Dream by the Fire: Winter Magic

by Editor: Michelle Puffer

  He snatched up her cloak and fastened it around her neck. “Let’s go.”

  “The wolves—” she began.

  “They’re long gone,” the hunter answered with certainty. “Wolves are true cowards. They tasted my sword and they ran.”

  “You’re wrong,” Liesel said.

  Eric took up his bow and quiver, wound the free end of the rope around one hand and picked up his sword in the other. Bracing himself against the cold, he pulled the door open.

  The wind howled down the stairway and blew the cozy fire to ash and embers. Snow drifted over the threshold in seconds. He tugged sharply at the rope and started up the stairs.

  Liesel pulled back. He turned, snarling. But she was only closing the door behind them. “Please,” she said again.

  He jerked the rope impatiently, and she followed him up the steps. She did not resist again as he started across the open grassland. She looked down, the fight gone out of her. Eric was glad of that. The deepening snow would be challenging enough without having to carry his prisoner.

  He wished he’d shared more of his dinner. Hard to tell if the lord would feed her when they got back. Not that her welfare concerned him in the least. But no one deserved to go hungry after a night like this.

  And no one, he thought bitterly, deserved to be alone on Solstice Night, either, but he had been for more than he could count.

  Eric plowed through the drifts, some nearly to his waist. His captive followed closely, in his footsteps. The wind blew from behind them now, driving ice pellets that stung his back even through his cloak. His feet grew cold again; his hand seemed frozen around the hilt of his sword. No matter. They would be back to the city soon, and with his reward he would buy a hot bath and a snug bed all to himself.

  Alone.

  Oh, there would be whores about, even on Solstice Night. For a price, he could likely find one willing to pretend to ignore the hideous gash on his face. But in the end it would be no good. He would know that he repulsed her and would find himself more angry than satisfied.

  I had a lover once, he thought to the gray night sky, a beautiful lover—

  He tripped over something in the snow, something soft. The wolf sprang awake snarling and snapped at his leg. His boot protected him, and he kicked the beast soundly. It yipped and turned, hunching for another attack.

  The other gray shapes in the snow woke and shook themselves, prepared for a battle and a feast.

  Over his surprise, the thrill of the fight ran through Eric like bright liquor. He no longer felt the cold, or the grief. His sword tip danced in the air before him. Without looking back, he handed Liesel his end of the rope. No danger that she would run off just now. “Stay behind me,” he ordered.

  The pack leader was easy to single out by his aggressive behavior. Though the hunter watched the others from the corner of his eye, the biggest male claimed most of his attention. The pack circled in practiced unison. Eric turned with them, kept his sword to that male. Exactly as he’d expected, the leader sprang. He brought the sword tip up and speared it in the air with the overhand thrust. The animal ripped away from the sword and fled, blood pouring from the wound in his gut. The pack backed away, wary. But the scent of blood heightened their hunger. Two came at once. Spinning, Eric half-decapitated the first and left a deep gash in the side of the second.

  At least twelve more wolves circled.

  Behind him, Liesel squealed. He spun again, shoved her aside and cut the front legs off the wolf that had charged towards her.

  The pack retreated again. They danced anxiously a dozen yards away, watching for an opening, perhaps reconsidering their attack.

  Eric breathed deeply while he had the chance. The woman had cleaned away much of the rust while he slept. The sword glistened like a blood-slicked gem in his hand.

  He glanced again at Liesel. She had turned pale as the snow, trembling with cold. Though she held both ends of the rope, she had not attempted to free her wrists. Oh, yes, the hunter thought bitterly, a woman will stay with you when her life’s at stake.

  One of the wolves unexpectedly stopped his attack, sat on his haunches and howled. Eric watched in confusion as the rest of the pack joined him. Their song echoed weirdly through the snow clouds. Then they fell silent.

  In a moment, howls answered from every direction.

  “There are no wolves on the moors,” the hunter swore. “They cannot be here.”

  “They were summoned,” Liesel told him.

  “You summoned them?” he asked in amazement.

  “No.”

  “Can you send them away?”

  She shook her head, pointed sharply. “Watch there!”

  The wolves of the home pack came at him fast, several at a time, lunging in and darting away from his sword, circling, nipping at his boots, leaping for his hands and throat. Eric fought flawlessly. He was one with the sword, moving with dream-like smoothness, knowing where the wolves would be an instant before they were there. He had not fought so well in years, and he reveled in the forgotten mastery of his body.

  Liesel hung at his back, one hand on his shoulder, and moved with him. The animals soon knew that she had no sword, and they concentrated their attack on her. But Eric was quicker, and every lunge at helpless prey ended in the bite of cold steel.

  Mine, he thought fiercely, and you shall not harm her!

  In the heat of battle, it seemed right.

  For every wolf that fell, two more seemed to appear. The others had come.

  His sword began to feel heavy as he tired. The ground beneath him grew slick with blood and stomping. Yet the wolves kept coming.

  He wished Liesel would do that magic again, the one that made them wander off. But that might be impossible now. He didn’t know what she needed to do the spell, either. Glyphs or a boiling cauldron or quiet chanting…

  Liesel screamed. Eric wheeled and cut at the wolf, but the animal had already retreated, a shred of her cloak in its teeth.

  He fought brilliantly, but he knew he could not defeat them all. And when he fell, they would tear Liesel to shreds. His own stubbornness and fear had brought this upon them. She had been right; plain as she was, she had touched him somehow, and he’d been afraid to spend the night alone with her.

  She would not die because of his foolishness, he vowed. She is mine, he repeated to himself and to the wolves, and you shall not harm her.

  “We have to go back,” he said. Liesel clung to him with both hands, obviously terrified. “Liesel, listen to me. I want you to start back the way we came.”

  “I can’t leave you!” she wailed.

  “I’ll be at your back. You walk and guide me. I’ll hold the wolves off. Stay in our tracks, and they’ll lead us back to the cellar. Understand?”

  She nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “Good girl.”

  He felt her move away, then tug at his belt. He took a step back, then another. He could not remember how far they’d come from the cellar. Too far.

  He wished he could use his bow, but the wolves were much too close. They circled in front of him, growing bolder. He waved the sword, and they retreated, but not far. Another step back. The wolves held a barely respectful distance. They weren’t willing to let their prey escape them.

  More dark shapes appeared with them. Another step. Another.

  “I see the house,” Liesel shouted over the wind.

  “Good. Keep going.”

  The largest of the remaining wolves charged at him, then retreated when the blade came up.

  Another step. Another step. The snow grew heavier in his tracks; it had blown already to fill their footsteps. Yet Liesel moved on, leading him. “Almost there,” she finally said.

  Eric chanced a quick look over his shoulder. The ruin stood barely ten yards away. The wolves grew more frantic as they approached the shelter.

  “When we get to the stairs,” he said, “they’ll try to rush us. I want you to leave me. Get the door open and be ready to shut it.
Do you understand? I’ll protect you for as long as I can.”

  “But—”

  “It’s the only way. I’ll make it, believe me,” he said, his voice absolutely confident. “Tell me when we get to the steps.”

  Another step. Another step.

  “Here,” Liesel said. “We’re here.”

  “All right,” he said. “Be ready.”

  His plan might have succeeded, were it not for the ice.

  The moment the couple stopped moving, the wolves attacked. Eric's blade caught the first one in the chest. “Go!” he shouted, and Liesel ran down the stairs. The next wolf came. The hunter took a step back. His foot hit the edge of the stair, which glistened with ice over stone. His boot slipped just as the wolf’s weight hit him, and the momentum of the leap carried both he and the wolf crashing down the steps.

  Eric looked up. Liesel had jumped to one side when they fell, and stood trapped between them and the closed door. He struggled to gain his feet. The wolf bit and snarled and tangled his legs. The woman stood alone as the rest of the pack poured down the stairs towards them. They were both going to die. He had failed her.

  Liesel bent her head and closed her eyes in final prayer, and Eric envied her, that she had her faith even now…

  A wall of flame erupted on the stairway between them and the pack. Fire singed the lead wolves. The animals yelped in surprised fear and scrambled back. The wolf who had fallen with him cowered, whimpering, and Eric finally managed to stand and killed it.

  Then he looked at Liesel and at the fading wall of flame and he began to understand.

  * * *

  He built the fire again. Liesel bound his few wounds in silence. The cellar grew warm, and they shared the bread and fruit from the inn. As the night wore on, the sound of the wind diminished.

  “It will be safe to travel tomorrow,” Liesel said quietly.

  “I have to take you back,” Eric answered.

  “I suppose you do.”

  “It’s better than freezing to death out here, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “You do not understand.”

  “You’re a sorceress, aren’t you? That’s what makes you so valuable to him. To the lord.”

  “He would make me a sorceress,” Liesel sighed. “I am a simple healer.”

  “Simple? Throwing fire like that is not simple.”

  “I only use the magic for protection, for when ordinary cures fail, or when there is great danger.”

  “And the lord?”

  “Wants me to use it against his enemies.” Sorrow filled her words.

  Eric stirred the fire. “You said the wolves were summoned. If you didn’t call them, who did?”

  Liesel hesitated for a long moment. “My mother. Many years ago. To protect me.”

  “From the lord?”

  “Yes. But they failed.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “He killed her.”

  The hunter fell silent for a moment. “It’s Eric,” he said suddenly, by way of apology. “My name. It’s Eric.”

  Liesel nodded.

  “Your mother was a sorceress too?”

  She glanced at him, then turned her gaze back to the fire. "She was a healer,” she corrected gently.

  “And she would not do his bidding.”

  “No.”

  “And you will not.”

  “No.”

  “Even though he may kill you too?”

  “Even so.”

  “You’re very brave. For a woman.”

  Liesel continued to stare into the fire. She seemed to be waiting for something.

  Eric realized that she’d known what he was going to ask even before he had. “If I agree not to take you back…” He touched the gruesome wound on his face.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes did not flinch away from the sight of his grotesque lips. “I am a healer, Eric. I can help to heal your deepest wound. But it is not the one on your face.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your deepest wound is not on your body. It’s on your soul. The mark on your face is only a sign of your true wound.”

  Eric bristled. “What can you know about my soul, witch?”

  She still did not look away. “I know what I see.”

  Eric turned his back on her. How dare she think she knew? She could not possibly guess, not in a thousand years, about the wound in his heart. She was a prying, foolish girl, a charlatan with a few parlor tricks, nothing more. The lord might be convinced of her magic, but Eric would not be taken in, not by a woman. Never again.

  Liesel remained silent, and in time his anger burned away. Without turning to her, he asked, “If I agree not to take you back, will you heal me?”

  “No.”

  He turned. “No?”

  “I told you, I am a healer. I will heal you as well as I am able, if you wish it. Whether you take me back or not.”

  “If I wish it…” He rose to his knees. “Please. I have no money, but I would work for you, hunt for you and protect you.” He touched the scar on his face again. “I know you can’t understand. I was so handsome once, all the girls… I was vain about it, I admit it, but now I’m hideous.”

  “You are not hideous, Eric.” Liesel took his hand. He jumped and tried to pull away, but her touch remained firm. “You’re only scarred.”

  He could not remember the last time a woman had spoken his name, or touched his skin. Warmth radiated from her. He was drawn to it and terrified by it at the same time. He had been so terribly alone, for so very long—and yet he was afraid. He took a deep breath and let his hand close over hers. “What must I do?”

  Liesel smiled encouragingly. “Come. Lie here by the fire. Put your head in my lap.”

  It sounded wonderful. And terrible. “Can’t you heal me over here?”

  “No.” She tugged at his fingers. “Come, Eric. I will not hurt you.”

  Reluctantly, stiffly, he moved to her side. His chest hurt; it was hard to breathe. He lay back with his head on her skirt, coiled to spring up at any second. Such a very long time.

  * * *

  Liesel stroked his forehead gently. He looked up at her with the frightened eyes of a deer, or a child. She smiled again. “I will not hurt you, Eric. Close your eyes. Be easy. You are safe here.”

  Looking reluctant, he closed his eyes.

  She continued to stroke his forehead and the rest of his face, her fingers lingering lightly over the line of the scar. It took a long time, but she was patient, and finally she sensed him begin to grow calm. His breathing became slow and deep, and his skin grew warm beneath her touch. Liesel raised her eyes to the fire, felt its warmth as well, on her skin and in her heart…

  …the woman was dark of hair and eye, with skin as pale as goat’s milk. She was laughing. She and Eric ran the fields of ripe wheat, holding hands, making for a stand of trees where they fell into each other’s arms, kissing, his hand on her gown, on her breast. He was breathless with awe, and still she was laughing…

  Liesel nodded. As she'd thought.

  …he crept along a forbidden night corridor. The danger only added to the sweet aching thrill of it. He eased the door open, quivering deliciously as it creaked. Within, candlelight and silk canopies, pillows of red and blue, and from the bed her throaty laugh, drunk with passion…

  …the breath caught in his throat, rage and anguish as one…

  …the other man was much bigger, older, stronger than the pretty youth, and a far better swordsman. Eric fought with tears of rage in his eyes. The older man toyed with him, laughing, and the woman, still naked in the bed, unashamed, the woman laughed too…the tears flowed and the blade fell, deadening pain in his eyes and face and mouth and blood on his hands, in his throat…

  …he asked the man to kill him. The man laughed. The woman laughed. Kneeling on her pretty pillows, her white skin flushed with passion, her dark hair falling over her naked breasts, her arms outstretched to her victorious lover, she laughed.


  …a cave on a desolate hillside, cold and dirt, nothing more. Eric lay feverish, trying to die. A dagger in his hand, at his throat, but their laughter had made him a coward and so he cried out and threw the knife aside…

  …he would be alone always. No one would ever love him, deformed as he was. No one would ever want to kiss him again.

  In her mind and in his, Liesel laid gentling hands on the scar.

  She probed and cleaned the wound: She betrayed your love; that hurts. You lost the battle; that hurts. They mocked you; that hurts worst of all.

  She soothed the jagged, torn places with the balm of wisdom: You were young and unknowing, and she was older and uncaring. You were a youth, and he a grown man. You were angry, and he was calm. They were cruel and vicious and did not know the beauty and worth of your soul, the true love in your tender heart.

  She bound the wound: See what she has lost, what she never knew of you. You are not hideous, Eric. You are brave and true and giving, and there is such love in your heart. She is the hideous one, she who would so misuse a man who loved her. You are not hideous in any eyes but your own. You are not hideous to me. From this day forward, this wound will heal, and your true heart will show on your face. From this day forward, this wound will heal.

  She leaned down and kissed his mouth, tenderly but without reluctance. From this day forward, this wound will heal also.

  Eric sighed without waking, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sleeping smile.

  Liesel eased her mind from his dreams. The cellar was warm and safe. The fire crackled gently. The hunter slept soundly in her arms, his face at last peaceful. She leaned back against the wall and thought again of her mother, of the Solstice Nights of her childhood. Glimmers of Solstices to come flittered through her magic, of her and Eric and their little ones by the fire. She smiled, surprised. She had expected to find only escape here on the moors. Instead she had found her future.

  A wolf howled plaintively in the distance.

  Liesel closed her eyes for a moment. Years ago, her mother had summoned the animals with a spell that her daughter could not hope to break, a spell of protection and love. All these years they had remained, mating and hunting on land that was not their home, generations living and dying in a place that did not suit them. Now, suddenly, the answer seemed clear to Liesel. “I thank you for your protection,” she murmured to the bright coal of magic in her mind, “and I release you.”