Enchanted Secrets

Enchantments are funny things, my children. Yes, some of them weigh like stone on the backs of the cursed, marking them for all to see. Other enchantments are gossamer nets, invisible, but no less weighty. Such was the enchantment that he labored under, although he did not know he was cursed. He thought that he bore only the burden of his own guilt and misery, for he was a Soldier, and had committed many atrocities in the name of war and God and duty.

Why was he cursed? No one remembers, if they ever knew. Perhaps he had been an arrogant boy and angered a powerful mage. Perhaps his family line was cursed, stretching back a thousand generations. Perhaps he was just unlucky. It doesn't matter now, if it ever did.

The Soldier was indentured in service to a great empire. It was not what he would have chosen for himself. No, he would have apprenticed to an Artist, or perhaps he would have traveled to the great temple of the South to become a Learner and a Teacher. He felt deep in his heart of hearts that he could have one day achieved the rank of Master, for he was quick of mind and ever willing to learn. But it was not to be, because his family was poor and had always been poor. When the boy was fifteen, his parents died of the fever, leaving only him to provide for his small sister. After their rag-wrapped bodies were lowered into the ground, he huddled in the corner of their hut for a day and a night, crying for his lost parents and his lost youth. But in the morning, he wiped his face and vowed to weep no more, for he was now a man, with a man's responsibilities and obligations.

He had no training and no money, and no choice but to become a Soldier. So he bundled a crust of bread and a few carrots in his spare shirt, kissed his sister goodbye, and set off for the capital city of the Empire. He bound himself in lifetime service to the imperial army, and the copper pieces he received in pay every month were sent home to the friends caring for his sister.

He was not happy in his new life, but he was loyal and honest, and so he dedicated himself to learning the craft of a Soldier. He fought and killed when he was commanded, and as his skills grew, he rose through the ranks of the army. He did not welcome the power that came with each new position, but rather the extra copper pieces that accompanied these promotions.

But after many years, those copper pieces began to pile up, unused. He received notice that his sister had married and no longer needed his support. The news that by all rights should have made him happy simply saddened him. He could not leave the army and now had no reason to justify his actions to himself. Every death came to haunt him, every plea for mercy rang endlessly in his ears. But it was the only life he had ever known, and he had no loved one to tell him that the darkness surrounding him was the result of an enchantment. So he continued in ignorance, doing the bidding of his emperor, praying for death, but unable to seek it, for his life was not his own.

His men brought her into his tent, and sent her sprawling at his feet. Her rough treatment was not entirely their fault. In her fear, she had struggled against them mightily, but the Soldier had taught his men to kill only in the heat of battle, and to treat prisoners with honor. He nodded at them and they departed, giving him his first opportunity to look at her.

She was an otherworldly creature, not yet full-grown, all coltish limbs and large, defiant eyes. Perhaps there was a touch of fairy blood in her, for when she turned her gaze on the Soldier for the first time, he felt it light upon him with a physical force.

"But my men tell me you fought fiercely," he replied, surprised that she had been able to muster any resistance. A careful glance at her threadbare tunic revealed clearly outlined ribs. She'd obviously been without food for a while.

He was at first confused by her violent response, and then astonished when he realized she actually expected him to abuse her. He hurried to reassure her. Perhaps this behavior was not typical of a soldier. If so, he carefully did not notice. "No one will violate you, and if you do as I ask, you will be well taken care of."

She obviously meant it as an insult, but the question struck him hard, as he was not accustomed to being asked what he thought. "I do not think," he snapped at her. "I only obey. As will you, if you want to live." Staring down at her, still sprawled on the floor of his tent, he was struck by a wave of tenderness for this defiant, brave girl. "Do you want to live?"

"Can you not feel it or see it?" she asked curiously. She stepped closer to him, raising her hands and moving them over the length of his body. She did not touch him, yet he still felt fire running through his blood. "You are bespelled, Soldier."

He stared back at her, forcing himself to meet her gaze, wondering if she felt the thin line of a fragile bond stretching between them. As he stood there, feeling slightly dizzy from the sheer force of the determination that emanated from her, he had no doubt that she spoke the truth. Her life would always be her own, regardless of who controlled it. And for that, he envied her.

"What is yours?" she returned. He sighed, briefly remembering the mule his town had owned when he was a boy. The momentary connection between them had faded into the background, and he had recalled his duties.

She actually smiled at him then. "You didn't answer my question." He refused to answer further and simply stood there, watching her smile fade and silently mourning its loss.

"I do not think you intend to let anyone forget it," he said, remembering his own insistence on being called "Soldier." He had refused to reveal his other name, even when his commanders had pressured him to do so. He had never openly rebelled or defied orders, but he had not let anyone forget that he was not there by choice. Neither would she. Before she could make a reply or protest, he continued. "We must get you some supplies." Aching to touch her, he reached for her hand and led her outside.

Her face shuttered even further, the light draining from her eyes as she pulled her hand from his. "Of course. A weapon." She was silent during the rest of the journey to the supply tent.

The supply tent sat in the center of the camp and bustled with activity. As they wove their way through the various obstacles, the Soldier cast a practiced eye over his men, almost unconsciously checking their condition and morale. He noticed many looks aimed in the direction of the Captive--curious looks, suspicious looks, desirous looks. For her part, the Captive simply stared straight ahead, not seeming to notice her surroundings.

Arriving at the supply tent, he gathered the necessary items and placed them in her outstretched arms. "There are cookfires located at either end of the camp. Today, you may eat as much as you like. I will give the cooks orders to deny you nothing. But tomorrow, you will be placed on the same rations as the rest of us. I will send someone for you tomorrow morning so that you may begin your training."

He waited for a response, but when she said nothing, he continued. "You may sleep wherever you like within the boundaries of the camp. There are several fires lit every night, and no one will deny you a place at one."

She stepped up close to him, looking him straight in the eyes, for they were nearly of a height. She held his gaze unblinkingly, her warm blue eyes reaching deep inside him. They filled with amusement when he turned away, unable to bear the scrutiny. Reaching out, she grasped his arm, stilling his flight.

"I don't care," he whispered, unsure if he was trying to convince her, or himself, or the gods. She obviously was aware of the connection between them, because she was twisting the skeins that bound them together, forming a web, throwing it over his heart...

She moved in then, like a wolf preparing to take down a desperate stag. The heat from her body reached out to envelop him. She smelled sweet despite the grime that covered her. He felt her lips graze his ear as she whispered...

Pulling back, she ripped her supplies out of his nerveless arms and stalked away, golden head held high. The weight of his enchantment, which had lifted momentarily, slammed back down into him. He felt despair fill him, but dismissed it, as he always did. He did not believe her claim that he was bespelled--could not believe it. He only continued to feel that he was damned.

Despite her disdain for the arts of war, the Captive proved apt at them. After she completed a week of hand-to-hand training with one of his lieutenants, the Soldier sent her to the gray-bearded weapons master, and she soon had him wrapped around her delicate finger. In fact, the Soldier noticed, the Captive enthralled many of his men, charming them with her bright eyes and quick laugh. She also made a point to seek out the few other women in the camp and befriend them.

There were precious moments when he saw her blossom, unguarded moments that were like gifts placed directly in his outstretched hand. Although he did not know it, those were the moments when the weight of his enchantment grew lighter, as if she were shouldering part of his burden. The sight of her smiling face as she petted one of the horses...the sound of her laughter as the weapons master teased her...those moments filled his dreams and made him wish for the impossible.

But more often than not, she was rebellious, refusing to follow orders. One of her most impassioned disagreements came a few weeks after she had been recruited. She had yet to participate in a battle and had spent the time training with various members of the army.

The Soldier was surprised when she came storming into his tent without any warning or greeting. Her fair hair streamed behind her, and for a moment, she was an angelic vision. He felt that if he looked closely enough, he could see the lines of delicate wings hidden under her hair. The expression on her face, however, shattered the illusion.

He sighed, realizing that he should have expected this. He attempted to explain, hoping she would try to understand. "After a battle, we are not able to support wounded soldiers. Should we leave them to die slowly, in agony, on the battlefield? Or is it better to give them a quick death at the hands of a fellow soldier?"

"We live in barbaric times," he said regretfully. "You are part of an army, and armies fight battles. Soldiers die. You must accept that, or you will die quicker than most. If you are not willing to die, you cannot be an effective soldier."

Her tears overflowed, and she tried to pull away from him. Refusing to let her go, fearing that she would desert the army, he instead pulled her in close to him, enfolding her in his arms. She struggled weakly for a moment, then gave into her sobs. He held her tightly, hating himself for enjoying the feel of it while she was so miserable.

The emperor's castle was opulent, bursting with the fruits of his conquests. Brightly colored tapestries hung on the wall of his council chamber, and thick rugs covered the cold stone floor. The goblets gracing the table were jeweled, the wine within them the finest vintage.

The Soldier stopped himself from shifting uncomfortably in his chair, trying not to remember the numbers of men that had died to provide these comforts. He despised these monthly meetings, forced to watch as the emperor played his games of politics and deceit. The emperor never asked for input from any of the army commanders. Indeed, he seldom even acknowledged their presence, usually preferring simply to issue orders and dismiss them. To the Soldier's chagrin, this meeting proved different.

"That's not what I have been told," responded the emperor, with a small smile on his face. "I have been told that she refuses to follow orders. That she questions direct commands."

"She sounds like she will make trouble. Have her killed." The emperor was already turning to speak to one of his advisors when he was interrupted by the quiet voice of the soldier.

The emperor turned back slowly, anger enveloping him like a cloak. "I beg your pardon? Perhaps I did not hear correctly. Are you now also refusing to follow orders, Soldier?"

The room was silent as its occupants waited for the emperor's wrath to descend upon the Soldier. But instead he chuckled dryly, sounding not at all amused. "It seems you've developed a conscience, Soldier. Or a backbone. Very well. Leave her alive, for now. But you are responsible for her. If her actions result in the deaths of any of my men, it will be on your head. If she causes us to lose a battle, you will suffer along with her. Do I make myself clear?"

"And one more thing, Soldier. Send her into battle. Perhaps she will get herself killed and solve all our problems." The cold blue eyes filled with amused contempt as the emperor turned away.

The Soldier returned to his camp and his men, glad to be free of the stifling atmosphere of the palace, but unable to forget his emperor's last command. They would meet the enemy in two days' time, and now he would have to send the Captive into battle--an action he had been postponing for weeks. Would she be hurt or killed? Would her disobedience cause the death of one of her comrades? Would her spirit be crushed by the gruesome realities of combat?

That night, as he was making his nightly patrol of the camp, he found her standing by herself, out where the horses were tethered. She was gazing up at the stars. He approached slowly, as not to startle her, and was unaccountably pleased when she turned her starlit head in his direction.

"My freedom," she whispered fiercely. "Or my death. Maybe they are one and the same. I only know that I am tired of dying by inches. My prison may have cloth walls instead of bars, but it is a prison nonetheless."

She whirled about to face him, her mouth open to deliver her furious reply, but the words were snatched from her lips as she met his desperate gaze. They stood there for countless moments, and the Soldier discovered many things he had never known. He discovered that some things were better seen by starlight, and that the Captive's bravado concealed a delicate and gentle soul, and that anger is sometimes a mask for love.

The strands of their reluctant bond swirled and tightened about them until he turned away, unable to bear the terrible intimacy. But before he walked off, he opened his heart to her, hoping that she would accept the gift.

The battle was won, and only the groans of dying men and beasts remained. The Soldier surveyed the smoke-filled battlefield and for once, felt grateful that he had survived. In previous battles, he had not cared whether he lived or died, but this time had been different. This time he had known that the Captive was participating.

Despite the Soldier's fears, she had survived-had fought and killed as necessary. She had acquitted herself well, even saving him from harm when an enemy soldier had struck at his unprotected back. What this had cost her, he did not know. After she had killed the man that was attacking him, their eyes had met for a brief eternity, but he had been unable to clearly read any emotions in her gaze. Perhaps he had seen relief, perhaps he had seen anguish.

His gratitude at surviving was strongly tempered by a sense of uneasiness. The Captive had survived the battle itself, but he did not know if she would survive its aftermath.

Shouting from across the field drew his attention, and he hurried over to where the Captive and one of his lieutenants were standing. He arrived in time to hear his lieutenant order the Captive to kill the man lying at her feet.

The lieutenant drew his hand back to strike her, but found his arm held in an iron grip. The Soldier stared at him for a moment, and then released the man's arm. With a gesture, he sent the lieutenant away and turned to the Captive.

She took a deep breath before speaking. "I have done everything you and your emperor have asked of me. I have given up my freedom. I have trained. I have learned how to kill, and today I have killed. I ask you for this one thing--do not make me kill this man."

A vision flashed before his eyes--the first defenseless man he had been ordered to kill. It seemed as if he could still hear the screams. He repeated the words spoken to him at that time. "You must."

She looked at the twisted form sprawled at her feet, her eyes filling with tears. The man was moaning softly, one hand curled over the gaping wound in his stomach. The pain shone clearly in her sad blue eyes as she turned back to the Soldier.

He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of her in such distress. Struggling to find the words, he forced himself to speak as honestly and openly as he knew how, willing her to believe him. "If I had a choice, I would not make you do this. But I do not have a choice, any more than you do. If you cannot kill him, the emperor will order you killed. And this man will die regardless. You are not saving his life, you are losing your own." And mine, he thought. As if it matters.

Her plea reached inside of him, twisting his heart, but it did not make the truth any less true. He reached out a hand and gently caressed the length of her cheekbone, amazed that even in the middle of such misery, he was still fascinated by the silken feel of her skin. He stroked her face once, twice, and then dropped his hand.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "But you must." He could see her struggling with herself, watched as she raised her sword......and made no move to stop her as she threw it down and sprinted away across the field.

His duty as a soldier demanded that he raise the alarm, or that he chase after her and bring her back to face punishment. He did neither. He simply stood there, watching her go, and feeling his heart break in two.

"We are not sure she escaped, sir. She disappeared in the aftermath of the battle." The last part, at least, was technically true, and the Soldier felt no pangs of guilt at misleading his emperor. Perhaps he would consider the possibility that she was dead on the battlefield instead of missing. Taking time to search for her corpse would delay the search for her, giving her more time to escape.

The emperor did not look as if he believed she was dead. He rose from his chair and began to pace around the richly decorated chamber. "I could have you killed. But I'm sure you know that." And the Soldier, in turn, was sure his emperor knew that the threat of death held no fear for the him.

The emperor chuckled mirthlessly. "You think I am not aware of that? Believe me, Soldier, I am quite aware of your unnatural attachment to her. But you are a valuable commander, and I would rather not have to find a replacement for you. So you have a sennight in which to find her and bring her back. You will both be allowed to live, provided that you perform your duties as expected."

"Honestly, Soldier, she is beneath my notice. She is nothing. If necessary, we can pretend that she was disoriented by the battle, and wandered away. You, on the other hand...we have invested many years in your training. As I said, you would not be easily replaced." The emperor fixed him with a glare. "That does not mean, however, that you cannot be replaced. You can always be replaced, especially if you decide to make a habit of disobeying orders. I trust that I make myself understood?"

After the Soldier exited the room, the emperor's consort slipped out of the covered alcove in which she had been seated, listening unnoticed. Her large dark eyes were liquid with curiosity and amusement. "How do you know he will return? He could just desert the army."

The emperor turned to face her. "He will search until he finds her, and once he finds her, he will feel obligated to bring her back. And once he brings her back, it will be easy enough to have her killed."

The emperor laid a hand on her arm. "You know I value your advice, my dear, but I know this man. This life is the only life he has known for many years. He will not abandon it."

The Captive had fled west, and so the Soldier began his search by heading in that same direction. He knew she could not have gone far, for she was afoot and likely exhausted by the battle.

Moreover, her trail was easy to find, especially for an experienced tracker like himself. The broken twigs, the disturbed leaves, and the occasional footprint pointed a clear path.

But he soon found he did not need to use his skills to follow her. He could hear her presence calling to him, a siren song that pulled his feet along, one in front of the other, ceaselessly. It was a series of high, clear notes, and it echoed in his head like the striking of a bell. He followed that note, stopping only when absolutely necessary, and did not think about what would happen when he did find her.

It was evening of the third day when the song pulled him onto a forest path. The tune grew louder and clearer as he followed the path. Fighting his way through the thickening underbrush, he pressed on, intent on adding his own voice to the song in his head. The path narrowed, widened, and then emerged at the shores of a small lake.

She stood at the base of a tree, watching his approach with guarded eyes and rigid stance. He took a moment to examine the surroundings, to impress this place in his memory. Regardless of what came after this moment, this was his blessed chance to see her free.

Had they met here under any other circumstances, it would have been heaven. The water lapped delicately at the shore, and a soft perfumed breeze caressed his face. The trees swayed with the motion of that gentle breeze, whispering their secrets to any who cared to listen. He glanced at the Captive, her golden hair made silver by the starlight overhead, her blue eyes shadowed. She belonged here, a wild sister to the water and the wind, and he regretted having to tear her from this sanctuary.

"Because I am a fool," she said bitterly. "I have fallen in love with my enemy and my captor, and that makes me as big a fool as you, for falling in love with your captive." She took a few helpless steps toward him, their tentativeness a great contrast to her words.

He closed the distance between them and gripped her arms harder than he should have. "I will not apologize for loving you," he vowed angrily, for her words filled him with fear as well as joy. "Not to anyone, and certainly not to you. I could easier stop my heart from beating than to stop loving you."

They were joined there, under the moon, and both were changed by the rightness of it. The Soldier felt his heart fill and nearly wept, for he had not truly known until then how empty it had been. He murmured this to his beloved, and she whispered her own truths to him, telling him how he had opened her heart, which had been guarded and solitary for many years. They tangled together, truly becoming one person, melding into one soul. And when the joining was complete, they bathed in that moonlit lake, offering their thanks to the gods for allowing them such a moment of perfect happiness.

And if at that moment, villagers or townspeople heard a sound in the distance, they called it "thunder" or "hoofbeats", rather than what it was--the sound of two lives joining forever.

Morning followed night, as it always does, and they had no power to stop it, no more than you or I could freeze the sun in his tracks. The Soldier gazed upon his love, who lay sleeping on a bed of heather, and wondered if she would leave him again. And he found himself praying for it, because he would not be afraid to face death knowing that she truly lived, as did he, if only for one night.

She stirred under his gaze and opened sleepy eyes to look up at him. The fire stirred his blood again, but it was daylight, and he could not forget in daylight. Walking over to where she lay, he seated himself next to her and pulled her into his arms.

Her eyes filled with warmth as he spoke the endearment, and her hand moved over his heart, as if taking a small measure of comfort from its steady beat. "He will have you killed if you return without me. I understand that. But why must you return at all? Can we not stay together, out here?"

He wanted nothing more in the world, but to tell her what she already knew would only cause pain to both of them. "They will find us," replied the Soldier, knowing she could hear the unspoken words beneath the surface of his declaration. "He will send soldiers to hunt us and kill us like animals. If you return with me, he has promised to let us live. If you do not, perhaps he will be content with merely punishing me."

It was she who began the next kiss, and it was not so chaste. So many years of loneliness and deprivation--and she brought him back to life with a mere touch of her hands and lips. He filled his senses with her--the taste of her sweet lips, the feel of her skin pressed against his--and regretfully let her go when she pulled away.

"Do you truly think I would send you back alone, to face death, when it is in my power to stop it? You have won my heart, and to live without you would be to live an empty life."

And so they returned, taking up their former roles as if nothing had happened. Perhaps the Soldier touched her more often, as if the feel of her skin under his hand gave him strength. Perhaps the Captive's gaze lingered on him too long, as if the sight of him sustained her in some mysterious and wonderful way. But other than those touches and gazes, they gave no hint of what had passed between them during that one magical night.

It appeared that the emperor had spoken truly. The Captive was not punished in any way, and neither was the Soldier. In fact, they were treated as if the escape had never happened. And this, more than anything, made the Soldier uneasy. It was not like his emperor to forgive or forget so easily. The man was ruthless and contemptuous of those he considered weak, and he would surely consider the bond between the Soldier and the Captive to be a weakness.

The Soldier did not agree with this view. He knew that his bond with his beloved was a source of strength for both of them. But there would be no convincing the emperor of that fact. The Soldier had spent many years in service to the emperor, and had observed him on many occasions. He felt sure that the man had never experienced anything similar to what he and the Captive shared, and without that precious knowledge, he would not understand that the need for another person does not make one weak.

So while he was grateful that the Captive seemed to have escaped the emperor's retribution, he was also watchful for any threat to her. A fortnight elapsed, and still he glimpsed no danger. But still he watched, and still he prepared. That preparation proved necessary soon after.

The weapons master approached him as visited the weapons tent, seeking a replacement sword for the one that had snapped in the morning's training. They were headed into battle again, and he needed a better weapon that would not break in the heat of the conflict. As he held a blade up, watching the play of light against its surface, the weapons master spoke.

The Soldier did his best not to let any emotion play across his face as he turned to his old friend. The weapons master had been in the army since before he had enlisted, and had always proven himself to be a decent man--more decent than could be expected from one who dealt so regularly with death.

The weapons master looked grim. "I have heard that perhaps the emperor is not so benevolent as it would appear. He does not like to lose his playthings, even if they are returned to him."

The fires had burned down, only the embers still smoldering, waiting to be stirred to life in the morning. Despite the lack of movement, the quiet anticipation of battle hung in the air.

The Soldier wove his way through the slumbering figures, calling upon all his skills to remain unnoticed, knowing that one misstep meant death for him and his beloved. She was sleeping near a fire on the outskirts of camp, somewhat removed from the other people huddled close to its warmth. He spared a moment to be grateful that she was in her usual place, and then crouched next to her and placed his hand over her mouth. Her eyes flew open and her whole body tensed for a struggle before she recognized him.

He shook his head regretfully. "Too much noise." Horses would make their escape much more certain, but they could not risk disturbing the animals and having them awaken the entire camp. He handed her a small bundle containing half of the supplies he had been able to gather. She slung it over her shoulder, spared one last look at her surroundings, and then turned to him and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Moving together, they crept to the edge of camp, staying out of the sentry's sight. Luckily, the sentry was more concerned with enemies approaching the camp than with friends leaving it. Additionally, the Soldier had been responsible for devising the patrol patterns, and he was able to sneak them past the sentry during a short window of opportunity. They continued quietly for several more minutes and then, when the Soldier judged it safe, they accelerated, trying to build up as much of a head start as possible by morning.

Perhaps his familiarity with the trails would work to their advantage. It was a particularly dark night, and although the clouds covering the moon aided in their escape, they also made the footing dangerous. Several times he or the Captive slipped, and he feared it was only a matter of time before one of them was injured. But still they pressed on, knowing that their absence would be discovered at first light.

And indeed, it was only a few hours past dawn when they began to hear the sounds of mounted pursuit behind them. They exchanged a worried glance and began to look for cover, but there was none to be found. The terrain was rocky and barren, and they were still several hours from the shelter of the forest.

The pursuit drew nearer, and the Soldier, looking behind him, could catch an occasional glint of light off a stirrup or a weapon. Their pace over the last hour had been punishing, and still, there was nowhere to hide. He grabbed for the Captive's arm, stilling her flight.

"We must stop and talk now, while there is still time," he said, hoping she would understand what he was about to say. "I will not hurt these men. This is not their battle--they are only obeying orders, and they do not deserve to die for our freedom."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment as if in pain, and then reopened them, her clear gaze meeting his without doubts. "Yes," she agreed. Her expression hardened. "But I will not go back a second time."

It was his turn to feel pain, and he cast about frantically, trying to devise a way out of this trap. He could not see any escape for them but death. She read his despair and reached out for his hand, grabbing his jaw with her other hand.

"Listen to me," she insisted, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I do not fear death. I did not fear it when I was brought to your tent on that night months ago, and I do not fear it now. Especially now, knowing that if we die, we will share the afterlife together."

"There is a way for us to escape. There must be. I will not believe that we have been brought together to fail now," she said fiercely, and the faith shining from her eyes was almost blinding enough to make him believe as well.

"There is a way," she insisted. "Trust me. Trust us, and we will find it." She pulled him close and kissed him, and all of her love and faith came pouring out of her soul to fill his. He resisted at first, unable to forget the approaching soldiers, but she drew him into her embrace. Groaning, he returned the kiss with equal fervor, determined to convey everything with this one last joining. The world narrowed until it no longer contained any fear or hate--only his love, his need, his gratitude, and his faith existed. She was right. Death was not to be feared it was a flimsy threat. The only fear he had was being separated from his love, and nothing could ever accomplish that.

They broke apart finally, sharing secret and loving smiles, despite the hopelessness of their plight. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that he as well had made his peace with death, but the expression on her face stopped him. The smile was quickly transforming into wonder and joy, and he pivoted quickly to see what she saw.

There, hovering in the air, was a gateway. All the colors of the dawn were reflected in it, scarlet hues shading into violet, orange tinges leading to a blinding exuberant gold. The opening was opaque, but the Soldier had no doubt that it would lead them somewhere safe.

They were vaguely aware of the soldiers approaching, but the sweet smells and sounds drifting from the portal were much more enticing, and he and his love did not hesitate for an instant before stepping into it.

Yes, enchantments are funny things, my children. Some weigh like stone on the backs of the cursed, but some enchantments are gifts, creating water in the desert or spinning holes in the night sky. And nature has a way of balancing the scales, so that our poor Soldier, who spent so many years laboring under his enchantment, was now rewarded with complete and utter happiness.

As he stood at the shore of the moon-kissed lake where he and his beloved had first been joined, he knew that they were truly free, for who can cage a pair that can open holes in the sky? He felt as if he could float away and use the stars for stepping-stones. Pausing for a moment, he realized that he truly did feel lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. The sensation called up a memory, and he turned to his love. She, unable to contain her joy, was dancing with light feet at the water's edge. As soon as she caught sight of his outstretched arms, she came to him willingly and wrapped her own arms about him.

It was as if there was a weight hanging over you, and I did not know what else to call it other than a spell." She leaned back in his arms to regard him. "But that weight is gone now, yes?"

He had not even thought of his name in many years. In a way, it was as if he had ceased to be that person when he became a Soldier. His beloved had awakened him from his enchanted sleep, had made him worthy of having a name, and it was only right that he share it with her.

He gazed at her, his love, his salvation, his breaker of enchantments, and he wanted to dance and shout for joy. But he had not yet unlearned his restraint, and so he simply smiled at her.

Such was the story of our Soldier and his Captive. But theirs is only one of the many stories to be told, of love and heartbreak, fear and discovery, joy and passion. All folk have their own stories, and all are worth telling. Come to my fire another night, and I shall sing you a different tale.