Untethering Dark

Epilogue

It was Yuletide once again. And this year, Perchta was on time.

Astrid stood in a fur-lined cloak and a long, woolen dress, more for tradition than protection against the icy winds. Gudarīks was there, too, amongst the trees. She caught glimpses of him here and there, his dappled coat rendering him nearly invisible, no matter the season. Every so often his bloodred eyes met hers.

They heard Perchta’s sleigh well before it pulled up to the front gate, its jingling bells echoing across the mountain.

Thirty years. Thirty years to the day since Astrid became the winter goddess’s daughter. The same day this forest and its frozen mountainscape became her home. It had called to her, all those years ago, when she was just a little girl peering out into the cold dark. Watching from afar. Wishing, wanting.

Power. Knowledge. A life so grand it could be plucked from the pages of a storybook.

She wanted to become a creature of the night and belong to this place as much as the creature who planted its first trees. Something so powerful, so terrifying, nothing and no one could ever hurt her again. A hag.

She’d gotten that. And somewhere along the way, she found love too. So much love.

Mutter. Oskar. Johanna. Suri.

Gudarīks.

The sleigh glided to a stop, and Perchta climbed out. There was a lightness to the winter goddess’s step and an easiness to her movements. She looked more youthful somehow. The creases fanning her eyes less deep. Her eyes, though always keen, seemed brighter.

Oskar waited by the runners, whiskers twitching. When Astrid met his sly, cunning gaze, he dipped his head, a silent understanding passing between them. Permission to rest was exactly what Perchta needed.

The winter goddess of old took Astrid’s hands, their claws clicking together. The connection soothed something in Astrid’s soul. Her mother’s touch provided comfort, even when she didn’t know she needed it.

“This duty is not for the faint of heart. It takes a heavy toll, but I think you already know that.” She passed a glance between Astrid and Oskar. So much warmth in those wolfish yellow eyes. “The children need you now.”

“Yes, Mutter.”

The winter goddess pulled a thin, foot-long parcel from within her cloak, bound in midnight blue cloth and white string. Her long, gnarled fingers loosed the knots, peeling away the layers to reveal an ancient silver dagger. “There is no magic in this blade,” Perchta said. “It’s a tool, nothing more. It’s your hand that guides, your will that decides their fates.”

Tears misted Astrid’s eyes as she took the blade and belted it to the cord tied around her waist. “How will I know?”

“You will feel the child’s pain. And you will smell their fear. Their rage, their hurt, is yours, but do not let anger master you. Remember that you bring hope in dark times. And justice for those who cannot exact it themselves. You are a protectress, first and foremost. The safety and well-being of the children who need your help is paramount.”

“I understand.”

“Now, a gift.” Something jingled as Perchta reached inside her cloak. She pulled out a string of bells, exactly like the ones that adorned her sleigh, and tied them to the cord around Astrid’s waist. “Until you build a sleigh team of your own.”

“They’re lovely.” Astrid swished her hips, grinning at the merry sound.

The winter goddess’s eyes shone. “You are ready, Tochter. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Thank you.” For being my mother. My protector. My greatest champion. Astrid sucked in a sharp breath and pulled her mother into a tight hug, tears leaving icy tracks down her cheeks. “For everything. I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling girl.” Perchta rocked her from side to side. “Be fierce. Be just. But most of all, be the joy they need.”

Astrid walked with Gudarīks to the forest’s edge. Where they stepped, the wind followed, removing all trace of their tracks in the snow.

“Your hair, it’s gotten tangled. May I?”

Astrid nodded, turning to give him access. “Still getting used to that.”

Gudarīks untangled windswept hair from her antlers and braided it into a simple plait. “So it doesn’t get caught again.”

When he was finished, he laid the braid over her shoulder. The end was tied with a brand-new ribbon. “A little something to commemorate your first day.”

She clasped her hand over the gift, heart melting into a puddle. “Liebe, thank you. Where did you get this?”

“Oskar was kind enough to procure it for me.”

“ I should’ve known.” The little rascal. “Thank you both.”

“I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.” Gudarīks cupped her cheek. “Whatever happens... I’ll be here.”

She leaned into his touch, soaking in the warmth. Hopefully the night would bring more joy than heartbreak. But she just couldn’t know. “I’ll need it.”

“Frohe Wintersonnenwende, Hexe.”

“Frohe Wintersonnenwende, Wald Vater.”

A bag of silver coins on one hip, a dagger on the other, and bells jingling from the cord tied around her waist, Astrid descended the snowy slope toward the quiet streets of Baden-Gottsdorf, Gudarīks’s loving gaze at her back.

One day, she would have her own familiar, and a sleigh team to call her own, but for now, this was more than enough. Centuries lay ahead. Millennia, even, to grow and build.

Astrid lifted her hands to the sky, calling upon the Yuletide magic she had always loved, her palms glowing with icy blue light.

Snowflakes kissed her cheeks.

“Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.”