by Amy Cross
“Because you love me?”
“Because...” He paused. “Yes.”
“Are you sure? I could walk out right now, Edgar, and you'd never have to see me again.”
“You will be my wife,” he replied calmly, “and the mother of my children. We will be married at the end of the month.”
“That's sooner than -”
“It's the date I have decided,” he told her. “We have been discussing the matter for so long, but I see no reason to wait. It's not as if there are many guests who have to travel here, and I hardly think that any extra time would change your parents' views on the matter. I'm also very much aware, thanks to the regular invoices that cross my desk, that you have been busy arranging the elements that you feel are important, so I believe it is time for us to hold the wedding itself. Do you wish to argue with me on that point?”
“I...” She paused. “No, Edgar. The end of the month seems... reasonable.”
“Then I trust that this foolish conversation needs go no further?” he asked. “Nixon is waiting for me, and we have some very important work to get done. I'm afraid that is one thing you'll have to get used to, Estella, once we are married. I am often busy, and it can be difficult for me to find as much time as I would like. Tonight, however, we will have dinner together, just the two of us, and I hope that by then all your concerns will have been allayed.”
“I'm sure they will have been,” she whispered, as Edgar turned and headed to the door.
Staying completely still for a moment, with tears in her eyes, Estella listened to the sound of Edgar making his way along the corridor. Walking over to the window, Estella looked out just in time to see him emerging from the front of the house and joining Nixon for the long walk out to the stone circle. She watched until they were out of view, but just as she was about to turn and leave the study, she noticed that the plant on the windowsill had suddenly begun to curl at the edges, as if its leaves were dying. She reached out to touch it with one of her gloved hands, only to see the damage spread faster, as if her hand itself was responsible. Pausing for a moment, she looked over her shoulder to make sure that she was alone, and then she carefully slipped one of her gloves off, before reaching out to touch the plant again.
Before she could get close, however, the leaves blackened and began to fall away.
Making her way to the other end of the windowsill, Estella looked down at one of the other plants which seemed perfectly healthy. When she reached out to touch the leaves, however, she watched in horror as they, too, quickly blackened and wilted.
“It's me,” she whispered, with a growing sense of shock as she looked more closely at her hand. “There's something wrong with me.”
Part Thirty-Two
I
She knew it was a nightmare, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wake up.
Racing through the dark corridor, Estella could hear the scurrying, clicking sound getting closer. By the time she reached the study, she was ready to throw herself at Edgar's feet and beg for his help, but she found that the room – like the rest of the house – was empty. Having searched and searched, she was starting to lose hope of ever seeing another living soul again, so finally she ran to the window and looked out, only to see that thick fog had moved in and covered the island.
“You're dreaming,” she reminder herself, despite the fear in her voice. “You're only -”
Hearing a gunshot, she looked around, but the sound made no sense. Guns were the one thing Edgar never allowed in his house, yet the shot had been loud and clear, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was hurt.
Feeling a sudden sharp pain in her neck, she turned and looked back across the study. After a moment, she spotted movement in the shadows and she saw a small, goblin-like creature crawling toward her, its ravenous eyes filled with hunger and fury. Backing away, she watched as its sharp claws reached out, and although she knew she should run, she felt as if she was barely able to move. The pain in her neck was getting stronger and stronger, but slowly she realized that there was another pain, too:
Her hands were starting to burn.
Suddenly she heard a sound over her shoulder, and she turned to see a crib in the corner of the study. A baby was crying, and when she rushed over to take a look, she somehow knew instinctively that the child belonged to her and Edgar. Forgetting all about the Tenderling, she reached down and lifted the child up.
“It's okay,” she whispered, trying to calm him and stop his screams, “I'm going to take care of you, my darling. I'm going to make sure you -”
Before she could finish, she saw smoke coming from her hands, and she realized she was burning the child. She tried to drop him, but her hands had already melted through the shawl and were searing into the flesh beneath, causing the child to scream louder than ever. No matter how hard she tried to put him down, she felt her hands burning into the child until finally she felt bone, at which point the baby's body began to fall apart. She screamed as she tried to pull away, before turning and stumbling, landing hard against the floor.
When she looked up, she saw two red eyes above her.
“They are coming,” a voice hissed.
“Who are coming?” she asked, before looking down at her trembling hands. “Please, you have to help me, I can't -”
“They are coming,” the voice said again. “No grave can hold them back.”
“Wait, Edgar -” she shouted, sitting up in bed suddenly, breathless and confused. She looked around the room and found that the light of morning had arrived, but when she glanced at the other side of the bed she saw that Edgar was already up and gone. Looking down at her hands, she could still feel the sensation of the child's body, and a shiver passed through her chest as she realized that the dream had seemed so real. Reaching over to the nightstand, she grabbed her white gloves and slipped them on, and then she looked over at the window. Outside a calm, cloudless blue sky awaited.
Finally, she realized there was only one person who could help her.
***
A few hours later, standing in the shadows of a doorway, Estella watched as her father emerged from the house opposite. Adjusting his cap, the old man paused for a moment, his tired eyes hinting at another grueling, sleepless night. As he trudged off in the direction of the workshop where he toiled every day, he was clearly exhausted.
“Father,” Estella whispered, with tears in her eyes, before reminding herself that she had no time to waste on sentiment. After waiting for her father to disappear around the far street corner, she hurried across the cobbles until she reached the door to her parents' house. Pushing gently, she found that – as usual – the door had been left unlocked, so she slipped inside.
Once she was in the hallway, she paused for a moment, listening to the silence. After a few seconds, she realized she could hear something in the front room, and she braced herself before taking a couple of steps forward. Finally she looked through and saw a familiar shape in one of the armchairs.
“Hello mother,” she said, her voice filled with fear.
The old woman turned to her, and her aged eyes opened wide.
“Please don't be alarmed,” Estella continued, “I didn't come here to upset you, I came because I need your help...”
“Get out of this house,” her mother replied, reaching over to the table and grabbing a crucifix.
“Mother, please -”
“Get out of this house!” Nora shouted, getting to her feet and holding the crucifix out, as if to defend herself from the devil himself. “You're no daughter of mine, not after you sullied yourself in the house of the Le Comptes! Have you no shame, coming back here?”
“Mother, I'm not here about Edgar.”
“Out!”
Stepping forward, Estella ripped the crucifix from the old woman's hand. “I need your help, mother. Everything you ever said about me was right, and now I need your help to undo it.”
Nora stared at her for a moment, as if she couldn't believ
e the words she was hearing. “You have come... to repent?”
“I...”
“For that is the only way forward.”
“Yes,” Estella replied cautiously, “I know that. Maybe. I'm not...” She paused. “Mother, I know how you feel about me, and I know you think I'm lost, but I need to know the truth and of all the people on Thaxos, you are the only one who I feel might understand what's happening.” She waited for a reply, but she could see that the fear in her mother's eyes was real and deeply ingrained. “I'm not asking you to help me because I'm your daughter,” she added finally. “I'm asking you to help me because we have no priest at the moment, and because I need someone who follows the word of God. Even if you never want to see me again, I'm begging you to show a little mercy and help me this one, final time. You know I believe in your wisdom, don't you?”
Turning, Nora shuffled back over to her chair and took a seat. She seemed lost in thought, as if she couldn't decide how to respond, but finally she gestured for Estella to sit opposite.
“Thank you,” Estella said, hurrying across the room and taking a seat. “Mother, I have been -”
“Do not call me that,” Nora spat back at her. “Never again.”
“Of course,” Estella muttered, taken aback but determined not to let her emotions show. She began to remove her white gloves, before thinking better of it. “Last time I was here,” she continued finally, “you said a lot of things about me, and I must be honest, I dismissed them at the time. I thought you were insane, that you were merely reacting against my love for Edgar. After all, you wouldn't be the first person to hate him, and I fully understand your concerns about my relationship. It's almost natural, in a way, for you to try to change my mind. Now, however, I feel that somehow...” Her voice trailed off.
“Now you are ready to repent and beg the Lord for forgiveness?”
“Please -”
“And to leave that foul man?”
“I'm not leaving Edgar.”
“Then you should not be in this house,” the old woman sneered.
“I need to know what's happening to me,” Estella continued. “I need to know what I'm dealing with.”
“You have made your bed in a house of sin. You have allowed yourself to be touched by a man out of wedlock, and even worse than that, by a man who brings nothing but darkness to the world. He is using you for his own foul purpose, and you are letting him.”
“It's not like that,” she continued, trying to work out how to explain everything that had happened. “Mother, what...” She paused. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to use that word. I just need to know...” Fidgeting with the edges of her gloves, she finally decided that the only solution was to show her mother what she meant. Slipping one of the gloves off, she stared in fear at her own left hand before holding it out for the old woman to see. “My touch has become dangerous,” she explained. “Grandfather's bible burned to ash while I was holding it, and now other things seem to die when they come into contact with the flesh of my hands.”
“Has this been accompanied by visions?”
“Maybe.”
“Of what?”
“Red eyes,” Estella continued, her voice trembling with fear. “Horrid, burning red eyes that loom out of the darkness and threaten to ravage my soul. At the same time, I sense great evil, almost as if...” She paused, scared to say the words. “It's almost as if Satan himself has begun to notice me.”
Getting to her feet, Nora made her way over to one of the cupboards and took out a large ceramic pot, which she carried to the table and set down. Removing the lid, she took out a small bundle of herbs.
“What are those for?” Estella asked.
“To determine the nature of the evil that has become attached to you.”
“But -”
“Quiet, girl,” the old woman snapped. “You do not need to speak for this to work. Just hold out your hand.”
Doing as she was told, Estella watched as her mother began to crumble the herbs. She tried to keep her hand from shaking, but fear was welling up in her chest and as the herbs were dropped onto her palm one by one, she felt certain that some terrible fate awaited her. She wanted to rush from the house and go back to Edgar's home, to simply keep her hands gloved forever and hope that she could contain the damage, but at the same time she also knew that she had to at least learn the truth first.
“There are many types of evil in the world,” her mother explained after a moment, as she continued to drop various herbs onto Estella's palm. “They each take a different form, and they each require a different form of exorcism.”
“Exorcism?”
“Quiet!” she hissed. “Do you -”
Feeling a sudden burning sensation in her hand, Estella let out a cry of pain as she saw that one of the herbs was sizzling against her skin. Tipping the herbs onto the floor, she pulled back and saw that a bright red scar had been left on her hand.
“Just as I thought,” her mother said, taking a step back.
“What was that?” Estella asked, almost in tears as the pain built.
“A herb that is native only to Thaxos. It is one of the roots of the nightsorrow plant.”
“Then what does it mean?” Estella sobbed. “It hurts, please make it stop...”
“It means that evil has taken its place in your body,” the old woman replied, “and that -” She stopped suddenly, staring at Estella with a growing expression of horror in her eyes. “No,” she whispered finally, “it cannot be...”
“What cannot be?” Estella asked, using her nails to dig at her palm, trying desperately to end the pain. “Mother, why can't you just tell me?”
“It is no ordinary evil that has settled in your soul,” Nora replied, still edging back across the room. “It is one of the darkest and most evil forces in all the world. It is witchcraft!”
“Witchcraft? What are you talking about, why would witchcraft have entered me?” Rushing from the chair, she ran to the kitchen and began to run her hand under some water, but nothing seemed to stop the pain. Spotting a jug of milk, she poured some onto her hand and found, finally, that the pain began to subside.
“I do not know how,” her mother continued, stopping in the doorway, “or when, or by what mechanism, but you have been touched by witchcraft. I can only assume that your time in the Le Compte household made you susceptible, and allowed something vile to slip between the sentries of your soul.”
“How do I reverse it?” she asked.
“You cannot.”
“But I must!”
“Look in the mirror,” her mother replied, her voice filled with tension. “Tell me what you see.”
With her hand hurting less now, Estella made her way over to the mirror and studied her own reflection for a moment. “I look a little tired,” she said finally, “but that is only to be -”
“I see something dark and hideous,” her mother said, interrupting her. “I see something evil and cruel and monstrous, something filled with an unspeakable horror. You do not see it yourself because you do not want to see it, and others are no doubt mesmerized by the beauty with which you were born, but I see your true face, Estella, and it is one of evil. You were beautiful once, and you might be able to trick others into seeing your beauty still, but beneath the lies you are being weathered by the darkness that has taken root in your soul.”
Shaking her head, Estella looked at her reflection for a moment longer, before turning to her mother. “It can't be,” she stammered. “You're wrong, you're just saying these things to hurt me.”
“You must leave this house now,” Nora replied, “and never return. I will not have a witch in my home.”
“Mother -”
“I am not your mother! Not anymore! My sweet Estella died the moment this evil entered her body.”
“No, mother, it's still me...”
“Leave! A new face is emerging from your own, even as you speak to me now!”
“Mother -”
“Leave!” sh
e shouted, holding her crucifix up again. “I see your true face and it horrifies me! Leave this house!” Keeping the crucifix held out toward Estella, she turned her head away, as if she could not longer bear to see her daughter's face.
“But -” Estella paused, before glancing back at her reflection one more time. Seeing the fear in her own eyes, she paused for a moment before turning and hurrying to the back door.
Running outside, she made her way across the yard and then out into the alleyway, where she finally stopped and tried to catch her breath. She could hear children playing nearby, but whereas once their voices would have brought her joy, now she could only think back to the dream in which she had lifted a child from its crib and then felt its body burning in her hands. Holding her hands out now, she stared at them as fear rose through her chest.
“Witchcraft,” she whispered finally. “How has such evil become a part of me?”
II
“Astonishing,” Nixon said as he looked through his notebook, which was now filled with sketches from the chamber beneath the stones. “To think that a place like that was here all along, and we had no idea. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? I mean, what else might there be on this island? Maybe there are a hundred such chambers, or a thousand. Just when you think you understand the world, it throws something like this back at you, eh?”
Up ahead, leading the way toward the house, Edgar seemed to be in no mood for a discussion.
“Imagine if Kate hadn't shown up,” Nixon continued. “We might never have found the damn thing. I suppose it must all be connected, mustn't it? Almost as if...”
“Almost as if what?” Edgar asked testily, already striding up the stone steps that led to the mansion's main door.
“Well, as if something's arranging these things on purpose.”
At this, Edgar stopped at the top of the steps and turned to him.
“I just mean...” Nixon paused at the bottom of the steps for a moment, realizing that there might be a better time to start advancing his more extreme theories. “I don't want to alarm you, Edgar, but I can't shake the feeling that there's some kind of invisible hand behind all of this. It's like we're chess pieces, but we can't see the players who are moving us about the board.”