Frost crept over the earthen floor.

It was past bedtime, but Aryana couldn’t sleep. She liked the night, and every night she’d lay awake and stare until her eyes got used to the dark.

There were things to see in the dark. Things that fluttered, and crawled, and shimmered in the moonlight. The night was alive, and there was a world after dusk Aryana knew almost nothing about.

She knew there were things she wasn’t supposed to see and things that didn’t want to be seen. Mysterious things that lived by the streams and in the woodlands. That fled from lanterns and frightened adults into locking doors and shuttering windows.

It was an odd arrangement. All these things that had no shape or color in Aryana’s mind somehow kept people inside, huddled by their hearth’s dying embers or clinging to a candlestick.

Aryana smiled to herself, her face half-hidden under a frilly blanket. If there really was anything dangerous out there, she doubted a candle’s tiny flame would help. No, better to be outside beneath the stars. But then again, Aryana always wanted to be outside. It didn’t matter if it was cold or rainy or if the fog hung so thick she couldn’t see the next hovel over.

She supposed she was weird that way.

Aryana had always been different. She’d never felt ‘at home’ at home. In fact, she didn’t like any home or the things that made up a home, like roofs that kept people dry but stopped her from getting soaked. Walls buffeted gales but also took the wind out of her hair. And doors locked away all the strange things that lived in the world, like the giant in the woods.

She hadn’t seen it yet, but everyone was talking about it. Or at least when they weren’t pretending to be too afraid to talk about it. Grown-up stuff, they’d said and then assured her there was nothing to fear. But tales of giants didn’t frighten Aryana. Not even a little.

An icy draft made her breath fog in the gloom. The frost kept creeping toward her bed, cutting a curved trail across the floor. Almost like a curled finger, beckoning her outside. It’d done so every night these past few weeks. Aryana pulled her arm from under the covers and touched that icy fingertip. The ice followed, or the thing causing the ice followed, and she painted streaks of frost all around her bed.

A shadow shifted behind the shutters.

“Who’s there?” Aryana said. Nobody answered. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Aryana climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Icy white crystals had sprouted like mushrooms on the windowsill. She wiped them off and twisted the wooden lock, careful not to let the wind whip at the shutters.

“Is anybody there?” she whispered. She peered left and right, up and down, but nothing moved in the shadows, and there were no footprints below.

Perhaps the visitor had wings or floated like mist or hid among the trees.

And there were many trees. Their home was close to the edge of a forest. It was a dark forest with old, leafless trees that looked black against the night-blue sky.

She considered climbing out the window but glimpsed the undulating glow of a lantern on the far wall. It drew nearer, along with the sound of gruff murmurs. A night patrol. Aryana closed the shutters and twisted the wooden lock back in place.

The frost wouldn’t grow again tonight. They’d scared it off.

~

The next day Aryana was back outside, playing with her friends, who were all boys. They didn’t always play nice, and Aryana often had to prove to be just as daring or just as brave or just as strong as they were. But that was alright. She was plenty of daring and a lot stronger, anyway. They’d decided to play ‘Outpost,’ and Aryana would prove—yet again—that she was the bravest, as well.

Emet, who was the bossiest, always made the rules. “Okay, get your rooks!” he shouted. “And be back at the tree in one-hundred counts!” Emet sprinted off before even finishing his sentence.

“Wait up!” cried his little brother, struggling behind on his much shorter legs.

The other children followed suit and dashed for their hovels. Aryana went so fast she almost ran old man Yashar off of his crutch. Luckily, a quick glance over the shoulder told her he was okay.

“Sorry!” she called back.

Yashar muttered something about ‘lack of respect,’ but Aryana pretended not to have heard.

She was almost there. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen, but there was no time for snacks.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… she counted in her mind. On the next count, she’d finally made it into her room. Now she had twenty counts to find her wicker rook and at least fifty more to make it back. Easy.

“Aryana?” her mother called in a tone that ominously hinted at looming chores.

Thirty-three, thirty-four… she continued in her head. She was getting rather good at being hard-of-hearing. If only she could get out of the house without being seen, her mother might give up.

“Aryana, can you fetch a bucket of water?”

Thirty-nine, forty—aha! There it was. Now she only needed to get back. She could either risk sprinting past her mom and swipe a slice of fresh bread crust along the way or climb out through the window.

An instant later, her foot was on the ledge, only one small jump away from freedom. Her momentum went forward and then suddenly reversed back with a jerk.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Her mother grinned, holding her daughter by the hem of her dress.

“Mom,” she whined, “I need to get back to the meeting place!” Fifty…

“Meeting place? Are you playing that game again? You know you’re not allowed into the woods.”

“Please, mom,” Aryana said, flailing helplessly. “It’s not that far!”

“But it’s not allowed, my sweet.”

Someone knocked on the open door. “Skathi?” said a male voice.

“Yes, Keshish?” her mother called back.

“Almost done with those loaves? We’re expecting the Dawarans any hour now.”

Seventy-six… She wasn’t going to make it.

“The last batch will be ready soon. If this one can get her poor mother a bucket of water, that is.”

The man snorted. “At least you caught yours. I wasn’t quick enough.”

“They’re probably out by the Ol’ Crooked.”

Aryana narrowed her eyes, glowering at the abject betrayal in her mother’s teasing grin.

“The tree? Darn kids. I should’ve known. Well, if they’re not back when the Dawarans arrive, there’ll be hell to pay. Anyway, thanks, Skathi. See you at the welcome.”

“See you there.”

Aryana went limp in defeat. There’d be no escape now. If she’d just climbed through the window in the first place, her mom would’ve been none the wiser. Now she had Emet’s taunts to look forward to, which he wouldn’t let up until she’d beat him at something else.

Aryana was as cooperative as a lumpy sack of onions as her mom lugged her off the windowsill.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.”

“It’s just not fair….”

Her mom bent through her knees so they were at eye level, and she smiled. She took the wicker rook and cupped Aryana’s cheek, her thumb tucking a few auburn curls behind her daughter’s ear.

“It’s very fair. You’re part of a community, and in a community, everyone helps, and everyone looks after each other.”

“The other kids don’t help….” Aryana grumbled.

“Yes, they do. Doesn’t Hugon work at his father’s shop every day?”

Aryana shrugged. Of course, she would bring up Hugon. “That doesn’t count. His dad is mean.”

“Mister Hushang isn’t mean. He has a tough job working the lumber, you know? The entire village depends on him. How else would we get all the timber we need for building and repairs? It’s a very important responsibility, and one day, Hugon will run the mill the same as his father does now and his grandfather did before him. So you should thank Hugon next time you see him.”

Aryana bit her lip.

Her mother snorted and gave her a peck on the cheek and a nudge at her back. “Later, you may play. But now, go fetch me that bucket. We don’t want the knights of Dawara to arrive at empty tables, now, do we?”

“No…” she said, resigned. In truth, Aryana was excited to see actual knights, but she also wanted to play with her friends. If only she’d been faster—or had snuck in through the window.

~

The knights arrived, and the entire village had come out to welcome them. Aryana stood in front of her mother the same way the other children watched from in front of their parents.

Emet stood across from her. He stuck out his tongue, and Aryana returned the gesture.

The knights entered the village to the beat of drums. They looked nothing like the knights from Aryana’s stories, though. Those had been handsome—noble, clad in gleaming armor plate, riding on great white stallions.

These men did not.

They were broad figures who wore robes as black as their mounts. She noticed there was something underneath their cloth, a metallic glint shimmering through the seams. Perhaps beneath their hooded cowls, they really were proper knights? Stalwart and suited in beautifully adorned armor, which they must have covered for protection against the elements. Now that she thought about it, it would have been a harrowing journey, and those robes could’ve offered some extra warmth and comfort along the way.

That night, there was a ceremony and feast to welcome them. Unfortunately, the village didn’t have an inn or a tavern, so they divided the knights among the hovels. According to her mother, it was the least they could do.

And so they’d opened their home as well, and her mother asked a man the others called ‘magister’ to stay at their place. The alderman had invited him as well, but the magister had declined in favor of her mother’s offer.

Aryana figured he was their leader. Earlier, he’d preached about the evil Afreet, the giants, and the other kinds of monsters. How they were beyond redemption in the eyes of some guy named ‘Dawara’ and that demons were out to corrupt and devour humans.

Aryana didn’t find it all that interesting. She’d never seen a monster of any kind. Her mom believed their village was too far north and too well hidden to be found. And it was true, there were no monsters save for the giant in the woods, of course.

The feast and preaching lasted until midnight, when the magister finally retired to their home. They walked back together, though he’d said nothing. He hadn’t even asked Aryana for her name. The only time he acknowledged her existence was back when he’d rode into town. Their gazes met only briefly, but his gray eyes had raked her over, narrowed, and then, wordlessly, left her.

Once they were home, Aryana was sent off to bed while her mother stayed and talked to the magister for a long while after. Aryana thought her mom had been acting rather strange around this man. At one moment, she seemed happy, the next, sad, then weirdly fidgety, which wasn’t anything like her at all.

Aryana had been told to stay in her room, but the walls were thin, and her room didn’t have a door. Just a frilly curtain allowing her to spy on the grown-ups through a narrow slit past which warm candle light shone.

They spoke in hushed murmurs, but Aryana could still make out some of it, though she didn’t understand any of it.

“The inquiries will not take long,” the man said.

Aryana wondered what the word ‘inquiries’ meant.

“Aedam, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” her mother said, and then Aryana couldn’t quite hear what the man said next.

Spying on them was quickly becoming boring, though, and she’d decided to just head to bed when suddenly a chill spread across her back, and she spun. The frost had returned, curving toward the door where she sat on her haunches.

Aryana bit her lip and glanced at the adults in the other room. They were still deep in conversation, and perhaps they wouldn’t notice if she took a little stroll outside.

Aryana moved as quickly and silently as she could. She opened the shutters, minding the wind, and left on her bare feet. Boots would have been better, but she couldn’t risk making any more noise than she needed to.

“Giant?” she whispered as she approached the tree line.

There was no answer. Nothing but a trail of frost leading into the forest. Aryana followed it, the cold ground quickly numbing the soles of her feet.

She’d walked several stone-throws when she heard the rustling crackle of crushed leaves and snapped branches.

She froze, her eyes darting about, then spotting a shadow moving between the trees, she ‘psst’ at it. It wasn’t a patrol. The men-at-arms were a lot bigger than whatever this was.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

The figure stopped and peered at her.

“I said who’s there,” Aryana said in a harsher tone.

“Aryana?”

“Emet?”

He waved and made his way over. Stepping over fallen tree trunks and trying to be moderately stealthy about it.

“What are you doing out here? Did you also see the three moons?”

Aryana frowned. “Three moons? No. What’re you talking about?”

“In the sky. I saw them from my window. There were three moons in the sky.” He pointed up at the branches. There was only one moon in the sky.

Aryana pushed at his shoulder, and he swayed but didn’t stagger. “You’re making it up.”

“No, I’m not,” Emet said, and he took the lead, walking directly to where the frost led. He stopped and picked an autumn leaf off the ground, holding it up to her. “Look. It’s frozen.”

Aryana nodded. “Yeah. All around us in that direction and—way back there. It’s like some kind of path, I think.”

Emet turned toward the village and then back to where the trail led deeper into the forest. His dark hair had puffed up a little. “Maybe we should go back—”

Aryana shook her head. “No. I want to see the giant.”

“The giant? W-why?”

She shrugged and led them further still. “If the knights scare it away for good, I’ll never get to see it.”

Emet grumbled, though he still followed close behind her. “I don’t know if—”

Aryana stopped. “Shh.”

“What?”

“Shh!”

Emet held his tongue but tugged at her white nighty after the moment had passed.

“There’s nothing here,” he whispered. “Look, maybe we scared it off? Let’s just go back, Aryana. It’s getting misty.”

A low mist had rolled in from the darkness. It came to their knees and continued to swell until about their chests.

“Emet, I think it’s close,” Aryana said wearily, but Emet didn’t respond. “Emet?” She glanced back and saw him slack-jawed, his trembling pointy finger raised up high. “Emet, what is it?”

“Th-three moons…” he stammered.

Aryana followed his finger up the tree trunks to the forking branches that swayed in the night’s air.

There were three moons in the sky. One had the shape of a sickle, but the other two were full and set close together.

Something terrible was watching them.

Aryana took a step back, her hand searching low for Emet’s, but she couldn’t find him.

The thing was breathing slow, rattling gasps and wheezes. Aryana could feel its chilling breath coming down on her skin, settling like an icy blanket.

It took a step, and what Aryana had mistaken for tree trunks didn’t turn out to be parts of any trees at all.

“Emet,” she whispered, but Emet ran, crying for help.

His screams stopped with a sudden whoosh of air and snapping of branches. Something moved so fast, Aryana wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. One moment he was running; the next, he was gone.

There was a wet crunch—crunch—crunch coming from behind her, above her, and the thing’s needle teeth grin was gleaming wet.

“Youth—such a thing to savor…” it said, though it spoke oddly. Its jaws moved out of sync with its words, which sounded more feminine than it appeared.

Aryana knew on some level what the creature had done, but it didn’t ring true in her mind.

The squelchy chomping cadence slowed and stopped with a thick swallow.

Aryana wondered, numbly—stupidly, if that had been Emet.

It took another step, pushing the branches from in front of its face as it revealed itself. Horrible lidless eyes leered at her with features so stretched it was as if its ashen-kin had shriveled too tightly around its skull.

A tree fell, snapping Aryana out of catalepsy.

The creature was cadaverously thin—wraithlike, as if someone had dug up a giant’s corpse and brought it back to life. It looked and smelled like carrion wrapped in a patchwork of mildewy rags.

For a while, it simply stood there. Crooked, bony fingers grasping pantingly at nothing, its black nails long and curved.

Blood dripped from those nails.

“My—lady—Mountain,” it said in a ragged gasp.

Aryana blinked, her voice a mere croak. “M-me?”

“Not you—her.” The giant wraith motioned at something behind her.

Aryana turned slowly and saw her mother standing next to a cloaked figure.

“Come to me, Aryana,” her mother said, but Aryana couldn’t seem to move her feet.

The cloaked figure took a step. “You’re not welcome here,” he said in the magister’s voice.

The wraith turned its pale gaze at him, her breath rattling sickly in her throat. “I rarely am.”

“Aryana,” her mother said more firmly, and she managed a single step before the giant’s chilling grumble turned her entire body rigid again. But her mother didn’t take her eyes off of her. “Aryana. Come here. Now.”

Seeing the look in her mother’s eyes, Aryana finally mustered the will to break into a run, and when she reached her, she fell into her mother’s embrace and held on as tightly as she could.

“Are you alright?”

Aryana wanted to nod, but then that horrible crunching sound boomed through her mind. “Emet!” She sobbed into her mother’s dress.

“I know, honey. I know.” Her mother cupped the back of her head and pressed Aryana’s teary face against her. “Why have you come?” she said to the giant.

Aryana peered with one eye from behind the cover of her mother’s dress. The creature listed slightly on its bony legs. “Why I always come. It is time.”

Her mother shook her head, and with a firm grip, pulled Aryana behind her. “No. She’s just a child. Why would you herald her Fate so soon?”

“Not hers—yours.”

“My Fate? When?”

Even from behind her mother, Aryana kept one eye on the creature. It shifted, tilting its head curiously.

“Soon.”

“It means the hunt,” the Magister said coolly. “You’re wrong, monster. I’m here to kill you, not her.”

The thing shrugged. “You may try, but it won’t change my lady’s Fate. It’s not up to you, human—”

“But it is up to me,” her mother said, balling her fists. “I can fight them.” She spoke ardently, but Aryana didn’t know who her mother would be fighting. And what did the giant call her? Lady Mountain?

The creature stared blankly, as if unimpressed by the statement. “They’ve killed your kind before. They will do so again.”

Her mother swallowed. “What happens if I fight?”

“You might live, but your child will die.”

“And if I go willingly?”

“Then the child will be the last of your kind.”

“Aedam…”

The magister uncrossed his arms from under his cloak. “Yes, Skathi?”

“I want you to take Aryana and raise her.”

Aryana blinked. What did she mean? Raise who?

“What? Skathi, do you truly believe the lies of this—this thing?”

“Mom?” Aryana said, tugging at her mother’s dress, but she didn’t react to her at all.

“You don’t understand; it can’t lie.”

The magister whirled, coming between them and the giant. “I don’t understand?”

Something about the look on his face made Aryana cringe, and she strangely felt even smaller than when she stood alone before the giant. There was a dark fierceness to the magister’s eyes, but then her mother suddenly cupped his cheek, and her smile seemed to dispel the man’s fury.

“Please, Aedam, take Aryana into your Order. She can help you.”

His tone softened. “Skathi, you know what we do. It is the worst place for her to be.”

“I know. That’s why I can’t think of a safer place than for her to be at your side, Aedam.”

“Skathi, if you do this—”

Her mother quieted him with a thumb across his lips. She then crouched and kissed Aryana on the cheek. “You’re going to stay with Magister Aedam from now on.”

Aryana felt something cold rip at her heart. “Mom,” she sobbed, her voice shattering, “you don’t have to go. Let’s just leave.” Her small hands clawed at her mother’s dress, but she pried them away, and Aryana felt tears falling onto her face.

“I can’t, my sweet. It is time.”

“No—”

“Ata?” her mother said to the giant.

“Yes—Lady Mountain?”

“Watch over my daughter.”

“Skathi—” the Magister reached out.

“As—you—wish.”

“What?” the Magister snarled, that dark fury returning. “This is insane. I’m going to burn this—”

“No,” her mother said, her eyes flashing. “Not Ata. She will be loyal to Aryana.” And she pushed Aryana against the cloaked form of Magister Aedam.

“Skathi, if you think I’m giving you up so easily—”

They heard distant shouts over the wind and feral barks of hunting dogs.

“Your—Fate—is here.” The creature pointed toward the village and more than a dozen lights jittered between the trees.

The Magister drew a sword from his robes, his cloak billowing behind him as he made for those flickering lights. “Stay behind me.”

“No, Aedam. This is not what your Lord would have wanted.”

“What do you know of my Lord?” He snapped, but her mother smiled curiously, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Dawara didn’t steal the Night, Aedam; I gave it to him.”

“What?”

“Ata, I will give you the last of my Shine.”

The creature grinned broadly and opened a gnarled hand. “A fair—compensation, my lady—Mountain.”

“Use it wisely, Ata,” her mother said, tossing the giant her necklace.

The magister stood bewildered, mouth gaping as he stared between them. “Wait, you can’t just spring that on me and—”

The creature closed its hand around the necklace. “Much—obliged.”

“It isn’t much,” her mother said.

“Almost all that’s left—in the world.”

“Skathi!”

“I’m sorry, Aedam.” She touched his face one last time, then glanced at Aryana, who didn’t know what to do but watched tearfully as her mother ran. “Take care of my daughter!” she cried back.

“Mom? Mom!” Aryana tried to run after her, but a steel grip held her back by the shoulder. “Let me go!” She struggled, but the magister’s hold didn’t give.

“Wait…” he whispered, watching the lights. “She can do this. She can do this,” he whispered, and Aryana got the impression he wasn’t talking to her but to himself.

She turned her gaze back at those distant lights, and the shouting got louder, more frantic. Did one of those lights just go out? No, not just one. More lights went out. And the shouts became screams of terror.

“Yes, she can do it,” the magister continued to whisper to himself, still restraining Aryana with an uncompromising hand.

The lights had almost all winked out.

The magister snorted. “Looks like your prediction was as false as your gods, monster.”

“You can’t escape—Fate…”

Aryana felt a rumbling building and rising through her feet. Horses whinnied in the wind, and dozens of lights streamed in from left and right.

“No… No, no, no!” The magister shoved Aryana aside but stopped after only a few steps.

It were the knights, his knights, that had answered the call. More lights winked out, but terrified screams became ardent war cries, and the lights didn’t wink out as quickly anymore until none did.

A loud triumphant roar followed with the clamor of metal on metal.

The magister fell to his knees on the cold, hard frost. “Dawara, have mercy on her.”

“It—was unavoidable.”

“W-what happened? W-where is my mom?”

The magister rose, and Aryana took a few startled steps back. His sword was dripping fire. He raised his head to the sky, the blade burning up to the hilt.

“Dawara, have mercy on me.”

“He—won’t.”

The magister paused mid-step, then calmly resumed his pace and walked toward the village, leaving Aryana with the giant.

The many twinkling lights soon became a giant orange glow that burned long after the last screams had died.

And as Aryana stood and watched throughout the night, the frost crept over her skin.