Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Wiederg?nger.” One who walks again.
Perchta frowned at her from the icy surface of a pond. Astrid had just described what the forest rangers found, along with her own conclusions.
“You’re right that it’s an Otherworld summoning. The disappearances, the lack of tracks, makes me think that whoever these people are, they’re dipping in and out of the plane between theirs and ours. All while they gather enough strength to make the final crossing permanent.” As Perchta spoke, she pulled several old, but well-cared-for leather-bound tomes off her shelves and leafed through the pages.
“But there was so much ancient human magic present.” Astrid pressed her fingers to her temples. It didn’t make sense. What did modern human poachers know about Otherworld summoning rituals? And even if they had managed it—only the gods tasked with overseeing the dead could amass enough power to survive a summoning. The ritual required immense effort on both sides. But aside from an especially caustic fire, there hadn’t been any evidence of influence from the death deities. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were trying to bring back a human coven.”
“The effort would destroy them,” Perchta agreed, pinching her lips together into a thin, grim line. She leafed through a few more pages, expression thoughtful. “But just because the record doesn’t show it ever being done before, doesn’t mean it can’t be. Just that someone hasn’t figured out how to do it yet. Perhaps we’re witnessing attempts at a true human resurrection.”
Necromancy was an ancient magic, but it only reanimated the dead, made puppets out of corpses. It never brought things back whole, never truly restored life. But if Mutter’s hunch was correct, these humans were getting close. Or at least closer than anyone had ever come before.
“There’s some good news,” Perchta continued. “They’ll need to rest after this sacrifice before they can try again, if they survived it at all. I’ve summoned a death god or two in my day, and it’s quite draining.”
That would buy them some time to ready countermeasures and for Astrid to complete the transition from witch to hag. “How long do you think we have?”
“With death gods helping on the other end, it’s a week. So my estimation is we have at least that much time, probably more for humans attempting the same thing. Get some rest, daughter. Shore up your energy and prepare to complete the hag’s ritual. I’ll contain this. Whoever comes through, they’ll not leave der Schwarzwald on my watch. Gudarīks should have no troubles destroying them once they’re fully in our world.”
Were it not for Astrid’s ability to track the lingering heat signature of Gudarīks’s footpath in the snow, his den would’ve been impossible to find, tucked away as it was. At first the orange glow of past steps seemed to disappear into a craggy rock face, but feeling along the uneven surface with mittened hands, Astrid found a hidden crevice formed by overlapping rock.
To look at it straight on completely obscured the opening. But from the right angle, she could see that it was just wide enough for Gudarīks to slip through, if he tilted his antlers just so.
Doffing the wooden skis she wore to traverse the deep snows of the forest, Astrid dipped inside.
Nestled on the other side was a sheltered field teeming with winter blooms sprouting up from the powdery snow in shades of silver and blue—like the ones Gudarīks had gifted her—as well as ones so dark a purple they were almost black.
Petals closed, the flowers tilted away from the sun’s light, a nyctinastic movement she’d never seen before until Gudarīks gave her a pot of the blooms. She kept them on her windowsill thinking they needed sunshine, but they only ever bloomed at night, coaxed out by the reflected light of the moon.
They were eerily beautiful in the full light of day and so still. Not even a breeze rustled leaves or shook stems. The rock face that encircled the field must have protected it from the mountain’s harshest winds, or all wind entirely, given its utter stillness.
Snowfall was thin in here, her boots only sinking a few centimeters before hitting ground. The only sound in the quiet. She listened for wintering birds, but there were no trees or bushes for them to shelter in, and there wouldn’t be buzzing bees on the hunt for nectar. They were sequestered away in their hives for the season. No tittering squirrels nor rodents scurrying for cover either.
Der Schwarzwald was old, but this tucked-away bower felt untouched in a way the rest of the forest no longer did. Untarnished by those who thought they were owed a piece of it. It was a place wholly his own, something he didn’t have to share with anyone or anything.
And she was intruding.
Astrid’s gaze fell nervously upon Gudarīks, who crouched amongst the flowers with his back turned to her, carefully grooming the garden with his claws.
Pinching off a dead bud here, scissoring his claws over a superfluous stem there, the clippings fell to the ground in silvery green piles. Not at all unlike the ones Oskar once collected for her warding totems. Impressive, sly creature managed it all without getting caught.
There was a heaviness about Gudarīks’s shoulders, weighed down by something intangible. Perhaps he’d seen the wolves.
“You keep sneaking up behind me, quiet as a little rabbit.” He spoke without turning around, making her jump. “And this time in my own home.”
“Did I startle you?” she asked, an apology on the tip of her tongue.
He shook his great antlered head, standing. “No. I could smell you coming.” He approached then, his red, gleaming gaze resting on her. “I should be unsettled that you found me so easily, but I quite like that you’ve sought me out.”
Ever so gently, he brushed her hair back with his claws and tucked something behind her ear. Reaching up, she felt the soft, enclosed petals of a winter bloom. Warmth suffused her cheeks as she looked up into his eyes, touched by the gift.
The corners of his mouth quirked up in his version of a smile, and while he seemed happy to see her, the normally vivid red of his eyes appeared duller than she remembered. Tired.
“Are you okay?”
Rubbing anxiously behind his antlers in a bizarrely human gesture, his sigh came out in a harsh rasp. “Not exactly. Shall we sit?”
When she agreed, he led her past the field to the rock face opposite of where she’d entered and there yawned the dark mouth of a den. As Gudarīks ducked in, darkness enshrouded him, but instinct slowed her steps. Crawling into dark, empty spaces, not knowing what slept inside, be it bear, wolf, boar, or wildcat, would be disastrous. Never disturb a sleeping creature, least of all in its home.
Two red eyes stared out at her from the mouth of the den, unblinking. It was all she could see of him. “Do you fear the dark, witch? Or only me?” Though there was mirth in his voice, it didn’t touch his eyes. They only seemed to grow brighter, fiercer.
When she didn’t answer, one claw-tipped hand extended from the dark, palm facing up. “You’re in no danger here, but if you prefer the light, the light is where we’ll stay.”
She took his hand and joined him.
Once her eyes adjusted, she scanned his den.
The interior was spacious, of a comparable size to her cottage, but with higher ceilings. Given that Gudarīks had to bend at the waist to duck inside, she hadn’t expected there to be so much room.
A nest of blankets and bedding was pushed up against the back wall, and overstuffed shelves lined the others with piles of even more books at their bases. “You’ve quite a collection,” Astrid said appreciatively, lightly brushing her fingers over their spines.
“I’ve lost a lot to time, but please, make yourself at home and peruse what remains.” Dipping his head, something bashful in the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes, he continued, “I wish I had refreshments I could offer you, but I’ve never had need of them until now.”
“Nonsense—” she waved him off “—I’m the trespasser here.”
“But a welcome one.”
Smiling to herself, Astrid flipped open a book with a tattered cover. Someone named “Paula” had written their name on the inside. She lifted another—“Nikolai.” Not all the books she leafed through bore the names of their previous owners, but there was little doubt in her mind how Gudarīks had built his multilingual library.
She felt his eyes on her as she roved about the shelves, but the moment was soft, a peace settling between them in the quiet. The enormity of it wasn’t lost on her—an ancient creature allowing her to openly appraise his home where none had trod before. “What happened, Gudarīks?” she prompted after a time.
With a heavy sigh, he sat cross-legged on top his nest of blankets, arms draped wearily over his knees. Watching him move never failed to fill her with awe. Such fluid grace despite his size and brute strength. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment’s tranquility, but they needed to discuss the summoning, and what he may or may not have witnessed.
After reshelving the book in her hands, Astrid joined him on the blankets and waited for him to speak as he clenched and unclenched his jaw repeatedly. Finally, he said, “I’ve hunted for so long, been the one others fear, that I barely remember a time when that wasn’t the case. I haven’t felt so toyed with and maneuvered since my earliest days. Like I’m the prey.” The last bit was uttered with a frustrated growl, crimson eyes blazing. “I cannot allow that to stand, but I don’t know how to go up against an intangible adversary. Whenever I hear that shrieking and chanting, my blood boils, but they always disappear before I arrive. I can only be missing them by mere moments.”
He didn’t mention the wolves.
“Gudarīks,” she began cautiously, reluctant to share even worse news. “My friend Johanna, the forest ranger, found something this morning.”
His posture stiffened, but when he turned to face her, his knee lightly bumped against hers. “Is your friend okay?”
She expected an uptick in anger from him, not worry. “Shaken and scared but otherwise okay, for now.”
“What did she find?” The worry in his voice deepened. “Tell me, Astrid.”
She stared out the mouth of the den to the garden beyond, watching how the snow glittered in snatches of sunlight. A little oasis untouched by the outside world. It seemed wrong to give voice to bad news here, a desecration of sacred space, but he needed to know.
“Flayed wolves.”