by Amy McNulty
There were walls of dark stone as far as I could see. It took me a moment to realize that one layer of wall acted as a fence. Its gate swung open.
I braced myself. The ground shook.
Ancient, monstrously huge wooden doors beyond the outer wall parted slightly like I had seen Father’s lips part when he longed for Mother’s kiss. I stepped through, lifting one foot and then the other, willing myself to stay upright. A thin sliver of moonlight came with me and lit some of the way.
But even so, it was dark, darker than the cavern and the cloudiest of nights. I traced the shaking slit of moonlight with my feet as I continued to walk into the darkness, my gentle steps echoing like thunder in the empty space.
And then the shaking stopped. The door shut behind me.
“I’ve come to see the lord,” I whispered, as loudly as I dared. Now that I was here, my courage faltered. There was no answer. My heart was racing. What am I doing here? This is foolish, I still have time, I should go back—
I thought I heard a trickle of water and paused. There was nothing but the stone floor and a pile of bread and buns at the door, and the more I stared at the moss-covered stones, the more apprehensive I felt. I closed my eyes, shutting out the only sliver of light, and listened for the noise. My hands out before me, I walked toward the soothing sound of the trickling water. I moved unheeded for some time until my hand brushed against a hard surface. Opening my eyes, I found another slit of moonlight pouring through another set of wooden doors.
Tentatively, I put one eye against the slit and saw a fountain surrounded by an empty space and then a circle of white rose bushes. The fountain resembled a little boy, his face unmasked, his arms and head raised towards the sky. In place of the eyes were two spouts of water that poured out and downward, sparkling deep blue in the moonlight.
I want to see his face. It was a stupid thought, considering what danger I had put myself in. But I was overcome by it. I tried to pull open the doors, but they moved only a hair’s breadth even with all of my might. I threw my hands wildly over the doors to search for a better grip but found nothing amongst the rough surface of wood. Then I found the handle, but before I could grip it properly, my finger caressed a jagged sliver.
“Ow!” I sucked on my sore index finger and cursed a few times. It stung so much, I was tempted to rip it out with my teeth.
“Who goes there?”
The voice was haunting. Almost familiar.
I thrashed around to face it, but I couldn’t see anything. The echo of gentle footsteps came toward me.
“A woman?” the voice remarked as it drew nearer. I could feel the air part to allow that smooth, tenor tone to reach me, and I shivered. This was insane, he’s going to report me, I’m going to die—
The echoes paused, and the toe of a black boot settled on the edge of the arrow-shaped trail of silver light.
“What have we here?” It wasn’t a threat, more like the indifferent curiosity I’d heard from Father when I was child, while he was tinkering with his latest woodcarving and I walked into the room carrying a slimy baby frog. It was a man, I knew, although the voice was nothing like Father’s. It seemed younger, but older at the same time. Sweeter, but teetering on the edge of iciness.
“I … ” The nipping air hurt my throat as I tried desperately to suck it in and clear out my mouth. The apron around my shoulders fell lightly from my fingers—a small breeze slid through the crack in the door behind me, and the cloth glided through the air. It settled in the trail of moonlight in front of me, just brushing the man’s boot as it landed. “I’m looking for the lord.”
The man laughed, whether joyfully or angrily, I wasn’t sure. “You’re shivering.”
A black leather-gloved hand reached out into the silver arrow of light where I stood and grabbed my apron from the floor. I caught a glimpse of a lock of dark hair as he bent to retrieve it, but he retreated quickly into the shadows before I could make out more. Another gloved hand emerged beside the one clutching my apron and motioned for me to draw nearer.
“Come here,” he said. “Do not be afraid.”
My mind froze. A man in the castle. A man not all in white. Who could it be, but the lord? But if it were him, I’d be dead if the rumors were true. And yet here I was, and he didn’t chastise me for my trespass.
“I, uh—” I started. Did the laws of the first goddess apply to the one who watched over the village for her? I looked away. “Do you need me to close my eyes?”
“Oh,” he exclaimed. He pulled his hands back into the darkness with a start.
“Yes,” he said. And, as an afterthought, “Thank you.” I thought I heard him swallow uncomfortably in the silence that followed.
Good. Maybe he’ll think favorably of me. Maybe he won’t— I shut my eyes tightly. My quest seemed suddenly immensely stupid. The penalty is death.
Unlike with Jurij after the swim in the cave, there was no hesitation on this man’s part. The moment my eyelids clamped shut, his boots echoed as he drew closer. I felt his presence overhead as he wrapped the apron back around my shoulders.
“Hmm,” he said, perhaps lost in thought. “An apron for a cloak.”
His breath glanced across the top of my head as he spoke. It ought to have been warm, but it was cool and refreshing somehow, even though I shivered from head to foot. I heard rustling and then felt a gust of cold air. I jumped a little as a heavy leather jacket came down atop the apron over my shoulders. Although the material was cold to the touch, warmth instantly flooded my body. “Do you feel warmer?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The man began tying what I assumed was a cord of some kind around my right shoulder. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next, as I had often seen Jurij do when he was around Elfriede and her attention was drawn elsewhere. I could feel the jacket slip a little as he let go, but it held in place, leaving only the area near my neck uncovered. “I need to speak with the lord of the village. It’s … it’s urgent.”
The man scoffed. “I can tell. You seem to have rolled out of a muddy pond and caught your dress on a hundred branches. Perhaps you also bumped into a fair maiden, making off with her apron.”
I forced myself to smile. “Not far off. But the mud is just the color of the dress.”
“Of course. It suits you.”
“Thanks.” It might not have been a compliment, but I couldn’t possibly care less what his opinions were of my appearance at that moment, not when he held my life in his hands. My fingers poked around inside the too long arms of the jacket and gripped the soft seams nervously. “I have a request. Of the first goddess.”
“Does not everyone? If only she could hear the voices calling her.” He paused, his voice wavering. “Some more desperate than others.” I jumped as leather brushed against my hand. He pulled on my sleeves and rolled them up so that my hands were free. He grabbed my palm and turned it over to separate my splintered finger from the rest. In my nervousness, I’d forgotten the slight pain that ebbed now from the tip of my finger.
“Can’t you speak with her then?”
“You are injured,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken. My heart sank. What was I doing? I had a sinking feeling I was chasing a mythological woman, no more real than my queen and monsters.
The tips of a glove ran smoothly across my finger and reminded me of the delicate softness of bird down. When I’d played with my friends by the livestock, we’d often tickled one another with the down left behind by farmers’ chickens, but this elicited so much more aching and none of the giggles. And there was something more, a warmth mixed in with the chill of the leather. Leather. Leather, like in the cavern pool.
I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened and my palm was locked firmly in his grasp.
“It’s fine, thank you,” I said, a little more sternly than I’d intended.
He let my hand free. I stumbled, a bit off balance, and he steadied me at the shoulders.
“Let me get a needle,” he
said, “and I can remove the splinter for you.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself.”
“It is no trouble at all, I assure you.”
“I’m sure I can get it myself later, thank you.” I cradled the finger protectively against my shoulder, lest he try to wrest it from me again.
“But you would not forbid me from treating it?” His voice seemed odd. Tentative.
“Uh, no,” I mumbled. I didn’t know whether or not giving in would end the embarrassment sooner.
“Wait here a moment.”
The echoes of his footsteps reached my ears, and he was gone. I stood, wondering if it would be more foolish to stay or to go. You came here for a reason. But you’re risking your life! What is life without Jurij? The dilemma was meaningless, as I hadn’t made even a blind step forward when I heard his echoing footsteps again. A bottle clanged against the floor in front of me.
“I brought some ale to numb the area and bandages with which to wrap it.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “It’s just a splinter.”
He made a sound that I thought to be laughter as well, although it echoed throughout the chamber in a tone both sweet and melancholy. “Yes, well, I will do all I can to help you.” The leather feathers cradled my injured hand that still rested atop my shoulder. “May I?” he asked. His speech was warmer and more confident.
“All right.” It was my turn to speak tentatively.
He took my hand in his and pulled on it a little as he bent down to retrieve the bottle of ale. The cool liquid didn’t sting as it should have and reminded me of nothing more than water. A rustle of leather and the hand touching mine became as cold as ice, as smooth as marble. He’d removed one of his gloves and now the icy fingertips grew warm. Somehow, I felt both comforted and violated. The pain from the splinter vanished.
“What is your request?” he asked as he began poking my fingertip with the needle. My heart soared a little at the idea that he might be able to ask the goddess to help me after all, that she might actually be out there somewhere, watching. My finger throbbed, but I felt that it should have hurt more than it did, that he was taking great pains to minimize my soreness. The needle pricked just a little harder than previously. I squeaked a little in shock.
“Did I hurt you?” The man’s hand stiffened.
“Uh, no,” I responded. Better to finish this sooner rather than later. Heat rose on my cheeks. “No more than anyone could help.”
The man’s grip loosened slightly. “But I should do better than anyone else.”
My muscles weakened from being held aloft for so long, but I gritted my teeth and refused to let my limb waver. Speak your mind, Noll. Tell him why you’ve come. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, I couldn’t make myself voice the foolish thoughts inside of me. The man went back to work, prodding the needle into my skin even more gently than before. At rare moments, the needle or the splinter made my finger ache considerably more, but I bit the inside of my bottom lip and made no more sudden movements.
“You must need something very important,” said the man after a bit of silence. “You are aware of the penalty for a woman setting foot in the castle?” The man gave one final thrust with the needle. “I have it!”
This is it. I flinched. The splinter gone, I hoped I’d be free to pull my hand back, but the man gripped harder. “Wait a moment,” he said. Then he added, “Please.”
What choice did I have? I wasn’t about to win a bout of strength against him. I relaxed my pull. “I … ” I straightened my shoulders, doing my best to act the queen. “I was willing to risk death.”
“Were you?” The trickle of the stingless ale fell over my fingertip again, and what followed was a gentle patting with what felt like cloth. Then the iciness of his fingers burned warmly again, and I felt no trace of pain. “That seems foolish. To risk such a treasure.”
My face flushed, and I was almost glad that my eyes were closed so I could imagine he didn’t notice. I felt exposed and vulnerable.
“I came to free my friend from the curse that binds him to a woman.”
He laughed. The sound made me go cold. “Who has the power to do that?”
I bit my lip, but I couldn’t give up now. “Who else would, but the first goddess?”
“And why would she ever break her own law?”
My lip trembled. My voice, when I could finally speak, was nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Is there nothing to be done?”
“Nothing.” His voice was sharp, and I couldn’t tell if it was my question or the answer to that question that had offended him. He sighed and let the sternness pass. “How strange of you to have a friend bound to a woman.”
“He … ” The admission caught in my throat. “She commanded him to remain my friend. Accidentally.”
“In women there lies a careless sort of power.” He patted my hand gently. “Why do you fear for him? Does she intend to send him to the commune?”
“No, it’s not that. In fact, he’s—” I stopped. I felt coddled and spoken down to, and my fear of punishment was overriding my desire for the impossible. “Never mind. I was foolish to think—” I wanted my hand free, with every bit of my desire. I felt strange, locked in this man’s grasp, blind to what was going on before me. His fingers loosened, and I was finally able to pull my hand back.
His voice grew quiet. “You love this … friend?” He took such a sharp intake of breath I thought something must have hurt him. My blood went cold.
“Yes.” I had said the words in haste and anger to Jurij in the cavern and spoken them in my heart a multitude of times before. But never had I admitted it to anyone else, and none but my mother knew to ask. And she at least had the pity not to.
My hand was enclosed in the gentle leather grip once more, and I let him take it, my muscles growing limp. Marble, as chilled as snow and as smooth and plush as satin, pushed gently against the back of my hand. I heard a light smacking noise upon its release, not unlike the noises Mother and Father made every time they met. A kiss?
“So you know,” whispered the hollow voice. “Perhaps you understand now. Men have no choice but to love, for that is their curse. Women are free to love, for what good it does. You need not fear death here.” He pulled me close to him, his body pressed against mine. I felt strange, revolted, but at the same time, an unbidden sense of exhilaration spread from my head to my toes. His hand stroked the back of my head, and I felt patches of his cold, thin arms sweep across my cheek. My other cheek brushed against the silken fabric covering his shoulder.
“That decree was my own doing, and I am delighted to at last be free from the order. For what would become of me had you not ventured here, against all counsel? What is your name?” he asked.
“Noll,” I whispered. My lips froze as they brushed against the icy surface of his ear.
His hand stopped stroking my head and balled into a fist around some of my hair. It hurt a bit, but I couldn’t express my alarm. My voice choked at the realization of what was happening.
“Olivière,” his voice croaked through the darkness. Somehow he knew my full name, the girly name I couldn’t stand to hear spoken. Like the vision in the cavern.
“Oh, Olivière,” he spoke again, his voice trembling. He let go of my hair and wrapped both arms so tightly around me, I thought he must have worried that I would float away.
And then I knew he would never again let me go.
He let me go home that night, but I could never truly be my own again, never truly be out of his embrace. Four months had passed since the lord of the village had found the goddess in me. I was only half a year away from turning seventeen.
And Mother was dying.
Before my thoughts were consumed with Mother’s illness, I found myself bitterly thinking like Ingrith said she once did, hoping at the very least that the news of my foolish trespass might spark some jealousy in Elfriede—what was a scrawny, puppy-face boy compared to the lord of the village?—or some kind
of regret in Jurij that I, too, had someone else to love me.
But I was lying to myself. A scrawny, puppy-face boy was everything. And Elfriede and Jurij were so dreadfully excited for me. It was the only time they bothered to spare me any thought as of late.
“Wasn’t Mother right? We all knew your man would find you. And soon you can have your Returning and be as happy as me.”
“Now you know the joys that exist between a man and his goddess! Now you know real love.”
Their happiness was like the fangs of a monster, tearing into the defenseless flesh of the queen who’d foolishly set out to slay the beast, only to meet her own doom.
I couldn’t get used to the idea that I was somebody’s goddess. Not just anybody’s goddess, either. But it was so far from what I’d wanted I didn’t know what to do. Not only was Jurij’s curse unbroken, but I left the castle that night knowing my future. Knowing I had someone to Return to.
Because no one seemed to consider that I might not want to Return to him.
My only refuge was Alvilda’s workshop, as far west from the castle as one could get, short of living in the commune.
Alvilda’s trade had once been secondary to Father’s, considering she took it up only after refusing her Returning. However, since my mother’s illness, Father was less inclined to work than ever and only did so when Mother was conscious enough to remind him. Alvilda stepped right up to fill in the void, and she got most of the real work these days. At least Father was too far gone to care. In fact, he helped her from time to time. Or just gave her a tool he no longer felt he needed. Mostly because he no longer felt like working.
I knocked and let myself in at the usual call of “No masked men here, come in!” Master Tailor sometimes visited his sister, and he could take his mask off in front of her.
But she failed to warn me that an unmasked man was there.
“Noll! What brings you here?” Alvilda looked up from her work—an ornate bed headboard, I believed. The smile that flashed over her features was genuine, although she couldn’t be torn from her work for long.