The Yule Tide Hunt

 As she stepped outside, her breath formed little clouds, fleeting upwards like sheep on a hillside. The cold instantly nestled into her tattered clothes, which were hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs. But Edda stood firm as she glanced back at the crumbling cottage, her mother’s coughs audible from behind the door. She would not let the cold – or anything, for that matter – get between her and her prize.

For today was Yule Hunt Day, the one day in the year when she would be given the chance to supplement their meagre food supplies. Hunting on their lord’s grounds would normally gain them the noose, but not today. Their lord very generously set a prey animal free on his grounds at Yuletide for the farmers’ benefit. His lordship’s generosity had its limits, though. Edda huffed at the hypocrisy as she started down the road, the snow crackling underneath her feet. Their lord didn’t want an easy hunt, of course. He wanted entertainment. And this he got by ordaining that it should only be women who could hunt his prey, knowing full well that they were inexperienced and weak. And then there was the prey itself: a faengtop.

Faengtop were a species of deer that usually hid in the deepest, darkest shadows of the woods. The farmers feared it with a passion. For this was no ordinary, harmless animal. No, the faengtop was stealthy, sneaky, and most worryingly of all, its sharp fangs could rip through a human’s throat in a heartbeat. The lord kept it on his estate in order to make potential hunters think twice before poaching on his land.

Edda looked up at the bright winter sky. A bad day for the Yule Hunt, her mother had told her in between her rattling coughs. A bright winter sun could blind you, giving the faengtop yet another advantage. Edda couldn’t remember a time when the lord’s man hadn’t brought back any dead hunters to the village. But her mother had conceded that now she could no longer hunt, Edda should. Their circumstances were too desperate since Edda’s father had died.

The frozen fields gradually made way for the lord’s woods. Edda walked up to the waiting group of women, who were in a state of nervous frenzy. Edda soon spotted the source of the commotion: Maeve, one of the older women, had brought a miniature dragon. The sleek black creature sat atop the crate it had been transported in, harnessed with leather and metal straps. Edda firmly held her facial expression vacant, but the other women hissed through their teeth and shot Maeve angry looks. Maeve, meanwhile, looked exceedingly smug. Edda didn’t doubt she felt superior to the other hunters; the mere fact that she had been able to rent a dragonette meant Meave had come into money. The other women didn’t just resent the heightened competition – dragonettes were ideal hunters, small and slight – but no doubt wished to know where the money had come from. Edda looked away, the little hope she had had seeping away. How could she possibly hope to outsmart a dragon?

Dragons – the original, huge specimen – were the prerogative of the King. And even the King possessed but a handful of the ferocious monsters, just enough to make anyone thinking of invading his realm change his mind. But the huge beasts had a voracious appetite, which meant that King Aldred couldn’t breed them without utterly crippling his own means. His courtiers had found a solution to this problem, though, by breeding miniature dragons. These dragonettes, which were no larger than a dog, were highly prized. The King gifted them only to his most loyal allies. These rich lords sometimes rented their dragonettes out for an occasion like today’s. Edda had heard that hiring a dragonette could cost a farmer a month’s wages.

The heavy sound of hooves crushing the thin layer of ice on the road silenced the women. They all watched the lord’s man approach on his mare. Huge, stern and generally benign, Edgar was deeply respected among the farmers. He nodded at the gathered group of women as he stopped in front of them.

‘Women! This is the Yule Tide Hunt!’ Edgar’s voice boomed across the road. ‘As you know, any woman older than thirteen may join this hunt. You will hunt by the grace of my master, which I hope you will remember!’ He looked down at the women before him, his expression grave.

‘Thanks to the master,’ Edda mumbled along with the other women. Yes, thanks for a deadly present while the lord sat on of his pile of money… Edda sized up the other women while Edgar spoke. There was little chance Maeve wouldn’t win this year, but debt and empty stomachs often drove the other women to desperate measures, her mother had warned her. It wouldn’t be the first time that the contestants would conspire against one another.

She saw mother and daughters Greavy exchange meaningful looks, all four of them equipped with bow and arrows. Edda looked down at her father’s old dagger in her hand. On her own, with such a measly weapon, it was nigh impossible that she would manage to catch even the dust below the faengtop’s hooves.

‘Every method is allowed to catch the faengtop,’ Edgar was saying. ‘But I beseech you to be careful. These faengtop are nasty little creatures, and will show you no mercy!’

After these ominous words, he blew his horn. Immediately the women turned and ran into the forest. Edda hesitated for a moment, allowing the others to take the lead. Ahead of her, she could already see a young girl throw herself at Mrs. Greavy. An older woman, no doubt the girl’s mother, grabbed the youngest miss Greavy and threw her into the undergrowth.  Edda carefully slipped into the greenery.

She peered through the pine needles in search of Maeve. If she could follow the dragonette, she might have a chance of snatching the faengtop from its claws before Maeve got to it. It was an undeniably slim chance, but she would have to make do with it.

She spotted Maeve nearby. She had tried to hide behind the trees, but her dragonette was sniffing the air so audibly Edda would have had to be deaf in order to miss them. She slowly sneaked closer. Suddenly Maeve let out a howl of pain, and Edda could hear the dragonette’s leash fall onto the ground. Edda quickly retreated into the undergrowth. Maeve had been attacked even sooner than she would have thought.

‘Knock knock,’ a voice said behind her. Edda felt a sudden, sharp pain in the head.  Then the world seemed to contract and spin away from her.

The first thing she became aware of was the cold. It had seeped through her clothes, straight into her bones. Edda opened her eyes, only to be blinded by the bright winter sun. She lay there for a moment, feeling sorry for herself. She had let herself be eliminated. Hot tears of frustration and disappointment ran down her cheeks. She would never catch the faengtop now. She might just as well go home, like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs. With an angry gesture she wiped away her tears and got to her feet. If only she knew who had hit her, she would-

Edda looked up as something came crashing through the undergrowth. It hit her with great speed, throwing her back into the snow. Despite the pain Edda grabbed hold of the legs that were trashing against her chest and didn’t let go. An eerie, angry cry resounded among the trees above her. The dragonette, frustrated to see that someone else had caught its prey. Edda cried out as searing pain plunged into her left arm. Through the haze of her tears, she could see the faengtop digging its teeth into her flesh. A tremor went through her. She was shaking with uncontrollable laughter.