Paul Thompson - Firstborn

He climbed the hill to the clearing, meeting Mackeli on the way.

“Look what I have!” Kith-Kanan exclaimed. “Fresh meat!”

“Congratulations, Kith. You’ve worked hard to get it,” the boy said, but a frown creased his forehead.

“What’s the matter?”

Mackeli looked at him and blinked. “It’s snowing.”

Kith-Kanan shifted the weight of the carcass to a more comfortable position. “What’s wrong with that? It is winter, after all.”

“You don’t understand,” said the boy. He took Kith-Kanan’s quiver and bow, and together they proceeded up the hill. “It never snows in our clearing.” They gained the crest of the hill. The clearing was already lightly dusted with snow.

With a stone axe, Kith-Kanan removed the rib section and gave it to Arcuballis. The griffon had been brought to the hollow oak, and a roof of hides had been stretched from the overhead limbs to keep the rain off the mount. The noble eagle head of Arcuballis protruded from the crude shelter. The beast repeatedly ruffled its neck feathers and shook its head, trying to shake off the snowflakes. Kith-Kanan dropped the meat at the griffon’s feet.

“This is no weather for you, eh boy?” he said, scratching the animal’s neck through its thick feathers. Arcuballis made hoarse grunting sounds and lowered its head to its meal.

Kith-Kanan left his dagger and sword in a covered basket inside Arcuballis’s shelter. Brushing the snow off his shoulders, he ducked into the tree. It was snug and warm inside, but very close. A small fire burned on the hearth. As the prince sat crosslegged by the fire and warmed his hands, Mackeli scuttled about in the stores of nuts and dried fruit overhead.

After a short time, the bark-covered door swung open. Anaya stood in the doorway.

“Hello!” Kith-Kanan cried cheerfully. “Come in out of the cold. I had good hunting today!”

Anaya pulled the door closed behind her. When autumn arrived, she had changed from her green-dyed buckskins to natural brown ones. Now, coated with snow, she looked small and cold and unhappy. Kith-Kanan went to her and pushed back the hood from her head. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, searching for an answer in her eyes.

“It’s snowing in my clearing,” she said flatly.

“Mackeli said that this is unusual. Still, remember that the weather follows its own laws, Anaya.” Kith-Kanan tried to soothe the hopeless look on her face; after all, it was only a little snow. “We’ll be fine. Did you see the deer I took?” He’d hung the quarters of meat outside to cool.

“I saw it,” she said. Anaya’s eyes were dull and lifeless. She pulled free of Kith-Kanan’s arms and unlaced her rawhide jacket. Still standing by the door, she looked at him. “You did well. I didn’t even see a deer, much less take one. Something is wrong. The animals no longer come as they used to. And now snow in the clearing…”

The keeper threw her jacket on the floor and looked up at the chimney hole. Dry, cold flakes fell in, vanishing in the column of rising smoke before they reached the fire. “I must go to the cave and commune with the forest. The Forestmaster may know what has happened,” she said, then sighed. “But I am so tired now. Tomorrow. I will go tomorrow .”

Kith-Kanan sat by the fire and pulled Anaya gently down beside him. When she put her head in his lap and closed her eyes, the prince leaned back against the side of the tree, intending to keep an eye on the fire. He continued to stroke Anaya’s face. In spite of her distress over the snow, Kith-Kanan couldn’t believe that anything was really wrong. He had seen snow in the streets of Silvanost after many years of none. As he’d said, the weather followed its own laws. Kith-Kanan’s eyes closed, and he dozed. The fire shrank in its circle of stones, and the first flakes of snow reached the floor of the tree, collecting on Anaya’s eyelashes.

Kith-Kanan awoke with the slow realization that he was cold. He tried to move and discovered he was buried under two bodies—Anaya on his left and Mackeli on his right. Though asleep, the need for warmth had drawn them together. Furs were piled up around them, and as Kith-Kanan opened his eyes, he saw that more than half a foot of snow had collected in the tree. The snowfall had extinguished the coals of the fire and drifted around the sleeping trio.

“Wake up,” he said thickly. When neither Anaya nor Mackeli moved, Kith-Kanan patted his wife’s cheek. She exhaled sharply and turned over, putting her back to him. He tried to rouse Mackeli, but the boy only started to snore.

“By Astarin,” he muttered. The cold had obviously numbed their senses. He must build a fire.

Kith-Kanan heaved himself up, pushing aside the inch of snow that had fallen across his lower legs. His breath made a long stream of fog. There was dry kindling in one of the wattle baskets, against the wall and out of the way of the falling snow. He dug the snow out of the hearth with his bare hands and laid a stand of twigs and bark shavings on the cold stones. With a flint and strike stone, he soon had a smoldering pile of tinder. Kith-Kanan fanned it with his breath, and soon a crackling fire was burning.

It had stopped snowing, but the bit of sky he could glimpse through the chimney hole was gray and threatening. Reluctantly the prince eased the door open, even against the resistance from the two feet of snow that had drifted against the tree.

The clearing had been transformed. Where formerly the forest had been wrought in green and brown, now it was gray and white. An unbroken carpet of snow stretched across the clearing. All the imperfections of the ground were lost under the blanket of white.

A snuffling sound caught his ear. Kith-Kanan walked around the broad tree trunk and saw Arcuballis huddled under its flimsy shelter, looking miserable.

“Not like your warm stall in Silvanost, is it, old friend?” Kith-Kanan said. He untied the griffon’s halter and led it out a few yards from the tree.

“Fly, boy. Warm yourself and come back.” Arcuballis made a few faltering steps forward. “Go on. It’s all right.”

The griffon spread its wings and took to the air. It circled the clearing three times, then vanished upward into the low gray clouds.

Kith-Kanan examined the venison haunches he’d hung up the day before. They were frozen solid. He untied one and braced it on his shoulder.

Back inside the tree, it was already much warmer, thanks to the fire. Anaya and Mackeli were nestled together like spoons in a drawer.

Kith-Kanan smiled at them and knelt to saw two cutlets from the venison haunch. It was hard going, but soon he had whittled the steaks out and had them roasting on a spit over the fire.

“Mmm.” Anaya yawned. Eyes still closed, she asked, “Do I smell venison roasting?”

Kith-Kanan smiled again. “You certainly do, wife. I am making our dinner.”

She stretched long and hard. “It smells wonderful.” She yawned again. “I’m so tired.”

“You just lie there and rest,” he replied. “I’ll provide for us this time.” The prince gave his attention to the venison cutlets. He turned them carefully, making sure they were cooked all the way through. When they were done, he took one, still on its stick, and knelt by Anaya. “Dinner is served, my lady,” he said and touched her shoulder.

Anaya smiled and her eyelids fluttered open. She raised her head and looked at him.

Kith-Kanan cried out in surprise and dropped the steak onto the wet ground.

Anaya’s dark hazel. eyes had changed color. They had become. vividly green, like two shining emeralds.

Rain, driven sideways by the wind, tore at the elves who stood on the stone pier at the river’s edge. The far bank of the Thon-Thalas could not be seen at all, and the river itself was wild with storm-tossed waves. Through this chaos wallowed the great barge, drawn as before by a giant turtle.