‘It’s all right,’ Star answers as soon as she can find the breath to say anything. The words tear at her throat but she wants to explain, put into words how she feels. ‘At least I know I don’t want to die.’
Lilith smiles. ‘I’ll see if I can find you a towel,’ she says. A trail of water follows in her wake.
Star cradles her knees and concentrates on breathing. Each cool breath reduces the pain in her lungs. By the time Lilith returns with two hand towels Star’s breathing feels almost normal again.
Standing up, Star pulls out the plug. She loves feeling the water drain away from her legs, ankles then toes. The liquid pulls the darkness away from her, leaving her lighter, purer.
Lilith rubs the first towel over Star’s shoulders and breasts. The feeling is luxurious. Star imagines her lover as her handmaiden, bathing, drying and dressing her, not in clothes but in skin and kisses.
‘I love you,’ she whispers into the hair at Lilith’s crown. If her words are heard Lilith does not respond. She continues rubbing and drying, working at the creases of Star’s skin, at her armpits and under her breasts; her knees, elbows and her sex all get the same gentle yet thorough treatment. As Star steps out of the tub and onto the cold floor Lilith kneels at her feet to dry between her toes.
Star grabs the second towel and does the same for Lilith. Her lover’s skin is already drying, but Star enjoys the sensation of tracing the lines of her body with tiny circles of the towel. Then both cloths are discarded and they are in each other’s arms again, kissing and retracing the movements taken by the towels with eager fingers.
‘There’s a bed,’ Star says, and they run towards it, throwing themselves onto the itchy blankets in a tangle of limbs and sexual abandon.
Chapter 36
Freya wanders through the forest. Trees are cast into darkness under a pale grey sky. The last remaining leaves cling to the branches, shivering in the cold. She doesn’t feel discomfort from the fresh wind. It feels more like an awakening.
Ahead Freya sees a deeper darkness within the shadows. Picking up her speed, she moves closer. Empty branches claw at her naked arms and legs. Blood trickles down her skin and she realises the scratches should hurt. Why doesn’t it hurt?
All she can focus on is the beckoning semi-circle. While the trees try to bar her way she pushes forward, teeth clenched, jaw jutting outwards in a mask of determination. She wonders what she will find. At the back of her mind, dampened by her drive, fear grows.
Stumbling out of the forest, she pulls brambles from her knotted hair and coils of ivy from her ankles. In the mouth of a cave lies a single red rose petal. Freya reaches down to touch it and her fingers close around the soft velvet of its skin. Sniffing it, she is transported momentarily to childhood holidays. A cottage in the valleys, a rose garden where three siblings played together while their parents watched from rusting wrought iron chairs. We were happy then, all of us. Life was simple.
She peers into the gloom not expecting to see anything. A tawny glow reflects off the walls. The source of the light must be just around the corner: a fire perhaps. She steps inside.
Toes sink into damp earth. Skin warms. While she didn’t feel cold outside she notices the heat immediately. The mud feels sensuous. It kisses her feet as she walks within it and its warmth spreads upwards.
Water drips like the chime of distant bells. Walls and ceiling glisten with moisture. Mud envelops her ankles. She watches each step, not wanting to slip and fall. Yet part of her wonders how it would feel to sink to the ground and roll in this mud. The swinish, greedy thought brings a smile to her lips.
Another rose petal rests on the surface one step ahead of Freya. She wonders whether she should pick it up or leave it to mark a safe route back. Giggling, she stares at the perfect petal for a moment then crushes it into the mud with her blackened foot. She moves onwards, deeper and deeper into the cave.
Just a few feet ahead the tunnel bends. Her heart quickens. Placing her hand on the cave wall, she leans forward to see what lies ahead. The wall is ridged and silver algae cling to its troughs. As she rests against the slimy surface it seems to move, bend outwards like elastic or living tissue rather than rock. It must be the heat. Her body is drenched with sweat.
The cave continues. There is no fire, no sign of life other than the trail of petals leading to the next bend. Looking behind her, she can barely see the exit. The cave seems to merge into the wood like an ever-spreading ink blot. For a moment she considers leaving the cave and returning to the world outside. There is nothing of value for me there. I need to continue. I need to see, to understand the truth at the centre of my life. What if that truth is here and I simply walk away?
She pulls away from the pliant wall and takes another step. Her feet sink deeper. The mud reaches her calves. She wonders whether she will submerge completely before she reaches the next bend. Each step requires effort. Gritting her teeth, she tugs at each leg then lets it sink deliciously back into the mud. Again the thought that she might die here tickles her brain. She welcomes the thought. It would be a luxurious death to be swallowed by this ooze. With each step only half of Freya wishes to continue towards her goal. The other half wills her heavy limbs to slide from underneath her body and send her face first into the darkness.
She matches the rhythm of her steps to the beat of her heart and urges herself forwards. With each beat she moves closer to the light. Everything feels easier when she works to the music of her own body and she reaches the corner quickly. This time she does not try to hide. She does not attempt to peek around the corner unseen. She keeps walking and her boldness is rewarded.
A woman sits cross-legged within a crescent of fire. She seems unbothered by the flames. Perhaps she controls them. She sits facing towards Freya, but looking downwards. On one side of her is a pile of red roses. Freya watches as the woman picks a new rose and gently teases the petals from the bloom. Some of these petals fall into her lap, which already looks blood red from her work, others catch in a mysterious breeze that Freya cannot feel, floating past her into the cave beyond.
‘Do I know you?’ Freya asks.
The woman doesn’t respond. Another rose is taken and stripped. Dirty and tangled blonde hair covers the naked woman’s bowed head. Freya moves closer. The cross-legged woman still doesn’t look up. Freya wonders why she came here. What now?
Freya sits in front of the naked woman and studies her face. Maybe it’s the flickering flames, but her features keep changing. She is old, now young. Her face is full of innocent beauty then cruel and terrible. Freya feels dizzy watching her. Her features, her life maybe, are in constant flux. Needing to focus on something else, she picks up a rose. A thorn pierces her thumb and draws a thin thread of blood. She sucks at it and tastes the metallic warmth of her essence. Gently, Freya tugs at the first petal. It’s held firmly in place. Freya watches the way the other woman wiggles the petals and does the same. It comes free, complete and perfect, untorn. Holding it up to her face, Freya stares at it. Beyond the red she sees the woman’s face lift. She smiles at Freya and closes her vivid green eyes.
‘Goddess,’ Freya whispers.
Petals fall all around her. Freya sits in a waterfall of red confetti. The scene blurs and vanishes.
She stands in her brother’s room. Am I awake or asleep? His bed is covered in rose petals. It must be a dream. He sleeps, his body turned slightly to his left side. One strong arm obscures his face. The navy duvet and ruined blossoms cover all of him below his pale shoulder. Freya wonders whether he’s dreaming. Is he dreaming of me? Brushing self-deprecating doubts from her mind, she tells herself he could be.
She grabs hold of the duvet at the bottom of his bed and pulls it away from him. Petals fall to the floor and the duvet lands in a crumpled heap on top of them. Freya pauses for a moment. Here lies the body she has worshipped for three years and never touched. Dare I touch it now, here in the safety of my dream? He is thin but not skinny. His skin glows. The soles of his feet
are blackened. Pale hairs decorate his shins and the urge to lick his legs, let the hairs tickle her tongue, almost overwhelms her. She is frightened she might wake him. She can see the shapes of muscles on his thighs and the way they seamlessly join with his angular hips. The way he lies she can see the silhouette of his high white buttocks. Just a glimpse of that part of him makes her shiver. She crawls up the bed towards him. Her body warms as it moves so near to his flesh. She lets her body hover just above his. If his body responds to mine we will be touching in moments. She reaches across his tanned chest and traces his forehead with her thumb. A smudge of blood marks him as hers, her kin and her lover.
Leaning backwards, arching her body, she looks up at the ceiling. ‘Liebe Lilith,’ she prays then lowers herself down upon him.
Chapter 37
Star falls asleep under the covers. The room cools after the heat of their passion. The fire, dwindling to a few embers, does little to warm her. Her troubled dreams are haunted, again, by the image of Raven; her broken mouth spits words of venom.
Steve appears next to the phantom, he embraces it, drawing its gaping jaw towards his mouth. His hands caress its blood-soaked hair. She watches in fascination and horror as his penis grows. It becomes a serpent weaving itself around Raven’s body, squeezing Raven’s stomach and ribs so they shift and distort. Then with a final crush Raven vanishes and Steve is alone. Dressed now in his favourite black frilled shirt and tight jeans, he holds a dagger. He points it towards her.
‘Cut out the evil,’ he whispers.
Star hears a heavy shifting noise outside the dream world. She wants to stay with Dream-Steve, question him and learn the truth, but he evaporates as the real world beckons to her. Somebody is moving about in the next room. She looks next to her. Lilith is gone and her side of the bed is cold. Maybe she is relighting the fire.
Weak rays of sunlight creep through the window. How long did I sleep? Her mind does not hold the answer. Her waking senses struggle to analyse the clues, the light in the window, the cold mattress and her exhaustion, so that she might ground herself in reality. It is useless and, within moments, she stops trying.
Star stands up. Sleep clings to her muscles as she half walks, half falls to the door. Cold air shrouds her naked body. As she opens the bedroom door, she faces a grey-haired man. In his shaking arms he cradles a rifle, pointing it towards her startled face.
‘Wha’ the feck are youse doin’ in me hoose?’ he yells at her.
Stumbling backwards into the bedroom, she shakes her head, trying to deny his presence. It’s a dream. It has to be a dream. As she moves he follows. The barrel of his gun reflects her movements; its mouth sways gently, twisting and weaving through the air in a tight figure of eight, like a snake charmer’s pungi flute.
‘Is there anyone else wi’ youse?’ he asks, entering the room carefully, checking around him for a second trespasser.
She shakes her head again.
‘I guess we better check though eh,’ he says. ‘Youse better come wi’ me lass.’
Leading him around the house, she is painfully aware of her nakedness. They check the kitchen and then he motions to the bathroom door. She opens it and hurries inside. Seeing the knife still resting on the edge of the bath, she grabs it and hides it behind her thigh. He follows her and checks the room. Satisfied they are alone he retreats to the living room.
She stands in the bathroom, shaking. Seeing her discarded clothes, she stoops to pick them up.
‘I wan’ youse where I can see youse,’ he calls to her.
She carries her clothes through the doorway.
‘So wha’s a pretty wee thing doin’ in me hoose?’ he asks her. ‘A gift from the fairies perhaps?’ He laughs at his own joke.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I thought the cottage was deserted and I was so tired.’
‘Dinnae lie. Youse kicked me door off its hinges. In wha’ way did you’s think it was deserted exactly? An’ youse English too.’ He spits.
Although the spittle falls short of where she stands she feels its vitriolic power. She wonders where Lilith is. Has he killed her already or is she hiding outside? She wishes she hadn’t told him she was alone, not daring to ask about her lover now for fear of maddening him further.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asks him. ‘I’m so sorry. I just want to go. Please, let me leave.’
He looks undecided. She feels his gaze on her body and decides to dress, as she moves to do so though he stops her.
‘Dinnae move,’ he says.
He steps closer to her. His breath smells of whisky and unbrushed teeth. She sees a dribble of sweat on his brow. He drops the muzzle of the rifle to the floor to get even closer. Shaking, she stands there. He is so close the wool of his clothing scratches her skin. His eyes fix hers in their stare, and she cannot look away from his face. Her fingers tremble around the knife handle. As his nostrils flare to inhale another breath she takes her chance and raises her hand. Distracted, perhaps by the scent of her, he doesn’t see her fist move back. Only when the knife hits below his shoulder does he realise the danger. Staring at her through wide, disbelieving eyes, he stumbles backwards. She moves with him, twisting the blade in his flesh. Her heart races as she breathes in his fear and feels rage swell inside her. With the heel of her hand she slams the sticky blade further into him, pushing him to the floor. The knife buried deep between his ribs and shoulder blade, he drops the gun and falls, grasping the wound in pain. She kicks the rifle away from him and towards her. As he pulls the knife out of his shoulder, she grabs his gun and faces him.
‘Don’t move.’ Her demand echoes his words from moments before. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to leave.’
‘Bitch,’ he snarls. ‘Youse just stabbed me. Wha’ do youse mean you dinnae wanna hurt me? I’m bleedin’, I’m feckin’ bleedin’ to death.’
She blanches. There is a lot of blood coming from the wound. Part of her wants to help him stem the flow and call an ambulance, but the dominant part of her wants to run away and blot the image of him dying from her mind.
She watches him shake, uncertain of what she will do. Dropping the gun, she turns to leave. Lilith is behind her, smiling. A chill slides from the base of Star’s skull down her spinal cord as Lilith grins at the injured man. She senses the man’s fear increase too. His movements, at the edge of her vision, are even more frantic.
‘What did you do?’ Lilith asks.
‘He, he came home,’ Star stammers. ‘He had a gun, that gun. I thought he was planning to kill me or rape me. Maybe both.’
Lilith strides over to the man. His body is doubled up in pain. The hand he holds over his wound is covered in blood. He recoils from her and his tear-filled eyes blink rapidly.
‘Let’s go,’ Star says.
Lilith shakes her head. ‘Were you going to rape her, you sick fuck?’
He stares at her. His mouth opens and closes but the only sound to escape his lips is a soft gurgle. She kicks him in the stomach.
‘Answer me,’ she says.
She bends over his body and loosens his belt.
‘What are you doing, Lilith?’ Star asks her, moving closer.
‘Busted shoulder won’t do it. There’s only one way to stop a man thinking about rape.’ She lifts his limp cock in one hand and grabs the knife.
Horrified, Star looks from the man’s castrated groin to his face. He has passed out at least.
‘Lilith,’ she says, moving towards the door.
Lilith stands up and looks at Star, defiantly. ‘Do you think he would have survived your attack?’ she asks.
‘It was self defence,’ Star says weakly.
‘And what about Raven?’
Star shakes her head and backs away.
‘You and I are the same, Star,’ Lilith says. ‘There’s evil inside both of us.’
Star turns and runs out of the cottage. She stumbles into the woods and empties her guts. She has eaten so little, over the past week, that th
e retches are painful. Welcoming the pain, she lets it carry her mind away from the horrors inside the house. As she straightens up again she sees Lilith standing beside the car, watching her.
‘Are you going to leave me?’ Lilith does not shout but her voice carries across the distance and whispers the question into Star’s ears.
The pounding of Star’s heart and the groaning of her stomach are silenced by the question and she stares at the woman, this stranger with whom she has shared her body so many times, to whom she has whispered her darkest secrets and desires. Tears cloud her vision but she knows the image of her lover well enough to see every detail, the thick black hair, the pierced lip, the emerald eyes, the soft yet impossibly high breasts. She feels the memory of their embrace, the warmth inside her when they make love, the feeling of completion within Lilith’s arms.
Slowly, she walks towards the car, the house and Lilith. Although she is still half blind with tears she imagines her lover’s smile of triumph. As she steps into the open car she sees her bag already on the back seat. Reaching behind her, she grasps her seatbelt. Sitting with her hands in her lap, she weaves her fingers together, as if in prayer then she squeezes hard, until the nails of each hand dig into the skin of the other.
The drive northwards is suffered in silence. The scenery gets wilder as they pass raging rivers and thick forests before winding their way upwards towards the mountains. At dusk Lilith stops the car. A landscape of peaks, valleys and waterways spreads out before them. It is breathtaking. Star climbs out of the car and stares downwards. The depth of the valley below draws her vision.
‘Look up,’ Lilith whispers in her ear.
She does and sees green swirls of light dancing in the sky, wisps of colour of such supernatural hue that they make Star gasp. The black summits are dwarfed by towers of emerald, which fill the horizon.
‘What is it?’ Star asks.
‘The Northern Lights,’ Lilith answers. ‘When you get further north sometimes you can see other colours too.’
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