Handfasted to the Dead
By Denton Salle
Because of someone cursed to be a wawalak, a type of werewolf doomed to wander for eternity, Alex decided he needs to complete his initiation in the volkh path sooner than planned. Needs must when the devil drives, Alec will not let her be damned.
But final initiation means facing one of the great powers of the world. His grandfather faced the Lord of Winter. His father faced the Master of Fire, No one knows who you will face or what the cost will be, But for the sake of a bound soul, Alex plans to try.
Turns out the test is more complicated than he knew.
A story from the Hall of Heroes series, which takes place offstage from Black Earth Rises.
Handfasted to the Dead
The stark landscape of West Texas spread out all around him. The land looked flat from a distance but really was broken up by arroyos and the low, mesa-like hills. Prickly pear cactus grew in massive clumps, surviving even the hottest and driest summer. Small mesquite trees drove their roots deep in search of water and stayed green. The grasses and wildflowers were grey as they slept until the rains came.
Alex could smell dust with tints of the sage and cedar that lived in the lower places or near the beds of seasonal streams. This far onto the Edwards Plateau, you were nearing the desert to the west. Water was scarce, even with the river running though Menard county. When the rains hit, everything would be lush and blooming. Now, it was dusty and dry.
He carefully swept a large circular area clear and, in the center, built his firepit. Normally when they hunted out here, they stayed down nearer the creek. It was sheltered there with water oaks and cotton woods as well as the cedar and sage, Tonight, he wanted to see the stars. It seemed right to see them as he sat vigil.
Vigil. The old word. The New Age freaks would call it a vision quest, stealing the term from a very specific Native American custom. Neither was exactly right. Not enough volkh left written notes that it had a name. His teachers did what they could to figure things out from incomplete notes, the old wonder tales, and oral transmission from old men who never thought these things would be needed again. After all, who expected to find the Slavic Otherworld taking root in Texas?
Father Tafesse told Alex these customs still survived in Ethiopia and what his grandfather and father had told him was close to that. So, Alex went to the Pre-Sanctified service, got his blessing, and would spend a night under the stars. He had bread, salt, and vodka just in case, as well as something to break his fast at sunrise.
It was funny how all the fiction books with magic have these strange complex rituals, but the surviving traditions were simple and clean. By morning, he’d have come into his gifts or he’d have laid them down. Or died. Supposedly, others had made the latter choice just as others walked away from the Brotherhood. As much as he didn’t want to do this now, he didn’t understand that. Why would you leave a tradition dating from the ninth century when so many clamored for meaning in their lives? And why would you want to close yourself off to the Otherworld, the Black Earth, and not see the full glory of Creation?
Well, needs must. He shrugged his shoulders and settled into his hoodie. His jeans and work shirt were enough for the day, but when the sun set, the high desert got cold. He pulled it down to cover the large handgun riding his hip and the long knife next to it. Sitting Vigil was fine, but he really didn’t want to get munched on by wild hogs. Or coyotes.
His boots kicked up dust as he prepared the circle. He removed dry grass and brush so the area around his firepit was safe. Then he used a stake and a line to mark out a circle.
The circle was defined. Next, he poured a line of salt around its perimeter. Then he lit the kindling he had collected, using flint and steel. Despite his practice, it took several tries. For some reason, it had to be flint and steel. And no kerosene. Luddites. What’s wrong with a lighter? Like starting the Paschal fire at church. Tradition, or a reflection of something else? So much has layered meaning that might not make sense in the secular world but does on another level. He shook his head. It’s not like anyone in our family is gonna be a materialist. Not when the house spirits chew your ass in broken English about dirty dishes.
Alex watched as the fire caught, and settled into a more comfortable position, sitting on his blanket. Dusk fell and he could hear the cries of the nightbirds and the howls of coyotes.
He sat and perhaps nodded off a time or two, watching the fire burn. Suddenly, he noticed the little mesa smelled of roses, and the night seemed brighter, as if someone turned up the dimmer switch on the stars and moon. The full moon gave off enough light that he could have read by it.
Funny, the moon wasn’t full tonight according to Google. And roses or myrrh? Somehow, the Black Earth is risen.
He knew that meant the veil had parted, and now he was fully in the Otherworld: part of creation normally invisible to men. He waited. The Otherworld was perilous and marvelous. Time would tell why this had happened. He looked around.
The area about his fire was now white sand and across the circle, he saw a tall figure, dressed in what appeared to be the fur of a bear. Dressed in or… He couldn’t tell. It wore weapons like a warrior from the old tales.
“So, Son of Adam, will you strive with me?” a deep voiced echoed. The voice was basso profundo, like the deepest voices in Russian music. It sounded like it came from a chest deeper and thicker than a man.
Alex started as memory clicked in. “The Half-Beast Wonder!”
From the old heroic stories of the Court of St. Vladimir the Sun. The half-man hero who killed Annika, the pagan knight who stayed with St. Vladimir even after the prince converted. For the sake of his vow, despite his hatred of Christianity, he kept his oath until he decided to go to Jerusalem and ... There’s more to the story, but I don’t recall it.
Alex rose, pins and needles dancing in his legs. He felt air on his skin, and realized his clothes had changed. Gone were his hoodie, work shirt and boots. Barefoot and naked to the waist, his jeans had been replaced with the leather riding trousers of a bogatyr, In front of him lay a shield and a long sword. The beast man stood watched him. His eyes glowed red in the reflected light. Alex could smell a clean animal musk coming from him, Something nagged at his memory, but he couldn’t catch it.
“Arm yourself, man, and show me if the sons of Adam have still courage.”
“No spear? Ah well, needs must then.” Alex shook his head. He liked spears. Swords meant getting too close to something with fangs and claws.
“No, son of Adam, let us strive like men, not hunt the wild boar.”
The Half-Beast Wonder waited as Alex armed himself. Reaching down, he grasped the shield by its handhold. The old Viking-type shield the Rus used before the coming of the Steppes tribes. He picked up the sword. Curved slightly and hilted like the shasqua, the old Cossack weapon, but with the cross-guard and partially sharpened false edge of the older styles. He looked at the Wonder and nodded. The Half-Beast Wonder clapped its sword against its shield in salute and rushed him.
Alex fought, using every trick he had learned from his father and from the old men who kept the faith of the Brotherhood when no one believed. The initial clash told him he had neither reach nor strength as an advantage. The Wonder had the strength of a bear.
He cut and slashed, crashed the shield into his opponent’s to try and topple him. His blade seemed to dance in his hand, weaving the attacking patterns he had learned. All for naught.
The Wonder stopped his every stroke. His shield punches were redirected, and the beast’s blows cleaved pieces off his shield. Stopping them was near impossible. Alex tried to redirect them but still his shield continually took damage.
Cuts came at him as relentlessly as the wind that had whipped up around them. The sand stung his eyes and face. A sense he didn’t know he had opened and stilled it.
As it did, the fire flared, and a wall of flame jumped at him. The same sense showed it wouldn’t harm him. He reached out a
nd somehow pulled the lightning from the sky. It crashed down around the Wonder, who laughed into the roar of thunder.
The Wonder struck again, and Alex’s shield shattered. He dropped the ruined handguard and desperately twisted away from the following cut. He cut back and then used his sword to block the return strike.
Stupid! I know better, but what else can I do.
Then, his sword snapped leaving him with a broken section a quarter of its original length. With only that, he charged with a snarl. The Wonder sidestepped and tripped him. He rolled quickly, avoiding the chop. As he did, he lost the sword.
Coming up he searched for anything to use as a weapon. The sense he had no name for opened, and he reached with it. Grabbing with that sense, he threw what he caught at the Wonder. The ground shook and cracked. Wonder laughed again.
Laughing, Wonder dropped his weapons and gestured. The ground firmed beneath him. He called to Alex, “Come, young one. If you are too clumsy for arms, let us wrestle.”
The Wonder approached him, arms spread, and Alex drove forward to grapple with it. Roughly a man in shape, it had the claws of a beast, a bear with heavy fur. Alex felt another sense open. He started to give a war cry, but all that came out was the growl of a bear.
He froze in shock and looked at himself. He had changed into a grizzly bear.
His pause let the Wonder grab him and start to wrestle. Alex had wrestled in high school and done sambo, but he wasn’t a bear then. Despite his best efforts, the Wonder overturned him. He started to change again, but the Wonder pinned him by the throat.
He looked up, changing back into man-shape and saw the Wonder standing over him. Holding him easily with one hand, the Wonder held a sickle in his other. Time froze.
Of course, the half-beast Wonder was Death in disguise. Annika tried to threaten, bribe and finally beg, but it was no use. For Death claims us all at some point.
As Alex realized what he fought, he felt a tap on his forehead. The Wonder had struck him lightly with the back of the sickle. Its eyes, half-human and half-beast, stared into his.
Alex felt his youth falling away. The skin on his hands wrinkled, and the hair on his arms grayed. His joints hurt. The weight of years settled on him. It grew harder to breathe, and his sight dimmed.
He stared at the Wonder, knowing no man escapes death.
His voice, creaking and weak, echoed in his ears. “You win, oh Lord Death.”
“You don’t beg or bribe, young volkh?” the deep voice asked. The eyes continued to bore into his soul.
“Death is but a door to my Lord’s judgment. I fear, but I trust in His Promise.” Alex shocked himself with the words. He hadn’t really considered himself religious. “Besides, I’m of the Brotherhood. We don’t always die in bed.”
The Wonder laughed and releasing his throat, he stuck his hand out. His half-human, half animal eyes danced with joy. “Then I have no power over you. Rise up, son of Adam.” He extended a hand. “Someday I will collect you, and you will know me as an old friend.”
Alex took the hand and let the Wonder pull him to his feet. The years fell away. He was again his true age and unharmed, save for the new scars that decorated his chest and arms. Glowing red in the firelight, he recognized them as similar to what his teachers bore. Marks of the magic freed tonight.
“So,” the Wonder said, and its voice had changed to alto. “After striving, let us break bread and drink together.”
A dark-haired girl who looked like a twenty-something stood in front of him, still half-beast but exuding a raw sexual appeal that shocked him. She moved toward him and rested her hand on his cheek.
“Come, eat with me,” she said, and then smiled. “I think you will find this form more… comfortable than that of many of mine.”
She had dark hair that was so long it touched the ground behind her, dusky and tanned skin like caramel, and cat-like eyes as black as the shadows at night, She gestured to the side of the fire. Alex forced his eyes away from her beautiful, glorious nudity, and saw that dishes and cups were set on a blanket by the side of the fire.
He turned back as she took his arm and led him over. They ate, and the taste was something he couldn’t name. He cut bread and fruit for her, with a knife she gave him. Fed her grapes and persimmon. The wine cups never emptied of the strange green wine, and it burned its way to his core. She spoke to him of the magics and powers, of how his gifts would grow, and the prices they would claim.
“You will forget much of what I said until you need it, but now, Son of Adam, I grow weary of teaching. Come and sport with me. Be my lover, young one, and find life in the embrace of death.”
Alex shook his head. He struggled to keep his eyes on her face, as she leaned closer and tipped her head up for a kiss. Her breath was like the honeysuckle in summer, and her dark eyes reflected the stars above.
Alex tried to pull back against the passion rising in him.
“Am I not fair among women? Come lie with me and be my lover.” Her voice teased and tempted.
“You are wondrous fair, but…”
She leaned back and her eyes flashed.
“But?” she asked.
“They say that to love death leads to a dark end. A bloody one, with insanity and madness.”
“Shush,” she said and closed his mouth with a kiss. “They lie. I am the other side of life. You must accept me to fully live.”
She kissed him again, and he yielded to her charms.
Before dawn, Alex awoke and found himself tangled in her limbs and hair. She was propped on one elbow, watching him. Before he could speak, she smiled sadly and said, “Son of Adam, now we must part, as pleasant as this dalliance was.”
She pulled away from him and stood. Still beautiful, still glorious, but also terrible.
The flesh fell from her, evaporating until she was the skeletal Lady of Santa Muerte he had seen in barrio shops. The darkness swirled again, and she was wearing the bright red and gold cowl of those pictures and holding the scythe. The decorated skull looked at him with burning eyes, still somehow feminine.
“So, my young volkh, you have now come into your power and yet remain sane,” Lady Death said. “Use it wisely, for being given much, much more is required.”
Alex nodded.
She offered her hand, and Alex took it. She then looped a long lock of black hair, soft as silk, around their wrists. “Did you ever read Charles Williams?” she asked.
Alex’s eyes grew wide. “What? How? I mean yes, I have.”
“Then as he said of Talissen, until the doom be handfasted to the dead.”
“Are not all of my faith, lady? For surrounding us is a cloud of witnesses…” Alex answered. Death reads poets? And obscure English ones at that?
There were no more words. She smiled and vanished as the dawn broke, although Alex still felt her presence.
The birdsong woke Alex from sleep near the remains of his fire. He woke with a start. The sun was long risen. Midmorning from the feel of the air. The Otherworld had settled back, and the veil had retreated from the mortal world. Alex realized he could see it now, shimmering across creation.
He was back in his hoodie and jeans, his boots off and sitting by the dying fire. Nothing remained of last night. He unzipped his hoodie and unbuttoned his shirt. The scars were still there, white lines against his skin like long-healed wounds. Below his collarbone lay marks of teeth, a love bite. And on his left wrist, the image of a braided hair like a faint tattoo.
He closed his shirt up quickly, not knowing when his dad would be back and not wanting him to see the bite. As he stood up to shake his boots out, he saw a glitter by the side of the fire. The silver-hilted knife he had used to cut bread and food for Death lay atop a stone. No other evidence of the duel, the meal, or anything else remained.
He still stood, holding the knife, when he heard the truck coming up the hills.
Denton Salle traveled a lot for business, and when they banned the fun hobbies in airports or on plane
s, writing took over. It is really just an extension of a strong tendency to tell lies and shaggy-dog stories. After all, the truth can be so confining. Previous works include “Deep School Tuition” in Fantastic Schools, Volume One; Texas Otherworld; Daemonic Mechanical Devices; Panda Dreams and Other Hallucinations; and Black Earth Rises, His next book is about a young wizard who randomly turns into a panda. Updates can be found at www.dentonsalle.com
Star Pupil
By Peter Rhodan
Taroniah of Marland—Taroniah was the illegitimate daughter of the King of Marland. Her mother died young, and the King's Master-At-Arms and his wife brought her up. She was not aware of who her father was, and has only vague memories of her mother who died when she was six, She has grown up in a world where the truly great sorcerers and many of the gods killed themselves off in a war two thousand years before. Magic was a thing of no great power in her time, although the number of powerful magicians has been increasing as lost knowledge has been re-discovered.
The court magician detected signs of magic in Taroniah. The King thought it politic to get her out of the capital, where she was being compared to the young and unhealthy son he had eventually sired on his wife. Once at Lightbearer Academy, she quickly became a star pupil while making actual friends, something she had not managed in Marland. She has hidden some of her power to not seem too much better than her friends.
She is in her final year when events elsewhere bring war to where she is and interrupts the graduation of her class.
Star Pupil
Chapter One: The Last Days at School
Taroniah leaned back in the hard, wooden chair and tried to rearrange her posture to ease her aching body. Her mind started wandering as Academagician Lendar droned on. He was one of those teachers that had to repeat each step of each spell construct, over, and over, and over before finally getting to the part where you had to take the full conceptualization and embed the spell in the object to transform it into a magical artifact.
Fantastic Schools, Volume 3 Page 23