Girl in the Bearskin

by C. L. Stone

  Then I realized, while his clothes appeared wet, there was no mud on his feet. And didn’t I hear leather on mud? Or was it I didn’t know what bare feet and mud sounded like?

  The questions confused me but he appeared harmless, without a weapon.

  Still, I doubted I'd get much sleep. Even if he appeared to have nothing on him, he was new, and I didn't trust him.

  I went back to my bedroll, yet, I remained awake and ready, listening to him rustle with some hay and turning about in the night.

  But sometime before dawn, sleep finally claimed me.

  Not for long, as a growl and something wild cried out, deep and ferocious.

  Close enough for me to think it was behind me.

  I picked up my blade, jumping up in my thin linen and wishing I’d had my armor after all.

  A threatening growl rumbled out. I knew the sound.

  I rushed out of my stall, checking on the animals first, but the door to the barn was closed.

  The stall across from me was empty. The man who had been inside was gone.

  I crept quietly to the door, opening it just enough to peek out through a crack.

  There the man from the night before stood, his arms up against his face. The glow of the firefly light surrounded his body a little brighter than before. He protected his head from the beast in front of him.

  The beast rose up on his hind legs, a bear. Grumpy. Wandering out in the early morning and stumbling onto the farm, perhaps smelling vegetables rotting in the compost.

  There was a second where I considered my own life. A bear was no easy creature to bring down.

  But the man was unarmed, and he was doing as I had asked him by leaving before morning. He was honorable, keeping his word.

  And I was a soldier. My job was to protect the people.

  I dashed out of the barn. If I didn't strike quickly, I would have no protection from a swinging set of claws.

  The bear snarled at the man. It was testing him to see if he was a threat, but with him cowering and no escape except back to the barn, it was dangerous for him to turn his back to the bear.

  Also, my brother and his wife and child were close. The animals behind were behind me. A hungry bear here would only be destructive here.

  I lifted my blade and lunged. “Get back,” I cried out to the man at the same time.

  He side stepped quickly enough to allow me to dive past him.

  My blade went for the throat of the big, brown beast in front of me.

  The bear struck out at me, against my shoulder, but he fell forward, landing on top of me.

  I collapsed underneath his arm and shoulder that had swung at me, his rough fur pressed against my body, and the weight of him crushing my bones. I was lucky the full of him hadn’t collapsed on top of me.

  His body went rigged. I waited until I was sure, but then, I crawled out from beneath him.

  The man knelt beside the bear, and he offered me a hand to stand up. I took it, using him to pull myself out from the crushing weight.

  “What were you doing?” I asked him breathlessly. I thought of most people coming up against a bear would immediately run back into the barn. Anger flared from me, directed to him. “Why didn't you run?”

  “Why did I need to run when you're brave enough to take on a bear five times your size?” he asked, a calm expression on his face, odd to me with my heart still wild with having killed the creature.

  I wiped my hair away from my eyes and looked down at the still body of the bear. His fur was matted and he already smelled deeply of earth and urine. “Well, at least my brother may have some meat to butcher.”

  “Did you not want it for yourself?” the man asked. “You were the one to kill him.”

  “I don't have the time to butcher or a place to store it,” I said. I turned back to him. The rain had gone, but everything else dripped with damp. I wanted to dry, to get my things, and be gone. Let my brother handle the bear.

  “Thought you’d have all the time in the world.” The man's firefly glow seemed to brighten. “You've a brave soul, daughter of Yousef.”

  I turned back to him, tilting my head, inspecting his oddly shiny black eyes. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

  He reached out to me, spreading his fingers out, and touched my cheek.

  I stood still, my heart beating wildly, but not because of the bear any longer.

  The thought of Thorne touching me came back, but then it was replaced quickly. It was like the person in front of me, he pushed those thoughts out. Everything in my mind left me, until it was only him, looking at me, touching my skin.

  And the feelings that had crumpled in my chest, near my heart, they glowed. Like his firefly light. It was gentle, and subtle, but it was there. Like new life in me.

  He spoke. “My name is Shaytan.”

  Breathless still by his touch, I spoke slow, not even realizing what I was asking until the words came out. “What does it mean? Where you come from, does your name mean anything?”

  A curl of a smirk started in the corner of his mouth. “It means, in your language, demon.”

  I reeled back, breaking contact. The firefly feeling in my chest faded, as did his glowing.

  I stared at him, my mouth wedged open enough a bird could fly in. He had to be lying. He was human.

  He kept that smirk on his face and then motioned to the bear. “You came out to save me.”

  “You were unarmed, and you were about to die. I protect my people.”

  “I’m not one of you, yet you came for me anyway.”

  “You’re in my country doing no harm,” I said. “If this is where your new home is, in my land, you’ve become one of my people. I protect you like I protect them.” Even as I said the words, the feelings inside of me muddled, confused. I didn’t understand myself, and I had no desire to embarrass myself by asking him if he felt similar after he touched me.

  And I wondered why I longed for that touch again. I didn’t know him.

  “With no desire for your own protection,” he said, and while it sounded like a question, it was spoke in a statement, like he knew. “For your own life.”

  His accent was odd to me. The more he spoke, the more I noticed it. But it did truly sound like men from the south, from countries far from here. Which one, I wasn’t sure.

  It was odd but it wasn't like I expected a demon to have his own accent. “Yes,” I said. “I am a soldier.”

  “You're a woman,” he said with that same small smirk, although it had diminished into something subtle, “so forgive me if I’m impressed you were in the army during the war. But the war is over. Is this your home?”

  “No longer.”

  He tilted his head. He was taller than me. As he approached, I stood straight, trying to match his height as best I could. “Where will you go?” he asked.

  He was so close, I could almost feel warmth from his flesh.

  And part of me longed to have him touch me again, just to see if what happened before, happened again.

  Yet the cool in his eyes, the way he formed his question…Was he challenging me? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know his culture enough to understand what he was doing. “I don't know. I thought to wander the world. At least until there is another war.”

  “War isn't everything.”

  “It is what I know.” I didn’t need to tell him my desires to find Thorne. He thought he knew me, but he didn’t. I wasn’t even sure why I bothered talking to him. I fulfilled my obligation, saving his life, but that was all I needed to do.

  He paused. “There is more to discover about yourself. But...living in a barn...” He clicked his mouth a few times. “What reward is this for someone who fought for so long for her country?”

  “I seek no reward.”

  “But I offer anyway...” He waved his hand toward the bear.

  Only when I looked, the bear was gone. All that was left was its skinned fur in a lump on the wet ground.

  “A cloak,” he said.
“For you. For saving me.”

  Magic. I frowned. “I was hoping the meat would remain for my brother and his family.”

  “I put it in the barn,” he said. “He's free to do with it as he wishes.” He paused. “And still you're not thinking of yourself.”

  “What more do I need? I hunt for food. I can live in the woods. I know how.”

  “But what of people?” He turned to me again and bowed his head a little, so his face loomed close to mine. He smelled of spices that I was unfamiliar with, sharp and acidic. “Look at me, daughter of Yousef. You run from family. Why?”

  I kept close, staring at him and answering him in the same sharpness of tone he inflicted. “He kicked me out.”

  “You run from your army friends.”

  “They're going home. I left to find my own path.”

  “And you're about to run from me.”

  I recoiled from him at this. I had no time for games. “I wish to go.”

  Shaytan straightened and backed off a step. “Let me do you a favor, then.” He went over and picked up the cloak and held it to me. “If you're going to survive in this world, you'll need money.”

  “I don't need anything.”

  “You do. You’re a soldier but you still need money for proper shelter, or you wouldn’t be staying in a barn. You need a proper house and property that is yours. You need proper clothing. Food. You're not a farmer or hunter. You're a soldier who has done her duty for the kingdom.”

  “I don't deserve any more than the others.”

  “Yet they have more,” he said. “They have family. They have friends. They have a home.” He leaned into me again, presenting the cloak to me. “I will give you these things. But to get them, you must earn them.”

  Earning something sounded better than being given something. Did I want a house? I pictured the other men. Ivan. Captain. My brothers. They had gone home. They had people who cared for them. Not that I needed people. However, the idea of having a house and property to do what I wanted with sounded appealing. What would I do with such things?

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Wear the cloak,” he said. “For seven years. Don't wash. Don't trim your hair or nails.”

  “Is that all?” I asked. I checked my nails when he mentioned them, not having looked at them before except to trim when they became unmanageable. “They often break on their own.”

  “They will. But you may not cut them, if you are to earn what I offer. And also, you can't pray. Not for anyone or anything. Not even yourself.”

  Prayer was a ritual to me, often spoken in whispers by other men right before battle, sometimes right before bedding a woman. It was an odd request, and to me, a habit of the only bit of faith I sustained. “Seven years?” I asked. “That would...be difficult.”

  He smirked. “Would it?”

  “But I'm not afraid,” I said. “I think God may forgive me, perhaps if I do other things for people instead, and might overlook seven years of not praying. Then what? What happens if I do all the things you ask of me?”

  “If you do it all, and live through seven years, I'll provide you enough money to live the rest of your life in happiness. You can buy whatever you wish. You won’t even have to work. You can pay for luxuries you never even knew you could have.”

  I coughed, and then laughed at him. For some reason, when he’d spoken before, I thought he was making a bet for some land he owned that he happened to be away from at the moment. But he spoke of luxuries like he could afford such things. And if so, he slept in a barn last night? With such clothes? The ridiculousness got to me. “You’ve no money, Shaytan. You’re worse off than me. Why have I let you talk of such things?”

  “Because you know the truth,” he said. And he reached into a pocket I hadn’t seen before in his breeches. He took out a handful of gold coins. He chucked the collection up and caught them again to make a jingling sound. “I can make it when I want it.” He smirked at me again, those dark eyes shining in the light of his firefly glow. “Don’t you wish for the same ability? I could grant you it?”

  “I can do that?”

  “If you live for seven years, like I said.”

  “And if I die?” I asked.

  The smirk broadened. “Then I get to keep you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Like a prisoner?”

  “Forever,” he said. He pressed a palm to his heart. “But all you have to do is live. And you've done well through many years, fighting and scrambling for your life. You won't have to survive any of that. I'll make sure you're protected. All you need to do now is live.”

  “No fighting? Then this will be easy. I don't see how I'd die just by not praying or washing.”

  “We'll see,” Shaytan said. “Do we have a deal?”

  I considered the bet. It sounded uncomplicated, and the rewards, if he was being honest, would keep me without need of finding another occupation. It might give me the means to find Thorne, and if I never found him again, to settle down into something else.

  I’d faced off men and beasts who wanted to kill me. There was no reason to think learning to live while dirty and without prayer would have me suffering.

  More than that, and perhaps the strangest part…I was curious about Shaytan and found it a good excuse to understand him more to take such a bet. There was something about him that didn’t seem right to me. He didn’t seem like much of a demon.

  I wanted to know why when he touched me, it created such a sensation inside of me. Why did I continue to feel the warmth now? Not as strong, but it was there.

  I held my hand out to him in offering. “I swear it. I'll wear the cloak for seven years.”

  He took my hand instantly, shook it once.

  The firefly light around him brightened quickly, and then a flash of light cut across the land around us at the sun finally broke over the horizon, bringing the dawn.

  It left me breathless and the warm, light feeling returned in a blaze, surrounding me like his firefly light.

  Shaytan released me and then held up the cloak and offered to put it on me.

  I checked my skin on my arm, the feeling he left inside of me remained, and it had every nerve tingling. It was like spider silk stretching across every little hair on my body.

  I turned from him as he tucked it around my shoulders. The spider silk sensation dispersed and was replaced by warmth from the cloak. “And I can't take it off?”

  “No,” he said and he secured it on my body. The cloak had a hood and he used it to cover my head. “You can lower the hood, if you wish, but in a couple of years, you may not want to.”

  The bearskin cloak was thick. The inside was like if the bear had been properly skinned and tanned. I ran my fingers through the fur on the outside. “It's a little heavy,” I said. “I won't be able to move quickly if I'm in danger.”

  “I'll protect you,” he said. “Also, reach into your pocket.”

  “Pocket?” I asked and looked down, finding an inside pocket in the cloak. I reached in and pulled out a handful of coins. “What's this for?”

  “Anytime you're in need of money, all you need to do is reach in and take it,” he said. “This is my gift to you, your comfort for seven years, if you can find any. You'll have all the money you need to buy food and whatever else. Anything at all. Any purpose.”

  “So what's to stop me from buying a property now?” I asked. “What will stop me from taking the money and settling down?”

  “Because you'll keep your word to me,” he said. “You'll get your chance to buy property and settle down once you've proven your bravery. And…” He paused. “I believe you are on a journey, aren’t you? To find someone?”

  I wrinkled my nose at him, pulling away. “You know nothing of me.”

  “I won’t care where you go. Find who you want, don’t find him. Your personal vendettas mean nothing to me.”

  I didn’t like him thinking he knew things about me when he didn’t. However, I wouldn’t betra
y the bet. It was unlikely I'd go against my own word. I pressed my fingers to the fur of the cloak. “Fine,” I said. “I will travel. I would like to see this country I fought many years for. I've only seen the forests and the outskirts.”

  “And you should see the rest of it,” he said. “And perhaps be brave enough to adventure beyond the broken wall. Fetch your things. Let's be off.”

  I left him to go to the barn. He was right about the bear. Large cuts of its meat had been placed on hooks inside, in the empty stall he had been sleeping it. It smelled heavily of salt; the curing process was just beginning.

  I fetched my bow. I collected my bedroll, and then considered it. My bed had worn down after all the years. I’d be better to sell it, to get a better one, plumper perhaps.

  Or stay at inns. I couldn’t afford it before. I could now.

  I glanced around the stall I had been sleeping in, and seeing nothing left of mine remaining, I turned away from it.

  If what he said was true, it was the last time I’d have to stay in a barn.

  As if to test his promise, I rechecked the pocket.

  I pulled out a handful of coins, put them aside on the ground, and then rechecked it again.

  More came out.

  And then more.

  No matter how many times I tucked my hand inside the pocket, I found more coins, until a small collection had formed at my feet where I spilled them.

  How he did it, I’d never know. The magic he had from his lands, or because he really was a demon, was a kind I’d never witnessed or heard of. I didn’t know much of demons, only stories, tales told around campfires.

  I questioned my sanity. What little I had heard about demons, I knew them to be tricky, and while probably honest, not always completely. I heard them to be gangling, scaly creatures. Shaytan, was nothing like I'd imagined.

  Was this a trick? The bet seemed too easy.

  I left the barn, leaving the pile of gold coins behind for my brother. He didn’t deserve it, but I hoped at the very least, perhaps his wife and child wouldn’t be so boorish and think kindly of me. Perhaps they’d even pray for me.

  It would be the last I ever saw of them all.