Short story titled The Gift for those who wish to read how it started [slightly edited]:
Spoiler
“Take it and run, Astrid…” her mistress told her. “Run.”
She did, but it was the hardest thing to do. As she sat there, watching her mistress shiver from the loss of life flowing from her in red streams, the last thing Astrid wanted to do was run. Her mistress’s lips were blue and the snow under her blonde hair was darkening. With no way to save her, Astrid took the wrapped bundle and ran, knowing it would be the last thing she’d do for her mistress.
The woman loved her like no other. She’d taken Astrid under her wing when she was just a tiny thing; raised her, fed her, taught her to hunt and care for herself in the open wilds. Far from the critical eye of people, they ran through the snow banks, splashed in the river and did whatever else they wanted whenever they wished to do it. It had been a happy time, for a long time.
Then he came.
He disrupted their solitude and peaceful life and filled her mistress’s head with silly talk and dreams. He played songs for them on a strange instrument and her mistress called him a bard. Astrid hated him and his songs. She hated the way he flirted with her mistress, hated how they spent nights together in the tent, and hated how he was slowly tearing her away from Astrid.
The fateful night came as a surprise for them all. Astrid was in the nearby woods, hunting for their dinner, when the agonizing screams of her mistress echoed through the trees. Astrid dropped the lifeless rabbit and sprinted back in haste. She found the woman lying in a pile of blood with no man in sight. He ran like the coward he was. It took all of her will not to tear after him. Her mistress needed her then.
Astrid tried everything she knew. She brought blankets and sprawled herself on top of her mistress to try and keep her warm. She looked into her eyes, offering hope, but they both knew it was the end.
“Do this…last thing for me…” her mistress whispered, so soft and weak Astrid strained to hear. “There is a house…Take this gift…Bring it…” She choked on the last words, but Astrid understood. “Take it and run, Astrid…Run.”
Astrid never stopped. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, tripping over rocks and slipping on the snowy hills, but she didn’t falter. Her grief pressed her forward. She mourned, not on the outside with tears and wailing, but on the inside where her heart seized and threatened to stop beating. What was the point of living?
The gift. The bundle she carried was her purpose. She needed to deliver it to the house, as per the last request of a woman she loved. Afterward she would find the man and make him pay for what he did.
With those thoughts drumming within her a new passion, she ran faster until her sights came upon the city of Arkene. The sounds of celebration were high in the air, but Astrid had no time for city folk traditions. She kept up her pace even as she maneuvered through the merchant stalls and theatrical stages, bumping into people. Several froze and stared, but no one made a move to stop her.
Let them stare, let them curse her; she had a gift to deliver.
The deeper into the city she went, the quieter it became. Soon there was no one on the streets except for her, all of the people too busy celebrating in the main square, or snuggled up warmly in their homes.
Astrid slowed her pace, her legs sore and her body worn. She eyed the houses as she passed, noting for the first time how familiar it looked. So that’s how she knew where to go. She’d been here before. A long time ago, yes, but she didn’t forget such things.
Carefully she picked her way along the icy road until she came to a small house tucked firmly in between two others. There was light coming from the windows, the flickering of a fire and candles. The chimney above bellowed smoke. The door was painted blue and a potted green fern nestled snuggly in the snow mounds beside it. This is a good place, Astrid decided. A good place indeed.
She lowered the bundle onto the front step. It moved and came partially open, a tiny white hand sticking out through the cloth cocoon. Astrid tugged the blanket off. Looking up at her with wonder only found in innocence was a newborn babe. Its little fists shook from the chilly night air, but it made no peep.
For a moment they locked eyes, and in those eyes Astrid could see a new beginning, a reason for living. He was a part of her beloved mistress. She couldn’t care for this special gift, but someday, when it was grown, she’d return. She’d tell him the tales of his mother, and how she bled and died to give him life. She’d tell him how such a person was too pure for this world.
Although Astrid didn’t speak those words, she believed the little one somehow understood. Bending her head, she nuzzled him gently and closed her eyes. In remembering his scent she would find him again.
A few minutes passed before Astrid gathered the courage to pull away. Other things needed her attention first. Forcing her gaze aside, she scratched at the blue door, then turned and fled.
~*~
A phantom sound jerked Linnea from her sleep. Pain shot through her neck and she groaned, rubbing the spot. Falling asleep in your chair again, she scolded herself. Not too smart.
She opened her eyes to peer into the dying embers of the hearth, and then leaned forward to toss another log onto the fire. If she listened carefully she could hear the distant sounds of the winter celebration. Inside, however, it was quiet. Too quiet. Ever since the death of her husband and child, she’d done no celebrating. It was all so hollow.
With a tired sigh, she settled in her chair and wondered if she should brave the stairs that night in order to sleep in the bed. Some nights it was relatively easy; others it became a challenge. She’d curse and wobble up the stairs, the pain in her leg almost too much to bear. But slumbering in the soft pillows was a lot better than the aches in her body from slouching where she sat.
Before she could decide, another sound broke her from her reverie; a soft tapping on the door. She looked that direction with a frown on her face. Hardly anyone came to visit her and certainly not on the last night of winter celebration.
“Who’s there?” she called. Only the crackling of the fire greeted her. Well, she may be a broken woman but she wasn’t a frightened, weak thing either. She grabbed her cane in one hand, her dagger in the other and limped to the door with determined purpose. Again she called out through the door, “Who’s there?” but when no one answered her, she opened it.
At first she saw nothing but the deserted streets. Fresh snow blanketed every stone and crevasse, disrupted only by the wagon wheels and footsteps from the earlier bustle. The sounds of merriment were louder than inside, but still didn’t reach the quiet which engulfed this part of the city.
Confused, Linnea considered returning to the security of her home.
Then the appearance of two glowing eyes caught her attention. Once her gaze adjusted to the darkness she could make out the outline of a dire wolf. It stood on the other side of the road as though it was about to embark into the alley but froze in mid-step. Startled, she held up her dagger in what she hoped was a threatening gesture to such a massive beast. It didn’t appear scared or interested in the least. It only stared, unmoving in the tranquil night.
Linnea relaxed her grip on the dagger. The furious beating of her heart from a moment before was slowing. She would have remained that way, in an eternal lock of eyes with this beautiful creature, had she not heard a baby cooing. Her eyes lowered and she gasped. On her doorstep was a tiny babe wrapped in a bloodied blanket. She put away the dagger, scooped up the infant and held it to her chest. “Where did you come from?” she asked.
Maybe she already knew the answer.
When she looked back up, the dire wolf was gone. A winter solstice gift, she thought. Thank you. Strange, how just the warmth of another human being against her after so many years was enough to send her heart soaring.
She smiled at the infant. “A babe without a mother, and a mother without a babe,” she whispered. “What a wonderful thing to bring us together.”
She did, but it was the hardest thing to do. As she sat there, watching her mistress shiver from the loss of life flowing from her in red streams, the last thing Astrid wanted to do was run. Her mistress’s lips were blue and the snow under her blonde hair was darkening. With no way to save her, Astrid took the wrapped bundle and ran, knowing it would be the last thing she’d do for her mistress.
The woman loved her like no other. She’d taken Astrid under her wing when she was just a tiny thing; raised her, fed her, taught her to hunt and care for herself in the open wilds. Far from the critical eye of people, they ran through the snow banks, splashed in the river and did whatever else they wanted whenever they wished to do it. It had been a happy time, for a long time.
Then he came.
He disrupted their solitude and peaceful life and filled her mistress’s head with silly talk and dreams. He played songs for them on a strange instrument and her mistress called him a bard. Astrid hated him and his songs. She hated the way he flirted with her mistress, hated how they spent nights together in the tent, and hated how he was slowly tearing her away from Astrid.
The fateful night came as a surprise for them all. Astrid was in the nearby woods, hunting for their dinner, when the agonizing screams of her mistress echoed through the trees. Astrid dropped the lifeless rabbit and sprinted back in haste. She found the woman lying in a pile of blood with no man in sight. He ran like the coward he was. It took all of her will not to tear after him. Her mistress needed her then.
Astrid tried everything she knew. She brought blankets and sprawled herself on top of her mistress to try and keep her warm. She looked into her eyes, offering hope, but they both knew it was the end.
“Do this…last thing for me…” her mistress whispered, so soft and weak Astrid strained to hear. “There is a house…Take this gift…Bring it…” She choked on the last words, but Astrid understood. “Take it and run, Astrid…Run.”
Astrid never stopped. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, tripping over rocks and slipping on the snowy hills, but she didn’t falter. Her grief pressed her forward. She mourned, not on the outside with tears and wailing, but on the inside where her heart seized and threatened to stop beating. What was the point of living?
The gift. The bundle she carried was her purpose. She needed to deliver it to the house, as per the last request of a woman she loved. Afterward she would find the man and make him pay for what he did.
With those thoughts drumming within her a new passion, she ran faster until her sights came upon the city of Arkene. The sounds of celebration were high in the air, but Astrid had no time for city folk traditions. She kept up her pace even as she maneuvered through the merchant stalls and theatrical stages, bumping into people. Several froze and stared, but no one made a move to stop her.
Let them stare, let them curse her; she had a gift to deliver.
The deeper into the city she went, the quieter it became. Soon there was no one on the streets except for her, all of the people too busy celebrating in the main square, or snuggled up warmly in their homes.
Astrid slowed her pace, her legs sore and her body worn. She eyed the houses as she passed, noting for the first time how familiar it looked. So that’s how she knew where to go. She’d been here before. A long time ago, yes, but she didn’t forget such things.
Carefully she picked her way along the icy road until she came to a small house tucked firmly in between two others. There was light coming from the windows, the flickering of a fire and candles. The chimney above bellowed smoke. The door was painted blue and a potted green fern nestled snuggly in the snow mounds beside it. This is a good place, Astrid decided. A good place indeed.
She lowered the bundle onto the front step. It moved and came partially open, a tiny white hand sticking out through the cloth cocoon. Astrid tugged the blanket off. Looking up at her with wonder only found in innocence was a newborn babe. Its little fists shook from the chilly night air, but it made no peep.
For a moment they locked eyes, and in those eyes Astrid could see a new beginning, a reason for living. He was a part of her beloved mistress. She couldn’t care for this special gift, but someday, when it was grown, she’d return. She’d tell him the tales of his mother, and how she bled and died to give him life. She’d tell him how such a person was too pure for this world.
Although Astrid didn’t speak those words, she believed the little one somehow understood. Bending her head, she nuzzled him gently and closed her eyes. In remembering his scent she would find him again.
A few minutes passed before Astrid gathered the courage to pull away. Other things needed her attention first. Forcing her gaze aside, she scratched at the blue door, then turned and fled.
~*~
A phantom sound jerked Linnea from her sleep. Pain shot through her neck and she groaned, rubbing the spot. Falling asleep in your chair again, she scolded herself. Not too smart.
She opened her eyes to peer into the dying embers of the hearth, and then leaned forward to toss another log onto the fire. If she listened carefully she could hear the distant sounds of the winter celebration. Inside, however, it was quiet. Too quiet. Ever since the death of her husband and child, she’d done no celebrating. It was all so hollow.
With a tired sigh, she settled in her chair and wondered if she should brave the stairs that night in order to sleep in the bed. Some nights it was relatively easy; others it became a challenge. She’d curse and wobble up the stairs, the pain in her leg almost too much to bear. But slumbering in the soft pillows was a lot better than the aches in her body from slouching where she sat.
Before she could decide, another sound broke her from her reverie; a soft tapping on the door. She looked that direction with a frown on her face. Hardly anyone came to visit her and certainly not on the last night of winter celebration.
“Who’s there?” she called. Only the crackling of the fire greeted her. Well, she may be a broken woman but she wasn’t a frightened, weak thing either. She grabbed her cane in one hand, her dagger in the other and limped to the door with determined purpose. Again she called out through the door, “Who’s there?” but when no one answered her, she opened it.
At first she saw nothing but the deserted streets. Fresh snow blanketed every stone and crevasse, disrupted only by the wagon wheels and footsteps from the earlier bustle. The sounds of merriment were louder than inside, but still didn’t reach the quiet which engulfed this part of the city.
Confused, Linnea considered returning to the security of her home.
Then the appearance of two glowing eyes caught her attention. Once her gaze adjusted to the darkness she could make out the outline of a dire wolf. It stood on the other side of the road as though it was about to embark into the alley but froze in mid-step. Startled, she held up her dagger in what she hoped was a threatening gesture to such a massive beast. It didn’t appear scared or interested in the least. It only stared, unmoving in the tranquil night.
Linnea relaxed her grip on the dagger. The furious beating of her heart from a moment before was slowing. She would have remained that way, in an eternal lock of eyes with this beautiful creature, had she not heard a baby cooing. Her eyes lowered and she gasped. On her doorstep was a tiny babe wrapped in a bloodied blanket. She put away the dagger, scooped up the infant and held it to her chest. “Where did you come from?” she asked.
Maybe she already knew the answer.
When she looked back up, the dire wolf was gone. A winter solstice gift, she thought. Thank you. Strange, how just the warmth of another human being against her after so many years was enough to send her heart soaring.
She smiled at the infant. “A babe without a mother, and a mother without a babe,” she whispered. “What a wonderful thing to bring us together.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One
My one obsession has been to find he who killed my Mistress. Time didn’t matter, nor did the calling of the moon or the scorch of the sun. I’ve run until my paws bled, until I grew tired and pained with hunger. Yet still I ran more, looking ahead to where he was.
His scent stayed close enough to taste, but always too far to catch. Sometimes he hid behind the human walls of their towns and I was forced to wait until he’d show himself again. But he eluded me. No matter how vigilant my watch, his presence passed me by and I would be on the run once more.
The search has been long and treacherous, but in those weary moments I felt her presence. Her face, her voice, they shone as brightly as if she stood beside me. Then it faded, reminding me of her death and the suffering she endured, and as if by an invisible pull I found myself taking one more step, and another, and another.
I couldn’t give up. I can’t give up. She waits for me.
Slayer of my Mistress, singer of the human word, I will hunt you wherever you might be until the earth claims my last breath.
~*~
The deer picked at the vegetation of the forest floor, oblivious to the doom that would soon follow. Astrid’s eyes never broke away from the mammal as she hunkered behind brush in preparation for the right moment. The taut muscles in her legs and the hunger pains in her belly urged her to move. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Two, three days?
A little more.
As if the deer understood, it turned towards Astrid and stood so close she could practically smell the blood pumping through its body. Now was the time.
Astrid lunged out of her hiding place with a snarl, startling the deer. But before it could turn and run, she clamped her jaws around its neck and sunk her teeth into the flesh. Its death throes ended quickly, and Astrid dropped it to the ground with a thud.
Thank you, young one, for giving your life for me.
The taste of rich meat and warm blood wrapped Astrid in a heavily embrace, and she attacked the corpse with a ravenous hunger she didn’t know she had.
Rustling in the brush pricked at her ears, and she forcibly stopped her gorging. Her hackles rose sharply. A fellow direwolf stood on the bank overlooking Astrid. A male from what she could tell. A few others soon joined him, and it was clear from the way their eyes focused on the deer they planned to steal her meal.
The male lowered and gave off a warning growl. Briefly Astrid considered returning it, but knew she’d only be inviting her death. She was a lone wolf; the beasts before her a pack. She didn’t have the strength or the willpower to fight them off.
She relinquished the deer reluctantly, backing away a few steps. The male was the first to leap to level ground before her, and with his wild-eyed gaze and bared teeth, Astrid fled the scene with her tail between her legs.
She wandered the forest, filled with shame and empty of food. During the years she spent seeking out the Bard, she considered joining a pack of her own species and even attempted it once. It hadn’t gone well. The other direwolves acted in such a bestial manner unfamiliar to her. They did things she couldn’t understand, and they couldn’t understand why she’d want to enact revenge (what was revenge anyway?) for the death of a human.
It’d been the first time Astrid realized how human she was. Abandoned as a pup, her Mistress took her in and taught her the two-legged ways. She knew nothing else. Not that it was human behavior she duplicated, but rather human emotion. Or, in times she was oft to wonder, if a part of her Mistress had somehow found itself inside her, encroaching on her being as if her spirit had not entirely disappeared.
It was a comforting thought, but that was all. Just a thought. No matter how much Astrid sought within herself to locate any part of her Mistress that might remain after death, she couldn’t find it. It became as elusive to her as the Bard did.
With night approaching, Astrid made her bed among a soft patch of grass. Insects hummed their evening songs and the breeze stirring her fur felt cool, the first touch of the coming winter. Her stomach roiled in protest of having lost its dinner and she promised she’d try her hand at fishing come the morning. Right then her body felt too sore, her heart too heavy.
At some point she drifted off, for the next thing she knew she opened her eyes to find the dark of midnight had arrived. She couldn’t place what woke her although she sensed a danger lurking nearby.
“Poor little direwolf.”
Astrid spun towards the direction of the voice, already on the defense with her teeth exposed to warn off her offender. The figure before her wasn’t man yet not a creature either. His legs bent like a goat and his toes came together like hooves, yet he stood upright with arms and hands, his fingers ending in curved claws. Fur hung off his body in stringy, green tendrils, smelling strongly of moss and old dirt. His eyes were strangely human-like, but his nose and mouth pushed outward from his face like a snout. Two enlarged horns grew from either side of his head, spiraling and twisting in odd angles so that it looked uncomfortable, almost painful to behold.
The air surrounding him left a wary feeling in Astrid’s gut. She sensed old magic; the kind hovering deep in the Silva Forest where ancient spirits haunted a being’s soul among ruins of a past no one remembered. Despite this knowledge, she refused to relent. She couldn’t die here. Not yet.
“Is that what you think?” he asked. “I’m here to kill you?”
Astrid tensed, startled to discover he knew what she thought. Remove yourself from my mind, trickster.
“I’m afraid not. I must be able to know what you think so we can communicate.”
I have no wish to speak with you.
“You might change your mind once you realize I can help you.”
That gave her pause. Her growling subsided, but she kept her attention locked on him. He seemed to not care either way and looked around in bored observation as though to find something else, something better to amuse himself with.
“I know all about you and your quest,” he continued. “I know of the grief that buries itself deep within you. And I know of your frustration at not being able to find the man you seek.”
Suddenly Astrid didn’t care who he was or how he knew. Did it matter anyway? He’d clearly walked the earth for many, many years, and his magic trapped the air around them in a thick fog. If anyone could help her he could.
And you can help me find him?
He turned his brown eyes onto her. “If you do something for me.”
She snorted and shook the loose grass and brambles from her coat. There was always something that needed doing and even old, magical creatures couldn’t escape its persistence.
“You are right on that, little direwolf,” he said with a tinge of amusement to his tone. “Come with me.”
His movements and steps were sluggish, but surprisingly silent despite his size. Astrid considered a moment and then followed. What more could she lose?
He stopped not far from where she made her bed and pointed with a gnarled claw towards a grassy hill. “Do you sense it?”
Lifting her nose to the air, she sniffed. Almost immediately she caught scent of a living being, a human from the whiff of oiled hide and clean skin. Also blood. Plenty of it.
He nodded as though he caught her thoughts and understood, then lowered his hand. “On the other side of the hill is a wounded human. She will not last the night, and unless someone helps her death will be slow and agonizing.”
How am I supposed to save her?
“Save her?” His eyes shone mischievous in the overwhelming darkness. “I want you to kill her.”
Astrid recoiled at the demand. Why? This human has done nothing to me.
“Because you can give her a quick, merciful death as opposed to the one Fate has given her.”
If you have so much sympathy for her, why not do it yourself?
His huge shoulders lumbered in a shrug. “I can’t interfere directly. Now indirectly, well, that is where you come in.”
There were too many questions to ask. The least of which was, Why? Why do you care what happens to her?
“Just as I have sensed your pain, I too can feel hers. I can feel her fear, the hope in her fading.” He stared at the hill as though he unwillingly invited every ounce of suffering into himself. “Do this, little direwolf, and I will help you in your quest.”
Astrid had never killed a human before. She never killed unless it was for food, or to save her from danger. Killing a living being as an act of mercy wasn’t something that made sense, but if it would bring her to her Mistress’s killer, couldn’t she do it? Couldn’t she help this woman and in turn help herself?
Before she’d fully come to her decision, she climbed the hill. Below curled the body of a female human. Where at first glimpse she appeared to be dead, her side lifted and fell in an unnatural rhythm as proof she continued to breathe. A basket laid several feet from her, loose herbs and plants strewn on the ground surrounding it.
Astrid padded closer and found the girl young for a human, though not a child. She wore a plain dress, the design common among the simple folk, Astrid knew. Even in the dark, she could make out the stains of blood on the girl’s clothing and the ground where she’d been laying for a while. Wounds were visible on the pale body; wounds that spoke of a hard fall.
The girl opened her eyes and peered up at Astrid through a tangled curtain of blonde hair, and the image was enough to cause Astrid to back up a step. The memory of another blonde haired girl drenched in red seared at her composure. Enough. This isn’t Mistress. No, her Mistress was already dead.
If the girl feared Astrid, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she knew why the direwolf was there. Perhaps she welcomed it. It was those comforting thoughts Astrid held onto before she finished the job Fate had started.
But she didn’t get the chance to. As soon as Astrid’s teeth pierced the girl’s skin, time froze. Shadows blanketed the world around her, cloaking her vision as well as her panic. The scene dizzied, and Astrid’s body fumbled about as though she thrashed to and fro like a wayward leaf in a windstorm. Out of control. She tried to yelp, to find her footing, to open her eyes even, but there was nothing. She was in nothingness.
Just as abruptly, it stopped. The cold earth pressed to her side and the grasses tickled her nose. Her eyes flickered open, the effort leaving behind a painful throbbing in her head. Although she appeared to still be in the field by the hill, the world was darker than she’d ever seen it. That wasn’t the only changes she noticed either. Her body shivered with a chill and she felt the loss of…things. Fur, a tail. Something was terribly wrong.
She sat up and looked down. Even though she’d somehow expected it, seeing her wolf’s body transformed into the girl's stole the breath from her. She almost fell but caught herself with sprawled hands. Human hands. With palms and fingers. She stared, unable to look away. How had this happened?
Him.
She snarled, her head snapping up. There he stood, a frightening silhouette against the moon’s light. At his feet was the body of a direwolf. Bloodied. Dead. Hers. She shook with the passionate rage and shock she hadn’t felt in years.
You tricked me! She spewed all her anger into her thoughts, hoping he felt it with the same intensity he felt it before.
“I didn’t trick you.” His calm voice only infuriated her more. “I did as we agreed. I’ve helped you.”
She lifted her hands to him. How? How has this helped me?
“Now you will be able to walk among humans. You will find the man you seek with them.”
She couldn’t understand. Or perhaps she didn’t want to understand. She sat heavily to the ground and dropped her hands to her lap, attempting to make sense of such a mess.
“Isn’t that all that matters to you?” he asked. “Finding him? What does it matter then what your body looks like, or who you are.” He cut his hand across the air as though to dismiss her. “I’ve done you a favor, little direwolf. Now go seek your revenge.”
But Astrid could only stare at the still body that had once been hers. In a way he was right. It shouldn’t matter to her. What connection had she ever felt to other direwolves anyway? What connection to humans? She roamed the world alone. Leaving her beastly body was simply shedding a skin and adorning a new one.
Except my Mistress was in that body. She was with me.
“No, little direwolf. She left this place a long time ago.”
When Astrid looked up, he was gone. The last of his words stretched over her like a strangling echo, refusing to be ignored. She curled into her body and closed her eyes. Mistress. Returning silence. Mistress, please. But no one answered her call.
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