Everything seemed to go better after her encounter with the wildling healer. The bruising on her face faded more quickly with the application of actual medicine and Mara was careful to leave it alone. While she hadn’t seen hide or hair of the buck, she had caught rabbits and a pheasant on her way back, ensuring plenty of food. She took an extra two days in the woods, not in wilding territory, but further from Sjaligr than most who weren’t hunters went. 

Eventually, though, there was no avoiding it and her feet turned back to the homeward road. 

The rugged wilderness of the Red Mountains slowly became more docile the closer she moved to the small city built into the rocky cliffs. Sjaligr was pretty enough, strikingly carved into square towers and regal walls, but just the sight of dawn’s first light falling golden on the main gate was enough to knot her stomach into a hard lump. The outlying fields were just about ready to harvest, which meant people were up and about even at this early hour, preparing everything for the work to come within the next day or two. 

The one benefit of the early hour was that people were too busy and sleepy to pay her any mind. Mara pulled her hood up as if against the chill and strode through the open gate, timing her entry to the city for when the gate guards were distracted with Old Gierdrius and his very cantankerous cow. She sighed with relief when no one stopped her and made a beeline for the smithy that stood beside her father’s house. Smoke rose from its chimney, a sign the forge burned anew. No sound of hammer blows yet, but she did hear voices. Mara stopped and listened, only removing her hood and opening the door when she was confident that it was just her mother and sister. 

“Sabine,” her mother sighed almost despairingly. “You must be more careful with hearts.” 

“Adomas will be fine,” Mara’s sister said airily. “He has girls all over town to nurse his pride back to bloated health.” 

Mara almost rolled her eyes as she eased the door fully open and stepped in, closing it carefully behind herself. That sounded like Sabine up to her usual vixenish tricks, which she supposed was in keeping for any sixteen-year-old girl so favored with the gift of beauty. Mara moved around a rack near the door, footsteps soft enough that she hadn’t disturbed the two in conversation. She was used to going unseen. 

Her mother was working the bellows with one hand and the lean of her body, every movement precision and mastery carefully applied. She stirred and shaped the coals with a poker in her other hand, protected by heavy gloves. Mara knew from explanation that such sculpting changed the temperature of the furnace based on the amount of air reaching the coals in different parts and layers. Her mother had yet to slow down even after four children and reaching her middle years, though she constantly insisted that her youthful vigor was because of her children rather than in spite of them. Her blonde hair had acquired some red as she’d gotten older, hinting at a fiery temper, but now it was beginning to turn silver. 

Sabine sat alongside a workbench, though she probably couldn’t even name a tool on it. She had never expressed an interest in her mother’s work, nor in the thick volumes along the far wall that described countless years of metallurgic advancements. The girl shared their mother’s beauty, particularly the stunning blue eyes that were perpetually warm. Mara’s version were harder, like sapphires, but shared the same color. Marks dotted along Sabine’s cheekbones in a horizontal line of blue runes, just like their mother’s.

“I wish—” Mara’s mother started to say, but then she caught her eldest’s presence out of the corner of her eye and almost dropped her hot poker on the stone floor. “Mara!” 

“Here we thought you’d run off for good this time,” Sabine said, crossing her arms. She at least sounded more amused than sincerely disappointed in that comment.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” their mother said once she’d hurriedly set everything aside, stopping in front of Mara. They were the same height, so it was doubly hard to evade her concerned gaze. She pulled off her gloves and reached out to touch her daughter’s bruised cheek. “What happened?” 

“I wanted some time away,” Mara said with a shrug. The touch was careful even though the last of the bruises didn’t hurt. Aallotar’s medicines had worked well enough to almost be magic, though the huntress knew they were nothing of the sort. 

“And your face?” her mother asked more firmly.

“Sparring was a little rougher than usual,” Mara lied. 

“Gaius did this?” the older woman demanded.

Mara knew that if she involved her mentor, her mother would probably snap at Gaius and he would tell the truth: he’d thumped her left leg pretty thoroughly for not being careful with her shield, but nothing more. The bruises to her face and worse to her ribs were not his doing, but if she told the truth of their origin, there would be hell to pay. “It doesn’t matter. They’re just bruises and almost gone at that.”

She could see the heat brewing in her mother’s expression. Mara knew that meant her mother was anything but satisfied with that answer.

“You’re gone for more than a week, come home looking like you picked a fight with a troll, and tell me that it doesn’t matter?” her mother said fiercely. “I love you, Mara. I want the best for you. Tell me the truth.”

Those words twisted in her heart like a knife made of broken glass. Mara hated making her mother angry when so often, the older woman was the only source of comfort in the world. She just didn’t want to suffer the consequences of her mother expressing her displeasure to the person responsible. For her entire life, snitching had only ever been rewarded by vicious reprisals. Sometimes they were delayed, but they always came. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mara said, lips thinning into a stubborn line. “I’m fine, I promise.” 

Her mother evaluated her expression for a long moment, then sighed. She knew how to read Mara enough to know the huntress wasn’t about to budge. When Mara set her mind to something, swaying her from it was often a difficult to impossible task. “It does seem to be healing very well,” her mother said more gently. “Here I thought those lessons on medicine were lost on you.” 

Mara shrugged. While Aallotar was safe at a distance and as a wildling, habit made it difficult for Mara to divulge the identity of any who showed her even a passing kindness. Better that they not find themselves on the receiving end of the punishment that came with her taint. 

Sabine dusted her hands together. “You might tell Deda that you’re back,” she said. “He was looking for you.” 

Mara had grown past the point of envying that her sister could use the familiar name for their father whenever it pleased her. “He wanted to see me?” she said with a hint of surprise and a kernel of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. 

Her sister nodded. “There’s something that needs doing, and you’re wood-wise enough for it,” she said. “That’s what I overheard anyway.” There was not an abundance of things to do in Sjaligr, so Sabine spent more time than she probably should have prying into the affairs of the powerful in the city, particularly their father. 

“Better not to keep him waiting,” Mara said with a nod, steeling herself for the conversation with him. 

Mara’s mother stopped her before she could turn away, pulling her into a fierce hug. “I’m glad you’ve returned,” the older woman said softly. “I’m always afraid you never will.” 

The urge was certainly there sometimes, but Mara’s world ended at the borders of the Red Mountains, not that she had ever seen the emptiness to the south to know what lay there or beyond. As much as she loved the woods, she didn’t want to live isolated in them forever. It was a shackle that always kept her chained to Sjaligr: fear of the unknown. Someday, though, Mara promised herself that she would see what was beyond the edge of the world. “I’m careful,” she told her mother softly. “And Gaius trained me well.” 

Her mother smiled sadly as she released Mara. “That was not my concern. Go see your father.” 

Mara nodded, swallowing away the brief knot in her throat. She left the forge with those words in the back of her head. Speaking with her father demanded more care, however. She headed for the chieftain’s hall, beside the forge but not adjoined to it in case of fire. It was a large, grand stone manor, the roof timbered and tiled instead of thatched. On either side of the large set of reinforced double-doors that lead to the main hall were statues of dragons, their stone teeth bared to ward off evil spirits. 

When she was younger, Mara wondered if they would ward her off, but their power seemed not to affect her. Then again, perhaps even that was subject to her curse. 

Her father dominated the center of the hall when she stepped in. Luukas Fire-Bringer was a tower of a man, his shoulders squared with a chieftain’s pride. She had inherited much of him in her face: his darker hair, strong jaw, piercing stare, thin lips, and chiseled nose. But where he radiated strength and a presence that demanded the attention of others, Mara had learned how to fade into the background. He was out of his armor at the moment, wearing fine green wool with knot-like patterns running the length of the edges in gold thread, with the emblem of a dragon’s eye on his brooch. 

Her people often wore their wealth on their persons and he was no exception: golden armbands patterned like scales and a ring set with a large ruby marked his victories in war against the other chieftains. That ring had been claimed from an ancient enemy of her family, taken from a cooling hand after her father had severed the aggressor’s head from his shoulders. Mara’s father was not a leader who commanded from the rear and let his men fight for him: he commanded respect because he led from the front and did so with peerless skill. 

Her uncle was in conference with her father, and the gravity of his expression meant it was something serious. For being twins, there was a great deal of difference in their personalities, though their appearances were very close. Gareth spoke often and seldom weighed his words, inclined towards boasting and lacking the same ferocity. He was due more respect out of his kinship ties, but his martial and magical skills were both still more than adequate to the task of war or punishing those who struck at his pride. 

Mara approached carefully to hear more of what was being said without immediately alerting them to her presence.

“...I don’t see why we care what Aukusti is up to,” Gareth said. “Beyond the matter of tribute, that is.” 

“The silence is troubling,” her father said firmly. “Such things are often a prelude to war. Even the merchants do not pass our way from Valkaldr.” 

“The south is always trouble,” Gareth muttered. He glanced over and caught sight of Mara, lip curling automatically. “That thing is here.” 

The contempt was expected and while it was entirely meant to be taken personally, Mara had learned to let it roll off her scarred self-image. She didn’t like her uncle enough to let the blow strike hard. It was more of a scratch, one of the hundred applied every day. Besides, his ability to harm her was sharply curtailed by his desire to stay somewhat on her mother’s good side. 

Mara’s father turned fully to face her. “I see you survived your jaunt into the woods,” he said, looking her up and down. He must have noted the bruising, but said nothing of it. “I have a task suited for you.” 

If there was any feeling Mara associated with her father, it was a profound indifference. She had no memories of his affection, no expectation that it would ever change. She knew it was a bitter point of contention between her parents, but her mother had not left him...likely because it would have sacrificed the protection of Mara that her mother’s position bought and it would have impacted the woman’s ability to see her other children. It was something much, much harder to brush aside than Gareth’s active animosity. 

Mara would have preferred it if he acted like he hated her. At least that would require effort, passion, thought. Instead, she gave everything and received nothing in return. 

“What task, Fire-Bringer?” she asked, bowing deeply. Using the honorific name was a proper gesture of deference suited to a chieftain. ‘Father’ would have been altogether too familiar. 

“We have had no word from the lands of Valkaldr to the south. No tribute payments, no messengers, no merchants. This has meaning. You will seek out the oracle Kalevi in the woods to the south east. His vision is clearer than all others. Ask him of his dreams.” 

“She will cloud his vision,” Gareth objected sharply. “Better that I attend to it.” 

“His memory is exceptional. He will be able to recall his dreams,” her father said bluntly. “You, Gareth, are to take a patrol and scout as far south as Ingata. If there is an army coming from the south, I would know of it.” 

“And if there is only silence?” her uncle asked. 

“My answer will depend on Kalevi’s sight.” Mara’s father looked at her, expression still impassive. “You are not to leave the old man’s presence unless he demands it to gaze deeper into the future, at least not until you have an actual answer for me. If Valkaldr is planning a war, they will seek his counsel as well. Your unnatural affliction should deter them, and if it does not, apply the skills you have learned from Gaius.” 

Mara dipped her head. When she was younger, she had leaped at any opportunity to try to prove herself useful, as if she hoped her affliction could somehow earn approval. It made no difference. At the end of the day, no one would forget or forgive her curse. Now she welcomed such tasks because they gave her a chance to leave Sjaligr with less in the way of harassment by certain people. “I will return with his words, Fire-Bringer.” 

“Do not delay in your task,” her father said coolly. “I would have my answer from Kalevi soon. Begone.” 

Mara turned on her heel and strode swiftly out of the hall, already making a mental note of the supplies she would need. Her sword and shield were waiting at Gaius’s house, as she left them there so no one would take them or tamper with them. He could probably be persuaded to give her enough food for the journey. She knew the way to Kalevi’s home, mostly because she had explored a good deal of woodland in this part of the Red Mountains. She had never approached close enough to speak to the man, however, well aware that such a man would likely find her presence offensive. 

Hopefully her father’s word would be enough to grant her an audience. 

She was too in her thoughts to pay much mind to where she was going, trusting her feet to hurry her to Gaius’s house on habit alone. She crashed straight into someone, heart sinking when her focus snapped to the young man’s face. Viljami had their father’s height and bearing, enough to dominate the space around Mara even though she was two years older than him. His temperament, however, was much alike to Gareth’s and he had a cruel streak easily visible when her words so much as touched his pride. 

Her face throbbed almost in reminder of their last sibling encounter.

Viljami seized her arm where it made contact with his chest and shoved her backwards. “Have you learned nothing?” he snarled.

Mara’s first instinct was to bite back, a mark of pride that not even years of abuse had stomped out of her. Where her father’s indifference left a hole, her brother’s open hatred never failed to stir the coals of Mara’s simmering anger. She swallowed down the venom and dropped her gaze, however. One, she didn’t need a confrontation with him here at the center of town, where everyone would see and no one would intervene, and two, she was on a mission that required haste. “I’m sorry, Storm-Born.” As heir apparent, he was owed a respect closer to her father than Mara enjoyed.

“Take your pollution elsewhere,” he said sharply, apparently less interested in a confrontation than usual. That probably had more to do with their mother’s opinion than any charity on his part. 

Mara gave him the obligatory bow of deference and apology before skirting around him with plenty of space to spare. She was almost to Gaius’s home, an island of refuge in a hostile sea. She heard the cracks and thumps of splitting wood and passed through the wooden gate in the wall that surrounded Gaius’s home, fingertips skating across flaking brown paint used to seal the gate against moisture. It rained often on their side of the mountains, adjacent to the sea in the eastern lowlands. 

Out in the yard, Gaius swung his splitting maul down again, cleaving neatly through the section of log he was working on. The man was in his middle-years by everyone’s estimates, but barely showed it. Without his shirt on, the countless scars across the front of his chest marked him as a warrior more seasoned than most. He had a few on his back, but the majority were on his front, a sign that he did not flee from his foes. Mara had known him her whole life and could vouch for the fact that his age had not slowed him at all. There weren’t even gray hairs in his beard yet. He was olive-skinned with dark eyes, a sign of a more southern heritage, something made more pronounced by the amount of time he spent in the sun. 

Besides being a warrior, Gaius had no trade, so much of what he did was unskilled labor. Sometimes he was an extra farm hand, other times he helped fix a roof or a wall, sometimes he dug ditches or graves. People treated him politely, but there was no way around the fact that he fit like a square peg into a round hole. 

He had no marks across his face, no magic to speak of. He didn’t share Mara’s curse, but it was enough that sometimes people whispered she was his bastard. After all, hadn’t he and her mother come to the Red Mountains together all those years ago?

As a girl, Mara secretly treasured the idea, but age and experience had taught her better. Gaius acted as her mother’s brother, not her lover. His idea of raising her had been to equip her with all the skills he thought she needed, most of which were combat. 

And letters, of course. Literacy was something Gaius valued intensely where most in Sjaligr could barely make a mark to denote their name.

“Are you just here to gawk?” Gaius said gruffly, placing his next section of log atop the splitting stump, shouldering his splitting maul. “There’s wood to be stacked.” 

“I can’t,” Mara said. “I have an errand to run.” 

“Must be dangerous if you’re here,” her mentor said, looking over at her. He frowned. “I thought I taught you to block fists.”

Mara sighed, well aware that the comment was more concern than disapproval. Gaius had a brusque way about him with everyone and made no exception for her. It was one of the things she appreciated most: he treated her the same as everyone else. “I just came to get my gear and maybe some food for the journey.” 

“Better come inside, then.” Gaius said. He leaned the maul against the splitting stump and led the way inside his home. It was a stone foundation, but timber construction otherwise, with a thatched roof. The place was as utilitarian as its owner: most of it was a single room, a combination of kitchen and living space with a cot along one wall and several rows of books beside it. They were Gaius’s prized possessions, more valuable even than his sword and spear that hung on the wall above a black shield painted with the blue runes that matched her mother’s tattoo, his symbol of loyalty. A bath was kept in the only other separate room. Gaius spent more time cleaning himself and carefully grooming than any other man Mara had encountered. For all the jests made at how effeminate most warriors found it, their wives seemed to appreciate him all the more for it. 

“So where are you running off to this time?” Gaius asked as he grabbed a large square of cloth and started packing together provisions for the trip: bread, dried meat, cheese, and a few apples. 

Mara went over to the chest in the corner of the room and opened it, looking down at her mother’s crafts with fondness. The weapons were not quite a copy of Gaius’s: her sword was slightly longer and thinner in the blade, but still double-edged and well crafted enough to slice easily even without a razor edge, just by virtue of the shape. Per Gaius’s insistence, none of it took a shine and was simple, unadorned except for the knots in the wrapping of the rayskin around the hilt’s grip. 

For all of its unassuming nature, however, the steel in it was superior to any made anywhere in the Red Mountains except her mother’s forge. Mara knew her mother’s knowledge was part of what made her domain so powerful and prosperous, but those secrets were kept as if by the grave. Only Ritva, her youngest sibling, had taken to learning them. Her little sister was practically her mother’s fetch, a spirit double. 

“The chieftain wants me to talk to the oracle in the woods, Kalevi,” Mara said. “It sounded like there might be a war with Valkaldr. They’re being awfully quiet.” 

“At harvest time?” Gaius said with a scoff. “They’d be damn fools, letting their crops rot in their fields just to get a punch off at a rival they can’t afford to anger.” 

“I’m only telling you what they told me,” she said with a shrug, slinging her shield over one shoulder and then belting on her sword. 

“Why are they sending you?” Gaius asked. 

“My curse,” Mara said.

“Well, if what they say about Kalevi is true, that might be sensible,” her mentor acknowledged. 

“And they won’t miss me if I’m horribly killed.” 

Gaius shook his head at that and sighed. “Your mother would, so be careful. And if the oracle really is a troll, be damn careful. Even without magic, he’d be able to rip you limb from limb. I’d hate to see my pupil shredded and devoured.” 

“You wouldn’t see it,” Mara pointed out with a half-smile.

He pushed the satchel of supplies into her arms. “I mean it, Mara,” he said gruffly. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“I won’t, I promise,” she said as she hefted the pack. Gaius had given her a bit more than she probably needed, which she appreciated. She shouldered it and flashed him a smile. “If I can survive Sjaligr, I can survive an oracle.”