Darkness Sleeping

by Jen Pretty

  Darkness sleeping

  Origins of Morgana le Fay

  Jen Pretty

  Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity. All it takes is a little push.

  —joker

  CHAPTER ONE

  An east wind whispered through the treetops, cautioning of the oncoming storm. I pulled my shawl closer and ignored the melancholy cries of the mourning doves, focusing instead on the sound of my horse's hooves echoing over the forest floor.

  Ahead, a lamp swung from a post on the side of the cart filled with apples heading for the coast. The cart had been leading the way for two days, the old man driving the mules my only companion on the forced journey.

  My days at the orphanage were up. At least they let me keep Copper, but the coin they gave me barely got me a day's worth of food. My stomach growled at the thought.

  My shaking hands clamped the reins as the damp air permeated the thin material of my shawl. The sun was still firmly below the horizon, but ahead the light of the moon filled an open field. Beyond that, sparkles lit the water like fireflies as we finally approached our destination.

  "Lass, you'll be headin' north here," the man called back. The scent of his pipe drifted to my nose, reminding me of my father and making me long for a life I had lost nearly a decade ago.

  "All right. Thank you, sir." I replied, turning my horse at the crossroads and heading north as he continued south.

  Copper was sure-footed and easily maneuvered along the rocky shore. Now that I was out of the forest darkness, the world seemed less frightening. The waves lapping at the rocks were a welcome relief from the eerie silence that had chased me from Pons Aelius on the River Tyne.

  The trail smoothed out the further I travelled; the land rising and taking me away from the water's edge. The sound of the waves was a mere whisper by the time I caught sight of a glowing lantern. Its light illuminated the shadowy convent that would be my new home. It was still leagues away, but that small flickering flame gave me hope and chased the chill from my bones.

  I reached down and stroked Copper's smooth coat, then whispered the song I had always sung to him:

  "Across the plains of clover,

  Racing against the sun,

  Hooves against the hard stone,

  Now the day is done.

  Home before the darkness

  Safe and warm we'll be

  Together forever,

  My beauty and me."

  The song always reminded me that as long as I had Copper, I was never truly alone. I prayed that I would find a home for he and I where we were going.

  Copper trotted down into a gully, hiding the flickering beacon, but by the time, we crested the next hill, the sun was clawing at the surface of the water on the horizon, lighting the structure in a warm yellow glow.

  The dirt path turned to stone slabs as we approached and Copper's hooves echoed like thunder through the arched entry. He dashed up the half-dozen steps, and I banged on the heavy wooden doors still astride my trusty companion. He stood patiently, waiting with me until I heard a clang and a clatter. He danced slightly, but I steadied him as the door swung in and a short stout woman stood before me, holding a lantern that lit her worn face.

  "Oh, dear child, come in," she said, swinging the door wide enough for Copper and I to pass.

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  Copper slid past her delicately and the door swung shut behind us. The courtyard walls were tall and blocked out all but a tiny glimmer of the morning light. The scent of livestock drifted from one side and a cow bellowed from an unseen stall to my right.

  "You can stable your horse with the cows if you intend to keep him. If not, let him free," the woman said offhandedly.

  I slid from Copper’s back and half thought of letting him go. Would I need him now that I was here? His soft nicker pushed the thought from my mind and I led him forward towards the small livestock barn. The roof was low inside, not designed for horses, but Copper ducked his head and followed me into the black. The woman came in behind, holding the lamp. Some chickens squawked and flapped out of the way as we moved in and I found an empty stall in the back corner.

  I dropped Copper’s reins. He didn't need a bridle, but I had taken it when I left. Sweat crusted his back. I grabbed a handful of straw, twisting it until it was a thick pad in my hand and I used it to scrub the sweat from his coat.

  "Where have you travelled from?" The woman held the lamp up so she could see my face. My crimson hair fell across my cheek, but I pushed it back and let her inspect me.

  "From the north, ma'am."

  She grunted. "The horse is fine. Put him up and come indoors before you catch your death."

  I led Copper forward and closed him in the small stall with a silent promise to return soon. Then I chased the shadow of the nun as she crossed the courtyard and entered the convent proper.

  She closed the door behind me with a rusty squeal and a clang that punctuated my fate and confirmed my future.

  Her heavy steps led me through dark corridors until we came to a small, solid wood door.

  "You can sleep an hour, no more. Then it will be time to get to work. Do you know how to clean and cook?"

  I nodded. The orphanage had given me no short supply of practice in those skills. My knuckles still bore the marks of the switch used to correct me when my work wasn't satisfactory.

  "Good, I'll expect you to do all the chores assigned to you each day. There is no room for laziness here." With that she turned and left.

  I pressed open the door and ducked inside. The room was no bigger than a broom closet, but I had shared a room with six other girls at the orphanage, so this would be an improvement. I had no clothes besides what I wore, so I slipped out of the shawl and under the tattered sheets on the straw cot. It was lumpy and musty, but my tired body didn't care. I was asleep before I had time to think about my new surroundings or worry about the future.

  ***

  A loud banging woke me much too soon, but I bolted to my feet, determined to make a good impression. It wouldn't be like at the orphanage; I would be helpful and competent, and no one would complain about me. I grabbed my shawl and swung open the door.

  "Oh dear," a young woman only slightly older than I said as I stepped out. She was beautiful, with long arms and legs that made her seem exotic. Her chest puffed up in a fine dress that plunged nearly to an indecent level, but skimmed the floor at the hem as though she was a proper nun. "You reek of manure. Did you sleep in a barn before you arrived here?"

  I ducked my head. "No, ma'am."

  I had in fact slept in a barn the night before I found my guide. It had been horrible and even I could smell the pigs on my clothes.

  "Well. You can't work in those clothes. No one here will stand the smell. Take yourself to the basement and find some clothes among the storage. They may be musty, but at least you won't smell like a pig." Her face bore a sneer of disgust and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  I nodded and hurried away before even asking her for directions. Her laughter echoed down the hall, nipping at my heels. I felt a twinge of sorrow, but pushed it down. I would make friends here. Just, perhaps, not that particular woman.

  I wandered until I found a set of stairs that led down into the darkness. I had no lantern and didn't see one nearby, so stood at the top of the steps, trying to decide what to do when a soft voice asked, "Are you lost?"

  I spun on my heel, nearly tipping over before coming face to face with a mouse-ish looking woman. Her petite frame brought her only to my shoulder height but her hunched stance made her shorter than that. Her waist was so narrow you could almost see through her and a strong wind might have blown her clear off a horse, but her face looked kind. Also, she carried a lamp.

&n
bsp; "I'm to go in the basement and find some new clothes," I explained.

  "Have you just arrived?" she asked.

  "Yes, this morning."

  The small woman nodded and then hurried past me into the stairway without another word. I followed her down. Cobwebs hung in the corners and the stairs moaned like trees on the shore, battered by the wind, but they held us and at the foot of the stairs I found dozens of dusty trunks. The ceiling was low and we both had to stoop to move about.

  "My name is Darla, what's yours?" she asked as she set the lamp on a crate, casting light over the trunks.

  "Morgan," I said. "Nice to meet you, Darla."

  Darla's face cracked into a smile for half a second and her eyes flashed in the low light, then she dropped her chin again and lifted the lid of a trunk beside her.

  Inside were grey skirts and blouses. They were worn and frayed, but serviceable. I pulled a long skirt out and shook it, sending a cloud of dust into the still air, tickling my nose.

  "This will fit," I said holding the item up to myself.

  "Yes," Darla said, grabbing another skirt and shirt, closing the lid and scooping up the lamp. "We should hurry or we will be in trouble."

  She handed me the second outfit, and I followed her up the stairs. At the top, she disappeared around a corner. I had to go change so I hurried the other way, hoping I would bump into Darla again soon.

  Clothes clutched to my chest, I strode back the way I had come, but all the doors looked the same. I couldn't even recall which floor my room was on. Had I gone down two flights of stairs or three?

  In my panic, I flung open a door I thought might have led to my room, but as I stepped through the threshold I found an old woman in a wicker rocking chair.

  "Oh, pardon me. I'm so sorry," I muttered as I backed towards the door.

  The old woman's cloudy eyes inspected me for a moment, squinting just a little, then her toothless mouth opened and an undignified cackle rang through the silent room.

  Startled, I stepped back and closed the door, hurrying down the hall, but the sound of her laughter followed me like a ghost, sending shivers down my spine and raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

  There was something not right about the old woman.

  I could feel it in my bones.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Morgan! Move it!" Mother Superior's bellow reached me in the hall.

  "I'm sorry," I cried as I hurried into the parlour with a tray of teacups. This was my third day at the convent and I hadn't stopped running since I set foot on the grounds.

  "Accept my apologies, Abbot Harking. She is new and seems a bit slow, if you know what I mean."

  "Don't worry, Mother. I'm sure you will have her whipped into shape in no time." The Abbot's eyes seemed to leer into me as I set the tray and poured the tea. They went back to their conversation, and I tuned them out, setting biscuits and cheese on a small platter.

  "How is the elder?" The Abbot asked, drawing my attention back to the conversation. I hadn't been able to shake the image of the old woman on the third floor. After I fled her, I had found my room on the second floor and hadn't dared to return to the third since my first day, but something about the old woman called to me.

  "She is still holding on. It's as if she has unfinished business and won't let go until she is done," Mother Superior said. "Go away now, Morgan."

  My eyes flew wide and I spun on my heel, realizing I had been standing stupidly beside the table listening to them speak. I hurried back to the kitchen and found Darla cutting fresh bread while the cook sliced meat in thin shaves.

  "You will take the food to Margarette today, Morgan. I need Darla to fetch more water from the river."

  "Yes, Cook," I muttered. Darla had filled me in on what little she knew of the old woman who had frightened me my first day, Margarette. No one was sure how old she was, but she had been senile for decades at least, living alone in that room on the third floor.

  "Speak up, girl! God won't hear your whisperers."

  "Yes, Cook," I repeated, before grabbing the second tray that Cook had prepared. Darla gave me a sympathetic glance over her shoulder as she walked out with the bucket to gather water.

  My legs carried me easily up the first flight of stairs, but I paused at the base of the steps to the third floor.

  "Pig pen. Why are you always just mulling about while the rest of us work?" The acrid tone of sister Bethel put my nerves more on edge. Her pet name for me since she woke me the first day was already spreading through the convent. I had heard it whispered in the dining room more than once as I passed the rows of tables.

  "Just taking Margarette her luncheon." I was aiming for a mild tone, but it came out frightened and I inwardly kicked myself.

  "Well, get at it then. The woman isn't getting any younger." Sister Bethel brushed past me and continued down the hall as if she had important tasks to attend to. I had never seen her do any actual work, she mainly just yelled at the other women in the convent. Except for Mother Superior. For her she only had smiles and soft words of God’s will and evening prayers.

  I scoffed after a quick check over my shoulder to ensure no one was around to hear me, then set my foot on the first step to the third floor and pushed off, determined not to be frightened of the old woman. She was just a woman.

  Something inside me whispered that she wasn't JUST a woman, but I ignored that and rounded the top of the stairs, shuffling my feet along the smooth wood floor-boards towards the small wooden door that I knew blocked her away from the rest of the house.

  The third floor was silent, apart from a soft rhythmic squeaking sound that grew only slightly louder as I approached the closed door to Margarette's room. I crept toward the door and stopped, my hand extended towards the door, but my fear stopped me from knocking. The squeaking sound brought the image of her rocking chair to my mind. The memory of her open toothless mouth and the remembered sound of her cackles sent a chill down my spine.

  All sound from within the room cut off and I dropped my hand from the door, taking half a step back.

  "Come in, child," a rasped voice said. It was low and soft, not like the wild sound she had made before.

  My heart was pounding in my chest, but I took a step forward and pressed the latch before opening the door slowly. The tea cup rattled as my hand shook, but I stepped forward, reminding myself she was just an old woman.

  As the door swung open, I found Margarette sitting in the same rocking chair, her curtains drawn, casting her in shadows. Her rheumy eyes gazed upon me like a shark eying its prey and a bead of sweat slithered down my spine. The old woman wore a dark green linen dress that frilled around her neck and reached her ankles. Upon her feet she wore heeled leather boots. Her hands grasped the arms of the chair, all bone and sinew, with nearly translucent skin. Her mouth was still toothless and her lips curled in, adding to the sunken appearance of her cheeks and eyes.

  "Ah, you have finally come," she whispered.

  "Uh. I've brought your lunch," I said, glancing away to try to find a table. The room was only big enough for a bed and her rocking chair. I took a final step forward and set the tray on the bed. It was within reach. I prayed I wouldn't have to feed her.

  "I have no need for food any longer. But you have come just in time." Her eyes seemed to sparkle, though there was not enough light to cast them so. "Tell me, can you read?"

  I dropped my head. "Not much, ma'am. I was raised in an orphanage." My father would have taught me to read, had he lived.

  The old woman tsked. "You must learn. Take that book on the end of my bed and open it up. You will begin your studies today. There is no time to lose."

  I glanced at the leather-bound book that sat on the bed. It had etchings across the front and was as thick as my arm. I had a basic understanding of letters, but chores were always more important than studies and I was possibly too old now to learn such a difficult task.

  "Cook will be angry if I don't return," I said in a low voice stil
l staring at the book.

  The old woman huffed. "Cook will mind her business if she knows what is good for her. Pick up the book!"

  I grabbed the book quickly and clutched it with both hands, Margarette's voice compelling me to do as she bid me.

  "Good, now open to the first page. Sit down there and read to me while I eat. That will do this old woman some good."

  I bit my lip and perched on the very edge of the bed. The scent of the old book tickled my nose. It was acrid mix of herbs and coal. I cracked the book open to the first page. The words were scribbled in tight cursive font that strained my eyes. I squinted at the page, attempting to make some sense of the swirls and loops, but my eyes couldn't stay focused on the page when Margarette's chair began to squeak as she rocked.

  When I glanced up, her eyes were closed, head tipped back and her mouth gapping open. I knew she wasn't asleep as her foot was still propelling her chair back and forth in rhythm.

  "Read, child," she whispered as though she had been watching me.

  I returned my eyes to the page and started to decipher the first few letters.

  "O-N-C-E." I spelled out the word.

  "Once," Margarette said.

  "Once," I repeated.

  "U-P-O-N," I spelled the next word.

  "Upon," the old woman intoned.

  And so, we continued for nearly an hour. Twice she made me start the first page over and I found it easier the third time, as though my mind was cataloging the new words and storing them. By the end of the hour, Mother Superior stepped into the room, with a scowl on her face as she found me sitting down and reading to the old woman.

  "What have you been doing here? You still have pigs to feed and floors to scrub."

  "I'm sorry, Mother Superior. I was just--"

  "She was helping me," Margarette said, cutting me off. "You know my old eyes don't see well anymore. I need this child to assist me in the last of my work. She will sit with me for an hour at lunch every day until I die."

  Mother Superior looked shocked. "Of course, Lady Margarette. Whatever you require is at your disposal." The frumpy older aged woman scowled at me. "I'm sure you have had her attention long enough for today."