The wind howled, and the ices blew and rattled against the sturdy side of a small snug cabin. Inside its single room, a dark-bearded man sat before the fireplace, moving only to stir the contents of an iron pot hanging above the flames. Tonight was a harsh one, but nothing to compare with the Great Blizzard that had come six winters ago. Nothing could ever compare to that.

There came a dull banging, the sound of a thickly wrapped hand pounding at the cabin's door. The man frowned, for he was expecting no company, and rose. As he stood, the door was flung open wide, and snow poured inside in flurries. In a moment, a figure stepped inside and forced the door shut against the wind. The stranger shook his head and unwrapped the furs from around his neck and face.

The faces of both men lit up as they saw one another, and they embraced, clapping hands against each other's backs. "Borse!" roared the newcomer.

"Petir!" exclaimed the cabin's owner. "How have you been, my brother? What brings you so far south?"

Petir took a moment longer to remove all of his traveling furs and shake the snow from them. His face was cracked with wind and cold, and bearded as well, though his hair was thicker and red in color. For a moment, he looked very sad. "Perhaps we should sit."

"Of course, of course…" Borse hurried back to the fire and offered his chair to his visitor, while drawing up a stool for himself.

Petir took the seat, staring for a time at the fire without speaking. His eyes seemed pained and faraway. Outside, the wind howled more fiercely than ever. Petir finally shook himself, as if he had just come from a waking dream, and turned to Borse. "I heard about Ernis. I'm sorry. I wish only that I could have offered some help."

Borse shook his head, the pain of old memories filling his eyes. "No need, brother, no need. I'm sure your pain must have been great when you heard as well. She was my wife, but also your sister…I am sorry I could do no more than send the message north to you. When did you hear?"

Petir shook his head. "Four winters ago. I wished to come sooner, but the times being what they are…" He made a helpless sort of gesture with his hands.

Borse nodded. "I understand."

"She…she went in childbirth, then?"

Borse nodded again. "It was six years ago, in the cycle of the Great Blizzard. When her time came, the midwife could not reach us. No one was able to venture outside for days and days. Ernis…had a difficult time of it. I did what I could to help, but I know nothing of birthing children. Ernis had the birthing pains for days, and near the end of it, she bled. She bled and we could not stop the flow. The baby came, after three nights of pain, but still Ernis bled. And by the next night, she was dead." The eyes in Borse's craggy face became filled with tears.

Petir's eyes too, were liquid in the firelight. "And…the child?" he prompted.

"…He survived. His name is Erris."

Petir looked relieved, and nodded appreciatively. "You named him after her. He is healthy, then, I trust?"

After a moment of heavy pause, Borse answered in a strange voice. "Yes. He is as perfect a son as I could ask for."

As if on cue, the cabin door was pushed inward a crack and a short figure squeezed in and shut it behind him. Even in the layers of heavy furs the child wore, it was plain to see he was extremely thin. Bright flecks of black blinked beneath a low, broad hood as the boy noticed the stranger by the fire.

"Erris," his father said, rising to indicate the red-bearded man. "This is Petir, your uncle from the Northlands. He was your mother's brother, and he comes to pay his respects."

The child's brow was furrowed thoughtfully as he unwrapped his hood and fur overcloak. He was painfully slim, his limbs like sticks jutting out from under his clothes, which hung on him as rags on a washline. His hair, a dull, dark thatch the color of wet earth, hung limply across his forehead and framed his gaunt face. His nose was long, pointed, and almost sharp; thin as a blade. His dark, dark eyes were heavily shadowed beneath, as though smudged with soot, yet there was light dancing in them. He might have seemed a typical boy of the land, but for the air of somber melancholy that he gave off.

The boy approached the hearth, and nodded politely to Petir, bowing his head. "I am glad to meet you Uncle. A Blessing on your head." Petir smiled his approval and the boy sat before the fire to warm his thin body. After a time, he looked over his shoulder to Petir. "Will you be with us long, Uncle?"

Petir shook his head, and reached into his belt pouch to fetch a pipe and some tobacco. "Sadly, no. Only a few days at most, and then I must begin the journey back to my village in the Northlands. My village of Glesbith is a large one, and I am an assistant to the census taker. He will need me back in time to ready for the kindling." Petir pinched out an amount of tobacco and began to fill his pipe.

Erris' brow furrowed at his uncle's words. "Please, Uncle…what is the 'kindling'?"

Petir's brows leaped up in shock and he turned to face Borse. "Have you taught this boy nothing?"

Borse cringed slightly, and held up a hand. "Please, Petir, he is young still. There will be time enough in the future to-"

Petir snorted loudly. "There is time enough now. He is old enough…" Petir pointed a finger at Erris, then swept it to a stick propped up near the hearth. Erris complied, plunging the end of the stick into the coals until it burned, then offering it to his uncle. Petir lit his pipe, and drew in a deep, thoughtful puff. "Now, boy," he began after a moment, "what do you know of Bothmek?"

Erris dipped his head a little, shy, or perhaps afraid. "He is the winter god, the Dark King. His breath brings ice. And he takes women, women and girls from the village, and kills them-"

Borse brought up a hand quickly. "That's well enough of that. It does no good to speak aloud the ills of the gods." He coughed, nervously. "But you know who Bothmek is; that he brings winter and snows. And that is enough. Now…do you know of Vaelen?"

Erris' dark eyes clouded and he poked at a stray coal with his leather-wrapped foot. "She…she brings life, and ends the winter. Her breath is fire and warmth. She…whenever we pray for help, we pray to Vaelen. She is Bothmek's sister, and only she can stop his icy breath. Then it is summer for a few cycles, until the snows come again."

Petir drew again from his pipe. The account seemed to be recited from whatever patchwork pieces of information the boy could pick up. He shot a sidelong glance at his brother-in-law, but Borse was unresponding, staring almost numbly into the fire.

Petir cleared his throat. "Boy, do you know how Vaelen delivers us from her brother's ices? That is the kindling. Once a year, when the moon cycles show the time is proper, all the men go to build fires and praise Vaelen. Well, all of the unmarried men of the proper age. They go to a valley called Vaelen's Cup. You have heard of it?"

Erris shook his head, but his dark eyes were wide as he listened to his uncle's narration.

"The men…yes, they build prayer fires, and each one of them draws a lot. And then a priestess casts her runes, and Vaelen selects a man. One man out of all that are there."

Now Erris' face grew troubled. "All the men go there?"

"Most, except for the ones with wives, or the ones that are too old. Of them that go, one will be for Vaelen." Here Petir paused, drawing from his pipe and looking to see that Erris understood.

The child opened and shut his mouth a few times, as if afraid to say what was on his mind. Finally, he shook his head to clear it of the troubling thought. "What…what does Vaelen do to the man? She kills him, like Bothmek does to the women?"

Petir's brow knitted. "I suppose that it is much the same. But Vaelen is kind, where Bothmek is cruel. Bothmek's sacrifices occur when and wherever he wills, as often as he wills. Vaelen takes a man only once a year, and always he helps her to bring about the thaw. When she selects her man, he goes to her and…boy, you know of rutting? How a boar gets a sow with piglets; a man gets a woman with life?" Erris nodded. "Yes. They ru-ur, the man gets Vaelen with life. And when she kindles with new life, the ices melt. When her belly rises, the summer goes on, for a few cycles at least, time enough to plant and reap. In the old days, it is told, summer went on all year, and winter never came. But Bothmek, I think, grew stronger than his sister."

"What about the man?"

"The man-? Oh, the man who got Vaelen with life-he is consumed in Vaelen's flames. His sacrifice brings life to us all. Do you understand now, boy?"

Erris tugged at Borse's leg. "Father? I will not have to go with the men and build fires, will I?"

Borse opened his mouth to speak, but Petir was quicker. "Of course you will, boy, when you are old enough! Everyone must do it at least once before they marry. Don't tell me you are one of those pewling squirrels afraid of the goddess' will!"

Borse raised a hand and laid it on Petir's arm. "That is enough, brother. Erris is only a young child." Petir grunted and puffed at his pipe, his eyes squinting at the thin child near the fireplace.

Erris ducked his head, and tried to shrink, knowing he had said the wrong thing. After a time, the child retreated to his bed in the far corner of the cabin. Before sleep took him, he trembled, though he was not cold beneath his furs in the snug cabin.

II

Erris: The Man

Years passed, slowly. The ice of winter continued almost uninterrupted, only passing for a few weeks into a hesitant thaw. Meager crops were sown and harvested quickly before the snows came once more and choked the land with icy fingers.

Through it all, Bothmek grew more and more urgent in his dealings with the land's women; where before he had demanded a sacrifice no more than thrice or so a year, now the god took women in masses, often several in the short span of one moon cycle. Daughters were growing scarce in the land. Suffering was great. Food was a precious commodity, and many starved, or froze to death. The people cowered before Bothmek and raised their fires and their hands to Vaelen.

The years passed painfully, but they did pass. Erris grew, passing from a child to a thin, pensive youth. When he was old enough to swing an ax, he took work with the party of woodcutters, who provided the sole fuel for warmth against Bothmek's freezing breath.

Erris grew only a bit taller as the years passed, and his arms became like wire with the work, taut but thin and fragile-looking. The other boys sometimes taunted him, and cast jealous glances at him, for the trunk of his body was a bit soft and almost dumpy compared to their lean muscle and skin strapped on bone. A soft, fat body meant he wasn't starving. It was true that Borse was one of the wealthiest men in the village, and their suffering paled in comparison to those without even a proper hut to squat in out of the wind and snow.

Erris had never had many good friends as a youth, but as he grew older, he stopped socializing altogether. The hours not spent in silent toil in the forest were passed in his father's cabin, sitting somberly by the hearth. His lips pressed almost permanently together in a thin line, he stared at the dancing flames, brow furrowed in deep thought.

With his wide, dark eyes, Erris watched the cycles of the moon. Each year he saw the throngs of young men depart the village when the time of the kindling drew near. He watched them go and weeks later saw their return. Always the full count returned to his village, for as long as Erris could recall. When the young men returned, the thaw was already beginning, and all made haste to plant their crops. Always Borse would go and speak with the census taker after the men returned, and then go to their home to tell Erris the news.

"All of our village returns this year," he said. "The chosen came from Preth," or "He was from a village to the far north," or "He came from Danzing, a Blessing on his head." And always Erris' lips would press together in that thin line and the lids would close over his dark eyes. Neither father nor child would say anything, though each knew what the other was thinking.

The men returned to the village, year after year. The women were not so lucky.

Bothmek's appetite for sacrifice grew, and he gathered it where he willed. In Erris' village, women were particularly scarce, for the god had gathered there many times. All had witnessed the horrific will of the god; there was no escaping it.

When Bothmek grew restless and hungry for sacrifice, his aspect would appear in the village. A horrible light; a large white and blue tongue of flame that was not flame, a fire of ice and wind that burned and burned but gave no warmth and consumed nothing.

When Bothmek's aspect appeared, families with daughters wailed, but there was nothing to be done. The census taker had to prepare the lots, and a girl was chosen and led into the frigid heart of Bothmek's cold flame. At times he did not accept a sacrifice, and the girl was thrown from the flames, alive, but half-frozen and weak. Then the lots had to be drawn again, and sometimes again, until Bothmek was satisfied and his aspect disappeared, vanishing into the air without a trace, but leaving a cold dead girl in the spot where he had been.

Bothmek was cruel in his dealings with the people of the land. When the kindling came each year, Vaelen repaid her people for their sacrifice, holding back her brother's icy touch for a few cycles at least, so they could plant their meager crops and survive another year. Bothmek gave no respite at all from his cruel winter; if anything the weather grew harder after a sacrifice. And so it went, the cycles of the moon, the kindling, and the winters growing colder and harsher as the years went by.

And finally, Erris was a man. Still he watched the cycles, but this year he knew fear in the pale face of the moon. The time of the kindling drew near, and this year, Erris would be among the men who went to build the fires.

One evening his father returned to their home and sat wearily before the fire. He removed his cap and turned it over and over, absently, in his wind-chapped hands. He sat like that for a good long while, until finally he heard the door behind him slam open with the force of the wind, then shut.

Erris shook the snow from his furs and hung them by the fire to dry. The youth's face looked more gaunt than usual, the dark half-moon smudges beneath his eyes were more pronounced than ever at each side of his blade-thin nose. Though the rough leathers that covered his body and rendered it shapeless provided ample warmth in the snug cabin, Erris shivered.

Finally Borse broke the tense silence, clearing his throat. "The time of the kindling grows near," he began, sounding far away. A log snapped on the fire. "You will be among the fire-builders this year. I spoke to the census taker tonight, hoping I deceive him about your age; tell him you were still a year too young." He spread his hands. "Such mistakes can happen. But he had it all marked down. He remembered. He remembered you were born in the Great Blizzard. And so you must go. We can delay it no longer. You are not married, and your age is right. You must go. If you deny the law, they will stone you."

Father and son hung their heads, and Erris spoke, his voice hollow. "I will go. It will be all right."

Borse nodded, tugging at his beard as he spoke. "There will be many men there...many. Hundreds, hundreds. You will not be chosen. You will return safely, and by next year…we will find you a wife. Somehow. Next year you will not go…."

Erris' dark, haunted eyes seemed to grow liquid and he shivered again. "Yes. I will be but one out of hundreds. I will not be chosen."

"I pray that you will not be. For all of our sakes." At this both father and son hung their heads and nodded somberly. They rose to ladle out a cup of hot broth before sleep. Nothing more was said, but in the flickering firelight, fear shined in both their eyes.

* * *

The time of the kindling grew closer and closer. Soon it was time for all the unmarried men of the proper age to gather supplies and journey north, to Vaelen's Cup, where they would builds fires and draw lots.

Erris had no close friends any more, but that was not so unusual. In the harsh times they lived in, friendship was a leisure many could not afford. There were some men and boys Erris worked at the side of, so he traveled at their side as well.

The journey north was uneventful. As his village group continued, they met with other villages, and more, until by the time they reached Vaelen's Cup, they were a great throng of men, from beardless youths like Erris to unmarried men the age of his father, who still came to build fires, though it was not required of them any longer.

As the men arrived in Vaelen's Cup, a valley nestled beneath the stern visage of craggy mountains, they began straight away to gather firewood. Many travelers had brought wood from their home villages. All the wood was then arranged into stacks and pillars and lit for the prayer fires.

Erris felt numb as he helped a salt-and-pepper bearded man from his village to arrange the wood just right. The air was heavy with silence, but it was a reverent, worshipful silence that bespoke a ritual of great importance and followers who were respectful and devout.

In time, the last of the fires were raised, and men mounted the large natural platform of stone that rested centrally in the valley. They were the census takers, one for each region of the land. Their arms were laden, some with sacks containing the lots, and some with woven reed baskets.

As all around held their breath and watched, one more ascended the platform. It was the only woman among them. Her hair was dark mahogany, and long and shining. Though the temperature was frigid, she shrugged out of her ermine cloak and stood before them in a thin shift of white.

Erris' breath caught in his throat as he viewed her milky white arms and soft, rounded body-so unlike his own; so unlike any he had ever seen. It did not seem possible that such a one could exist, in these harsh times.

The woman raised a hand, and the census takers with the sacks held them out, and opened them to her. She closed her eyes, and leaned in slightly, exhaling gently into each of the open sacks. Then she straightened herself once more, and gave a curt nod. "Vaelen thanks Her children." She said nothing more, simply grabbed her cloak from the stone and wrapped it about her as she descended, disappearing from Erris' view.

Already those who had come to build fires in years past were assembling into neat lines, and Erris followed their example. Upon the platform, chits were being emptied into the woven baskets and stirred and mixed. The census takers drew first, each from the basket of another. Each tied his tiny piece of bone around a leather thong at his neck, and dropped it into his shirt, to absorb his essence.

The process took a long time, for the men numbered in thousands, and each had to wait his turn. Erris was near the middle of the processional line, right behind a youth that looked younger even than he did. The fire building had been completed near midday, and after Erris waited for a time it began to grow dark. Still, there were at least a few hundred men who must draw their lots before him. Finally, as the moon began to rise high in the velvet darkness, Erris reached the platform.

Erris watched as the youth in front of him, scarcely more than a boy, reached with trembling fingers into the basket and drew out his chit. Face flushed with excitement, the lad closed a tight fist around the tiny piece of bone and ran to the fires to pray.

Now it was Erris' turn. The youth drew in a deep breath and stuck a hand into the reed basket. Testing fingers touched first one chit, then another. Which to choose? Did it matter? All but one would be safe.

Blindly, Erris' hand closed on a chit and pulled it out of the basket. Scarcely daring to breathe, Erris moved the hand to his side and shuffled off to a nearby blaze. As he approached the flames, a nervous tongue touched his lips. Perhaps the hardest part was over now.

He drew the fist close to his pointed nose and opened it, slowly… Carved into the bone and blacked with soot were the signs of Flame and New Birth over Ice. A nonsensical sign. Surely not the sign of a worthy man.

A slight smile played on the thin lips, then cracked to a grin. It was as his father had said: there were hundreds of men, here, hundreds. Only the most worthy would be chosen, by the glorious will of the goddess. Vaelen would never choose him, not with so much at stake. Erris was safe. They all were safe.

Shrugging his thin shoulders out of his fur cloak, Erris threw the garment to the ground and dropped to his knees upon it, praying for the worthiest of sacrifices, and exalting Vaelen before the dancing flames.

He prayed for hours, as the last of the men received their chits and joined the others at the invocation fires. When at last Erris was drawn from his reverie, exhausted but content, the thin winter sun had reached over the horizon. Many fires had dwindled, the men tending their prayers already asleep to replenish their strength for the choosing at sunset. Taking one last moment to tie his chit on a leather thong and place it around his neck, so it could absorb his spirit while he slumbered, Erris pulled his cloak around him and tumbled into a deep and restful sleep.

A hand at his shoulder woke him hours later, and a bit of blessed bread was shoved into his hand. Slowly Erris became aware of the world around him. The sun was sinking rapidly in the sky, and all about him men thoughtfully chewed their bread and talked quietly amongst themselves.

The air of reverent worship was still about, but it did not hang so heavy in the air as before. Now men felt free to make idle talk, play a game of bones, even regale one another with bawdy songs. Anything to cut the tension before the choosing. There were those that eagerly awaited it, hoping against hope to be the chosen sacrifice, and those, who dreaded it, as Erris had. Now, however, he felt remarkably calm and sat quietly, waiting for the last sliver of the sun to disappear.

As it did, its final ray breaking red over the craggy tops of the mountains, a hush settled over the men, and all turned once more to the rock platform in the center of the valley.

In a moment, the women from the previous day appeared, wrapped in her ermine cloak, with her mahogany hair loose behind her. She ascended the platform alone this time, and in her hand was clutched a bag of softest leather. Once again, she cast the white cloak from her shoulders and stood before them nearly naked, only the thin cloth of her shift to protect her from the cold.

She ignored all the men gathered there, and cried out in a language Erris did not understand, seeming to address the sky itself. Then she knelt, laying a small square of doeskin before her, and brought the bag to her lap. Her hand dipped into the bag, and nimble fingers flicked out as it emerged, gracefully tossing rune stones to the skin. She leaned forward to read the signs, to determine which of them was Vaelen's chosen, and the men held their breath as one.

Erris, from his vantage point near the platform, saw the priestess' brow furrow slightly, a line marring her alabaster perfection. She studied the runes once more, and stood, the cast runes now gathered in her hands. "Vaelen has chosen!" she called, her voice carrying clearly in the frigid air. She held the cast runes aloft. "The runes predict Flame and New Birth over Ice! Vaelen is wise!" She raised a strange, trilling cry.

A murmur rose up among the men. The runes were strange…the sign made no sense. Erris alone was silent, struck numb with by the outcome of the priestess' cast. Flame…and New Birth over Ice. A hand went unbidden to the cord at his neck, clutching the damning bone through his shirt.

On the platform, the priestess' eerie cry rose to a climax, then died. She raised one hand and swept it over the crowd. "Who here holds the Mark?"

Erris' breathing became fast and shallow. What to do? If he kept silent, perhaps he would never be found out…. Perhaps they would draw again, as they did in the village when Bothmek was displeased by a first choice. Or perhaps he would bring ruin on the land, plunging it in eternal winter, if he did not come forward. The thought was not a pleasant one, but Erris seemed damned at every turn. What to do? Stay silent and cause ruin, or come forward and cause the same?

Hands pressed at him from all sides, men hurried him to the base of the flat central rock. A few reached out reverently and brushed a finger across Erris' brow, murmuring, "A Blessing on your head."

Erris wanted to weep. How had they known? He dropped his head as the priestess looked on him from her platform. And saw. And knew. The chit he had drawn last night, now clutched in his hands through the thick material of his shirt, was glowing, shining forth a great fiery light. A hand from above him swept the hair from his brow.

"A Blessing on your head," spoke the clear, bell-like voice of the priestess. "You must come with me."

Erris shook his head. "I mustn't. I cannot…Doom…doom for-"

The priestess cut him off with a sharp chop of her hand through the air. "Vaelen has chosen you. You cannot refuse Her will."

"But…I…" He ducked his head, too afraid to speak what he knew he should. "I am unworthy. I will bring ruin to the land!"

The priestess wrapped herself once more in her ermine cloak and shot him a stern look. "Enough. Vaelen has chosen. It is all right that you are frightened. Many are. But know that you will have ultimate bliss, before Vaelen delivers you to the warm Summer Land, and know that it will be you who helped Her end this cycle of ice."

She beckoned, her eyes flecked with steel, and Erris found himself compelled to obey. He followed her, the world a blur about him. Dimly he became aware of the men behind him singing and praising Vaelen, but these faded as he left them in the distance.

Erris did not know how far they walked. Time had not seemed to pass, or rather, it had passed oddly. Erris could not decide if they had been walking for days, or only for minutes. He could see no scenery clearly, though he tried, looking up and all around him, but the moment he turned away from something, it changed, and he could not remember what it was he had seen.

Suddenly, he noticed he was no longer outside. He was within the earth, in a cave. "Where-?" he began to ask the priestess, but stopped short as he noticed she was gone, disappeared completely. Erris whirled about, looking for a way out, but found no exits of any kind. The inside of the earthen cave was round, with smooth and scoop-shaped walls. There was no way out.

Erris trembled, and as he did, a small tongue of flame began to form in the center of the cave. It grew larger and warmer, casting flickering orange shadows on all sides. Erris was frozen, and could do nothing but watched as the flames began to form themselves into the shape of a woman. Vaelen stood before him.

The goddess was tall, with a rounded, well-shaped body and long auburn hair that seemed to writhe around her like a living thing. Her skin was dark, a deep tan color, and her eyes were the green of a moss-covered tree. A thin wrap of sheer linen was draped over her body, covering nothing, and providing no warmth or protection.

Vaelen regarded Erris for a moment, sweeping her gaze up and down his thin frame and the thick form-concealing skins he wore. The eyes the color of rich moss seemed to stare straight into him, and the goddess spoke.

"You are no man."

III

Errin

Erris threw herself prostrate on the ground before Vaelen, sobbing. "Forgive me, great goddess, I did not wish to deceive you! I tried to tell the fire-builders I would bring doom to the lands, but they did not listen! I should have-" A gentle hand, with a touch so warm it was almost feverish, brushed the hair from Erris' forehead.

"It is all right, child. I was not accusing, merely stating what we both know to be true. What are you called?"

Erris could not bring herself to look up yet. "Erris…My father named me Erris, after my mother, Ernis." She licked her lips. "She…when she died bearing me, my father was greatly distraught. And, seeing I was born a girl…"

Erris shuddered at the effort of revealing what she had concealed from birth, then willed herself to continue. "Seeing I was a girl, he became afraid that I too, would be lost, sacrificed to Bothmek when I grew older. So he lied, telling the census taker I was a boy. There was no midwife present at the birth to see the truth, and no one thought to contest it."

She hung her head. "And still I am doomed, but now I have doomed all in the land with me. I am no true man. I cannot plant the seed of life within you and make you kindle. The winter will go on this year, and all will freeze or starve." Tears fell freely from Erris' eyes, running down her long, pointed nose and hitting the warm earth beneath her.

There was perfect silence for a moment, and Erris was greatly afraid she had somehow offended the goddess. She tried to stop trembling, but her body only began to quiver more violently. Then Vaelen's hand was at her face again, this time beneath her chin, lifting Erris' gaze so their eyes met.

"Child," the goddess spoke in dulcet tones, "do you not see that I have picked you? I knew you for what you are, and this is why I have chosen you instead of a born-man. You have become man, but are woman-born. And you are what I need."

Erris knew she must look confused, but she dared not question the will of the goddess. Vaelen sat upon the earth and waved a hand, gesturing Erris to come closer.

"Come child, if you are brave, and know that you are the only one who can help me bring summer back to the land. Let me tell you of Bothmek…"

Erris cowered a bit at the mention of the winter king's name.

Vaelen spoke in her warm, rich voice, her moss-green eyes seeming far away. "Bothmek. You cringe from him now, and pray to me for deliverance from his snows. But it was not always so. Once he was my consort. You looked shocked, but it is true. Once he was the one who made me kindle, who brought on new seasons. Once the winter snows lasted only a few cycles, while the summer was as long as the winter is now. But this changed. Bothmek grew prideful. He was a half of the power that brought life, but he began to see himself as the whole. He cast me aside and wandered the land, his pride making him cold and cruel as the time went by. And without my other half, my powers faded as well. I tried to seek Bothmek out, but he flees from me, all the while grower colder and colder. His heart is ice now, and he has forgotten much of the balance of things.

"Do you know, young one, why Bothmek takes the women of the land? It is not merely as a sacrifice to appease him. Rather, he knows, deep down, though he denies it, that he needs a women. He knows his powers are incomplete, yet he still wishes to create life. He tries to get those women with life, hoping they will kindle and the ices will melt. Again you look shocked, but it is true. Bothmek loves the winter and ices no more that you do. He has simply grown too cold to produce anything but such. And so it goes, and the winter grows stronger and stronger the colder Bothmek becomes. Soon there will be no summer at all, only ice, always."

Erris' dark eyes had grown wide as she listened, learning what she had never suspected. If Bothmek did not control the ices…if he was merely a slave to the winter, not its king…

"I have waited long for one such as you, child. With you, I can stop these endless winters and restore warmth and life to the land. My powers have grown weak, and I needed you to come to me. Still, I knew, hearing the whispers of the wind, that a women would come, in the guise of a man, having lived the life of a man…"

"But…! Your priestess! She is a woman, and she has dedicated her life to your service! Couldn't you use her, or another like her? Couldn't you have stopped the ices long ago?" Erris instantly regretted her outburst, and shrank back, anticipating the goddess' wrath.

Vaelen only shook her head, sadly. "No. It is you. You, or another like you, if there is such a one, for rebirth is a key element. Now I will ask you, and the final choice is yours. Will you trust in me, and help me restore warmth to Bothmek and the land? It will be difficult for you, and I cannot ensure your safety, though I will do all I can to help."

Erris stared, the dark half-moons smudges seeming to swallow whatever light was in her eyes. "You are asking me?"

"The final choice is yours."

Erris cast her glance down to the earthen cave floor. Her decision was already made, but she hesitated for an instant, fear holding her back. Then she parted her lips, freeing them from that tight, thin line, and spoke. "I will help you."

Erris saw Vaelen smile, and the goddess' hands reached up to grasp the girl's shoulders. First it grew hot. Then Erris knew pain.

She was being burned up, consumed by Vaelen's flames. Erris screamed as the flames covered her body, catching her clothes alight. The clothes burned and dropped off, freeing those parts of her body she had kept tightly bound for years, her hips and her chest. Her dark hair was aflame, and singed off of her in an instant. Then she felt her flesh itself being burned off, cracking and cooking and blackening. She screamed louder and louder, until even her voice was burned away. And still she screamed, with a sound none could hear.

And then, as abruptly as the pain had started, it was gone. The girl was crouched naked on the ground, panting.

Vaelen lightly touched the girl with her hot fingertips. "You were born a girl, but raised as a boy, and given a boy's name and a boy's life. Now that has been burned away. Here is your new life, the life you would have had if all of it were spent as a woman. Erris is gone; arise Errin, and greet your new life."

Errin stood shakily, her eyes examining her body. She was different now, in subtle ways. Still very thin and slight, but now her hips, bound tightly from an early age, had been allowed to widen, twin mounds of flesh hung from her chest, small but round instead of being flattened by wrappings. Her dark hair, too, was changed, longer like a women's and more shining that its previous dull shade.

Vaelen traced a finger down from Errin's brow, down on the pointed blade of her nose, over the thin lips and ending at her chin, and suddenly Errin found herself dressed in a woman's clothes. And not just any women's clothes; these were by far the finest Errin had ever seen.

Leathers of softest doeskin were stitched flawlessly together to form a dress and dyed a rich burgundy color. A golden cord belted the dress at the waist and crisscrossed around her torso, clearly showing the feminine shape she had hidden all her life. Her boots were also of doeskin and lined and trimmed with rabbit fur. Her leg wraps were soft and warm, and a traveling cloak of dark brown fur was thrown over her shoulder, with a wrap and hood attached at its top.

"Now," said Vaelen, "It is time for you to go and seek Bothmek. My powers are fading, but I will try to guide your steps and hasten your journey."

"But…what am I to do?"

"You must carry me, within yourself, to Bothmek. He would flee from me if he saw me, and in any case, I am too weak to make the journey myself any more. Bring me to him…" Vaelen's voice grew wavering and faint, and changed to the sound of a fire burning.

Vaelen herself grew smoky and small, and condensed to her aspect, one of flame, and the flame itself grew smaller and smaller until it was the size of a thumbnail. Then it whirled through the air, and touched Errin at her forehead. There was a burning for an instant, but it did not hurt this time. Errin felt her whole body grow warm for a moment, then the feeling slowly subsided and she realized she was once more outside the cave.

She was not sure how she had gotten there, and she looked around to see if the men were near, at the same time drawing up her cloak's hood and wrapping herself tightly against the wind. She noted with some amazement that she was some few day's journey from the valley. The mountains rose in the far distance behind her and she realized as well that she was now well north of them. A sort of tickle in her mind compelled her to the west, and she trudged that way, through the unmarked drifts and building wind.

Again, time grew indistinct, either passing very slowly, or perhaps very quickly. Still, this time Errin felt a purpose in he journey, and though she was not sure of her final destination, she knew the way to get there: follow the storm.

She was wandering deep into the heart of the bitterest cold, the wind howling and lashing at her with ice in its grip. It was not the very worst storm she had ever seen, but she had always had shelter before. Still, she continued, her face burning at winds worked ice into the cracks and crevices of her wrap, her feet numb and unfelt beneath her despite the warm boots and leathers they were wrapped in. She found she could completely cover her face, eyes and all, and use the wind as a guide to her steps, leaning into it as far as she could without falling.

Abruptly, the wind stopped, and Errin tumbled forward to her knees. She reached up quickly and pulled the furs and wraps from her face. Before her was a great flickering blue light, and in an instant she recognized it as Bothmek's fiery aspect. She pulled herself to her feet, and stood, staring into the cold flames.

She heard a voice, as if it spoke from inside her skull, and it made her head ache. What is your business here?

Errin brought a hand to her skull, trying to block the words that seemed to drive icy bolts through her brain. "I…I seek Bothmek…" she managed to gasp, though the pain in her skull was almost unbearable.

There was a rustling, a crackling sound of crusted snow falling from tree branches, and ice snapping on a pond. …Never before, in all my days, has a woman sought me of her free will....Never sought by mortal woman….Perhaps you are the key? With you, I will banish the winter for all time!

And now Errin screamed, for Bothmek's aspect moved towards her, and surrounded her. The cold was bitter, enough that she almost fainted from the pure shock of it. She surely would have, had not she felt a tiny voice, also coming from her head, but where Bothmek's words had chilled and pained her, this voice warmed her from the inside, and comforted her.

Remember that I am with you. A warm glow started from Errin's chest, and spread itself along the length of her body, so that the chill of Bothmek's embrace did not harm her.

Errin felt the furs being tugged from around her body, and her skirts being lifted, and the wraps torn violently from her legs. She screamed, and was hushed by a blizzard that exploded in her head, changing her call to a whimper.

This was what happened to the girls that Bothmek took, the girls from her village and from other villages all over the land. Bothmek did not merely take them as a sacrifice; he raped them in a twisted attempt to regain his old half of the power of life.

Errin screamed again, and struggled as her dress was ripped from her body. She turned inward for help, crying to Vaelen to deliver her from this horror. She received a reply, a tiny weak-sounding voice.

He is stronger here than I would have thought. His heart is almost completely frozen. I can keep his freezing touch from killing your body; I will warm you, but you must warm him. Warm him enough to melt his ice, and melt his power…

Errin did not know what to do, and she struggled against the invisible hands that held her down, and once more screamed defiantly, though the god once more silenced her with a frigid shot to her brain. Then she felt solid cold spear at her below, trying to dominate and conquer her.

She brought her legs together and denied him entry. More invisible hands worked at her legs, trying to force them open, and Errin screamed again, this time not in fear but in triumph, for her body was no longer cold at all, and the snows beneath her were melting. The invisible hand of ice that held her seemed to melt somewhat too, and in that moment, Errin knew she had won.

The hands released their grip, and from within Errin flared a blazing fire; for a moment white-hot pain burned out through every pore in her body and then she was herself again, and Vaelen's aspect, a red-orange tongue of flame, was before her.

Bothmek's aspect retreated for a moment, then stopped and came forward, and the icy blue flames seemed to melt. Then the two fiery aspect leapt into the air, and joined and mingled and seemed to become one.

* * *

The thaw began early that year, and happened more quickly than any could ever remember. The fire-builders from Vaelen's Cup returned to their village with all swiftness, eager to return home and help with planting the crops. And in Errin's old village, everyone was happy and content, save for one man.

Borse had been relieved when the ices began to melt, for a successful kindling meant Erris had not been chosen. Eagerly he awaited the return of the men and, with them, his only child. Soon the men arrived, proclaiming that one of their number has gone to Vaelen, a young one, a boy; Borse's boy, a Blessing on his head.

And Borse had thrown himself on the ground when he heard and cried out and wailed, calling, "But it cannot be! It was not my son! It could not have been!"

He calmed with time, but now sat listless in his cabin all day long, moving only to tend to the fire. Erris' spot before the hearth was empty, drawing Borse's gaze no matter how hard he tried to resist.

He could not understand it. If Erris had been chosen, why had the thaw begun? Erris was not really a man, and could not fill Vaelen with new life to kindle. Perhaps the sacrifice to Vaelen was useless after all, and the thaw would begin whether it was made or no? Borse shook a weary head. He had been trying for days to understand it, and could not arrive at any sane conclusion.

Dimly he became aware of a sound outside his door. It had the muffled sound of many voices speaking at once, the buzz of a large crowd. He stood slowly, as if the action pained him, and walked near the cabin door. He heard then one sharp, clear knock on the wood, and the door creaked opened slowly.

There was a woman standing at the threshold, and a large number of people behind her, all whispering and pointing with looks of wonder on their faces. The woman was dressed in what must have once been the finest of clothes, though now they were ripped and travel-stained.

She was slim and wiry, and her shining dark hair was loosely knotted at the back of her neck, wisps of it blowing free in the unusually warm breeze. Her lips were thin and pressed together in a line in the shadow of a pointed, blade-thin nose. Faint half-moons smudges were nearly invisible beneath dark, dark shining eyes.

Tears sprang to Borse's eyes. "Ernis-? No…you…you are-"

The woman before him smiled. "I am Errin, father. And I am home."

And both father and daughter fell into one another's arms, weeping and laughing all at the same time.

The End

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