Circle of the Moon
Page 13
On my forehead, she drew another symbol, whispering words beneath her breath that I could not quite hear. The symbol burnt there, hotter than all the rest, as she replaced the lid on her jar and stowed it somewhere in the folds of her ragged clothing.
“Now then… I command you; OUT!”
This time I could not suppress a cry as a shock of pain stabbed through my brain. The old woman’s hand snapped out like a snake, and she grabbed a thread of light that had emerged from the symbol she had drawn on my forehead.
“Out,” she growled again, as she tightened her grip on that writhing tail of light and began to pull.
The forest echoed with my screams. With each tug on the string of light from my head, it felt as if she was separating my soul from my body. As she drew on it, the thread became a thick rope, and it felt as if that searing rope was being drawn through the grey matter of my mind, scouring and cauterizing as it went.
The pain was like nothing I had ever felt, like nothing I could ever have imagined. My muscles tensed, tugging on the twine that bound me to the tree, but the rope was as hard as steel, and held me there. I pulled harder and the bonds cut into me, but that pain meant nothing—it wasn’t even pain, not compared to what was going on in my head. My brain, itself, was one big nerve and the hag yanked on it until I wished I could die, but in the absence of blissful death, I simply shrieked.
“One more pull.”
“No, please... please, stop.” I had never begged like that before. I didn’t think I could take any more of this agony, but it was more than that; sudden doubt had reared its head. Was I really about to say goodbye to her forever? Had I made a terrible mistake? “I’ve… changed my mind. I want… I want you to make this stop! I’ve changed my mind!”
“Too late for that.”
My throat was raw from screaming, but I howled again as, grinning like a banshee, the old woman tore the tail of the light from me, thrashing in the smoke of the fire. The light seemed shorter now, and moved like a living thing, a snake of light. It wound about her arms and body.
My head dropped forward to my chest. Sweat and tears poured from me, streaking the green ointment. Blood dripped from my lip where I’d bit it and from my nose in which I’d burst a blood vessel during my frenzied thrashing. The ointment still stung somewhat, but it felt like relief compared to the pain of before. Sickly moans crept from my mouth as I hung there limply, every muscle raw with effort, all my strength gone.
Gradually, I was able to lift my head enough to see the old woman, still there, now stroking the increasingly snake-like length of light. She seemed to have tamed it and it seemed to like her, such as a cat purrs against your leg.
“Still alive?” she asked.
I moaned.
“Well, you should be proud of yourself. I was not certain you’d survive.” She faced the light in her hands and smiled a horrible grin. “Thanks for this.”
She held up the light that had, until a moment ago, been my memories and my love.
“What… what will you do… with it?” I asked.
She crossed to the bundle of sticks shaped like a man that I had observed earlier. She stared at it with something akin to wistfulness.
“Love is a hard thing to come across,” she said. “It’s hard to find anyone willing to give it up. Let alone eager to do so… like you. And, even if a person is willing in their mind, their body is not always so keen to relinquish it.” She stroked the light snake again. “Many crave love. I must admit I am among them.” She looked over at me then. “Even someone like me fall victim to loneliness.” She touched the head of the stick man.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A companion, my companion,” she answered. “Though he is nothing without love.”
I looked at the thing again, but this time more closely. And what I saw there caused me to recoil on myself. It was… hideous. An abomination.
“I built him years ago when I saw a man whose face I liked. So I took his face from him and since then, I have added to my stick man when opportunity allowed. He has a heart and a soul. He has the sense of humor of a lovely girl from India, and the frown of a man from Illinois. His taste in music comes from a Frenchman, his taste in literature from an Irish woman. But he cannot love.” She smiled. “Until now.”
With tender hands, she laid the glowing snake on the stick man and, as I watched, it coiled about the thing’s neck. It poked about here and there until it found a gap in the twigs and forced its way in. From between the twigs, I could see its glow.
“Not long now,” said the old woman, half to herself. “I must thank you, young man.”
“For what?” I was feeling very odd, though I could not understand how or why. Something was missing from me, but I could not be sure what that something was. I felt incomplete, but, in a strange way, it did not seem to matter.
“Ah, you’re waking up.” The old woman nodded. “Your body remembers a few minutes longer than your brain does.”
“Remembers what?” I wanted to panic but wasn’t sure what about.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, of course.” I had learnt about her from a witch in Scotland, who had then told me I should not come here, but I had come anyway. Though, for what purpose, I was uncertain.
I frowned. Why had I come here? Why had I put myself through such intolerable pain?
“All a bit confusing, isn’t it?” the old hag asked. “The confusion will be with you for a while.”
“Confusion.”
She just nodded and approached me. “I’ll untie you. There’s a stream over there, you can wash yourself off.”
My wrists bled from where I had tugged so hard at the twine. “What have you done to me?”
“Only what you asked.”
I washed off the blood and sweat and dirt and the green ointment in which she had smeared me, and when I emerged from the stream I felt… better. Stronger. Wiser. There was an energy within me that felt… motivating.
In fact, I felt good. I wasn’t sure why that should be a surprise, but it was. I could feel the hag’s eyes on me.
“Happier?”
“Yes.”
“Thought as much.” She beckoned and I went to her. She placed a hand on my chest and shook her head. “There’s still darkness in you. You will be forever incomplete. But it will no longer trouble you. Perhaps you can even use it.”
I was sure I could. “I don’t feel the same.”
She laughed. “That’s because you’re not the same. You came here as one man, but you leave as another.” Again she touched my chest. “Such darkness. Darkness that will become useful to you… Yes, quite useful.” She reached up to touch her finger to my forehead. “As you have been reborn, I must rename you, my child.” She paused for a moment. “I name you Duine; the Dark One.”
As soon as she said the words, I felt the name settle over me like a comfortable robe. Yes, Duine. That was right. That was my identity—the man I now was.
“Duine,” I repeated.
The old hag nodded. “From this day onward, Rand Balfour is dead.”
To Be Continued In
Hallowed Flames
Coming August, 2020!
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