A Snowmonster for Midwinter

On the eve of our Midwinter Festival, the village painted the prettiest seasonal picture, no matter the angle. Stalls lined the centre, their colourful awnings snapping in the chilly breeze. Folk laughed, children chased each other through the snow, and craftsfolk polished their wares under a sinking sun. But the sunlight glinting off the snow felt harsh rather than warm as I walked the perimeter.

The ground shuddered beneath my feet so often now, each tremor pulling my gaze towards the mountains. Five avalanches in the past three weeks. More if I counted the smaller ones. These tremors—they felt sharper. Ominous.

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I’d woken with a gnawing dread settling into my bones—a feeling Father hadn’t been able to ease when I’d voiced my concerns at the morning meeting. Instead, he’d rattled off higher numbers from winters when building snow guards and throwing snowballs had occupied my days, chalking it up to “a bad season.”

“No alerts have sounded, Toren. All barrier spells are holding fine,” he’d said, his tone heavy with finality. He’d folded his arms, one hand clutching the smooth stone he carried everywhere now, carved with Sven’s name. “You’re overthinking again.”

No one else seemed worried. Even today’s joyful preparations couldn’t silence the prickling sense that something was wrong.

A howl echoed across the valley, dripping like ice down my back as it rattled loose memories. Most villagers hardly registered the howling from Gramble’s Peak anymore. It had become part of life, part of the mystery of the peak. But the sound dragged me back to twenty years ago.

To Sven—my bear of a brother—his beard decked like a Midwinter Festival stall. Laughing one moment, a broken body in the snow the next. Silent. Still. The panicked screams. Monsters surging towards me as I tried to reach him. And then—him.

The monster who’d saved me—who’d chosen confinement on the peak over transport to the nearest monster lock-up with the rest of their gang. Their stark blue eyes, filled with regret and sorrow, never left me.

The howling was more than just sound—it felt like a tangible pressure, sharp and deliberate, reaching out across the valley towards me. Like a warning, preceding every tremor, snowstorm, and avalanche. But even if I tried telling Father, he’d only remind me of the damage monsters caused. Snow turns to sleet where monsters tread, the pamphlets claimed. It had been that way for centuries.

So, why would a monster responsible for Sven’s death be warning us?

I didn’t have an answer, but it couldn’t be anything good.

The rich scent of hearty knotroot soup wrapped around me as I passed the village hall. I quickened my pace. If they’d stoked the fires already, I’d taken too long with my rounds. Skating a few laps around the lake with Mylana might clear my head before I had to go out there again.

At the lake, folk sat around the massive, bubbling cauldrons, chatting and warming themselves as they enjoyed their soup. I exchanged nods and greetings, hiding my worries behind a smile.

A fellow guard handed me a steaming bowl. “You’re lucky Vanya left early for his shift at the springs. He’d blast you for being tardy.”

“Sor—”

She clapped me on the back with a grin. “No frosting. Gave me more time with my littles. Now, eat and skate. I’ll find you after my rounds.”

“May storms pass you by,” I murmured, my heart thumping when I rested my hand briefly against my chest.

If Uncle Vanya left early, maybe he’d noticed the signs, too. Our hot springs were the festival’s highlight, drawing folk from all over to let the heat soak into their bones and whisper wishes into the rising steam on the shortest day of the year. If something happened...

I nearly dropped my bowl when someone tapped my shoulder. Mylana laughed as I balanced it, wiping my mitten on the snow.

“Thought you might need these.” She wore her purple cloak and held two mugs of hot, dark chocolate. “Mum’s recipe.”

“Thanks.” Ivern made the best hot chocolate—slow-brewed over smouldering fir, not a quick-heat spell that left a tangy aftertaste. Mylana knew me well. We’d been best friends since making snow guards together as toddlers. We’d even dated the same man once. “Where’s Ken?”

“Vanished to the springs once we were all set up. You know him.”

Almost as well as she did. On top of his work at our springs, Ken was always helping others, though... “He did eat, right?”

“He even took a second bowl with him after I told him Mum wouldn’t save him some chocolate otherwise.”

I almost spat out my soup. “You’re good for him.”

Her besotted smile said it all. We sat at the lake’s edge, watching the skaters and sipping our chocolate.

“This is my favourite time of the season,” she murmured. “Everyone together, savouring the quiet before the festival, as if it’ll never be this peaceful again.”

“I thought it was because Ivern gives you the leftover chocolate.”

She sighed. “That, too. Would be even better if Mum gave me the recipe, but she says I’m not ready. Slush. I’m turning forty next moon.”

I shrugged, sipping my chocolate to keep from answering. Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

Howling broke the calm, followed by a tremor that cracked and groaned beneath the ice. The sound pressed against my chest, deliberate and sharp. None of the skaters seemed as alarmed as I was.

Mylana turned toward the mountains, her brow furrowed. “You think there’ll be another avalanche during the festival?”

She’d heard the difference, too. Instead of answering, I took another sip.

“I read the weather reports.” She narrowed her eyes. “There’ve been more avalanches this year. Your father’s been freezing you again, hasn’t he?”

“He brought up some bad winters from when we were little, with worse numbers. Said all barrier spells were holding fine.”

“No alerts?”

“None.”

“Well, then.” She squared her shoulders. “The avalanche barriers should keep us safe.”