by Mark Tufo
Miriam was three when it happened. But the nightmares never went away. Never grew distant. She remembered every detail of her mother’s face that day. Even weeks later, still on the run with Perla, she woke up in a fit of night terrors -- shaking, wet, and soiled – frozen in a catatonic state of terror. It would be hours before her rigid limbs would bend again, allowing her to fall into a fitful sleep. Word finally reached them through the drunken rumors of the soldiers who gave no mind of the words that poured like the ale they spilled through filthy lips. Anjolie was tortured and beheaded at the Queen’s behest and they were now scouring the lands in search of the runaway nursemaid and the girl.
Huddled behind the barrels of wine and ale, the girls risked life and skin to hide from the lecherous men who were seeking the bounty. The things they said made Perla ill and she held her palms against Miriam’s ears for hours to try and keep the girl from hearing, as well. Many nights, the woman watched the dawn of the new day before the last slurred, wretched boasts of the men fell to drunken slumber. Another small fortune paid to the owners for their silence, and she was on her way to find the next safest shelter.
Perla and Miriam were on the road like this for two years before the nursemaid grew ill. Continuous walking, little nutrition and cold damp air through threadbare rags, gave the woman pneumonia. Her fever spiked during the night and during the day, her labored breathing made walking all but impossible. Trudging through the thick mud of a trail one evening, Perla’s lungs finally caved in and she collapsed in the grass. Miriam was small and frail, no match for the weight of her caretaker, even though she was skin and bones, now. Hollow cheeks were dirty and stained with tears as she tugged at Perla’s arm trying to wake her.
“Please, Madame! Please, get up. Get up!” she cried.
Perla could barely respond with anything but a groan, her body trembling with sickness. Miriam fell atop her and cradled the woman as much as she could, trying to keep her warm and safe. Exposed skin was clammy and paste-like. Her features were grey, and her lips turning blue. The woman’s breaths were growing weak and shallow. Miriam thought she would die, right here in the middle of nowhere and leave her all alone in the world. The girl closed her eyes and prayed, as it was the only thing she could really do. They had nothing. There was no water, no food, no weapons or healing herbs. The two hadn’t eaten in days.
“Please don’t die, Madame!” Miriam’s body shook with her sobs and she raised her pointed chin to the sky, “God, please don’t take her.”
Miriam’s eyes gave in to the exhaustion and grew too heavy to hold open any longer. Sleep made its way into her and she slipped into the cold waters of sleep. She awoke to the sound of hooves clopping. Not knowing if it was real, she tried to look around but her sight was blurry and dim. The only thing she could see was the vapor of her breath against some light that swung back and forth against a black sky.
“I’m dead.” She uttered weakly.
“Not yet,” a voice responded before the shadow leaned down and the face of an old woman appeared, “God has not seen fit to take ye, just yet.”
She had the kindest face that Miriam had ever seen. It was round and plump with rosy cheeks, and her eyes glittered when they crinkled.
The old woman rose up again and nodded to someone on her left. “Gather her up.”
The light once more gave way to another face, the man that appeared was equally weathered in age, as the woman’s. He leaned in and wrapped his wiry arms around Miriam, lifting her with just a hint of strain. The girl may be small, but he was old.
“Let’s get ye out of the cold, Lass.” He let out a small groan as his spine straightened up and he cradled her into his tattered, meager coat.
Miriam realized that she almost forgot about Perla, which gave an ache to her heart. She croaked out a call to her nursemaid, “Perla..!” but her bony arm was too weak to hold itself up for long.
“Shh, Lass.” The old man soothed.
Miriam’s head lolled to the side and she caught a glimpse of the woman’s body being hefted into the cart. She could not tell if she was dead or alive. The strain on Miriam’s throat from calling out to Perla made her cough, violently. Each breath she took inside felt like she was inhaling splinters of glass that scraped away at the delicate tissue of her lungs.
The older woman threw her own cloak around the girl and waved her arm toward the covered portion of the carriage, “Put her in the back with the furs. We must get back, quickly.”
There were several others riding along, but Miriam did not see their faces. She could only hear their voices muffled through her semi-conscious state. The steady back and forth rocking of the carriage sealed her fate; she was deep asleep within minutes.
It was days of Miriam slipping in and out of fever induced sleep. She hallucinated and screamed out in the middle of the night, calling out names of people that were never there. She was always soaked with fever that needed constant cool rags to break. There were incidents of her trying to fight off those that were there to help, her eyes wide and wild – seeing yet unseeing. Whatever it was that she saw, was not what her attendants could account for. When they would get her calm down and she fell back to the bed, her eyes stared off into the distance and she muttered about nonsense, at first. As the days carried on, her visions grew more frightening. She muttered the names of angels, of God’s wrath and even seemed to speak with the Blessed Mother. The attendants were too scared to sit with her now and so they went and told the old nun that saved her, Lydia.
Lydia argued that she was struck with fever and could not possibly be seeing the things she described but the attendants wanted no part of it, any longer. Lydia would have to tend to the girl, herself. Dismissing the woman in front of her, she sent her back to her room for the night.
“I’ll see to the Lass m’self. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the mornin’.” Lydia stood slowly and grabbed her walking stick, making her way slowly toward the girl’s room. Just outside the door, she lit the candle and paused, hearing the girl speaking in hushed tones. Lydia listened for a moment thinking the poor thing was in the midst of another fever. She was about to enter when she heard another voice.
The woman was startled at first, then angry. She had sent the other attendant to bed after she had refused to look after the girl, now she was back? Nudging the door open with the end of the stick, Lydia stopped and gasped. A woman sat at the edge of the bed, her hand cupping the small girl’s and smiled down at her. The very sight of her made Lydia’s heart swell with love so great, that she felt as if it was enough for the whole world. The intensity of the emotion caused her to buckle slightly and put more weight down on the stick. She realized then that there was no light in the room, it was the glow around the woman that filled up the room like a thousand candles.
The two had stopped talking, then and the glowing woman leaned in to kiss Miriam’s cheek. Standing upright slowly, she allowed her gaze to rest upon Lydia. The gaze was deep and warm, filling her chest with flames of compassion that instantly made the old woman weep. She could barely utter the words, but managed, feebly.
“Hail..Mary..” she began, and had to catch her breath between sobs, “full of grace.”
The woman walked towards her and Lydia fell to one knee, dropping her gaze acquiescingly to the Mother of God. The hem of the Virgin’s skirts came to rest in front before the Holy Mother continued walking and went right through her.
The feeling was so intense that the old woman let out a loud groan. It felt as if her soul burst into the sun like small drops of rain evaporating off the petal of a flower. Each molecule was captured in mid-air, pausing as time stood still and the light blinded her. She could not move, nor speak. When she took in a breath, time sped to catch up and she felt each molecule return. Each tiny raindrop was the tears of the world, and each tear brought all the anguish, hope, love and worry that accompanied it.
Lydia gulped in the air but realized, she was unable to see. She had literally, looked into the s
unlight that was the most Holy of all women. From that day, she would never regain her sight. Long after she had passed, to this very day, others have claimed to see the blind old woman tending to the roses of the garden. Roses that would not wither or die, even when the building had crumpled and fell to the earth from decay and time. Roses that deflected the strangling vines of weeds and the mastication by jaws of scavengers and insects.
Miriam was standing in that garden now as the memories came flooding back. A voice behind her brought her back into the conversation she fell out of without notice.
“Mon petite?” Perla said the words softly, reaching out for her shoulder.
Gazing down at her hands, a few tears made their way down Miriam’s cheek and she handed the habit to her nursemaid. Now a woman, Miriam could only thank God that she still had Perla after nearly losing her, that fateful night. Now older, a little more wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, Perla helped Miriam get ready for morning prayers.
“Miriam, the burden is great. I know this.” She whispered as gently as she could. “But it is through this sacrifice that we show our love to God. He saved you, and you must save others. This is our lesson, and our journey. Grace be to Him, that we lived to see this day, and every day after.”
“Yes, Madame. I know.” Miriam nodded, softly. “It does not pain me to love her. It was not She that killed my mother.”
Perla paused at the words, before gently smoothing out the black robe. She whispered lower this time, in an almost chastising tone, “Never say those words, again. No one must know. Only you, and I, and God.”
Miriam’s eyes fell once more to gaze at her own feet and did not meet her nursemaid’s again until after morning prayers, “Yes, Madame.”
The nursemaid was as close as Miriam would ever have to a mother in this lifetime. Her own had suffered a terrible fate at the Queen’s hand. In Miriam’s mind, the King’s hands were just a full of blood. He knew that the Queen was a resolute woman who would never stand down from acquiring the power and throne for her son. In turn, it kept the Queen in power, as well. To the public the Queen was pious and chaste, serving God through prayer, alms to the poor and attending church often. She raised her children by the strict disciplines of the Catholic Church.
In turn, this left the King’s earthly desires unquenched. He saw the beauty and grace of Miriam’s mother and pursued her relentlessly until she gave in. He never backed out of his promises to her. She had a lavishly furnished apartment in the castle, opposite the wing that the Queen stayed in. He made sure to stock her purse full of gold and her skin adorned in every jewel he could find, near and far. The Queen’s jealousy grew and festered, until finally, Anjolie was with child. The Queen dismissed the pregnancy and laughed. The King would never recognize a bastard child. Not with her own, noble-birth children to secure his lineage and rule.
But when Miriam was born, and the King looked down upon her eyes, he loved her as much as he loved her mother, his consort. He reached out for her and cradled her small head in his hand then lowered himself to the bed and wept. Anjolie thought something was wrong and reached for him, scared that she hadn’t seen a disfiguration or sickness in the babe.
“No,” he whispered, “nothing is wrong. She is perfect. A gift from God, above.”
Word spread like wildfire at his words. The king did not care, but the Queen roared so loud, it shook the stones of the castle, itself. She sent cups and paintings crashing into the stone walls, at the servants, the ladies-in-waiting, her Councilmen who had come to talk sense into her. It nearly drove her mad. The King tried to see her that night and she threw herself into another fit of rage. The two screamed at one another for hours, until exhausted, he vowed never to share her bed again, until she be tame and reasonable.
When the King left, she sat in the center of the room, her eyes taking in the shambles and ruin. Something moved. She caught it out of the corner of her eye. Her fury was tempered by her curiosity. Who would be so bold to sneak into her bedchambers unannounced?
She called out to the intruder, having no fear of an assassin or threat upon her life, “You dare come to me without invitation? Show yourself to me.”
The Queen did not move to face the presence. Instead, she lifted her chin and waited. Waited to be shown proper respect by whoever it was. Expecting no less, she spoke not another word until it seemed to slither along the far side of the wall, jumping from shadow to shadow until, from the darkness, a man emerged slowly into the light.
The Queen steadied herself. His presence seemed to suffocate what little light tried to illuminate his features. The irises of his eyes were so black, she felt like she was staring into the abyss. Something within her knew. In some primordial way, this was Evil.
And she did not care.
Jealousy crept into her heart and turned it black. Straightening her spine, she steeled her trembling hands by clasping them behind her back, “Who are you?”
The man bowed deeply with unearthly grace. His long coat whipped out behind him and he gazed up at her. “A humble servant.”
The Queen narrowed her gaze at the man. Waiting.
“Call me, Raphael.”
THE GEMINI - MIRIAM
Isabel lay quietly on the bed and Louis slept across from her on the chair near the door. Miriam came in and placed a blanket over him then paused as he stirred, careful not to wake him. It was rare that Isabel was quiet like this, so sleep was a luxury that everyone took advantage of. Even Miriam herself was looking a little worn for the wear. Nights of prayer, followed by her penance dealt out by Father Raphael for her defiance to be carried out by her own hand, had left her looking years beyond her age.
Miriam vowed to God and to Isabel that she would stand by her friend’s side. She knew that evil had embraced this otherwise holy place for whatever reason. That reason was not hers to question. God’s plan was beyond human comprehension. She would continue to be his humble servant by ensuring that His children were kept as safe as possible.
How she had hated her so long ago. The thought crushed her heart with guilt and regret. She’d confessed every night to rhythm of the reparations against her bare flesh. So consumed by the torment of her feelings, Miriam had nearly gone mad at her own self-inflicted punishment. Falling to the floor among the blood and sweat, the past infused her memories, dragging her back into their depths again.
Gazing down at Isabel’s drawn face brought her sadness, and she let her hand reach out to brush the back of her knuckles over the sharp hill of her cheekbone. Isabel stirred slightly, turning toward the warmth generated by those fingers. Miriam’s breath caught suddenly at how cold her friend’s skin was. It sent a deeper chill within her and she pulled her hand back to rub at her arms, subconsciously pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
Turning to glance around the room, Miriam found the discarded blanket from the foot of Isabel’s bed that she must have kicked off and reached over to grab it. She could feel the temperature in the room drop even more and she stopped mid-bend. On the air before her, her breath hung there. She felt like a child suddenly; afraid to peek under the bed where the blanket was bunched up.
Forcing her lips to close, she swallowed back the fear and snatched the blanket quickly with her eyes closed, then turned to place it on Isabel only to be stopped abruptly. She let out a short scream when she collided with Isabel who was now standing beside the bed and directly in front of her.
“Isabel! You frightened me!” She said, breathlessly.
Isabel responded by tipping her head slowly to the side, her darkened eyes never leaving Miriam’s but seeming to be looking past her. Miriam took a step back and tried to smile but a foul smell began to roll off her friend’s breath. It was more than Miriam could stand and she had to cover her nose with her hand. A feeling of nausea welled up within her and she placed her hand on the bed to steady herself.
Before she knew what happened, Isabel reached out and ensnared Miriam’s hair between her fingers, jerking her
head to the side and cocking her face upward so that she was forced to stare up into Isabel’s features which were turning both malignant and vile. The younger woman began to flail in surprise and yelped in protest. She called out for Louis who was still sleeping in the chair nearby.
“Louis! Help me!” Fear escalated the shrill of her scream and filled the room.
Unable to turn her face, she stared up in horror as she watched Isabel’s eyes roll back into her head and her mouth open wide. Her teeth and her tongue were so black it looked like she drank a bottle of liquid ash. Miriam struggled harder, digging her heels into the floor. She kicked and punched against the un-moving frame of her friend who was transforming right before her very eyes into a demonic nightmare.
Isabel’s jaw continued to open wider and Miriam began to cry. She could hear the joint dislocating and the lower portion of her bone unhinging and falling down to her chest while stretching the skin unnaturally.
“No!” Miriam screamed out again, praying it would snap Isabel out of this trance or wake Louis up from his deep sleep to help her.
Miriam’s scream gave Isabel opportunity to slip her fingers into her mouth and hold it open. Tilting her head downward, gave Miriam a better view of writhing nest of maggots that began pouring from Isabel’s mouth into her own. Miriam gagged and pounded her fists harder as flies began buzzing angrily about, accosting her face and eyes.
Louis, meanwhile, was dream-state far away from the terrors of the Abbey and Isabel. Back in the fields of his homeland, he rode the steed beneath him, leading the hunt. It was his first time. The freedom was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his whole life. The wind was sweeter, and the thrill was more exhilarating at the front line.
Leaning forward he pushed onward, feeling the power of the beast’s flanks between his legs. Nostrils flared, and the vapor of the heated breath on winter’s air curled around the rising low-lying fog. The two danced, fighting for dominance. The thunder of the animal’s hooves clapped in time with the beating of his heart and Louis finally caught sight of it! Simultaneously, the dogs began to bark furiously and take off beneath the brush toward the prize. Louis could feel the horse pull back and he grew angry, driving his spurred heels into its hind quarters.