Wolfskin

by W. R. Gingell

  “This might not work,” I said, my eyes on the next, closest chunk of wardship. “Be ready for the shift in balance when we jump.”

  The only answer Bastian vouchsafed me was a snarl, accompanied by a small but potent surge of magic that catapulted a spurt of gold into the void. Somewhere beyond us, the bright purple presence froze and turned, quivering.

  I hefted one pebble in my hand. “Change now.”

  Bastian, still straining against the change, shuddered and snarled again.

  “Now!” I snapped, my eyes flashing. I didn’t wait for a reply: there was no time, and Cassandra had found us. The pebble was hard and cold between my fingers, the others clutched tight in my left hand, where they dug grittily into my skin. I couldn’t afford to lose any of them.

  I drew a line in the turf with one bare foot, streaking my big toe with rich black sod and crushed grass. Feet behind, I thought mechanically, and checked that they were well away from the line. I swung my arm gently by my side, measuring the impossible distance, and began.

  “Into the woods to grandmother’s house,

  Thirteen milestones mark the way;

  Keep to the path and never stray,

  There and back by light of day.”

  As I finished, Bastian’s change shocked through the void in a dazzle of gold.

  “One for luck,” I said, and tossed the pebble. Its muted green sparkle arced improbably far, hidden in the splendour of Bastian’s change to human. It fell to rest on the distant bank of the next wardship piece, leaving behind a faint, tenuous forest thread. My heart gave one, thudding leap, forcing a gasp of relief from me. Horned hedgepigs, it had worked!

  Behind me, I felt Bastian rise, swiftly. A cloud of dark magic was forming around us, and when I turned my head, his eyes were glittering in the shadows.

  “She’s here. Quickly!” His hand fastened around mine, and then we were leaping; leaping through cold space along a wavering thread of forest magic that should have been too insubstantial to hold us but somehow did anyway.

  The hard grassy bank hit us hard, and for a moment the world tipped wildly around us as I gasped for breath. Bastian, groaning, heaved me into the middle of the tiny knoll, and the sickening swell subsided enough for me to drag myself clumsily to my feet, still gulping for breath. The pebble was there in my hand: I pinched the forest line from it and cast it away to flutter loose in the void, where it would give Cassandra no help. I dropped the pebble again and chose another; a smaller, sharper stone that had a good weight to it.

  “Two for chance!” I gasped, and threw it. We leapt again, this time to a bigger chunk of earth that didn’t sway so perilously at our landing. I snatched the used thread away to float freely, feeling the dull, aching pinch of bruised ribs, and chose another pebble mechanically. I noticed dimly that there was blood on it: my clenched hand had gripped tightly, and the sharp pebbles had bitten deeply in revenge.

  “Three for faith!” My voice broke, but I had breath enough for the jump to a large, saucer-like patch of wardship. This time the thread was stronger.

  The breathless leaping fell into a routine; throw, jump, snap forest line, throw. One for luck, two for chance, three for faith, four for romance; five brings trouble and six follows grief, seven takes joy and eight holds belief; nine brings learning, ten holds a place, eleven for virtue and twelve for grace . . .

  Thirteen is hardest, be quick or too late;

  To grandmother’s house through the white picket gate.

  The last pebble was there in my fingers, and I felt my hand tremble. We had arrived last of all on the wardship shard with the little stone hut, and I had found to my dismay that it was not a piece of my wardship at all. If I had a guess, I would have guessed it was Cassandra’s.

  Be quick or too late, mocked the rhyme, but my hand still shook and I didn’t dare throw the pebble.

  “Rest,” Bastian said quietly. He was leaning against the stone wall with one hand, head bowed, pulling in deep breaths through his nose.

  I gripped my shaking right hand with my left. “We can’t. She’ll see us again soon.”

  Bastian’s long fingers closed over both my hands in a warm, firm grip, pulling me through the doorless stone arch of the house. “Rest, love. Even Cassandra’s magic can’t penetrate stone.”

  The floor of the cottage was bare, brushed dirt, with no furniture or decoration. It obviously hadn’t been used in some time, but though it was old and abandoned, it was also clean of cobwebs. There was a back doorway immediately before us that seemed to shimmer. I felt a touch of unease as Bastian sat me gently against a wall; unease that quickly disappeared in the harsh, present reality of two bruised ribs, freshly jarred. I involuntarily whimpered, and Bastian looked down sharply.

  “Little witch?”

  “It’s nothing,” I snapped, swallowing once to clear the ache from my throat. I felt perilously close to tears. The stone was quiet and silent around me, and I couldn’t even feel forest lines beneath my feet. I wondered why, until Bastian sat beside me, scuffing dirt aside to reveal smooth stone. The dirt was barely an inch deep over great white flagstones that emanated a slight but distinct chill. The quietness seemed to creep around us, a silent and threatening stillness. I would have leaped to my feet and dashed from the cottage then and there, but Bastian’s arm closed around me, vice-like, and held me still as a violet shadow flitted past the stone archway. We remained still for many minutes: through the stone it was impossible to sense whether or not Cassandra had gone.

  At last, Bastian’s arm slid away from me.

  “Come, little witch,” he said softly, lifting me gently to my feet. “Keep behind me.”

  He paused for a moment in the doorway for a quick scouting look. “She’s gone. Quickly now, Rose.”

  The hair of my arms stood on end in the stone silence for a brief second before I saw the shimmer misting the front doorway. Then Bastian stepped through, and the pain hit me.

  I remember screaming. I thought once that I would be the defiant Cutlass Rose, impervious to pain and torture; but when the pain seized me with savage claws, all I could do was scream. Scream over and over, while fire coursed through my body, searing my flesh and burning from the inside out.

  It ended as suddenly as it had begun. I came to myself, bruised and cut, but unburned, on the stone floor of the hut while Bastian wiped the blood from my face with horror in his eyes.

  As if from far away, I heard his voice. “Rose! Rose! What happened?”

  I choked on a sob, only dimly understanding. “Ca– Cassandra! Won’t be able– to get out.”

  “Of course you can get out,” Bastian said, very white about the lips. “You saw me leave just now. If need be, I will carry you out.”

  “Oh, you can leave,” said Cassandra’s voice, terrifyingly close behind us.

  Bastian turned swiftly, stooped over me in protection, and she laughed at him.

  “That’s uncharacteristically brave of you, darling. But you can leave. She can’t.”

  Bastian had gone very pale. “A witch hut? This is a witch hut?”

  A breathtaking smile swept over Cassandra’s face. “Now show me that self-sacrificing altruism of yours if you can!”

  I looked at Bastian. His face was white, his breathing too fast. “Bastian? What’s she talking about?” There was a glitter of triumph and malice in Cassandra’s eyes, but I didn’t know what it meant: nor what it meant that she hadn’t killed Bastian already. Mara wouldn’t stop her: Akiva couldn’t. What was I missing?

  “She doesn’t know what it is!” Cassandra’s eyes travelled scornfully over me as I struggled to rise to my feet. “Will you tell her, I wonder? I think you will.”

  “Bastian, what does she mean?” I was remembering the fiery pain that had taken hold of me when Bastian stepped through the stone doorway. I tried to make my voice angry but it came out small and scratched instead. “What is a witchhut?”

  “It’s nothing,” Bastian said, coldly dismissive. “Jus
t the old witch trying to play off her tricks.”

  “What are you playing at, wolf? Tell her and be done with it.”

  “Either kill me now or leave us alone,” Bastian said coolly. “I’ve had enough of your tricks.”

  She made an air-kiss teasingly at him. “Darling, you should know by now that I’ll never leave you alone. Besides, this is so much more amusing! You understand, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I understand,” Bastian said. He made a great show of sitting down leisurely and stretching his legs out comfortably before him. A quick flicker of his eyes bid me do the same, so I joined him on the dirt floor. Still Cassandra didn’t attack.

  “She’s not beautiful,” Cassandra said disdainfully. “She’s not beautiful or powerful, or very clever. Why don’t you just tell her?”

  Bastian, ignoring her, pulled me closer with one arm and began gently to wipe away the mingled blood and dirt from my face.

  “Smile at me,” he murmured. “Keep her off balance. No, not like that, little witch, you look like you’re in pain.”

  The typically Bastian remark brought a real smile to my face. Whatever game he was playing, it looked as though Cassandra was not going to attack. I had begun to wonder if perhaps she couldn’t attack.

  “Much better,” he approved softly, smiling down at me. “But I think we can do better again.”

  The hand that had been caressing the dirt away from my face dropped, and slid around me instead, pulling me closer.

  Oh! I thought, interestingly close to Bastian and discovering with faint surprise that I was enjoying myself. That was how he meant to unbalance Cassandra. Bastian, for reasons best known to himself, was trying to convince Cassandra that I had broken the curse in the only way she would understand. I tilted my face up at an inviting angle, and let him kiss me.

  “Stop that!” Cassandra said, through her teeth. “Bastian, I warn you!”

  To my satisfaction, Bastian ignored her. I was enjoying myself far too much in consideration of the fact that Bastian was only attempting to break the curse, while at the same time trying to convince Cassandra that it was already done. I looked at Cassandra through my eyelashes. She was flushed with anger, and as I watched, she took a furious step forward– a step that took her almost through the doorway.

  Almost, but not quite. Bastian stiffened, his eyelashes brushing my cheek as his eyes opened a slit, and in that moment Cassandra froze.

  I heard her laugh. “That was quite clever of you, darling!”

  Bastian let me go, and rested his forehead against mine for a brief moment. Under his breath, he said: “Sorry, little witch.”

  “I almost stepped in!” her voice rich with amusement. “You’ve made it so much more enjoyable, darling. Now, will you tell her, or shall I?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bastian said. His voice was very hard. “It seems to me that you’ve lost.”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I lose a little. You lose a lot.”

  “Get on with it, then,” I said impatiently. Bastian was sitting very still despite his casual tone, and his hands were cold. “Tell me what is so important.”

  “He’s pretending, you know,” said Cassandra, her eyes flicking to me for the first time. “He’s trying to make me think that he’s changed, but it won’t work. You’ll see, before the end.”

  “You’re boring me, Cassandra,” said Bastian coolly.

  “Do you want to know how much time is left?” she asked. There was less amusement in her eyes now.

  “Not particularly. Go away, Cassandra.”

  “You have four hours,” she said. “Time passes differently here; every jump steals away a little more time. Do you want to know how much time the last jump will take away?”

  Bastian ignored her, but she prattled away to herself in spite of his patent disinterest: “It will take off a full hour.”

  My first thought was that Cassandra had badly mistaken the situation: Bastian was still in the forest, and his change wouldn’t be the irreversible one he was always afraid of. My second, more cautious thought, was that Cassandra knew very well what she was about, and would have planned more carefully than that.

  So it was cautiously that I said: “We’re still in the forest. Even if Bastian turns, he’s safe.”

  “Stupid rabbit! I went to some trouble to find this piece of ground. It’s a piece of the village outskirts. No forest.”

  I stood with murder in my thoughts. “You’re cheating!”

  “I’m doing you a favour, rabbit,” said Cassandra coldly. “Watch and wait. If it’s a choice between you and him, he’ll leave you for dead.”

  “It’s nothing to do with choices,” I said fiercely. “You’re trying to cheat by locking us in here while time runs out for Bastian.”

  “You should be more worried about time running out for you,” said Cassandra. “The witchhut eats away at your magic: once the wolf leaves, it will begin. It only hurts witches, you see.”

  “I can live without my magic,” I said, with a suddenly dry throat. The coldness grew in me until there was a chill right through my bones. I put my chin up.

  “You can’t, you know,” she said. “It eats away at your magic until there’s no more left, and then it eats away at you. You’ll see who he chooses when it’s between you and him.”

  She gave us one last, enchanting smile; then, with a flick of blue-black hair, she turned on her heel and left us.

  “I’ll kill her,” I said. The icy coldness had taken over my body, and I found that I didn’t recognise my own voice. I didn’t turn to look at Bastian because I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to see him. I was ashamed to find that a tiny part of me expected him to leave, and I was afraid to face that horrible pain again as the witchhut ate the small amount of magic I possessed.

  “No you won’t,” Bastian said firmly, surprising me by slipping his arms around me from behind. He leaned his head into mine and kissed my hair lightly. “You will wait until we can get out safely, and then you will go home. I will deal with Cassandra.”

  “Neither of us can deal with Cassandra,” I said flatly. “That’s the problem. I won’t have you getting yourself killed.”

  Bastian chuckled into my hair. “You seem to have the most adorable idea that you can stop me, little witch.”

  “If you go after Cassandra she’ll only kill you,” I said stubbornly, turning around to scowl at him. Bastian made this more difficult by kissing my nose as I turned.

  “It won’t matter,” he said; and I understood then that he wouldn’t leave me. There was acceptance in his eyes: even a kind of lightness. “The forest has ways of dealing with the Cassandras of the world. She’s gone just a little too far this time.”

  “Bastian–”

  “No.”

  “You have to go.”

  Bastian kissed me on the nose again, and said with finality: “No.”

  “She means for you to be wolf forever!”

  “Or you to die,” he said. “What do you want from me, little witch? Cassandra expects me to save myself at your expense, but I’m not that man anymore. I won’t do it.”

  “I don’t want you to be trapped,” I said angrily, furious at Cassandra for cheating, furious at Bastian for sitting quietly and letting it happen. “I want you to be free again. You have to go now, while you still can!”

  “Little witch, I would have eaten you – I almost did eat you – and I would have done more harm by you. Don’t ask me again.”

  “I’m not asking,” I said, and shoved with all my strength. He should have gone through the door – I even remembered to inch my toe behind his heel to keep him off balance – but he caught the door frame with one quick hand and spun himself back. He was laughing.

  “Little witch, I’ll never know how I lived without you all these years! No, don’t try to throw me out again; I’ll only come back in. Sit down peaceably with me.”

  The fury vanished, and I found myself laughing. “You horrible man, you were m
eant to fall over!”

  “You constantly surprise me, my love; but that was not at all surprising,” Bastian said, his eyes alight with laugher. “Sit down and be comfortable.”

  It didn’t feel like an ending. We sat and talked and laughed, with Bastian’s arm around my waist and my legs curled up against him in the dirt, as if we were safe in the forest on any ordinary day. This is how is should always be, I thought, in a moment of quiet clarity; just Bastian and I, talking together.

  The change came quietly and almost unnoticeably, as if unaware of its own importance. I felt the hut leaching the magic away as Bastian exuded it, and wrapped my arms around him, drawing in a deep, Bastian-scented breath until I felt fur against my face instead of skin. There was a soft huff of breath as Bastian sighed once, and then his head lifted, pulling away gently from my arms.

  “Ah well, that’s that.”

  I sniffed, seeing him through a teary haze of gold, and said roughly: “I’m sorry, Bastian.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said quietly.

  I dashed a hand over my eyes but Bastian’s face remained blurry, and a cold tingle swept up my neck, because he was still glowing gold! I sat up straight with a caught breath, hope kindling, and looked more carefully. The golden aura usually surrounding him had formed into spirals and figures that looked distinctly like writing, airy yet immovable. Every clause and injunction of the curse was written there, curling around Bastian’s body; and every condition had been met and completed. The glow waned and waxed, brighter and then fainter by turns, but the brightness grew greater and the faintness less faint with each surge in luminosity.

  There was a hum in the air, low and grating, and Bastian said, startled: “Rose? What’s happening?”

  “Don’t know,” I said tersely. The hum was not coming from Bastian, and it took me some time to realise that it was the sound of the stones grinding together in the walls.

  There was a huge surge in Bastian’s aura that filled the air with warm golden brightness, and the hum rose to a roar, shaking the hut.