“Snow’s barely melted in the valley. Must be worse in the high passes. It’s too early.” Danae fretted. She was not generally a fretter, but Mazelton was making her fret. Which also made her irritated. “And you know it too.”

Mazelton acknowledged it with a nod, but kept right on loading up Scumbag with supplies. He wanted to test-load everything before setting off the next morning. He patted his cheve with idle affection. The mare returned that affection by trying to bite his arm off at the elbow. Mazelton whipped his hand away and gave the cheve a stinging whack on the nose.

“Even your cheve agrees with me.” Danae smiled.

“My cheves are evil animals “gifted” to me by a questionable comrade. She could have given me a spirit beast, but no. I get these two villains.”

“Spirit beasts sound hilarious.”

“They are the best.” Mazelton nodded fervently.

Silence fell between them. Mazelton checked his tent, cot and little folding table with exquisite caution. He didn’t care to travel light, and flat out refused to contemplate traveling without the “bare minimum necessary to survive as a human.” Finding them satisfactory, he moved on to the other essentials- seasonings. Oil, spice, mustard, sumac and most blessed of all- dried fruits. Oh the manifold blessings of marrying a farmer! Dried fruit that would keep for weeks or months. Dehydrated vegetables too, and dried soups. Wonderful.

“Got your magic gun?” Danae asked quietly.

“Hah. Yep, going in that holster Revi made for my saddle.”

“Good. Good.” The quiet fell down again.

“It feels a lot more real now, huh?” Mazelton quietly asked.

“Yes. The whole winter, watching you madly carving and pressing heat stones, like you were going to do it forever. The way you talked to our neighbors and… the only word I can think of is “cataloged” them, like you were going to know them forever too, and wanted to make sure you had every little detail of them recorded in your mind. Even if you think some of them aren’t really real.” Danae smiled a little at that.

“Presbyter Venche is a myth.”

“He’s a well driller! And a good brickmaker too!” Dannae snapped. They had this argument many, many times.

“Still purely fictional. You can tell just from looking. Besides, what loon would name their kid “old man?”” Mazelton stuck to his guns on this one- he knew damn well that no real human could eat nothing but eggs for breakfast without disintegrating into a heap of corruption.

“I’ve known him and his family my whole life.” Danae didn’t know that’s what Presbyter ment, and she would bet money that Mama Venche didn’t either. Not that either would ever admit it.

“I’ve known lots of mythical things my whole life.” Mazelton lashed down the last of the packs. It might not have been up to Duane’s standards, but it was pretty good, in his opinion.

“This is because he keeps asking you for magic pills, isn’t it?”

“It is not. Though I am this close to giving him some very magical suppositories.” Mazelton’s thumb and index were barely a hair's width apart.

“Oh? What does it do?” Danae was interested now, given that Mazelton swore blind he couldn’t make medicines out of heat.

“Terminates his sex life.”

“HEY!” She scolded. She didn’t like those kinds of jokes.

He looked surprised. “What?”

“You know what.” He thought about it and looked a little regretful.

“You have enough money?” He asked.

“I have more money now than I have ever had at any one point in my life. You made more through the winter than I make in a harvest. The question is, do you have enough money?” She asked. It was true too. Grim looking Sky Runners came up the valley in any conditions, picking up sack after sack of cores and dropping off unpolished cores in return. As well as just silly amounts of money. She only heard bits and pieces of what was going on outside the Territory. It sounded… really bad. Valley had been peaceful, though.

“I have enough, and I can always get more.” Mazelton shrugged. “Did you write out a shopping list?”

“Yeah, I’ll put the finishing touches to it tonight.” Danae nodded. “Any news on this Theramin fella?”

“Not much. Still in winter camp near Colmbe, which is both hilarious and creepy as hell.” Danae’s head whipped around at that.

“Creepy? You think it’s creepy.” She stared at Mazelton. This was a first.

“Colmbe is a hole. It is just a terrible, terrible little town, and I would sooner sleep in my tent in the woods than an inn in Colmbe. Except around Colmbe I wouldn’t fucking dare, because the Voyageurs are around there in force. One on one they are trash, but their witches are nothing fun to play with.” Mazelton nodded vehemently.

Danae was liking this less and less.

“Dammit all.” She stomped off. The paths were quite clear and dry, thanks to the heat stones Mazelton had laid down. Into her toasty warm house… thanks to the heat stones. Flopped mightily in her favorite chair and picked up a book. Then put it down again when she realized that she wasn’t actually reading anything. Her eyes just flicked over the pages, hoping a word would snag them and pull her to distraction.

She didn’t want Mazelton to go. She didn’t want her strange wonderfully loving, terribly broken new husband wandering off where she couldn’t see him. Risking his life for tradition, and a promise, and just, possibly, making the world a better place. Definitely was not happy about the fact that he was setting off in the tail end of winter to kill a complete stranger. Wasn’t happy that he seemed content with the whole thing. Irritated and occasionally frustrated, yes. But not upset. Like it was just another chore, and not a terrible one.

Her husband, funny, fussy, artistic and hard working, came from a world she could scarcely imagine. One of ancient secrets, dark magics and darker endings. Like a faerie from a story. And some irrational part of her worried that he would vanish back into faerie land one day.

Mazelton watched Danae stomp off and didn’t know what to say. Which was an unusual circumstance for him, he usually knew exactly what to say to sooth or to distract. But this was one of those mutual incomprehensions. Of course he would go to the bad place to kill the bad man. Of course a promise was enough. To invoke the Ma was to invoke inevitability. Their promise was a life. You kept the tradition and the ritual because it filled that little part of the brain, yours and others, that Ma promises were more than words.

Danae didn’t see it that way. She saw him picking up the knife again, even though he still woke up screaming, hearing the burning city behind him. Smelling the sewers and tunnels out in the snowy firs. Wanting to hide in the rafters or dig holes to get away from the Confeds, coming right behind him. He didn’t know how many nights she held him, riding out the shakes. Never complaining. Never criticizing. He knew damn well he didn’t deserve her. But he was determined to become deserving.

To his way of thinking, a good man honors his promises, even if they are inconvenient. Even if he’d rather be minding the homefront. Which led him to one more thing to take care of. Mazelton sighed. Always a bad idea to keep secrets from you lover, but Danae was a devout Dusty. She wasn’t happy about him making a blood offering. She would be absolutely livid about this.

Mazelton walked out of town aways. He didn’t bother trying to conceal his tracks or anything. Didn’t have the first clue how, really. Besides, when you are stuck in a plainly unnatural little corner of a long, narrow, river valley, there is only so far you can walk. Well. You could go up the mountains, but that was a whole other story. And not one he was interested in. No, he just walked a half hour into the woods and trusted that no one would be bored enough to come looking for him until he had a chance to tidy away the evidence. He had established a habit of these little walks for that very reason. And it covered up what he was really doing this whole time, of course.

“I had sort of hoped you guys would get discouraged. I understand why that would mean sending even more scouts, but I’m allowed to hope, right?” He said casually to the scout, bound and gagged on the cave floor. The two broken ankles discouraged thoughts of escape, as did the dehydration.

“Well, not that you are really in the mood to talk about hope, I expect.” The human remains scattered around the cave were a mood killer for most. They certainly were very smelly. “Still. Soon over, eh?” The scout weakly shook his head. Mazelton dragged him onto the makeshift altar and sliced away his shirt. Rock steady hands carved complex patterns and strange sigils into the sacrifice’s chest, pausing occasionally to wipe the blade clean.

He invoked the Ælfflæd, offered it the scout’s fear and pain, begging it’s protection for Danae and the village. Then he slit the scout’s throat and watched him bleed out. He was quite practiced, and managed to keep the blood off. He could feel a gentle thrum in the air, a subtle shift in the world. His offering had been received. What it was worth remained to be seen. A winter of bandits and scouts. Well. It was probably worth something.

Mazelton took a bucket of water and smashed up mushrooms and tossed it over the bodies. He did this a few more times, just to get people good and covered. They were already starting to decompose, so he reckoned the mushrooms had a good chance to break down the bodies even faster. He also removed the barricade at the front of the cave. Fingers crossed some large predators were interested.

Dinner that night was awkward, though hearty. The shopping list was duly received, and promises made to keep an eye out for “anything else you think we might need.” Then Danae hauled Mazelton off to bed. It was odd, Mazelton thought, but pleasantly so. Danae usually wanted to be led, but tonight she was demanding. As though she were imprinting herself upon him. Marking him, reminding him of where he belonged and who he belonged with. He was absolutely charmed, and met her passion with his own. It was a long time until they managed to sleep.

Morning was crisp and cold, the sky an appropriately icy blue. Bastard and Scumbag, his evil cheves, stomped irritably on the frozen ground as their breath steamed. The pack saddle was loaded. Mazelton checked everything over three times. Kissed Danae hard, and rode off down the hill. He wasn’t quite whistling, but there was a definite jaunty set to his shoulders. The happy, relaxed posture of someone who wouldn’t have to make any more blasted heat stones for at least a couple of months. Danae watched him go as long as she could.

She fed the chickens. Made sure the cows were doing fine. Broomed out the house. Then sighed, and walked over to the big pine out back by the edge of the woods. There was a bit of home made rope tied around it. She knew her husband would leave little offerings around it, and when things got bad in his head, he came home with more little cuts. She looked up at the tree.

“I put my faith in the Great Dusty World. Call to Father Sun for strength and Mother Moon for protection. Never had dealings with demons, nor will I now. But you just tell my man that I’m keeping fine here. That he should hurry. I am a woman of my word. I don’t need to wait a year for kids. I’m ready as soon as he gets home.”

There was no response. She knew there wouldn’t be, Mazelton said it didn’t work like that. But for just a second, under the spreading boughs and wild blue sky, she wasn’t alone. And then it was gone. She shivered, and strode firmly off to do her chores. That wild husband of hers was giving her strange notions.

Down the trail, Mazelton put his heels to Bastard and urged her to trot. He was curious to see just what was going on out in the world. If only to keep it far away from his little valley. With its ridiculous people, impossible waterfall and huge underground whatever-it-was. He had barely left, and he couldn’t wait to be home again. Danae was waiting for him.