As the ritual demanded, the folk of Polskyia waited until the sun had begun to sink down the horizon before delivering their sacrifice to the altar. It was a solemn procession, a dozen stout men from the village escorting their charge beneath the glow of torchlight and the protection of cold iron charms, bows strung at their backs to fend off any wolves, or more likely, those of their kin unwilling to stand by and watch as a lovely maiden was sacrificed to the cold. It was a grim duty, necessary for the village’s survival but hardly to be celebrated, and silenced reigned, each man brooding in his heavy furs and wishing he was next to a warm hearth with a glass of kvas to hand.

And in their midst, Katarina held her head up high, refusing to let herself be cowed by her predicament. At nineteen years old, hers was a beauty that could leave a man dumbfounded, made all the brighter by a relentless cheer. A mane of long black hair cascaded down past her shoulder blades, silky strands catching on the night winds, while above the cloth gag shrouding her pouty lips, bright blue eyes stared ahead with a stoic grace, betraying none of her fear to the world. Even in the height of summer, the sun never seemed to burnish her pale, smooth skin, and one could catch the impression of full breasts and a dancer’s frame moving beneath the blue cotton nightgown she wore. She was well-liked by the rest of the villagers, acknowledged as a kind, hard-working and supportive young woman who was destined for better things. One day, men would often remark at the tavern after a hard day’s work, she’d catch the eye of some outsider passing through on his way to civilization, and leave the loggers and fur-trappers who pined for her behind. She was valued, she was respected, and she was loved.

Which meant that her sacrifice would have value in turn. The winter would be a bad one, all the omens proclaimed, even more so than the people of Polskyia were used to. Day after day, the village’s priest howled about cold so fearsome it would freeze the blood in your veins, of packs of wolves that would descend upon them and rip children screaming from their mothers’ arms, of pitiless winds that would scour Polskyia away so that no trace of their existence would be left by the spring thaw. To appease the spirits of storm and frost with a maiden untouched was their only hope.

Thus, despite their many misgivings, did the villagers bring Katarina to the altar, to be given up so the rest of them might live. She did not struggle as they chained her spread-eagle to the great stone slab at the centre of the monoliths, iron manacles closing fast about her wrists and ankles. With murmured apologies, they cut her dress free, and Katarina’s resolve began to crack as she was left naked and exposed to the elements, the metal cuffs securing her cold as ice. Their duty done, the villagers all but fled, shame and regret giving them speed, leaving Katarina alone in the dark with only the bitter winds and her own barely repressed terror for company.

But not for much longer.

The temperature dropped like a stone, sending fresh waves of goosebumps across her pale flesh, and Katarina moaned helplessly, trembling like a dry leaf. “Are you cold, little one?” asked the mocking voice, and her head jerked about, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker and seeing nothing. “What is such a beautiful young woman doing out here all alone, I wonder?”

Again the wind picked up, and Katarina had the distinct impression of long fingers caressing her thighs before it died down once more. “Are you cold?”

Katarina gave a small nod, biting back a sob as the cold fell upon her breasts. “You have done well to be brave, little one. I doubt this is what you wanted, but you have risen to the challenge all the same.”

Before the maiden’s eyes, frost began to coalesce, forming into a distinctly humanoid shape that reached out with long-fingered hands, unlocking her metal shackles. “And you will be rewarded for it,” the frost spirit declared, icy blue eyes seemingly piercing right through her as it held her close in its arms like a new groom carrying his bride over the marriage threshold, and Katarina wept with relief at the unnatural warmth it exuded. “Your village will be safe this winter, and you… you will never know fear or want again, for we are bound together now, sure as steel. Rest now, and awaken in wonder.”

Lulled by the spirit’s warmth, Katarina offered a small nod of acceptance, drifting away as the creature bore her out into the night and away from Polskyia forever. In the end, the villagers were quite correct. She had caught an outsider’s eye…