Page 42 of Untethering Dark

“My starter seeds came from town. The market there brings in produce and seeds from all over the world, not justDeutschland,” Astrid explained. “That, and a little magic, lets me grow more than I should be able to here, especially this time of year. There’s a greenhouse spell I use as I plant the seeds to keep the growing conditions optimal, but it takes a lot of concentration and energy. Neither fire or earth magic are my natural affinities. Just water. Or, more specifically, freezing water.”

“Very clever, Hexe. Did you always know you were meant for the winter?”

She nodded as she worked, plopping seeds into the trenches he made and covering them with little, loose mounds of dirt. “Even as a very small child. The cold never quite bothered me like the other children at Kinderkrippe. On outside days, my classmates who were old enough would run inside to warm up, teeth chattering. The babies just cried, and the teachers shivered, but I never did.”

“Before Perchta even? She must’ve sensed the calling in you.”

Astrid grinned. “Won’t lie and say the thought of being special doesn’t delight me, especially sincepeculiarwas the word others used. Whispered really, but I still heard.” The smile faded. “It hurt then.”

He lived his entire life in singularity, but it was steeped in longing, never hurt.

Words failing him, he reached past her to deepen a trench that didn’t really need redug, their shoulders brushing together. When Astrid leaned into that connecting point, it primed every one of his nerve endings with awareness.

Might she find his touch comforting? Far be it from him to deny her what she asked for without words.

When the task was done, he withdrew his hand, but remained near so that only a slight shift of bodies would bring them together.

“It doesn’t now,” she continued after a time, tucking back a flyaway strand of hair. “Hurt, I mean.”

He didn’t voice it, but he was glad Perchta found Astrid when she did. Before the wordsdifferentandpeculiarturned to poison.

“Was that what upset you last night at the pond?” He didn’t think her faraway look and clenched hands had been just for his sake.

“Noticed that, huh?” Her smile was wry. “A little for me, but it was mostly for a friend, a lover, named Demos. His kind were hunted down by the ancient Romans, and he’d have episodes. I helped him through some.”

“I’m sorry he suffers so. What helps?” Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he heard that wicked laugh and ancient tongue and saw the fiery red eyes that haunted him. If Astrid knew some sort of tincture or remedy that could free him of this, he’d take it without a second thought.

“Not being alone. Having someone to talk to. I don’t know what Demos does to be honest. I only met him a few years ago and ever since our relationship has been more of an ‘as needed’ arrangement. When we have met up, he doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t push.”

If she didn’t know of a treatment, did Perchta? Surely her Hexe Mutter would’ve said something to her if there was a way to ease her lover’s suffering. “He’s lucky to have you,” Gudariks replied, hiding his disappointment at her attachment. “And you him. The company must be...”

“He doesn’t really have me,” she said hurriedly, cheeks growing red. “I mean he does, he has, but not here.” She tapped the space above her heart. “It’s not even an open relationship. More like friends with...benefits.”

The poor witch was getting flustered.

“I take your meaning just fine.” He lightly bumped her shoulder with his, something he’d seen the humans do when they needed reassurance. “It’s quite an old concept, you know.”

“Yes, well.” She struggled to find words. “What were we talking about before?”

“Rude, small-minded humans and your call to winter.”

“Ah, right. At home, the one before Perchta.” She paused to swipe the back of her hand along her forehead, wincing at a memory. He couldn’t fathom why she preferred to talk about something painful over a sometimes lover, but her reasons were her own, and if this was what she wanted to focus on, she’d have his listening ear. “I don’t have many fond memories from that time, but I do remember playing outside in the cold longer than I was supposed to, dressing myself and sneaking out, sometimes in the middle of the night and wandering as far as the base of the mountain.”

Feisty, even as a young one. Waiting on no one to seize what she wanted, to seek the place where she belonged.

“I got yelled at a lot for that. It was always ‘get inside’ this, ‘you’ll catch your death’ that, and ‘quit running away.’ Not that I ever stopped, even though it meant the switch if they had to come out to drag me home. It’s amazing what we know to be true about ourselves, even when we’re young.”

“And what you’ll risk and fight for.”

“Never thought of it like that.” She dipped her chin, a small smile winning over. “I was stubbornly disobedient. That probably helped me on the resolve end of things.”

“I wish I remembered my youngest years better, but many of those memories are lost now.” Gudariks tapped his bony temple with a claw. “Too much up here to hold on to everything.”

Snatches of distant, bygone times blurred at the edges of his mind, more impressions in some cases than actual memory. If only they’d coalesce just a bit more.

But there were some things he knew to be true.

When he was born, bread had never been baked. The very flour Astrid used in her delicious treats hadn’t existed yet. Not until the first farmers tilled the land some 7,000 years ago. By that point he had already lived to be 5,000, or as best as he could estimate from the journals pilfered from hikers researching something they called “The Ice Age.”

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