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First published 2024

This edition published 2025

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For my parents, Gregg and Shireen, for never doubting the sun’s return, even when the snow was deep.

And for Kaeden –the light that brought me home.

The Deer Mother speaks

Long, long ago, before nations and invasions, the land was tied together by ice. No one knew they were here. Two-legged and four scraping survival from the bones of a land that would become known as Ireland. Families and villages carved their place into the earth. Birth, death, life, hope. Those people may be gone, but the caves and stones have kept their secrets, for thousands upon thousands of years, while I, the Deer Mother, have survived in the cuts and scrapes of bones hidden deep.

For once in a frozen world, there was a myth before myths. A story before jingling bells and candy canes, before tinsel and baubles and bright, shiny toys, before the big man in the red suit that all children know. Even before the baby asleep in the manger. And in that ancient time there lived a girl as wild as the winter who would change the world forever.

Fia

Five days until solstice

1Sometimes

I forget what the sun looks like. I can’t recall the feel of grass beneath my toes and even the taste of fresh blackberries is something I can only find deep in my dreaming. Asleep, it all comes back to me: I hear the birds and the lapping water on the lake shore, I watch the shadows play beneath leaves on trees still heavy with summer.

In my dreams I remember it all: summer finds me as I sleep curled beneath the worn furs huddled against the cold that never leaves our waking world.

In my dreams it’s always summer, I am always warm, always full.

But then, Mother calls from the fireside, Fia, it’s late, you’ve slept past midday and your chores are still waiting.

She pokes the embers in the middle of our home to flame, drawing a line in the dirt and waving a finger at my little brother. No closer, love, you’ll burn your toes.

My breath is cloudy, the cold worse this morning. Three winter solstices since we’ve seen the sun and every day seems harsher, colder than the one before.

When I was small, winter was a time of quiet, of holding still, of rest. A time for family and friends to gather, talk, laugh,

tell stories of the spirits, the gods and goddesses that protect our land, of sea creatures to the far south and the evil shadows to the north.

But that was before, when food was taken for granted, when the sun’s return was too.

I puff the chill in tiny clouds, my lips popping as I blow. Mother frowns.

You look like old Gerd sucking her pipe. Off with you, Fia – Solas will be hungry.

I jump to my feet, bracing myself for the first painful breath that will reach my lungs once I step outside the warmth of our home. The cold and grey hangs over us all, day after day, so many we have lost count, or at least that’s what we say,

as if it doesn’t matter. Really,

we all know it’s been three winter solstices since we saw the sun. That we all hope, pray, wish the solstice in five days will alter that path.

I stomp out into the white flakes, puff my cheeks again just to annoy my mother.

I look nothing like the shaman Gerd, ancient, wrinkled, pot-bellied. She may be my great-grandmother but she was born old, I’m convinced of it.

My mood lightens as I near Solas’ pen and I hear the gentle grunts that greet me every day. The last snow deer.

She’s standing waiting for her feed, sharp white against the dirty snow, her coat bright in the dull day. In our language her name means

Light and she is mine.

She’s family, she’s home, she’s my best friend.

Dreams of summer clear from my mind as I reach out to stroke her neck. As long as Solas is here, the light in the grey sky seems a little brighter and I can ignore my hunger at least for a while.

She pushes her head against my arm, rooting through my furs for bark offerings and moss. I give her what little I have and hope it’s enough.

Some day, I whisper in her ear, the herds of snow deer will return with the sun.

The snow will melt, the leaves will grow, we will not be so hungry.

I kiss the swirled parting of hair between her antlers, fighting the nagging voice in the back of my mind, whispering to me:

Don’t be silly, Fia, it’s been so long since the sun returned, since the snows melted.

Do you even remember what leaves look like?

The truth is, sometimes I worry Solas truly is the last of all the snow deer, that the rest of her kind have gone to the Otherworld and left her behind.

I run my hands through her smooth coat letting her heat warm my fingers.

I wonder if she’s lonely, if I’m enough for her, as she is for me. I know she knows no different. It’s always been the two of us, born under the same solstice moon thirteen years ago, tied together by the prophecy. Even before the herds disappeared without a trace three winter solstices ago, Solas was kept safe, with me and the village protecting her. When the snows came that same time, trapping us,

keeping us in one place, unable to move together as we always have, Solas was here, by my side.

Footsteps crunch through the snow; I know without looking that it is my great-grandmother Gerd. Her gait is uneven and I can hear the heaviness in each step. She stands next to me and lays a hand on Solas’ forehead.

The doe closes her eyes, leaning into Gerd’s touch.

I fight the urge to pull her hand away, and am instantly ashamed of my jealousy. It’s always been just Solas and me, together.

I know it’s childish, I know Gerd has protected her just as much as I have, but I can’t help it –everyone knows Solas is mine.

Gerd smirks and watches me from the corner of her eye. It’s as if she can see inside me, even when I try not to show my true self.

She nods.

That temper will get you in trouble some day, Fia. That and your love for this beast.

My face is hot and I look at my feet, concentrating on the powdery snow around them.

I try to change the subject. She’s hungry. And too thin.

I point to the shadow of ribs beneath Solas’ thick coat.

Gerd laughs, a sudden loud squawk of a noise. Aren’t we all, girl, aren’t we all!

I am suddenly aware of my own skinniness, beneath the layers of furs and leather.

I think of the angles more exposed recently in my mother’s face, and the way I can count down my little brother’s backbone when he sits at the fire drawing shapes into the hearth dust.

Hunger gnaws, but worry bites hard.

I shake my head.

The hunters will be back with food soon, like they always are, won’t they?

Gerd looks at me, weighing the truth against the lies adults tell children to keep them quiet and safe and unburdened. The hunters are gone longer than they should. Meaning they have gone further and found herds or they have gone further and found none. Either way, it is only five sleeps until winter solstice and I fear, if the sun does not return this year, we will not be here in the next.

The truth makes my knees wobbly and I lean against my snow deer to keep myself from sinking down.

Even though I try to tell myself over and over that all will be okay, that we’ve made it this far and we are all still alive, I can’t fight the twist in my stomach, the knowledge that things have got worse.

I turn to Solas. I’ve seen how the others look at her, at us; how Barik, our best hunter, watches her with the same appraisal that he would use on the hunt; heard Hitta, the wife of an elder, hinting

that Solas must be warm with such a fine coat of fur.

As if I didn’t understand what she meant, with all of us in rags and worn skins trying to fight the chill.

I guess one thing is clear in the uncertainty: to Gerd, at least, I am no longer a child.

My feet are restless, and I can’t stand still. I need to get to the woods to see if I can find more food for Solas. She is rooting in Gerd’s skins now as she did with mine, looking for anything to take the hunger away.

Gerd pulls out a bit of golden moss from the creases inside her sleeve and Solas crunches it quickly.

My great-grandmother looks up, eyes darting to the treeline behind the pen. She hears something, but everything is silent to me. I bite my lip . . . taste blood.

The truth is sometimes Gerd scares me, when she hears and sees things I can’t. Now, she pulls Solas’ pen open and secures the leather and thong around the snow deer’s head, then hands me the lead.

Best take her out today, Fia.

She’s thinner than I thought, you might find more for her in the Eastern Woods.

She points in the opposite direction, away from whatever it was she heard behind us.

It’s a distraction, I know – the Eastern Woods are as bare as everywhere else, but I nod, and take the worn lead. Solas follows willingly, happy to go someplace new.

The sound of the bone whistle shatters the stillness of the cold morning air.

The hunters have returned!

I turn to run towards them, hope bubbling within me that this time they have found food, found the herds.

I want to greet my father, my aunt, but one look at Gerd’s face prickles my skin into bumps. Something is wrong.

Gerd shakes her head, waves towards the Eastern Woods.

So that was what she heard, coming from the west.

Keep moving, Fia, quickly. And keep Solas away from the village until you hear the drums.

But they might have food! How can you be so sure? We’ve survived this long, surely there’s still hope?

And you’ll survive a bit longer if you listen to me, girl. Now, off with you both.

It’s not the words that make me grab the rope, turn to the Eastern Woods, and walk quickly through the trees.

It’s the look on Gerd’s face.