Chapter Fifteen
Seeking out the witch hadn’t been a conscious decision. The next evening during his nightly wanderings, his cloven feet had a mind of their own, bringing him to her front gate. The itch to find and decimate the elusive hikers from the nights before had never quite left his bones. A task left unnervingly unfinished. She’d be a much-needed distraction.
Astrid was in her garden, painted in the soft, cool light of the moon, huffing and puffing as she scratched at the hard, frozen earth. Her nose and cheeks were red, and her brow creased. Loose, frazzled bits of hair stuck out from the wool-knit cap covering her ears, some floating freely, others plastered to her face.
It was exhausting, frustrating work plowing winter ground—that much he could see from the way she toiled and strained. Plants trampled so badly they were beyond saving had been yanked out by the root and piled in a frosty wheelbarrow by the fence. Aside from that, only two rows had been turned, but it had likely been a whole day’s worth of hard labor for her.
What would take him a day using his claws would take her a week with the ineffectual metal tools in her hands. He couldn’t just stand by and let her struggle.
Stomping a bit to alert Astrid of his approach, so as not to scare her again, Gudarīks left the dark space between the trees.
She looked up then, startled despite his best efforts, but it was quickly followed with a warm smile. “Guten Abend.”
He dipped his head to her, the shadows of his antlers casting dark lines across her face. “Would you like some help?”
Glancing between him and the garden, Astrid rubbed a gloved hand behind her neck, surprise sparkling in her eyes like droplets of frozen dew. “Oh, um...”
Gardens were personal things, painstakingly nurtured and loved, so he wouldn’t push if she didn’t want his help or his company.
“I’d love some help.” Her smile broadened. “You know how to turn soil?”
He nodded, crouching down. Although she’d have no idea about the things he got up to in his spare time, he was no stranger to the task, and this was something he was very good at.
Steering clear of the patches still nestling rooted vegetables—black salsify, potatoes, parsnips, onions, and beets, by the smell of them—Gudarīks raked a hand across the ground in one long, careful swipe, claws biting through the stubborn earth and making a path for new life.
Astrid tossed her tools aside with an exasperated groan. “I should hate you for how easy you just made that look.”
He cleared another row. “I’ll dig and you follow with the seeds?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” She bent down, picking up a tin sectioned off into tiny compartments, an assortment of seeds rattling inside.
“What are we planting?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Lots of things. I like to eat well, and I’m greedy for variety. There’s winter squash, pumpkin will go over there. Also, cabbage, leeks, and herbs.”
“I’m not familiar with some of those. May I?”
She handed him the tin, and he sifted through the various seeds with the tip of his claw, taking care not to spear any.
“My starter seeds came from town. The market there brings in produce and seeds from all over the world, not just Deutschland,” Astrid explained. “That, and a little magic, lets me grow more than I should be able to here, especially this time of year. There’s a greenhouse spell I use as I plant the seeds to keep the growing conditions optimal, but it takes a lot of concentration and energy. Neither fire or earth magic are my natural affinities. Just water. Or, more specifically, freezing water.”
“Very clever, Hexe. Did you always know you were meant for the winter?”
She nodded as she worked, plopping seeds into the trenches he made and covering them with little, loose mounds of dirt. “Even as a very small child. The cold never quite bothered me like the other children at Kinderkrippe. On outside days, my classmates who were old enough would run inside to warm up, teeth chattering. The babies just cried, and the teachers shivered, but I never did.”
“Before Perchta even? She must’ve sensed the calling in you.”
Astrid grinned. “Won’t lie and say the thought of being special doesn’t delight me, especially since peculiar was the word others used. Whispered really, but I still heard.” The smile faded. “It hurt then.”
He lived his entire life in singularity, but it was steeped in longing, never hurt.
Words failing him, he reached past her to deepen a trench that didn’t really need redug, their shoulders brushing together. When Astrid leaned into that connecting point, it primed every one of his nerve endings with awareness.
Might she find his touch comforting? Far be it from him to deny her what she asked for without words.
When the task was done, he withdrew his hand, but remained near so that only a slight shift of bodies would bring them together.
“It doesn’t now,” she continued after a time, tucking back a flyaway strand of hair. “Hurt, I mean.”
He didn’t voice it, but he was glad Perchta found Astrid when she did. Before the words different and peculiar turned to poison.
“Was that what upset you last night at the pond?” He didn’t think her faraway look and clenched hands had been just for his sake.
“Noticed that, huh?” Her smile was wry. “A little for me, but it was mostly for a friend, a lover, named Demos. His kind were hunted down by the ancient Romans, and he’d have episodes. I helped him through some.”
“I’m sorry he suffers so. What helps?” Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he heard that wicked laugh and ancient tongue and saw the fiery red eyes that haunted him. If Astrid knew some sort of tincture or remedy that could free him of this, he’d take it without a second thought.
“Not being alone. Having someone to talk to. I don’t know what Demos does to be honest. I only met him a few years ago and ever since our relationship has been more of an ‘as needed’ arrangement. When we have met up, he doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t push.”
If she didn’t know of a treatment, did Perchta? Surely her Hexe Mutter would’ve said something to her if there was a way to ease her lover’s suffering. “He’s lucky to have you,” Gudarīks replied, hiding his disappointment at her attachment. “And you him. The company must be...”
“He doesn’t really have me,” she said hurriedly, cheeks growing red. “I mean he does, he has, but not here.” She tapped the space above her heart. “It’s not even an open relationship. More like friends with...benefits.”
The poor witch was getting flustered.
“I take your meaning just fine.” He lightly bumped her shoulder with his, something he’d seen the humans do when they needed reassurance. “It’s quite an old concept, you know.”
“Yes, well.” She struggled to find words. “What were we talking about before?”
“Rude, small-minded humans and your call to winter.”
“Ah, right. At home, the one before Perchta.” She paused to swipe the back of her hand along her forehead, wincing at a memory. He couldn’t fathom why she preferred to talk about something painful over a sometimes lover, but her reasons were her own, and if this was what she wanted to focus on, she’d have his listening ear. “I don’t have many fond memories from that time, but I do remember playing outside in the cold longer than I was supposed to, dressing myself and sneaking out, sometimes in the middle of the night and wandering as far as the base of the mountain.”
Feisty, even as a young one. Waiting on no one to seize what she wanted, to seek the place where she belonged.
“I got yelled at a lot for that. It was always ‘get inside’ this, ‘you’ll catch your death’ that, and ‘quit running away.’ Not that I ever stopped, even though it meant the switch if they had to come out to drag me home. It’s amazing what we know to be true about ourselves, even when we’re young.”
“And what you’ll risk and fight for.”
“Never thought of it like that.” She dipped her chin, a small smile winning over. “I was stubbornly disobedient. That probably helped me on the resolve end of things.”
“I wish I remembered my youngest years better, but many of those memories are lost now.” Gudarīks tapped his bony temple with a claw. “Too much up here to hold on to everything.”
Snatches of distant, bygone times blurred at the edges of his mind, more impressions in some cases than actual memory. If only they’d coalesce just a bit more.
But there were some things he knew to be true.
When he was born, bread had never been baked. The very flour Astrid used in her delicious treats hadn’t existed yet. Not until the first farmers tilled the land some 7,000 years ago. By that point he had already lived to be 5,000, or as best as he could estimate from the journals pilfered from hikers researching something they called “The Ice Age.”
Timekeeping hadn’t ever been a strength of his, but humans were very good at measuring it, as well as studying themselves and their prehistory.
He reared himself in the time when ice and snow choked the life out of the earth, and great mammoths, wolves, and reindeer roamed the valleys. Humans of that age wrapped themselves in furs and skins, living in small, nomadic groups, as quick to murder each other as they were to trade. In those days, not much distinguished them from other herd animals, but they had made leaps and bounds as a species in the time since.
Wonders never ceased. As infuriating as they could sometimes be, they were also fascinating.
“I remember too much, too early.” Astrid said it like it was a fault. “Not being born, of course, but a lot of what came after. That’s another thing that sets me apart from others. It’s not exactly a short list.”
“They didn’t understand you.” Her teachers, her classmates, her parents.
“But Perchta did.” Astrid smiled, meeting his eyes. There was a light there that wasn’t when she was sharing her earliest memories. “She saw winter’s touch in me and knew I wasn’t meant for a human life. My Hexe training began after she brought me to live with her. She might not have birthed me, but she’s the mother of my heart and soul, and her home the warmest and happiest I’ve ever lived in.”
Wanting touch, he leaned against her and stayed there, vicariously sharing in this quiet joy. As if he could absorb a piece of it for himself. With his arm pressed firmly against hers, there was no passing off the contact as another accidental bump or brush of bodies. When she did not pull away, a strange fluttery sensation took flight in his chest.
In a lifetime that spanned thousands of years, it was little moments like this that made him forget the slow slog of time. Listening to Astrid speak, watching her rebuild what had been destroyed, thrilling in her fierce tenacity.
It made him want to fight for himself. For his own happiness. It didn’t feel so far out of reach when she was beside him.
“When other kids my age would’ve been celebrating Einschulung on their very first day of school, Perchta decorated the tree we lived in with garland, homemade paper streamers dyed with berries, and ornaments she made from ice—all so I could have my own Schultütenbaum. Then she had me climb it to get my Schultüte cone, which she tied to a branch with ribbon.”
Astrid touched the end of her braid. The silk blue tie holding her hair in place was so worn and faded it was nearly threadbare. “The cone was filled with all sorts of things. Lots of baked treats, a slate board, a box of white chalk, primers in reading and mathematics, vials of ingredients for potion making, a hunting knife.” Her smile brightened. “All because she didn’t want me to miss out on a tradition I would’ve grown up with if I’d chosen a human life.”
“It sounds like you had a good childhood with Perchta and that she prepared you well for a life in the forest.”
“I really did. I’ve learned so much from her and have much more to learn still. I’m to become a hag soon.”
Both her heartbeat and the excitement in her voice rose, emitting a bubbly energy that was addictive. What if he took up a new hobby? Or found a new goal to pursue, something grander than gardening and eating people? Hope bloomed, too, at the possibilities this news meant. He didn’t know how long hags lived, but if she became one, he wouldn’t lose her after a few short decades. He could have her company for a millennium and a half at least.
“You’ll really have to compete with me then when the time comes for us to take down our enemies. Who knows? Maybe I’ll have to save a few for you.”
He marveled at her use of “us” and “our.” He’d never been a part of an “us” before. There’d always been a degree of separation between him and the other beings he interacted with during the more sociable stretches of his life.
It made him want to take Astrid back to his den, tuck her into the warm curve of his body, and hold her close until the sun came up. An ally, a friend, someone to treasure in the heart of all that he was.
“You’ll make a good hag. Of that, I’ve no doubt. If there’s any who’d beat me in a challenge, I’m sure it would be you, cunning, clever witch. I’ll never forget how close I’d come to eating your poisoned Pl?tzchen.”
The rosy tinge to her cheeks, put there by the cold and her gardening labors, deepened. “Luckily for the both of us, that’s not what happened.”
Lucky, indeed.
Row after row they dug and planted, the late hours of the night ticking away. Astrid didn’t show any signs of stopping, even though her pace had greatly slowed, and her breathing had grown heavy again, deep circles forming beneath her eyes.
Stubborn, hardworking witch.
Dusting off his hands and flicking dirt from his claws, Gudarīks said, “I’m going to take a break. Would you like to join?”
Astrid looked to the sky, and the moon’s trajectory, then back at him. “I completely lost track of time. Let’s stop here.”
Rising, he held out his hand to her, which she took readily, their hearts fluttering in tandem at the contact. Should the weight of someone’s hand in his excite him so? He was wholly unaccustomed to such feelings, and yet they settled nice and warm in his chest cavity.
Her movements were stiff, so he gently helped her to her feet, catching her elbow when she stumbled and swayed. “I’m dizzy” was all she said before burying her face in his chest and clutching his frame, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t let me fall.”
He wrapped his arms around her. When her eyes went glassy, and she slumped against him, he held her like she once held him. Offering comfort in the face of the most elusive enemy—time, and the things he could not remember, not in full. He would’ve held her until sunrise and beyond, but within moments the light returned to her eyes, and she straightened—that dip in and out of consciousness brief.
Gazing up at him, her lips parted, words on the edge of her tongue. But nothing came. Just the intake of breath and the feel of her fingers grasping his fur, pulling lightly. He was holding on to her longer than necessary, he knew that, but this hug .
The pressure, the molding of bodies so different—coolness to his heat, small where he was large, and each of them by turns soft and hard—and yet in such harmony.
We fit well together.
A startling, revolutionary realization.
“I must have stood too quickly,” she murmured, her cheeks pinkening with another blush. There’d been a lot of those tonight. More than that, her steadiness and coherence had returned. She didn’t need him anymore, and yet she wasn’t pulling away.
“It’s okay,” he replied, still not letting go, and it was doing fascinating things to both their heartbeats. Usually, it took an entire night of hunting to get his up to such a quick pace.
Something was changing, shifting in him, melting like ice in springtime. One embrace and the whole fabric of his existence and what it meant to be truly alive turned on its head. How could he have gone his whole life not knowing what this felt like?
The moment she pulled away was coming soon, and he already missed her, dreading the indeterminable countdown to follow until the next embrace. If it ever came. In one fell swoop, this witch had opened a rift in him and utterly ruined his chances of ever closing it.
“Thank you for helping me with the garden.” Slowly, she withdrew, the space between them cold in her absence. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, awkwardly clutching them at his sides. Because, in truth, he wanted to reach for her again, to stretch this night for as long as he could, but she was tired and needed to rest.
“You saved me so much time and trouble.” The softness in her voice and warmth in her eyes made him dare to hope he need not suffer loneliness and longing anymore. All he needed to do was reach.
He caressed the pale curve of her cheek with the rounded back of a claw. The proximity, the brief touch, evoked the warm scent he detected on her the afternoon before, when he’d vowed to fight by her side. “I’m glad I could help. Would you like me to come by again tomorrow?”
Her bright smile alone would’ve been all the answer he needed, but she replied, “There’s nothing I’d like more.”
And that’s when he understood the scent. It matched the one coming off him—happiness, joy, a thrilling spark of hope. There was no doubt in his mind now that the magnetic pull that drew him here tonight would only grow stronger. He never had a care to measure time before. But now he’d count every single moment until the one that brought him back to her.
“I’m planning on making another batch of Pl?tzchen. Any requests?”
What new emotions might she offer for him to taste?
His claws curled around a lock of her silvery, white hair, lingering overlong. “Surprise me, little witch.”
The fluttering in Astrid’s stomach increased when she watched Gudarīks dash off into the trees. Muscle rippled beneath the broad expanse of his back and dappled rear, built for speed and endurance as much as power. To run and run and never stop until the sun came up—or every defiant hiker was devoured.
But there was one feature that undercut this fierce strength.
At the base of his spine, he had a short, fuzzy tail like a deer’s that looked cloud-soft to the touch. Dark up top, and snowy white underneath.
It was cute .
She hadn’t missed how close he crouched, angling his body toward hers, stealing little touches. Or how he held her when she needed him to, and still yet, when she just simply wanted him to. And then there was the thrill she got every time he called her “little witch” and asked if she’d like him to come back.
Maybe Perchta had been right. There was something there.
But Astrid wasn’t going to rush this, whatever was sparking between them. It would go at the pace it needed to, and when the time came to do the final ritual...
Schei?e.
The final ritual was powered by sex magic.
While Demos wasn’t her partner in life, he was her partner for the spell. When she explained the former, Gudarīks seemed to understand, maybe even hinted at personal experience with such an arrangement. But how would she explain the latter? That she couldn’t drop the sexual component of her relationship with Demos just quite yet?
Ancient gods didn’t typically care about monogamy. It was possible Gudarīks wouldn’t either, but she couldn’t know for sure without asking. The last thing she wanted was to snuff out the spark between them by doing something that might hurt him.
Transparency, that was the right thing to do. She had to tell him about the ritual. It wasn’t a betrayal. She wasn’t going behind his back. This was just how the magic worked.
But when should she tell him?
Astrid was so used to being forthright about what she wanted. Her feelings uncomplicated. But with becoming a hag and wanting Gudarīks progressing on two different timelines, there was all this messy diplomacy to navigate.
She sighed.
A problem for another day. When things with the ritual were more...imminent.
As Astrid turned to head inside, she had the distinct feeling of being watched and looked up. Perched on a branch above, a crow stared down with beady little eyes, eerily still and silent.
She waved a hand, back and forth. It didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.
Odd little bird.