Of Wolves and Wardens by Sylvia Mercedes

My shoulder hurts. Again.

Gods above, now my thigh hurts as well! Can’t I manage to keep myself whole for even one week?

I don’t want to open my eyes. Despite the pain in my shoulder and hip, I’m relatively comfortable. More comfortable than I remember being for a long time. Warm, but not too warm. Just kind of fuzzy.

Fuzzy . . .

I draw a sharp breath. Memories start creeping back, slowly at first. Then a little faster, a little fiercer. Memories of tearing into ox hide and hot blood spurting in my face. Memories of men with weapons surrounding me, harrying me. Memories of a monster, huge and grey and terrible, knocking me to the ground.

No, not a monster.

Dire.

“Oh!” The sound shudders through my lips. Now consciousness returns in full force. But I still won’t open my eyes. I just lie there, feeling the pain, both of my wounds and of those recent memories.

Dire. I fought with Dire.

I was supposed to kill him. Yet again. But it hadn’t worked. Somehow, miraculously . . . the compulsion had broken down.

My lips curve in a small smile. And I realize then that I’m able to smile. I have a mouth, a human-shaped mouth. Am I properly human again? Are those memories of monsterhood not memories at all, but rather some sort of dark dream?

“I know you’s awake, girlie,” a creaking old voice says. “Come on, no use pretending otherwise. Get those eyes of yours open.”

I know that voice. Shivering, I force one eyelid up and peer into a face like a withered apple grinning down at me with three white teeth. “Mother Ulla?” I groan.

“Here. Drink this.”

I find my head lifted, supported, and something pushed against my lips. I could fight, but I don’t really have the energy. Instead, I let myself be bullied into drinking a strong, bitter brew. I nearly choke on the first sip, but there is something undeniably soothing about it. So I take another sip, then another. Then I down the whole cupful in a few big gulps.

This task accomplished, I lie back on the pillow and gaze blearily up into that old face again. My vision is clearer now. Mother Ulla might be the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen, but just now, surrounded by the golden glow off her hearth, she seems like some sort of squat, funny-looking angel.

“That’s better,” the witch says and sets the cup down somewhere out of my range of sight. Then she hitches up her skirts and settles herself down on the edge of my bed, her wide bottom nearly flattening my hand under the blankets. “You should be all right soon enough now. Those crossbow bolts didn’t do much damage, just made you bleed a bunch. But I gots that taken care of, and for the most part, you’ll just be a bit stiff the next few days.”

I frown. Then, moving gingerly, I wriggle, squirm, and manage to sit upright in the bed and lean heavily against the headboard. I turn my head slightly, letting my gaze rove around the cottage, which ripples with glamours. Nowhere near as strong or overwhelming as those at Granny’s house, these glamours simply make Mother Ulla’s cottage a little snugger and cozier than it probably is in reality. The mattress under me is no doubt stuffed with straw, but it feels like I’m lying on downy feathers. The walls are probably just old boards, but they look whitewashed and cheerful in the firelight.

Dawn glow flows through the easternmost window. Dawn . . . now why does that matter to me so much? I look down at my hands. Real, human hands. Not claw tipped or covered in fur.

Mother Ulla grunts. “Sorry, girl,” she says, patting my knee in an almost but not quite maternal gesture. “You’s still cursed, I’m afraid. I can’t break another witch’s curses, you know. Dawn is giving you a little grace, it seems, but you’ll be sprouting fur again in another hour or so.” She gives me a once-over, and there’s an unsettling gleam of admiration in her gaze. “I gots to say, I knew your grandmother was gifted with a bigger helping of talent than most folks ever see. But I ain’t never seen magic quite like this! Black magic, to be sure . . . but impressive stuff.”

“She steals it,” I say.

Mother Ulla blinks and tilts her head to one side. “Come again?”

“Her magic. She steals it. She takes it from the apprentices sent her way and turns them into monsters while she’s at it.”

The old witch stares at me, her eyes dangerously bright. “I see,” she says at last. “I think . . . yes, I think I see.” Shaking her head, she grunts, then continues, “And that friend of yours? The big handsome wolf fellow? Did she take magic from him too?”

“I don’t think so. He never had magic, really. She did that to him as part of a bargain.”

“Pshaw! Granny and her bargains!” Mother Ulla spits on the floor and makes a sign with one hand, as though warding off impending evil. “She did quite a number on that poor boy, I can tell you that.”

I nod. “She hates him. Because . . . because I think she loves him.”

“Granny Dorrel never did quite know how to separate them two feelings. She was the same with her own daughter, your mother. Loved her to the point of hatred. But then, you knows that well enough, don’t you?”

I close my eyes, bow my head. It hurts to think of the mother I never met. I try not to most of the time. Try not to think of what her life must have been, raised by someone like Granny.

“Well,” Mother Ulla continues, crossing her arms across her ample stomach, “you’s out of her wardship now. Out of her reach.”

At this, I raise my head. “How did that happen? I thought I couldn’t leave Granny’s wardship while under her spell.”

“Well, that would be true under normal circumstances. Granny’s compulsions are powerful. But they’re Black Magic, just as I suspected all along. And Black Magic shouldn’t ever be used on one’s own blood. Granny’s an arrogant old biddy to think she can get away with it. And, to give her credit, she very nearly did!

“But when she used another Black Magic spell on her own kin, that was one bad spell too many. The curse was good and solid to start with, but it’s fraying around the edges already. Plenty of leeway to work with, including leeway to get you through her borders.”

I look down at my hands resting in my lap. What Mother Ulla says makes sense, of course. How else could I have defied Granny’s command to wreak carnage on the folk at Gilhorn? Though I had set out on her orders readily enough, when the critical moment came, it had been almost too easy to resist.

“It’s the blood connection,” Mother Ulla continues, breaking into my thoughts. “It makes the curse more chaotic, less controlled. Not even a witch like your Granny can handle it now.”

“Does that mean I can break it?” I ask, lifting a hopeful gaze.

“Well . . .” Mother Ulla shrugs her shoulders up to her ears. “Undoing a transformation ain’t so easy as all that. Her control over you might be broken, but the rest of the curse is solid, blood ties notwithstanding. I’m afraid you’ll stay as you are until your Granny dies. If she ever does.”

My heart sinks. But it’s not like I’m surprised. “And what about Dire?”

“What about him?”

“Is he also cursed until Granny’s death?”

The old witch heaves a sigh and grimaces, showing a lot of red gums. “I’m afraid his curse is much worse than that. Granny mixed his spell with something extra malicious. She used heartsblood.”

I shake my head, frowning. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering, Mother Ulla slides from the bed and bustles about, making another cup of strong herbal tea. She brings it back to the bed and makes me take several sips before I can persuade her to talk again. “What is heartsblood?” I persist, setting the half-finished cup down in its saucer.

Her face is grim, unsettling. She settles back on the edge of the bed and once more folds her arms. “I’m afraid your Granny’s death won’t be enough to liberate Dire. Not like it would the other werebeasts in her thrall. He can only be liberated when his heartsblood mingles with hers.”

“But what does that mean?”

“Oh, it can mean several things, of course. Most curses have a little wiggle room in their breaking. But what your Granny had in mind . . . well, I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.”

I stare down at the cup in my lap, run my finger around the rim. I think I know what Mother Ulla is implying. Granny wanted Dire. She desired him. I know that better than I care to after the events of yesterday’s dawn! And mingled heartsblood? That could mean . . . a child, perhaps. A way for their blood to mingle as one. It made sense in a sick, twisted sort of way. Granny felt as though she lost her only child, my mother, when she ran away to marry my father. Did Granny want another child to replace the one she’d lost?

If she had set her heart on Dire being the father, well . . .

I close my eyes. I don’t want to think of it, but memories of that seductive encounter flood back into my brain. I acted in ways I’d never thought I could, inexperienced as I was in such matters. And all the while, Granny drove me. So eager. So vile. Taking what should have been mine, what should have been precious and sweet, and turning it into something sordid.

I shudder, the tea in my stomach churning uncomfortably. How had everything gotten so complicated, so . . . disgusting?

“Careful there. You’s going to break my teacup, and I only gots three left.” Mother Ulla takes the cup and saucer from my hands where I’d been unconsciously twisting them around. She waddles across the room and carelessly dumps them both in a pile of other dirty dishes. Then she turns and faces me again, her eyes narrow and cunning.

“You know, the wolf boy wants you to run away. While you still can.”

“Run away? Like this?” I hold up my hands, which are just beginning to show traces of returning fur. “Where could I go?”

Mother Ulla shrugs dismissively. “There’s plenty of places you could hide in the Wood. If you run deep enough and stay away from Granny’s wardship, you should do all right. You was always more of a wild thing anyway.”

I smile grimly at that. After all, wasn’t that always my childhood dream? To run off and live in Whispering Wood, throwing myself into adventure after adventure? Granted, I’d never imagined being turned into a monster like this, but a monster has certain advantages. Even the fae would hesitate to cross me in this awful new shape.

But how can I bear to run now? Knowing what I know, knowing what my grandmother will continue doing after I’ve gone? There might not be any real hope for Dire, but maybe . . . just maybe . . . I could stop Granny myself.

“You say I have leeway. Within the restrictions of this bargain with Granny. How much leeway do you mean?”

Mother Ulla looks thoughtful. “There was always a goodly amount. Now she’s gone and cursed you, I should think you could break her control over you pretty easily if you tried. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d already done it.”

“Really?” I’m not convinced. After all, Granny’s hold had seemed absolute when the transformation first came over me. But how much of that was simply the curse itself overwhelming every part of me? It may have felt like control, while in reality it was much more chaotic.

I look at my hands again, studying the way the golden fur lies as it slowly emerges. My nails are lengthening as well and will soon harden into claws. What a ferocious thing I’ve become! Ferocious and monstrous.

Monstrous enough to kill my own grandmother?

“If you’s thinking of facing off with your Granny,” Mother Ulla says, drawing my attention back to her, “I’d recommend you gets to it sooner rather than later. Best not to put off unpleasant tasks, I always say.”

My brow wrinkles. “Do you think . . . is there a chance I could do it? A chance I could stop her once and for all?”

“There’s always a chance. But . . .” Mother Ulla shrugs again. “It’s hard to kill one’s own kinfolk. Even when they’re as bad to the core as that grandmother of yours. She’s still your kin.”

I nod, dropping my gaze. I don’t like to think about it, not the actual reality of causing Granny’s death. But when I consider the horrors she’s perpetrated . . . when I think about that Hall of Heads displayed so proudly in her own home . . . how can I retreat from this moment?

Slowly I move my shoulder, then my hip, testing the places where the crossbow bolts had pierced. To my surprise, I feel little more than a twinge. I’m still sore from the older knife wound, but these newer injuries are much further along in their recovery. I shoot Mother Ulla another sharp look.

The ward witch smiles, showing all three teeth. “I knows a thing or two about healing magic. And something told me you was going to be up and at ’em sooner rather than later.”

Mother Ulla gives me a set of loose garments to wear that should survive my inevitable transition from human to cat to human again. They’re not exactly comfortable, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.

My body is already mostly covered in fur by the time I step out the cottage door and face the forest. When I tentatively explore my face with my fingertips, I find it altered as well, my features beginning to warp, a muzzle slowly becoming more pronounced. But at least this change is not so abrupt as the excruciating first transformation when Granny flung her curse at me.

I turn to the old witch standing in the doorway behind me, watching me with that stoic indifference I’ve always found so infuriating. I wonder if I should thank her for her help. The idea galls. How many years have I hated this woman for her callous refusal to help me rescue Valera? That feeling hasn’t fully faded.

But she took me in last night, risking Granny Dorrel’s wrath. She healed me, sheltered me. Maybe she cares more than she lets on. More than she needs to, even.

“Thank you,” I manage, my voice a little hoarse. The words feel lame, insufficient, but I don’t have any more.

Mother Ulla holds my gaze. I see a gleam of understanding in those little eyes half hidden behind wrinkles. She nods. “You wants to head thataway,” she says, jutting her chin. “That’ll take you back to the boundary where you crossed over. You’ll be able to pick up the wolf boy’s scent from there.”

I flush and duck my head. I hadn’t told her my intention to search for Dire before returning to Granny’s house. Am I so transparent?

Reading my mind yet again, the old witch chuckles. “Good luck, girlie. May the gods bring you success in all your endeavors.”

I offer a short nod. Then, without another word, I turn and set out into Whispering Wood.