The following is a chapter from the fantasy novel I’ve been off and on writing for a few years now. Not too polished or anything but I’ve been dying to share something.

“A few.”

The man gripped his meat shank with both hands and pulled right from the bone. He wasn’t much for words as he kept on with his mouth still half full between bites.

“Young’ins” He coughed and took a draft from his steaming mug. “Small’ins.”

That seemed to be all he would say on the subject. Consumed by his greedy eating. He gave a long ahhhh after his mug was emptied. His breath fogging around his face.

“Good meat.” He stated with a pause and a look about the room. “Well done eh Eddar?” He smiled proud as the sun to the boy at the end of the table.

A woman came and took the mug, brought it to the broth simmering over the stove coals and filled it.
“Actually it were Ettyl shot the hind doe.” She said, handing the sloshing cup over to him.

He paused, at first surprised, but knodded. He should have known it were wishful thinking. Belching, he returned to his food. The boy at the far end of the table kept his face lowered, darkly now, in his own meal gone cold. The woman sat and held her fingers in her lap staring at the table.
“Maybe come next season you’ll come wit me eh?” The man thrust his picked clean bone at the young man.
Stubble just barely sprouting on his chin the boy froze. Food halfway to his mouth.

“Lest ye keep foolin’ round wit dem Jacko boys, have ye?” The man’s thick eyebrows came together in scrutiny, poking a greasy finger down the table. “No good them.” He barked.

This broke the woman’s revelry of the wood grains in the table. She glanced side eyes at her son. Who then made to stand, knuckles pressed into the table. But just as he did so the cottage door swung open.

A young woman entered bearing a large woven basket. Double amber braids framing a pleasant face, slightly cheek flushed with the full load of berries overflowing the wicker. Her sharp eyes softened seeing her father home. From the doorway sprung a smaller boy, looking boney with his recent growth spurt. Reddish brown hair stuck up at the back in a permanent cow’s lick.

“Da Da!” he cried meeting his father’s embrace as the giant of a man stood laughing.

“Oh Ronnie juss look it ye!” Large hands sized up the boys shoulders.

The basket was thumped onto the table brimming with winter berries. Red and purple with juice oozing out under their own piled weight. The girl looked back to see an even smaller shadow in the door way. A little girl stood nervously shuffling her moccasined feet. Her hair was a dark frizz, much like her mother’s.

The little girl examined their one room cottage. The walls were made of stacked stone up to her head height. A simple square construction, but sturdy and made warm by the large hearth that made up most of the wall opposite the doorway. There were larger homes sure, but this one fit them just fine. She scanned the room of its furs and hanging skins, half finished food preservation projects, clay jars and barrels of salt of pungent vinegars. She even made a good study of the rafters and thickly thatched roof. She tried to look at everything except the large table and the big man standing there.

“Come now Finnie! It’s just yer ol Da.” The man’s red mustache barely let the yellow white of his smiling teeth shine through.

The girl came cautiously in and stood at her older sister’s hem. Maybe she could just avoid this. But now everyone was watching.

“Ettyl showed us a new berry patch.” She said into the skirts. “By triff cliff and” she paused looking up. Alas no. There was no getting around it.
“We saws you comin, yer sails.”

“Ye did did ye?” The man was still beaming and patting his son. But he was careful with his tone. The oldest daughter smirked and spoke.

“Yah Da. She’s been worried about the whalin’ all while you weres away”

The man’s rose colored cheeks paled some and he coughed.

“It be a hard winn’er comin, true, but we got so many as to get by sweetling. It’ll be all right don’t ye worry none.”

The little girl broke from her sister in full charge. Meeting her father at the hip she wailed tiny fists into his gut. Her eyes shut in fury. The man rose in shock and looked down.

“Sos you do kilt some! You kilt some!” She screamed battling the bull of a man. He stood there confounded until the little lady struck something other than meaty thigh below the belt.

“Ohhhh” He grunted folding over her, managing to keep his feet. Seeing she’d struck home she ran out of the still open door. Slamming it behind her.

The boy and the remaining daughter broke into raucous laughter. Even the eldest son was grinning alongside his mother, who tried to hide it. The lot caught their breath at the same time their father did. Pain was replaced with confusion on his face.

“She found out what you do wit the whales you catch and she’s been wimperin’ about all fer near months.” Ettyl said wiping a tear from her eye. “She thought the oil came like milk from goats!”

“I’ll go fetch ‘er.” The older boy said standing from the table and made his way out.

The family inside their cottage cleaned and made ready for bed. And although none of the news shared from father to his brood and brood to him was any much good they were all in better spirits than they had been in some time.

Outside the cottage, the boy tracked down the rocky path. The gravel ground covered over in places with the first layers of many snows to come. Passing by a small garden plot and their braying goat, he dug his toes in with every step. As if by pounding the muddy earth a little and mumbling angrily could make up for not speaking up to his father. Reaching the shoddy store house he pushed open the cracked door. Looking down he saw a cellar that should be brimming, rather than just meagerly stocked. Looking up he saw feet dangling down from the little loft. He soothed himself with a breath. He pulled at one of the legs and called up.
“Come now Fin-Fin. You know we need to kill dem whales for meat n’ bone n’ oil. Its the way of it, like it or no.”
“You don like meat n oil. You like the killin’.” She said kicking at his hand and pulling herself further up.
He looked at her sharply, seeing her curled knees to chest.
“What you meanin’ by that.” The tension returning to his features.

“You won’t to go off witt the Jackos, and that Sharn boy.” She pronounced Sharn with extra disdain. “I ‘eard mama sayin’ so in the village. To go join up witt the raidin party.”

He was too stunned to reply so she took her chance for yelling. She didn’t get to do much yelling. It was always the grown ups turn for yelling it seemed, but in this case she felt she was the grown up. The grown ups were always right, and she was right about this. Wasn’t she?

“That ain’t no par-ty Eddo. That’s killin’ folks!” From over her knees she saw him slack jawed staring at her. Obviously her point hadn’t come across.

“That’s stealin’!”
Still no reaction from her brother.
“An burnin’ roofs and barns!”
Nothing.
“An’ rustlin pigs ‘er cattle!”
She couldn’t believe he could just stand there..
“An an, an takin’ their women for your own!”
She flailed her hands in front of her to show how crazy it was he’d want anything to do with that.

Finally he spoke. But all he said was a dull “what?”.

She didn’t rightly know herself but her guess was as good as his.

“You know! Takin’ em and makin’ em be wife to you. So that they cook you up food and wash up your clothes and” she stumbled on this next part. She had never quite figured out how it was done. Best guess was with warm stones from a fire. “..Warmin’ your bed!”

His placid face confirmed it all. She couldn’t believe it. It was all true. He couldn’t speak in the face of it. She had found out his secret.

But then he just laughed! Slapping his knee and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Fin where did you go an’ hear all this?”

Her face turned bright red, and she tightened back up into a ball. She coughed out that that’s just what she’d heard from men in the village. He did his best to explain that it was just talk, and that his friends weren’t killers or thieves. And in fact, really, they were on the same side. Turns out Eddar didn’t want to have any whales killed either. It was this fact that brought her down from her hidden place in the shed’s rafters and back with him to the house. Though she wondered what their dad would say if he heard Eddar say things outright like this.
They stopped quiet for a bit and held hands watching the goat bleet and settle in under its cover for the night. Some snow must have fallen from the roof onto her brother because Finnie saw his cheeks were wet. The sun was fully set and the chill of a winter night chased them in.

Finnie’s sister, Ettyl, was just finishing with sorting the berries when they came in. The Elder siblings met eyes and exchanged the usual “mom and dad aren’t pleased” conversation with just a look. Eddar shrugged and pat Finnie goodnight, heading for his corner cot. Her father’s belly was steadily rising and falling in the bed next to their mother. Finnie sighed. This meant she wouldn’t be in with her mom in the bed anymore. It barely fit the two adults now that father was back home. She pulled off her coat, kicked off her boots by the door and pulled her little cot and furs to slide out from under her sister’s. It was dusty down there. She frowned looking at it. She was still small, but any bigger and her toes would be over the edge no matter how she bundled up. Let alone not being able to sit completely upright down there anymore. Ettyl was undoing her braids in the little mirror by the cook stove. Her hair falling in flowing curves down to the small of her back. Her sister was sure pretty when she let herself be.

“Tell you what Fin.” She said, observing the sour mood of her little sister’s reflection.

“Big day in the village tomorrow, why don’t you come down wit me? And tonight you can cuddle me up, eh? Just for tonight mind.”

Finnie happily agreed, slamming her cot back and jumping up into Ettyl’s bed.

The next day Finnie awoke sprawled in the furs of her sisters bed. Her sister must have just got up and so she snuggled into the warm depression where she had been laying. There was some bustle about the cottage but the deep snores from her father were excuse enough to stay bundled up. The mornings were growing colder every day. The smell of boiled grains and birch syrup finally roused the late sleepers. Everyone gathered around the table and Ettyl served bowls of the meal topped with the fresh winter berries. Finnie’s serving had an extra splash of the syrup running over top, just as she liked it. The mood of the family was much brighter, and there was a lot to be excited for. With father home from the whaling season, it was a busy few days before the village put on the Johlen time festival. There would be the three fires, and music, and singing, and dancing. Baked treats, and meat, and mead. It was Finnie’s favorite event of year. And now that she were old enough, she’d even be given a dress to wear.

Once breakfast was done, they all dressed and made ready for the day. Now that it was well and truly winter come, Finnie made sure to bring out her favorite cap. Their father, Rottyl, was head man on one of the whaling skiffs. He said he had to head down to the docks and tighten everything up for winter. Their mother, Edda, with Ronnie to help her, were busy with some of the other village women putting together the festival field and decorations. Ettyl and Finnie were to get the last of the shopping done. Supplementing their provisions to hold comfortably until spring. Eddar was supposed to find something worth while doing, but other than feeding the goat and wood chopping, Finnie wasn’t sure what he’d be doing in preparation for the festival. Probably foolin’ with his pals, though he didn’t look to be in the foolin’ mood this morning. Finnie watched him glance about and make to speak then hold himself up with a shake of his head. Father was making a show of ignoring him.

The walk to the village was chilly with a morning breeze whistling through the white topped trees. Finnie griped about not being able to ride in the pull cart. She might be growing but she was sure Ettyl was strong enough to tow her. She’d never met a girl as tough as her sister. She even scared Eddar from time to time. The thought of him hiding up in the store house loft away from Ettyl in a fit made her giggle.

“An’ what’s got you cluckin’ like some chicken?” Ettyl asked, tugging the cart through a drift of snow that blocked the path.
Finnie bit her tongue to hold it in. Her big sister was touchy about not being all that girly. Instead she changed the subject.

“Eddar says he won’t kill whales.”

Her sister grumbled knowingly at that. But Finnie was curious.

“What’s he goin’ to do then. Now he’s older? Well, gittin’ older?”

She kicked at the snow with her boot.

“Don’t know wit that soul Finnie. Hopefully noffin’ stupid.” She spat.
Finnie thought Ettyl knew more than she would say but as they neared the village the path became crowded with other folk coming in. Finnie saw her friend Katter among her clutch of other siblings. Their mother looked much alike a whale. Ettyl waved at some folks here and there and despite the chill all were friendly.

They pulled into town and found it even more busy. The village Farskar was the last bastion of civilization before the wilds. To the north were bigger villages and eventually towns and even cities as the climate warmed. Further south from here there was nothing but wild forest all the way to the ice fields that stretched like scattered plates out into the frozen sea. Not far to the east of the village were the docks out to sailable seas. Where the fisherman and whaling vessels could tack out after their quarry. And to the west, there were good hunting grounds and plenty of forest for logging. As far from everything as it seemed, everything you could need was here. At least that’s what Finnie heard all the grown folks always say.

The village was staged and ready for market. The stalls filled with the years last harvestable goods. Brimmed with pumpkins and tough squash good for storing. Tubers and root vegatables sure to keep all winter. Smoked meat and salt fish were going fast. And the year’s last catch strung up fresh for butchering. There were pelts and furs brought in from the usually secluded trappers. There was lots of talk and news. None good of course, never was. Fears about bad harvests getting worse and worse. Folk worried about the low whale trading this year and the threat of harsh snows. Land disputes and the whispers of another great war looming in the north. Most though, whispered about strangers that had been in town for over a span making a ruckous.

“Fighting men come.” “What business have they this far to the south?” “A band setting off to join up with the Black Moon.” “I heard it were the Skin Sails!” Rumors traded like goods all around.

Finnie saw a plenty of few friendly faces in the village. She waved at the Old Man. That was his name, or at least what everyone called him. He didn’t talk to no one. Just grunted ascent or descent when haggling. Somehow he managed to bring in the biggest haul of muskrat, beaver, and who knows what other creature’s pelts every year. Finnie liked him best, as far as folk who killed things. He was nice and always smiled, and he had given her best fox skin hat she was wearing out this very day. Although she felt bad for the fox, it was a pretty white upon her head and plenty warm. She cuddled the bristling tail against her cheek in appreciation. Old Man whistled happily at her. His one remaining fore-tooth didn’t detract from his rosy cheeks one bit.

Hunters sold bone and horn and antler as well as meat. These were needed for some of the Johlen decor. They’d hang the antlers, strung on posts to rattle in the wind. One of these stands caught Ettyl’s eye. She mired over the fine bone hilt knives for a long while. She was known around the hunters as a good shot with a bow and some of the things the man at this stall said made her sister blush. He held forth a long thin blade, good for skinning, for Ettyl to inspect. Wielding it carefully, she gripped the handle and felt along the sharp edge.
“Fifteen round.” The man said as price.
Ettyl’s bit lip turned pouty. She made to return the piece back into its leather sheath. The man pulled it from her reach.
“For you though, eight.” He said with a sly smirk. “And you’ll come out with my band next season. Use this here knife to skin your first stag, no?”

Ettyl’s eyes lit up. “I can come? Really?” she asked.

“Aye. Iffn your da approve a’course.”

“I’ll ask ‘im!” She paused. “Though, I still can’t hope for the knife.” She placed it on the table and pulled for Finnie to come along. Their purse was tight and the bit of money their father had given them came with strict instruction.

“Wait! Wait. Tell you what lassy. I’ll loan ye the blade for the fifteen, buuut, for each point on your stag I’ll take off a round. How you say?”

Ettyl snatched up the knife and leather sheath quick as that. “You’re on.” She said. “Thanks, Joshal.”

“You owe me!” He called after them.

Finnie saw the grin on his sister’s face and mimicked making sick on the ground. Joshal was a man! Too old! For her sister anyway. He was how many years anyhow? Two dozen abouts. How could her sister bother with boys at all, she wondered.

Making their way along they slowly filled their cart. Mostly food stuffs that wouldn’t go off in their cold cellar. Some spare cheese and a little bit of smoked meat too. They saved the firkin barrel of mead for last, as it weighed the most. The little cart bustled. Finnie decided the times weren’t too bad after all.

It was a little past noon so the sisters stopped for a bit near the festival field for lunch. They munched on bread with nuts and dried fruit baked in. From their bench they watched their brother Ronnie digging out one of the three fire pits. They hadn’t talked much, and Ettyl kept looking over her shoulder like she was waiting to see something. Finnie looked around too and saw the large ox drawn carts being pulled in by the whaling teams. Her father gesturing widely with he foreign traders who’d made their way in from the out of town to haggle for oil and blubber and whatever else they’d be taking north. Finnie put her half finished loaf down and grimaced having seen the bodies of the whales. Her sister wanted to be a hunter and kill pretty deer. And her father killed those pretty fish. Was whales fish? Folk talked about killing eachother too. In far off places and this, worst of all, perked up her brother’s ears. All this killing for what? Couldn’t they just eat bread and be happy with that? She tore into her remaining loaf.

“One more stop, Fin. Got to go ‘n see the witch about our Johlen dresses.”

Finnie paled at this, but followed along with her sister. At the very edge of the village, a stretch beyond the other houses, was the witches hut. She wasn’t really a witch Finnie knew, but that didn’t stop everyone calling her one. The oldest woman in the village by a thousand or more moons, she was mostly blind and almost entirely deaf. But folks revered her as wise and knowing of the old ways. Finnie didn’t like her one bit. Once she made out where you were standing she’d stare long and hard through her glossy eyes and see things about you. Things that weren’t really there, Finnie was sure of it.
As they approached the stone nand thatched hut, they saw the woman sitting in her chair by the door. She was sowing small bones into cloth at a snails pace with her purple and blue fingers. The yellow nails nearly as long as the fingers themselves. The sisters stopped and bowed.

“Good day to you Elder.” Ettyl said, loud for the woman to hear.

The womans gaze lifted. Her triangular jaw jutted forth and nearly met with her long knobbly nose. Back and forth her eyes searched beneath her overgrown brows.

“It’s Ettyl, and young Finnie. Daughters of Rottyl O-nar.” Ettyl said, still bowed waiting to be recognized.

“Ahhhh.” The woman said nodding. She set her stitching to the side. “Johlen come.” She waved the girls closer.

This was Finnie’s first time to grasp hands with the Elder. She was nervous, but excited. It meant she was growing up just like Ettyl. When the girls of the village were of age, ten or eleven moons or so, they would come meet with their village Elder woman and present themselves. Some Elders would ask tricky questions, or have the girls bring an offering of some mystical nature or some such. Then the Elder would select for them a Johlen dress that she had made for them. Usually hand me down garments made of more patchwork than any new thread. Adorned with fur and pelt, or horn and bone, or carved fetish and whatever else of meaning. The cut, cloth, and styling of the dress meant to signify…something. Finnie wasn’t all too sure. She hoped for something pretty. She wasn’t much for caring what witchy meaning the dress held. Maybe something white, to go with her favorite fox hat?
This village’s Elder didn’t make up any sort of womanly trial or demand a tribute, she simply took hold of your hands in hers and squeezed them. She was a foreigner after all. Forever ago she had come from far far away. Somewhere with tall grasses. The years here had proven her worth to the village and everyone treated her no differently than anyone else. It probably added to her mystique really. Everyone spoke about how she could feel your life blood and tell your future with just her touch. Especially since a few years ago she had the widow Yanha wear a gray dress with the fur of a skunk woven around the belly. That winter they found her dead of some sickness after the spring thaw, and everyone whispered about how the body ‘smelt off’. Finnie’s mother scoffed at all of this, and so Finnie did her best to distrust it too. But, there was something to the witches crooked gaze that had always chilled her.
Ettyl stepped up first and put her hands in the Elders craven grip firmly. The women rubbed her gnarly thumbs up and down. Ettyl made no sign of being afraid.
“Proud.” The woman said this as if in disapproval, but she was grinning with her eyes. “Hmmph, but oh, as a wind crooked stump.”
After some more uncomfortable rubbing the woman let go. She stood with Ettyl’s help and made her way into the black abyss that was her hut. Eventually she emerged with a dark green dress, warm looking, with a fur rimmed hood. She sifted over her scattered fetishes and selected a few bone carved pieces. She spent the next hour sizing up Ettyl and sowing the things into the hood. Really it was quick work, given the women’s age. She presented it with a warm expression, but as Ettyl reached for it she pulled it back. Her eyes fixed hard on her sister, and Finnie felt like some kind of warning. She folded it over and shown the largest of the runes and tapped it. “Protection for you child.” She handed the cloth forth. As Ettyl took it she muttered again. “Protection for you.” Inspecting the garment, Ettyl saw that the bones were arranged in the hood so that when worn, would stick up like antlers. She checked the rear and was glad to see there wasn’t a perked up tail or something.
Ettyl blew out coming back to Finnie. “Not a thing to it.” She whispered.

Ettyl pushed Finnie forward. She was about as tall as the hunched lady before her. The Elder held her small hands forth and waited. Finnie gulped but timidly reached out. As they gripped eachother the old woman flinched back like she were bit by something. She stumbled a few steps back and gasped. Finnie thought she was going to fall over, but she caught herself on the chair. Ettyl came forward to help, but she shooed her off. Holding a hand up to ward Ettyl off.
The old woman stood up firm. Like she wasn’t so frail at all. Like one of the standing stones she stared right at Finnie. Through her. Into her. Her eyes were clear, not glossy at all. Finnie felt tears fall from her eyes and she wailed like a toddler lost in the dark looking for her mama. What was wrong? It was like a shadow cast onto the girl. The witches gaze was too much and she turned and ran down the path. She felt like the old woman had struck her and the sting wouldn’t leave. Ettyl called out but Finnie ran with all her might back to the village and behind the houses.

Finnie ran down through the villages’ back allys. She didn’t care where so long as it was away from the main road and far from the stalls and people. She felt like whatever the witch had seen followed like a hawk about to snatch her nape. She wouldn’t wish to be seen by anyone else. She ducked between two buildings and crouched in the dark. For a while she just breathed hard and tried not to cry out.
After who knows how long, she calmed herself. Nothing seemed to lash out at her from above or below. What did an old foreign hag know anyway? She wanted to find her mama. Mother put up with no such nonsense and would wave a finger towards the old woman’s end of town like it didn’t matter at all. Standing up she made her sorrowful way to the ally’s mouth and peeked around. She was at the inn house and could smell mead and sweat and the stench of all the strangers that would come and stay there.
She shied back as tall and tattooed men came tumbling out from the building. These were more than just strangers. From the shadows she watched as the gruff lot made their way towards the street. They wore thick leathers and dark fur. Some with bow shafts and quivers, others with axes at their hip. One even wore a long sword across his back. Finnie stared long at the half helm that was strung from the men’s belt. The nose jeweled with a blood red gem. These were the raidmen she’d heard about. Come looking for fool boy’s and good-for-nothing men to join up with them. She waited for them all to pass before she’d be coming out. Watching them go, she saw a few figures she knew trailing behind them.

“Eddar!” She called. “Eddar!”

She came angrily out. Forgetting the scary men. Little fists curled. Of course he stood there with that Sharn boy. What was he doing with these bad folks?

Eddar’s face drained like the snow covering the roofs all around. He hesitated, looking back at the man with sword and helm. This man just looked lazily over shoulder but kept walking. Eddar came hurriedly down to Finnie. She stood hands on hips waiting for him. Feet square and ready.

“What’re you doin’ here by yourselve.” He chided her looking around.

“What are you doin with them likes!” She retorted.

Just then Ettyl came from behind them and called, burdened by the cart. Eddar looked down at his little sister. He knelt to her.

“Go with Ettyl on home. Tell da and ma I’ll make my way just fine and send my fortune home. I ain’t no whaler, I ain’t no trapper neither. I ain’t nuffin’ round here.” In that moment he looked less like a fool boy and more like, like, like a man Finnie thought.

She was still horrified by his words.

“You’re goin’ off with ‘em ain’t yous? Like mama worried!” The girl’s lip began to waver.

Ettyl was hurrying along calling after Eddar now, leaving the cart behind. He looked up and swallowed hard.

“Just go now and tell em. Tell em good bye.” He pushed his sister back into the arms of Ettyl.

Just like that he turned and jogged after the rest. Looking back only once as Ettyl called.

The next few days were spent with storm clouds over everyone’s heads. Finnie didn’t say a word other than to repeat what her brother had said. Her father raged around the house, often speaking to no one in particular about the fool boy and all his folly.
Every one kept busy with getting ready for the Johlen festival during the days. But the nights were quiet with the cot swinging empty in the corner. They had found out that Eddar wasn’t the only boy to go off. Some of the Jacko boys, but not all of them surprisingly, and Sharn along with a mixed bag of others. The boys who always found trouble and spent too much time playing with stick swords rather than being any use. There was some talk of going out after them, but it was never going to happen.

Three night’s before the Johlen time, there was a knock on the door. One of Ettyl’s freinds had brought Finnie’s dress from the Elder. Finnie held it up in front of her just staring at it. It was horrid. Black and layered like ravens feathers. The thick and itchy wool fit loosely and would drape like a funeral cowl over her. The sleeves were too long and would brush the floor if she didn’t hold her hands out in front of her like the walking dead. It looked like it was grass stained where it seemed the old woman had rubbed every herb she could find in her pantry into the fabric. It had a foul smell to it. The only adornment were rows of thin rib bones sown into the front. Was she really to be a skeleton?

Upon first seeing it, Finnie cried the entire night. She didn’t think she had any more tears left after Eddar’s leaving. But she was inconsolable. Her family in turn tried their best to explain the awful thing away. But their claims that the old bat was going crazy, that the dress could be interpreted a thousand different ways, some even good, and that once cleaned up and sized it could be pretty on her. They said that other dresses would be just as bizarre as hers and she wouldn’t stand out at all. But Finnie saw that when she wasn’t looking they exchanged weird and worried glances.

The next night Finnie was resolved. Just as the cook fire was being stoked high she took her chance to try and burn the awful thing. She cast it into the fire, but it was heavy and made of wool so it didn’t catch before Ettyl pulled it from the flames smoking. Finnie ran from home into the cold night and sat crying again with the donkey until Ronnie came to bring her in.

Ettyl was somewhat superstitious. She thought the Elder had her reasons, and it was tradition to trust in the chosen dress. But their mother had had more than enough. She grabbed the young girl and sat her down and lit their oil lamp. The entire night she spent angrily altering the dress. Cutting it so that it could be properly worn. She tore the bones from the front and stuck them in the back as if wings rather than ribs. She brushed the plant matter free and perfumed it with a bottle their father had bought her years ago. From an exotic tradesmen for a hefty price, when the whaling had been extra good for a season.
By the time the morning sun was peaking in the window cover, Finnie was wearing a seemingly normal black dress. With her white fox cap and her best pale boots, she stepped back to see herself in the little mirror. Twirling to see her wings. There was still a morbid feel to the dress, but she ran and hugged her tired eyed mother.

Then Johlen time come. The night of the winter solstice. This year it coincided with a full moon, a most auspicious sign. But the merriment and feasting would go on just the same. The three fires were lit in the morning and kept raging all night. They would each be extinguished in turn.
The first by thrown hand balls of snow from the kids and young adults of the village. It was good fun, but Finnie excused herself from it this year. Later on the next fire was made to out by casting various plant matter of each families choosing to smother the flames. The smells and smoke were a delight, each family trying to out do the other with their effect. The third left to dwindle on its own. The way the steam and smoke flowed from the dying fires into the air would be watched for signs of health or fortune or whatever else for the children and their families. The last fire was watched and interpreted by the Elder, who would proclaim hopes or fears for the coming winter and year.

The first two fires had gone out without much hiccups. The billows of smoke had been turbulent in the wind. But the Elder woman watched each and only shook her head, not saying one way or another what she had seen in the smoke. The wind had come and gone in fits all evening, rattling the hanging lamps and bones ominously. But mostly everyone took the chance to enjoy the food and drink and company before getting shut in due to the coming snows for a few months. Everyone but Finnie.
She sat watching the final flame’s lights flicker and spurt from afar. She had been doing her best to steer clear of the Elder, in case she disapproved of the change to her dress. Her half eaten roll and berry jam sat untouched now for over an hour.
Katter had been given her first dress this year as well. It was a cute thing of vertical stripes of bluish cloth, adorned with winter blooms at the shoulder. Finnie was more than jealous. People had stared and seemed weary of Finnie in her dark cloth. Black was a bad color, everyone knew.
Ettyl and Joshal had been sitting together often and were now seen dancing on the cleared field floor. Finnie’s father was doing his best to swim in mead, but he made time to swing their giggling mother in a few of the dances as well. Ronnie had been stuffing his face and running around with the other boys. The only person that had seemed happy to see her was Old Man. But he was asleep against a barrel and some of the younger boys were taking turns trying to throw nuts into his gaping mouth. She was just glad it was getting late and the flame was getting low.

Everything was winding down. The music faded out and everyone returned from dancing to the tables to sit and wait for the last fire to go out. The Elder rose from her perch nearby and circled the pit. She would say the final word and dismiss everyone. Well, everyone who wasn’t already too drunk and carried off back to their homes or the inn already. She went round and round the sputtering flame. It would fall and only embers would glow, but then a cool wind would rush through the town and the yellow tongues would again dance. All waited with baited breath for it finish. There was a long stretch free from wind and no one made a sound. A single wisp of smoke trailed upward and the Elder leaned low over the pit to watch. Finnie was just glad it was over soon, and she had manged to avoid the old witch all night. She could go home, and by spring everyone would have forgotten her ugliness. She hoped.
Finnie was twiddling her thumbs next to her brother. Ronnie was finishing off her roll and licking his jam covered fingers. Suddenly a chill, colder than the winter’s harshest night, seemed to roll over the camp. The air stirred and felt wrong. Finnie perked up, sensing something. The Elder was pointing her crooked finger at the line of smoke, tracing it up and up. Straight up she pointed, her finger thrust upward directly up at the full cracked face of the moon against the endless darkness of the sky.
It started with a low groan, then louder and louder. The throaty sound coming unnaturally deep from the old woman poised pointing into the night. The entire village halted to watch. The wind began to swirl and spin and rattle the strung decorations. People all around were beginning to startled at this. Younger children cried out but the awful sound bubbling from the Elder carried ever louder.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh” The witch would gasp deep and start again. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” Her finger and posture writhing like the smoke upward.

The fire roared to life. Rising high and licking hot tongues up at the woman. She was gasping more and more, her other hand clutching at her throat. Her mouth unable to close. Her up turned finger slowly fell as she choked to breath. The smoke clinging to her, around her like her own Johlen dress. Her ghostly hand reached through the raging flames that cast wicked shadows over the villagers fear stricken faces. The finger point straight over the pit, through a gap in the watching crowd and seemed to point right between Finnie’s eyes. The girl was frozen in fright, a spot of pressure pushing against her forehead. For a long moment everyone just stared as the flames began to burn their Elders arm. But just like that the wind had come it suddenly died. The flames died away and not even the coals glowed, and the Elder fell in a heap. Dead. Her last gasp slowly sagging her form on the cold ground by the pit.
The moon’s light seemed to pulse once. And then the sky was filled with falling stars.
People screamed and some went to see about their Elder. Finnie couldn’t move with terror. She didn’t even notice as her family rose and her father threw her over his shoulder. They ran with the rest of crowd to their homes. The doors were barred shut throughout the village that night.

The next morning their father burned the dress. He had to clear fresh snow from the yard to do it. The sky was stormy and the winter winds brought cold and snow. The family tried their best to act normal. Doing their chores about the house and telling stories at supper time. They were careful to keep the fires low and the meals portioned. Rationed in case of a long thaw. All knew it was going to be a hard winter. No one spoke of what had happened. And none of the neighbors had stopped by. Only Ettyl acknowledge the Johlen night. But she did so only in strange glances at her little sister. She had not let her cuddle up in her bed. Though, Finnie was thankful her little cot which fit underneath her sister’s bed. It kept her warm from heat radiating across from the hearth and from Ettyl’s body heat above. Finnie felt safe from the world down there, and spent a lot of her time there in the coming days and nights.

She tried not to be too scared, but Finnie knew something bad had happened. Somehow it had to do with her. She didn’t want to share these feelings with anyone. The only people that she would have talked with was Ettyl, but she was behaving weirdly now. Or Eddar, who was gone. She felt truly alone.
At night she had trouble sleeping. She thought she could hear things rustling outside. Beyond the winds and blowing trees. Something scratching at the door or windows. But she had not told anyone, and decided it was her own fear in her mind causing it. When she slept, she had strange dreams. Dreams she couldn’t remember other than that she was so glad to have awoken.

A week after the solstice, after things had seemingly settled, the goat went missing. Ronnie had bundled up to go out to feed it and check on its sheltering when he found the gate open. He avoiding the wrath of his father by only showing where the lock had been broken open. This put upset their father, but he tried not to show it. He explained that it must have gotten fed up with their lousy grain and kicked the gate open itself. His laughs weren’t very convincing. He would stay up later at night, peering our through their little window. Watching.

But this didn’t last too long. A few nights later, with the snow piling up as tall as Ronnie outside, everyone had been heading to bed much earlier. Finnie even started to sleep better, and everyone seemed to be in better moods. Better might not have been the correct word, they just seemed more placid. Ready to settle in. They tried to play their usual games but no one seemed their competitive selves. Finnie won their game of thrown stones, and Ettyl didn’t even make one word about her cheating or the others in the family teaming up to keep her from winning. They just finished the game and started up another round. It was all very out of sorts.

One night Finnie awoke from one of those dreams. She thought she could see ice, and hear water. She saw something sticking up out of the sea. But it all faded quickly. She rolled to face the hearth to go back to sleep when she froze.

Two thin black sticks were before her. Her eyes opened as wide in the dark as she could make them and she held her breath. These were not the legs of a chair or stool. They were like skinny legs with strange three pronged toes for feet at the bottom. Like a birds claws, but with no feathers. As the hearth embers flickered, the light made the legs shimmer as if a thin layer of oil coated them. Her heart was like the Johlen drums in her chest but she dared not move. She thought she could hear whispering. She shut her eyes and prayed to the many pieces of the moon that she were still dreaming. After a while, the whispers faded and she peaked one eye open. The room was again empty and her fathers snores were the only sound. That and the creaking hinge of the little window. She didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning she was going to have to tell Ettyl what she saw. When the black of night slowly lightened to a dull gray outside, she sprung up and pulled on her sister’s thick blankets. Ettyl looked up crankily but would hear no word of what her sister had to say. She told her she was just dreaming. Finnie thought for a moment that it might be so, but in her heart she knew what she saw. She was going to make a bigger fit of it but her family was acting strangely. They woke slowly and made their breakfast late. But their mother made nothing of their breakfast but grain and oat milk. They had more than enough of the berries to add? No one seemed to care for any syrup, or nuts, or anything for flavor. They just chewed slowly. This put a chill up Finnie’s spine. In their eyes they looked as dull as their missing donkey.

Finnie couldn’t shake the most eerie of feelings. She could poke her brother all up and down and he wouldn’t break his staring at the kitchen fire. Her mother kept asking if their father was sick but he just shake his head and kept on sharpening his whaling spear. At the going rate he would ware the metal all the way down to nothing on his stone. Sometimes Ettyl would seem to shake herself and look around like she had just come out of a day dream. But having not much other to do than sit around with the other mutes, she would settle back into the dull state like the rest of them. Nothing was right. Was it the whispering she heard got to their heads? Tonight she would keep a look out.

Since no one seemed to care one way or another, Finnie helped herself to extra berries and syrup and whatever else she wanted. She looked through her sisters summer clothes and all Ettyl would do is grumble, but make no move to stop her. If it wasn’t so frightening, it would have been all that Finnie could have wished for from her family.
Any good feeling she had died as the sun went down and it was again time to sleep. Ettyl would hear nothing about the oily legs she had seen, and their father had told her to hush up and go to bed. Still only nine tenths sure what she had seen, Finnie decided she would need more proof. She tucked herself safe under her bed and clutched Ettyl’s new knife to her chest and waited. Everyone was snoring quickly. It grew cold and dark. She tried to focus on the low fire across from her. But her eyes slowly worked their way closed.

Again the dream with the black mass sitting in the cove of icey cliffs. She thought she recognized the place this time. The image leaving her mind she remembered her mission and opened her eyes. Had she gasped aloud? The knife was still held tight to her chest. She waited. She did not see the legs. She did not hear the whispering. She didn’t hear anything other than the occasional gust or the popping of the logs. There was just enough light to see shadows by. Just table legs and chairs. She let herself relax some and waited.
The fire was really low, they should have put more wood on before bed. After a bit of deciding and being sure she heard nothing, Finnie wormed her way out from under her sister and timidly crouched over to the fire wood pile. She took a few sticks and a sizable log and went to the hearth. She tossed the kindling in and felt the warmth on her face as the fire returned to life. She put on the log and made to return to bed. Hopefully she hadn’t been asleep long.

With the added light of the relit fire she saw that the latch on the window was undone. The window was closed, but she had been sure to have it latched tonight. She let out a welp and sought the oil lamp. Getting it from the table she brought it by the fire and lit a twig. It took her two tries before the oil wick caught. She rose with the light and felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing like porcupine spurs. She kept the knife in one hand and the lamp held up before her. The room was so quiet. She felt like she couldn’t dare to turn around so she searched the edges of her vision. Ice poured through her. With the lamp light illuminating the room, she saw reflected in the little mirror hung on the hearth, two black shapes on the wall above her parents bed.
Her father wasn’t snoring. Her father should have been snoring. With a back stiff as metal she turned slowly and dropped the lantern to the floor with what she saw. Two black things clung to the wall like bats above the adult’s bed. They were children sized but unusually thin and lanky. Their black skin shimmered. They were inverted to hang by her parent’s heads.
The too large eyes of the creatures seemed to glow red and orange like the fire light. Like an owls. They stared at her without blinking. She screamed.

They moved unnaturally on the wall. Like squirrels on a tree they shifted positions. One of the pair pointed at her and the pair of them shrieked. Their high pitched screeching drowning out Finnie’s own scream. It was like they were saying a thousand words per second, too quickly to make sense of.
Finnie pulled the knife from the sheath and backed crying to the wall. No one stirred despite the noise. Except her father who slowly rose. The creature nearest him beckoning him up. The donkey eyed look set firm on his face. She called to him but all he did was rise and go to the door. She ran to him and pulled at his night pants, but he pushed her away and fumbled to put on his coat and boots. The black shapes on the wall continued their horrible screech and crawled up and along the roof. Rotating their heads to always be looking at her. They scurried to the window. She moved about the room away from them. Her father put on his coat.
She tried to reach back and shake her sister awake. But Ettyl was stiff as a log in her bed. The things pushed the window open and twisted their bodies through. As they left the high pitched sounds stopped and her head seemed to clear a little. She ran up to her father and hugged for him. Tears streaming down her face, he took her up. She was glad to be in his arms. He held her tight in one arm and reached for the lantern. Then he turned for the door. She wailed and begged him to not go outside. But his face never changed.

Out into the frigid night he stole her. She screamed, crying for each of her family members.

“Mama! Mama! Ettyl! Eddar! Help me!”

But as they left the door open behind them and marched out into the snow she didn’t see a single one of them stir. She pounded on her fathers back. Even clawed at his forearm with her nails. But he was holding her so tight.

“Da you’re hurtin’ me! Let go. They’re out here Da don’t listen to them! Please please.” She pleaded into the night’s sky.

It was freezing in the still night. The clouds had parted to show a strikingly star filled sky. The lantern light bobbed as they pushed through the knee deep snow along the path. Her father turned away from the village main road and head into the forest south easterly. She kicked and wailed and almost got free but the grip on her was tightened further. She hit at her father with the butt of the knife. After a while she spun the knife to stab. She stared at the shiny blade. But she couldn’t do it. She dropped the knife into the snow. Crying as she was carried further.

They went on and on. Her father grunting as he pushed hard through the brush and snow. She tried to keep from the cold but she was shivering badly. Then she heard screaming further on. At first she worried it was those things, but then she saw another light cast on the trees. She turned and saw another lantern’s light ahead. Then another coming from the village way. Maybe someone from the village had come to help. The lights and screams seemed to be converging.
Straining to look over her fathers shoulder, she looked as one of the lights came onto their path before them. It was another man with a bundle over his shoulder. Terrified screaming coming from someone else caught. As the light bobbed up she saw the face of another child’s tear streaming face. It was her friend Katter. She was wailing and seemed to have a streak of blood running down from her forehead.
Finnie could do nothing but cry into her father’s shoulder. She was much too cold.
Pushing past some low hung branches they emerged out onto a cliff. She began to realize where she was. Triff cliff, where they had collected the winter berries. But even more she realized the place was of her dreaming. Down the cliff face, now covered in snow and ice, there was something in the cove. She made out the form a ship. Black wood, with black sails. Like the old stories warned of. The oldest stories there were.

Her father grabbed her roughly and stood her up. Her feet numb, she didn’t even feel the snow she was standing in. His iron grip holding her by her shoulders she looked around. Katter was limp in her father’s arms. She had quit wailing a while back.
In the dark it was hard to see. A few other men arrived, daughters in tow. They arranged themselves in a line and waited. From the tree line a few of those stringy creatures watched. Then, as if from shadow, a tall hooded shape emerged. Finnie didn’t feel her cold, or the ache of their journey, she felt only a new brought fear that choked her up.

It started at the other end of the line. It spoke, too low for her to hear. It inspected each of the girls and made its way down the line. When it got to Finnie it took her face in its long fingered hand. The touch was like a cat’s sand paper tongue. She sobbed weakly.
It spoke in a strange accent. Like the sounds of the words were heard and then a moment later the meaning would come like a knife scraping against solid ice in her ears and mind. Like swishing robes on stone floors.

“Hasss ssshe had her bleeeeding”

“No.” Her father answered as if it were just another question. “’Er mother thinks it be soon. Like ‘er older sister, in ‘er eleventh winter.”

The sharp fingers made Finnie look up into the hooded face. What she saw frightened her more than anything thus far. The corners of her vision blackened, then all went dark.