Winter's Debt

The winter months were always the hardest. Nothing would grow when snow blanketed their world. If the summer had been kind they would have enough to eat. If it had been too dry or too wet then once winter settled in, they would be in for a rough time. When James was just a boy, they had suffered one such year. The drought that summer had left them without adequate food stores. They had survived, but it had not been easy. They had been forced to eat one of their horses towards the end and by the time the spring thaws came they were subsisting on one meal a day. Those meals were a meager affair of the withered vegetables that had remained in the root cellar boiled into a weak soup. If the winter had dragged out much longer, they would have been going without food altogether.

The Fen family farm was located on the edge of the wilderness. No other humans for miles around. James was an only child and had often been lonesome growing up. To combat this, he would spend his free time going on adventures. He would roam the hills and if he was feeling particularly brave, or at least if he was pretending to be that day, he would venture into the woods. As he grew his bouts of bravery became more frequent.

His parents warned him incessantly about going into the woods. There were dark things that lived there they warned him. But he possessed the unfounded courage of youth and went in anyway. He would look for the fairies and trolls. Occasionally he even fancied he saw them.

When the sun would begin to dip low in the sky he would hurry home, often to be scolded for having neglected his chores. His mother would be setting the table for dinner and his father would be washing the days grime from himself in the basin. They would say a short prayer to thank the gods and then burn a small portion of their evening meal in the hearth as an offering. Then once the gods had been given their due the family would eat.

Before bed his father would tell him stories of the heroes of old and of the darker creatures that inhabited the world. The stories would either send him drifting off to sleep with images of great warriors vanquishing their enemies against incredible odds and hordes of monsters roaming the lands or leave him huddled under the covers hoping they could ward off whatever horrors the night had to offer. One tale always left James chilled through with fear. The Tale of the Grey Man.

The Grey Man was ancient when the race of man was in its infancy. Cursed by the old gods for a transgression now long forgotten he wandered the world leaving misery in his wake. He came in the long dark nights of deepest winter. Drifting in on the icy winds like a frozen wraith. His long ash grey robe dragging through the snow but leaving no trail.

It was said that his cowl left his face so deeply shadowed that it was like staring into the abyss itself. When he arrived, he was accompanied by the mournful wails of all the souls he had collected over the long, lonely centuries. He was death given form and he took souls with the cold detachment of a blizzard.

James could never manage to sleep after his father would recite that tale.

When his father would go to the one the nearby villages James was not allowed to accompany him. His parents feared the influence of the townsfolk, for his parents kept their own gods. That idea too sparked his imagination. How many gods could there be? When he asked his mother, she would assure him that their gods were the true gods, the ones with the real power in this world. The townsfolk were simply misguided she’d say.

His childhood passed in this way. As he grew his curiosity diminished and when he was old enough to be on his own, a man by societies standards, he announced that he was going to move to the village to the west. His mother had cried and hugged him close. His father had simply nodded and said that he understood that this was the way of things. But before he left his father had pressed a leather cord with a small wooden carving attached to it into his palm. The carving was the symbol that represented their pantheon of gods as a whole, a dizzying swirl surrounded by a wreath of thorns. He then cautioned James to keep the old gods as they taught him, but to do so privately.

At first, he didn’t understand why he had to hide his faith. After all his parents had raised him in it, how could it be shameful? But within a week of arriving in the village he had witnessed a crowd attacking a man. The crowd had been shouting that the man was defaming their god, the one true god in their eyes. That was enough to show him the wisdom of his father’s advice. So, he would dodge the subject of faith the best he could when it was brought up. Mumbling about what little he knew of their faith, as if to show that he did in fact know what it took to be one of the faithful.

It wasn’t long before he had nearly exhausted what meager funds he had brought with him. He found it difficult to keep hold of a job, when he could find one. None of the shop keepers had much use for a farm boy with little in the way of formal education. For a time he was completely without money and having to steal to feed himself. He felt tremendous shame at this, the Fen’s were not thieves. He was actually hiding from the baker after a failed attempt to grab a loaf of bread the first time he laid eyes on Tess.

She was beautiful. Her dark hair flowing over her shoulders like a waterfall at midnight. Her light eyes were kind, and her mouth was quick to smile. She was helping her mother set up a stall in the market to sell the clothes she knitted. He watched them from the alley but didn’t approach. He didn’t want to scare her with his rough appearance. He stayed in the alley until they had packed up and left. Watching her work and interact with the townsfolk, so apparently full of joy was the happiest he had been in months.

He discovered from questioning another vendor that they came from a nearby farm. They came into town every month to sell their knitting. He wandered away wishing that he could have spoken to her but knowing that it would have been a bad idea. After all, what woman would want anything to do with a filthy beggar after all?

He managed to convince the blacksmith to employ him to cart things around and clean up the shop. By the next time Tess and her mother appeared in town again. This time instead of hiding in an alley, he walked straight up to their stall and began to browse their wares, or at least pretend to browse.

“That’s a lovely sweater and it looks like it’s just about your size.” She said to him when she saw him fingering a brown sweater nervously. Gods her smile was bright as the sun.

“Yes…I thought so too…” He trailed off, realizing he had never really talked to a girl before and hadn’t the faintest idea how to proceed.

She smiled at his awkwardness and quoted him a price for the sweater. He handed over the coins and felt the heat in his cheeks as they reddened when their hands touched during the exchange. He stuttered a thank you and hurried away.

He replayed the interaction endlessly for the next month. He tormented himself with every small detail, each tiny misstep. How would he win her affections when he couldn’t say more than ten words to her?

The next month she returned and again he made his way to their stall. This time he purchased a scarf and managed to make her laugh by telling her a joke he had heard from the smith. Her laugh as like music to him. And so, over the next few months they would speak when she came to sell her mother’s wares. It became easier for him to speak to her each time they came.

That winter was hard. Not because of the cold, unlike his years on the farm he had plenty of food. It was hard because the deep snow kept Tess from him. He wished he could talk to his father and ask what to do, but his father never ventured this far from home, and he never learn his letters so he couldn’t write to his father even if he could have found a messenger to carry it. So, he fell back to what he was taught as a child. He prayed.

He had been successful in hiding his faith thus far. He took his meals in his room at the boarding house so that he could make his offering in his own small hearth away from prying eyes. He prayed in his room. Prayed to the old gods to help him, to make his words come smoothly when next he saw her.

When winter passed and spring thawed the land Tess returned. This time they stayed for a week so they could sell off the things her mother had made over the long, frigid winter. He visited her every day and the words did in fact come more smoothly now, though he couldn’t say if it was due to godly intervention or just that he had grown comfortable in her presence. Either way he couldn’t have been happier.

Before she left town this time, he managed to work up the nerve to confess his love to her and to his joyous surprise she told him she felt the same. The next month without her was one of the longest of his life.

When she returned James was there waiting for her in the spot where they always set up their stall. He dropped to one knee and asked for her hand. She agreed to marry him, tears of joy streaking both of their faces. They were wed at the temple in town within the week. Tess’s family kept the same god as the townsfolk. He felt a sharp pang of shame as they said the words. He hadn’t told her yet. He had been so scared she would reject him and now it was too late.

They left the town and went back to her family’s farm. They stayed there with her mother and father for a time. Soon he was barely even paying lip service to the old gods, the gods of his parents. He no longer offered them a share of his meal in thanks. By the time winter rolled in he wasn’t praying to them at all. He was happy with Tess and her family. They had welcomed him with open arms, but he missed his parents. He had not seen them for several years. When he thought of his parents his thoughts would sometimes turn to the faith that he had abandoned, but he would turn away from those thoughts quickly. Too much shame and confusion wrapped up in the subject, he couldn’t bear to think on it too much.

When he raised the subject of visiting his parents to Tess, she was more than agreeable. She wanted to meet his parents. She said it was important that they get to know each other before his parents met their grandchild. That was how she told him. He was to be a father.

The trip to his family farm took the better part of a week. He took the opportunity to tell her of his family’s faith. She took the news well all things considered and when he agreed that their child would be raised under her god her mood improved drastically. By the time they reached the farm things were back to normal between them.

His mother and father were both surprised and overjoyed when he walked through the door. They could hardly speak when he introduced Tess as his wife. His mother hugged her and welcomed her, his father was polite, but reserved. Later he pulled James aside and quietly questioned him on her faith. Once James explained that she didn’t follow their gods but harbored no ill will towards those that did, his father relaxed. When his father asked about what gods James now held in his heart, he lied and told his father that of course he still kept the old gods. He hated to lie to his father but couldn’t bear to break his heart with truth.

Tess and James told his parents about the impending baby before she began to show. They were so happy to hear that they were going to be grandparents that his father seemed to temporarily forget about Tess and her false god.

Ellie was born just as fall was giving way to winter. James’ father guided him out to the barn mere moments after they heard her first cries. There was a right that must be observed. They selected the youngest lamb from the flock. His father slipped the old flint knife into James’ hand and gave him directions to a clearing in the woods. He hadn’t needed them; he had visited it many times on his childhood adventures.

He led the lamb out into the woods on his own. The new father had to compete this right alone. The ritual was ancient. Trading the life of the lamb to protect the new life of his baby.

As he walked, he kept hearing Tess insisting that their children be raised away from this type of barbaric superstition and god help him James had to agree with her. He held her god in his heart now. He knew carrying through with the ritual would be wrong. He didn’t truly believe in the reason behind it. It would be a mockery of both his new god and the old gods of his parents. He released the lamb on the far side of the woods and walked back to the farm.

Winter came in with a subtle shift in the world around them. Days grew shorter and the air grew cooler. He had helped his father harvest and stockpile during the fall. They were provisioned for the cold months to come.

They settled into a routine as the snows came in and turned the world white and frigid. Tess and Mrs. Fen would alternate between tidying up, cooking meals and fussing over Ellie. James and his father would cut firewood and fetch things from the cellar.

In the evenings they would settle in around the hearth and the warm fire within. James and his father would tell stories. Mostly the stories his father had told him as a boy. Ellie would stare up at him with her big brown eyes and gurgle as he told tales of heroes and their adventures.

As winter deepened and the days stayed darker longer, the winds would howl out of the forest, creating swirling clouds of snow as they ripped across the fields and crashed into the farmhouse. The stories began to take on the dull, dark tones of the world outside.

One night Mr. Fen told a story of the darkest sort, the tale of the Grey Man.

The tale left Tess shaken, she had never heard it before and found the idea terrifying. James, remembering how that story had terrified him in his youth, tried to lighten the mood by telling the story of a well-meaning, but incompetent knight, but the damage was done, and Tess excused herself to bed before he could finish.

It was a few days into the new year when Ellie first started coughing. The adults noted it but were not overly worried. That changed before the end of the week. The fever came on suddenly and fiercely. Mrs. Fen helped Tess prepare a powder of dried and ground elderflowers and yarrow root mixed with water for Ellie to drink, just as mothers had been doing for generations.

It cooled the child’s brow, but did nothing for her cough, which by this point had taken on the dense, wet rattle that parents instinctively knew to fear. They worked herbs into a fine powder and added them to boiling water. Holding the infant near so she would breathe in the vapors. It made little difference.

James convinced Tess to go to bed, she had barely slept in days and then he took up the vigil, sitting in a chair next to the crib before the hearth. He was alone, his parents had also finally gone to bed for the evening. He sat staring at the empty chair across from him. Listening to the rattle of his daughter’s tiny lungs as they struggled to breathe. He cried, the silent wracking sobs of a desperate man. Then he prayed.

He prayed to the one god. The god of Tess and the village.

Then for the first time in years he called on the old gods. He sat in the chair, tears wetting his cheeks, muttering the old words. Over and over until he drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened sometime later by a thumping sound. As the slumber cleared from his head, he realized the thumping was in fact a knocking, coming from the front door. He dragged himself to his feet and slowly approached the door, unnerved by the unexpected knocking. Who could be all the way out here in this abominable weather? He continued towards the door, thinking to himself that perhaps he was mistaken, and the knocking was merely some detritus being blown against the house by the howling winds. The voice quickly disproved that thought.

“Hello?” The reedy voice cut through the wind with surprising clarity.

James stopped his advance, unsure how to proceed. Whoever it was might be in need of help to be this far from the villages at this time and in such weather. On the other hand, he had heard stories of bandits roaming the countryside.

“So sorry to be a bother…” The voice on the other side of the door creaked. “Only I fear I have lost my way and this cold may be the end of this old surgeon yet.”

Surgeon? James mouthed the word to himself in utter disbelief. Could they really be this lucky? Had the gods sent this man to save their Ellie? James opened the door before he realized what he was doing. The man outside was old, the wind flinging his wispy silver hair in all directions. His heavy black coat was covered in snow and his wrinkled face was red and chapped from the unforgiving winds.

“Thank you!” The elderly surgeon wheezed as James ushered him into the house. “I am in your debt.”

James eyed the man, taking in his details with unbelieving eyes. Those eyes fixed on the black bag clutched in the old man's hands.

“You’re a doctor then?” James asked hopefully, gesturing towards the bag.

“Of a sort, yes and who might you be young sir?”

“James, sir…My wife and parents are resting…” He trailed off; his mind busy trying to take in the reality of the situation. Then Ellie coughed.

“Oh…oh my that sounds atrocious…” The old man said as he moved towards Ellie’s cradle.

“Please, sir, can you help her?” James managed to choke out the words.

“That very much depends on her my boy…” The old man turned and held his gaze for a moment. His grey eyes were surprisingly kind. He gestured towards Ellie. “If you’ll allow me?”

James smiled and nodded his agreement. He stood by while the doctor worked. He held a hand to her forehead and made a tutting noise with his tongue. He held his ear to her chest listened to her breathe. He frowned and then looked up at James.

“The fever is strong, and her chest is full, but I believe all is not lost.”

He told James that he would need to monitor the child closely and that James would need to assist him. James agreed and they set to work. They bundled Ellie in thick blankets and pulled her cradle closer to the warmth of the hearth. The doctor took a seat on James’ chair and began directing him as to how to assemble a tonic for his daughter. After administering it to the child James sat across from the doctor and watched as he made notes in a black leather journal. A few times the journal shifted towards James, and he saw the writing on the page. James did not have letters himself, so it all looked like nonsense to him. Though none of the symbols looked like the writing he had seen before.

After a while, the old man looked up at James, a kind smile on his face. He sighed and set his journal aside.

“The tonic will lessen the severity of her symptoms, but it is not a cure.” He said, leaning forwards and pulling his bag onto his lap.

James looked at his sleeping daughter, she looked so peaceful. “Fortunately, there is one last thing that should do the trick.” The old man said.

James turned and looked at what the old man was holding out for him. It was the old flint knife, the one his father had handed him the day Ellie was born. James watched as the doctor dissolved into a figure in a frost encrusted grey cloak. The hood left the face nothing more than a mass of impenetrable shadows, James could feel the shadows staring back at him.

“I cannot leave empty handed.” The kind old man’s voice had been replaced by the frigid whisper of wind through graveyard trees.

“No.” James said without realizing it. “No, please not my Ellie.”

The shadows stared at him for a moment.

“I am owed a life.” It said this as a statement of fact.

“A…A life? Owed?” James couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. Just hours ago, he hadn’t believed in the old tales, now he was conversing with one.

“A life. It is the bargain that was struck, eons ago.” It held out the flint knife, though the knife was old it's edge was still sharp enough to glint wickedly in the light.

“This…this is my fault…”

The Grey Man sat silently, hand still extended, offering the knife.

“I’m so sorry Ellie…” James was weeping. “I thought I knew better. I thought it was just primitive superstition.”

His hand shook as he reached for the blade. He thought of Ellie, he hadn’t thought it possible to love someone as much as he loved her. The moment he had laid eyes on her he knew there was no limit to what he would do to keep her safe.

He closed his eyes and drew and deep breath. He drove the knife into his own chest, all the way to the hilt.

He woke with a start. He was back in the chair nearest to the crib; the room empty except for himself and his sleeping daughter. He had tears in his eyes. He looked down and saw that there was no life in his chest. But there was pain.

A sharp, stabbing pain. His breathing was coming in short gasps now. He staggered to his feet and stumbled to the crib. Darkness ate into the edges of his vision as he looked down at his little girl.

She smiled up at him. No more coughing. No rattle under her breath. He could feel his heart swell with love, even as it grew still within his chest. “Daddy loves you…” He wheezed.

As the darkness took his sight and his last breath drifted away, he smiled. He had done what was required and it had saved his daughter.

A life for a life. It was a fair bargain.