Devil's Dance by Shandria Katz

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If the witch's promise held true, I would win this challenge.

I made my voice shake in doubt and replied, "Agreed."

He jumped back with a laugh and waved his spindly arms about him. The fire roared to life, the hilltop changed to provide comforts to its bleakness, a great feast appeared before my startled eyes.

Gold platters with roast boars, stuffed geese, lamb shanks lay steaming to the night, my mouth watered to the sights. Bowls of fruit, some I could recognise and some I could not, glowed with their vivid ripeness to the firelight. Pewter pitchers with fruited water, wooden kegs of beer and mead, my hungry belly and my tired throat demanded a taste or drink. "Eat my fine bard and enjoy."

But as the moon shone over the light of the fire and food, it caught my eyes to its bright white orb. When I looked again, I saw only the shadow of delights he had offered. I could hear the old witch as if she was whispering in my ear. ‘Do not eat nor drink from the demon's feast or you will be lost and die by his hands.'

"Please pardon my rudeness, but I could not dine with you not without repaying your kindness. For I must provide entertainment to you in honour of such a feast."

I fought control over my body wanting to gorge on the shadowy delight, and reached instead for the flute case. The pale rosewood case glowed in the moonlight and sheltered within the blue velvet was the silver like flute. It looked as if it was made from the horn of a unicorn and it glistened in the moonlight. But near the lip as to remind me was the same motif my dear love made upon the sword I fought with.

The warmth of the fire dragged me to the old witch's hut I had visited a fortnight ago. I could smell the dried herbs and spices of the hut instead of the feast. I could so see clearly the woman, brandishing my sword to the light squinting at it's worth.

‘This sword it was made with love and passion was it not.'

‘Yes, my love made it for me asking me to return swiftly and said this blade would aid me.'

‘If you take the blade to the hill, he will surely discover your intent and destroy you. But with my spells I can make this be something else till the time is right. What instruments can you play, warrior?'

I remembered quirking my lips to her words. ‘My love taught me how to sing, to drum, and to play the flute. The flute was the most dearest sound next to me or so I was told."

‘The flute of desires then. Your blade will sing for you in your playing and cut through any enchantments he would cast upon you. It will be as your love crafted. A flute powered by a unicorn's dreams.'

I played my flute of unicorn horn, and I played as fair can be. The notes it sang wept to the night air. As it played from my soul, I remembered the days at the farmstead. I remembered how I dreamt of adventures in far off places. I cried out to the night with my longing desires, my lust for the outside world that was outside my reach.

The final notes drifted over the hilltop when I awoke from the spell to the here and now, and returned to the pain of loss in my heart.