Snow Skins

In spring, once the ice had thawed, I took Bee down to the river again. There was still snow on the banks and on the branches of the tall pines. The boy shivered as he undid his cloak. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it.

I had lit a fire by the time he returned from the water: lips blue, arms clasped around his chest, and evidently empty handed. I motioned for him to sit, trying not show my disappointment, and threw him a blanket.

Making myself busy poking at the embers with a stick, I kept an eye on him as he stared glumly into the flames, evidently reliving his recent experience and how it had led to failure.

There probably wasn’t much I could say to make him feel better and I felt resentful for having to. It might sound harsh, but it was his own fault. He had been trained. He knew what was expected of him. To have failed again was almost unheard of. A scar on my back itched and I tried to get at it through my heavy cape, but the cold had got there first.

‘Hurry and get dressed, it’ll be dark soon,’ I told him.

It was a long walk back to the village and mostly spent in silence. As we approached the gates our pace slowed, knowing the reception we were about to receive. Bee kept his head bowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t worry about it. You’ll get them next time,’ I said, trying to keep a lightness to my voice. I put my hand on his shoulder and we stopped in the shadow of the walls that marked the boundary of the settlement; the light from the houses beyond beckoned welcomely. He turned his face toward me, liquid eyes looking up.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. You tried your best.’

‘I…’

‘Come on, let’s get this over with. Remember what I taught you. Pain is like a…?’

‘Pain is like a snowflake on the skin.’

‘Exactly. Now, deep breaths and stand up straight.’

I could feel the eyes on us as we strolled down the main street heading toward the central hall. The door creaked open and everyone turned to look. The eternal fire burned in the grate, the council were seated at the furthest end, while around it cloaked figures stood as shadows cast by lamplight.

‘Step forward to the light,’ Darsom commanded.

A nudge on his back and Bee moved toward the fire.

‘Have you anything to offer the flames?’

‘No,’ said Bee.

‘Speak up.’

‘No. I have nothing to offer.’

‘Leave then the fireside.’

Bee turned and looked up at me with those big, sad eyes. I gave him a grin and ruffled his hair as he passed.

It was silent in the room until the door closed behind him. Then Darsom spoke again.

‘Mentor. The boy’s failure is your failure.’

I inclined my head to acknowledge this inescapable truth.

‘You are responsible and thus the punishment is yours to take.’

I bowed. I heard the scrape of metal on stone as the branding iron was lifted from the flames. It was intricately wrought so as to increase the surface area and because the smith always took such care over her creations. Evidently she had a flair for the artistic as with the metal aglow from the eternal fire it resembled a perfect burning snowflake. It almost took your breath away.

I unbuckled my tunic and turned around.

A snowflake settled on my skin. Next to last year’s.