“We aren't going to die!” she all but screamed, the fight leaving her as a gust of cold wind powered through her. “We aren't going to...”
She felt him sigh. Felt him force out a bit of laughter. “It's like the wind is...speaking to me.”
“Don't listen to it.” Kat quipped. “Whatever it tells you—do the opposite.”
“What was it like in Remicourt?”
That made her colder, made her skin turn to ice.
“Katell,” he murmured, squeezing her once more. “tell me what it was like. It's one thing I'd like to know...”
Bloodstained snow. A woman crawling...reaching for me...
She swallowed, bit her tongue as the pain in her leg began to fade away. As the wind continued to blow, the raw chill no longer phased her. No longer made her shiver and brace herself. She became still as she laid her head upon his broad chest. Deathly still.
“Katty?”
She blinked. “When I was very young...” Kat began, her hammering heart slowing to a gentle rhythm. Her fingertips cold as ice. “...my mum would tell me stories about Baate Noir. Good stories. Stories about gentle witches and helpful hetaera. Stories about the mystical and dark beauty of the forest—the forest that could never harm us. That surrounded and protected our home...” she felt him breathe easy. Felt warmth on her face as the sun rose and the air stilled around them. “...she'd go to market in the city nearby, in Remicourt, and before she left she always made me pray. Made me ask the forest for protection for us both. She told me that if you beseeched the forest, it would help you. If you paid Baate Noir respect, it would repay you with kindness...”
It was all coming back. Her mother's face, her gentle tone. Her soft spoken words and prayers.
It was all coming back. The blood staining the snow, her cabin aflame, her mother's gnarled hands that ended in bloodied talons.
It was all coming back.
Beseech the Night Lady.
Kat gasped, dug her fingers into Bertrand's side. She felt him tense beneath her. “Something coming? I can't see—whatever it is, describe it.”
“The Night Lady.” Kat whispered, choked on the phrase. “She told me to...beseech the Night Lady...whenever I was frightened. Whenever I needed help.” And I did—I did. I called her—called for help. For simple help. For protection—for a loving hand.
I needed help.
I need help.
Bertrand snorted, stifling a ragged laugh before gasping. Before falling silent. “Sorry.” he murmured. “But, is that a Remicourt tale? The 'Night Lady', is she a—,”
“She isn't real.” Kat snapped, vision blurring. “She isn't real, Bertrand.”
“Of course.” he murmured, yawning slightly. “Nothing's real...not anymore...nothing, nothing...”
The sun paled, pulling itself behind a curtain of waning silver as the sky darkened. Promising snow.
Kat felt herself shiver. Felt Bertrand pull her close.
Is this it? She thought, teeth chattering. Is this my fate? Is this my punishment?
A gust of wind answered her. As did a lone white flake. A flurry.
She felt the cold then, wrapped in her best friend's arms as the two shivered together in the frozen tundra. Secretly hoping for help to come. For their shieldbrothers and the Montbereau Sonants to come barreling through the treeline at any moment, brandishing blankets and thick cottony cloaks.
Flurries came, falling in a powdery white mist that covered the two slack corpses behind Kat. That began to embrace the two in a wintry frock of cold. Of snow and crystalline icing. Of chilled regret.
Kat didn't want to leave this world without seeing her cousins—without apologizing to Eva and hugging Maddy one last time. She wanted to see Gran's face—wanted to see those eyes that so closely resembled her mother's.
And Horace...poor Horace...
He'd lose his post in the Montbereau Guard. Roux would never again trust him to lead a detail—no matter how small. He'd lose the trust of the Duke, of the guards' commanding officers and even the Sonant.
They'd hang Alan. Hang him for insubordination and the deaths of two comrades. Absent rope, they'd burn him at the stake.
“Stop.” Bertrand whispered, cold breath pooling in her ears. “Pass on peacefully, Sis. Stop...stop your worrying, pretty thing...”
She closed her eyes, then. Allowed the snow to take them both.
She closed her eyes and beseeched the Night Lady with a breath.
ELEVEN
Curving cold crept over Kat's limbs at a slow slither.
“Ace thol cexeles alu?
“Asle. Asle—asa!”
Ginger. Sharp and pungent. Crawling through her nostrils like cold fingers.
Kat's eyes shot open. The sky spun. An ivory parade of slick clouds.
“Solace, egidul. Thol asle ulthaas, Na'anyel.”
Something rough touched her lips, something earthy that pressed hard against her bottom lip. Ginger flooded her nostrils as she opened her mouth and felt warm liquid bite her tongue. Felt the ginger brew startle her. Wake her up.
“Thol ulthaas.”
Itchy fabric blinded her. Brown thatch covered her eyes as the cup was snatched away. The liquid still burned her senses. It hurt going down, but her body shivered at the warmth. At the sudden feeling of life.
She felt dizzy. Felt the ground spin beneath her.
“Thol alu yulith. Alu oll!”
Voices sang a strange language. Melodic rhythms pounded at her ears before the presences fell silent, breathing. Hissing as another cup was brought to her lips.
This one smelled of jasmine.
When the cup tilted, she opened her mouth and drank. Hungrily gulped. Thirstily.
She felt her heart hammer, felt her face twist.
As her blood ran cold, became ice in her veins and she opened her mouth to scream. To screech for help.
But her throat constricted, her voice died.
As she was lifted, floating. Weightless. Carried off as her limbs went limp.
As she became a ragged doll—helpless—spirited away in the antithetic arms of her caretaker.
TWELVE
A floor of rugged jet stones gnashed against her skin. The stones rough and vicious beneath the raw scabs of her reddened knees as her palms plummeted towards the slimy stone floor.
She's heaving, her chest heavy—burning. Burning with a fiery pain that stabs through her breast. That stabs through the entirety of her naked torso and trembling body.
She opens her mouth, her stomach twisting and unraveling only to twist again. Curving into a painful ball of flesh that makes her vomit up the scorching brew creeping its way down her throat. She moans as the spittle climbs its way up her throat, fighting against the burning brew before it relents and dribbles from her lips as she lets her tongue loll from her mouth.
Shrill laughter erupts behind her. Piercing her eardrums as she shuts her eyes in silence, barely thinking. Her mind and thoughts frozen as she hangs her head and shivers violently at the thrumming pain biting beneath her skin. It claws through her. Spears through her chest with a serrated iron head.
“Lyhe shesha, Alitha. Lewarth shesha yil.”
Kat's hair is pulled—matted chestnut tangles yanked backwards. Her head can only follow as a ruthless hand jerks her head back, the harsh motion tilting her chin up as the force behind her head disappears with a quick clack of heels upon the stony floor. A palm graces her shoulder as fingers dig, latching themselves to her bone. A cup comes to her lips, pungent ginger flaring her nostrils, as the rough surface of the cup flattens her bottom lip to the teeth.
“Raan, egidul.” a soft voice whispers in her ear. “Solace, egidul. Raan.”
She does as she is told—not understanding the language. Not understanding anything as the brash liquid enters her mouth and slithers its way down her throat. Her reaction is almost automatic as she painfully heaves. As the woman backs away and another peal of shrill laughter erupts from the corner of the shadowy r
oom.
Warmth enters her—the ginger brew—snakes through her belly. Claws through her veins. It weaves its way into her bones—the bones of her arms, her legs. And suddenly, a thunderous crack makes Kat freeze. An echoing crack makes Kat lose her grip of the floor beneath her and forces her to drop. To fall to her belly and curl up into a fetal ball of flesh as she opens her mouth in a silent scream.
They've been at this for hours, the two women locked with Kat in this chamber of shadows. They've been forcing her to drink—to come back. And with every drop of their tonic, Kat feels her bones split and splinter. She feels them twist beneath her skin, as her skin becomes ice and her mouth opens in a booming screech that rips her throat raw. That claws at the tender skin of her throat and makes it weep red at the trembling screech of her icy misery.
Because every bone—every bone in her body was breaking.
Only to be remolded. Reshaped.
But Kat could not think of this as she wreathed in pain, seizing upon the floor in a puddle of her own sweat and vomit. She could only think of the pain. Could only think of the stygian fear pulsing through her icy veins and the red hot pain. The red hot pain that scorched like lightning beneath her skin. That pulsated like spearheaded static stabbing at her—constantly stabbing at her.
Was this hell?
It was a single thought. A single phrase that flashed through her mind in an instant.
Until she thought of nothing. Until the cup came to her lips again and she drank. Screamed and wreathed at the pain of her bones resetting. Vomited up the brew. Felt her heart tremor and hiccup in her chest as a flash of spearheaded pain shot through her breastbone and made her see black. Made her see nothing but darkness until one of the women shook her awake. Cracked Kat hard across the face with a sneer upon their flawless, porcelain, features. Sparkling eyes like sapphires bore into Kat's, disgust sharpening them. Pity making them laugh.
Kat couldn't understand their tongue, couldn't even understand her own thoughts.
As the cup was pressed to her lips once more and emptied.
Her heart hiccuped—cried, pleaded.
As a lump formed in her throat—cutting off her supply of oxygen. Freezing the air.
And Kat clawed at her throat as a pair of heels clicked upon the slimy flagstones of the floor.
A door wheezed open. Slammed shut.
As the lights in Kat's eyes went out.
THIRTEEN
She is in an abbey, hand planted to a crumbling column of yellowed brick. She is wearing a dress of green velveteen doused in red. Crimson. A slick burgundy that stains the midsection of her child clothes.
It is dark. The moon is howling outside, the sound creeping through the mountain shaped doorway of the abbey.
It is dark. And she sits upon the dimpled stones, pulls her knees into her chest and trembles. Shrivels up into a little ball of green and red.
The blood upon her dress was still warm, sticky. She could almost taste the man's dying breath as he let go of her little hand and told her to run. Told her to hide herself from the monster.
But the monster was her mother—she tried to say. But it came out all wrong. If she had just stopped to explain—stopped to make the town see reason and understand that the monster...the monster was simply a scared human woman...then maybe his blood wouldn't have been on her midsection. Maybe the howling outside would have stopped. Maybe the snarling, the cries—maybe her mother...
She saw her rip a man in two. Cleave through him with a blade tipped staff.
That wasn't her mother. She told herself.
That was a monster.
It rained outside. Stormed. Little droplets snapped as they hit the cobblestones outside. A shower of humidity wet the young girl's round face.
“Katell...” called a high-pitched voice in song. “...Katty-kat...my little princess.” it hawked—snarling. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
The voice became inhuman. Became a guttural growl.
“You're being a bad girl. Hiding from your mother.”
She never wanted the villagers to find her—to find their lonesome cottage on the outskirts of town. She never wanted them to take her away—to steal her from her mother in the night. Kat just wanted to play—just wanted another girl to talk to and play games with. She just wanted to get to know someone her age.
“Katty-kat...Katty-kat, where are you?”
She can feel the ground tremble. Could hear pebbles slam upon the stone face of the abbey's cracked floor. Something snorts outside, breathes heavily—quickly—snarling as it snorts and hungrily sucks in the cold night air as rain begins to pour harder. Begins to cleanse the air with its clear droplets.
Katty asked the forest for a friend. For a best friend. No—she wasn't tired of her mother's constant company, she just wanted something different. Something new—something fresh. Like all children, she wasn't satisfied with her mother's ceaseless love. With ceaseless gifts and toys—no. For, when her mother went to market, Katty was lonesome. Driven to the forest in search of animals, in search of a pet or a person.
She found an old man wrapped in heavy moth-eaten wool staring upon their little cottage some days past. He was afraid of her—jumped back whenever she tried to approach. He called her names—things she couldn't repeat back to herself because they brought her to tears in his presence. They brought her to tears now, but she smiles at how he apologized.
You're no witchling, darling. Just a hopeless urchin. Hopeless, hopeless.
And he came back after that. Again and again, asking after the cottage. Asking after who lived there. Asking if the Lady was her mother.
The Lady? She stupidly mumbled. What Lady?
He cut his gaze from her, mused a bit. Smacked his lips. The one we shall save you from.
They took her in the night. Brought her to the town inn owned by a voluptuous woman with a kind heart and a warm smile. She carried a silver stringed instrument attached to her ample bosom, a lute Katty remembered her calling it; and played honeyed music all night as the townspeople clamored around Kat. Frightful, engrossed, straining to see the little forest child.
Around midnight Kat heard a scream and threw herself from the new bed the innkeep had gifted her, a scream that pierced the silence of the night.
And then the bloodletting started.
Remicourt armed itself, did what it could against a single woman. But they were not prepared for the raw power of Kat's mother, a witch through and through. But something more. Something much more. Something the town, nor any mortal, could ever hope to prepare for.
And here Kat sat, hiding herself away in an abbey. Covering her face for fear that her mother's reddened eyes will spot her. That her pearly smile will burn through the all-encumbering darkness of the night, and pierce right through her. Kat watched her cut down many—too many. One had been enough for her—hot blood staining the snow as she lodged her blade tipped staff through a man's screaming jaw. Ten brought knee-knocking horror upon the girl, as Kat's mother used the land itself against Remicourt's guardsmen. As she called the piercing branches of the forest to jut through their bellies and jaws, suspending them in the air like human trophies.
Kat had seen too much—so much in one night.
And she was scared.
This creature was not her mother.
Yet it called her—knew her name.
And it snorted, hot breath puffing as white steam near the doorway of the crumbling abbey, as it waited for the scent of Kat's breath.
She held it.
“Come...let us be a family again.”
Silence. No response. The voice twisted—squealing as it became human again. As a shadow curved and reached upon the stones of the abbey's entrance. As a hunched body with twisted claws, devolved, twisting back into the body of a human woman.
“Katty...Katty my sweet.”
Something—something's not right.
Kat opened her eyes, scanning the abbey.
This isn't how it ha
ppened. Something told her.
Yet, here she was. Reliving the massacre of Remicourt. Reliving a disaster caused by her carelessness. Caused by her childlike selfishness.
“Ambitious thing—sweetling, come hither. We'll make a new—monster...wreathing creature. Not fit to—I'm sorry if I frightened you, sweetling. They—they took you—you brought this upon these people. Monster—ambitious thing—ambitious—,”
Is this what weighs upon your soul, egidul? Is this what makes your heart so heavy?
Kat blinked. The merging of her mother's soft voice and the guttural call of the beast's making her heart palpitate. Making her heart shiver violently in her chest.
Pity. A smooth voice echoed within her head—caused the rain to stop. Caused everything to freeze.
This isn't right. She told herself, emerging from her curved ball. Someone is toying with me—with my memories.
She shivered, despite the warmth. Despite the lack of feeling this place held.
Come back to the plains of the living. A voice boomed.
As the rain resumed. As her mother's shadow contorted and curved. Howled at a shattered moon and ducked it's wolfish head inside the abbey, eyes red. Eyes glowing.
“My girl.” it snarled, long yellowed teeth braced against scabby black gums. Tufts of matted fur fell in clumps from her contorted, wolfish, head—from its head—to reveal a pink scalp rotten with boils and bruises. “Come home, little Katty.” it belched before it rushed at her, hocked legs springing the creature forward. Towards the little girl in the blood smeared dress as she shook her head—unsure, unaware. Scared. Heart fluttering in her chest—blood pumping, silencing all as she turned. Her legs pumping slowly. Her scream soundless and barren. Void, as dark claws bit into her little shoulders and slammed her child self to the ground—
—she woke with a start. Prostrate upon a table of rotted wood. Delicate hands hovered on either side of her face as she gasped. As she choked and tried to sit up only to find that she couldn't move. Only to find that the person looming over her had paralyzed her with a spell woven from foreign words.
Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1) Page 6