by Ila Mercer
‘It’s time to go home,’ Yaron said, and then turning to Lita asked. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I’ll leave too,’ she replied, not meeting his eyes. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. ‘Do you think we’ll ever meet each other again?’
Sal placed an arm around Lita’s shoulders and pulled her in close. ‘It won’t be safe for you to return to the Keep, but if there’s ever a need, you send old Sal a message and I’ll come to you as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks Sal,’ Lita said, glancing at Yaron.
He felt that Lita’s question had been directed at him. But what could he say? He was not free to make the same promises. He was certain he would be severely reprimanded on his return home. First for going against the Hunter, and then for disappearing for such a long time. The Senna of a Keep could not run off as the whim took him. He was glad that he had helped Lita, but it was a luxury he would not be able to afford from now on. As Captain Wright had said, Yaron would be of better use if he married for money and used his new wealth to fund the Captain’s exploits.
‘I fear I’ll be tied to the Keep,’ Yaron told Lita.
‘Then we may never see each other after this day,’ Lita said, eyes dropping to stare at her feet. ‘This is the worst part of my condition. The fact I must leave every friend I make. I had hoped…maybe this time could be different. If you see Madea again, please tell her I’ll be making my way to Kipping if I don’t find my mama. Perhaps she will join me.’
They made their final words of parting and then Yaron and Sal mounted their horses. Lita had her arms wrapped tightly across her chest – holding herself in. She smiled bravely and called a cheery farewell but looked small and vulnerable standing there alone in the clearing. Then Yaron reminded himself of what he had seen only a few days before. Under the light of the moon she was a force to be reckoned with. She was bold and wild and fearsome and could Change to any creature of her imagining – at least this was what she had told him. She had told him she would wing her way from the mountains to the cabin of Old Tipple, to find out what had become of her mama.
As he and Sal set off around the lake, a tightness rose in Yaron’s chest and lodged in his throat. He could not turn to wave goodbye when they rounded the bend. There was too much finality in such an action and he wanted to believe they would meet again, some day.
Small Wonders
Like a womb, the walls wrapped all the way around her, giving a view to the sky only. At night when she gazed through the clear domed ceiling, she recalled the times that she and Ari had lain together, gazing on the same distant stars.
At these times her body pined with sadness, for the stars brought back the memory of his gentle caresses, the wonders of which he spoke, the way he nuzzled into her neck, and the promise of a different future. On those long-ago nights, Katarin had known danger lay ahead of them but she had naively presumed their love would triumph over adversity. How wrong she had been.
On her return to the Keep she used the only power she possessed to punish Worrel and his kin – telling them that she could not marry Worrel now that she was spoiled by a Beast and seeded with his child. With this news she had been banished to the observatory and told her she would stay there for the term of her confinement. Nobody was to know of her incarceration. They thought only of how they could preserve her honour and had no realisation that this banishment was perhaps the only thing that saved her from complete madness.
For the first weeks she curled up on her side for hours on end, gazing blankly at the curve of the wall, allowing her thoughts to take her to the promised land of Ari’s people. She saw herself meeting his granddam, helping her to gather tikka from the stream, being taught by the women of his tribe how to colour her body with ceremonial ochre and swaying her hips and stomping her feet by the light of the fire. She dreamed of long nights wrapped in Ari’s arms. At times she even imagined that she found her true token and took her form as a lioness, running through the grasslands with a tall, proud, lion by her side.
But after several weeks of listlessness and eating little, Worrel grew worried, for it looked as though Katarin might starve herself to oblivion. He decided to send Mika to nurse Katarin though it meant one more would know of his intended bride’s shameful secret.
‘Katarin?’ Mika asked as she pushed her way through the opening. ‘Is that really you?’
Worrel climbed in after Mika and shut the trapdoor.
‘Why is she being shut up like a prisoner?’ Mika demanded. ‘You said she had returned home to settle her father’s affairs.’
‘It is for her own good,’ Worrel replied.
Katarin roused her head slightly from her pillow. They spoke of her as if she was not even there but then again - perhaps she wasn’t. She had been feeling empty and blank for weeks - as though she had been carved hollow so that all that remained was a thin husk. To all intents and purposes, she might appear to be present, except there was nothing of the old Katarin left.
A bitter fight ensued between her former betrothed and her best friend. Mika demanded that Katarin be brought back to her rooms but Worrel would not have it.
‘She is with child,’ Worrel finally hissed. ‘And no-one must know.’
Mika fell silent and then she dropped to Katarin’s side and placed a cool hand on her cheek. ‘Is it true?’
Katarin gazed past them both. The back of her eyes stung but she would not cry, not while Worrel was there.
‘And what is to become of the child?’ Mika asked.
Yes, Katarin thought. What was to become of her child? It was a question she had not dared to ask. Though she had no feeling for the child that grew within her, she did not wish it harm.
Worrel hesitated and then he answered, ‘It will be sent to Fallengrove and one of their she-Beasts will raise it.’
At least it would not be killed, Katarin thought. This had been her worst fear. She rolled over to face the opposite wall. She could not bear to look at Worrel for another instant.
*
The weeks rolled by. Little by little the malaise that had settled on Katarin began to dissipate. She and Mika took up needle work during the day and at night they gazed at the heavens. Though few words passed between them, the silence was never awkward. Instinctively, Mika seemed to know that Katarin needed silence, in the same way that broken bones need stillness in order to mend.
As grim skies supplanted the stark brightness of summer, Katarin's belly rounded and she felt the first flickerings of the baby’s quickening. Startled, she placed her hand over her belly.
‘What is it?’ Mika asked, dropping her sewing to the floor.
‘I don’t know,’ Katarin replied. ‘I think it was the babe.’
Again, there was a gentle fluttering in her belly, and though she had decided she would not allow herself to love the child, she felt strangely excited.
‘Let me feel,’ Mika said and clamped her own hand over Katarin’s belly. However, try as she might, she could not feel the subterranean flutterings.
After this, the baby’s movements grew stronger and stronger and before long it seemed to Katarin that she would never get any rest. All day and all night the little thing inside of her squirmed and kicked. Sometimes it felt as though it was somersaulting round and around. When this happened, Katarin would place a hand on her belly and hum tunes to it. Her head would tilt to the side as if she was listening for something and her eyes would glaze over in dreamy contemplation.
Though Mika noted a change in her companion, she did not make comment or challenge Katarin on her earlier assertions about remaining indifferent to the baby. Mika knew that if she let matters take their course, Katarin’s maternal impulses would rise to the surface and that it was only a matter of time and patience.
Mika had a plan, though she had not yet spoken of it to Katarin. On the few occasions when Mika had left the observatory, she had gone to see Brother Be, pretending her visits were of a sacramentory nature. Under the ruse of confession, she had shar
ed Katarin’s predicament and with the aid of Brother Be, had hatched a plan to whisk Katarin away from the Keep during the Winter Solstice Celebrations, when all the folk of the Keep gathered in the great hall for the annual feast.
However, the plan could not be enacted. In
the week before the solstice, Katarin became too ill to move. At first, she had trouble focusing on her needlework, finding that her vision had blurred. Then came the headaches, nausea and a speeding pulse. Mika ordered Worrel to send for a midwyfe.
While they waited, Mika placed dampened compresses on Katarin’s brow and stroked her hair. Above them, winter rain lashed the glass dome and the southern winds rattled the balustrades and gutters of the buildings.
Katarin fell into a daze and her focus turned inward as though she was watching the babe within. At one point she turned to Mika, and with an expression of dread whispered, ‘The babe’s stopped it’s moving.’
Mika placed a hand on Katarin’s belly. It was true, the normally active babe was now still. ‘Perhaps it sleeps,’ Mika answered.
Katarin shook her head. ‘It is too long. It has never been this still before.’
Mika tried not to show her fear. If the babe was dead, the chances for Katarin’s survival were not good. She fussed over Katarin in a bid to hide her unease. ‘Worrel has sent for a midwyfe, she will know what to do.’
During the following hours Katarin lapsed in and out of consciousness. Her breath was often shallow, and her pulse galloped like a runaway horse. Her face appeared small and wan, while her belly made a mountain in the blankets. Though Mika had few experiences of child birth by which to gauge her friend’s condition, she was sure the babe was too big for this stage of the confinement. How she wished the midwyfe would get there soon.
At dawn, Worrel arrived with an old woman. She struggled her way through the trapdoor, complaining about the soreness in her knees but when she saw Katarin, her noisesome chatter ceased and she drew quietly to the bedside.
With a strange instrument, the old midwyfe listened to Katarin’s belly and then turned to Worrel. ‘T’will be a long and difficult labour. With perhaps nothing to show for it after. I’ll need twenty coins for this one.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Worrel uttered. ‘Just do your best to save the mother.’
The old midwyfe pursed her lips. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
After that, the midwyfe ordered Mika to boil a kettle over the brazier and then she poured some bitter smelling herbs in the water to steep. Once it was cool, she instructed Mika to lift Katarin to a sitting position. Katarin was barely conscious but she managed to drink the tea, though she wrinkled her nose and eyes as the fumes hit the back of her throat. All the while, Mika held Katarin in a tender embrace and smoothed the hair away from her face. Before long, Katarin’s labour commenced and Worrel was banished from the room.
As if in concert with Katarin’s drama, the storm outside rose in pitch. The dome ceiling rattled, and draughts wormed their way through tiny fissures in the mortar. Mika placed a cool compress on Katarin’s swollen feet and then went off to collect more water.
Outside, the wind whined, and inside the labouring Katarin cried in pain as the contractions surged through her body. It was almost more then Mika could bear, watching her dearest friend suffer this way.
For hours on end, the storm continued and Katarin grew weaker and weaker with every exertion.
Then a lull came, and the labour seemed to progress more easily. Now Katarin pushed with all her remaining strength. Beside her, Mika uttered small encouragements with every contraction and then with one final push, the babe was born.
Katarin lay exhausted on her pillow and the midwyfe carefully wrapped the tiny baby in a clean white shawl. Mika leaned forward to view the babe but found its small grey face was inanimate and the eyes were closed as though asleep.
‘Let me see my baby,’ Katarin begged.
The midwyfe shook her head. ‘He was never meant for this world, was he?’
Katarin frowned. ‘I want to see him.’
‘Are you sure?’ Mika said, grasping Katarin’s hand.
‘I want to see my baby,’ Katarin demanded weakly, her eyes bright and sparkling with sudden anger.
The midwyfe edged closer and put the small, dead baby in Katarin’s arms.
Tears ran down Katarin’s cheeks as she gazed at the face of her son. She traced the line of his cheek and then handed the baby back to the midwyfe. ‘Take him to Worrel now.’
The midwyfe stomped a rapid tattoo on the trapdoor and it opened within an instant. Worrel waited on the steps below. With his arms outstretched, he took the small bundle into his arms.
‘The babe is dead,’ the midwyfe told him. ‘But I’ll stay on to nurse his mama.’
‘As you wish,’ Worrel answered, not once looking at Katarin. He left as quickly as he had come and Katarin began to cry.
‘I want you to go,’ Katarin told the midwyfe between sobs.
But the midwyfe shook her head. ‘The birthing is not done.’
‘What do you mean?’ Katarin demanded. But in the next instant a bolt of pain rendered her speechless.
‘What’s going on?’ Mika asked in alarm.
‘The other babe is making its way now.’
‘Another?’
The old midwyfe nodded. ‘My silence in this matter comes at a price.’
‘I’ll make sure you have whatever you ask for. So long as you hold your tongue.’ And then after a moment’s thought she asked, ‘Will this child be still borne too?’
The old midwyfe shrugged.
Mika went to the trapdoor and peered into the gloom below. Nobody waited in the darkness now, believing that the birthing was over, and Mika sighed with relief. Perhaps there was still a chance, she thought.
Again, the storming within Katarin’s body began, except this time its approach was like the winds of a fierce gale. Whereas before the labouring had been slow, this time the contractions were rapid and strong. Beads of perspiration clung to Katarin’s forehead and her throat was hoarse from growling through the pain.
The midwyfe urged Katarin to push harder, to breathe, to rest. This was repeated over and over until the baby slid into the midwyfe’s waiting hands. Within moments a weak squawl rose from the lips of the babe, and Katarin’s face lit up in triumph.
This time the midwyfe did not need to be asked. She handed the small red, bawling bundle to its mama and helped place the babe on the breast.
In an instant, the squawling ceased and Katarin gazed down at her small babe in wonder.
‘It’s a girl,’ the midwyfe said.
‘A girl,’ Katarin echoed.
‘She’s beautiful, Katarin,’ Mika said leaning over the two of them. ‘Just like her mama.’
‘She is,’ Katarin said, smiling up at her friend. Through tear brimmed eyes she said, ‘I only wish he’d been here to see her.’
Mika nodded. Though she did not know what it meant to lose the one you love, she understood sorrow.
Katarin turned back to the small infant and gazed intently into her eyes. She seemed so content, so complete and filled with peace. Mika had thought she’d never witness this in her friend again. She was about to say something about it, when she noticed that Katarin had suddenly turned ashen. ‘What is it Katarin?’ she asked.
Before Katarin could answer the midwyfe roughly grabbed the babe and thrust it into Mika’s arms. ‘Move back,’ the midwyfe barked.
The baby began to squawl again and Mika put her smallest finger into its mouth. With strong suction the newborn babe suckled at the barren finger. Mika turned her concern to Katarin and was alarmed to see a dark pool of blood staining the sheets. ‘What’s going on?’ She cried.
The midwyfe was ruggedly massaging Katarin’s belly and muttering under her breath.
A sense of impending doom fell over Mika, like a dark cloud. All the while, the little babe suckled on Mika’s smallest finger, her brow wrinkled in consternation.
Creature of Terror
Under other circumstances Lita would have felt a hollow sadness with the departure of her friends, but her mind was now on other things. When she lived in the Keep with Madea, she had fought against the urges of Change, convincing herself that if she held them in she could be like all the other folk and perhaps have a normal life. The events of the past few weeks had taught her this could never be so. There would always be someone on her heels, trying to catch her or use her for their own purposes. Hiding was no longer an option and since meeting the Beasts she had come to realise there was no shame in being one. They were no different to folk, with one exception.
If she had been able to speak their language, Lita might have told the Beasts about her own experience of the Change and asked them what they knew from theirs. Were there others who could draw on the life force around them? Or was she unique? The fact that their tokens were set so they could only Change to one creature suggested they were far more limited in the use of their powers and she wondered why this was so. There were so many questions, so much to learn, and she hoped that if she found MaKiki, she might be able to give Lita some answers at last.
Lita’s heart thumped hard, as though she had just finished running up a hill even though she had not moved from the spot where she waved her final farewell. It was time to try her new powers properly.
She looked around once more just to make certain nobody was there. Satisfied that she was alone, she closed her eyes. She had given careful thought to what she would create and was excited to see how it would turn out.
The sun broke through the grey clouds, birds cawed in the distance and wind rustled through the leaves of the evergreens. The slow tingle of Change seeped through Lita’s skin, as she gathered in the life force from the grasses and the trees. Next came the searing pain, as every bone in her body splintered, and every portion of muscle and fat rendered down into a whirling soup of life. Then came the rebuilding. She made a low-slung body, four legs and a mulish head. From her feet sprang unsheathed rapiers and from her shoulders, iridescent wings sprouted, rustling like paper kites. That idea, she had borrowed from Madea. Then above her brow, she grew four horns, curled like the prongs of a pitchfork. She was a fearsome sight, and yet she was not quite finished. In a final flourish, she created a barbed tail, crocodilian jaws, a furnace blazing deep in her gullet and a voice that would curdle fresh milk. In short, she had become a creature of terror.