Sleeping Beast Ch. 12

How did one go about catching a witch?

She finally knew the curse-caster's identity and what form the hag had assumed, but Troi was no closer to catching the witch than she'd been the week before. Ofsa and Ozu might leap in delight when Troi stepped from the castle doors, but Pilvi, in the white wolf's coat, was hardly likely to accept an invitation to dine at her nephews' table.

Her face tipped down, Troi let her eyes slide sideways, roaming the shadows for any sign that she'd been followed, finding none. She frowned, nonetheless, thinking what a disaster it would have been if she added this trip to her routine earlier in the month. She forced her face into a semblance of serenity, refusing to succumb to the worried grimace which so easily made its home there now. Ever since breaking the spell which had blinded her and Talgut to the white wolf's presence, she'd been haunted by thoughts of a similar nature. Both Bashkir and Kazakh had spent the first few days of their freedom confined in another manner. From within the warded walls of kitchen and tower, they'd peered at the fields and forests surrounding Zamok Denova, becoming accustomed to the sight of the ghost-like creature lurking there. Nivid provided a reason, standing with his back toward the window to imply a conversation was taking place. Argus had helped, too, but he was tiring more and more quickly, and standing for any length of time had become an issue for him. After three days, Troi was certain she could hide her new ability, but she wasn't as sure of Talgut, whose revulsion for the creature was even stronger than her own. Nivid accompanied him whenever he went outside, but Pilvi would find nothing remarkable in that, since they'd largely ceased penning the wolves.

Troi glanced over her shoulder.

The pair were outside now: she could just see them at the far end of the field, where they were beginning the momentous task of rebuilding one of the castle's many decaying outbuildings, a necessary task meant to draw the witch away from the clifftop.

At the upper edge of the meadow, she pivoted and made a show of bidding the wolves to wait there. Ofsa and Ozu sat motionless, patiently looking up while she scanned her surroundings through locks tumbling artfully loose of her braid. The wolves' demeanor reassured her, too: the first few times she'd come up here, their ears had twitched nervously as she faced them, and they'd whimpered when she spoke this way. Those were the days Troi had spied Pilvi watching her from the gloom beneath the trees.

She'd been ready for it, though: she'd altered some phrases in the singsong prayers she whispered in case the witch had a listening spell, she'd burned bundles of spruce and rosemary, and drawn symbols on the rocks with bits of the leftover charcoal, scattering a little salt to the winds for good measure. The symbols she'd drawn were meaningless, swirls based on Christian symbols she'd seen in a book, the burning spruce was merely bright, and sprinkling table salt was only effective if one was curing meat. Rosemary was helpful in driving away evil, of course– even the dullest housewife knew that spell– but her other substitutions rendered Troi's ritual virtually useless. Hopefully, the farce would help convince her audience that the beast's newest slave was no threat to Pilvi, her relations, or her revenge.

So far, the tactic seemed to be working: after the first three days, Pilvi had gone back to trailing Nivid and Argus. The wolves– and their ears– were calm and happy today, as well. Taking a deep breath, Troi turned to mount the great grey and white slabs, making her way toward the upper edge of the promontory, where she'd perform the first ritual she'd learned as a child. She'd use her real ingredients this time, still clothed in pungent cloaks of rosemary and spruce, of course. She'd whisper the true words of her prayer, too, though she'd still draw the useless symbols, in case the witch came snooping for them later.

Alongside the empty pool where she'd broken Argus' arm, Troi squatted to unwrap her bundle. Every day, she came here to perform the ritual, begging her gods for the living water she needed to break the curse on the Denova men. If Wo Aliha chose to send rain before Troi's battle with the witch, she'd be grateful for that, too, but many of her mother's words had come back to her as she made her preparations, and Troi had gradually grown more confident in her abilities. With or without the aid of living water, she believed she could vanquish the vengeful Tati Pilvi. Breaking a curse which had been ascendant for over two decades, however, was a far more demanding task than capturing a human woman, even one who was able to harness such powerful magic. To break the curse, Troi truly needed the rain to come.

When her supplies were arrayed in their proper order, Troi cleared her mind, readying herself for the ritual ahead. Of all the ceremonies and blessings a Bashkir woman learned, calling the rain was most important, because only a woman could do so. Wo Aliha and Yom-brr were female, and unlike other realms where female spirits reigned, no man was allowed to petition the gods of water or rain. Only when Yom-brr came together in passion with the wind god, Yil-ana, creating storms which battered the herds with snow or rain, only then were the holy men allowed to speak her name.

With one last glance around the sun-washed mountain-top, Troi stood, hoping once again that her spells would be enough.

– o –

At the other end of the field, Nivid worked to clear away the masonry of a collapsed wall while Talgut untangled the jumble of beams and planks that had once formed part of the roof and hayrick. Argus, perched on the battlements between the castle and old watch-tower, was carving new reeds to repair a broken heddle loom Troi had rescued from a dusty pile of furniture somewhere.

The white wolf lay at the wood's edge, watching over them. Although he and Argus weren't physically blind to her presence, as their friends had been, it was a struggle to remember the connection between wolf, witch, and Pilvi. Troi said that was probably part of how Pilvi protected the curse itself– like rendering the brothers incapable of suicide– and until the witch was out of the way, she refused to fiddle with the curse or the vexing veil it drew around them. Occasionally Nivid glanced at Talgut as they worked, ensuring the nomad's attention hadn't wandered in the wolf's direction.

He was also keeping an eye on Troi, of course. She hadn't been talking about it, but every morning she climbed the long slope to the clifftop with a basket of supplies, performing the same ritual, day after day. The only visible result was her expression growing ever more drawn over the past few weeks. Before they stepped from the warded kitchen door today, Argus had finally mentioned it to Talgut, who said he thought she was asking the gods to fill the pool: what the Russians called living water was important to other cultures, too. Without rain, the spring which produced the water would not flow, and Troi probably needed it, to catch the witch or break the curse or mayhap both. The comment stuck in Nivid's head, itching, and seeing Troi across the meadow increased the feeling. Something about it . . . he and Argus worked at the irritating riddle through a bond which hourly became less remarkable. Talgut said she was calling rain. Troi's rain god would fill the spring. Talgut said she probably needed living water. Nomads used it in their rituals, too. Troi needed the water for one of her rituals.

Ah . . . .

The brothers stilled as the clouds left behind by shock and satisfaction dissipated in a breeze of realization.

One of her rituals. There was more than one.

Nivid's flat, splayed, paw-like hands paused above the boulder he was about to heft, a cascade of events returning in a rush of emotion.

He had– they had– been so focused on the idea of capturing the witch that they'd all but forgotten Troi had two goals. After she dealt with Pilvi, she meant to break the curse. Argus let his hands fall to his lap, the carving forgotten as his mind skittered to a stupid halt—- how could they have ignored such a basic thing? Mayhap another side effect of the spell had prevented them from dwelling on the possibility? Gradually, their hands returned to the tasks before them, while their minds worked at the puzzles of individual and shared reactions.

Mayhap their minds remained elsewhere simply because the curse had been the central fact of their existence for so very long. When Troi spoke of rituals and demons and "breaking the curse," they equated "evil" with the effect it had on her life: she'd been captured by a beast with wolves at his heels. "Breaking the curse" meant stopping future abductions. Even when Troi insisted she would stay at Zamok Denova– which would surely negate that need– they hadn't questioned her intentions.

Argus turned his head to watch her work. She'd begun circling the pool with a bowl of smoking something-or-other. From here, he could neither hear nor see her lips moving, but he knew she was whispering a lilting trill of Bashkir prayers as she paced. Barely a minute after his mind began to wander, a sudden pain engulfed his foot. Argus' body jerked in response, and he cursed loudly, lifting his heel to rest on the edge of the stone ledge as he glared down at the ruined building. Nivid's cloven feet were immune to the pain of a rock pile collapsing, but Argus felt the impact of a boulder rolling onto his toes.

Nivid frowned without pausing to glance upward, while Argus forced himself to flex his toes and assess the damage. The flow of images and emotions between them rasped with irritation. If Argus had kept his mind on his work– and off Troi– Nivid might have been paying more attention. A few breaths went by while the anger fizzled and burned itself out– another occurrence which was becoming more common as the days passed and their bond grew stronger. Being angry at one half of one's self was complicated.

Nivid smirked at the rock pile, a smile which faded with his—or Argus'?– next thought: "Mayhap Troi was correct." This morning, he'd had been so stunned by the implications of opening their bond that he'd barely heard her explanations.

" 'Tis why I so often ask you to invite Argus when you hunt," she'd said, "and why I nag him to craft maps with you. Like two puddles on hard ground," she continued, "the more dirt we can chisel away from the space between them, the more easily they'll form a single pond when the rain comes down."

Nivid watched her warm brown eyes as they drifted onto the golden slices of new day creeping up the plastered walls behind him. Her next words were murmured quietly, and he didn't know if she'd meant to speak them aloud. "It will help me break the curse."

It made perfect sense, but Nivid hadn't been paying attention: he was dwelling on the hard realities of those nebulous wishes. Keeping the bond open meant sharing everything with Argus.

The end of Argus' nap confused the issue further.

While Troi told Nivid that he and Argus needed to fish and run and read accounts and sleep and eat without barring one another from life or mind, Argus reacted to the news with a rush of all-encompassing pleasure. Nivid had expected more lust and less joy, but he pushed the thought aside for later digestion while he dealt with his own response, which was surprisingly less violent than they would have imagined. He wouldn't have been as accepting a month ago, but it was as confusing to be jealous of oneself as it was to be angry at oneself.

They hardly noticed Troi's departure, though Nivid responded to her kiss, adding a squeeze around her shoulders as Argus' surge of emotion gave way to the titillating fantasies Nivid had expected: Troi kissing Argus, Troi riding Argus– every intimate act Argus had ever experienced turning to fodder as he substituted Troi for those other women in his memories. And Nivid's memories, too– pinning her against the tower wall, standing behind her as she lay draped across the guardroom bench, or leaning in to lick her pussy– Argus wanted to experience all those things first-hand, not as a dream or a distant memory, but as a sweating, panting participant.

Surprising both parts of his personality, Nivid, for the most part, had no objection. He even thought he was capable of ceding control of his body to Argus, letting his other half make all the decisions when they bedded Troi. But he wasn't at ease with every scenario, and the one which bothered him most was the prospect of Troi pinned beneath Argus' borrowed body.

Academically, there should be little difference between that and letting Argus control Nivid's body, they mused, but Nivid's animal nature disagreed: it wasn't safe to leave his woman in the hands of another man. He knew it wasn't sensible: not only would Nivid sense any nefarious intentions, Argus was weaker than he'd ever been. If anything happened, Nivid would easily be able to wrest both will and control away from his other half, leaving Argus helpless and freeing Troi from whatever threat he'd posed. He didn't believe Argus would ever harm Troi, in any case. But Nivid didn't try talking himself out of irrational objections: animal instinct would never allow them to put his woman in danger, and leaving her nude and vulnerable in another man's bed certainly met his definition of "danger."

– o –

So, Troi thought again, collecting her thoughts as she gathered her supplies, and starting back down the hill, how does one capture a witch? The same way she'd catch anything else, she supposed: build a trap and bait it with something the prey finds irresistible. And what would Pilvi, in her white-wolf guise, be unable to refuse?

Troi only knew of one thing which fit that description. Pilvi wanted revenge. She'd dedicated her life and sacrificed her soul in pursuit of one goal: ensuring that her sister's suffering would be passed on to every generation of descendents. Logically, then, Pilvi would loathe anything which threatened the continuation of the Denova curse or the Denova line.

Argus' impending death didn't seem to bother her, though, Troi mused, and surely she was aware of it by now? Anyone with eyes could see that he was very ill. Perhaps the witch had some plan to keep him alive . . . or mayhap the curse could go on without him? Could that be it? Frowning, Troi shook her head. That seemed all but impossible. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . Her feet slowed as her mind circled a promising target. Perhaps Pilvi wasn't aware of their intentions. Not Troi's plans for witch and rituals, which she'd kept painfully private, but the Denova's plans for their future. Perhaps Pilvi thought Argus meant to find another body. She might believe the curse's prohibition against suicide had taken away his freedom of choice in that regard, too. Hmm, Troi thought, that made much more sense!

And it suggested a whole list of other possibilities, too.

Her mind yanked suddenly to the present, Troi leapt to one side, chortling as she dodged a rolling ball of wolf fur. Freed from sentry duty, Ofsa and Ozu were back to being their normal, exuberant, canine selves.

She returned to studying the grasses beneath her feet as potential temptations for Pilvi gave way to grandiose–and unlikely–plans for capturing the vengeful witch.

Troi sighed.

With every passing day, Walpurgisnacht drew closer, and all the faintly remembered lessons of her past said the gods were more generous with their favors during the feast of Saint Walpurga. Talgut's response to Troi's queries had been unequivocal confirmation of those memories. Even Nivid and Argus, as children, had celebrated May Day eve— though their Finnish ancestors called it by another name. There was no more propitious day on which to summon her gods for their assistance in breaking the curse of the Denova's, and Troi needed all the luck— and all the help— she could possibly get.

She also needed at least a week to complete her preparations for the ritual— after she dealt with Pilvi. She sighed again, and it turned to a snort of laughter. She couldn't avoid the decision forever, and it would never become less scary.

Every secret she gave away was a weapon which might be used against her, and as much as she loved her new family, she couldn't be completely sure the men were unaffected by spells or charms– exactly as she and Talgut had been. And unlike Nivid, she wasn't entirely convinced that Argus was incapable of hiding his thoughts. If Nivid had the ability, why wouldn't Argus have it, too? Knowing these risks, Troi had concealed many of her preparations. Unfortunately, she could go no further without assistance, and she could no longer avoid the inevitable decision. Now she'd be forced to share her secrets.

It was time to speak with Nivid.

-

NOTE— Any delays days are due to my mom's health and/or me making the ten-hour round-trip to see her— plus trying to nap before working my full-time 3rd-shift job, and occasionally saying "Hi" to one of my three [supposedly adult] sons . . . which is usually followed by something like "What the HELL???" I shoulda never taught the little buggers to read. Some day I'm going to go home and there'll be a big smoking hole where my house used to be, and three far-away forwarding addresses tacked to a tree. On the other hand, we get rainbow-colored smoke bombs, PC builds, hand-wrought iron hardware, and a much more original version of Prada's $400 robot-keychain. Fair trade. So . . . . . . . . . . . . sometimes life gets in the way, but I swear NEVER to leave you hanging. Thank you for the hearts, stars, and comments, without which I'd probably be curled up in a corner, hiding from the chaos of my life –Stefanie