Moon & Magic

By K. Ascher

Porridge. Aswin tried to catch his racing breath and get ahold of his panic. He had been promised porridge. No one needed to be 'prepared' for porridge. But someone, someone, should have prepared him for… for… this.

 

Being lost in the wood was frightening. Being lost in a wood reportedly haunted by a Wendigo was possibly terrifying. But being lost in the wood said to be haunted by a Wendigo and chased by a band of brigands sent by a mysterious Dark Fae with unknown nefarious purposes behind his desires was well more than a poor, previously sheltered Elfin lad was ever prepared to deal with. Even though Aswin is a Mage, his fluid magics are unpredictable at the best of times, difficult to control, and oft just outside his ability to grasp and hold them to his will.

 

But there are other creatures in the forest. Things that move on padded feet and snarl with daggered teeth and raised hackles. Things that keep the Moon in their eyes and recall the smell of fear and the taste of blood and marrow. Creatures that make pacts for life, until Death.

 

Somewhere between the old trees, deals will be made, blood will be shed, and new magics will find their wings.

Even if it rips two worlds apart.

 

This is a MM fantasy-adventure that includes bed-sharing, naturally, some gore, also naturally, and a guaranteed HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ascher
• Release date: Dec 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223828549

Book preview

Moon & Magic

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"There's blood on your lies.

The Sky is open wide.

There is nowhere for you to hide;

The Hunter's Moon is shining.

I'm running with the wolves tonight.

I'm running with the wolves."

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—Aurora

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K. Ascher

K. Ascher

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Copyright 2023 Ascher

Cover Art Roadkill Studio

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This book is intended for a mature audience and may

contain material inappropriate for sensitive readers.

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons,

places, events and/or ideas are coincidental and merely

the construct of the author’s imagination.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Disclaimer

I: Lost & Found

II: Mother Phyllis’ Table

III: Bedfellows

IV: Small Talk

V: Skin

VI: By Troth

VII: Something Ferral This Way Comes

VIII: Brotherhood

IX: Hunt

X: Fairy Fruits

XI: Breaking Fast?

XII: Deals, Wards, & Secrets

XIII: The Inbetween

XIV: Gilded Cups & Cages

XV: The Wood

XVI: Gaol Bird

XVII: Deals Within Deals

XVIII: Becoming Ghost

XIX: Magics & Mayhem

XX: Hunter’s Moon

XXI: Homecoming

Notes & Licensing

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Further Reading: Blood & Chaos

I: Lost & Found

The unmistakable whoosh of an arrowshot past Aswin’s Elfin-pointed ear and a breadth off his flesh was close enough to stir the hair from his shoulder. It was enough of a shock to make him pick up his horse’s reins and spin the animal around on the road. Instant fear laced through his veins and his only clear thought was to get the animal to move. The handful of horses charging at the small group, shouting and whooping their own horses into a frenzy while brandishing various weapons was not about to let Aswin stand around and ask questions.

He gave his nervous mount her head and kicked her sides, his only thought to get space between himself and whoever these brigands were, but he was not certain his refined Elfsteed was bult to outrun such road-hazards. Aswin heard his horse scream in abject terror of the oncoming throng, and honestly, he could not blame her one bit, as he might have cried out in fear himself. He merely tried to keep his elbows tucked in and not flounder in the saddle as the road sped away beneath them.

The fire in his veins made every branch that lanced across his face as he sped away seem little more than a mere nuisance, bites and scrapes he could fuss over only whence he were clear of the present danger. The sound of shouting and a clanking of weapons, swords, most likely, seemed to grow fainter, but still, he did not deign to look back. Honestly, the thought of standing his ground had not even crossed his mind, only getaway.

Flee. Run. Escape. Run like the Abyss itself had opened its jaws and called his name.

Time spanned on before Elf and horse as the trees swept past and the road became less wide and more likened to a dirt path. It was only the heaving of the poor horse that brought Aswin back down from the edge of crippling fear and he eased up in the saddle. He slowed the Elfsteed down a little at a time, trying to bring his own breath back to something more normal.

They eventually came to a walk, and Aswin did his best to refocus on his surroundings, but it was almost as futile as not panicking. He was not sure when he had turned down the narrower path, but the trees were thicker, the road narrower, and he... he had no idea where he was.

Elves. They were a solitary race by nature. Rarely leaving their forest communities for human lands to begin, and to say that he could have gotten lost on even the main road was not far from the mark.

Aswin walked his mount around in a circle, but no matter where he looked, he could not see the main road from his present position. He was entirely alone. In a human world. With little more than the clothes on his back, a meager amount in his purse, and a handful of trail rations. He was meant to be traveling with others, persons more skilled than he in locating landmarks and following roadsigns. Persons more acutely aware of custom and discord. Persons older and wiser than his years.

He walked his Elfsteed in another tight circle, as if that would help him consider. He could follow his back-trail and return to where he left his companions, but what would he find there? He sincerely hoped they had merely been robbed and were not now bleeding out on the forest floor...

He ignored the glint of the hilt on the blade at his hip as if it mocked him. He angrily yanked his mount around and followed the small road away from whatever peril he had escaped. He was not proud. But he was still alive.

*

Don’t, a low voice intoned near Aswin’s pointed ear and was followed by a gentle grip on his shoulder, They’ll rob you blind.

Aswin’s head snapped around as the person shifted past. Wait, he heard himself say as his lilac-colored eyes followed the cloaked figure and he rushed to catch up. He had been watching the game carefully and thought he had it roughly figured out and was near ready to make a few coin which he desperately needed. What do you mean?

His off-hand companion’s dark eyes flicked back to him with a twinkle of mischief and a slight cocked grin. They’re swindlers, lad. Are you really that daft?

Lad? Elves were touted to age well, but the man in front of him could not have been much older than he, if at all. Aswin stopped in his trek and glanced back to where the game player was readily trying to entice others to play, and he figured he had just been inadvertently rescued by the stranger. Or rather, he figured he was the stranger here. Um... Thank you! he called before the man had gotten too far ahead.

The man stopped and turned back to Aswin with a more serious eye, and then looked around the streets as if searching for someone in the crowd. Upon finding naught, he turned back to the Elfin stranger. Where are your kinfolk? You shouldn’t be alone... he paused, as if to consider his words before giving the Elf a once-over with his eyes. Someone like you should not be alone in the city.

Someone like Aswin, an Elf in a human town, should not, indeed, have been without a proper entourage, but some things could not be helped. Disgruntled, Aswin tugged on the hem of his doublet.  Um... Thank you, he said again, twisting his hands nervously. I will take that under advisement.

The man’s dark eyes seemed to narrow on the Elf’s fair yet mildly battered features and his shoulders slumped. You’re alone? he said, but his tone implied exasperation at the realization and it seemed less a question than a statement. What... he began, but his voice seemed to trail off with a sigh as he shook his shaggy brown head. Never mind. Come with me, he said in the same exasperated tone and surprisingly reached over and grasped the Elf’s wrist.

Aswin refrained from yelping in surprise as his boots hurried to keep up with the man’s more confident stride, and he suddenly wondered what he was in for. Wait—

It’s all right, the human interrupted, but his voice was not unkind. You can consider me a friend. I have no intention of robbing or swindling you.

After nearly having been both, and possibly killed outright, Aswin was not sure how much he should believe that, but what choice did he really have as he was dragged along the street?

They stepped into a public house and Aswin was summarily dropped into a seat at one of the tables and the man took up the chair opposite. His eyes were still taking the Elf in, and Aswin had the feeling he was gathering every note of his mildly-abused appearance. Have you eaten?

Aswin’s hands fidgeted on the edge of the table before he clasped them together and let them worry themselves. He looked anywhere but at his new companion. Not... not much... he admitted quietly.

The dark stranger sighed that frustrated sound again and rubbed the back of his shaggy head before motioning to the barmaid. "Dare I ask why you’re so far from home, alone, in a town like this one?"

Actually, the truth of the matter was a rather harrowing experience Aswin did not really want to go into. He clutched the clasp of his cloak near his throat as his eyes continued to find anything else to look at. "I uh... I was... separated... from my traveling... companions..."

The man eyed him as if he were lying, but it was near enough the truth as the barmaid sidled up to the table. A couple of stout, and a bowl of something from the kitchen, he said to her though his gaze never wavered from the Elf as if he were an unruly child, for my skinny friend here, he finished.

Aswin did not realize they were friends, but who was he to argue? He lifted a delicate finger before she could escape the table though, Um... cider? Please? If you have it?

Aswin’s rugged companion snapped his fingers and pointed at him as if abruptly recalling. Right. Cider. I should have guessed, he recalled, as Elves were generally fond of their apple orchards. So let’s get the introductions out of the way and figure out what to do about you.

Aswin finally turned his lilac-colored gaze to his new companion, though he did not realize that he was a problem. Though honestly, having anyone he could talk with was a welcome relief, and if this man could assist, then all the better. He could not, however, say the same about the stew—at least he thought it was stew—that the barmaid brought.

I’m Tristan, the man said, and tapped his shoulder where there was a sigil-marked badge on his sleeve, a bonded Ranger, so yes, you can indeed trust me.

Aswin lifted his pale eyebrows and leaned over to catch a better glimpse of the badge, as if that would tell him anything as he knew little of human culture and society, but it seemed to mean something of import to the young man across from him. Aswin, he said softly, Aswin Ellery of Aaronvale—

In the North? Tristan’s unkempt eyebrows went up.

Aswin’s hand absently stroked the ends of his fair hair. He thought it would be sort of obvious he was from the North. Yes...

Tristan whistled softly. You’re a long way from home.

Aswin merely shrugged and went back to spooning his stew and trying to muster the courage to put it in his mouth, but the fat and gravy seemed intent on staying separated, and that was bothersome. Yes... he agreed softly, but he obviously already knew that.

So are you lost? Headed home? Or someplace else?

Aswin put a bite of what he hoped was turnip in his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of cider, which was, while not good, infinitely better than the stew. Yes. To the first two. I was at the Sorcerers Guild—

Quicker to get you back there, Tristan offered.

Aswin shook his head, My father has sent for me—

Mitigating circumstances, Tristan muttered flatly before taking a pull at his tankard.

Aswin shook his head again. I need to get home to Aaronvale. I should not delay.

The man introduced as Tristan sighed again and stared into the mug holding his brew. Alright... he sighed but seemed resigned to some decision, or perhaps even some Fate. I’ll take you.

Aswin choked on his soup, but not only because it tasted foul. You what? he said, holding his hand to his mouth so as to not appear rude, but he was honestly flabbergasted.

Tristan’s amber eyes held him pinned in the chair as he swigged from his drink. "I am assuming you aren’t in a position to pay me, but I am guessing there would be a handsome reward for your safe return to Aaronvale?"

Aswin nodded eagerly. His father would be beside himself if he were aware of the trouble Aswin had gotten into and he would have paid a fortune to see him safely home. He almost could not believe his luck.

Fine. Then it’s settled. Tristan held out his hand, I will get you to Aaronvale in one piece.

Aswin hesitantly placed his wrist against Tristan’s palm and grasped the man’s leather bracer in his hand. Tristan’s grip was more firm than Aswin’s slight Elvin frame was expecting, and it made him feel markedly fragile. Aswin’s eyes traveled up the length of the other man’s arm, his garb in varying shades of earthtones and brown leather, weather-worn, but sturdy. Thank you, he said more sincerely as he took his hand back.

Do you at least have a horse?

Aswin nodded. Fortunately, it was one thing he still had in his possession and likely the only reason he was still alive.

Good. Tristan said, drained his mug, and then pushed it to the center of the table. Stay here. Get a room. Eat, he used his index finger to push the vile concoction of viscus slop toward the Elf. And don’t go anywhere.

Aswin would have assumed stay meant that he was not to leave, but he did not argue and simply watched Tristan rise from the table.

I’m going to pick up some supplies and I’ll meet you back here around sundown. We can head out in the morning if that is agreeable?

Yes, that would be fine, Aswin replied, realizing belatedly that he had been doing an awful lot of nodding his compliance.

Tristan dropped a hefty coin on the table, enough to pay for the room, the drinks, and the meal, nodded curtly, and left the Elf sitting with his cooling stew.

Aswin let the breath out of his lungs and stared at the bowl in front of him. He figured meals on the road would consist mostly of trail rations and whatever meager game they might find, so he should consider it more pleasantly, but he was not sure he could brave the reality of it.

He turned his lavender gaze up to the barmaid as she sighed quite audibly and slid the coin from the table. Ahh... that lad... she said wistfully, then her eyes seemed to come back around and focus on the Elf. She smiled then, though the action seemed forced. Taking you on as a job, is he? He’s good for it. An excellent Ranger, as stories go. She held up the coin and turned it in her delicate fingers. "Anything else you need, or...?"

Aswin was fairly certain his complexion betrayed his shock at so brazen a thing to come from a lady’s mouth, but he had to consider he was in human territory, and at an inn, and certain things might have been expected. He cleared his throat, politely he hoped, and pushed the stew away, Perhaps just some bread, if you have it?

Admittedly, Aswin was keen to take his paltry lump of seedbread along with the iron key up to his room and get away from the outdoors. For some reason, it was the first time he had felt safe since—well since being separated from his traveling companions. He had not known any of them, really, but even being in the small group that they were, it was better than trying to fair in unfamiliar surroundings, and being locked behind even this weak door was better than sleeping in the wood. Alone.

Aswin sighed out loud, set the bread and the key on the table and took up a seat on the bed, such as it was, a pile of clean straw at least. He would have to go fetch his horse at some point, but for now, he merely relished the quiet and the fact that the door was locked. He rubbed his face before lying back on the bed with his hands tucked under his head, wondering how he had even come to be here. Aaronvale seemed a world away. He tried to think of this as an adventure, but traveling with a stranger, through strange lands, without much in his purse and only the promise of his father’s gratitude, was daunting to say the least.

He turned the barmaid’s words over in his head. Taking you on as a job, is he? And her wistful sigh. He got the impression she would have followed Tristan just about anywhere, but what did he know? Surely he would not have minded a few more ciders and falling into those warm, amber eyes while Tristan regaled tales of valiantry, but he had no business thinking on him that way, not when they were slated to be spending the next however long together in close proximity. And Aswin was, after all, just the job.

Elves, they were generally considered as worthy of adoration for their appearance, such that it is, refined, some might say, effeminate, others would grumble, likely with jealousy, or so Aswin had been told. He had never really considered, but that since his puberty, it seemed to be handsome lads that were his weakness, but this he kept close to the vest, as the saying went.

And now his father had sent for him from the Sorcerers Guild, away from his studies, and for what, but to marry—a girl no less. A lady he had yet to make the proper acquaintance of, but somehow was supposed to be right-well pleased with this development that had none of his input from the outset.

Aswin groaned and rolled onto his side, tucking his hands under the pillow. He had no desire to marry, much less marry a girl, a girl he did not even know... He should have stayed at the Sorcerers Guild with the other young Mages, learning about wizardry, and how to control his unruly magics, and casting spells, and not fretting over what flowers would be available for a winter wedding event. Aswin did not want to marry. He was far too young to think about taking... a wife...?

The thought made his mouth quirk up. A wife would be lacking a rather important piece of anatomy he found himself enamored with... He had always imagined himself lying with someone, well, to be frank, more like himself. Someone with a good set of arms who would not hesitate to take him—ahem—in stride...

If he did not think the news that he was missing would absolutely eviscerate his mother, he might have taken this recent mishap as an opportunity to run away altogether. But where would he even go? Alas...

Aswin would need to send word that he was well and on his way home as a currier’s letter could arrive well before he could make the distant journey, though not by much. If word had already been sent that he was lost in the wood, his mother would fret every hair from her lovely head.

He rubbed his face again. It seemed he had a lot to do, and a lot more was out of his control, but he had ought to make the best of it. At least his rugged but comely companion would improve the view.

II: Mother Phyllis’ Table

What was he doing? Tristan wondered to himself. Swayed by a pretty face? He scooped nutmeats into a cloth sack. Elves... but damn if that boy wasn’t pretty. Well, aside from the scrapes and bruises on his fine, fair features. He might should ask, were it to be appropriate should the subject present itself. But admittedly, Tristan was tired of patrolling the local woods for naught and it would be good to get out of the city. Aaronvale was something of a trek though, and the poor lad would never make it without assistance. And it is entirely true that the Elf’s lost puppy-dog eyes were exactly the thing that could crack a heart as guarded as the Ranger’s. Tristan shook his head to himself. He became a Ranger in order to assist those who could not mind themselves after all, and clearly this Elf was out of his depth. And at least it would get him out of the city.

He paid for the nutmeats and glanced up at the sky where grey clouds seemed to mock his thoughts of easy travel and warned instead of miserable nights huddled under his oilcloak in pouring rain. Pray for an easy winter, plan for wet... he grumbled to himself.

He slipped through the city streets with ease, avoiding the bustling crowd and making his way to the vendors he knew would sort out the supplies they would need. Jerked meat and unleavened biscuits, wool underbreeches that promised no comfort, and a jack of poteen to manage any more of those scrapes or too chill a night.

Tristan stopped and put a hand to his eyes briefly as a headache threatened to overtake him there in the street as his head envisioned the hapless Elvin lad in his finery...

Better make that two sets of woolen underbreeches. He would spend his purse before he got back to his horse at this rate. Alas...

By the time Tristan made it back to the inn, he had quite his fill of merchants’ daughters batting eyes and blushing cheeks. Clever marketing tactics, he supposed, but for gods’ sakes he just wanted to pack and get gone. He could only hope the barmaids were too busy to ply their wares this e’en, as he was not sure he had the patience to brush them off kindly.

And there, his hapless Elven lad was about to get swindled twice-over by a rogue with a game of knucklebones to ply. He ran his hand through his dark hair and stomped over to the table with his hand on his sword hilt. Leave off, Tristan spat at the swindler, as he took his chair none too quietly opposite the Elf and glared fiercely at the ruffian.

The man quickly gathered up his bones and left the table.

Tristan let the air out of his lungs through his nose. Did you learn nothing since this morning?

The Elf blinked his eyes, and in the dim light they were the color of a late sunset, a rich purple leaning into the amethyst of night. His delicate fingers fiddled with the ends of his white-blond hair. We were just—I mean it is not like there is so much to do...

Tristan tried to stem his temper; it was not the Elf he