Winters

EvaMarie Gye

As the birds above screeched, Makaria awoke with the sun, just as she did every morning for as long as she could remember. She stretched, careful not to fall out of the tree in which she was cradled. She grabbed her tiny canvas bag from the branch beside her and dropped it down onto a lower branch so she could reach it from the ground. She climbed down the tree with such speed that it almost looked like she was falling. With feet planted firmly on the ground, grass between her toes, Makaria grabbed her bag and headed to check her traps.

The first trap was still set. There was nothing there. The second had a rabbit hanging by its foot still struggling to get free but clearly becoming exhausted. Makaria grabbed the bunny by the head and the body and twisted it. Hard. The crunch of its bones made Makaria’s stomach growl. The rabbit stopped moving so Makaria cut it down and reset the trap, slinging her next meal over her shoulder. She went to check her final trap across the creek. She stood in the water for a moment, letting the cool crisp stream flow over her bare feet. The stream was getting colder again. This meant she would have to travel closer to the village soon, as she did every time the days got short and cold. She hated this time of year. It was always the most dangerous, but she had to stay near the village to get food. The wildlife came out less when it was cold so she wouldn’t have enough to eat if she didn’t get close enough to steal food that was left out by the people in the village. Luckily they didn’t come out much when it was cold either. 

Makaria shook her head and stepped out of the stream; she needed to focus. She went on to her final trap. It had been set off, but nothing was in the trap. Well, at least not now. It had been cut loose, whatever it was. She was about to collect her rope when she noticed something in the grass beneath where the trap was. Something shiny. She grabbed a stick from the ground next to her and looked around to make sure no one was near. In one swift motion she flicked the item closer to her with the stick and grabbed it with her tail. It was something metal, and round, and on the outside there were some words and a picture. The picture was of strange little brown and black things that looked almost like big seeds. She didn’t know what the shapes on the front meant, but she had seen them before. Last time it was cold and she was near the people. Someone had been yelling at their child before they threw one of these into the pile of unwanted things behind their house. What had she said? “You left the beans out!” the woman yelled. 

“Beans,” Makaria mumbled under her breath. She stuffed the metal cylinder into her little bag and pulled down her rope trap. She wondered why that had been there but decided it didn’t matter. If someone had cut the animal loose, they knew she was there and it was time to move somewhere else. She couldn’t risk it. But they left me food, she thought,  they can’t be bad, right? She hiked up a slope by the stream to find the source and remembered the words of her father.

“People will be nice to you until they know what you are. Don’t trust anyone! Especially if they haven’t seen what you are.”

She drank the last of the water from her little waterskin as she made it to the top of the hill where the stream let out from the rocks. She put the mouth of the pouch next to the small opening that poured out water. When it was full, she took a big gulp and then refilled it before heading back to the other traps. She had to take them down now so that she could find somewhere safer to go. But they left me food. What if they don’t want to hurt me? She was upset that she would have to leave so close to the cold days. She didn’t know if she would be able to find another village before it started getting colder. And what if the sky water came down white this year? She would have to find somewhere new and get ready for the cold at the same time. It wasn’t worth it, she decided. It would be a big risk but she would be careful. Sleep in a different tree every night and always move the traps. She would stay within walking distance of the stream until it froze over, and then she would move to the other side of the close village—and when it got warm again, she would move on. It would be okay; there weren’t as many people in this village as in the last one where they saw her. This one was smaller, and the people didn’t look so big and angry.

~

If he was going to take her food, she was going to take everything that boy in the stupid robes had.

The first day that the ground froze, she realized she had made a mistake. The freeze came early this time. She had no way of moving on when it was going to be this cold, but whoever had left her those beans seemed to be following her. It was the night of the first freeze when she saw him. He cut a squirrel loose! She had worked hard for that! Squirrels were so important this time of year. Their long fluffy tails could be used to help keep warm, and they always had more food on them when they were getting ready to go away from the cold. She didn’t stop to think about what might happen if she confronted him; she was more angry than she had ever been before. That was it! Moving silently through the brush, she took out her knife and tied her bag tighter. If he was going to take her food, she was going to take everything that boy in the stupid robes had. She scuttled up a tree and broke a branch off in the direction he was looking to lure him farther into the woods and away from where someone else might see. Just as she had expected, the boy slowly made his way to where the branch broke, but when he was beneath her, she jumped. She landed right on his head and knocked him down. He began to yell; she covered his mouth with her hand and held the knife to his throat with her other hand. 

The voice of her father echoed in her mind: Don’t let anyone see you, and if they do, well, don’t let them get away.

“Who are you and why do you keep stealing my food?” she hissed, eyes narrowed. 

The blond boy’s eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost, and he mumbled something beneath her hand.

“You better not scream like everyone else who sees me.” She slowly moved her hand away from his mouth.

“I–I’m Juxton,” he stuttered. “You were going to eat those animals?”

“What else am I supposed to eat?” 

“I left you some beans, and some bread and cheese,” he said. “I figured you were probably hungry alone in the woods.”

“That was you?” She lightened her hold on him and moved the knife from his throat.

He nodded.

“Why? I’m just fine on my own!” She raised her voice at first but remembered she needed to stay quiet. They were dangerously close to the village. “I’m just fine on my own,” she repeated.

He furrowed his brows at her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, before asking, “Aren’t you cold out here?”

She pulled her cloak of deer hide closer to her body. “No.”

“I saw you before. I saw you were just a kid, and I didn’t want you to be alone in the cold.”

Makaria jumped up looking around frantically. “Who else knows?” she asked, knife once again at the ready.

“N–no one,” his voice cracked. “No one else saw you, just me. I didn’t think you wanted to be seen. Because of your, you know.” He gestured toward her tail.

She pulled her tail close to her and sank further into her cloak.

“It’s okay, you’re just a person, right?”

“I don’t want to be seen, by you or anyone else”

“But,” he trailed off. “There’s a shed by my house. I put some blankets in there, and you could stay out of the cold.”

Makaria looked at him confused. She didn’t know what to say. This was a kindness no one had offered to her before. It has to be a trap, she thought. Without another word, she shook her head and flung herself back into the trees.

For weeks after this strange interaction, Makaria was more careful than ever. She moved farther away from the village and spent as much time in the trees as she could. Occasionally, she had to venture closer to the village to find something to eat. This ended up being easier than she expected, as Juxton kept leaving her food by where he released her squirrel that night. As the days got shorter and shorter, the temperature got colder than usual, and Makaria decided she would see what Juxton had to offer. If she didn’t, she worried she may freeze. She was more afraid of her chances in the cold than of her parents’ warnings.

~

“It’s not my fault our daughter is cursed,” her mother had cried. “Maybe we can talk to the church. We don’t look like her. Maybe they’ll understand.”

“NO! That’s the last thing we are going to do with it.”

“Please don’t talk about our daughter like that.”

“It’s not our daughter; it’s a demon. We’ve spent three years out here teaching it how to keep fed and safe. It’s time to go. We can’t do anything else for it.”

Her mother picked Makaria up in her arms, tears streaming down her face. “You’re going to be okay, Makaria. Mommy loves you, but we have to go now.”

“Go where?” Makaria asked.

“Don’t answer that,” her father sneered. “Now what do you say if someone asks you to go to their church?” he asked, this time talking to Makaria.

“Hell no,” she mumbled.

“Louder! No one is going to believe you if you talk like that. You’re not a baby, and you need to defend yourself out here!” 

“Hell no!” she screamed.

~

She thought about what Juxton had said. A shed by a house—not a church. She didn’t feel she had any choice: if she didn’t go, she would die here. So one night she waited in the tree above where Juxton had been leaving food, and when he came that night she leaped down to meet him. He jumped when he saw her suddenly in front of him, but this time she didn’t have her knife out. She was wrapped tightly in her cloak, and her feet had the skins of small animals tied on them, but she was shivering in the cold night air. “I’m Makaria,” she said quietly. “I’m also cold.”

Juxton motioned for her to follow him and set off to the edge of town. Unsure at first, Makaria didn’t follow. She watched him walk away for a moment before a cold breeze hit and she ran to catch up. He made his way to a small building. The roof seemed to be caving in, and it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. “It’s not much,” Juxton said, stopping a few steps from the shack. “But no one comes over here, especially not at night, and it should be warmer than out here.”

Makaria nodded but said nothing.

“I know what it’s like to be lonely,” he said, opening the door to the little shack.

Inside was a small lantern barely lighting up the room. Eventually she followed him in. The floor was bare except for a small pile of blankets in the corner. Makaria looked at this stranger who just offered her more than she had ever dreamed of, and one tear fell down her face. “Why?” she asked both Juxton and herself.

“I wouldn’t want to be in the cold alone,” he said with a shrug. He put down a loaf of bread and a piece of dried meat. “I’m the only one who is out here at night, but when the sun rises we will change watches, so if you don’t want to be seen, you should leave before then.” He paused to make sure she was processing what he was saying. “You can take a blanket with you if you want.”

Makaria nodded slowly. She didn’t know what to say. 

Without another word, Juxton slipped out of the shack and headed back to his post outside the larger building.

Makaria didn’t sleep much that night. She couldn’t—every noise scared her. She was worried someone would find her and hurt her just like her father had warned. She spent the night prying up floorboards in the corner of the room. She decided she would make an escape route in case something were to happen, and, if not, tomorrow night she would come back. That night she finished her escape route and took the blanket with her as she headed back into the woods before the sun rose.

~

For the first time in her life, she started to feel safe.

Makaria spent a few nights in the shack. She would come back when it was long past sunset and leave long before sunrise, but there was always food and some water waiting for her. As the ground stopped freezing, she started to feel safe there. For the first time in her life, she started to feel safe. As she did she started to use the door, rather than her escape hatch, to get in and out of the shed. Eventually Juxton started coming to the shed to talk to her when she was there.

One night, when the days were getting longer and the air was getting warmer, Juxton asked Makaria, “Are you going to go?” His voice was low and quiet.

“Soon I’ll go,” she said. “When the water on the hill moves fast again and the squirrels come back.” 

“You don’t have to.”

Makaria looked at him, puzzled. “It won’t be cold anymore.”

“I know,” he replied, “but you’re my only friend. No one else in the home likes me. They say I’m weird.”

“Friend?” 

“Yeah, friend. Like someone you talk to about stuff and play games with?”

“Friend,” she said again, more to herself than to him. “We are, friend?” she asked.

“I would say we are friends, yes.”

Makaria thought to herself for a long moment before saying anything else. “I’ll stay,” she said, lying down on top of what she now knew to be a bedroll. “Friend.”

~

So she stayed. Through the time when the night and day were equal. She stayed as the days got longer and the air got warmer. She stayed, and every night she talked with Juxon. He would come to the shed shortly after she got there, after the sun had been set for long enough that it was very dark. He would occasionally bring a book with many pages and stare into them. 

“What are you doing?” Makaria asked

“I’m reading,” he said. “Like you look at the words and it tells a story?”

“Reading,” she mumbled. “Will you teach me?”

He smiled and nodded.

The next night he brought out paper and a pencil and showed her what letters looked like and what sounds they made. Every night they would work on new words, and Juxton would bring smaller books with pictures for her to try to read. He taught her the names of different things too. He explained that the cold time was called winter and that the sky water was called rain.

~

Makaria would stay in the shed, and some days she would stay through the day, too, but she never went in or out unless it was very dark. She was careful to never be seen. She would wait in the trees near the big building, what Juxton called “the House,” and watch as the bigger people would go inside. Juxton always came outside with another boy, too. He was older and taller, but every night he would laugh as he pushed Juxton around a little, and then he would head off into the village. After he left Makaria would make her way to the shed for the night.

One night as winter was getting close again, Juxton brought two of the big books. “Here,” he said, handing her one.

She looked at the cover and read the words aloud. “Heh-st-e-uh,” she sounded out. “Hestia?”

“Yeah!” He looked excited. “I was going to talk to our preacher and see if you could come into the House with me. It’s getting really cold.”

“Preacher.” She knew that word but she couldn’t remember from where.

“Yes, preacher. He leads our church.”

Then it all came flooding back. Her father’s warnings. The last time she had been near a village and they had almost found her. The people from the church chanted, “Kill the devil, run it out!” All the memories came back at once.

“Hell no,” she said, more to herself than to Juxton as she pulled the knife from her pocket and slashed at him before bursting out the door, bag in hand, running as fast as she possibly could.

“Wait!” Juxton yelled after her, but she was too far gone. He crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from his arm where she had slashed him.

Makaria ran and ran and ran. As far and as fast as she could, jumping over tree roots and rocks, her feet taking her where she needed to go but not moving nearly as fast as her brain. Her lungs burned as she pushed herself harder than she ever had before and kept running until she felt like her heart would explode. Eventually she collapsed to the ground. “I trusted you,” she said. She climbed a tree and curled up in the blanket she had been wearing when she ran. She put the knife in her bag, her hand aching from holding it so tight. Tears streamed down her face now as she held the bag close to her chest. “I trusted you,” she said again to herself as she lay down in the nook of the tree. “I thought you were my friend.”