by Lee Savino
I woke with sunlight soft on my face. I’d fallen on my back and my body ached. When I turned my head, flowers tickled my cheek. A blue sky overhead, a field full of wildflowers all around. No fog or cursed stench. My witch sisters were gone, along with the fire and barren trees.
The spell had done its work. It had sent me… somewhere. Could this be the place the ancient ones meant to send me?
As I lay, ears straining, I had the feeling I was missing something. As I watched the wind rustle the new growth on the trees, I realized what was wrong. A day like this should be filled with song, but there was only silence. Where were the birds?
Voices murmured nearby. Male voices. Slowly, I sat up.
A castle stood at the far end of the field, its great walls dwarfing the trees. A few figures moved in the shadows, but they were far enough away to be no threat to me.
My more immediate concern was the two warriors winding their way through the thick grasses. Their weapons clinked as they came closer. A few steps and they would easily see me.
I reached for the raven’s form, waiting for the familiar rustle of feathers to prove I’d transformed. I could easily take flight and be out of reach, winging my way to a perch where I could spy on this unfamiliar land. Once I got my bearings, I could see about my mission.
The warrior’s murmurs grew clearer, their chain mail rattling a warning.
Come, I reached for my power, whispering the spell.
Nothing.
My fingers groped the ground, clutching frantically as if the earth could rise up and hide me. Still the raven form didn’t come. I felt tired, a little dazed, but not so much that I could not work my magic. But when I went within to draw on my magic, I felt nothing.
Numb, heart beating faster, I sat frozen as the warriors came closer.
Ivar
I caught the scent as soon as I stepped out from under the shadow of the king’s stronghold. Sweet as a flower, but foreign. My feet started towards it almost immediately, and though I didn’t mention why I wanted to cross the field in front of the castle, Lars was in a good mood and it was easy to convince him to fall into step with me.
“Fine day,” Lars remarked, using his sword to hack off a few daisy heads. I grunted my agreement, keeping our path in line with the scent while pretending I had no aim.
“You’re quiet,” my fair headed brother elbowed me.
“I dreamt again last night.”
“You’re always dreaming.”
“This was different,” I murmured. The closer we got to the grassy dip before the trees, the stronger it was, and the more my head cleared.
“The woman? You must go down to the village and find a woman.”
“I want no woman.”
Lars scoffed. “No, just a phantom creature. A fantasy of lonely nights. A good lay will exorcise this foolishness.” He glanced at me when I said nothing to defend myself, looking a little guilty. “How many times have you dreamed of her?”
“It is more than a dream.”
Lars snorted again and turned to tease me, but stilled, his mouth falling open. He’d caught the same scent.
“Do you—”
“Come,” I said, hastening my steps, now that I knew I was not imagining it.
And I saw her. A bare-armed maid. Pale, with white gold hair crackling about her face. She sat haloed by flattened field grass, stared up at me with wide eyes.
“What is here?” Lars strode forward, holding his weapon. I caught his arm before he could attack. The woman didn’t even glance at him. She was too busy staring at me.
I felt as if I opened my mouth, her name would appear on my lips. For we had never met, but I’d seen her a thousand times. The maid in the grass was the lady from my dreams.
Yseult
“What is here?” the warrior barked. It took me a moment to decipher the words. The language cadence was unfamiliar, the words coarse and guttural. Before I could up and flee, a boot pinned my hip.
I tried to roll, and the warrior’s growl reverberated through me. I went still as a bird cowering in the grass before a predator.
“Who trespasses?” The fair one bent over me. His rough hands seized my arm, set me on my feet. I called my magic to me, grasping frantically. But where my power once resided, there was emptiness.
“A woman.” The bearded warrior’s dark eyes pierced through me. I shuddered as if stabbed.
Closing my eyes, I called again for my power and felt... nothing.
“No more than a maid,” blunt fingers pushed back my hair. I flinched from them. Goddess help me.
Then I felt it. Pulsing, pushing against me, a familiar stench. It was faint, but it came from the fortress. I’d recognize it anywhere. The Corpse King made his home here.
The fair-haired warrior hauled me close, and I bowed my head, letting my hair hang over my face again, hiding from the dark one’s gaze. “Come, little captive. The commander will want to question you.”
He pulled me forward, and before I stumbled, his companion caught my arm. Together they dragged me towards the great wall and the pulsing evil within. The closer we got, the more my head throbbed.
Goddess help me, I prayed again, and hung my head in the silence.
The spell had worked in its own, awful way. It had delivered me to the Corpse King. I’d woken at the foot of his fortress. His warriors had me in their possession.
But, whether by the spell or the mage’s defenses, I’d been stripped of my abilities. I was powerless.
Whatever the next day and night brought, I would face it without my magic.
Lars
The woman was no match for my brother and I, her thin arm frail in my grip. She stumbled, and I tightened my hold, keeping my face grim as we marched towards the castle. Who was this woman that she could sneak up to our liege’s gates?
Calm, Lars. Ivar spoke in my mind. She poses no threat.
I almost snarled in return. My bosom brother could speak directly to my mind. Part of the fey gift he inherited from his mother. I did not have the same gift.
As the woman slumped in my grasp, her scent rolled over me. I breathed deep, enjoying the heady smell.
Now I knew why Ivar had been acting strangely. He’d scented the woman and waited for me to do the same. I hated when he kept secrets from me.
Apologies, brother. I was not sure what I had scented. I did not mean to offend.
His careful politeness made me want to growl louder. Our captive looked weak, but her familiar face and scent marked her strange. Dangerous, even.
Her scent clears the mind... how is that a danger?
This time I did growl out loud. Something was not right. Magic was afoot.
I stopped, jolting our captive. She bit her lip but didn’t cry out.
“Gently.” Ivar admonished as I caught the maid’s chin.
“Who are you?”
She didn’t answer, but her eyes blazed as she glared at me. She was comely, if a bit too thin. Her features were strong. almost too sharp and wild to be beautiful, and yet the wide mouth, the light eyes, the shock of white gold hair tumbling down her back combined to present a comely picture.
“Lars?” Ivar asked quietly, and I realized I’d been staring.
“Who are you? Why have you come?” I felt helpless, staring at her stubborn, silent face. I hated that feeling. She looked so familiar. Where could I have seen her before?
“You will tell me,” I shook her, and she bore it silently. Stronger than she looked.
“Brother,” Ivar faced me. “What is the matter?”
“Something is not right.” My head was clearer than it had been for months. Maybe years. Every day, I woke with a buzzing noise in my head—some days it was so loud I could barely think. It was always there, even on days I could ignore it.
As soon as I’d caught this woman’s scent, the noise was gone.
A shout from castle gates told me we’d been spotted. A contingent of guards marched out to meet us, no doubt to investig
ate our captive.
Lars, listen to me. This morning I heard a man howling in pain. Ivar spoke into my mind. It woke me. I had to touch my mouth to be sure the sound did not come from my own mouth.
I pressed my lips together. I knew what he’d meant. Every moon, more warriors went mad. It was the curse we bore.
This woman... there is something special about her. Ivar stroked his beard.
“That marks her strange,” I said gruffly. We both studied our captive, with her wan face and wild blonde hair. Her forehead creased as if in pain, her grey eyes unfocused. Fey. It would be easy to believe her a fairy creature, fallen into another world.
And now at our mercy, Ivar finished my thought. I turned my glare on him. Sometimes I thought he could read my thoughts, as well as sharing his. He raised his hands in defense, and then the group of warriors were upon us.
“Lars, what have you found?” one called Gaul asked.
I turned reluctantly, stepping between him and the woman, shielding her. Part of me wanted to protect her, but my suspicion and hasty actions had delivered her into the hands of the king’s guard. If the commander deemed her dangerous, the warriors would tear her apart.
I made my voice light. “A sweet smelling flower. Ivar and I found her growing near our lord’s castle.”
“She does have the sweetest fragrance,” Gaul sniggered. “What is she?”
“A fairy creature.” I shrugged, and the warriors laughed.
“Not a creature. A lady,” Ivar spoke up and at his voice, the maid whipped her head around.
Yseult
A voice cut through the throbbing in my head. A dark bearded man was speaking to me, brown eyes probing mine. I was surrounded by warriors, wearing helmets of beaten metal that glinted dimly in the sun. Rough hands held me fast.
“Answer us,” someone growled—the blond one holding me. I was trapped between two warriors, one with long blond hair, the other dark and swarthy, with a close-cropped beard.
“What?” With relief I found I still had a voice.
“What are you doing here?”
I licked my lips. “Please, I mean no harm.”
“Make way for the commander,” someone cried, and the warriors before me parted for one taller than all of them, wearing a shining helm and a red cloak. All but the men holding me saluted, with the fists to breastplates.
“Look what we’ve found,” a warrior crowed.
“Commander,” the bearded man stepped forward, his deep voice almost musical, soothing to me. “Lars and I were on patrol and came across this maid. We have reason to believe she simply got lost and strayed too close to our lord’s home. She is not a threat.”
“No? Have you questioned her?”
“She seems to have just woken from slumber. She is confused.” The swarthy man placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. Reassurance? Or a warning?
I remained silent, hoping the commander would think me simple.
“I see. I have never heard of a villager venturing so close to the king’s castle. Not willingly.” The commander peered at me closer. Our eyes met; I felt a jolt of something. By the way the commander’s eyes widened, he felt it too—a rush of power. I reached for it, but it danced away, leaving me shivering as if I’d been stung. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“You say she was simply lying in the field?” The mean-looking man at the commander’s left asked.
Meanwhile, the commander leaned closer, angling his head as he took in a deep breath. “What is that delicious scent?”
“Commander, if I may—” Ivar started, and stopped when his leader held up a hand.
“Bring her to my tent.” The commander turned on his foot to lead the way, and his cloak flared out behind him.
“All right, lass. Now you’re in for it,” the cruel warrior crowed. He grabbed my arm and pulled me forward, my foot hit a rock and I cried out.
“Have care,” their leader ordered, looking back with a frown. Between the slit in the shining helm, brown eyes met mine.
I let the men carry me forward, still reaching desperately for a protection spell. My lost magic was like a limb cut off, one I kept trying to use. How long had it been since I’d felt the flow of power through me, waiting, rising to meet my needs? I felt bare, stripped naked.
The men carried me to a tent on the edge of the field, dwarfed by the stone fortress. More warriors stood in formation, here the grass was trampled, the flowers gone.
“Inside,” the leader motioned, and as he stood aside holding the open the tent flap, I knew suddenly what he was. His helmet mimicked those warriors I’d seen ancient murals. Centurions, they called them. Leaders of men. Conquerors.
Either the spell had delivered me to a land where men dressed like warriors of old, or I was a thousand years back in time. My guess was the latter. My gut churned. I would not have to fake weakness now.
The commander crossed his arms over his chest. For a long moment he only studied me. “You may leave us,” he said to the three other warriors.
“Sir—”
“Now, Gaul,” the commander ordered. “I can overpower one woman.”
More salutes, fist to chest, and they left with a flutter of tent fabric.
He didn’t look at me, but I felt his curious perusal like a touch, something barbed, sharp on the edge of it. I shuddered.
“Who are you?”
I closed my eyes at his voice. Somehow familiar, it probed deep and set me reeling.
“If you will not answer me, I must find a way to loosen your tongue.”
I looked around the tent. An unlit brazier. Armor crafted in a way I’d never seen before. I was no longer in my own country, my own time.
Goddess, had my sisters known what would happen when they wrought the spell? What had they done?
I swayed on my feet. I had to keep my wits about me. I had to survive.
“Sit,” the commander indicated a bench.
When I looked up at him, surprised he’d be so courteous, he shrugged. “Cooperate and I’ll keep you from harm.” He nodded to the seat again, and I sank into it, stunned. He wasn’t lying.
“Who are you? Why are you so near the king’s castle?”
I cleared my throat. “What king?”
“King Lycaon.”
I nodded slowly. I’d heard the name, in the lore my sisters unearthed. It was one of the Corpse King’s.
“Are you strange or simple? Those are the only two reasons you’d not know my lord’s name.”
“Where am I?” I asked.
He removed his helm. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong face, hollowed cheekbones and a cleft in his chin.
I startled. Somehow, some way. He looked familiar. He was staring at me as if he felt the same. But it was impossible. Whoever this man was, he’d lived and died a millennia before I was born.
“You are lost?”
“I have been traveling,” I answered slowly. “I lost my way.”
“So you lay down to sleep in a field?”
I didn’t answer his mocking question.
“What is your name?”
I hesitated. Names have power. But here, in this place, I had none. “Yseult. And yours?”
He also gave pause, but I sensed for another reason. “Tristan,” he uttered reluctantly, as if the name was foreign. As if he had forgotten.
“And you are commander of the king’s army?”
He put his boot on the bench beside me and leaned closer. “Why would a maid concern herself with that?”
“I wish to know the rank of my captor.”
“Your captor is the king himself. I act in his stead. I’ll ask you once again… what is your purpose here?”
“I promise I mean you no harm.”
“That is for me to decide.” He rose abruptly. “Guards,” he called. Ducking under the tent flap, my blond and swarthy captors came to my side, grasping my arms. Tristan stalked out of the tent. “Bring her with me.”
“Commander,” the
swarthy one began.
“Yes?” The commander’s gaze snapped to his man, even at the periphery I felt the weight of his gaze. This one had power.
The swarthy warrior held up under the heavy displeasure. “Where will you bring her?”
“She has trespassed on our lord’s land. She may be a spy.” The commander paused. “Do you defend her, Ivar?”
The blond warrior on the side of me frowned at his companion.
Ivar weighed his words a moment, then said. “No.”
“Then come.” The commander’s cloak swirled as he stalked ahead.
Tristan
Sunlight hit the woman’s hair, turning it to white flame. The light flickered around her face, the pale eyes, sharp nose and wide mouth taunting me. Recognition danced out of reach. At first, I pushed it, but when she opened her mouth and spoke—I heard the voice that haunted me at night, echoing from my dreams.
Tristan. Every night, she called to me. Without her, I’d have forgotten my name long ago.
Sometimes, I wondered if it’d be easier to forget. It was dangerous to hope. It was dangerous to feel.
“Commander,” Ivar was at my elbow, speaking softly. I met my half-brother’s serious eyes. Under his beard, his mouth turned down with worry. “Have care. This one is more than she seems.”
“I know. I will uncover all her secrets.”
“Have care,” Ivar repeated. “Some things are best left unseen.”
I considered this. Ivar’s mother had the gift of far-seeing. I often wondered how much of that gift she passed on to her son. “Do you know something about her?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “She is… familiar.”
“She is to me, too,” I answered before considering my words. I did not want to share the elements of my dream with anyone, even Ivar who of all the warriors I led might best understand. “That is strange, is it not?”
“But,” Ivar looked away as he struggled to defend the maid. “That signifies nothing. Perhaps I have seen her in a village. An ordinary maid. We should let her go.”