by Ila Mercer
‘It won’t be so bad,’ Beth, a sallow faced girl, said, glowering at Menora. She placed an arm around Lita’s shoulder. ‘Biccen can make you a draft and you’ll hardly notice a thing. I barely remember my first rite and then you’ll be one of us. Part of the painted sisterhood.’
Lita felt tears streaming down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She was not afraid of pain. The Change had taught her to cope with terrible pain, the likes of which these girls would have never experienced, but she did care about what it would mean. She already felt so ashamed.
When Bailiffs go to Supper
The cell, in which Yaron had been thrust, was so narrow it could only fit a low cot and a wash stand. It reeked of stale piss and vomit, and cockroaches scuttled across the stone floor. Yaron sat on the cot with his knees to his chest while the springs of the bed sagged lower and lower to the floor. He had slept fitfully the previous night, his spine ached, and he had itchy lumps on his neck, arms and legs where the night crawlers had bitten him.
From his cell, he could just see through an open doorway. In the adjacent room, a shaft of sunlight fell across the Bailiff as he slouched over his desk. Every now and then the Bailiff whistled through his nostrils – a high pitched, strangled sort of sound and then he would shake himself awake for a moment.
A couple of times, a boy with a monkey on his shoulder had come in to hand over bulging sacks which went into a draw under the desk. Despite the interruptions, the Bailiff swiftly fell asleep again when the boy departed, causing Yaron to suspect that the empty bottle lying on the desk might be the cause of the Bailiff’s somnolence.
Yaron had not eaten and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He wondered if Sal had gone looking for him? Or was she still searching through the piles of keys? He realised now that he had underestimated the Hunter, thinking that the Hunter had not seen him. It was just as Captain Wright had said, he needed to act with more cunning. He should have hidden himself the moment the carriage stopped. Then he would have had a chance to slink away and get Sal’s help to stage an ambush.
The previous night, on the road back to downtown Yawmouth, the night guard had quickly overtaken him and arrested him under charges of drunken and disorderly conduct. When Yaron protested, the night guard snarled, ‘Would you prefer that I charge you for obstructing the Hunter in his retrieval of a Beast? That crime will see you digging the Shindalay mines for fives years or more. Noble or not.’
As a consequence, Yaron had agreed to the lesser charge and now he was waiting to find out what would happen next, wondering what the Hunter intended to do with him.
As the hours ticked by, Yaron’s self reproach deepened. His thoughts returned to the little she-Beast dying in the meadow, his failure to rescue Lita, and the fact that he had done nothing to improve the life of one Beast. Even his attempt to pass on valuable information about a long-forgotten trade route had failed. In sending the book to a Keep where their Brother took his censorship duties very seriously, he had ensured that previous knowledge was lost forever. Everything he had done had gone wrong and what’s more, his actions seemed likely to get him into serious trouble. Perhaps it was foolish to think he could do anything to make a difference.
Then he thought about his uncle, giving in so easily to the Hunter. Yaron stewed on that point long and hard until he came to a realisation. His uncle’s choice had not been selfish. He had done it for the sake of everyone in the Keep, for if he had stood up to the Hunter there would have been grave consequences for the rest of their folk. However, in giving in to the Hunter, his uncle had made all of them accomplices and Yaron knew he could not have made that choice.
By this time the cell had grown dark and the Bailiff had been gone for a while. Yaron heard footsteps and supposed it to be the Bailiff. He leaned against the bars, hoping the Bailiff had decided to bring him food. Except the silhouette in the doorway had a much wider girth. Yaron’s stomach fluttered with sudden fear but the hissed whisper that greeted him next was welcome and familiar.
‘How’d you get yourself into this fine mess?’
‘Oh Sal,’ Yaron replied. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’
‘I heard last night you got yourself locked up.’
‘Last night? Then why didn’t you do anything about it ‘til now?’
Sal harrumphed. ‘I had to find the right key, didn’t I?’ The lock rattled as she inserted the key and turned it. ‘Besides, I reckon you were safer here. Otherwise who knows what sort of mess you’d be in now?’
When the door swung open, Yaron gave Sal a big squeeze around the middle and planted a kiss on her cheek.
‘Heavens to Betsy,’ Sal gasped. ‘I would of come sooner if I knew that was coming.’
‘You mean you did have the key?’
‘It turned up before I found Madam Grist’s. But,’ she said wagging a finger, ‘I had to wait until the Bailiff went for his supper, for I doubt he would of welcomed me.’
Sal marched out the front door and Yaron followed.
‘Let’s go get Lita,’ he said, ‘I have a terrible feeling it won’t be long before Madam Grist finds a rich suitor with a fat purse.’
First Rite
Later that afternoon, Madam Grist called for Lita, and confirmed the terrible news, and then sent Biccen to prepare her for their guest. All afternoon, Biccen fussed over Lita, chattering on as if nothing of importance was happening that evening. Lita could not bring herself to reply. Her head was filled with so many fears and doubts. How would she feel about herself the next morning, knowing that she had given her body to a stranger? What would Sal say if she knew… or Yaron or MaKiki? Would she ever be able to look any of them in the eye again, if by some miracle they were ever reunited? Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll be expected to don the scarlet paint.
That evening, Lita could not eat her supper. Her stomach was a tangle of knots and her heart fluttered frantically like a netted bird. Biccen’s draught sat on a table beside her but she had decided she would not drink it. She didn’t want the fuddling effect of the previous night. She wanted to be in full possession of herself, come what may
Just before nine o clock, Madam Grist fetched Lita. The gentleman, Lita learned was a Brother of the Order, and had paid an exceedingly high sum for the privilege of being Lita’s first lover. It struck Lita that she had never even imagined her first lover and what he might be like. In a vague sense, she had formulated an idea of a lover. He was like the heroes in the tales she read. Valiant, gallant, and as pure of heart as the heroine. She could not reconcile the word with what was about to happen to her.
‘He is waiting for you in the room,’ Madam Grist informed her.
The girls’ who were not already entertaining, stood in doorways, watching as Madam Grist led Lita down the hall. Some gazed upon Lita with a measure of sympathy, while others smirked malevolently, for the girl in white, was finely being brought down.
Once they were upstairs, Madam Grist led Lita to a room near the front of the house. As they stepped through the door, Lita noted that the room had been made to resemble a forest. A small green lantern on a heavy chain flickered above her, ivy drooped from the rafters, potted plants lined one wall creating a thicket of leaves and branches and, in place of a bed, lay a white sheet over a thick rug. In the corner, almost hidden, stood a robed man with his back to them.
‘You may leave now,’ he told Madam Grist without moving.
The door clicked shut, and Lita was alone with him.
Lita’s knees began to quiver, and her mouth turned dry. Now she wondered if she should have taken Biccen’s draught.
Earlier, Madam Grist had told Lita that she would watch through a hole in the wall – to ensure that Lita was not harmed by her guest, but Lita knew it was not the true reason Madam Grist watched. Biccen had told her, while oiling and dressing her. Madam Grist watched in case the guest took liberties for which he had not paid. Lita had not dared enquire what else a man might take other than her maidenhood.
‘Slip out of your robe,’ the man said, his voice thin and severe. He had turned and yet Lita could not see his face for it was shadowed by his hood.
Lita hesitated. Where was Yaron, she thought. Would he barge through the door at the last moment, and wrench her away from the horrid Brother? Was he waiting now, just beyond the door?
‘What are you waiting for?’ the Brother growled.
Lita reached for the ties above each shoulder. Biccen had dressed her in a simple slip, but Lita’s hands trembled so much she could not undo the simple bows. Yaron would come through the door any moment, she thought.
The man advanced towards her, drawing his hand from his gown. Between fingers flashing with jewels, he clasped a knife. With two rapid slices, he cut the ties on her shoulders, and the gown slipped to the floor.
Lita gasped and instinctively shielded her nakedness with her hands.
‘Your modesty rings false,’ the Brother said with a sneering tone. ‘In your homeland, she-Beasts don’t bother to cover their nakedness. Or perhaps you think you’re a girl. Is that it?’
Lita shivered, for she could see his eyes glittering within his hood, cold with malice. She felt, rather than saw, his gaze slide across her bare skin. It made her flinch.
‘Who filled your head with this notion? And tell me, why there is no branding scar on your cheek?’
Lita said nothing.
‘Someone protected you. A mother perhaps? A filthy whore who lay with a Beast?’ The Brother smiled, ‘You don’t like that?’
Lita turned away. Her face burned with shame and she realised, at last, that no-one would be rescuing her that evening. Yaron had not come.
The man ran the tip of his knife against the soft flesh of her throat and held it there. Pressing lightly, menacingly.
‘I don’t know my parentage,’ Lita said, frightened by the knife.
The door swung open and Lita felt her hopes suddenly surge again. But it was only Madam Grist silhouetted in the frame, one hand on her hip, the other on the door handle. ‘I won’t have you terrorize one of my girls with a knife. Either you do as we agreed, or we renegotiate the terms.’
The Brother’s hand slipped, the knife nicked the soft flesh at the base of Lita’s throat and then clattered to the floor. Lita felt a trickle of blood slide down her chest, and a sudden panic rose within her.
Though it seemed impossible, she felt the stirrings of Change. Without moonlight she would have thought it impossible, and yet there it was - a flicker of power, somewhere inside her. The man knocked her to the floor and she landed on all fours, the knife a hand span away. But he was too fast and snatched it before she could make a grab for it.
Madam Grist charged into the room. ‘Hand me the knife,’ she demanded. ‘Else your name will be blacklisted against all the houses of Yawmouth.’
The Brother grabbed Lita by the hair and pulled her close. The cold hard steel of the knife rested against her cheek. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ he warned Madam Grist.
Again, Lita felt motions of Change course through her body and wondered briefly how it was possible. Where was the source of her power? The moon beyond the curtains was at best a rind of light in the sky and then with a dazzling sense of clarity she sensed the power radiating in and around her. It was in the humble flickerings of the lamp, in the glossy ivy vines, the potted shrubbery, in the beat of three separate hearts. Singularly, they offered only minor currents of power and yet drawn together they were a power greater than that of the moon. And without quite understanding how she did it, she gathered the hidden power and fashioned it, recreating herself in a mere moment.
One moment a girl, the next, a golden lioness with claws like knives and teeth like spears. Lita opened tawny yellow eyes to see Madam Grist sprawled across the floor. The Brother too had fallen and lay in a most unnatural position. Above her the ivy leaves had withered and crackled lightly as they drifted to the floor. The room was dark, the candles extinguished, and the air smelled of crisp, dry foliage. Lita sniffed the face of the Brother and knew at once he was dead. A feeling of dread settled over her. Had she done that? Had she killed these folk? Her shoulders shuddered. MaKiki had never warned her that she might possess such powers. Before she could ponder further, she heard footsteps approach and a girl called. ‘Is anything the matter Madam Grist?’
Lita turned to the door and pushed her way through it, stunning the girl on the other side. The girl shrieked and ran, and within moments the house was filled with terrified screams as they spread the news. Doors slammed, and latches slipped into place.
Lita dashed down the stairs and up the hall, her long nails clicking against the boards. At the front door she halted with a skid, for it was shut and locked. Lita growled with frustration and butted the door with her head, but it would not budge.
She backed up and lunged at the door again; it held fast to its hinges. She paced back and forth, wondering what to do next. Then she heard muted voices, coming from outside.
Lita’s ears pricked forward. Above her, a door opened, and she glanced quickly, seeing one of the guests poke his head out and then hurriedly bolt the door again. Outside, the footsteps drew closer. The voices became louder. There was a polite knock at the front door and a man cleared his throat.
‘For heaven’s sake, get the Hunter,’ she heard someone call from upstairs. ‘There’s a Beast on the loose.’
The people at the door made a hasty retreat. Upstairs, she heard the muffled sound of a window sash being slammed shut. How would she ever escape?
And then she heard the soft footfall of slippered feet behind her. She turned to see Biccen, eyes wide with alarm, pointing the rapier that had hung above Madam Grist’s fireplace. Biccen’s hand shook hard and she steadied the rapier with her other hand. ‘Is that you Lita?’ she said.
Lita nodded and stepped forward.
‘Don’t!’ Biccen cried. ‘Don’t come any closer else I’ll have to use this.’
Lita lowered her body to the floor, keeping her eyes fastened on Biccen. Though it seemed as though Biccen had little clue how to use the rapier, Lita did not care to test the theory. The blade looked lethally sharp.
‘When I say, you must go down to the root cellar,’ Biccen said.
The root cellar was little more than a dug-out hole under the kitchen, accessed by a trapdoor. It was where Madam Grist sent the girls when she wanted to teach them a lesson, and it would be the most secure place in the house to trap a Beast.
Biccen inched her way to the staircase, her hand gripping the hilt of the rapier. Lita remained very still. She did not wish to do anything that might cause Biccen alarm. At such close range, she was bound to strike Lita, shaking or not.
Once she was halfway up the stair, Biccen said, ‘Go on then. But remember I’ll use this if you try anything.’
Above them, a door creaked open and a face peered at them. ‘What are you up to Biccen?’ the girl called.
‘Sticking her in the root cellar ‘til the Hunter can come.’
The mention of the Hunter struck fear into Lita’s heart. What would he do with her now? Send her to the pits? Have her hung for the murder of a Brother? She dared not think what might become of her now.
In the room above, the window sash creaked open again. ‘Someone, anyone, get help,’ she heard a voice call. ‘There’s a wild Beast on the loose in here. Find the Hunter, or the Bailiff.’
Lita heard two sets of feet clatter on the steps outside, and a key being inserted into the lock.
‘What the devil are you doing?’ The voice from above called out. ‘It’s on the other side of the door.’
‘Lita? Are you there?’ She heard Yaron’s muffled voice call from the other side of the door.
Lita’s heart leapt with sudden joy. He had come. She replied with a low growl that reverberated from the pit of her gut.
Meanwhile Biccen advanced further up the stairs. A couple of the other girls, their eyes and lips dark with paint, leaned over the railing above. �
�Leave it and come up here you fool,’ Lita heard one of the girls say.
The door opened and through it stepped Yaron and Sal. ‘Lita?’ Yaron asked. His face reflecting a strange mixture of awe and fear.
In answer, Lita nudged her tawny head against his leg.
‘Come on then,’ Sal urged, ‘we ought to leave lickety split.’
Biccen, now bolder with several more steps between her and the lioness said, ‘You can’t take her, she’s not repaid her indenture.’
Lita spun and roared with such ferocity the stair railings quivered. Biccen’s fingers lost purchase of the rapier and it clattered down the steps. Defenceless now, the girl scuttled up the stair, crying with terror. Within seconds all the girls had disappeared, slamming bedroom doors behind them.
Lita felt Yaron shiver too, but Sal had a smug smile on her face. ‘Now that would be a mighty fine talent to possess,’ she said.
‘Where do we go now?’ Yaron asked. ‘I didn’t think we’d find her like this. She’ll spook the horses.’
Had she been able to, Lita might have laughed. The situation seemed suddenly ridiculous.
‘I know somewhere - not far from here. Come on,’ Sal said, pushing them out the door.
Down the street, the trio raced. The stone beat a chill into the soft pads of Lita’s feet, the air rushed through her whiskers and whirled down the canals of her ears. It stung the lining of her nasal passages. But oh, it felt good to be free again.
As they neared the end of the street, Lita realised she had become a girl again. It was not a thing consciously willed and neither was it like the slow drain of a waning moon. It was an instinctive response - the same way that fledglings finally master flight.
At any other time, she would have marvelled over her new mastery. To change back and forth between forms meant she need never fear discovery again, so long as she was careful not to let others see it. But now she had a problem.
During the change from maiden to lioness, she had been stripped of her garments. And so she was now as naked as a newborn. She halted, abashed by her nudity and ducked through the broken palings of a fence. Meanwhile, Sal and Yaron raced on, unaware of her absence and Lita dared not call out for she did not know who might be following. In the shadows she crouched, hoping they would return soon.