The dragons dropped me off just before the foothills to the mountains. Much as they wanted to be rid of me, they said they daren’t go closer to the territory of the darric fieron. I did not turn to watch them fly away or wish them well. Nor did they return to their human forms to offer me words of parting. But I understood. They had given me—a lone woman running for her life—sanctuary, and I had brought destruction to their peaceful community. We did not part ways as friends.
With my feet firmly planted on the ground once more, I took a deep breath—pine and wildflower—and sighed. This place smelled of home, and the air was crisp, rather than heavy with moisture and salt like that which rolled off the south sea. I had been away for many years, but my feet would never forget the path they had run in the other direction, fleeing the nightmare beast that had become my permanent shadow.
I had no doubt that it was chasing me still.
Before I’d walked more than a few hours, the wind shifted, and I knew it would snow before the day was out. My mother was a powerful windshaper, and I had only inherited a small amount of her skill—I knew when the weather would change, and I could make minor alterations to the courses of winds that swirled near me. Since I was almost always on the road, predicting the weather had been useful on more than one occasion.
But I could not change its mood. For that, I was glad that the dragons had insisted on giving me a heavy fur-lined cloak for the chilly journey through the air. I had shed my own when I fled to the south—no, I would not think on that brief, happy time.
The first flakes didn’t begin to fall until I was well into the scraggly pines that clung to the hills. It took me longer than it should have to realize that the raised hairs on the back of my neck weren’t just paranoia at being back in these hills. Someone—or something—was watching me. I suspected I knew what it was, but I hadn’t thought the beastie would be able to outfly a dragon. Besides, I didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary—maybe a hint of copper but the scent wasn’t right for the monster that haunted my nightmares.
Even without heightened senses, I would have likely noticed the boy before long. He was doing a poor job of trailing me. Pivoting, I plucked him from his hiding place and pressed him against the nearest pine with my hand on his throat. Closer now, I could smell wood shavings and grain interlaced with the fear. He smelled like valleyfolk. “Why are you following me?” I demanded.
Before he could answer, I realized that he wasn’t the only one I smelled. There were at least four others, and the scent of copper had grown stronger. Magic. In addition to the minor windshaping abilities, I had a bit of leeching magic, which, in theory, allowed me to steal power from others, but it also meant I could smell magic. It had saved my life more than once because I usually smelled the beast before it arrived.
Shifting, I let the hood of my cloak fall, but kept my face profiled to the boy and the others who still believed themselves to be concealed. I tightened my grip on the boy’s throat, so he would know not to move and addressed the rest, growling darkly, “Move against me and he dies.” I had no intention of strangling a child, but I’d lied enough that I knew they wouldn’t hear it in my voice.
The skritch of a drawn blade interrupted the silence. Before its owner could use it, a woman stepped out from the tree line. She wore leather armor and carried a sword, but hers was not drawn. The scar that split her forehead from hairline to eye made her seem older than she probably was, but her voice held the confidence of command as she ordered the others, “Hold.”
“But she’s—” a whiny voice protested from somewhere behind and to my right.
“I said hold,” snapped the woman before turning. She held her palms away from her sides. “The boy is inept, but we mean you no harm, traveler. Your path simply crossed our patrol.”
After giving her another assessing look, I shifted my grip from the boy’s throat to his leather jerkin and shoved him in her direction. She seemed sincere, but then, so had I. I’d just as soon part ways with them quickly.
But I forgot that I had lowered my hood, and by turning, I now faced her. She saw my mismatched eyes and hissed, “Cursed Witch.” I heard several more blades being drawn. I started to wonder if I had been gone from these hills so long that the valleyfolk had forgotten the stories.
I rocked forward onto my toes, ready to move, but I waited.
Instead of attacking, the woman simply gave the boy a hand up and bowed formally. She said, “We offer you no sanctuary, Witch.” Smart woman. “But we will not hinder your path.”
When the beastie first came after me, I’d stuck to the hills. I knew them, and I could circle back home every few months. After about a year, the usually hospitable hillfolk became suspicious, and some even turned me away to sleep on the dangerous hillside alone. That’s when I started hearing stories about a young woman traveling the hills. She seemed pleasant enough when invited into your home, but when she left, destruction rained your village. Some said she wasn’t human at all, but a wild dog or a great beast that took to the skies at night. It wasn’t long before they started calling her the Cursed Witch. And then, I realized the woman was me.
Several of the valleyfolk began talking at once. “But, Patrol Leader, if she’s the Cursed Witch—I’ve heard the stories—we’ll all be destroyed—our homes—we can’t—”
“Silence!” the leader snapped, sparing one sweeping glance at her patrol. She turned back to me and repeated firmly, “We have no quarrel with you.”
I simply stared at her. It was true; I had been gone for a long time. But were the valleyfolk’s memories so short that they had forgotten the danger? She knew not to offer me sanctuary, but still, the fact that she also did not threaten violence meant a great deal to me. It was stupid, but kind.
The collection of unfamiliar smells from the valleyfolk almost caused me to miss the rot of the beastie. The patrol leader had offered me kindness, so I returned it with advice. “When the monster arrives, do not fight it. Run.” Believing that they had no cause to do otherwise, I turned and threw myself off the path, shifting into my hound form as I did so. I was faster on four feet than two, and I hit the snow-dusted dirt running. The heavy cloak drifted to the ground behind me—usually my clothes and possessions changed with me, but sometimes the magic chose not to take something. I hoped I didn’t regret the loss later.
Behind me, a crash allowed me to think, Good, they took my advice, before the patrol leader shouted, “Stand your ground, Patrol! We stand between the creature and our homes.”
Idiots. But I couldn’t judge them too harshly. It was their duty to defend the valley from monsters. Still, if they stood against the beastie, it would deal with them before continuing the chase. I’d used the delay to escape before—and only later heard the tales of what the beast had done. But recently, I’d had the misfortune of experiencing the aftermath of the beast’s destruction. I wasn’t fool enough not to run, but I could choose the direction.
Circling the nearest tree, I doubled back. It only needed to catch my scent, and it would give chase. It always had.
The sounds of fighting increased as I reached the clearing, and I had to dodge to narrowly avoid missing one of the patrolmen tumbling through the air. Most of them were on the ground—the beastie made short work of those it had no use for. Similarities to another scene almost made me hesitate. But the beastie had sunk its teeth into the patrol leader’s leg. Still, she fought, stabbing it repeatedly with a small sharp blade to no effect. The smell of rotting copper was almost overwhelming—it must have fixated on her because she was the source of copper-scented magic.
Although it could be distracted by other magic, the beastie craved mine. I angled my path to take me into the beastie’s field of vision but never leave the relative safety offered by the trees. The wolf-like head did not acknowledge my presence or give any indication that it was willing to relinquish its prize. The patrol leader’s movements had weakened. Rot was slowly replacing the scent of copper in the clearing and I wondered what kind of magic the beastie used.
I altered my course once more, gathering my leg muscles to spring. Leaping straight for my nightmare, I cleared its head with the intention of springing off the leathery patch on its back between the wings and away. It would have to notice me.
But I miscalculated. Impossibly fast, the beastie dropped the patrol leader and whipped its wolf head around, clamping jaws onto my flank. My side exploded as its razor teeth sunk through fur into flesh. Instinctively, I tried to wriggle free, but it only tightened its grip until I could barely breathe. Winds swirled around me, as it took to the sky wings beating the air.
It had never caught me before, but I had always assumed it simply wanted to kill me, not to carry me off. As the pine trees faded into the pelting snow and we left the scent of copper behind, I resolved not to learn its intentions. I shifted back to human, hoping that the change would loosen its grip, but the powerful jaws held fast. Gray patches drifted in between the falling snow, and I thought I was passing out from the pain. Then, I realized the beastie was leeching my magic. My magic, in its various forms, was a part of me. If the beastie leeched it all, I would die.
Taking a deep breath to calm the panic rising in my mind, I told myself I just needed it to open its jaws. I’d outsmarted it before. It had dropped the patrol leader because I’d given it better prey. Maybe I could do that again.
Closing my eyes, I poured the remainder of my magic into the winds that buffeted our flight. I had no power left to direct them, but I hoped one found its way to the beastie.
With my eyes closed, I didn’t notice a change until the smell of rotting things dropped away. Opening my eyes, I found myself falling, rather than flying. Up and down the world was white—either the snow had increased or we had flown higher in the hills.
Mustering shreds of power, I pulled a scrap of wind beneath me, and when I hit the ground, it only felt like I’d been kicked by a horse, rather than buried by a landslide. As I struggled to get my feet under me—I couldn’t afford to stop running, even now—I vowed never to go back for anyone who was stupid enough to stand between the beastie and me again.
It ended in nothing good.
Spinning in a slow circle, I surveyed the whiteness. Not a pine in sight. I was lost.
I shivered without the cloak, but after a few tries, I decided I didn’t have enough power to shift back to hound. I pressed one gloved hand to my side, stumbling forward in the deep snow. My body bore the scars of years’ worth of dodging the beastie—I’d been running since I was a girl—but this was the first time it had ever gotten ahold of me.
I decided to head uphill so I didn’t backtrack. The incline seemed steeper—perhaps we had flown all the way to the mountains? With my free hand out to prevent unexpected encounters hidden by the sheet of snow, I pressed on. Another step sunk me waist deep, and I lost my balance, pitching forward. My outstretched hand connected with something soft but solid. Instead of waiting for the stench of the beastie’s magic to hit me, I pushed away from the fur beneath my gloved fingers and lurched to the side.
The snow under my feet vanished, and I fell with the snowflakes into empty air. A scream tore from my throat, already raw from the biting cold. My flailing hand caught, cutting the sound short and sending a jolt down my body. Pain seared up from my midsection as the motion pulled the wound, threatening to tear me in half.
Blinking upward against the black spots that began to overwhelm the falling snow, I saw another larger hand engulfing my own. My mind couldn’t make sense of that—the beastie had claws, not hands, and besides that, it could fly. I couldn’t see beyond the hand to determine to what manner of creature it belonged.
It hauled me back onto solid ground, where I lay gasping in snowflakes as they spiraled down from the sky. I couldn’t feel my wound anymore. In fact, I couldn’t feel much of anything. The outline of a shadowy figure started to become visible in the surrounding white. It looked vaguely human-shaped, but perhaps the beastie had only folded its wings. Then again, these mountains were home to many a strange creature, and looking human didn’t always mean you were.
As the figure moved toward me, I closed my eyes, comforted by the fact that I didn’t smell the sharp rotten scent, which marked the beastie’s magic. I only caught a faint trace of woodsmoke, making my nose itch like a trapped sneeze, so perhaps my ability to sense magic simply wasn’t functioning properly. Whatever this creature was, it would eat me in truth, and I wouldn’t suffer having my life drained away slowly. Satisfied, I surrendered to the cold beyond pain as the creature lifted me from the ground and carried me away.
My eyes snapped open to relative darkness, so different from the white of the blizzard. I was shivering hot and shaking uncontrollably, although evidently not yet eaten. I could feel the bone-deep cold having it out with the knots of burning pain that raged on the left side of my body. Near my head, fire crackled. In the dim light, I saw a shape crouched over my feet. It appeared human, if on the large side. Pain stabbed through my toes. I panicked. If it ate my feet, I couldn’t run, and running was the only thing that kept others safe. Sometimes.
I heard a snap like a dry branch above my head. I could almost feel the beastie breathing down my neck with its oversized wolf’s jaws, stretching out claws, covered, much like the rest of it, in alternating patches of scales and fur. I tried to shift to hound, forgetting the beastie had drained my magic. Human, I remained.
I couldn’t run. I couldn’t fight. I’d proven on more than one occasion that I was no match for the beastie. Something wrapped itself around me, and I willed myself not to struggle in the embrace. But, still, no rotting things assaulted my nose. Instead, I was overwhelmed with sharp woodsmoke-drenched power, like a forest fire raging around me. Exhaustion pulled me down before I could sneeze.
The burning pain and bone chilling cold had melted into a nice pleasant warmth, and I wondered briefly if I was dead. Then I tried to move. Muscles screamed, informing me that I was very much alive. Puzzled, I opened my eyes. Rough rock arched over my head, and I could see the snow still coming down beyond the mouth of the cave. Someone obviously lived here, judging from the trunks, crates, and firewood stacked along one wall. A fire roared beyond the pile of furs and blankets wrapped around me. I imagined both combined to supply the warmth.
When I lifted my head to look around, the world tilted dangerously.
“Here.” The gruff sound originating behind me was little more than a grunt, not unlike the noises the beastie made.
Reflexes kicked in, and I scrambled across the dirt floor, putting the fire between me and it as I pulled up the blankets for the little protection they offered. My side began to throb in time with my pounding heart, but I had moved quickly enough to see the outstretched hand (no claws) pull back and the wingless shoulders slump. A resigned look crossed the rather human face of the man who had approached me from behind.
I breathed carefully, trying to slow my heart without aggravating my wounded side as I studied him. Even crouched down, I could tell he was a big man, built like a bear. His skin was as rough as his voice, from the harsh mountain weather or old scars, I couldn’t tell. He appeared to shave rarely, and this wasn’t one of those occasions. Dressed in furs with haunted eyes, he looked like someone who could survive a lonely life in a mountain cave. My mind was slow to connect the pieces—the form in the snow—the creature crouched over my feet—
He’d saved me from a chilly dive to my death, but I still asked softly, “Are you going to eat me?” After all, some predators liked to play with their food.
Murky black eyes narrowed, and I thought I saw a flicker of bluish light across his forehead, but in the dim cave, I couldn’t be sure. Anger flashed across those too dark eyes and was left to smolder as he straightened and turned, taking a few steps away.
Hoping his answer wasn’t complicated enough to require contemplation, I asked with concern, “Can you talk?”
“Yeh.” He didn’t turn and it could have been another grunt. I couldn’t be sure.
If he was playing games with his food, he wasn’t very good at it. He seemed more offended than anything, so I took a deep breath and started over, telling him, “I’m sorry. You startled me. I’m Sian.” It wasn’t like I could stop him from eating me.
He half turned back, but the angry resignation had not left his face. After giving me a long look, he finally responded, “I’m called Dagr.” His voice was deep and gruff, but this time, I could understand the words.
“Well met, Dagr.” With only a fraction of an instant of hesitation, I held out my hand and hoped he thought my fingers shook from the cold.
Turning the rest of the way, Dagr regarded me warily and didn’t move.
I did not withdraw my shaking hand, and finally, he approached me—cautiously, like a deer about to bolt. Only he was much too big to resemble a deer. As he shook my hand, I watched something between confusion and astonishment edge out the anger in the dark pools of his eyes.
The introduction ritual complete, he backed off a few steps and sat on his haunches. I made myself lean against the cave wall to appear relaxed. It was a mistake. My breath hissed through my teeth as cloth pressed into unhealed wound.
The sound did not escape unnoticed. “The thing that sunk its teeth in you had awful big jaws—what was it?” Dagr asked, watching me intently.
Shifting restlessly, I tried and failed to find a comfortable position. I realized he must be responsible for the bandages wrapped tightly around my middle because how else would he know the size and nature of the wound?
“A curse from my father—those who feared him fear me and send the beastie hunting.” I shuttered. I’d never encountered those responsible for the hunt, but my mother had told me stories of them and of my father and how I came to possess such a strange mixture of magic.
Dagr frowned before asking skeptically, “What is there to fear about you?”
I knew I was on the small side in human form, even for a hillwoman. The only thing distinct about me was my mismatched eyes—one soft brown and the other ice blue. But even so, with my unimpressive light brown hair and unremarkable features, I could imagine the difficulty Dagr was having in picturing me as dangerous, especially when I was in a shaking huddle on the ground. “You should know better than to believe everything you see,” I told him stubbornly. I hadn’t figured him out yet, but I had smelled magic in the cave. I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t what I appeared.
At my words, his face drained of color, and I could make out the rune-ish symbols standing out starkly on his forehead. If they were runes, each was ruined by a jagged, slightly raised scar running through it. When I didn’t press the advantage (because I didn’t know what I had said to make him react like that), he asked, perhaps attempting to lighten the mood, “Are you telling me I invited the Cursed Witch into my home?”
It was my turn to feel like I had been punched in the gut. I hadn’t expected the stories to reach this lonely place, but I could have kicked myself for forgetting, even for a moment, the danger that followed me. I could not undo the aid he had already rendered, but he deserved to know what kind of a monster he had brought into his home.
Instead of answering his question—I could hardly tell him the answer was ‘yes’—I decided to show him. I wasn’t sure I had the strength, but some of my magic had replenished. “I’m hunted for this,” I said as I shifted, replacing the small woman with an oversized hound that filled a good portion of the cave. In this form, I was even bigger than the wolves that roamed these mountains, standing high enough to look the still-crouching Dagr in the face without tilting my head. My distinct salt-and-pepper coat and floppy ears further distinguished me from my four-footed kin. But if you plucked off the wings and filled in the patches of scale with fur, the beastie that hunted me would closely resemble my hound form. After all, it was designed to hunt my father’s bloodline.
When a widening around the eyes was the only reaction Dagr presented, I wagged my tail and shifted back. I liked him for not running in terror when he met my hound form, especially when he must have confirmed my connection to the Cursed Witch by now, and I liked him even more for steadying me when my two feet decided not to support my weight right away. Close proximity allowed me to rest my fingers lightly on his arm as I said quietly, “And this.”
This close, I knew the sharp woodsmoke smell originated with him. Feeling for the hum just under my skin, I used it to tug at the power I could sense buried deep in him.
My pull on his magic spurred more of a reaction than my shifting. He couldn’t get away fast enough. Jerking backward as though he’d been burned, he stumbled and nearly landed in the fire. I took a step forward to help him, and he fended me off, whispering harshly, “Don’t come near me, leech.” That time, I clearly saw green spark through the vein in his temple.
I retreated, hot tears of fury blurring my vision. “You’re just like the hillfolk—” An old arrow wound in my leg ached in time with the new one on my side as I continued, “—and the people who cursed my father, afraid of what you don’t understand.” I surged to my feet, wrapping the blanket around me and clutching it with white-knuckled hands. “Thank you for your hospitality.” I half-bowed in his direction before spinning on bare heels and stomping toward the exit. I was prepared to march out into a blizzard half-clothed with the confidence that my rage would keep me warm.
Suddenly, Dagr filled the cave mouth and effectively blocked my way. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, towering over me.
His sudden hostility reawakened my ingrained fear of the beastie—just remove the wings—and it was too much. I backpedaled, tangling my feet in the blanket. I fell hard on my backside, causing involuntary tears to spring to my eyes as I yelped in pain.
Dagr looked as though I’d slapped him and remained rooted to the spot. His shoulders slumped and he mumbled something unintelligible before retreating to the other side of the cave.
“What did you say?” I asked shakily, unable to decipher the grunts.
He didn’t look at me, just stared into the crackling fire between us, but he did repeat his words. “I said, I understand more than you know.” His voice was laced with the heavy weight of experience. “I’m sorry for frightening you.” This last sounded tired and defeated, like my reaction fell in line with the rest of the world.
I knew why I was afraid of him, but most people weren’t cursed to be hunted by a magical beastie before they were old enough to fight back. My skittishness resulted from my situation; it didn’t explain why the rest of the world would feel the same. Unless they had cause—as with the Cursed Witch—people didn’t usually fear magic users, even this far into the northlands. Curious, I asked, “Why do you expect me to be terrified?”
“Does it matter? You clearly are,” he bit out bitterly.
I waved his evasion away while agreeing, “Yes, yes, you’re big and scary,” that earned a wry twist of the lips from him. “I get that, I can be big and scary too. Big and scary tried to take a chomp out of me recently, which explains me. But you expected that, which means it’s happened before. I don’t see why anyone besides me would fear you—unless you do eat people.” I kept my face straight, even though I was joking with that last.
He finally raised his eyes to meet mine. His were hard, black, and unfathomable. “They have reason to fear me, just as I have reason to fear leeching magic.” His eyes unfocused, drifting to memory. “It’s been used ill on me too many times.” His focus snapped back before he explained carefully, “I’m not exactly human.”
I gave him a good look up and down before replying, “You look like a man to me.”
Dagr shook his head, but not before a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not.” He watched intently for a reaction as he said, “I’m daemae.”
I examined now visible lightning sparking through his veins, illuminating his face. My people were neighbors with the darric fieron. Of course we had heard of daemae, beings formed of magical energy and bred by leeches as power sources since full-blooded leeches didn’t possess power of their own. But I’d always thought daemae stories were spun to frighten children. “Daemae are pure magic,” I insisted before repeating, “You look like a man to me.”
His eyes narrowed as he retorted, “You look like hillfolk, and yet you walk in their nightmares.” I flinched at that. “Well, so do I. You wield leeching magic and yet you don’t understand daemae. You change shape, but you don’t expect others to do the same?”
I frowned. “First, I haunt their nightmares because they’ve met mine. Second, I have leeching magic, but I’m not a leech, not in the sense you mean. Third, my shapes are both solid, and so are you. I felt it. I have trouble believing magical energy can take the form of a man.” My words reminded me I had felt something else too. I closed my mismatched eyes and breathed deeply. Woodsmoke. Without other distractions, the smell was overpowering. I sneezed, twice. “Okay, I believe you.” I opened my eyes to find him looking surprised. “What?” I asked. “If you know leeches, you know the magic allows us to sense other power. I can smell yours, but most people can’t, so why should they fear you?”
He looked at me as though the answer was obvious. “If you are from the hills, you must know of the leeches’ allies.”
I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So you’re telling me that your darric fieron master has been waiting in the shadows this whole time to jump out and command you to eat me?” Darric fieron were generally a bad bunch, but then so were leeches. Together, they and their experiments were the source of all manner of legends and nightmares in these hills, including my own personal one.
Most of my unusual mix of magic originated with my shapeshifter father. The darric fieron had tried to rip his power from him and give it to a leech, hoping to bind the two so the leech could shift and steal the magic of others. Only the spell had backfired, reversing to give the leeching magic to my father instead. It also gave him the edge he needed to escape, which earned him the beastie on his trail. I’d never met him, but I assumed it had eaten him and moved on to me because I had inherited his natural and unnatural powers. I figured the beastie was the darric fieron’s way of cleaning up their mess. “And daemae serve the leeches, right? So you can’t be here because once they have you, there’s no way to break a leech’s hold.”
He grinned, showing teeth. “Not quite ‘no way,’ but it’s certainly not easy.” My eyes caught on the broken runes etched across his face, and I wondered what he’d had to do to escape.
I nodded. “Okay, so no darric fieron in the shadows?” I had no desire to meet those who commanded the beastie. “If you wield power yourself, why do you fear mine?”
He answered quietly, “Because it matches that which was used to control me. And I cannot use mine. It would act as a beacon to those I escaped, and they would find me again.”
I sucked in another deep breath, filtering out the scent of Dagr’s power. Running through the wash of woodsmoke was a faint trace of mud. I’d smelled something similar woven with beastie’s rotting scent. The same people hunted us both. Only the beastie would find me—it always did—and lead them straight to Dagr. Using the cave wall for support, I pushed myself shakily to my feet. I grimaced as my stiffened wound protested, but I remained standing.
“Where are you going now?” Dagr asked mildly. His eyes were sad, but his voice betrayed no surprise, as though he knew the answer all too well. He made no move to stop me this time as I took a lurching step.
“My presence puts you in danger,” I informed him, taking another determined step. “I cannot allow that.”
“Me? In danger? How?” He sounded incredulous. Apparently he had anticipated the reaction but not the explanation. He probably thought I had come to my senses and decided to be scared of him.
I halted my slow progress. “That magic beastie that’s after me? It’s still coming. And it answers to the darric fieron.” I turned toward him and explained, “I’ll continue on to my hillfolk kin.” No need to tell him that they were unlikely to welcome me. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I gave the open-mouthed Dagr another half-bow that threatened to topple me, and resumed my exit, ignoring my barefooted semi-clothed state once again.
I heard a rustle behind me as though he had started in my direction. He probably remembered my last reaction because the noise stopped. Instead, he cleared his throat and matched my polite tone. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave.”
I paused to ask, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” I’d seen the terror in his eyes when he felt my leeching magic. He didn’t live by himself on the side of a mountain because he was eager to face off with the darric fieron.
“Yes, but if you go out like that, I’ll just have to carry you back frozen again.” He had a point there. “I’ve fought the creations of the darric fieron before. Whatever is after you won’t hurt you here.” His voice was so determined that I almost believed him. But he hadn’t met my beastie. And I knew what it sounded like when you tried to convince yourself.
Still, there was the matter of clothes. I could see the snow falling again—or still falling—in thick heavy flakes. I remembered running, not knowing when the beastie would emerge through the sheet of white. My heart thudded in my chest and my legs folded beneath me, severely limiting my options.
Strong arms prevented me from a painful meeting with the floor as I collapsed. This time, I didn’t flinch.
“You can leave as soon as you’re on your feet again,” Dagr murmured soothingly as he scooped me up. “When you come to your senses, you’ll be running anyway,” he added in an even quieter tone.
“Are you sure you don’t eat people?” I asked Dagr as he shook the snow off and bent down with an armload of firewood. It had been several days since I’d tried to leave, and I was finally able to walk around without suddenly sprawling on the cave floor. Since it hadn’t shown its distorted face, I could only conclude that the beastie was having difficulty tracking me through the blizzard, which continued without abating. It let up enough this morning that Dagr ventured outside for more wood.
Before going out, Dagr had pointed me toward a wooden trunk, and I had abandoned the blankets for actual clothes while he was gone. My own garments had not survived my wounds and my trek up the mountain. The clothing options were limited by what fit, and I ended up in an emerald green dress finer than anything I had ever owned. I didn’t have any luck with the shoes, so my feet remained bare. Most of the other clothes didn’t look like Dagr’s either, hence my question.
Dagr’s back was to me when I spoke, and I saw the muscles in his neck tense. His expression remained stony and tight as lightning forked toward his jaw. Then, he glanced back and saw that I was joking. He gave me a tentative half-smile in return and explained, “Sometimes, I help travelers stuck in the snow. Most don’t stick around to pack their nice things.”
He turned back to stack the wood, and the stench hit me—rotten and slimy with a hint of mud. I stumbled back, but beastie must not have reached the cave because the snow outside was unblemished.
At my sudden movement, Dagr turned, and when he saw my sheet-white face, he asked, “What is it, Sian?”
I swallowed hard, “It’s here.” I met his eyes and told him seriously, “You should leave.”
He gave me what was probably meant to be a reassuring pat on the shoulder and said, “I’m big and scary, remember? I’ll persuade it not to eat you.” He turned toward the cave mouth.
I reached a shaking hand to catch his arm. “I already owe you my life. I won’t be responsible for your death.”
He gently removed my fingers, “That thing doesn’t want me. If you stay hidden it won’t know you’re here.”
I should have explained it didn’t work like that. I should have started running then and there, but my feet remained rooted to the spot. I let him walk outside to face my nightmare.
By the time Dagr waded into the snow piled outside the cave, I could see the beastie. It had paused, wings folded, sniffing the air. Dagr addressed it in a conversational tone. “I think you and I should talk, especially since you probably don’t like those holding your leash any more than I do.”
The beastie tilted its head and flared its nostrils at Dagr. I’d never tried to talk to it—until this last time, I’d never even been close—maybe it really was considering his offer.
Without warning, one massive claw lashed out and slammed into Dagr’s side, tossing him out of my field of vision. Unfazed, the beastie sniffed the air again. I remained frozen, afraid to move, even though I now knew it hunted by smell.
A dark form erupted from the snow, and I realized it must be Dagr as he collided with the beastie’s back legs, toppling them both. I found I could breathe again when the beastie turned its attention away from me to focus on Dagr. I dropped to my knees on the cave floor, partially concealed by empty crates.
A few seconds too late, my sluggish mind processed what the distraction might cost him. The beastie thrashed, sinking its claws in Dagr’s chest as it stood, pinning him to the snow-covered ground.
I remained frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I had tried running. I had tried letting dragons fight on my behalf and they had been no match for the beastie. Now I was hiding. Each time, the outcome had been the same. Others paid for my choices.
Expecting the beastie to subdue the threat and continue the hunt, I was surprised when it paused, flexing its claws to anchor them more firmly. Dagr’s scream was drowned out by the beastie’s howl. The snow dampened the sound, but it echoed through the cave. The beastie flapped its wings, and I wondered if it had found new prey to hunt.
Wind gusted around my hiding place in the cave. I couldn’t bring myself to fight the beastie, not after it had caught me, but maybe I could use the wind to my advantage again. My magic had completely recovered from the last attack, and I gathered it all to my hands. Raising my arms over my head, I let the wind waft through my fingertips and take my magic. These gusts were strong, and I did not have the power to move them from their chaotic path around the cave, but I needed only to nudge them in the right direction to send them hurtling back toward the beastie. It stood on the flat area between the cave and the sheer cliff of the mountain.
My plan might not work. It wasn’t as though the beastie was standing on the edge, but the beastie had its wings stretched open like sails, and I hoped that they would function the same way.
The magic-laden winds slammed into the beastie and drove it backward slowly but steadily. It howled in frustration, but didn’t relinquish its grasp on Dagr. Under its claws, he slid across the snow toward the edge of the cliff.
I had to decide between one heartbeat and the next. If I did nothing, I could probably slip away and the beastie would lose my trail for a time. But it would take Dagr with it. I didn’t know if the daemae could survive the drop, but I doubted he could fly.
I moved, dashing out of the cave to slide barefoot across the snow. I reached them as they teetered on the edge. The beastie was almost over with Dagr’s body anchoring it to solid ground. Dropping to my knees, I tried to dislodge the beastie, but my fingers scrambled ineffectively where the shiny claws dug into Dagr’s fur cloak.
I had only moments before it would realize its true prize was under its snout, and the push of the wind gusts would not last much longer. In desperation, I poured the last of my magic into my right hand and reached up. The beastie’s head darted, trying to grab me like before, but I was ready for it, and this time, I wasn’t dodging. I managed to get my hand over its nostrils and released my magic. At the same time, I pushed, as though my human strength could do anything to move it.
At first, I didn’t think it worked, but then the beastie’s nostrils flared and it snapped at the air. Tangling my fingers in Dagr’s fur cloak, I leaned my whole weight across his shoulders, trying to stop him from being dislodged by the beastie’s sudden movements. It lifted first one claw and then the other to swipe at prey that wasn’t there. Free of Dagr, nothing anchored it to the ledge and it tumbled backward, spiraling down into the nothingness of the falling snow and taking its smell of rotting things with it.
“Dagr?” I asked, but his face was still. Lightning sparked weakly—purple and teal—across his throat, so he was alive. Not knowing how long my trick would keep the beastie away, I didn’t want to be out in the open when it returned. Using my grip on the furs, I attempted to drag Dagr backward toward the relative safety of the cave. He slid a few inches, but I heard stitches pop as I fell over backward. The ground was uneven and he was dead weight. I just didn’t have the mass to move him in this form.
But I had given my magic to the winds, and I didn’t think I had enough remaining to shift to hound. Reaching a hand over the edge of the cliff, I collected the residue of my magic from the winds that swirled up from the chasm. It took a few tries and I had to close my eyes to concentrate, but I finally managed to switch forms.
Trying not to cause more damage, I gathered a mouthful of the fur near the neck of Dagr’s heavy cloak and leaned the weight of the hound into dragging him backward. Once I had him moving, we made good progress over the snow, and I didn’t stop until we reached the fire that still crackled pleasantly.
I knew I should leave him and run—the beastie could be back any minute—but what good would my leading it away do if he bled to death here on the floor of the cave? I needed human hands to examine the wound, so I shifted. The emerald dress was wet and cold against my legs, but I ignored it as I carefully peeled back the fur cloak and the fabric of Dagr’s shirt.
I almost panicked as the scent of rot hit me, but it wasn’t strong. The wounds from the beastie’s claws oozed dark sludge. I leaned closer and confirmed that to be the source of the smell. Rotten woodsmoke. I didn’t even know where to begin. I’d never been much of a healer—my sister said I didn’t have the temperament—and these wounds already looked like they were infected. The cuts from the beastie’s claws were deep, and looked dangerous even without the ooze. I needed magic. It wasn’t the most efficient, but if you overloaded a wound with it, the body would figure out the rest. It was a bit of a bludgeoning method of healing, but it usually worked.
Only one problem—most of my power was riding the winds down the side of the mountain.
I curled my fists in frustration. There had to be another way. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath—I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. If the beastie returned, I needed to know. Wounds or no wounds, Dagr would be better off without me if it returned. I only smelled the rotten ooze—and woodsmoke.
Dagr shouldn’t need my power to heal his wounds when he had more than enough of his own. With my eyes still closed, I studied him with my leech sense. The woodsmoke swirled lazily in a fixed pattern, never increasing or decreasing. Dagr had said that he couldn’t use his power or those who hunted him would know his location. Apparently, that resolution extended to using his magic to heal himself.
I frowned and opened my eyes. The lightning was fading with each flicker. If I didn’t do something soon, Dagr was going to die. But I wouldn’t condemn him to a life of being chased. No one deserved that.
I had a pretty good handle on the thread of magic that smelled like mud and must belong to the leech or the darric fieron that he feared. It was the only magical scent that drifted beyond Dagr. Reaching out, I used a shred of my own magic to encase the mud. I rolled it between my fingers until I could barely smell the other magic. That should keep anyone on the other end from feeling what I was about to do.
Returning to Dagr, I removed one of his heavy gloves. “I’m sorry,” I said as I gripped his hand in both of mine because I was about to become his nightmare.
As soon as I reached for his magic, Dagr’s eyes flew open, but seemed unable to focus. He started to struggle weakly and gasped, “Stop. Please.” But I put one hand on his chest between the claw marks and held him in place so that he couldn’t injure himself further. Closing my eyes, I worked my way past his magical defenses. They were formidable, and if he had been fully conscious, I’m not sure I would have succeeded.
When I began to move the woodsmoke-scented power toward our joined hands, he stopped fighting me, but his hand trembled beneath mine. I pushed down any second thoughts about bringing his fears to life before tightening my grip and taking as much power as I dared.
Opening my eyes, I patted Dagr’s hand and laid it gently by his side. Pain and panic warred in his voice as he rumbled haltingly, “You—ruined—it—all.” Tears leaked from the corners of his now-closed eyes and tracked down the side of his face to mingle with a flash of green lightning.
I didn’t tell him I had no intention of letting his enemies track him. When I leeched power, I converted it into my own magic. I just needed a little time to make sure the power used to heal him wouldn’t register as his. But I didn’t tell him any of that because I didn’t think he would trust an answer coming from me.
Instead, I stood and retrieved the basin of water we had set to melt that morning. Fetching a clean cloth, I washed Dagr’s wounds. I didn’t think that water would fight against the ooze, but it couldn’t hurt. His breath hissed out through his teeth when I touched the cool cloth to his skin, but I didn’t stop when he flinched or cried out. As I worked, the scent of woodsmoke diminished to be replaced by more familiar smells of hound and fresh hill country air.
By the time I’d removed as much of the ooze as I could, Dagr had stopped reacting to the pressure of the cloth on his wounds. His breathing was shallower and I couldn’t see any sparks in his veins. I’d run out of time.
Taking a deep breath, I couldn’t smell woodsmoke coming from anywhere besides Dagr. Tossing aside the cloth, I placed a hand over each set of claw marks on Dagr’s chest. I poured power scented with hound and the hills into his wounds. I hoped his body would know what to do with it and that daemae weren’t that different from humans. I hoped I hadn’t waited too long.
I didn’t stick around to see if it worked—I didn’t want to put him in more danger if—when—the beastie returned. Before I left, I rolled a spare blanket into a cushion to put under his head and pulled another over him. “Please be okay,” I whispered to his unmoving form as I shifted to hound and slipped out.
It would make the sense to put as much distance between myself and Dagr as quickly as possible. But I couldn’t smell the beastie yet, and I wanted to make sure Dagr survived his wounds. I resolved to watch the cave from an outcropping of rocks located slightly uphill. I would stay until I saw Dagr moving under his own power, and I would leave at the first sign of trouble.
Finding a space between two boulders that offered some shelter from wind and snow, I lay down with my head on my paws to wait. It had been a long day, and with nothing to fight or save, I drifted off to sleep.
“Sian?” It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but it was still daylight when I awoke to Dagr calling my name. Had I been in human form, I might have answered before I remembered that we were no longer in the cave pretending to be safe from our nightmares. It was snowing again, and a thin layer covered my fur.
Dagr leaned heavily against the cave entrance. Even at this distance, I could see the wounds on his chest—I couldn’t tell if they were healing, but at least they didn’t look to be covered in sludge. After waiting another moment, Dagr frowned and turned to shuffle back into the cave.
I stood and shook the snow from my fur. That was it. I needed to put distance between me and the beastie. If Dagr collapsed after this, he was on his own. I glanced wistfully at the cave. It had been nice, but this was the last time I would put someone in danger. Even if I thought I’d outrun the beastie, even if they offered me sanctuary, even if I wanted to pretend that I could be safe, I wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt just because my nightmare had wings and haunted me like a whirlwind of destruction. No more.
Before I could vanish into the snow, Dagr reappeared, and I froze. My mottled coat would probably blend in with the snow-covered rocks, but I thought any movement was likely to catch his attention. He held a dish in each hand, and he balanced them carefully as he sat down at the mouth of the cave. Placing one dish by his side, he took out a utensil and began to eat the other. He didn’t say anything, just stared out into the falling snow.
When he finished, he returned to the cave, leaving the other dish where he had placed it. I didn’t know if it was a peace offering or bait, but I almost went back.
Almost, but I didn’t. I turned and worked my way through the rocks. The wind wasn’t blowing in my favor, so I heard the beastie before I smelled it. Something clicked and scrambled against the stone, and I looked back. The beastie clamored over the edge of the cliff like a monster from the abyss. Its wings appeared functional, but maybe the winds around the mountain were too strong for it to fly.
Expecting it to charge in my direction, I gathered myself to run, regardless of the hazards of slippery rocks. But instead, it flicked its tail and lumbered toward the cave. I paused, confused. It had never not chased me.
I took a deep breath as it approached the cave mouth, but the only magic I could smell was my own.
It wanted my magic.
The strongest source of my magic at the moment was the power I had drained from Dagr and converted to heal his wounds. Power he now carried. It was after him.
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I ran.
A wave of rotten hill air, hound, and woodsmoke hit me as I rounded the entrance to the cave. The beastie’s back was to me, but I saw it had already chomped down on Dagr’s shoulder. He struggled ineffectually to free himself. His movements were jerky and desperate. I couldn’t separate the scents of magic in the room. It had already started to feed on his power. Only, Dagr was all power. If it drained him, he would die.
I growled and launched myself at the beastie’s back.
It spun faster than I’d thought possible without releasing Dagr, and swatted with one claw. I dodged, but a faint throb from the wound in my side reminded me what would happen if I was too slow. I twisted in mid-air and narrowly avoided landing in the fire.
I snarled at the beastie and inched closer to Dagr, who was no longer moving. I could smell a faint hint of woodsmoke intertwined with the more mundane smells of furs and man, so I knew he was alive, but I didn’t know for how much longer.
Even with his eyes closed, I could see the terror etched on his face. I shifted my attention to the beastie. A growl started deep in my throat as I realized he’d probably looked like that when I leeched him too. No one deserved to have their nightmares come to life.
The beastie flapped its wings to maneuver in the confined space. Power wafted on the air, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Woodsmoke, hound, rot, hill, and mud. Maybe it was our initial conversation about the nature of magic and man, maybe it was the fact that I could still smell Dagr and his magic, but it hit me. With the beastie, there was nothing under that smell, and there never had been. I could smell Dagr’s power because I was a leech but I could also smell him because he was human, or close enough. Not so with the beastie.
It shook its head, releasing Dagr and tossing him into the cave wall. It turned its attention toward me. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t scared of that leather-fur nightmare face or the rows of sharp teeth.
Because I’d realized it was a spell.
And for all that mattered, I was a leech.
It launched itself in my direction, and I dove under its attack. In the past, I’d thought it a flesh-and-blood creature, and I’d run. This time, I hoped my nose hadn’t failed me as I jumped on its back. Not having hands in hound form and unable to get purchase with my paws, I bit down on a leathery patch just above the wing. The beastie squirmed to dislodge me, and it nearly succeeded when it knocked me in the wounded side with its tail.
Pushing the throbbing pain from my mind, I took in a deep breath through my nose and traced the pattern in the layers of rot and mud. Closing my eyes, I directed my leeching magic to pull at the weak spots. I felt the spell give. As it began to unravel, rotten insubstantial slime buzzed in my mouth. It made me want to vomit, but I held on until I tumbled through the beastie that faded beneath me to slam into the ground. I didn’t stop leeching until I could no longer smell the beastie’s magic.
Afraid that if I spit it out, it would reform and hunt me again, I swallowed hard against the rotten taste and lay where I had fallen, concentrating on converting the spell into my own mixture of power.
I heard a crash from across the cave and hoped it was Dagr. I waited until my stomach stopped churning before opening my eyes. Shifting back to human, I approached where Dagr had fallen amid a pile of smashed crates. I had led the thing here. I hadn’t run when I should have. And I had become his nightmare incarnate by leeching his power.
Then, I’d let the beastie do the same.
The emerald dress, already ripped and stained, caught on one of the half-broken crates, and I heard the hem of the skirt tear as I dropped to my knees beside Dagr. The fine garment was beyond repair anyway. I couldn’t look at Dagr. I didn’t want to see the expression on his face or the fear in his eyes.
I reached out to touch the hand curled by his side, to see if his heart beat, but I pulled it back before my fingertips brushed his skin.
“Sian?” his voice shook, and I cringed, not knowing what was worse—him hating me now or him hating me more when I used magic again to heal these new wounds. He coughed. It sounded painful, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I didn’t want to be more of a monster to him. “You could have told me you were the one who was likely to eat someone,” he chided.
I glanced up sharply, searching his pain-lined face, because it almost sounded like…yes, there was laughter dancing in those bottomless eyes and a smile ghosted across his pale lips.
For once, I couldn’t match his humor. “Now you know why people fear the Cursed Witch,” my voice came out hoarse with the smell of rot simmering in my throat, “Oh, Dagr, I’m so sorry.”
“What for?” he asked nonchalantly, but he tensed as my magic brimming hands rested on his wounded shoulder.
“This.” Once again, I poured converted power from my fingers. A small gasp escaped Dagr when the magic hit him and his face scrunched in remembered pain before he turned away from me. I felt hot tears track down my own face, but I didn’t stop.
When most of the spell that used to be the beastie but now smelled of hound was gone, Dagr captured both of my hands in his larger ones and said, “Enough,” without opening his eyes. I stopped feeding him power, and looked down at the torn fabric of the emerald dress. He struggled to sit up and lean against the wall of the cave while I waited for him to run—or tell me to get out of his home. Instead, he reached up to brush a tear from my face. “You’ve no cause to be sorry, Sian. I’m a mite jumpy around magic, but you’re not them. You faced your nightmare to save me from mine.”
I frowned. I’d brought the nightmare to his home in the first place. It was because of me that he’d been forced to relive his worst fears time and again today. “I can’t guarantee they won’t hunt you for what I did,” I pointed out softly, even though I could still smell a hint of hound and hills choking out the mud that connected him to his nightmares.
“I know.” He tilted my chin so I would look at him. I could see power once again sparking through his veins, and I didn’t think he was lying to himself when he said, “but I can’t run forever.”
Finally, it sunk in that I couldn’t see fear lurking in his too dark eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I cleared a space to sit beside him and said, “Well, if you decide you’d rather have someone eat your nightmares for you, let me know.”
About the Author
Beth Powers writes science fiction and fantasy stories, researches old pirate tales, and lives in Indiana with her cats. Her work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Deep Magic, Aurealis, and other magazines. Visit her on the web at bethpowers.com.