Sleeping Beast Ch. 11

Mayhap she'd been moved to do so by murky recollections of her clansmen using it in everyday spiritualism. She couldn't remember why red in particular, but many rituals and ceremonies required red thread. "Thank the gods for thrifty matriarchs and wool-eating moths," Troi thought as she tied one end around the bark and the other around the portrait of Pilvi, frame and all.

When the family was seated as she directed, each man with a hand on the shoulder of another, Nivid and Talgut both touching Troi, she bade them to begin. Over and over, the men whispered Pilvi's true name while Troi held the birch bundle over the candle's flame, whispering pleas to Isem, her own name soul.

The three men stared at the flame. Their eyes watered, but they continued to whisper the name of their nemesis while the bundle burned to nothingness. Careful not to extinguish the flame, Troi propped the last tiny piece in the hollow by the flame and held hands with Talgut and Nivid, joining in as they chanted Pilvi's true name.

When the birch was gone and the ritual ended, Troi sighed and leaned forward, saying a quick word of thanks to Isem as she pinched the flame out.

With that, the whispering stopped and the wiping began, the men dabbing and rubbing at their watery eyes with tunic sleeves, or in Nivid's case, a napkin snagged from a nearby basket. Muttering complaints instead of incantations, Argus ventured a question. "Is this because you asked for sight to be returned?"

After a blank pause, Troi smiled, amusement and affection blending in the look she bore, the worry for once completely wiped away.

"No," she answered gently. "It's the wormwood; the smoke burns your eyes terribly."

Argus turned away from her, but Troi caught the edges of an embarrassed flush washing over one pale cheekbone and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"There's no reason for you to know; asking was the right thing to do." She smiled as he glanced over his shoulder. "And your words momentarily took the weight from my heart."

He returned the smile, and Troi cleaned up what the ritual had left behind, wondering at the changes she'd noticed in both brothers, and wondering how many were still to come.

Leaving the thread-wrapped portrait behind, Troi carried her candle to the nearest window, blowing away the ashes which had accumulated in the crystal dish. As Yil-Ana, the wind god, whisked away the particles, the kitchen slipped sideways, and Troi staggered. Nesting images spun wildly in her vision-- the sunlit field in the casement window, the wood and iron casing framed by silvery stone walls, even the ceiling and floor-- everything whirled in crazy greying circles as Troi's sight faded.

Nivid was there before she hit the floor, in plenty of time to hear the thud of Talgut tipping backwards off his bench. He glanced up to see his brother's head resting on the table; Nivid had torn everything from Vesa as he rushed to catch Troi.

Cradling her carefully, he lowered himself to the bench alongside Talgut's calves, pushing part of his own will to Vesa as he returned what he'd stolen. Vesa-- who'd been conscious, but unable to move-- shifted slowly, gathering his strength. Like an echo, Talgut began to stir. Troi, too, began twitching a moment later.

In a few minutes, Troi was back to normal, though Talgut had a headache from where he'd knocked his head on the hard stone floor. He groaned, supporting himself with a palm against his cheek as Troi held a cool, soothing cloth to the bump.

"The skin isn't broken," she reassured him.

Talgut groaned again, and Troi swapped the cloth for a cool one from the basin behind her.

"So?" Nivid's gravelly query startled her out of her reverie, and Troi realized she'd been soaking Talgut's bump for at least five minutes. Her cloth was as warm as his head.

Discarding it, she examined the bump again. Satisfied with its appearance, she patted Talgut's tunic-clad shoulder. "I will brew you a cup of tea."

"So?" Nivid said again, his hand around her wrist as she tried to pass him.

She wasn't ready to talk about it, but she nodded shortly. Yes, the witch's spell was broken.

She was silent as she went about concocting an herbal tea to dull Talgut's pain and a poultice which would help control the swelling when she sent him off to lie down a few minutes from now.

But, yes, the spell was broken.

In the midst of teasing strands from her memory like threads from the red rug, she stopped to wonder if this was how Nivid and Argus felt. Suddenly, she had memories-- her own memories-- of things she hadn't seen, things she hadn't heard, when first they happened. It was disconcerting, to say the least, especially so when one considered that she'd also been gifted with the memory of herself watching those events without seeing them.

With her blinders torn away, for the first time Troitsa felt Pilvi as a living, breathing being. Whereas yesterday she knew "Pilvi" as the name of Nivid's aunt, and associated the name with the small face in the painting, today she could feel Pilvi as a person, imagine her as a woman burdened with motives and emotions. She could see the family stories they'd shared from a newly enlightened point of view.

Although astounded by the sheer number of memories she'd gained with the shattering of one small spell, Troi was no longer confused. Above hundreds of others, a few dozen moments stood out.

Pilvi, clad in the body of the wolf, making her way among the pack, most of the wolves stepping warily away, a few of the older bitches glaring, snarling, but frozen in place, unable to escape or attack the intruder. Whichever of the largest males she'd targeted that day, also furious, growling past sneering lips, but responding physically as Pilvi slithered past, covering him with her scent, then crouched to draw her tail aside, presenting herself. Later, the white wolf lying in the sun, panting happily, while the females chased after game to feed their family. Over and over, Troi watched the same behavior: Pilvi strolling unimpeded between proud, bitter members of the wolf pack, stealing meat from their mouths, mating with any male she chose, free to come and go as she pleased.

Very quickly, Troi understood the impact of the witch's presence on the pack. As surely as Argus and Nivid, the wolves of Zamok Denova were cursed.

-- o --

Hours later, the moon rose and the pack scattered, sifting silently through the sentinel trees of the taiga, noses twitching as they left the stink of the witch behind. Their tormentor stuck close to the castle, watching over the family of the beast, and the wolves fled gratefully from their hated captivity. Never truly free, night by endless night they were released to find food and shelter. All but two of the beasts ran alone. Ignoring the hierarchy of the pack, the paths of all the other wolves swerved and circled and converged occasionally on the sibling pair.

With precision born of their instinctual grace, the older wolves brushed against the leggy youngsters as they ran, causing their pale gold and grey fur to release subtle whiffs of the woman's scent. The reassuring aroma was mingled with that of her mate, the fierce beast who kept company with them, but it was the woman's scent they craved.

The large, powerful males came reluctantly, uncomfortable with their need, but the bitches of the pack felt an odd kinship with the weak human female. The same evil creature who dogged the steps of the beast stole the seed of their males, rendering the bitches as barren as the human, whose blood-scent reeked of illness and old injury. As mothers without pups, they found her power over them less galling than the males. She was gentle with their youngest pack-mates, and her voice was rife with love of her mate. Every whiff of the woman's scent sang out to them, telling the bitches they would soon be fertile and fat with new life.

Loping gracefully through spruce and birch, the older wolves returned again and again to brush against the younger, seeking a hint of her presence. It was the only thing which soothed the unanswered anguish lying beneath every loathsome, bidden action of the pack. It was she who would save them.

--o----O----o--

END NOTE- I finally caught up with my email, and I just want to say thank you again for your patience, guys. Not only that, but a couple of those emails seriously made my YEAR. I've never written fantasy before, but your feedback-- email, comments, and stars-- makes me think maybe the Bashkir girl and her Beast are worth all the blood, sweat, and printer ink I poured into writing their tale.