The wind's breath cut across her cheeks with ungentle stirring. Barren tree branches and the needles of balding evergreens trembled beneath its howl. The air sharply came up from its path at the start of the forbidden hill, scraping her nose as sandpaper. The world was cold and dormant, but it had not been touched by a single snowflake all the while.
Winter. Winter had delivered its ceaseless aura of latency. The world was mucky grey and bone dry. It put emptiness in desperation in their stomachs, but it put even more in the bellies of their marauders.
"Wake up!" Granna nudged her awake before sunrise. "Your mother is out with the chickens. Go and make sure she doesn't wander off!"
"Just let me sleep," Betony spoke, eyes still closed. The short-tempered grandmother became so frustrated, she pulled the girl from her cocoon and exposed her skin to the chill coming in through the window.
"This is no time to laze. You've slept in longer than both of us already. You're a girl of nineteen summers, and you must pull your weight today. For hope's sake, it's the eve of the Red Moon!"
Her eyelids peeled at the mention. Granna hovered over her bed, a broomstick in one hand, and a candle in the other. Betony rose quickly, knowing that the black sky beyond her window mattered not. If she didn't move, Granna would likely take that broomstick to her back-end.
"All right, all right. I'm moving..." She mumbled groggily, throwing herself over the side of her bed.
Betony laced her boots with haste. They were muddy and mannish, the brown leather well-worn. It was unlike the shoes of other marriage-aged girls in the village, which were thin cotton slippers, embroidered with flowers. More like stockings than shoes, she often mused. Bet they're wishing for these today.
Wood panels cracked beneath her weight as she pushed on the door. As soon as she was on the other side, the frigid air overwhelmed her. The woven material of her dress offered nothing against the cold, rendering her no better than naked against the First Moon's freeze. She ignored the pangs in her stomach, walking across their small tract of land to find warmth in the barn. It was short lived, her mother catching sight of her in the twilight.
"Ony, come and help me board up the chicken coop!" Marma called to her, hammer in-hand.
Betony's lips rolled into a smile at the utterance of her pet-name. When Valara was in her right mind, full names would never do. When the terms of affection disappeared, so did she.
"Of course, Marma."
Notoriously unskilled with a hammer, Valara quickly handed it to her daughter. She held the board against the doorway, grain vibrating against the floor inside with each stroke of the tool. An anxious hen ran out of the coop, scurrying between Betony's legs before they were finished boarding. It pecked at her laces angrily.
"Is that the broody one?" Ony asked, placing the hammer on the ground as she wrangled the chicken. She held the struggling fowl skyward, dawn spreading.
"Afraid so," Marma sighed, glancing at the red crest on her belly and tucking it under her arm. "You know what Granna would want us to do."
"Then do it already! I hate that hen," Granna shouted from the front door, voice hitting their ears with the bitter power of the wind. "And I'm craving chicken tonight!"
"All right, mother!" Marma shouted, hand cupped around her lips. When she was done, she looked to Betony. "You're almost done as it is. Finish up boarding yourself, and I'll go butcher her behind the house."
She nodded cautiously. Marma hated butchering the chickens near the coop. It stressed the other hens, and according to Granna it made the meat taste bad. Lopping off a head in the sight of kin was bad for just about any animal, she figured. At least if they were behind the house, the auras of the others didn't bleed into that of the killed. It had to be done this way, but Betony didn't want Marma to leave her sight.
Not today, and not with the other woman teetering near the surface.
"I'll be fine finishing up myself," she sighed. "Just, don't wander too far."
Marma turned her back, chicken under one arm, and an axe in the other. The sun rose higher now, providing a degree of comfort against the cold. She hammered each nail into the board rhythmically. One, back. Two, back. Three, down and done.
Dry air entered her chest as she bore down on each nail, stinging her lungs like astringent from Granna's medicine cabinet. It burned her throat, but when the last stubborn nail was down, she was intensely satisfied. Though her arms weren't brawny, she could certainly pull her weight around the farm. Many times, Granna would speak of her abilities, eyes flickering and lips curled into a half smile:
"There's a proverb that says every man should sell his cloak to buy the flower we're named for, but I wouldn't sell you in a second. Betony, you're a strong one indeed..."
It wasn't that she was skillful, or burly. The girl simply worked with devotion. They were her mothers, both of them. Marma was her natural one, and Granna was mother to her when Valara wasn't. When Marma was catatonic, Granna took the little girl onto her knee and soothed every nightmare. If she were to count on Valara with her life, Betony knew that she'd only be able to count on living as long as the woman inside didn't decide to wander off. Still, she loved her mother all the same.
Finished with her task, she walked away from the coop and stared at the sky. It was beginning to take on a rich array of colors, from pink to green. The orb still hid behind towering snow caps, illuminating the white with the same wild spectrum. She stared at the mountains longingly, curiosity reawakened.
"You know that those are the edge of the world. There's nothing in them but dragons and imps, and nothing beyond," a familiar voice called from behind. She jumped back, startled.
When she glimpsed his face, her insides boiled. It was Kieran, the village huntsman. He was present under the guise of an inspection, but as always, proceeded to harass her.
"What if they're not?" She challenged. He could only smirk.
"Why so curious to find out? I could show you their desolation myself, but seeing you're just a commoner, that'd never be allowed. Not unless you were...say...my wife."
His onyx eyes and devilish smile might have caused a jealous hypnotism in other village women, but for her they held no power. Kieran knew this well. For some reason, it only hastened the pursuit. She walked a few steps to the left and changed the subject. If she rushed his pay, he'd have no reason to linger.
"Kieran, what do you want this time? Just tell me the price of the protection offering, and I'll pay it, as long as you leave."
"Some meat will do just fine."
Kieran's words were obviously intended to aggravate. There was a chicken on the chopping block, but that was dinner. All of the other hens were avid egg-layers, so killing another would put them at a loss. It would be the waste of a perfectly good animal, and several good nails. Still, she picked up the hammer and began prying the boards away. Keiran stopped her.
"I don't want your birds. I want some real meat. Fresh meat. Venison, cow, or lamb. Take your pick.'
Fresh meat. She fumed as much as she shuddered. Unless he considered the fowl, that was one thing that there wasn't much of this time of year, and there was no way Betony was going to slaughter their only dairy cow. Red meat was difficult to come by in the parishes, mostly because wild game came from the forest. Any and all meat from the outside came from the Hunstmen themselves.
Still, she didn't dare complain. Kieran's methods might have been unsavory, but his family was the only one that could venture outside. Each month, he made his rounds through the village like a dreaded tax collector, demanding payment for his continued protection. The price varied from home-to-home, dependent solely on whim. You never neglected to pay your dues.
"Remember Aga and Leon," he told her, eyes narrowed and lips curled in a smirk. He seemed amused, but Betony wasn't. She shivered at the mention, feeling a cold pierce her shift that was fiercer than any snow blown wind that drifted down from the Forbidden Mountains.
She remembered the look on the little baker boy's face, fear frozen in time, his body bound to a pole in town center as though a witch was being burned. There was no life in him left to take. His body was unmarked, but his parents weren't so lucky. Leon quarreled with the huntsmen before that night, refusing to pay his dues. The next morning, his and Aga's remains were scattered across the parish in pieces. It wasn't the first time their town had seen it happen, nor the last.
She often wondered why some of the victims were unrecognizable, as to be expected in a wolf attack, and others were left dead without a single mark.
"I'll get your meat," she coolly told him, opening the door to their root cellar. She took hold of a gas lamp, shining it on the boxes of pickles and marmalade around the stairs. There were preserves and dried fruit, but nothing fresh that she could see.
"You know I have other houses to tend to this morning, Bett." Kieran shouted almost as soon as she disappeared beneath the ground. "I'd hate to have to come back. I never know how long my rounds are going to take. Sometimes they end just as the Red Moon begins."
Bett. She cringed. That was her grandmother's name, and using it on herself always sounded strange. She adored Granna to bits, but her name was Onny.
"Betony, this is becoming tiresome! Are you going to give me my meat, or should I adjust my prices?"
She was lucky enough to find two pieces of rabbit jerky sitting beside some canned blackberries. They were bound tightly, strung across a piece of jute with some dried plums. She emerged from the cellar, nearly throwing the bundle at him.
"Look at this," Kieran caught the string. Her apparent malice left him unfazed. "It might not be fresh, but I'll take it as is. You've also gifted some dried plums. How thoughtful!"
He grabbed her waist tightly, kissing her on the cheek despite her squirms. She wished he would leave them alone, but sometimes couldn't find her voice. It was perhaps wise not to speak, as death by the jaws of a wolf seemed a worse fate than enduring this serial seducer. Still, she wanted no part of him. He was a man of whom Granna and Marma shared a mutual distrust, tolerating solely for their protection.
"The men in that family have it coming," her grandmother would always say. "And they know it, too. Stay away from them, but if they want something of you, you'd do well to obey. They'll do what they can to ruin you."
Ony wasn't sure what Granna had seen to provoke such words, but she understood the warnings. When she looked at his striking features, her stomach knotted. Though his tawny skin and chiseled frame made for a man fair of face, she could sense the cruelty behind his emerald eyes.
"I've given you the offering," she pulled away, attempting to conceal her discomfort. "I have other things to tend to this morning."
"Betony, lighten up. I won't bite you," he slyly remarked, ensnaring her again. "At least, not such a beautiful, muddy-eyed bride as yourself."
"I gave you the meat, now go!" She told him from behind gritted teeth, nearly growling. Kieran only tightened his grasp, laughing.
"I'm a hunter, and I've caught you! It must have been a mistake, for I don't often catch such pretty damsels. Spare me a moment?"
Kieran was relentless. She struggled to free herself, looking back at the cottage. There were greater things to tend this morning than Kieran's game of seduction. If she gave in a little, perhaps he would leave her alone.
"All right," she sighed, hoping he'd soon be on his way. "What is it that you want to speak about? I'm our captive...so get on with it..."
He released her from his grasp. As if her words had been an invitation, he took her hands and kissed them. He ran his rough finger over her cheeks, holding in his enthusiasm. They were tender, delicate pieces of flesh on the face of a girl who was irresistibly innocent.
"It's been such a long winter," he remarked. "Tonight my family expects an attack that's harsher than usual."
She closed her eyes, a shiver crawling up her spine.
"Then, we'll take additional precautions around the farm -" she began, but Kieran hushed her.
"Do you know how to kill a wolf?" His voice became hypnotic. The green in his eyes lightened to near-yellow. A trick of the rising sun, she was sure. Something about it lulled her into a trance, dulling her senses. Then, she felt a sting. His hand on her skin was colder than the chill of the air; it was the same chill she felt pierce her at the thought of the baker boy.
"No," she told him, quickly pulling her hands away.
"Fire. The only way to truly bring a wolf to his death is to turn him to ash. If one doesn't, there's always the chance that his soul will come back."
Betony squirmed, distressed as an animal in one of his nets. He put his arm back around her waist, squeezing it in a way that was nearly painful. When she struggled again, he released her, frustrated.
"You're twenty years old, Betony! All of the other girls in this village your age have been married for two or three years, at least. You're not unattractive. Why do you continually refuse me?"
"You know good and well why," she shouted in disgust, finding the strength to pull away.
"Oh, it's your family! Always your precious family. On the path to becoming an old maid, instead of enjoying the pleasures of your youth! Why do they consume your life?" Kieran paused for a moment, eyeing her as a predator stalking prey. "The Rim is the poorest, most dangerous place in all of the Six Parishes. If you fancied me, I would take you away from all of this."
"But, would you take them away from it with me?"
Kieran eyed her, taking in deep, passionate breaths. He dissected her from face to bosom, then went lower with his gaze. Ony felt the heat emanating from his skin, and she stepped back. It made her feel vulnerable and naked, wishing that she could run inside and wrap herself in a cape that concealed her from head-to-toe. The huntsman's next words came in a tone that was just as smooth as it was chilling.
"The Red Moon will bring judgement tonight. The Rim isn't a safe place for a vulnerable woman," he spoke to her in a low tone. He moved toward her again, grabbing her hand and putting it on his cheek. "I come to offer you protection. If you stay with me, you will be spared."
"Stay with you?"
"Yes, with me. Tonight."
"With your family? And mine?" Betony asked again, unable to accept what he was asking.
"No..." The Huntsman laughed, wickedness apparent. "Just you. Not just for a night, either. I was thinking that it might be fitting if you took up my bed."
The words left his mouth, a ravenous look in his eyes. Against her better judgement, Ony kicked him in the knee. It did no harm, as the dark-haired huntsman was sturdily built and at least a head taller than she was. She could feel his hunger tearing through her clothes as she backed away.
"How dare you," she exclaimed through gritted teeth. She reached for a wooden board, wielding it in her arms as a sword, spitting at him a way she would later regret. "Every moon, you come asking for my hand, but you'd still have my family starve. Now you ask this of me? You're a cad. I would never marry a man like you, much less take one's bed! Now leave!"
All of her refusals fell on deaf ears, until today. For some reason, this rejection caused something darker to surface from within. She witnessed his stance change into one that was eerie and threatening; transforming for reasons beyond fractured pride. Before he left, he bid her an especially cold admonition:
"Be wary, Betony. The wolves will be especially ravenous tonight."