Cursed

by R D Blake

  Marta went to bed feeling a relief that nothing had come of the curse — that the odd, old woman was only strange. No wonder she lived by herself.

  That next morning, Marta was down first and saw Ilena enter the kitchen, bright and gay as usual. It seemed nothing had changed until Marta noticed that a pimple, a red almost purplish one, had arisen on Ilena’s previously unblemished skin at the base of her neck. Near the end of breaking their morning fast, Ilena began to scratch it and broke its raised head and made a low surprised sound in her throat. Bringing her hand up to her eyes, they both observed a yellow, greenish fluid upon her hand. “My! What I have done? Mother, come, take a look.”

  And so it went. Marta knew not what to do or what to say, and less how to comfort her sister. For as one day turned to the next, in the passing of only a few, her sister’s face became covered with those pimples, both large and small, but all oozing and soon her entire body was engulfed by them. Then her hair, the hair that Ilena loved to comb began to gather in her brush. Its golden gleamings less and less upon her head and more and more as scattered remains on the floor.

  Her mother’s and father’s concern only grew graver, and though there was no doctor within the village, those with medical lore, came, first one and then others; but none could solve the matter nor shed light on the source of the malady afflicting Ilena. Marta’s sister wept at her plight and Marta cowered in her room, pained in her spirit. Though no fever or chill touched Ilena’s body, yet every morning her appearance lessened still further. It was but a few days more with the town abuzz with what was happening within the cabinetmaker’s home that strong words began to be spoken that Ilena must be sent away lest another child or any other of their population suffer the same fate. A few, a precious few, spoke otherwise.

  Fear and superstition run deep in humankind and the majority forced the hand of Marta’s parents, and in scarce two weeks of days, Marta saw the last of her sister, now almost bald, her skin covered in boils, a blotchy, sallow, green rough hue arising where the sores were not, her blue eyes hidden behind a veil of swollen lids, her sweet red lips gone pale with growths sprouting from their edges as if a fungi had found a home there. Her fingers had begun to narrow becoming bony like an old woman’s and her hands and arms had swelled, rent with sinuous veins and becoming bowed and bent.

  Ilena had not gone out for days. Now she covered herself with a hooded shawl and her face with a rough veil of sackcloth — for her features would make even a baby blanch and scream. Marta had no words of parting, for now she saw plainly the curse the coldness of her heart had cast on her sister — her sole and only sister. The pain and the horror of her selfish deed almost overcame Marta as she cast her hands about her sister and felt the bones of her shoulders, for even the flesh there had withered away. Yet Marta knew she could not hold Ilena too tightly, for the pressure of such would cause the sores that now covered her to erupt anew bringing a fresh wave of pain and a release of a sour stench from her body.

  It had become too much! Days ago Marta had fled the town, running to the beginning of the path into the swamp — to seek out the witch again and no matter the cost undo what she had done. But to no avail would the trail lead her to the old crone’s abode. For hours Marta wandered, the path always leading her out again to the main road. She tried time and time again, marking her way, even walking off the trail tracing a straight line through the woods, then lastly, following alternative paths; but always, every time, for naught, she returned to the road.

  Only the previous night, Marta had cast herself down by the entranceway into the swamp to weep away her terrible sorrow. How could she have been so cruel? To return her sister’s goodness with such evil? For she believed she saw the truth of the matter. It was she herself who was evil, to wish such a curse on anyone who lived under God’s sun. So Marta had lain there until a woodsman came down the road, returning after a week away from the town. Finding her prostrate upon the ground and knowing her, he took Marta in his arms and gave comfort as only an ageing man with grown children of his own can do. He carried her to her home again, understanding her sorrow to the extent that her kept secret would allow him, and he worried not that the plague of Ilena had caught up with her.

  So sorrow wormed itself deeply into Marta’s heart and marred it seemingly forever, though her pain was not yet any of the price the witch had chosen for her. That would come later.

  Thus the day came when the two sisters expressed their sad farewells to each other — and with Ilena’s step-mother. For it had been agreed between the parents that their father would lead Ilena out from the town and into the forest and take her to a secluded glen where she would live by herself. Though the townsmen knew it not, their father intended to visit her constantly under the auspices of searching out choice wood for his cabinetry. His and his wife’s hopes were that Ilena would eventually recover, and that they could sustain her until that time when their prayers might be answered.

  The two, father and younger daughter, left their small house, the path through the town clearly already decided upon. They found their route empty of townsfolk, tradesmen, children, even dogs and cats — not even nary a rat crossed in front of them. Only a lone raven flying above them followed them to the edge of the town. So they passed through the village and exited through its vacated gates. Ilena cast her eyes back once and through the veil of her covering looked one last time at the strong walls and the comfort within and knew in her heart that she would never return. Not unless God Himself removed this sickness from her.

  The road itself was empty of people, though the birds of the field began to flutter from bush to bush, branch to branch, tree to tree, following them — warbling, chirping, and singing as if there was no reason to be so forlorn. The few times Ilena brought her eyes up from the road, she thought it only her imagination that furtive movements in and among the grasses bordering it kept pace with her. Eventually, the raven that had followed the twosome left, for he knew from long years of service to her that his mistress would find joy in the misery of those below him and would wish to hear his news.

  After travelling for some miles, Ilena’s father led them off the road and they travelled onwards up over hills, down into dales, gradually climbing higher and higher into the foothills of the mountains that were to the north of Torburg; for the village was one of the final frontier towns of the kingdom on the edge of the known world. Now, they came to stride along animal trails, treading under giant stands of trees, and over small rills of water that flowed down here and there, babbling in their own language.

  Finally, her father came to a stop and beckoned Ilena to sit. “Rest, daughter. Here will be your home in this small glade. See, nearby is a fresh spring, and I will build you a small shelter that can guard you over the nights and through the rains of the fall. I have brought such tools and other supplies if you should need to tarry here long, and every week I will come and build better and more, if by winter you must still remain. Only I have travelled in these foothills. None of the town knows of this place and none will find you to cause you harm.”

  Over the next few days he built a small cabin — rough, yet with a tiny fireplace made of stone and hard clay mixed with lime. Rainproof, if not bug proof, but sufficient enough that her father felt he could leave Ilena until he could return in a week’s time again. It was a sad departure for Ilena was his full daughter and his love for her birth mother was entangled deeply within his love for her. Their farewell was long, delayed time and again, and with much tears. Only that morning Ilena had seen her skin roughen more and the last true remnants of her hair fall out, so that all that was left was a black stubble that was not her own and which had already crawled down to reach her shoulders. And just as disturbing, one of her front teeth had fallen out during the night.

  Ilena wondered bitterly if anything of her former self would remain. What evil had she committed that had brought down upon her God’s Wrath? When the last of her father could be seen through the leaves of the tre
es, she slumped to the ground and wept still more and despite the bird song that surrounded her, all Ilena could sense was the silence within herself.

  A restless sleep and dark dreams followed Ilena through the night, and she woke late with the sun well up in the glade. Truly, she did wish to meet the day but remained curled up in the single blanket her father had left her. But finally, pushing herself up onto her side, she noticed that her nails were thickening, appearing more like claws, and a black tint had gathered at their roots. Was she to become an animal? Ilena was loathe to examine herself more than she had — to see what else this sickness had done to her. She even refrained from exploring her mouth, afraid to discover if more of her white teeth had left their homes. Would she be a toothless old crone passing entirely through womanhood with no stop along the way, missing it all?

  Eventually the emptiness of her stomach forced Ilena to drag herself out of the small shelter and she discovered, though it seemed impossible, that there were more birds than ever surrounding the glade bursting out into new song as if in welcome to her. By the opening to her shelter, were profusions of flowers and beside them piles of late season berries, nuts, and a comb laden with sweet honey. How had these come to be here? But Ilena put those thoughts aside and ate, enjoying the taste of each. To finish her fast, she journeyed the few steps to the small spring to quench her thirst.

  As she turned back to her shelter Ilena discovered that it was now surrounded by animals of the forest; martens; squirrels; mice; deer; a wild pig; foxes; and above them all, sitting atop on the shelter and in the overhanging branches of the trees encircling the clearing were hawks, eagles and osprey, along with larks, robins and finches — all regarding her quietly. Yet there was other movement beyond the edge of the glade, hidden by low hanging branches and the coloured leaves of bushes. Whatever they were, they were large, moving either quickly, or lumbering about. Ilena felt a sudden fear. Perhaps she would not survive until her father returned. But the bird song began again, more riotous than ever and small birds, wrens, sparrows, and bluebirds all began to fly about her and by their flights directing her to follow them. And as if by some invisible command, the creatures gathered about her shelter moved apart to open a path between them. Such a curious behaviour.

  Ilena had always had an affinity for animals and birds and would never suffer to see them come to harm and it had always seemed to her that they held the same for her as far back as her childhood memories could span. So putting aside her earlier fear, allowing their song and antics to warm her otherwise chilled heart, Ilena followed, though first, she gathered up all the supplies her father had given her, storing them away, with the scant extra clothing and the few tools, bundling them all up in the pack her father had left her. The birds flew away from the glade. As she stepped after them, the animals began to trail behind her. And so it came to be that Ilena took a path out of the known world.

  ______Ω______

  The week that followed for Marta and her parents proved both long and burdensome. None spoke of Ilena for it was too painful to bear and none of the three knew what would happen if they began to share their grief and sorrow amongst themselves.

  The townspeople themselves ne’er said a word, and for the most part the family was spurned almost as much as Ilena had been. All Marta’s friends avoided her and whenever Marta espied Yorges all she felt was contempt — no, not truly for him but for herself. It seemed that the scales had fallen from her eyes and she saw the miller’s son in a different light. Still, he was handsome with a bright smile and his muscles and height remained unchanged; but now Marta wondered in her deep silence what she had seen in Yorges that had made him all she felt she could ever have desired.

  The change in Ilena and her banishment from the town seemed not to have affected Yorges at all. (Though this was not true for boys seldom betray the hurts suffered within their hearts.) Still all the same, it made Marta doubt her own earlier assumptions of the feelings and sentiments that the miller’s son had demonstrated for her younger sister and those uncertainties only served to twist the knife deeper into the midst of her own dark self-judgement.

  Something had died inside her and all Marta thought during that entire week was of Ilena, uglier each day, alone, afraid — and cursed forever.

  ______Ω______

  The end of the longest week Marta had ever endured was marked by the departure of her father, setting out with a bulging pack, intent on remaining with Ilena for several days. His return the following morning, still bearing his rucksack broke her heart. His face told Marta and her mother well before his words did: Ilena was gone.

  The story that finally went about the town afterwards was of Ilena’s father finding her refuge destroyed, the ground torn up with no sign of her, the only evidence that of huge beasts having ransacked the clearing. Despite his deep woodcraft, Marta’s father had found no sign or trace of her. Then the townspeople, in a complete reversal of their previous rejection of Ilena, joined the family in their grief, adding their own commemorations of the young girl who had danced her way through the town and into many hearts. There in the small church, the entire village met and sorrowed together with the couple, led in their grief by the same priest who had under God’s Hand sanctioned their marriage but a few years previous. Yet there was no comfort great enough to console Marta. Nor would it seem ever be.

  ______Ω______

  Chapter Three

  Hundreds of miles away deep within another forest on a flatland cloven by a large river and rived by many of its slow moving tributaries, two youths were found laughing at each other’s mud covered appearances. Their horses, untied but loyal, remained near them, but not sharing in their mirth, understanding it less than the unsettling stench of boar scent that caused hackles to ripple up and down their backs, and without the love they had for the two youths, would have galloped as far away from this place as their strong legs would have granted them. But loyalty has many rewards and unexpected consequences.

  The larger of them, in fact much larger, broad-backed, with shoulders already matching his overly large head, got to his knees and bowed, and not in mockery to the smaller. “I owe you my life, Erick. This small gash on my arm should have been a hole in my middle a dog could have walked through if you had not turned the beast. As my father did to your own, I swear Ehorim to you.”

  Erick had risen to his feet, and at first was going to take this oath as a jest, but seeing the serious look on the face of his over-sized friend and with the reference the same oath his father had made, he chose to only nod and say in reply, affirming that vow as seriously as it was being given, “Ala domoamah vem sal” which in the common language can be loosely translated as: “Then friends through all.” Typically, these words were exchanged between a vassal and his lord; but Teton was no such person, and this pledge inferred an obligation that went much deeper than the mere meanings so expressed.

  “Now, you clumsy lout, get to your feet! There would have been no need for me to act, if you had ridden properly. And I did little but turn the beast to look at a face far worse than its own.”

  Teton accepted the hand given to him and though his friend had not the strength to lift him to his feet, grasped it firmly and in a manner that completed his vow, heaved himself to his feet amidst the muck on the edge of the bog. “I stand corrected, Erick. I thought it your face that made the boar turn in its tracks, and even now I imagine it has travelled miles away and will no longer trouble the kingdom of Pellannor, for it will seek out one in which its inhabitants look far fairer than either of the two of us.”

  Erick slapped the bigger youth’s back. “And likely smell better. Come, my friend, let us be on our way and join the others. And I think it best we come up with a song to sing of the greatest sized boar to ever escape the spears of Erick and Teton.” And with that the two friends slid their way over toward their skittish steeds that wondered anew if the creatures approaching them truly were their masters.

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  Several months had passed and winter had come in full to the town of Torburg. As much as possible, everyone stayed inside out of the biting cold. All the signs were there confirming that this would be a long, hard and bitter winter. But its harshness did not touch Marta, for the coldness of her heart and her judgement of her selfishness and her foolishness abounded far beyond the chill of the season. She found no peace and no solitude from her own self-recriminations. Her inner voice was strident, loud, accusing, and ruthless. Marta believed she deserved all of it. She had tried to find consolation in being an obedient daughter, being kind to all she met, and giving much of her precious possessions to those more needy (and more deserving in her own mind). Ilena’s room had been left almost as shrine to her, but Marta could not bear to be in her sister’s room for overlong and avoided it as much as she could. Memories of sweeter times only served to whip the lash more fiercely against her inner self.

  She had sought out comfort in the church: in its silence, among its shrines, and in the rituals and the words of the priest; for she knew that he understood in some manner that she was tortured by the fate and death of her sister. There were times when she was moved to confess all; but Marta feared his lack of comprehension, his righteous judgement, and if it ever became to be known, the rebuke of her parents and of the village. So she kept the secret of the curse to herself. Day by day, the pain of her selfishness and cruelty only seemed to grow. Yuletide came and went, but she found no comfort in the remembrance and celebration of God’s own visit to their world. What did God’s Son and His Sacrifice and Salvation mean to one who had damned another and was only deserving of damnation herself?