“Silmäth!”

The call cuts through the frigid air sharply like a hot knife through butter. Sharper than the wedge that I’m using to chop wood. The log finally splinters as I slam it against the stump I’m using. I see Ma Tamerynn come waddling around the corner of the house. The smell of her breath tickles my nose even though she’s still a good 50 paces from me – she’s been digging through the salt stores again. I sigh and reach for another log. It’s been getting noticeably colder, my breath turning to ice in my beard, soon there’ll be no time left to prep our wood stores.

“Silmäth!” Ma Tamerynn shouts again. I swing the wedge and it buries its head into the wood, I grab my small hammer sitting by the stump.

“I heard you the first time, Ma. I have to get the wood ready, you know that.” I slam the hammer against the wedge digging it deeper into the wood. The sound reverberates through the still air, somewhere a squirrel falls out of a tree.

“Listen Silmäth, I need to talk about the meat.”

“It’s always about the meat,” the woods ring with the strokes of my hammer. The wedge is stuck, probably a knot. I place the hammer down by the stump again. “I smell it on you. You should lay off Ma, you know what happened to the Rinstons’ boy.” I begin to slam the log against the stump, using the weight of my body to force the wedge through.

Ma fidgets in place, breathing heavily despite the crisp, clean, albeit cold mountain air. “I seen them coats hanging around the woods, sniffing about ever since Widow Rinston sent a request for a priest. It’s not proper I tell you. The Fast is valley folk business.”

I finally work the wedge through the knot and the log splits. Ma keeps yammering about The Fast and how the meat is traditional medicine for the mountain folk and seeing as how we had left the valley to go back to our roots on the mountain, the valley folk should leave us alone. Setting one of the log halves on the stump I peer briefly into the woods and then a quick glance to Ma before I set the axe back on the wood. I had spoken to one of those ‘coats’, not that Ma would have ever approved.

He had been about an inch taller than me, old from the looks of his grey locks which probably meant dangerous. Dark, tanned skin peeking out from his tri-point hat, bandages and mask told me he was like me, of the mountain Avoracian rather than the fairer Valley folk. His right arm had been replaced with a prosthetic, a rare sight in the southern lands, but there were rumors of a place up north called Pig’s Bay that specialized in ‘metallurgic prosthesis’ and of course the tales of the eastern island warriors who used them to fight amongst the trees. I had always thought them tall tales and fibs told by the merchants back when we had lived down in the valley. The coat had also smelt strangely, like salted rotten meat mixed with sweet herbs -odd that Ma’s breath would remind me of it. He wheezed slightly when he spoke.

The coat had been asking about us, all casual like, but I knew what was up. Widow Rinston’s boy had been bedridden since birth on account of his frail legs. Walter Rinston – his father – had decided to move up north with myself and my friend, Arturus, after a Valley noble had insulted Arturus’ wife and had her hanged and him exiled as a light sentence for the wife having ‘seduced him away from his good morals’. I had been close to Arturus and Ma had secretly been wanting to return to the mountain – a call she claimed all pure Avoracians felt. Walter, however, had made the move out of desperation. Even Walter, who had managed to marry into a decent Valley folk family was generally treated as a second-class citizen like the other mountain Avoracians. The Valley folk claimed it was our due after they had to save us from a tragedy we started that supposedly almost wiped out both groups generations ago. Some of the Mountain folk had tried to brave the mountain out of their own volition, but many were content with dealing with the certainty and familiarness of the Valley folks' heel rather than try the unknown troubles of the mountain. Walter – for his part – always suspected that the Valley folk doctors just simply did not want to heal his boy and were playing him for a fool. Ma Tamerynn somehow got his ear and convinced him to join us settling the slopes – claiming the meat of the mountain was magic. She certainly enjoyed it.

Anyway, the coat. He was part of a group called the Fast which was founded during that time of crisis and set to watch the mountain. He had been asking us if any in my house had a strange onset of wheezes or coughs. Supposedly, Widow Rinston had been suspicious of the meat, giving her boy only a little but when the boy started being able to hobble around, she was convinced and their demand for it turned gluttonous. Things were fine for a bit until the boy started suffering from a strange wheeze that seemed to emanate from somewhere deeper than the lungs and only got worse the more of the meat he ate. The breaking point came when he was found curled up in a corner of his room, babbling about piercing eyes in the woods. 

Ma had begun wheezing herself red at that point, but she had always had the wheezes so I thought nothing of it then. I wasn’t so sure now. The coat had left with a warning to stay away from the meat – as if he knew regardless of my lies. I pride myself on not being superstitious but, the way his eyes flared, I could feel a curse of bad luck hiding behind his honeyed words and intense eyes.

“… they brought that misfortune on poor Widow Rinston, poor dears been through so much after the death of Walter. I wouldn’t be surprised if they took him – the shifty bastards," Ma was saying as I managed to finish quartering a log and placed the pieces in the wheelbarrow next to me. Small flakes start floating down from above.

“Go inside Ma,” I say, hoping she’s forgotten about the meat for now. “Let me finish the wood in peace. Besides, you got to rest, that wheezing isn’t natural.” I grab another log and give a weary sigh at the small pile still sitting by the stump. I think about Walter Rinston. There was an unusually long and cold snowstorm a couple years back and when it was over we had found Walter frozen solid in the snowdrift by a tree he had tried to take an axe to after underestimating the relentless cold of the mountain. The axe head had been found laying some way from the tree, probably splintered from the handle. Walter himself was stripped down, it was said that before they die, those taken by the mountain cold feel the warm embrace of Lihara the Provider which drives some mad. And mad Walter must have been. Those intimate with the mountain know not to trave close to trees without proper caution – either with a sturdy rope or ice-hooks. Especially during a heavy snowfall, the deep snow can hide the natural depressions around the trees, trapping the unsuspecting in a snow well. Without proper gear to scale the tree, or nearby help to dig one out, getting trapped meant death. Walter, given the frosted blood coating the base of the tree and bottom of the well where he had maniacally clawed his fingers against the rough bark until they snapped off like icicles, had underestimated the mountain and paid the toll. We had found then Lady Rinston and her boy curled under the blankets on a disheveled mattress, the bed and all the other furniture having already been torn apart for fuel. The new Widow had tried to make it with her boy in the house with Arturus’ help for a while until one day he disappeared and she found herself alone. Arturus had offered her his roof after that.

Ma was speaking again, a bit of annoyance in between her gasps for air. “Listen Silmäth, I know you mean right by little Fae and Sillian, I appreciate the wood I do. We all remember Walter and I don’t want the little ones to freeze – same as you. But I want to make sure you’re doing right by your Ma too.”

I stop in the middle of driving my wedge into another log and turn to Ma Tamerynn.

“Look I know how much stock you put into the meat, but so did Widow Rinston, now her boy is gone.”

“Nah, wasn’t the meat Silmäth, Walter did wrong by marrying that Valley girl, the Valley folk don’t know how to cook the meat, how much to portion, their fancy agriculture has made them fat …”

“Portion?” I ask incredulously as I take some time to shake out my gloves. Ma huffs.

“Nevermind your chatter, it’s good for my health and your gran did well by me. As her Ma did for her.”

“Ma, we haven’t been on this mountain in generations, heck it was generations before any of us mountain folk returned after Lihara’s curse. According to the stories anyway.”

“Never mind that, some things get passed along still the same. We got cursed because of our gluttony. Same thing with Widow Rinston and those Fast folk.” She seems to unconsciously smack her lips and begin to salivate as the word gluttony rolls of her fat lips.

I sigh, there’s no point arguing. I decided to compromise. There’s still wood to chop, and Arturus will be here by supper for our foray into the woods. “Fine, I’ll try to get your meat. Just do be easy on the stores, this might be a longer trip without Walter and this year the meat has made itself scarce.”

Ma huffs again, she looks a bit like a red balloon now. “I don’t know why Arturus had to take in Widow Rinston. Just another mouth to feed, and a Valley one at that.” Ma turns stern, “But don’t go trying to trick me with that rabbit or deer again – I can tell waggler before I taste it.”

I sigh and grab the wedge and hammer again.

“We’ll get what we can get. I’ll keep an eye out is all I can promise.”

Ma lets out a snort and glares at me, I pretend not to notice as I start to drive the wedge into yet another log again. Finally, she waddles away, probably – from the look in her eye – more so out of hunger and boredom than the cold or anything else. I am left with the wood, the cold, and the rhythmic pounding of the hammer against the metal of the wedge. Rhythmic like a ticking clock counting down seconds.

Its high noon when I finish with the wood and perhaps another hour to move it to the woodshed by the house. Fae and Sillian jump all over me when I get back inside, asking how long I’ll be gone and if they can’t stay with Widow Rinston complaining that Ma Tamerynn smells – especially when she’s had her meat.

I assure them that I won’t be long and Arturus will bring me back safely. Dinner is a day-old squirrel stew and then its time to prep. I clean my repeater and ice claws as I wait for the sound of horses.