Untethering Dark

Chapter Two

Jingling sleigh bells brought Astrid outside her cottage and into the bright, midafternoon light. It was about time.

Perchta was late.

Astrid tugged a knitted cap over her ears and squinted across the landscape of sparkling, untarnished snow.

A silver-gilded black sleigh glided into view, pulled by a team of eight demon-touched mountain goats, snowy furred and red eyed, their breath shooting out from flared nostrils. If anyone but Hexe Mutter got too close, they would bite, their teeth pointed and sharp.

Inside sat Mutter Perchta pulling on the reins, her wolfish yellow eyes gleaming.

An old fur-lined cloak nestled atop her shoulders, several shades of gray darker than the long woolen dress underneath, which was a little frayed at the edges and cinched at the waist with a silver cord. Mutter did not dress for the modern age. Never had, and Astrid doubted she ever would.

The sleigh slowed, stopping alongside her.

“Guten Tag, Tochter. Are you ready?”

Ready? She’d waited twenty-nine years for this.

“More than.” Astrid hopped up onto the sleigh bench next to a fuzzy bundle of orange.

Oskar, Perchta’s swift-footed fox familiar, blinked sleepily from his heating pad. He was their family’s furry partner in crime. Scout, spy, messenger, companion. He played a number of different roles in exchange for food, shelter, the joy of mischief-making, and belly rubs.

“Tuck the blanket in tight.” It was a thought, but one Astrid heard all the same. While Oskar’s fox anatomy didn’t allow him to speak out loud, as Perchta’s familiar he knew their language and could communicate with them mentally.

Reaching down, Astrid pulled up the thick, blue blanket that pooled at her feet. The very same one that Mutter had wrapped her in when she was a child, leaving a miserable home. Though frayed in some places, threadbare in others, the sleigh blanket was still largely intact—and more importantly, still warm. She tucked it snugly around the fox’s body and across her lap.

Oskar buried his wet, black nose between his paws, body heaving a sleepy sigh.

This wasn’t her first time in Perchta’s sleigh, not by a long shot. It was, however, her first time accompanying the Hexe on her yearly Yuletide visit to Baden-Gottsdorf—the town that sat at the base of the mountain and skirted along the edge of the forest. Doling out silver coins and meting out punishment where needed, all while the town slept.

Only, instead of being the child who needed protection, Astrid would help Perchta in her age-old practice of doing the protecting. Warning where needed. Belly-slitting when enough was enough.

Excitement thrummed through her veins, as bright and cheerful as those winter mornings so long ago when she woke up to find silver coins in her shoes. Those blissful hours before her human parents woke and trudged down the stairs, the previous night’s liquor souring their breath as much as their tempers.

As soon as Astrid was settled, Perchta flicked the reins. The sleigh team launched into motion, kicking up snow with their cloven hooves. They raced across the landscape, wasting no time in getting off the mountain.

Sunset was two hours away and every minute in between was precious. If they weren’t out of the forest before Altes Geweih’s nightly prowl began, the children of Baden-Gottsdorf would never see another silver coin again.

By the time they neared the forest’s edge, and the boundary the beast could not cross, the sun hung low in the sky. Astrid watched it sink lower and lower, silently willing the sleigh team on faster. Almost there, almost there.

If Perchta’s lateness got them killed...

We just discussed it this morning. Midday, not midafternoon. Astrid gripped the edge of her seat, jaw clenched tight. The ancient Hexe’s sense of time was woefully misaligned with the rest of the world. Hours were like minutes and weeks like days.

Mutter only paid attention to the sun’s trajectory when spell work was involved. It was a very good thing Oskar handled her nightly offerings.

“Couldn’t you have gotten her out the door a little faster?” she whispered harshly to the fox.

He snorted. “You try telling a fifteen-hundred-year-old Hexe what to do.”

“I heard that,” Perchta tutted. “Relax. We have time.”

Astrid cast another glance at the setting sun. I beg to differ.

Fifty meters. Forty.

The indigo shades of twilight deepened, darkened. Night was rapidly descending, and they were going to die.

Just as the sun fell beyond the horizon, blanketing the world in darkness, Perchta’s sleigh burst through the tree line and into the town’s outer limits. Safely on the other side.

Astrid’s ragged exhale was sharply cut off.

A terrible roar echoed through the trees behind them, reverberating in her bones. It sounded much, much closer than she liked. She looked over her shoulder.

Two bloodred eyes stared back from the darkness. A cloud of hot, snorted breath plumed the air, curling past the boundary. The only part able to cross the tree line.

It sucked the warmth straight out of her.

Mirthful laughter pealed beside her. “We made it!”

Astrid blinked, and Altes Geweih was gone. Twisting in her seat, she pinned Mutter with a hard look. “Cutting it a little close, no?”

Perchta’s cheeks were flushed with good cheer. The rush of danger never failed to please the wicked old Hexe, and while Astrid loved a thrill as much as the next witch, courting danger with Altes Geweih of all creatures?

“This is child endangerment,” she huffed, folding her mittened hands beneath her arms.

“Thirty-five?” One perfectly sculpted brow arched as Perchta turned her yellow eyes on her. “You are not a child.”

“But I’m your child.”

“Yes, but did you perish?”

“No.” Astrid snorted, wrestling with a smile despite wanting to scold her further. Sometimes Mutter picked up new phrases from the hikers. This was one.

Perchta gestured toward the night sky, twirling her hand with an elegant flourish. Icy, blue light flickered to life atop her palm. Winter magic. “Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.”

Snow began to fall, the fluffy white flakes kissing Astrid’s cheeks. Sleep, children, sleep. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, Astrid settled in for the remainder of the ride. Someday, she would call upon the snow herself.

One by one the lights in town winked out, and the townspeople turned in for bed, Perchta’s magic coaxing them into a deep sleep.

The sleigh glided through empty streets and between darkened buildings. “I’d never let anything happen to you,” Perchta said softly. “But I shouldn’t have cut it so close. Are you all right, Tochter?”

Coming from the Hexe, it was as good as an apology.

“Fine, fine.” It wasn’t, she wasn’t, but Astrid waved a dismissive hand. Hag life required a thick skin, and she wasn’t about to show weakness right before her first Yuletide trial run. Fear? Existential dread? Stuff those pesky feelings down and bury them deep. “Why were you late, anyway?”

Perchta grinned, sharp teeth on full display. She had the most beautiful smile. So perfectly wicked.

“Ah, Krampus.” Astrid smirked. “I should’ve known.”

“Naturally.”

The two had a long, long history together—during Yuletide, especially.

Oskar roused from his nap and joined them as they went home to home. Astrid carried the heavy velvet pouch filled with silver coins, plopping them into stockings hung above the townspeople’s fireplaces or, if there were none, in their shoes. All while Mutter climbed the stairs to say her blessings over the sleeping children.

They entered homes of all kinds. Rich ones. Poor ones. And everything in between.

“A messy home bears noting, but it’s not always a sign of trouble,” Perchta said, skirting around a pile of toys and a spilled cereal box. “If the child is loved and cared for and safe, that’s what matters most.”

The toys, the cereal, were so unlike the trash and empty liquor bottles that littered Astrid’s first childhood home. Sometimes appearances spoke volumes. But they were deceiving, too, almost just as often. “How can you know for sure?”

“Fear.” The Hexe paused to pluck a cookie from a tray left out on the kitchen counter. “I can smell the child’s fear.” She bit into one and tossed another to Oskar, who snapped it out of the air with a little leap.

Astrid sniffed, then wrinkled her nose.

Perchta shook her head, placing a hand on Astrid’s shoulder. “It’s a hag’s sense.”

Of course it was. Astrid sighed. All the most gratifying powers were.

“Soon, Tochter. Soon. There’s still a few ingredients left to gather for the potion. Some are hard to come by.”

A potion and the final hag ritual were all that stood between Astrid and unlocking her full magical potential. “I can help.”

“You already have. You brought so much of what’s needed back from your travels. No, please let me procure this last bit for you. It’ll make an old Hexe happy. We like to feel useful you know.”

Astrid looped her arm through Perchta’s, gently patting the winter goddess’s sleeve. “Well, as long as it makes you happy. Who am I to deny you that?” You’ve only ever brought me joy.

“I won’t dally, even by your sense of timeliness. Your happiness is my happiness, too.”

Astrid squeezed Perchta’s arm. Hexe Mutter didn’t say things unless she meant them. “Danke schon.”

Home after home they went.

But as the night wore on, Perchta’s climb up stairs became slower. There was a stiffness to her movements and a raggedness to her breathing that wasn’t there before. And during the final homes, she paused partway up each staircase to take a break. When she did start moving again, she relied heavily on the railing to get the rest of the way up.

Worry twisted Astrid’s stomach in knots. This was a side of Perchta she had never seen. The winter goddess had always seemed so powerful, so invincible. All that hinted at her advanced age were a few wrinkles framing her eyes and mouth and the gnarled hands. How long had she been struggling like this?

“Was she like this last year?” she whispered, stuffing the empty velvet pouch into her pocket.

“Not this bad.” Oskar’s ears twitched. “I insisted she bring you along this time. She’s strong, but it’s getting harder and harder for her to work the whole night. And the town is only growing.”

More people, more children. More homes, more stairs.

“Do you think she’d ever consider retiring?”

“She would never abandon the children. But if someone she loved and trusted could step in and take over...” Oskar gave Astrid a pointed look.

It wasn’t even a question. Do for others as Perchta had done for her. It’s what she’d always wanted.

“I could do it.” Once she became a hag, at least.

“I know you could.”

“Tochter!” Perchta called down the stairs.

Astrid and Oskar jumped apart like children caught doing something naughty.

“These parents need to be taught a lesson,” Perchta continued. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

A sly smile spread across the fox’s mouth. His mannerisms could be frightfully human at times. “Have fun.”

Astrid darted up the stairs, heart racing. This was it. What she waited twenty-nine years for. Although this home was nothing like hers had been—clean, tidy, affluent—abuse came in all shapes and sizes and from all different walks of life.

Yuletide was Astrid’s favorite time of year. She loved how snowfall made everything sparkly and new, covering up the grime and refuse of day-to-day life. And the momentary joy of finding silver coins in her shoes, left by the alpine witch and winter goddess Perchta while she slept.

At least until her parents took the coins for themselves. Children were expensive, they said. She ought to contribute more. Be grateful for the roof over her head.

Astrid pressed her hands and face against the frosted window, looking out into the cold, dark night. Awake when she should be sleeping.

The silhouette of the mountains and the trees towered in the distance, so vast and grand. Every night she dreamed of living there, deep within the trees. Where people dared not venture, but most of all her parents. Somewhere far, far away from here.

Jingling sleigh bells rang up the road, and as they drew closer, Astrid heard hoofbeats, too. She bounced on the balls of her feet, vibrating with excitement.

Perchta was coming!

A sleigh pulled by eight large mountain goats glided down the empty, snow-covered street, stopping just below her bedroom window. The old woman at the reins stood, so regal and wise in her bearing. A crown of ram’s horns sprouted from her temples and pointed ears knifed through the curtain of her long, ashen hair, the strands teased by winter wind.

Where Perchta walked, the snow followed, sweeping away footprints and the tracks left by the sleigh. She was the most beautiful being in the whole wide world.

In the next room, Astrid’s father snored, a sudden sawing sound that fractured the peaceful quiet. It was quickly followed by her mother’s sharp, scathing voice, “Halt endlich die Klappe!” A slap rung out, her father gasping awake. Then earsplitting arguing.

Astrid rushed back to her bed, careful not to make the old springs squeak as she scrambled in. She pulled the blankets over her head, sour and long overdue for washing, and through a small gap kept an eye on the door. That way, if one of them barged in, it would look like she was sleeping.

Maybe, if she was quiet enough, they’d forget about her. Wear themselves out and go back to sleep.

The worst nights were when her mother came bursting through the door, snatching her out of bed, threatening to leave. More yelling, more screaming. Above her, around her. Sometimes her father would snatch her back, yanking her roughly by the upper arm. In this grueling game of tug-of-war, she was a toy they fought over. They never once considered how much it hurt to be trapped in the middle.

Astrid wanted to leave. But never with either one of them.

Abruptly, the arguing stopped. Midsentence. They usually argued for much, much longer. Always fighting for the last word.

Downstairs, the front door creaked opened, hinges rusty and desperately in need of grease. Astrid crept out of her room, avoiding loose floorboards and clutter to get to the top of the stairs. She peeked through the bars of the railing.

The ancient Hexe shuffled about the living room. Grumbling as she swiped a gnarled, clawed finger through the thick layer of dust and dirt that coated the mantel. “This place is a pigsty.”

An orange fox trotted from around Perchta’s long, woolen skirts. “This is the third year, and it’s only gotten worse. The parents have not heeded your warnings.”

A talking fox! She knew it! Just like the stories in her picture books. Magic was real.

Astrid stared in wonder.

Perchta picked up one of the many empty liquor bottles littering the house and sucked her teeth. “A shame. After a little scaring, they do sometimes turn it around.”

The fox dipped its head in a nodding motion. “But no more chances for these two. It’s time. The child always suffers the most.”

“That they do.” Perchta set the liquor bottle back down, a sad, weary hunch to her shoulders. But as she reached inside her cloak and withdrew a long, silver dagger, her demeanor changed. Gone was the sadness that deepened the lines of her face. Wicked glee flared to life in its place, and eyes as yellow as the Big Bad Wolf’s flashed in the dim light. “Let’s end that suffering.”

Astrid ducked behind a pile of boxes clogging the hallway as the ancient Hexe climbed the stairs. Please, please, not me. The goddess who gifted her such pretty, shiny coins couldn’t have also come to punish her, could she? Astrid hadn’t been good that year. Disobeying her parents. Running away. Screaming when they screamed at her.

It was so hard to be good when they made her feel so terribly bad.

But Perchta swept past Astrid’s hiding spot without a single glance her way, going to the door that led into her parents’ room. Astrid’s gaze snagged on the gleaming edge of the dagger as Perchta quietly slipped inside.

Curiosity tugged her forward. She had to see, had to know.

And so, she followed.

Astrid kept out of sight, sticking to the shadows, staying low to the ground. And there, crouching in a dark corner of her parents’ bedroom, she watched what Perchta did to parents who abused and neglected their children.

Astrid didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t so much as blink when Perchta gutted her parents and stuffed their bellies full of pebbles and straw. It was gross, it was scary. It was fascinating—that’s what people looked like on the inside? But for all that she trembled and scooched as far back into the dark corner of the room as she could, there was relief too.

No one saw, no one cared. But the winter goddess did.

A tear slipped down her cheek. Danke Frau Perchta.

A furry orange body brushed up against her, soft tail swishing. The fox. “Hello, child. Why are you awake?”

Perchta stiffened. And for one agonizing second, Astrid feared she was next. Gratitude in the wake of her parents’ deaths was very naughty, after all. But the ancient Hexe tucked away her bloodied dagger and turned slowly, surprise softening her wicked features. “You saw?” Her voice was gentle. Kind.

So used to the opposite, Astrid knew the difference. The goddess wasn’t pretending to be nice.

“I wanted to watch the snow.” She hugged her knees as her stomach rumbled. “Are they gone? Can I leave now?”

“The sleeping spell didn’t work on her,” the fox said.

“How curious.” Perchta bent at the waist. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, I think. Would you like to come with us, child?”

“Do you live in the forest?”

“I do.” The Hexe smiled, revealing needle teeth. Despite their sharp edges, there was a warmth to that smile, a promise of protection. And if anyone could protect Astrid, it was this terrifying creature of her fairy tales.

“Will I live with you?”

“If you wish.” A pause. “Do you?”

“Maybe. If I like it.”

Perchta’s smile only brightened, and she extended her hand. “Come. Let’s get you something to eat. And then we’ll see whether forest life is to your liking.”

Astrid took the Hexe’s hand, following her to the sleigh. “Are you my fairy godmother?”

Perchta’s wolfish eyes glistened. “For you, child, I can be.”

Astrid found Perchta in the child’s bedroom, smoothing a cool hand across their brow. “Poor darling. Just wants to be accepted as they are.” Her lips twisted. “Last year, their parents took away perfectly good toys—dolls namely.”

Astrid’s stomach clenched. Her own hadn’t understood her either. Thought she was a strange child. But under Mutter’s tutelage, she grew to learn that “strangeness” was a strength, not a weakness. “And this year?”

“This year, it was dresses and nail polish. A lot of name-calling and lies. Slammed doors. Other intimidation methods. It hasn’t gotten directly physical...yet.”

Picking a stuffed bear from the floor beside the bed, Astrid tucked the toy into the curve of the sleeping child’s arm, her heart melting as they curled around it and hugged it tightly to their chest.

Hurt, anger, and a fierce longing she didn’t understand speared through her chest. “You’re perfect,” she whispered, roughly swiping her eyes. No, no, no. This was not going to make her cry.

The child sighed softly.

Schei?e.

Astrid let out a shuddering breath, staring at the ceiling as traitorous tears rolled down her cheeks. “What will happen to them?” she bit out. “If their parents don’t change for the better in a year?”

Astrid’s upbringing in Perchta’s home was the exception, not the rule. The other children had to go somewhere where they could be loved and properly cared for.

“I have arrangements with a local children’s home. A good one. I’ve made plenty sure of that.” There was a cold edge to the statement. Evidently, parents weren’t the only ones who needed to stay in Perchta’s good graces. “There’s a group that works directly with the families, too. Providing resources, tools. Various kinds of healing. But if that fails... Someone collects the children before they wake. They never have to see.”

“Good.” Astrid was six when she witnessed her parents’ belly slitting, but she wasn’t meant to.

“Come, Tochter.” Perchta hobbled out of the room, making Astrid’s heart twinge again. Home after home, year after year, century after century. Everything the winter goddess must’ve seen. The burden, no, the responsibility, borne on these ancient shoulders. “Let’s give the parents their final warning.”

Astrid followed Perchta into the parents’ room, took the silver dagger from the Hexe’s outstretched palm. The same one that splayed open her own parents on this very night, twenty-nine years ago.

The two slept peacefully. Oblivious, or indifferent, to the hurt they caused. Physically, they looked nothing like her own parents, but she saw their faces, nonetheless.

Her grip tightened on the hilt.

Perchta snapped her fingers, and their eyes shot open. No longer asleep. “They can’t move, can’t speak, but they can hear,” she said to Astrid. Then, she leaned over the bed, dancing her claws across the father’s chest, yellow eyes wild and gleaming. “Ansel is a darling child. You’d do well to remember that. There won’t be another chance.”

One by one, Perchta ripped open their nightshirts, exposing bare bellies. Each quivered with fear. An acrid urine stench followed.

Astrid stepped closer to the bed, a myriad of emotions sweeping through her. Wrath. Anguish. Rage. Betrayal. It was still her parents’ faces she saw when she looked at them. Mouths contorted with displeasure. The yelling, the screaming.

You were supposed to love me.

Astrid pressed the blade to skin.

“Not too deep,” Perchta cautioned. “Only enough to scar.”

Just enough to be a daily reminder.

Astrid nodded, carving one simple word.

“Unwürdig.”

Unworthy.

It was still dark when they finished, sunrise an hour away. Bundled up in the sleigh, they made their way back to the forest’s edge. Another year and another successful Yuletide visit by Perchta. The children had their coins and the parents who needed to be punished were punished. If they were smart, they’d make ample amends before the next year.

Astrid was exhausted. Hollowed out.

Oskar left his heating pad to curl up on her lap. She drew the well-worn sleigh blanket around them and scratched the fur behind his ears. Just like the night they came into each other’s lives. The memory clawed at her already bruised heart.

How Perchta did this every year, she had no idea.

To say the ancient Hexe had done this a thousand times was an understatement, not an exaggeration. The Hexe was fifteen hundred years old, at least, and had more than earned herself a rest. As tired and raw as Astrid felt after just one night, she knew she needed to step into the role going forward. Powerful, formidable being though Perchta was, the winter goddess was reaching her limits.

A wall of pines towered before them, the empty spaces in between the trees as black as pitch. When people entered, they were swallowed whole.

Perchta drew back the reins, bringing the sleigh team to a halt just beyond the boundary line. Several of the mountain goats tossed their heads. Others pawed at the frozen ground, impatient to get home. Their combined breath clouded the air.

But only when night gave way into day, and speckles of light peeked through the pine boughs, did they enter Altes Geweih’s territory.