This post is an excerpt from the fantasy novel The Snow Witch, by Jaclyn Wilmoth. You can find The Snow Witch at all major retailers in both ebook and paperback by clicking here.
The forest made different sounds in the snow. The wind whistled in winter, and sometimes even howled, as if the sharp points of the quakenbush’s bare branches were cutting its belly. Still, there was a beauty to it, and to Lumi, a novelty.
Cole had noticed that she had been spending more time in the cabin since it started snowing and encouraged her to go outside, which she had been avoiding, and take a walk, which she almost never did alone.
This stretch of road looked so strange, like a whole other planet from the road Lumi had come to love in the summer. In summer, the willowherb grew taller than her. By August, it was so tall that it could barely hold itself up and the stalks bowed in toward the path so that it created a little tunnel for her to walk through. Now the stalks had turned to hard, hollow paper and the flowers had erupted into small tufts of smokey seeds, waiting to be carried off by the wind. These were the last of the seeds, the ones that weren’t taken in time. Snowflakes rested on them.
She listened harder to the sounds. A raven. A squirrel. A crunch. Lumi glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she had in fact heard someone. The forest was still.
It was unlikely. They were far enough away from the small village nearby that there wasn’t much foot traffic. It was probably more likely an animal. And yet.
As her foot stepped down onto the snow, she felt a different texture below her foot. And then, snaps. She looked down to a pile of feathers, partially covered over with snow. As she stooped, she saw what had snapped. Bones.
They were bigger than she had expected, but unmistakable. Swampland crane bones. She reached down to brush the snow away. The bones were nearly as large as her own arm bones.
And there it was again, that crunch. She looked behind her and held her breath. Silence again.
She rubbed a finger over the smoothness of the bone. The snow melted on her fingertips, and pulled her into a memory.
*
I stand on the bridge and actually, the water looks completely still from here. It must be moving, flowing, but the river looks like it is holding its breath, waiting to see if I will really do it. There’s a reverberation on the water, a ping that catches my eye. Then another, and another. I pull on the sapphire earrings that are swishing in the rain. A gift from Luis that I would never wear in public. A secret all our own. The wet tinkling makes a melody that will stay with me.
The tears are freezing on my face. They pull at my skin as I try to wipe them away. I am so far up. It’s so, so far. Like I have climbed a mountain. Like the whole world is below.
Only it’s just water. Just the swirl of river against rock. Just a gray that doesn’t stop. I can feel it. I can feel the kicking beneath my navel. I can feel the way even it wants out of this body.
The wind is pushing me back, trying to keep me on the bridge. It doesn’t know. Doesn’t know the way the world works, that what awaits me surely must be worse than death.
The water is pulling and the wind is pushing and I know that it’s me that has to break the tie.
It is beginning to rain. All those raindrops have fallen so much farther than I would. And when they land, they disappear. They are home. I want that too.
I lean my shoulders forward and put my arms out wide.
Then I feel hands on my belly.
*
Lumi was certain she heard footsteps then. The swish in the snow of quick strides. She turned toward the noise, and another snowflake skimmed her cheek and another memory overtook her.
*
A crane steps gingerly onto the riverbank in front of me.
It is purposeful in the way it moves, silent. It looks me in the eye. They have come.
It is our bodies that the whole pandemic revolves around. So here I am, lover of all the sick, on my knees in the river. The commonality in all cases is our own bodies, and so the whole village has come to watch, to make sure that we are washed away by the water. I look toward Hannah. There are, at least, others with me. I try to send her this thought, to draw her attention to the crane. She won’t look. Her eyes are scared from beneath her mask and the long beak of it is quivering. I hope that it still smells of the calming herbs.
But it is our bodies that cared for each of those bleeding, melting bodies. And yet, we are not sick. We held the dying and comforted their souls, and now they are sure that we must be witches.
Another crane calls above us. I hope that They see.
It is our bodies that cleanse the wounds, and so they demand to see. Amid the jeers, I can hear the sob of my mother. My clothes are torn off. But all I see are bubbles as the water rushes past my face.
*
Lumi didn’t remember Cole finding her whimpering. She didn’t remember him pulling her out of a huddled ball in the snow, heaving for air. She didn’t remember the walk home or him wrapping her in blankets next to the woodstove or how long they sat there in silence.
All she remembered were the visions in the snowflakes.
Find more of my creative writing here. You can check out prompts and inspiration for your own writing here. And for posts about how to add more magic into your own life, click here.
Your choice of words is incredible, as always.
Thank you so much, Deborah. That means a lot <3
[…] You can find an excerpt of the book here. […]