by Lee Savino
The tide had turned on the field of battle. When one Berserker fell, a spirit rose up in its place—dark and grotesque, made of evil magic. Twice the size of Magnus, they smashed through the ranks of warriors, splintering shields.
“Hold,” Tristan shouted on the hill, and his men formed a line, only to scatter when a ball of fire blasted from the wall.
Smoke rose and I cried out. Lars and Ivar were among those on the line thrown to the ground.
Above me the mage cackled. His feet rose from the wall as the magic carried him higher, but he remained fixed on his purpose: destroying his own soldiers.
Magnus roared, facing the monsters risen from the bodies of his former warrior brothers. The Corpse King was earning his name, raising the dead.
“Goddess,” I moaned, clinging to the flagstones as the wind blew bitter ash over the wall. Fire spurted from the mage’s hands again and again. I could fight the wind to reach him, but he could easily cast me down from the wall.
“Yseult,” a voice on the wind. Tristan had left his post and was scaling the wall.
“No,” I choked out. He risked his life for me, the brave, beautiful fool.
Gaul and his troops headed to the edge, as Tristan reached the top, they were waiting.
“No,” I screamed as sword rang on sword. One of the warriors fell, tossed by Tristan over the wall. The rest rushed him as one.
The stone, a ghost whispered. Diana, Tristan’s mother stood at my side. Use the stone.
I felt a weight in my sash. Sure enough, when I reached in I pulled out the moonstone Tristan had used to test me.
To my right the mage hovered over the wall, working his spells. He no longer looked a man, but an apparition, a misty form clad in lightning. To my left, Tristan thrust his sword through Gaul’s chest and dropped him off the wall, then whirled to face the remaining Berserker’s spears.
Now, more ghosts joined Diana.
Look to the horizon. It is time, Hilde said.
Daylight weakens him. Added Asta, even as the sun’s first rays slanted through the fearsome figure of the mage. He can be defeated. It will take all you have. She nodded to my hands. Use the stone.
I clutched it and felt the rush of my powers, just beyond reach. I was still not a witch, still weak. Weak enough to penetrate the mage’s defenses.
Strong enough to give my life for my men.
I had to save them.
“Help me,” I told the ghosts, and, as Tristan snarled, pinned by spears, I raced towards the mage, leaping at the last. Ghostly hands carried me aloft. The air crackled with magic, my hair whipped about my face. But my arms were strong, steadied by the will of many, all the wives of the Corpse King, unwilling to watch their sons be victims of his rule.
“Lycaon,” I shouted even as the mage’s magic threatened to blast the skin from my bones. “I bind you.” I thrust the stone into his heart.
Lightning blinded. Thunder cracked. Screams rent the air as the mage’s power broke. The backlash threw me from the castle walls. Ghostly hands held me aloft for a few seconds, then a hard body hit mine and we fell.
When I woke, dazed, the Earth was being torn apart. The very foundations of the castle shook with the dismemberment of the Corpse King’s power. The walls cracked, falling. Stones smashing to the ground, to dust.
But it was too late. All around me dead Berserkers lay, their blood seeping out, sealing the Corpse King’s tomb.
Tristan stretched beneath me. He’d cushioned my fall, but now he lay still.
“No,” I sobbed. “No.” I’d bound the Corpse King, but at too high a price.
Yseult
Dawn broke. I heard my sisters chanting the echoes of the spell that sent me across time.
When shall we all meet again?
The words drowned out in the howling of the Corpse King’s destruction.
But I heard them still, spoken by ghostly voices.
the spell we set is done,
the battle’s lost and won…
“Tristan,” I croaked, even though he lay still as death. I pulled myself over him and lay my head on his chest to listen for the beating of his heart. Around me, very faintly, I felt the tethers of the Berserker bond linking me to my men. All fallen. All dying.
With the rising of the sun…
With the last strength in me, I mouthed the verse and tugged on the Berserker bond. We would be together no matter what took us—the spell or death.
Magic ripped through my body, wrenching me apart. The air split. Howling wind filled my ears as a thousand years passed in a second.
Silence. Breath rushed back into my lungs. I lay on my back for a moment, stunned. Sensation returned, and I held back my groans. My body felt like it had been beaten.
Wind swept over my face, bringing with it the familiar stench. The spell was completed. I was home.
I sat up. The spell had brought me back to my own time. I recognized the ravaged plain. As desolate and rocky as I’d left it, but, here and there, a few white flowers bloomed.
There can be good in the world if flowers can still bloom.
Something flashed in the corner of my eye. I looked but there was nothing. A ghost?
Then I felt it, under the beating of my heart—the faint pulse of the mating bond. Four bonds, different, but equally strong.
I hastened to my feet, staggered in the direction of the ghostly messenger. My breath sawed through me as I prayed, stumbling over the lichen covered rocks in my haste.
Tristan lay in a bed of heather, his face still. I flung myself down. His chest rose and fell. Lars lay nearby on the right, Ivar on the left. Magnus’ great bulk some yards away.
I had done it. I’d brought them to my time.
When I touched his face, Tristan opened his eyes. Blood and muck marred his face and body, but he was alive.
“Tristan,” I whispered.
“Yseult? What happened?”
“We are here. At my home.”
He started to rise and groaned. I lay a hand on him.
“Shhh, easy. Stay down for now. We are safe.”
“What is that stench?”
“The Corpse King’s tomb,” I half laughed. “We sealed it in your time. It broke open again.”
His eyes widened. “So we have come—”
“A thousand years from your time, love,” I told him. Around us, the other men were stirring.
“Sister,” a wavering voice called. “Yseult.”
Tristan reached for his sword—which was gone—and I pressed him down again.
“It’s only the witches. My sisters.” If I could still call them that. My powers were still gone.
The coven hurried toward us, led by the most ancient one, who moved with a speed beyond her years. Behind her was Sabine, my student, with her mates at her side. As soon as they saw Tristan and three other strange warriors, they stepped forward with weapons drawn.
“Stop.” I found myself on my feet. “These men are friends. They aided me.”
“Then the spell worked? Did you find him?” Several witches spoke at once. Not the ancient one, who only studied me with beady eyes.
“I did. I faced the Corpse King, and survived, thanks to these men.” Despite his wounds, Tristan rose at my side. Ivar and Lars helped each other up. “They helped me escape the mage’s magic.”
The ancient witch approached. Tristan started to insert himself between us and I stopped him. For a moment the crone only studied me, then nodded once. Satisfied, she turned and walked away.
“You have the spell?” Sabine asked.
I nodded and let myself lean on Tristan. My palms burned where I’d clutched the stone and thrust it into the Corpse King’s heart. The lore told of the spaewife who bound the mage for a thousand years, and now I knew the truth.
It was me.
“I have the spell,” I let the wind carry my voice to all my sisters. “I know how to defeat him.”
Epilogue
Yseult
Ov
er the years, I’d traveled far and wide, but a simple cave was my home. It was deep within the Earth, guarded by much magic.
I invited my sisters to journey there from the moor so we could speak in safety. I wished I could rest and hide away, like a creature weakened by a predator hides to heal. As if sensing this,
My warriors aligned themselves around me, a fearsome honor guard. I noted Sabine’s mates did the same, though when their paths grew close to my four, they gave each other respectful nods. They did not, however, take their hands from their weapons.
When we came to my dwelling, I felt a rush of panic. I’d spent many years layering the wards, but now, with my magic stripped, would they recognize me?
“It’s all right, child,” The crone was suddenly at my side. She had disappeared on the walk—I had looked for her. Of all my sisters, I most wished to speak to her.
She nodded to the hillock that hid my cave’s entrance. “Approach as you would.”
Bidding my retinue wait, I continued on unsteady feet. A harsh second, and the ground yawned before me, a tunnel leading into the hill. As I stepped by to let the group pass, the crone hung back to tell me, “Well done, child.”
I stiffened to hide my shaking. I did not feel my power as before, but it seemed to be there, lying still, but deep and vast, a somnolent sea.
“My lady,” Tristan drew close and took my elbow.
“I am fine.”
His tight smile told me he knew I was lying. A low order, and his captains took up the rear of the group, along with Sabine’s mates.
“We will post a guard,” he said, and shook his head before I could protest that my wards would hold. “One of us and one of them.”
Frowning, I plucked at his filthy armor. My hand reached the skin underneath. It was warm and smooth. His wounds had healed. “Berserker magic,” I muttered, though perhaps my sisters had quietly helped. I was glad of it, but I wished I could’ve been the one to heal them.
“We are fine, lady. Let us do our duty.”
I sighed. I was not used to having protectors, but it seemed, now I did.
As my sisters filled my hall, Sabine headed to the hearth. Because of her training, she’d been here many times, and would know what to do to make all welcome. She directed a few novices to serve food and drink, starting with my warriors. I waved away everything until Tristan knelt at my side with a cup and would not take food himself until I drank.
My face and body remained composed, even as whispers floated around the room. My sisters wondered what had happened, why my visage was so changed, and why I had returned with mates.
I sipped from my cup, my other hand trembling under the robe Tristan placed on my shoulders. To all in my time, I was the powerful witch Yseult. The spell had brought me down to the level of a novice, but I would not show weakness. Not if I could help it.
The crone watched all of this from a corner, perched like a raven on a large barrel. Nothing escaped her beady black eyes.
Tristan remained close, almost pressed to my side, as if he sensed my distress. He was still in his armor, though he’d washed his face and hands, and cleaned away the traces of battle.
At last, I set the cup down and laced my fingers together. There, with my sisters ranged about the fire, I told the whole story.
“It is done,” a novice breathed at the end.
“Not quite,” an elder answered. “She bound him in that time. The spell lasted for a thousand years and has now worn off. We must face the mage again.”
“You were the spaewife who first bound him?” another asked.
I nodded. “In that time, I had no magic. My spaewife abilities returned.”
“Has your magic returned?” For a moment I hated the novice, even though she’d only asked what was on every one of my sister’s minds.
“Returned?” cackled the crone. “Why should it return? It never left.” Her black eyes fixed on me. “She is a spaewife, and a witch.”
“Not quite,” I said. “My powers are different.”
“Changed. Not less.” The crone slipped from her seat. “Enough. We have much to do. We must find the moonstone and plan a way to approach the mage to cast the spell. Not you,” she put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, and though he blinked in surprise, he allowed it. “You have done much. You must rest.”
My sisters all rose, fluttering about like hens.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Sabine asked, and I thanked her.
“We will return,” her mates told Tristan. “We will be keeping watch of this place while you rest. In a few days, we wish you to join us on a hunt.”
My mate agreed.
“Yseult,” the crone called me, and though her voice was soft, I heard it sharply. “I wish to speak to you. Alone.” She held up a hand when Tristan hovered at my shoulder. “I will not harm your lady. I give you my word, commander.”
Tristan bowed. “I will speak to my men.”
I watched him stride away, strong and powerful, even in my small home.
One by one the witches left. I waited until the last had gone, and then sank down to the hearth.
The crone prodded my hand with a cup. “Drink this.”
I did and sucked in a breath at the rush of energy that followed.
“My own brew.” She winked at me with her raven black eyes. “So, Yseult. You faced the mad king and saved your Berserkers, all without your powers.”
“Not by choice.” I met her gaze. “You knew all along?”
She shrugged. “The Corpse King would not allow a powerful witch to approach him. Only a maid, weak and lowly, could get close enough to destroy him.”
“Then it was your intent all along. You wove the spell.” I set the cup down. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“If I had, would you have gone? Given up your powers and gone on despite it?”
I pressed my lips together. I truly didn’t know.
She cackled and patted my hand. “What’s done is done. You did well, child.”
“There is still a job to be done.”
“And it will be done. You have shown us the way. You may well be the one to bind him again.”
I nodded. “I must be ready. I must work to regain my power.”
“You have power, child. You are a spaewife. You had it all along.”
“I rejected that path when I became a witch.”
“Yes, but the Goddess had another plan. You sought a way to make yourself strong, strong enough to fight a man and rule over him.”
“That is not why I chose the path,” I protested.
“It doesn’t matter. You did not need the witch’s path to do that. Perhaps you can have both.” A smile stretched her ugly, wrinkled face.
A clink of swords, and I looked up as four large warriors strode in. The smell of roasted meat wafted with them. Magnus brought up the rear, still tearing at leg of meat.
My shoulders slumped. I had not even thought to feed them.
“They are men, not boys. They can hunt for themselves.” The crone rose and faced Tristan. “We will want to examine you, later. See if there are any lingering effects of the spell. But first we will let you rest.”
I followed the ancient witch to the mouth of my cave.
“Go to them. They are fed and rested, but still hungry for you.” She gave me a slight push, when I looked back over my shoulder in the direction she left, I was alone.
I ambled back inside and stopped short as the giant warriors turned as one to me.
“Lady,” Ivar said softly, and I realized I’d been staring at them. I had never brought a man into my home. Now I had four.
I cleared my throat. “There are pools deeper in the caves, if you wish to bathe.”
“Do you wish us to bathe?” Ivar asked.
Lars slapped his shoulder. “She’s trying to tell us we stink.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ivar shook off his hand. “I smell like a man.”
“Perhaps she likes our scent, but simply wi
shes to strip us of our armor,” joked Lars.
I flushed like a maid at their teasing.
“I know I stink,” Magnus said. He ripped the last of the meat off the bone. I opened my mouth to tell him how to dispose of the bone, but he tossed it to the floor.
“You’re a pig,” Ivar told him.
Magnus shrugged.
“Enough,” Tristan ordered. “Let us do as our lady bids.”
“Wait,” I cleared my throat. “I have to tell you something. I have never taken a man back into my quarters. My home, I mean. You are the first.”
“We are the only men to come here?” Lars grinned.
“Yes.” I blushed again. To everyone else, I was a powerful witch. To these men, I would always feel like a maid on the eve of becoming a woman.
Tristan moved first.
“We are honored, lady. What can we do to set you at ease? We are yours to command.”
I smiled shakily. “You should bathe. And dress. I can find clothes for this age. I can tell you many things of what has gone before this time, between my life and yours.”
“A thousand years of history,” Tristan said thoughtfully. “That will take many nights.”
“Not how I’d choose to spend them,” Lars grumbled.
“Oh, Goddess,” I raised my hands to my face.
“What about you, Yseult?” Ivar asked.
I lowered my hands but kept them covering my bright cheeks. “Me?”
“We had one night, lady. We’ve known you a day. We wish to know more about you.”
I sank into a chair.
“Enough. All of that can wait,” Tristan said, and crouched down beside me. “You are tired, lady.”
“A little. It’s been a long day.”
“We will rest,” Tristan said.
“All of us?” Lars asked.
“All but one. The one will remain with our lady. Alone.”
“I’m not tired,” Magnus said.
“Alone?” Lars perked up.
“One at a time,” Tristan repeated firmly.
“Is this acceptable, lady?” Ivar asked.