by J. E.
A strange sickness took her after a while, and even the old crone’s failing eyes could see her gained weight. “Have you been digging into the preserves on the way from the village again, Cera? Y’know what I told you about that,” she reprimanded her.
“Yes, grandmother. I’m sorry.”
She knew that wasn’t it. She knew, from that fateful moment those many months ago, and the worry had stayed with her ever since. She’d noticed her clothes fit differently, and her body felt strange and foreign, and before she left for town once more, she dipped one of his ruby flowers in a jar of purple preservative, leaving it at the first flower she found.
It was gone by the time she returned, and no other flower awaited her in that familiar place. It was the first time since that fateful day. It was almost unnerving.
Though as she moved ahead, the chuffing of her pony let her know he was there.
Winter’s light was dimmer, the grey clouds keeping much of the sun out, the branches above filtering out most of what was left, but with some strain she could see him standing off in the woods, watching her from beside a tree across from where he always left her those tokens.
“What will you do?” he called out, his voice sounding harsher, rougher. She couldn’t tell why, for he was too far away and in too much darkness to see him clearly.
She pat her traveling companion as she thought about it, and her shoulders rose and fell underneath the heavy fur shawl. “I don’t know.”
The darkness shrouded much, but she heard something scrape against wood and saw a faint sign of his hand raking over the trunk beside her. “Would you cast out your own child for what his father’s done? For what his father was?” he asked in that same harsh voice.
“I’m not to tell anyone,” she reminded him, tugging that warm fur tighter.
Silence hung between them. The chill winter air still as slowly snowflakes drifted down around her pale, slender form. The only noise to break the quiet was the faint sound of sniffing in the distance from his direction.
“Do as your heart tells you,” he called, receding into the shadows and out of sight.
She sighed at him, but there was no response, and as she went back along that familiar trail, her body felt heavier, less pliable than usual. The chill ran through her and she simply wanted to sleep, to not have to deal with such large problems.
Winter wore on long that year, the snow piling high, and supplies running low. One eve by the fire her grandmother weakly looked to her, “Cera. I need more wyrm-wheat for my pains,” she said, her eyes nearly purely white now, vision all but lost to her, shielding her from the sight of her increasingly swollen granddaughter.
Cera knew the journey would be hard, the snow complicating matters so on top of the already troublesome pregnancy. “I’ll set out in the morning,” she said, resigning herself to what had to be done.
Before the sun even rose she was awake and preparing to head out. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, nana,” she urged, the sound of the pony arising outside, a very odd occurrence, as the old beast was so tame and quiet.
Heading outside towards the small barn that housed the old beast, she stopped at the sight of strange tracks in the snow. They weren’t human, not quite, but they were unlike any creature she knew of. Whatever it was it had long, clawed toes with a human-like sole to its feet.
Before alarm could set in she saw where they led to before turning back to the forest. A small pile sat there, a tiny crate and atop that a sack.
She stepped so cautiously towards it. Her fingers worked open that bag, but she knew what it would be. How was he always so close?
As she predicted, inside were the things her grandmother needed, and more still. Various herbs and flowers, the sorts of things she needed for their craft. The crate beneath, she found, contained preservatives. Jams, dried meat, hard tack. It was a small box, but the foods were heavy and compact, it was enough to feed the two women for a couple weeks at least.
She couldn’t explain this to her grandmother, how quickly she was able to procure everything, and so she moved the objects into a safe place, hidden from the evil things that lurked deeper into the forest. She moved to the edge of their small property, and in the snow, her finger traced the words.
Thank you.
She had the day to herself, free of everything, and she lay back in the falling snow, feeling so wonderfully at ease. As if she was a part of the world, and could finally enjoy it.
He never came for her, but in the distance she heard the howling of some wolf. It was not an uncommon thing for them, nestled so far into the woods as they were, but she didn’t sense any danger in it. Not this time.
One night her ailing grandmother looked to her from her place near the fire. “I feel it’s coming to an end,” she said in her shaky, old voice. “Spring is nigh,” and though there was as of yet no sign of it, for the snow still piled high, the chill still permeated, Cera knew better than to question her grandmother’s wisdom.
As Spring thaw took over, and grass began to peek out from beneath the melting snow again, she set off for her journey once more. She hadn’t needed to actually make the trip in some time, for whenever she set out to do so he had always been there first.
This time, however, there was nothing there in the usual spot. She thought for a moment that with Winter closing perhaps his charity had ended, but on the cusp of the clearing about their home she saw it, the usual supplies stacked, with a ruby flower atop it once more.
Making her way towards it, her very pregnant belly in the way, she heard him before she could move to get the things. “Have you decided?” came his voice, and it was softer now than last time. Less harsh, less gravely. More as it was.
She looked at him, those innocent eyes still not holding any hate or malice for him. Only curiosity. “She’s not going to last long. Even with your generosity,” she said softly.
“I know,” was his response. He stepped closer than he had been in some time, looking much as he did on that day when she first saw him. Tall and broad, wrapped in dark leathers with high, thick boots. He was dressed no more thickly for the weather than in the Fall. “So when she is gone then, nothing will keep you from raising your child,” it was a question more than a statement, his dark eyes peering at her curiously.
“Is her blindness a coincidence or by design?” she asked, no more in the mood to answer his questions than he was to answer hers.
He blinked in surprise. “No,” he said, and it sounded sincere. For though she couldn’t see his face, or little more of it than what was around his eyes, she could tell hints of his features there and hear the surprise in his voice, read it in his eyes.
She traced her fingers along the crate, “Why is this important to you?”
The masked rogue stepped closer, nearly into the light of the clearing. “It is not an easy question to answer,” he said, though realizing how unsatisfactory that was he added without delay. “I am sorry,” and she saw his chest swell with a deep intake of breath, “and much more than that.”
“You haven’t even told me your name,” she said softly, feeling so small near him despite the swell of her stomach that loomed between them. “You took my innocence and now ask me to raise a child, and you’ve never told me why.”
She could see his brow furrow through the narrow slit that showed his face, “I never thought you’d care,” he responded simply. A man of few words, even though she could tell he was trying to be forthright with her.
“I asked you why that night,” she continued, moving nearer to him so that he could almost feel the bristles of her fur shawl. “You never answered.”
He didn’t move from his spot, his head tilting down to her, those eyes remaining locked. “To ask a question doesn’t mean one cares to know the answer. And after what I did... what I could still do...” he trailed off, and she saw that his hand was out and reaching to touch her, stroke her swollen stomach, but he stopped himself.
She stared at it, looming bet
ween them, “You don’t know as much of me that you pretend to, to think I would ask a question and not care for it to be answered.”
“Do you remember a young boy who lived with you long ago?” he asked, as if out of nowhere.
The question conjured up some faint recollections of her youngest days when a young lad whom she could not even recall the name of was in her memories. Her grandmother never spoke of him, and had always told her he was but an imaginary friend that she was remembering.
“Yes,” she murmured after a pause, though she didn’t understand what that had to do with anything. There were so few options of why he was asking, and they quickly flooded her brain. “Why?”
“Your grandmother cast me out,” he said in his gruff voice. “She laid a curse upon me. Bade me never come back. Never to see either of you ever again.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes sinking down. “I did go, for a time. But the curse...” he lamented.
Her brows tightened as those innocent eyes stared into his. “It obviously didn’t work,” she said sternly. “You’ve seen me many times now.”
Looking back to her he said, “That was not the curse.” He stared a while, hesitating. “The curse has condemned me to live not like a man, but an animal. And I came back so she could lift it. But she would not,” he looked down sadly again. “She kept me at bay... but as I tried to find a way to get her to remove it, I took to watching you. I intended to try to get you to help me in some manner, but I couldn’t bring myself to endanger you,” he shook his head again pathetically. “Not until that day, when all my caution and long attempts to protect you were for naught.”
She stared at him, dumbly. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but she didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her, even as he spelled it out. “What are you talking about?”
Meeting her eyes once more he stared at her, as if by merely doing that hard enough he could impart what he wanted to say but was as yet unable. “Look what she’s done to me,” he said, and reaching up he pulled down his mask. She saw it immediately, for though he looked on the surface like a normal, handsome man, the large canines that jutted out of his mouth gave him such a wolfen appearance.
He was not normal. Not like any other man she’d ever seen. He was wrong. Those dark eyes of his, so piercing, so dark, were not a man’s eyes.
She flinched and looked away, her heartbeat quickened as her hand instinctively went to her pregnant swell, as if she could protect the child from him. “That doesn’t explain why you took my maidenhood,” she said to the ground, Cera’s voice so quiet in the still, winter forest.
Seeing her recoil from the sight of him like that, he frowned and tugged his mask back over his features, hiding the shameful nature of his being. “I... it’s hard to control myself now,” he said sadly. “I watched and protected you so long, and I wanted you so badly... you were... yer the perfect woman,” he said with strained words. “But the beast that lives in me with this curse knows only hunger and violence.”
Cera’s face contorted in sorrow, and slowly her gaze returned to him, her brows knit, “But why did Nan do this to you? What could you have possibly done?”
Lowering his gaze sadly he shook his head, “I was but a boy. I did nothing boys were wont to do. I never understood it,” he lamented. In a sad voice he asked, “If she dies will my hope for a cure go with her?” and he looked up, hope in his gaze.
“She’s passed some knowledge to me, but none of this sort,” she said as she took a step closer, her lavender eyes narrowing slightly. “How did she do it?”
His dark, exotic shaped eyes contorted with some hope as she approached. “She said her curse as she cast me out, I don’t know no more than that,” he said. “Her words are blazoned in my memory though.” She could see the pain in the corner of his eyes as he recited it, “Git gone and never darken my doorstep again. Yer cursed blood, and you’ll bring naught but pain and misery to all you care for or could care fer you.”
He stepped towards her, his hands moving up to take her arms. “Can ya help me?” he pleaded.
Her nose crinkled as her fingers worked over the crate, over the gifts. Or was it a bribe? “I dare say Nan just made the monster she feared.”
Knees buckled and he slipped into the melting snow beside her, his hands sliding from her arms to her swollen belly. “Are ya still gonna cast this one out when born?” he asked, the hurt thick in his voice. He was concerned for her unborn child, but there was something else too. He didn’t want to think she was like her grandmother, who would cast out a small child.
She stared at him for a long while, not answering him before her hand slowly reached out, touching along the leather against his face. “It wouldn’t be right,” she agreed, though she’d long ago decided on that. “Knowin’ what she thought you did might help, though. If I am to get rid of this curse.”
Shaking his head so sadly he said, “I never did nothin’, believe me.” His eyes drooped back down to her belly. She could see he was touched by her agreement on the child, but still his plight haunted him. “I broke some dishes once, that’s all I remember,” he said, those strong hands of his feeling out over her pregnant belly, and she saw then the exposed tips of his fingers had pointed nails, very nearly like claws.
She didn’t flinch from him, not this time, and she watched him intently. “I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe it was that she’d known him, thought him long gone that was softening her heart, but truly, she was just good hearted. He may have taken her virtue, but even he couldn’t touch her youthful spirit.
Meeting her eyes she could see they were glassy with moisture. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m... I’m so sorry for how it happened, but...” he swallowed hard. “If you can break the curse I’ll do everythin’ in the world for you an’ our child. I swear it,” he stated as if a solemn oath.
Her hands wrapped around the bag of goods as she took a step away from him, her back not turned as though she were afraid he’d disappear before finally she reached the stoop of their cottage. Her hand clasped the door and she steeled herself as she pushed in.
Entering back into the warmth of the cottage she heard the fire crackling. It had to be kept going all the time, even as the thaw came with her grandmother so ill. “You’ve not set out yet?” came the old voice, so weak.
“No, Nan. There’s a log across the road, I can’t get through. Must be from the storm last night,” Cera said softly, moving to put the blanket more firmly around her grandmother’s shoulders.
The old woman didn’t even open her eyes more than a crack, her sight next to useless now anyhow, she didn’t seem to care to bother. “What?” she said, “But how’ll you manage? Nobody’s gonna come clear it for ya, Cera.”
“Someone’s workin’ on it as we speak, don’t worry, Nan. He was really nice about it all.”
She saw her grandmother’s brow furrow, the little old lady opening her eyes and trying to look to her. “Someone? Who in blazes would be out here helpin’ on somethin’ like that unbidden?” she said. For it made no sense. Nobody came to them. The woods were shunned by all but the hardest, most desperate sorts.
“Nan, why’d we kick that boy out when I was just a girl? You remember? You said he was my imaginary friend, but I remember him clear as day.”
“What?” he grandmother said, looking amazed by her question then distressed. “Why would ya ask somethin’ like that? That nonsense is long in the past,” she said, her voice wavering even more than usual. She saw her grandmother’s frail, bony hand reaching out from beneath her blanket for her, “Who is it that’s helpin’ with the log, Cera? Who?”
“Nan, what’d he do? What was so bad he couldn’t stay with us any more?” Cera was persistent, and her fingers interlaced with her grandmother’s aged hand. “Please tell me.”
She could see the conflict on her grandmother’s wrinkled old face. The worry and distress. As if she were caught in some crime and torn apart with concern for her all at once. “What’s he done, Cer
a? Don’t go near ‘im,” she warned. “He ain’t right. He just ain’t right. Don’t listen to a word he says.”
“I’m a grown woman, Nan. You can’t just scare me into listenin’ to you. I gotta know why. I gotta be able to make up my own mind, you know that. You gotta tell me, convince me why!” she pleaded, kneeling before the old woman. “Please, Nan, I gotta know.”
Straining her milky white eyes, the old lady looked to her so feebly, her voice so weak and frail. “It’s too late, ain’t it?” she said. “That wolf-spawn got to you, didn’t he?” she said, sorrow on her voice.
“It’s not too late. If it were, I wouldn’t be asking you, Nan!”
Her old face was creased, and Cera saw her life was so perched near the edge. “He was born of a loathsome act, Cera... he weren’t all human because of it.” She hesitated, “There are dark things in the depths o’ the woods that even we need ta fear. And that was where he was conceived...” she looked as if she wanted to cry but was too weak. “I shouldn’t have taken him in at all, but... I hoped he’d turn out okay, but then there was you and...He was too dangerous.”
“What’d he do that was so dangerous?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. Her fear was growing, yet it couldn’t quell her curiosity.
The old lady shook her head, “It wasn’t what he did, Cera. It was what he was becomin’. And my potions couldn’t keep it at bay forever...”
“Oh Nan,” she murmured, her thumb running over the old woman’s knuckles. Was that what would happen to her child too? Would it be shunned and unloved? “What happened to his parents?”
Swallowing, the old lady looked pained just talking about it. “She died when you were newborn,” she said, the hesitance was ripe as she seemed not to want to talk about his father. “She strayed into the woods... where she knew better than ta go,” she lamented. “Some beast had her there. And what she gave birth to was not a person. Not fully.”