Soul Seeker

1: Huntress and the Wolf

Ciara wasn't sure how long she had been clinging to the rocks in death's embrace. The villages called the river the Lifegiver because the spring it came from was naturally heated. It would never freeze over, but the water was still so cold it was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering. How long had she been waiting? Not long enough to trick the hunting hounds into thinking she didn't exist.

But long enough for her fingers to grow numb. Long enough for the snow to settle in her hair like an extra weight. Long enough that she had become a part of the scenery and the steppes had returned to life around her: a pine marten scurried up a nearby spruce, and lemmings scratched beneath the snow's surface. Scales brushed her calf as a fish glided past.

She tensed, heart picking up speed as the hunting party drew closer. The banks were steep, almost like cliff faces, and she hoped the jumble of broken boulders she pressed herself against would be enough to shield her from any wandering eyes. Too late to change hiding spots now. Any ripple or splash and they would notice her.

Their weapons did not even clink as they moved, but Ciara's ears had become attuned to this valley and she picked up the rasp of hide and leather.

"What's this? I think I've found a footprint. The chief didn't send anyone out here before us, did he?" The voice was rough and an image sprang into her mind: Virki hunters wrapped in furs, their hair elaborately braided or tied back, snow goggles hanging about their necks. The bane of the citizens of Nome – Ciara's people.

"No. Let's take a look." Boots crunched snow. "It could be."

"It's a footprint, look at the shape."

"Hard to tell, the snow's already obscuring it. Let's move on."

Ciara silently thanked the guardians for the same snowfall she had been cursing a moment ago. Her heart froze inside her chest when dogs scampered over the snow, sniffing noisily. Here was the moment of truth. Had they caught her scent? If they found her, a daughter of Nome, in their forbidden hunting grounds...

The dogs passed on and her chest loosened even as their paws scuffed snow from the lip of the riverbank. A steady stream of it trickled down, landing right on the crown of her head.

Like this water isn't torture enough. Any colder and she would succumb to cold shock and be dead within minutes. Gambling with the cold always meant risking your life, ever since the Ice Age started, but the semi-nomadic hunters like Ciara's village had been doing it for centuries. They hunted with the utmost respect for the animals that gave them life, the animals that had once struggled but now thrived in their snowy climate. Even so, they were careful to pick the weakest and to avoid killing too many, respecting nature's gifts.

After the party continued on their way Ciara remained still, even though every muscle in her body was crying out for her to get warm. A huntress knows to wait. When she was satisfied they'd put enough distance between them, she reached for a handhold to scale the rocks.

Her fingers burned with cold as she climbed. The icy air attacked her skin like knives, and suddenly the water hadn't seemed that bad at all.

Ciara found a familiar pine tree and dug into the snow, unearthing her pack and weapons. She pulled on her snow leopard fur coat, which was deliciously thick and dry and still retained a hint of warmth from earlier. Now she was in a little less danger of dying.

She buckled her weapons belt around her waist and spotted the string of white hares she'd caught earlier – and hastily tossed high into the branches of a spruce – swinging from their rope. It was the only way she could have removed their scent from the dogs' reach. One well-aimed arrow brought the branch and her prize down.