All That Stood Between
by Kaci Curtis
part 1
The creature that prowled the forest was growing impatient. Rose could feel its hunger sharpening as the cruel, brittle edge of winter closed in. The nights lengthened and the cold deepened like chilled fingers slowly tightening their grip.
Rose had been lucky these past few weeks, able to keep it at bay with various sigils and herbs. But the creature was becoming increasingly bold. She doubted that braids of dried lavender, rosemary and pricks of her blood would be a deterrent any longer. No, she would have to face the creature. And soon.
Things were growing more tense in the village. Children had begun to dare each other to hold their hands to her doorframe, counting aloud to see who could last the longest before bolting away to safety. A few shopkeepers had taken to hastily collecting their goods and claiming to be closed when she drew near. Sometimes, her greetings on the street went unanswered, though she knew they had been heard.
Everywhere, the whispers followed her. “Witch,” they hissed, slinking around corners and through window panes, even into the ears of those who had been kind to her at first.
Rose had learned long ago not to flinch at the word, which neither rightly described her, nor was wholly off the mark. She had been different since childhood, wielding her gift against the wickedness of the world instead of cowering from it. She’d been praised for it, at first, until it had become clear that being gifted came with its own set of brutal consequences.
As dusk deepened into night, she rose from her chair to stoke the fire, trying not to shiver beneath her shawl. The creature disliked light of any kind but could not be killed by it. She had tried wielding fire, but the same cold that strengthened the creature’s hunger also dulled the heat of her flames. She had tried bludgeoning it with wind, ensnaring its feet with sucking mud, and freezing it with blasts of ice.
Though it skulked back into the shadowed thickets of the forest after each encounter, huffing its displeasure, none of her tactics had seemed to harm it in any way. If anything, it seemed to grow more curious, more focused. She was running out of ideas and out of time.
Only a week ago, a young mother had stumbled out of the woods, shrieking that her baby had been taken by the creature. Most knew to give the forest a wide berth this time of year, but the woman had been careless, taking a shortcut to spare herself and the babe from a longer walk in the numbing cold.
Rose had been waved away from each search party she’d tried to join, so she’d gone looking for the infant herself. It was little use; the little boy had been as good as dead the moment his mother had passed beneath the bare branches of the trees. It was the great curse of motherhood, to love a child above all things.
For the creature was cunning, cruel, and unusual. Unlike others of its kind that Rose had dealt with in the past, this one did not hunger for blood or pain. No, those were things she understood, and knew how to face. This one was an enigma, feeding entirely on something it had never experienced first-hand, and which everyone possessed to some degree: love.
To come too close to the creature was to turn over the thing one loved most in the world. Those who had been unfortunate enough to encounter it had varying tales: one narcissistic young man came back unable to see himself in any reflective surface, not even a pool of calm water. An old woman who had lost her sight returned to the village with her vision restored, but her shaggy black dog, which had followed her everywhere, was never seen again. And though the young mother still wailed over the loss of her infant, Rose didn’t fail to notice that the brute of a husband the woman endured had suddenly and alarmingly fallen quite ill.
It seemed that the creature liked to make deals with his victims. Perhaps tonight, Rose would dare to make a deal of her own.
She had no family here in the village; her sister lived up in the mountains, practicing with others of their kind. Their parents had been killed years ago while saving a neighboring family from a ferocious fire. Rose had never married, preferring the company of strangers to that of a man who might one day ask her to give up her very essence, in favor of no longer being misunderstood.
Now, as Rose drew back the curtains to reveal a web of frost on her window, she was glad that there was no one she could lay claim to in this place. It meant that no one would be harmed if she managed to ensnare the creature long enough to demand what it wanted from her. It had been far too persistent, creeping ever closer to her cottage, for her to believe that it was mere coincidence.
No, the creature wanted something from her. Her magic, perhaps? If it was indeed the thing that Rose loved best in the world, the most vital part of herself?
A week of introspection had not yielded a clear answer, and Rose had no desire to see another child lost to the creature’s appetite. Best that she end this now, before she lost her nerve, before the winter solstice arrived, the longest and coldest night of the year. The creature would be at the pinnacle of its strength then, while Rose would be at her weakest.
She turned back to the fire, this time going to the iron pot that hung suspended, just out of reach of the flames. She had begun the elixir at dawn, and it was nearly finished. It was an old remedy infused with valerian root. If her work succeeded tonight, she would allow herself a celebratory drink and tumble into a well-deserved sleep. She certainly hadn’t been getting much of it, lately.
There was a sudden tap at her window, and Rose whirled towards the sound, crouching to draw a knife from her boot in one fluid motion.
“Little witch,” an old, frail voice wheezed, “I have need of you. May I come in?”
Rose straightened and tiptoed to the door, pressing one ear against the worn wood. The thud of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The knife in her grip felt far too small.
The creature had come; it had finally spoken. She had no doubt. No one from the village would dare come to her cottage at night; it was too close to the forest, standing as a veritable barrier between what lurked beneath the trees and the rest of the village, nearly a half a mile distant. If there had been some sort of emergency, they’d have sent the men of the village, wielding as many lanterns as they could bear.
When she peered through the crack along the door frame, not a flicker of light greeted her. There was another tap at the window, rattling the panes.
“Little witch,” the voice repeated, “I have need of you.”
And in her narrow field of vision, far from the window on the side of the cottage, two large, burgundy eyes appeared.
Rose flinched and drew back, hastily pointing her blade at the door. “Giving up on your charade already?” She demanded. “Of being feeble and old?”
The creature chuckled, a multifaceted sound like the slithering of a nest of snakes. “Forgive my indulgence. Some humans are easily snared.”
“I am not.”
“Oh yes, I know.” The voice seemed to curl around a smile. “That’s why I’ve come.”
Rose made herself move to the door, one step at a time. She’d prepared as best she could, and yet she still found herself casting her eyes around the room, noting the sigils she’d carved along the entry and beneath the rug, the wards over the fireplace, and the dried herbs hanging in their bundles from the beams along the ceiling.
The time for preparation had passed.
“Are you afraid, little witch?” the creature crooned.
Rose gripped the doorhandle. Turned it. “Yes,” she admitted, as she pulled the door open, “I am.”
A few tiny flurries of snow swirled in through the open door, and Rose braced herself. The knife handle grew slick in her palm.
“Come in,” she managed to say. The wards glowed a bit, as if in reproach; they could repel only the uninvited.
The creature’s delighted chuckled made her skin prickle. She clutched her shawl tighter with one hand, and kept the knife in the other. The click of talons on the stone floor made her stomach clench, but she stood firm, waiting until it was fully clear of the doorway before she pushed the door closed with an ominous thud, sealing them both in.
Rose made herself take a thorough look, cataloging details that had been invisible in the darkness. She took in the skin, rough and cracked like tree bark. The thin-lipped mouth, stretched too wide across hollow cheeks. The burgundy eyes that blazed like embers. And the massive, clawed feet, not so very different from those of an eagle.
It was naked, and very clearly male.
The creature leveled the full might of its gaze upon her. “See anything to your liking, Rose?”
She bared her teeth in a smile, swallowing back the unease that pierced her as it flaunted the knowledge of her name. “Not in the slightest.”
It turned slowly, casting its gaze around the simple cottage. It took in the frayed rugs before the hearth and the doorway, the chipped teacups stacked next to neatly labeled jars of dried herbs. Its attention lingered on the iron pot over the flames, nostrils flaring. Was it possible the creature was familiar with valerian root? If so, her already difficult task had just grown more dangerous. The firelight seemed not to bother it; perhaps it simply wasn’t bright enough.
“Shall I pour you a cup?” she asked, stepping around the creature as though it was an ordinary visitor with an ordinary purpose. She slipped the knife up her sleeve and selected a teacup. Then she poured some of the elixir into it, letting the steam waft towards her face. “It’s such a cold night, after all.”
The creature mockingly inclined its head before striding to claim one of the wooden chairs alongside the table by the window. “If you insist.” The bulk of its weight made the chair creak.
Rose tried to keep her fingers from shaking as she strode forward and placed the teacup before it, within inches of its knobby fingers. Some of its nails were cracked, broken and stained with soil. Others were wickedly long. It tapped one against the tabletop, giving her a knowing smile.
“You must pour one for yourself, of course.” Burgundy eyes flashed, as though it knew precisely what she was trying to do.
Dammit. Rose forced herself to pour another cup, though she sloshed a bit over the porcelain rim, droplets hissing against the hot stone of the hearth. She settled into the chair across the table from the creature, wrapping her hands around the cup as though to warm them.
Neither made a move to bring the cups to their lips.
“What do you want of me?” Rose asked at last, willing strength and unruffled calm into her voice. “I grow tired of your prying eyes.”
The creature grinned, its eyes roaming down her form. “I believe I want a great many things from you, little witch.”
She ignored the implication and raised her chin. “That’s hardly an honest answer.”
“It’s as honest as I am capable of being.”
“You think flattery will sway me? How disappointing.”
The creature tapped the tabletop again, drawing the nail downward in an undulating scratch. “I do far worse than flatter to get what I want.”
Rose thought of the missing child, almost certainly dead, and her skin flushed with fury. “So I’ve seen.”
It cocked its head at her, sniffing pointedly. “Aren’t you going to drink your tea?” it asked, the fracturing light in its eyes mocking her.
It knew, then. It knew she’d meant to cast it into a deep and relentless sleep with the valerian elixir. Rose glanced down at her cup, still swirling with strands of steam. One sip to try and lure him to do the same, and she’d be unconscious on the floor. Easy prey.
“It’s too hot, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” the creature replied. “Pity.” It picked up the cup and smoothly dumped the contents into a potted plant that rested on the windowsill.
Rose willed her face not to betray the very real fear that was beginning to plant roots beneath her ribcage. She flexed her wrist, pretending to stretch as she covertly wiggled the knife beneath her sleeve closer to her reach.
If the tea would not work, then she had to move on to the next option. This one would hurt a bit, but she’d endured much worse.
She strode to the door, the picture of patience wearing thin as she gripped the handle and heaved it open. She made sure to catch the frayed corner of the rug with the edge of the door, exposing a triangle of stone floor beneath.
“If you’re not going to be forthcoming,” she said haughtily, “then go. Stop wasting my time.”
The creature stood, lumbering a few precious steps closer. “Exhausted your tricks so soon?” it taunted. “Do you need time to come up with more?”
But it took another step. Creeping closer.
Copyright © 2021 by Kaci Curtis
