Untethering Dark

Chapter Seven

Jingling bells woke Astrid.

Hurtling out of bed, she raced to the front window, yanking aside the curtain. “Fritz? Liesel?”

It had taken every ounce of willpower to go home the night before and leave the fate of her darlings in Altes Geweih’s hands. Were they okay? Would he find them in time? What if he broke his promise? Had she foolishly doomed them?

Worry had clawed at her gut until she passed out in bed from sheer exhaustion.

Astrid rubbed her eyes, bleary and swollen from a lack of sleep, and squinted out into the early morning light.

And there they were, tied to a fence post, happily munching hay.

Mutter Holle sei Dank!

Shoving bare feet into boots and donning a winter coat over her nightdress, Astrid threw open the door. “My darlings!” she cried and dashed across the yard.

Bleating, Fritz did a funny little hop in place, and Liesel wagged her stubby, fuzzy tail, hay sticking out of the corners of her mouth.

Astrid fell to her knees in the snow, not caring about getting soaked, and hugged their warm, furry bodies. Happy tears froze to her cheeks as they fell. Oh, how she’d spoil them rotten today.

The reigning monster of the forest had kept his promise.

He found them and led them here, then tied them to the fence post. Even had the forethought and compassion to lay out hay and roughage for them, which she stored in a shed around back.

Liesel bumped her with a gentle head butt. “Sweet girl, did he take good care of you?” Astrid scratched the goat behind her ears, and tears stung her eyes anew.

Not only did he track her loves through a blizzard, and brought them back, he made sure they were comfortable and well-fed. Was this kindness always in him? She just assumed he was this hungry thing in the dark to fear and appease.

Two encounters in one night. Both times he let her live.

But there was more to it than just letting her live, wasn’t there? He could’ve just growled and walked away. No fuss.

Instead, he lingered, longer than necessary, watching her with those red, piercing eyes as he ate her Springerle. And when he found her wandering his domain at night, half-frozen through, he shielded her from the frigid cold and let her warm herself on his heat. The same beast that stalked her like prey also caught her when she tripped. All at once terrifying and tantalizing...

Was he toying with her? Some game of cat and mouse?

Ancient beings were often fickle and fleeting in their interest—kindness a means to an end. And Altes Geweih was a predator. It stood to reason he might play with his food before devouring it. A few nice gestures would be cunning bait.

Looking down at Fritz, who went back to eating, she asked, “Do you think he wants to eat me?”

Without looking up, he bleated, hay falling out of his mouth.

Enlightening.

While shepherding her darlings back into their shared pen and hand-feeding them carrot chunks, Astrid weighed her options.

She could ignore the gesture. Leave out an offering like she normally did and stay safely tucked inside come nightfall. But not acknowledging the kindness would be despicably rude, and she couldn’t afford the consequences a slight may bring. A spiteful old beast could rain terror not only on her but on the ones she loved. She needed to play this just right.

She could write a nice thank-you note...

No. That was too little.

Such a gesture warranted an in-person meeting, a verbal thanks. And probably a gift. Something he wouldn’t usually get. It meant she had to face him again, but she had survived two encounters already, why not three?

Maybe, too, she could spin this to her advantage. If she charmed her way into Altes Geweih’s good graces, she could further secure her place in the forest. No more early nights. No more hiding. Just free to roam the mountain whenever she wished.

Become a creature of the night.

Leaving the goat pen, she drifted back to her cottage in a daze of thought, dimly remembering to kick off her boots at the door before entering.

She tapped a finger against her lips.

Blood and meat he got every night, so that wouldn’t do, but he seemed to really enjoy the Springerle, enough to take seconds.

Ducking under her counter, Astrid fetched her rolling pin. Another batch of homemade cookies could be a pleasant and welcome surprise. After all, in the days of old during the harshest of winters, people gave Springerle offerings to the gods when they couldn’t afford to sacrifice their livestock. A little flour, a little sugar, and a whole lot of stroking an ancient beast’s ego.

Later that afternoon, Lebkuchen and Pfeffernüsse baked in the oven, the delicious scents of gingerbread and spice cookies filling her home.

Astrid’s uncertainty wavered with the approaching sunset.

The more she thought about last night’s encounters, the more her jaded theory snagged on all the little details. The way he brushed back her hair with delicate ease suggested a gentleness that wasn’t an exception but a well-used practice. Even with those long, wicked claws, he knew how to touch her without hurting her.

Something seen again with the care in which he looked after her darlings. Fear should’ve subdued them. She expected to find them huddling together, tails and ears tucked, after the night they had. But they were happy. Bouncy, even.

There was more to Altes Geweih than met the eye.

It was possible they’d skirted on the edge of something real and genuine. Something more than “to be eaten” or “not to be eaten.”

Timer dinging, Astrid hopped to her feet, quickly donning oven mitts to fetch the trays of cookies from the oven.

With a broad sweep of her hand, a gentle, icy breeze cooled them.

While she decorated the cookies with icing, she would cast a summoning spell and ask Hexe Mutter for advice. Perchta would no doubt try talking her into seducing the creature—not just to fuel the final ritual that would make her a hag, but to give her grandhexen babies, as well. Mildly irritating, but what mother didn’t try to persuade their children into coven-expanding efforts? But once she’d gotten over that conversational bump, they could discuss more practical matters.

Astrid didn’t know exactly how she wanted to play this yet, but finding out everything her mother knew about Altes Geweih was a good place to start. The more she knew, the better.

As she murmured an incantation over a bowl of water set in the middle of her cookie decorating station, frosty edges formed along the circumference a moment before it completely froze over. Mutter Perchta’s face followed, appearing just beneath its glassy surface.

“Tochter!” She clapped her hands together, gnarled and clawed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Bent over at the waist, Astrid dotted gingerbread with icing, cut into the shapes of trees, stars, and woodland animals. The spice cookies would get dipped in glaze.

As Astrid recounted the hikers’ offenses from the night before, vengeful rage limned her mother’s face. It predictably turned into gleeful, maniacal scheming when she explained what transpired between her and Altes Geweih, along with her plan to adequately thank him for saving her goats.

Mutter practically glowed with greed for Hexen grandbabies.

“This is fantastic news!” Perchta began, the most cheerful she’d ever seen her, but Astrid cut in, nipping that topic in the bud.

“Mutter,” she groaned, “I already have a partner for the final ritual. Remember Demos?”

They met at a Bacchanal a few years ago and had such a great, rollicking time he outright volunteered his “services” when she told him she was working toward becoming a hag.

“Ah yes, the satyr, right? Certainly capable of getting the job done, but now that you’ve got the forest king’s attention, why not shoot higher? This is a golden opportunity.”

“He’s very appealing, yes, but I don’t know him. I know Demos. And more importantly, I can trust Demos not to eat me.”

“But that’s half the fun.” Mutter’s glee increased tenfold, and Astrid suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Both at the double entendre and at the school of thought that the more perilous, the better. Hags wore their ritual conquests like badges of honor.

Astrid liked an adrenaline rush as much as any witch, but the final hag ritual was the last step to becoming her truest self. It was special. And Demos understood that. He was familiar and safe and wouldn’t make demands. He just wanted to help.

“I’d need to know much, much more about Altes Geweih before I’d even consider taking him for a tumble in the snow, much less ask him to help me power a ritual.”

Perchta’s expression fell a little, but she recovered quickly. “What would you like to know?”

“How much danger am I in, now that I’ve gotten his attention?”

Mutter rested one clawed finger along the side of her face, thoughtful. “He’s one of the lesser gods, but a god, nonetheless. An immortal. There’s no question that he outmatches you in strength and power.” The thing about Hexen mothers was they saw power as an alluring challenge, not a threat. “But he’s fair, and he deferred to your wishes yesterday and rescued Fritz and Liesel. Still, there’s always a risk and intentions can change. Did I teach you the teleportation ritual?”

“No,” Astrid replied, grumpily. That would’ve been helpful to know yesterday when she thought for certain she was about to die.

“Ach. Must have been Dahlia then. I’ll send Oskar with a scroll.”

Scrolls passed amongst Hexen were like recipe cards for magic. Dahlia was another one of Perchta’s daughters but from another time and another land, and Astrid’s hag sister in magic if not blood.

“What else do you know about Altes Geweih?”

“Little more than you, I’m afraid. But what I do know of his history is simple. This is his forest, but he only devours intruders, those who don’t pay the proper respects. This land could be entirely impassable, but he’s shown great generosity and restraint in allowing the humans to have their daytime pilgrimages, without cost.”

A beast that could hunt by day but chose not to? Feral but also capable of restraint, a promising sign. She wouldn’t take a monstrous lover who was unable to control his own impulses. For all the hags that came out of those encounters victorious, there were just as many who’d been devoured. And not in the good way.

“I didn’t think he was capable of such mercy.” Being spared her own life— twice —was surprising enough. “I thought he was driven by the hunt.”

“In a way.” Hexe Mutter’s voice gentled, backed by a healthy amount of respect. “But more motivated by the need to protect the forest and the creatures within. Age does funny things to one’s nature, softens some of the harder edges. He’s ancient, to put it lightly. Paleolithic, to put it honestly. While we Hexen are creatures of habit, gods are bound to their land. They cannot leave it.”

Thousands of years trapped in one place, and thousands more yet to come. Roaming the same mountain, the same stretch of forest over and over. The monotony must be grueling.

These days, Astrid was a veritable homebody, and quite happy about it. But that desire to settle came after years traveling abroad. To think, she had more freedom than a god.

“Still, it stands to reason that he’s seen humans at all their stages,” Mutter continued, expression darkening. “And knows quite well what they’re capable of, insofar as what’s touched his territory. You see, Tochter, there’s monsters and villains. And then there’s true evil, something so vile even we vicious creatures cannot abide it. We do what we can to weaken it, to stop it, but when all is said and done, it changes even us.”

Some of the worst evil came from humans. Astrid solemnly refilled her pipette with icing, keeping her hands busy, while the rest of her felt heavy. “I remember you saying.”

It was before her time, but great human evil had come to this land less than a century ago. And Mutter, who usually didn’t show a compassionate bone in her body for human affairs, had picked a side. She hid people, the ones being ruthlessly and systematically slaughtered, and she gave them protections, medicines, and provisions.

But what had Altes Geweih done? It was a fierce thought.

As if reading her mind—and Astrid thought that maybe she could—Perchta added, “In times of great suffering, Altes Geweih eats evil and evil alone. There...just has to be balance.”

Good. “I understand, Mutter.”

“What else would you like to know?”

Lots. What were his moments of joy? Did he have friends? Mates? Children? Or had he spent his whole life chasing one meal to the next?

Astrid paused, unsure of how to ask all that, and settled on asking about his kin instead.

A small, wan smile returned. “He shares some characteristics with other creatures, but truly? He’s the only one of his kind, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

That sounded incredibly lonely. Ten thousand years or more without kindred? Astrid had Johanna and Suri. Perchta and Dahlia. Not a big circle by any means, but they were each just a scrying spell or trip down the mountain away. Her time spent alone might be weeks, maybe months, but never years, let alone centuries or whole millennia.

Ten thousand years or more of solitude was incomprehensible.

“No mates or offspring that I’m aware of either,” Perchta continued. “And I’ve kept pretty good tabs on der Schwarzwald for the past six hundred years.”

Mutter spoke of centuries like humans spoke of decades, and Astrid hadn’t yet lived long enough to get quite used to it.

Before returning to der Schwarzwald, where she was born sometime in the 500s C.E., Perchta spent numerous centuries with Astrid’s adopted coven-sister Dahlia and her horde of children abroad. Completing the final hag’s rite bestowed them with longevity. For someone who was actually by definition “ancient,” Perchta was a “comely crone” as Dahlia sometimes teased.

A life bound to magic staved off the ravages of time and granted slow, graceful aging, even as the world around was a fast-forwarding motion picture of change. Maybe it was vanity, or fear of Death, or an arrogant desire to feel powerful and untouchable, but Astrid wanted it. To be a constant, a piece of history trapped in amber. To have her mother and sister for centuries, millennia even.

Eighty, ninety years would never be enough. There was too much to see, too much to do—now and in the days to come. She was resting now, but she wanted to tour the world over and over again. To see how it changed, to explore every nook and cranny she missed the first time around. She wanted to make her adventures with Dahlia a tradition they honored every century. And just as much, she wanted to better get to know her nieces, nephews, and niblings.

“You’d be Altes Geweih’s first.” Not this again. Mutter waggled her eyebrows. With her full mouth of sharp teeth on display, the expression was practically maniacal. “There’s extra magical potency in that.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “He’s at least ten thousand years old. I don’t believe for a second that in all that time, he’s not had sex once.”

The horny old woman waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be judgmental.”

“I’m not being judgmental. It’s statistically improbable.”

“Well, even if you’re not his first, the power you’d gain from him far surpasses what Demos can give you, as lovely as I’m sure he is. You only get this once. When the ritual is complete, and the transformation takes hold, the power you get is what you get. There’s no do-overs, no leveling up.”

“I know.” Her mother meant well, but annoyance seeped into Astrid’s tone.

More power would be nice, but everything was already arranged with Demos. Did she really want to throw that all out the window on the off chance that she might one day seduce Altes Geweih well enough that he’d agree to do the ritual with her? That could take months, years.

And Astrid didn’t have years, did she? Not if she was going to take up Perchta’s mantle as the Yuletide protectress of children and slayer of unworthy guardians. Comely crone or not, time was taking a toll on the winter goddess. Maybe a reprieve would restore her. Or maybe long living didn’t mean forever.

The thought knifed through Astrid’s chest, cruel and unexpected, then twisted. She turned away from the scrying bowl to blink back tears and pretend she was picking up a dropped towel.

If there was a chance, any chance at all, that shouldering Perchta’s responsibilities would extend her life, Astrid would do it a thousand times over.

It wasn’t a lack of ambition that put her on this course. Choosing Demos meant she could be a hag before the month was out, leaving her with the better part of the year to master Perchta’s Yuletide magic. She needed a sure thing.

And Perchta—even if she didn’t realize it—needed this to be a sure thing.

“Do you have feelings for Demos?”

Perchta’s question snapped Astrid back to the present.

Friendship. Camaraderie. A shared fondness for bed sport.

They always went their separate ways, sated and content, and that never pained her. No expectations, no commitments. Just fun—as much for him as it was for her. “I care about him, respect him, but not in the way you’re implying.”

“The choice is yours, and yours alone,” Perchta said softly. “Above all else, it’s a rite that should be undertaken with someone you care about and respect.”

The concession eased the fire in her chest. Her Hexe Mutter had always respected personal choice. Although she brought Astrid into the coven as a young child and trained her to be a competent witch, it was never with the expectation that she’d take the hag path. That had been Astrid’s choice.

Decorating done, Astrid began plating the cookies in an artful, spiraling arrangement.

“Tochter, how many different types of Pl?tzchen did you make him?” Perchta’s tone was accusatory and teasing all at once.

“Two,” she mumbled, cheeks heating. A gift to thank him for bringing home her little loves. For honoring his promise.

While she might not rearrange her plans for a spark of possibility with Altes Geweih, after, once she was a hag...who knew. Anything could happen.

“Two! You’re spoiling him.” Perchta sucked her teeth, but there was a wicked glint in her eye. Their courting methods might not be the same, but a daughter acting sweet on a god-monster still had the potential to achieve the same end.

Apparently thirteen grandchildren from Dahlia weren’t enough.

And yes, it had been a very long time since any of them had been babies, but Mutter wouldn’t get any sympathy from her.

“On the off chance you change your mind,” Perchta began slyly. “I’m going to send along another spell you might find useful. Do with it what you will.”

“Mutter,” Astrid warned.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Just a little contraceptive spell, just in case. I doubt the local market carries rubber sheath things big enough...”

Condoms. Mutter was talking about condoms.

How the ancient winter hag even knew about them when anything post–Industrial Revolution eluded her was beyond Astrid.

Perchta smirked, just a little too pleased.

Astrid narrowed her eyes. “How effective is it?”

“Don’t be put off by its simplicity. Complicated isn’t very practical in the heat of the moment, now is it?”

While frequency of use didn’t always equate to a spell’s difficulty level, there was a correlation. Common household remedies and spells were easy and quick to cast. Bigger feats of magic like teleportation or banishing a malevolent spirit were more complicated and took more power and time, but they also weren’t needed as much.

Knowing that eased her paranoia some.

“Lay your worries to rest,” Perchta continued. “It is a simple method, but a very effective one, too.”

Sounds reasonable...

“However,” she drawled, “if you change your mind, that tea blend I gave you last Yuletide is good for promoting conception...”

“Mutter!” Wasting was heinous, but she’d burned that pouch to ash.

Perchta snickered. “Sunset quickly approaches, Tochter. Better tidy up.”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Astrid rolled her eyes and ended the spell.

As irritating as Mutter’s brand of encouragement may be, it assuaged most of her fear. Outright foolishness would’ve been commented on. But even so, there were no guarantees and having a fail-safe on hand was just a prudent self-preservation measure.

Scratching at her front door caught her attention.

It was distinctly animal—paws swiping up and down, impatiently demanding to be let in.

Oskar.

Speedy fellow.

She let Perchta’s fox familiar in.

He shook his orange fur free of snow, spraying her with melting droplets, before trotting in, two scrolls in his mouth.

“How did you get here so fast?”

Oskar dropped the scrolls on the ground and kicked at it with a paw. “Read for yourself.”

“Right.” Teleportation then. She bent to retrieve them, pinching the slightly sodden parchment between two fingers.

His whiskers twitched. “Will that be all?”

Astrid unraveled the first scroll, scanning the contents.

Take some dirt or ash and add a little water to make a paste. Spit will do in a pinch. Then paint an X on your stomach and say, ‘behalte mich doch unfruchtbar.’ It’s not permanent. You’ll have to reapply each time.

Shaking her head, Astrid read the next one.

There were two separate spells scrawled onto the page. One for teleporting oneself, and one for another creature. Not simple, but she should be able to follow it. “That’ll be all. Thank you, Oskar. Any Pl?tzchen for the road?”

“One, please.”

Pinching one of the round, glazed ones between her fingers, still warm to the touch, she tossed it to the familiar. Oskar snatched the confection out of the air with a little leap and a snap of jaws.

Without so much as a parting word, he spun away. She watched him dart out of the cottage, across the yard, and as he passed her front gate, a portal opened, a swirling violet vortex about two meters tall and wide. Oskar trotted right in, not a hint of hesitancy, and with a whoosh, it closed.

Tiny pawprints in the snow were the only evidence he’d ever been there.

Well then.

Astrid closed the door and spent much of the remaining daylight studying and prepping the spell, just in case. While she hoped they hadn’t misread Altes Geweih—that his kindness and possible flirtation were genuine and not the whims of a bored and fickle god—at least she had a way to escape him if they were wrong.

At sunset, she left out a small plate of cookies on the tree stump and waited inside, sitting in her rocking chair knitting a crimson scarf, ears pricked for the sound of his approach.

And she waited.

And waited.

But he never came for his offering.

In all her days spent living in der Schwarzwald, not once had Altes Geweih ever skipped a night.