The Wolf & The Witch

The wolf and the witch made good time and woke the next morning with a plan. By mid-morning they arrived at the entrance of the small village of Bekedes. They stopped at the tree line, at the edge of the road, looking down at the circular village built in a circular depression. There were perhaps a hundred wooden homes, with a hundred wooden roofs in a circle, dotted by the occasional larger, taller wooden building. The most important questions to be answered when approaching any new village, for the wolf and the witch: could they find a hot bath, a warm bed, edible food, and was there anything worth stealing? And the answer to all four of those was obvious as they looked out at the village. No. The only possible answer, from the road looking down at the brown, trash-heaped village of Bekedes, was no.

“Know what would cause a ruckus here?”

Lestat looked from the village to her. “What?”

“Literacy. And straight teeth.” Claire grinned and laughed at her own joke, and her nose crinkled, and Lestat laughed with her. It was doubtful anyone in this shit hole of a village had either.

They walked past houses that were in variegated stages of rot and ruin- some falling in, some half-burned, some being eaten by mushrooms and mold. Some of the houses appeared to have been built out of decayed wood and mud-dauber nests. Most of the windows had blankets over them, and most of the houses had holes in them- that weren’t windows. They walked to the tallest building, which they assumed was either a tavern, inn, or church, and Lestat dropped his shoulder and knocked the door off its hinges, and walked in, holding Claire’s hand tight in his. The tavern was dim- the windows were mostly broken and covered with wood, and the ones that were still intact had so much grease on them that the light filtered through as if it had battled anemia for the last month. Lestat glanced around the room- it was a tavern. Of sorts. Or shit, maybe a church. “I have a job for four men,” he announced. “One gold coin per man, to do a very easy job.”

Drunk men, and drunk women, and two bartenders, and one preacher, none possessing the intelligence of a trained dog, all heard two words: gold coin, and all raised their hands at once.

Lestat smiled, and held his left hand out, palm up, and Claire put one cold coin in his palm, then another, and a third, and a fourth. “Go to whatever nearby village you want, grab a lantern off the street, or out of a home, and throw it at a wooden wall. Ten lanterns. Ten wooden walls.” Lestat waited, and the nearest man, from the nearest table, finished his beer, stood, and looked at Lestat with hard, gray eyes.

“I’ll burn a fuckin’ village down,” he grumbled, took a gold coin, slipped it into his pocket, and walked out the door. “I’ll throw a goddamn lantern,” they heard him mumble as he wobbled down the street. "Fuckin' bitch. Fuckin' cunt."

A woman who had the shape of fence posts stood and came over; she took a coin in her hands, bit it- to make sure it was gold, and walked off.

“Different villages!” Claire called, “And if you can’t find a village- a nice looking part of the forest!”

The woman gave a thumbs up, and walked off.

An old man with three remaining teeth the color of urine pushed a few others aside and walked over as if he were on a ship bobbing in the water. He took a coin and bumped into the doorframe on his way out.

“Fifty lanterns!” Claire called out, and he nodded his head and fell over face down from the effort.

And lastly, a young girl of maybe fourteen came from behind the counter. She had long black stringy hair and a face splotched red and shiny with acne.

Lestat shut his hand. “You’re too young for this.”

“Trust me, Mr., I know how to set fires.”

Lestat looked at Claire- she shrugged, so he opened his hand, and the girl walked off.

He led Claire to the bar, took a whiff, and grimaced- the food served here wouldn’t be suitable as pig slop. But there were small wooden casks of beer on the back shelf- enough to get a few people drunk. Lestat pointed, then grabbed two mugs, put them under his arm, and turned and walked off.

“Hey! You have to pay for those!” the bartender shouted. Claire turned around, brought her hand up, and set the woman’s hair on fire. Her eyes went wide, and she smacked her head, trying to put the fire out. She ran for water and the fire spread to the grease on the walls, then the counters. Then the fire spread to the ceiling, and floors.

They mounted their horses, left the village, and rode southeast to the next village- Leiga. At least, Claire thought they were headed to Leiga. Her mind was on other things. She scooted around and turned to face him, sitting backwards in the saddle, her legs draped over his. “I have an idea.”

Lestat smiled at her. “Let’s hear it.” He could hear the scraping of tree limbs in the breeze, and the drip, drip of water off a stone, the creak of the saddle, and hooves walking forward, through moss and leaves.

“Let’s play a drinking game. We each ask each other a question, and we either have to answer, or drink beer.” Claire had no intention of drinking, and the game was rather pointless- they couldn’t lie to each other, but this was the best option she could think of to learn about his house, because, so far, he either hadn’t answered, or all his answers made no sense.

Lestat truly doubted Claire could be any more perfect. What a wonderful woman. “Alright. I’ll play a drinking game with you.” Lestat was thirsty anyway.

Claire: Does your blacksmith hut have a bed? Yes.

Lestat: Does your house have a bed? Yes.

Claire: Does your house have windows? Yes. One.

Lestat: Where is your favorite place to be kissed? Ummm… my lips, and collarbones, and… umm… br-breasts, and stomach… and neck, and...

She blushed and cleared her throat. Maybe this drinking game wasn’t a good idea.

No beer yet, and Lestat was thirty.

Claire: Does your house have a kiln in it? Beer.

Lestat: Have you ever thought about sleeping naked at night? No, but... if you kept me warm, and it was in our own bed, I would... sleep naked… with you.

Claire, blushing: How big is the bed in your house? Beer. This really wasn’t going the way Claire thought it would go. She was learning things, but only one word at a time. Did he not know what adjectives were? She was starting to think his house was some hovel in the woods that a summer storm could tear apart. There were probably buckets everywhere, and holes in the walls. She tried a few more times and his answer, each time, was beer, and she was growing more and more embarrassed answering his damn questions. She gave up on the game and turned around in the saddle.

The land sloped down into a dry stream bed, and their horses sauntered forward. Lestat tilted his head one way, then another, and looked at the beautiful tree limbs and the silhouetted sky, the threadbare edges of carpets and moth-eaten rugs. He bumped into Claire as the horse slid on a stone, then he slipped his hand under her shirt, and up her breast, and squeezed. Hard.

“Ow, damnit,” she pushed his hand away, and turned around in the saddle, glaring, and was about to fuss, then noticed his eyes were bloodshot and his head wobbled on his neck as if one or two of the screws holding it in place had come loose. Great. Drunk Lestat. Then she heard a sound ahead, turned back, and clicked her tongue and caught up. Three carts full of women were being pulled behind horses along an old forest road, and Claire followed at a distance. There were about ten women in total, and three men on the horses, and three more riding beside. She could tell, even in the dull evening light, that the women were slaves, because they all had a seamless metal collar around their necks: a magical collar that forced the women to do whatever their owner ordered, and could only be removed with a specific incantation. Disgusting. She lowered her eyes, and said to herself- “Damnit, I despise men who enslave women.”

Lestat heard her words, and leaned to the side and saw the cart. Women in carts, in cages, and men on horses, and they were all blurry. It seemed to Lestat that the iron bars of the cages were made of rope- they wavered back and forth. And he agreed with Claire- he also disposed men who enslaved women. He reached down, drew his sword, and hurled it through the woods at one of the men on the horse. The sword sailed straight through the iron bars of the cart and killed one of the women instantly. “I depose you, motherfucker!” he yelled.

“Oh my god. What the fuck.” Claire looked from Lestat to the slave trades, but now it was too late. The horses stopped, and the carts stopped, and the men hopped down, armed, and angry. Claire lifted her bow, notched an arrow and fired- the arrow hit a man in the mouth and came out the other side, and he went down. She fired another arrow, and another kill.

“Fuck yeah!” Lestat shouted in her ear.

Claire cringed- she was going to kill his goddamn drunk ass. She aimed and let loose another arrow right as he smacked her shoulder, nearly knocking her off the horse.

“Get ’em!” he yelled.

“I swear to fucking god,” Claire cursed under her breath. She watched as the last arrow sailed off course, slipped through the iron bars, and killed another woman.

Two men charged them. Claire dropped her bow, grabbed the knife on her ankle, and let them come. As they neared, she lowered herself to the ground, held her hand out, and a fierce gust of wind kicked up a wave of dead leaves, pelting and blinding the men. Claire ran forward and slit one of their throats, kicked the other in the balls, brought her knife up, covered it in a block of ice, and smashed his skull in.

Lestat looked down grinning. “You aaarrrreeeee... Perfect! The Perfect! maaattteee.” He hopped off the horse, got his foot tangled in the stirrup and crashed to the ground. He hopped right back up, smiling, covered in leaves and dirt.

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Likewise.”

She walked to the cages and found the doors locked. She looked through the bars- the women were scared, and nervous, and hardly dressed. Lestat stumbled up from behind and bumped into her, then draped his arms around her. “Can you check the men for the keys?” she asked.

“Kess?”

“Keys.”

“Naked ki-”

“Goddamnit, go-”

Lestat spun her around and pressed his mouth to hers, and gave her a sloppy, wet kiss. Claire returned his kiss, then pushed him away and wiped her mouth off. “Go find the goddamn keys!”

Lestat wandered away to the first man and patted him. No keys. But money. He put it in his pocket. To the next man on the ground- still no keys. And while he searched the next, he noticed a nice-looking, lacquered wooden box strapped to the saddle of one of the horses. Where else would keys be than a fancy box? He stumbled over to the horse and fumbled with the lid- a solid gold collar encrusted with sapphires, opened at the hinge. It was the most beautiful necklace Lestat had ever seen. He looked at Claire- she was definitely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He looked at the necklace, then at Claire, then at the necklace again. He walked up. She would look stunning in this.

Claire sensed Lestat behind her; they were going in the same direction as the slaves, but Claire would be damned if she took these half-naked women anywhere with Lestat. She held her hand out for the key- they could figure shit out themselves. Then she felt his hand on her shoulder, caressing gently, then her neck- he ran his fingers over her skin, so very softly, then a shiver ran down her arms as a cold metal collar slipped around her neck, and clicked shut, and the hinge disappeared.