The Black Forest hadn’t gained its reputation just from the thickness of the vegetation. While the dense foliage caused deep shadows, it was also full of poisonous plants and animals much larger than you’d expect them to be. The Leshy, the trickster Guardian of the Forest, gave sanctuary to many creatures and spirits rejected by the rapidly expanding world and ensured no members of the civilised races encroached on his domain. However, one person strolled, unconcerned, through the hostile undergrowth, enjoying the sun’s rays filtered by dark green leaves. Ina reached up and played with the warm sunlight. Shadows created a pattern on her skin, and adding a bit of magic, she formed the shape of a viper’s head rising from her forearm. One of the tree branches reached for her, dark wood stretching out, trying to tangle in her copper hair.
“Oh behave,” she said, swatting it with a laugh, and the giant oak trembled when Chaos-fed flames consumed the illusory snake. Her carefree manner and random display of magic were out of place here, and Ina often wondered what people saw when they looked at her and whether she even cared anymore.
Exile was difficult for a single woman, but life is life, and one had to eat. For now, she wandered through the forest, picking herbs and some very special mushrooms. The potions she created out of necessity, and for fun, always contained a bit of light entertainment on the side. The wildwood was full of life. A veritable cornucopia for someone who knew what to look for and could find a path in the almost impenetrable foliage. After ten years, she knew every stone here. She peered down into her brimming basket and nodded with appreciation. It hadn’t taken her long to gather all she needed today. Nice and easy, just like I like it, she thought, heading back to her hut.
With her mind preoccupied with plans for the evening, Ina strolled back to her cottage. The latest batch of cherry liqueur should be ready by now, and she was curious about how her new recipe had come out. Oblivious to the voices that grew louder as she approached the path to her home, Ina came to the clearing, and the view in front of her just took her breath away, but not for long, though.
“What the hell are you doing in my garden?” Ina shouted at the top of her lungs, seeing far too many peasants having what looked like an afternoon party in front of her house. She was a Fury incarnate. The witch was not a hospitable person and, after all these years, the villagers should know this. Her temperamental magic flared up, goaded by her anger, and raw Chaos pooled around her. Golden eyes looked at her from the rim of the roof in silent accusation. See, see what happens when they are not afraid of you? Her cat’s disdain was palpable.
As Ina looked around, committing each face to memory, she spied a bottle in one of the villagers’ hands. Her cherry liqueur—those thieving bastards had found her cooling barrel in the yard. They took her evening reward, and some village idiot was gulping it like moonshine in the tavern.
The sudden change in the air, caused by red mist, swiftly made the common folk very aware of how furious she was. The wisps of primal power sprang forth and firmly attached themselves to the peasants’ guts with a rolling curse.
“May you not shit for a week! And when you finally can, you will not make it to the crapper before your arse explodes, you fucking drunkards!”
It was not a very sophisticated spell, but the witch didn’t care about finesse. Her visceral curse caused the gathered crowd to run like headless chickens, fleeing her yard as fast as possible. Ina smiled benignly and looked at the cat as if to say. “See? I can speak their language.”
Deep inside, Ina could feel her curse had anchored itself well. The locals will undoubtedly remember that, while she may not look like it, Ina was still an alumna of the University of Higher Magical Arts. Of course, the “shit you not” curse was not something to brag about to any of her professors. If I ever got released from this forest, of course, she thought, feeling a bitter taste in her mouth, then scorned herself. You will find the way out. After all, you are the incorrigible Ina. The last words cheered her up, and she chuckled slightly, looking around, only a little surprised that there was still one, or possibly two, people in front of her hut.
Abandoned by his kin and trembling like a leaf, a now abashed headman stood next to a big bundle on the floor that resembled a human shape. She moved closer, observing the heap cluttering up her yard. Ina confirmed it was indeed a human. Massive and almost appetisingly naked, if not for the fact that he was covered in blood and his pale face meant he was knocking on Nawia’s doors. The afterlife probably looked pretty damn attractive in his present state.
“So, what is going on here?” she asked. The sweet saccharine of her voice, an attempt to be pleasant and soothing, seemed to cause the headman to go through a speed version of the curse, as he now looked ready to soil his pants.
“Lady, we found him…in the forest, there was blood and others, people that is, but they were dead. This one still breathes, and his armour had gold in it, so we thought…we thought…” the man stuttered.
He looked like his legs would buckle under him, but worse, she didn’t like the way this all was heading. The man on the floor looked like a warrior, not a bandit, and he had golden armour? That meant nothing but trouble.
“Headman, where might his armour be?” Ina asked as it suddenly dawned on her that the man at her feet was wearing nothing but bloody breeches.
“We…ehhh…we took it off so he can breathe easier.” The headman was getting redder and redder, and Ina thought he would pop a blood vessel in a moment.
“And I’m assuming each of you helpers took a piece for safekeeping, leaving this half-dead body with me. And what do you expect me to do? I’m not a necromancer.” Anger raised its head again. These good people complicated her life, and she genuinely hated complications.
“Drag him in,” she said, barking a sharp command, and the headman looked at her with a baffled expression.
“But, lady, it took four men to bring him here…”
“Gods give me strength not to strangle this one,” Ina said, clenching her fists before casting the feather. The elemental incantation decreased the man’s weight to a small fraction of what it should be, but Ina barely noticed. Simple household spells had become her routine and something that allowed her to survive in this godsforsaken place.
“Pick him up now and put him on my bed,” she said and opened the doors, leaving the headman, almost as pale as her unexpected guest, to carry the body inside.
As she turned for a moment to put the basket in the kitchen, the frightened villager threw the man on her bed and ran away. Ina looked at her cat, who had decided to strut in.
“Now I have no bed, blood everywhere, and a non-paying job to do, and it is all your fault for letting them in.”
Boruta, named after a forest demon, only looked at her, turned around, showed how interested he was in her complaints, and wandered off to sit on the still-warm stove. Left with the body, presumably a dead one by now, Ina approached the bed. Her healing spells were limited but even only quickly examining him, she wondered where she would dig the grave and whether she should spike him with aspen wood now or later. Her musings were rudely disturbed when the pale warrior made a soft, barely audible moan.
“Aren’t you a tough cookie?” Ina smirked, but something in the way he was clinging to a life that he should have lost hours ago made her want to give him a chance. “Well, now, let’s see what we can do for you.”
She got herself ready and placed her hands on his forehead and chest. With her eyes closed, the lifelines of his energy sprang forth in her mind, illuminating the meridians. They were clear and pulsating as a diagram of the human body, with more than a few broken channels and dimmed places. The damage to his body was extensive. Someone didn’t want this man alive. Broken ribs, a laceration to the liver, shattered femur, battered flesh, and claw marks everywhere. Still, the most interesting was a single puncture wound to his side. It looked like he was stabbed with a dagger. “Complicated” just became worse, as this looked like attempted murder.
Ina opened her eyes and looked at him with a long, cleansing breath. He was certainly not a spring chicken anymore but still in his prime with only a handful of silver strands in ashen blond hair and a man of the sword, judging by tight rope like muscles.
I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed if he were livelier, the errant thought crossed her mind, evoking a brief chuckle. It seemed she hadn’t been with a man for far too long if she lusted over this half-dead body. Still, this would take a hell of a lot of energy to fix, so he had best be worth it.
Healing magic had never been her forte. The dedication and compassion it took to alleviate suffering were not in her nature, but leaving someone to die when she could prevent it wasn’t either. The fate or Gods had condemned him to die, but Ina always had an issue with authority, disliking those overbearing pricks. Judging by her current circumstances, the feeling was mutual. Except for maybe the Leshy, but the lord of the forest would advise her to feed her patient to the beasts. She almost heard him saying, they have to eat, too, and the man already looks like a half-open snack. Ina’s attempt to fight her nature failed, “Fate my arse,” she grumbled, intending to show all her defiance. Still, under the brass and anger, there was also a deeply hidden, tiny spark of hope that the golden-clad fool could be her passage home. If she dragged him back from Nawia’s doors, and that was a big if right now.
Ina profoundly hated this part, but it was the only ace up her sleeve. The ancient spell called “the sacrifice” worked by trading one’s life force to sustain another. It was dangerous and frowned upon, not to mention mostly forbidden outside of the family members. Ina rubbed her temples and went to the cupboard for one of her rare concoctions. She needed some reinforcement if she was going to live through this experience, as a spell, once started, couldn’t be stopped. Ina opened the door, sending a dubious look at the innocuous bottle covered in dust. Her graduation project would enhance a life force tenfold and speed up any healing. She’d never had the time to improve the formula, so the unfortunate aftertaste would make kissing a ghoul’s ass a preferable option.
Ina had concocted the potion when she was young, stupid, and determined to save the world, or at least impress her great-aunt Nerissa. Good times. Now, older and wiser, she didn’t look forward to drinking it. Bottoms up. I’ve drunk worse in The Drunken Wizard, she thought, opening the bottle.
Ina quickly downed the oily brown liquid, trying not to gag. It was a truly disgusting crime against her taste buds, and hopefully, it hadn’t expired after years on the shelf. She stripped to her underwear and then climbed on the blood-soaked bed. Boruta looked at her with disdain. Her cat was a judgemental arse, but indeed she was about to do something utterly stupid.
Ina shuddered as the sticky linen touched her skin and cast the forbidden spell. The potions and elixirs that could heal or speed recovery wouldn’t be strong enough. He needed her magic as well as her strength, and lots of it. Ina whispered a quick prayer to Leshy. There was no turning back, and she needed some help and courage to go through with this.
Cuddled up to the cold, lifeless slab of meat, Ina took his hand and closed her eyes. The heat caused by the elixir spread through her, causing an uncomfortable electrifying sensation but worse was about to come. She gasped when searing suffering almost blinded her and swayed her resolve when her body and mind opened to his pain and injuries. The sacrifice magic connected their meridians, exchanging a life for a life.
Oh fuck, it is worse than in the stories. I don’t even know this arsehole, she thought, howling in pain when the ancient spell flowed through her body, breaking her bones and tearing her flesh while it repaired his. Her potion kept her alive, forcing her body to heal when mindless, powerful magic transferred the injuries to achieve perfect balance. They said you would welcome death with gratitude if you went for the sacrifice spell, and Ina agreed.
I’m going to die here with him.
The panicking thought reverberated through her, and the Chaos in her sprang forth, warping the exchange. Raw magic interfered with the balance of the spell and reached for her soul. Tears clouded her vision, and the witch screamed without shame, fighting this self-imposed hell and trying to not lose herself in it. The sun had already set when, after several gruelling hours of painstaking repair of one injury after another, his femur snapped into place with one last effort and the bone started mending itself.
The bed beneath Ina was soaked with his blood and her sweat, all mixed, creating the pungent odour of a battlefield, but exhaustion took the will to care. Echoes of his pain and wisps of magic still coursed through her veins. His body was healed, and so was hers. All that the warrior needed now was some time to recover his energy. He, it seemed, had other ideas, as his life force still tried to pull more from her, more than she could give.
“Not so fast, hero,” Ina said quietly, cutting him off. “The rest you will have to fix yourself.” Yet despite severing the ties, she still could feel a strong connection between them.
Oblivion beckoned, its irresistible claws dragging her slowly into its depths, still holding tight to the warrior’s hand. A sudden spark of white energy in his centre caught her attention, akin to a fragment of the sun with swirling gold hues and flashes of light that felt somewhat alien to the human body. Ina had never seen such a thing before.
“Shiny…” she purred, trying to reach the alluring spark and being blinded by pure agony as soon as her soul brushed against it. Scales and fangs flashed in her mind. The feeling of plunging a hand into molten gold pierced through her, and fuck, but it hurt. Oh, the irony, lying in her knickers next to a handsome man, and all she could do was scream in pain, again, when whatever it was imprinted itself on her. That was her last thought before all went black.
***
Warm sunlight caressed Ina’s face and she stretched like a cat without opening her eyes. She didn’t want to wake up just yet, not when it was nice and warm and…fluffy?
Did Boruta jump on the bed when she was asleep? Her hand wandered to the source of the fluffiness against her cheek and started stroking it. It was different, coarser than cat fur, and much more enticing. Ina kept stroking it, trying to get closer to the source of the warmth, with her half-asleep brain musing over the riddle of majestic fur. Suddenly, the pleasant warmth was ripped away, and a deep, grumpy voice boomed straight to her face.
“Who the fuck are you? What am I doing here, and what the hell are you doing to my chest?”
She opened one eye, trying to adjust to the daylight. A sharp masculine face with a clenched jaw was right above her, looking quite hostile. The realisation dawned with memories of yesterday’s events.
Ah, my pain-in-the-ass guest is still here. She smiled at her thoughts, appreciating the masculine presence next to her. Unfortunately, the object of her amorous attention was pissed, confused, and demanding an explanation. It looked like the morning brew would have to wait.
***
You’d think the afterlife would be warmer, Mar thought, as a shiver ran over his body. Awareness crept in, and the lack of pain was the next thing he noticed after the cold. That surely meant he’d passed through the doors of Nawia. The softness underneath him was so welcoming that he must be in Wyraj, the resting place of worthy souls. That couldn’t possibly be, though. While not an evil man, far too many acts of violence haunted his dreams for that to happen.
A soft murmur, almost a purr, tickled his ear as a soft stroking hand moved across the expanse of his naked chest.
The pleasure he felt suddenly swept away the last vestiges of what must surely have been a spelt slumber. A homely, if slightly shabby room, came into focus, not to mention the nearly naked woman still happily stroking her hand over his chest.
Mar mumbled a curse when he leapt clumsily from the small bed, sheets the colour of old blood hampering his movements, as unsettling thoughts ran rampant through his mind. He shouted his confusion in the woman’s face with uncharacteristic harshness, snapping the questions out in anger.
***
Ina slowly raised her torso from the tussled linen. She yawned wide, indifferent and unfazed by the sudden outburst of her guest. Why couldn’t you just lie down and take it a little longer? she thought, trying to focus, still feeling drained after last night, especially after this ungrateful bore woke her from such a pleasant dream.
With nothing better to do, while waiting till he calmed down, Ina assessed his body. There was something incredibly appealing about the way he looked. Lean but well-built, the muscles of his chest and arms rippled with barely restrained violence. He sported a short, slightly ragged beard paired with slightly too long, ashen blond hair. Her gaze slid over his chest. She noticed new and old scars beneath the soft fur covering his torso. Her gaze slid lower with a lazy smile, shamelessly trailing along the hairline adorning his abdomen, stopping at the top of his breeches and her lips parted. Time to negotiate my release, she thought, shifting on the bed.
“I’m Ina, and you are coming back to bed,” she stated the fact with an alluring purr, patting the tangled linen. “You still need to recover, and I will not drag you back from Nawia twice.”
Unfortunately, years of being surrounded by peasants with their trembling fearful voices not only made her feel lonely but must have stripped her of her charm.
The man stared at her in disbelief, and she saw clear judgement in his eyes. She could almost see him thinking. Here he was, a stranger alone in the house with a barely dressed woman. Not only did she not show any signs of fear or embarrassment, but she also openly invited him to her bed. What wasn’t to judge? His widened pupils told her it was not without its appeal. Still, most likely, the last thing the warrior remembered was a battle, agonising pain in his side, sharp claws ripping his body, and his desperate attempt to buy more time for his companions to escape. He had reason to be confused, and Ina was almost sorry for him, but her compassion cut off when he spoke.
“I am Marcach of Liath, captain of the King’s Guards, and I demand answers. I have no time to spend with the local whore.”
Her mouth gaped open at the sheer audacity of this statement, and tension of raw magic filled the air. One look at her face and his tightened lips made it clear he knew he’d made a terrible mistake, but before Mar could speak, Ina raised herself on the bed and shouted, “Oh, go fuck yourself, you ungrateful bore!”
A sudden burst of power came out of nowhere and hit the man in the chest like a horse’s kick. The next thing, he was flung backwards, breaking through the door.
“Not a village whore, then.” She heard Mar groan out, slowly struggling to his feet and heading back to the hut. The warrior stopped on the threshold and looked back. He appeared unsure whether he should bring the door as a gesture of goodwill, but with a shrug, he left it in the yard.
Ina was livid as she watched him come back. A small voice in her head tried to reason that maybe she had been a little too inviting, but how dare he offend her in her own home? Now she would have to fix the door on the top of all this mess. What was more unsettling was that this stranger so easily coaxed her anger and the magic that comes with it, as if she hadn’t spent years trying to suppress her Chaos abilities. Ina watched him, hesitating on the threshold. Good, she thought, at least now you know what you are dealing with, oh mighty Marcach. Her smirk must have encouraged him because he stepped in.
Mar’s posture projected the aura of annoyance likely at her attitude, at himself for sticking his sizable foot in his mouth, and at whoever put him in this situation, not that she cared, but she saw the desire for information that seemed to override whatever hesitancy he had. She smirked when, with a deepening scowl, he moved purposely over the threshold, scanning the surroundings.
Ina finally got out of bed, picked up her trousers and shirt, and deliberately put them on slowly, observing Mar looking around her hut. He appeared somehow bewildered and out of place. Even standing in breeches, the man felt just…so much larger than life. He looked like he would be at home in a barracks, not trying to avoid wooden beams in her tiny abode. Still, she wasn’t done with him yet—he’d annoyed her, and her ability to hold a grudge was legendary.
“What are you looking for now?” she jeered. “Your wits, common sense, self-preservation instinct?” She couldn’t help herself. This bloody man had hurt her pride, called her names, and his blind rejection was just too close to the memories she thought she had left behind. She saw again a long-forgotten elven face twisted in disdain for the moment.
Boruta felt the change in her mood, and he looked at Mar with his golden eyes before slowly strolling in his direction. Since the darkest days of her exile, this little devil had been with her, comforting and protecting her in his own cat ways. It wasn’t clear who owned who anymore, and seeing the stiff tail, the witch picked him up before he fulfilled his revenge, thinking that the last thing she needed was a cat bite to treat as well. After a few calming strokes, Ina put the cat on the windowsill and moved to fire up the stove. Men with full tummies were easier to reason with, and they needed to talk.
***
Mar’s anger reared up as one glance was all it took to see that not only were no answers to be found, but his lack of clothing and costly armour soured his already dark mood. A sneer curled upwards, and words roiled in his gut, silenced instantly as his decidedly voluptuous protagonist stood up from the cot and addressed him in such a taunting manner.
His shock at the coarse insult vied with amusement at her fiery attitude. He pictured her, not in a small hovel cot, begrimed with blood and sweat, but in silk sheets, dishevelled from passionate lovemaking, and not whatever caused this.
That last image compounded his already deep confusion. It had been many years since he’d had such intense and inappropriate thoughts of a woman. It is not the time or place he scorned himself. Here, now, he needed to know what was going on.
Carefully, almost respectfully, he tried again. “What happened here? The last thing I remember, I was clothed and fighting some creature with my men. How did I end up here, half-naked, in your bed?”
“So, that’s what happened,” she said.
Mar noticed she looked at him with something more than desire for the first time. This change, he understood. After all, it was her forest and her village. Whatever attacked him may still be a threat.
With an annoying shrug, she answered, “All I know is that our friendly village folks dropped you at my doorstep, half-dead and more than half-naked. Now, care to explain what you were fighting with?”
She turned her back to him, putting a pan on the stove and cracking a few eggs on the sizzling pan. It seemed like this sudden change in his attitude disturbed her, and she tried to gain a bit of distance. He also heard her muttering about finding him some clothes, as she would not be muddled by those hairy pecs again. His lips twitched at the last remark, and he instinctively looked down, as that was not a trait his women usually admired.
***
Thinking about what he’d said, Ina frowned. She knew all the local creatures, the Striga, the few ghouls, and the grave hag from an abandoned cemetery would not wander to the forest, not when the Leshy guarded his domain with his wooden fists. The village had an unofficial agreement with the forest guardian. They didn’t mess with the wildwood and the wildwood didn’t mess with them.
Except for a few accidents, there never have been any deliberate attacks. Maybe Ina should ask Leshy what happened. With all the thoughts racing through her head, it took more than one pitiful meow to bring her attention back to her surroundings. She stood there licking the spoon like a toddler. Her cheeks heated, as it wasn’t her day to make a good impression. Ina attempted to avoid the cat tangling between her legs when she pointed her blunt weapon at Mar and, using a professional tone, asked, “Tell me exactly why you are here and what you remember…please?”
