There were sounds in her cottage. Marise lay still and tried to identify them. The scritch of the broom against bare wood floor. The hissing of a fire. The rolling bubble of water boiling. The low rumble of a deep voice. Humming. Someone—a male—was sweeping her floor. Humming. How odd. She laughed at the absurdity of it, and the humming stopped.
Sitting up in her bed, Marise looked at the man she had called from death as he leaned on the broom and looked back at her. He was slender without being thin, tall, older than she, yet with the carriage of a younger man. His eyes and hair were brown against pale skin, but somehow when she looked left rather than right his eyes seemed more green than brown; his hair showed red highlights.
'It worked,' she said to the room. She hadn't been sure. The first spell had been simple, something she had performed many times—murder victims still angry, young people unwilling to accept their fate. It wasn't easy, but the result was never in doubt. But the second spell had frightened her. The original receipt called for putting a lost spirit into a body, his or another's. But Marise could obtain no body, and so had improvised. Casting an appraising glance over her guest, she nodded in satisfaction. Perhaps she should improvise more often!
'What is your name?' she asked, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and standing up. She did not miss the slight hesitation, or the frown that crossed his brow before he replied, 'I don't know.'
One narrow eyebrow rose, and she shrugged. Perhaps the shock of returning to flesh had wiped his memory. That would be a disappointment. Marise had hoped to discover who he was, and what his spirit had been doing here in the wizard's cottage.
Perhaps the wizard had killed him? No. From all she had heard from her neighbors, Aginard had been a gentle soul, stubborn but kind, with a passive nature. Not one to be a murderer. And this stranger in front of her wasn't, she thought with not a little regret, the wizard himself. Even a created body would bear the impression of the soul's former housing. Aginard had been an older man, full of gray hairs and creases. This man in front of her had neither, although there was a certain tenseness about his narrow face that indicated years lived in hard places.
'Well, don't worry yourself over it.' She kept her voice calm. 'It may come back, and it may not. Do you remember anything else?'
He frowned again in thought, as though the action disturbed him. 'I remember being here, eating a meal. Only the table was over there,' he pointed, 'and the bed was there.'
Marise nodded. Those were changes she had made upon moving in. 'Anything else?'
He made a face, more at himself than at her. 'You're asking if I remember how I died.'
She shrugged, crossing in front of him to take the water off the fire and pour it into an earthenware mug, adding a spoon of lemongrass to it and putting it aside to steep. Sitting on the bench, she studied him. 'And do you?'
He sighed, resuming his sweeping more as a way to occupy his body than to clean the stained floor. 'I remember an argument. Fighting. Shouting. I was very angry, then I was in pain. Then... there was more pain, and it was over. Then nothing until you came.'
'And last night?'
'More pain. Almost unbearable. An intense heat overwhelming me. And then I was here, and I knew your name but not my own.' He looked at her from under dark lashes, his expression shy. 'I thought you might be able to help me remember.'
Marise made a decision as she made all of her decisions, with the rueful knowledge that she might regret it later. 'I will. You will stay with me, and we will discover your past. But you need a name. People would wonder, and ask questions you cannot answer yet.' She stopped to think a moment. 'I will call you Efeon, if that sits well with you.'
'Efeon.' He tested the name out on his lips, tasting it like a new spice. 'What does it mean?'
'River fox,' she told him shortly, not adding the rest of it, that the river fox was known to be a changeable beast, full of magic and mischief, and utterly unpredictable. It was also said that should a person be so foolhardy as to catch a river fox, three strands from its red tail bound into a charm would bring the bearer his—or her—deepest desire.
Several weeks passed peacefully. Efeon found that he was skilled in writing, and began to scribe letters and agreements for the villagers. Always with a quick joke or a tiny sketch to delight the children, he seemed content. But at night, as he paced the walls of her cottage, Marise saw another side to him.
'There must be something you can do, some magic you can cast, that will solve this damnable mystery!' he raged at her after a particularly bad day. 'I know I've a mage's training—I can feel it running in my bones. And how else could I have come to you, asking to be released?'
Marise turned a page in the spellbook carefully, smoothing the vellum so that it lay flat against the other pages. 'We've discussed this before, Efeon. The spell was a powerful one. It is probable that, in exchange for breath, the spell consumed your talent. Would you have preferred to remain a spirit, aware yet apart?'
He turned on her, one clenched fist slamming down on the table so that her clay dishes rattled. 'I want both!'
Marise stifled her instinctive start of fear. He had these bursts of temper often, and although she understood, and sympathized, they frightened her as well. He was a strong man, and without a spell at hand she was vulnerable should he rage out at her.
'Sit down, Efeon,' she commanded, but he had already dropped onto the hardwood bench across from her.
'I'm sorry,' he said in a harsh whisper. 'I swear, I never mean to do that. I would never hurt you, I
His head sunk onto his chest, Efeon looked so defeated that Marise once again forgot her plan to scold him, instead kneeling beside him, one arm curved across his knees. 'It will come back to you,' she said soothingly. 'You simply mustn't push it. You were dead, if you care to remember! It takes some time to heal from that, even for wizards.'
In the morning, Efeon seemed to have come to terms with his situation. Marise, on her way back from walking the borders of the village to reinforce the warders, stopped to watch him go over the details of a marriage
