When I awoke the next morning, the sun had already risen and the village was bustling.
Light shone in through a small square window cut out of one wall, letting in the low chatter of the village and the rhythmic thumps of someone chopping wood. I vaguely recalled the crowing of a rooster earlier and Grenwin getting up; I must have fallen back asleep after. My new friend had left me be and I was deeply grateful for that. A sense of deep comfort lingered as I stretched, sticking my arms out of the furs I'd been ensconced within, enjoying the fading sensations of deep sleep. Part of me felt a little guilty at sleeping in, though its protestations were muffled by the way the rest of me luxuriated in feeling rested. The parka she'd lent me had been a comfortable enough nightdress, though I found I'd kicked my trousers off at some point in the night. I could almost remember feeling a little annoyed at the way they'd been bunching up under my knees and sleepily dealing with the minor irritation.
This was far more comfortable than huddling under a pine-bough shelter. I felt far more rested, ready to take on the new day, whatever it might bring. I made a mental note to ask Grenwin if I could sleep here again tonight. I had the feeling she probably wouldn't mind, but I wanted to make sure she was fine with it.
Ah, consent seemed to be very important to me; vital, even. Another thing I know about myself, then. This morning was already bearing fruit!
Pulling myself free of the bedding, I stood and stretched. I hadn't noticed Grenwin hanging my clothes up over her hearth, nor do I remember her lighting it; the embers among the ashes told me she had, regardless. I felt my parka, finding it reasonably dry, and my trousers and boots were much the same. My belt had been hung nearby, though the contents of my pouches were still sodden. I grimaced, unsure what to do about that. I figured I'd just dump them out in the river; nothing I'd collected was so valuable that it was worth trying to dry out after a night stewing in river water. My sword had been propped up against the wall next to my makeshift bed, the rounded end of the scabbard resting on the bare earth. Everything was present and accounted for.
A surge of gratitude towards Grenwin welled up inside me and my eyes glistened. A tear fell as I was blinking them clear and I wiped it off my cheek, looking at the moisture on my fingertips for a moment. I wasn't sure where that had come from; I must not have been the recipient of much kindness before I'd found myself here. I clung to the warm feeling as I pulled off the loaned parka and folded it as neatly as I could, setting it on the end of Grenwin's cot. I shivered for a moment as cool air brushed over my skin and I hurriedly changed into my mostly dry clothes. I could handle a little dampness if it meant wearing things that fit properly.
Taking the belt up in one hand and my scabbard in the other, I pushed the door open with my feet and made my way outside.
I had to squint against the sunlight as I made my way over to the river. Bright morning light reflected off the snow on the trees and in the clearing around, almost blinding me. Within the village, they'd kept the walkways mostly clear of snow and laid rough-hewn lengths of wood down in the mud to form paths, and I kept my eyes lowered to not be overwhelmed by the glare. Nobody bothered me as I walked up to the water and began emptying my belt pouches. The contents had begun to slime over in the night and I grimaced as I scraped the leather clean with my fingers. I crouched and washed my hands in the water before straightening and tying on the belt, then affixing the scabbard to it. Resting my hand on the pommel, I looked out over the flowing waters of the Antler.
It was a beautiful day. The air was as pure as it had ever been, with traces of woodsmoke and the other scents of the village. Puffy clouds scudded across the sky, itself an inviting deep blue. Tilting my head up, I closed my eyes and took a moment to just feel the warm sun on my skin.
Wonderful.
"Hey, your name's Maia, yea?" A feminine voice asked from behind me.
Turning, I saw the lithe woman whom I'd pulled aside yesterday after leaving Teagj's cabin; she was approaching cautiously, though she had something she wanted to say. She was a little shorter than Ygdis, though that meant she still had a head on me, and her hazel eyes were wide and eager as they met mine. Her hair was dark and curly, and she had it tied back in a loose ponytail that ended just past her shoulders. Like everyone else here, save Symon's black wool and leathers and cloak, she wore furs and hides. She stopped a few paces away, all but bouncing on her toes. I reckoned she was in her mid-twenties, a couple of years younger than Grenwin appeared.
"That's me," I nodded to her, "I'm afraid I don't know your name. Can I help you?"
A fluffy cloud blew in front of the sun, casting a shadow across the village and giving my eyes a moment's respite.
"M'name's Sigrid. I like your wings. Can you take me back to your magic hall? There's food in there, and a whole barrel of salt!" Her words came out in a rush, and she rocked on her heels as she waited for my response.
Blinking as the cloud passed and the sunlight returned, I nodded, "Uh, sure. Come on," I gestured towards the old hall, where I knew the wall was flat enough for the portal to form.
She followed me over, watching eagerly as I tapped the wood and it folded away. Bounding inside the plain chamber, Sigrid moved over to the containers stacked up in the corner. She pulled on a leather strap attached to the barrel's lid and popped it open with a heave.
"Look!" Sigrid said as she stuck her hand inside, pulling out a handful of fine white granules and waving me over.
Approaching, I peered at the powder in her hand, and then the powder in the barrel, and took a pinch from her and sprinkled it onto my tongue. Yep, that was salt.
"That's salt, alright," I said with a nod, grimacing a little at the unexpected strength of the flavor. Looking at the other crates, I pursed my lips. "I have no idea where any of this came from."
Sigrid dumped her handful back into the barrel and fit the lid back onto it, thumping it closed with a fist. She looked at me, asking, "Can we have it?"
I didn't see any problem with handing this stuff over. I realized a good part of that came from a desire to stay with these people; After last night and the easy acceptance they showed me, I found that I didn't want to leave.
"You think it would be alright if I stuck around for a while?" I asked in return.
She grinned at me, clapping me on the shoulder. "'Course it is. The Others would've had us if it weren't for you, and this," she gestured around the mostly empty room. "You might be a bit stranger than most I've met, what with those things on your back, but you seem a good…" Squinting at me, a look of puzzlement came over her face, "Are you a woman, or a girl?"
I considered that, tapping my chin with a finger. Was that a question about my age? How old was I? I think I'd been in university before whatever happened, happened. I figured that meant I was in my early to mid-twenties.
"Woman," I told her after I'd decided.
Sigrid nodded, "You seem a good woman, Maia. I don't think any of us would complain if you stayed with us."
At that, another bundle of warm feelings welled up in me. I'd assumed it'd be okay to stay, but the confirmation was a balm for my fears of rejection. I sniffled and joyful tears blurred my vision, prompting a look of surprise and concern from Sigrid.
"You, ah, did I say something wrong?" She asked, crouching to meet me at my level and studying my face, worry plain in her voice.
I shook my head and smiled at her, "No, no, you said something right. I guess I'm staying, then; you can do whatever you like with all of this." I nodded to the crates.
She smiled back, excitement returning. Glancing behind me, I assumed at something outside, she asked, "Can you leave the door open for us?"
"Sure," I gave her a thumbs up, and she raised an eyebrow at the gesture. A little willpower focused on the portal switched it to remain open indefinitely, and I nodded, "All done, it'll stay open until I close it."
"Thank you!" Sigrid whooped, then rushed outside. I overheard her explaining what I'd brought to the first person she ran into.
Turning to follow the burst of movement, I saw she was speaking to Teagj, who appeared to listen intently before nodding sharply. Sigrid rushed back in, the chief hot on her heels.
"What's all this about?" He asked me, his dark eyes glittering with interest.
I shrugged and gestured at the crates, "I'm not sure, but that stuff is for everyone, whatever it is. The door will stay open if you want to move it somewhere else."
Teagj scratched at his chin, "And you're just giving it to me?"
Did he not hear what I just said?
Sigrid thumped him on the shoulder, "No, Teagj, she said I could do what I wanted with it, and I want it to go to everyone."
"That so?" He regarded her with a calculating expression for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, the salt alone is a boon. It's almost more valuable for trade than it is to use. Thank you much, Maia."
"I'm staying," I blurted out, left hand resting on my sword's hilt, soaking up the steadying warmth radiating from it.
He didn't seem surprised. If anything, I saw the first real humor I'd seen from him creep over his features. He blinked a couple of times, then laughed, a deep booming that echoed in the empty chamber.
"I've no problem with that," Teagj said after he'd recovered, "None at all. Ah, that's right." His thick fingers slipped into one of his belt pouches and he withdrew a flake of glossy black stone. Offering it to me, he sounded proud of himself as he said, "I found this earlier."
Sigrid's eyes went wide and her mouth opened slightly in surprise.
I took the flat bit of rock from him, examining it. It was smooth and roughly triangular, about the size and thickness of a guitar pick. It looked like an arrowhead, the flat sides gleaming in the neutral lighting of the room. I turned it over, startled to see a spray of iridescence across the surface. It was obsidian, I thought, but it wasn't the perfect black I'd expected. I took a few steps closer to the door, completely absorbed by this strange stone, and turned it in the sunlight. Shimmering patterns shone across the surface in shades of red, yellow, green, and blue. The colors danced and flickered across the surface like flames. It was beautiful.
I looked up, finding Teagj and Sigrid standing nearby; the former smirked while the latter was leaning over to get a closer look. I handed it to her and asked Teagj, "What is it?"
"Dragonglass. Have you seen its like before?"
Shaking my head, I shrugged. "I don't think so. I've seen obsidian before, but nothing like that."
Sigrid seemed just as entranced by the stone as I'd been, turning it over in the light.
"It's yours if you want it," Teagj told me, expression turning serious. "I was hoping you might know where to find more."
"Why would I know that?" I blinked at him.
He shrugged at me, "I was hoping, that's all."
Sigrid ran her thumb over the smooth surface, then handed the iridescent obsidian back to me. "Seems strange that such a small thing might be one of the Others' only weaknesses," she murmured, eyeing the arrowhead balanced on my palm.
"Wait," I realized, drawing up a scrap of memory, "I might know the kinds of places we can find obsidian. It's a type of volcanic glass; we just need to find a volcano."
Both of them blinked at me. Teagj asked, "Volcano?"
"Uhm," I blinked back at them, "A mountain that spits fire, I guess? Or, anywhere that molten rock might flow from, I suppose. It's not a guarantee that we'd find obsidian around one, but it's the only kind of place obsidian forms…" Trailing off, I shifted under their gazes.
Sigrid cocked her head at me, "There're stories of places in the Frostfangs where the fires of the earth flow freely."
Teagj glanced at her and nodded, "Aye, I've heard those, too."
Clapping my hands together once, "Then we have some places to check, right?"
"Maia," Sigrid said slowly, "The Frostfangs are a long way from here. Almost as far as the Wall. It'd take moonturns to travel to the foothills and back, and more to search. Those stories are just that, stories. They could be wrong."
Teagj nodded, supporting Sigrid. "It's not an easy journey and those peaks are treacherous. Best we find somewhere else to check."
"Alright, alright," I sighed, lifting the glossy stone into the light. The iridescence was consistent as I turned it back and forth, the surface slipping from black to green to blue to violet, then back again. How peculiar. "I'm not sure what I'll be able to do with this. I'll think of something, I suppose."
"That's all I wanted," Teagj admitted easily. "Sigrid, the salt?"
Sigrid gestured at the barrel among the crates in the corner and strode over, Teagj following. I stayed back, slipping the dragonglass into my pocket and watching them pull up the barrel's lid again.
"Hey," I said loudly, getting their attention, "Who would I talk to if I wanted to know about the world?"
"Symon," They answered in unison. Teagj grumbled it, and Sigrid sang it. I supposed they must have very different opinions of the man.
"Thanks. That stuff is all yours," I told them, leaving the plain room and stepping back into the sunlight.
As I walked through the village, I noticed people I passed would stand up straighter when they saw me. It was peculiar; they didn't act with any real deference, though they seemed to be trying to be respectful, in their own way. Some gave me nods of acknowledgment, others murmured greetings, and still others spared little time with a quick wave of the hand in my general direction. The meaning of that last gesture was lost on me, though it didn't seem to be an insult or disparagement.
I puzzled over that, unsure of what I'd done to earn this kind of treatment. Anyone else with a portal to a possibly magical room would have done the same when faced with the wights, I was sure.
Don't be so self-effacing, part of me whispered in the back of my mind, you did them a good turn. They clearly recognize that; you should too.
Occasionally, I caught whispers of things like "sorceress," "magic," or "witch." I couldn't blame them; what I could do was incredible, though I wasn't convinced it was magical. As far as I was concerned, my lights were just the result of some kind of incredibly advanced technology that I didn't understand nor had the manual for.
For a moment, I imagined myself in the cockpit of an American fighter jet mid-flight; I might have been able to keep it in the air, but doing anything else seemed a recipe for a swift and inevitable crash. These were strange associations my mind was drawing up, and it took a second to parse a deeper meaning: I was scared that there might come a time when I needed to do something more with my lights than merely collecting them, and without the requisite knowledge, something awful would happen to me and everyone around me.
I seemed to be terrified of almost everything, come to think. Was I suffering from an anxiety disorder, or was this a normal response to the situations I'd been finding myself in? Small mercy that I wasn't scared of the people around me; then again, they'd not given me any reason to be afraid of them. If anything, I was afraid for them, but I couldn't figure out for the life of me why.
Wandering up past the central fire, I ignored the few eyes following me. There was a bit of flattened ground in front of the central tree, packed in a crook formed by knee-high roots. It felt like a decent enough spot to sit and think about things for a moment. Settling down on a gnarled root, I picked at the smooth white bark with my fingernails as I delved into myself, searching for something new.
I wished my mind wasn't so murky. I stumbled over a memory of the scent of copper, and pursuing that led me to another recollection.
I saw crimson fluid, blood I thought, flowing through channels carved deep into black stone. It felt cold and greasy under my bare feet and my heels slid easily across the slick surface. Almost as a counterpoint, the fetid air was hot and humid, as though we stood within a great rotting lung, and the scent of copper was growing stronger by the moment. Beside me, a father-shaped shadow watched the blood flow with bright golden eyes and laughed and laughed and laughed.
The channels wound in spirals tangled across the glossy floor of the dimly lit chamber, spinning towards a pool of dark water that lay in the center. A queer cobalt light shone weakly from the depths of the pool, shimmering across angular runes inscribed around the oily stone rim. Blood was flowing from the necks of the headless figures kneeling around the edge of the chamber, shiny red against shiny black, filling the carvings and revealing a winding sigil; as it reached the pool, it began to spill from the channels into the water, vanishing into the black as the glow from within intensified.
Hands strong as iron clamped around my arms. Delicate fingers tipped with red-lacquered nails dug painful furrows into my flesh, the crushing pain sudden and overwhelming. They pushed me forward, towards the pool. I knew with terrible certainty that these hands could tear me apart with hideous ease; instead, they held me just low enough to touch the ground as I was carried over glossy red lines crossing black stone.
I didn't want to go. I tried to struggle anyway, to create some opening to escape, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't find traction on the cold stone, my heels skidding against it as the hands cruelly kept me upright. A warm peal of laughter just behind me joined my father's eager chortling, sharp in my ears and echoing around the chamber. We drew closer to the black pool, closer to the shimmering blue radiance that stung my eyes.
There was something deep below the surface of the water, something that radiated such brightness that my eyes felt aflame when I beheld it. I was pushed in, held under the surface. The water burned, filling my mouth and nose, and I saw the blinding cobalt radiance even through my closed eyelids. I thought I tried to scream, the scalding fluid forcing itself down my throat, filling my lungs and burning me through from the inside out. The cobalt light was blinding, shining through me, shining into me.
Then, there was nothing at all, a terrible void where the memory ended.
Shuddering as I left the memory, I found I was clinging to myself, one hand clutching the warming hilt and the other twining the fur at my shoulder between my fingers. A cool breeze kissed my skin and blew through my hair. My head hung limply, face turned towards the sky. I felt tears rolling down the sides of my face and, for a moment, I feared I might fall apart.
That had felt more real than any of my memories of Earth. I didn't know where it could have taken place, but I thought it was recent, much, much more recent than any of the others. Worse, I'd felt an entirely different person while still being myself at the same time. What did that mean?
I was looking up at red five-point leaves when I opened my eyes again, a mockery of the maple I knew well. They looked like open hands, reaching down from above to me. They were just leaves, though, and I was only imagining anything more.
I wanted, no, needed to know what these memories meant. The more I found, the more I thought them directly related to whatever it was that had happened to me and left me broken in the snow. Related to who I was, or maybe who I had been.
That thought gave me pause. I raised my hands and looked at them, wiggling my fingers. I was broken? The thought felt abnormal, as though it flowed crosswise to the rest of me, yet it rang a chord deep within me. Glancing at the carved face, I blinked at an intense feeling of being watched. Turning my head, I saw a few people sitting by the central fire looking at me; when they saw me see them, they turned away.
Maybe I was broken, then. Did that change anything for me? I was still here, in this little village, sitting on the roots of a tree that more and more did not seem to be a genuine plant, with these lights in my head. Nothing about my circumstances had altered with the revelation, nor did it provide any useful paths forward. I couldn't remember ever being whole, anyway.
If I was broken, maybe I could fix myself.
Accepting it still hurt badly enough to prompt my tears to flow once more. Scrubbing at my eyes, I tried not to sob. It was a close thing, but I managed it. Out in the open like this, after what Grenwin had told me, I felt displaying weakness would only invite trouble. Pulling my shoulders back from my slump and my head up straight, I changed my posture to a confident facade.
Looking around, I sought something beyond my inner turmoil to focus on. After a moment, I noted that there seemed to be too few people for the number of buildings here and many of the structures were in disrepair, good only for the wood I might salvage from them. This must have been a much more populous settlement in the past, I reckoned. The villagers mostly remained within a smaller section that they actively maintained.
Compared to what little I'd seen of Han's Ford, a village of clearly newer construction, this place felt old. I could almost feel the weight of a long history, peering at the disused portions. I thought I saw a flash of auburn hair over there; Grenwin was the only one I'd seen here with hair that shade and I wondered what she was doing over there.
Well, it wasn't any of my business, I decided after a moment. Standing, I gave the drooling face a sidelong glance, feeling strangely wary of it, before shaking my head. I wanted more information; maybe then, I could start putting this puzzle together.
Making my way back down the path toward the fire, I waved to the men and women gathered there before heading on towards Symon's hut.