his tail fins flared threateningly, his yellow-white hair whipping in the torrent of arcane energy. “Leave the Skolka!” Bonifac snarled at the enemy. “Leave or die!” The masked stranger laughed, a horrible rasping sound, as the shadows around him came to life, consuming everything in their path.

At that moment, overwhelmed by the displays of sheer power in front of her, Kaja didn’t think of her friends, or of her parents, or of her unborn sister. The one thought that dominated her mind was the certain death that awaited her on the edge of the masked stranger’s sword.

Mila was right: in the end, Kaja was just scared for herself.

Her head spinning, Kaja rose to her feet as if her body were being puppeteered. Bonifac rushed forward, towards their burning home and the enemies that threatened it, while Kaja spun towards the dark embrace of the forest.

And once she turned away from the Skolka, she never looked back.

*

*

Kaja’s stomach growled as she heard the sickening noises of a young wolf tearing at an elk carcass. She’d eaten nothing but what she could scrounge from the forest floor in the weeks since fleeing the Skolka. She had spent the whole time wandering the mountains and valley in an aimless daze. Sometimes she thought about making the journey to Dusanek, as the Great Elder had advised, but the truth was that she was afraid to. She was afraid to admit that she had been too scared to help anyone and only thought about saving herself.

She was even more afraid of the possibility that no one else would be at Dusanek. That she’d be alone no matter what. If she didn’t know for sure, she could at least pretend they were all out there, somewhere.

The wolf crunched through a protruding rib, the sound of cartilage snapping like beautiful music to Kaja’s ears. Her hunger was so acute it was agonizing, especially now that she was so close to the first satisfying meal she’d seen in so long. It emboldened her, suppressing her fear, as she burst from the cover of the bushes and sprinted across the glade toward the wolf. As she ran, she waved her arms and yelled in what she hoped would be a terrifying sight.

She was glad when the wolf scampered away with its tail tucked between its legs. It vanished into the bushes with a flurry of powdery snow, leaving Kaja alone with her prize. One look, and she could see it hadn’t been worth it. The elk had been there a long time and the few scraps that remained did not look appetizing. She squatted down and fished through the carcass, looking for something, anything, that might quiet the hunger.

She barely had time to search before a half-dozen wolves emerged from the trees. The pack had returned. They were thin and sickly-looking, and some of their fur had started to fall out in patches. The zmaj were not the only victims of the food scarcity in the mountains, and the wolves were desperate enough to fight over the meager scraps left behind.

Kaja quickly grabbed a haunch and yanked, trying to tear away a morsel before she fled. Frozen solid, the limb barely moved. She kicked at the joint, again and again, to no result. The wolves came closer. With an alarmed squeak, she dropped it and ran for her life.

Branches tore at her clothes and face as she dodged through the trees. Her weakened body protested at every step, but she heard the wolves closing in behind her. Why didn’t they go back and just eat the elk? Then, with a chill, she realized: they had found better, fresher prey to pursue.

Her panic rose sharply along with her exhaustion. Tears of fright streaming down her cheeks, she gasped and panted as she fought her way through the forest. Emerging into a clearing bathed in moonlight, her body simply refused to go on any further. The wolves burst through the trees, fanning out to surround their prey. They lunged at her, biting and snapping. Kaja leapt away, kicking ineffectually at their drooling jaws. Her vision swam, she became lightheaded, and the tears blurred her vision.

Then, she felt something surge up within her—an instinct, or a will to survive, or perhaps simply fear and anger. Clenching her jaw, she wheeled on the nearest wolf and screamed “go away!” while lunging toward it with open hands. Ice erupted all around her, swirling spikes of steel-blue frost shooting out of the ground. Snowflakes whirled through the clearing in a shimmering tempest as she gave in to her emotions and will to survive.

The wolves had seen enough and scattered into the forest. Too exhausted to wonder at what had happened, Kaja tried to get away in the opposite direction. She took two steps before collapsing into the snow, trembling, crying, and gasping for air.

She couldn’t say how much time had passed. She couldn’t even be sure if she had stayed awake or had fallen unconscious. All she knew was she was no longer alone—there was something else in the clearing with her, padding its way through the icy shards left from the magical outburst. She tried to open an eye, but couldn’t bear the effort. Then she felt a strange sensation: that of a cool nose and fuzzy lips and hot breath. It was an animal of some kind, smelling her. Perhaps it was one of the beasts, come to eat her. Perhaps her journey had finally come to an end. She found an odd comfort in that and relaxed.

But instead of sharp teeth, she suddenly felt powerful arms encircle her, lifting her up gently. In her state, Kaja couldn’t summon the strength to say anything, much less struggle. The person cradled her gingerly against their chest and Kaja felt herself slowly swaying as she was carried off. Against her will, she fell asleep in the stranger’s arms, the dark and savage world around her giving way to peaceful dreams. She dreamed she was back in the tabor, snuggled up with Mila, Chessa, Jaromil, and Feodor. She could hear Matus’ soft voice telling them a story to lull them to sleep.

And, for the first time in weeks, she felt safe.