by Anthology
"Ellie!" grunted her mother, and the girl went and picked up her brother. As soon as she touched him, he quieted and looked at her. His blue eyes crinkled and he smiled. She felt her heartbeat racing in her chest and she held him tightly in her arms in apology for leaving him the day before.
But there had been the thump when she rose. Ellie turned her head to look at the floor, and bent to pick it up. It was heavier than it should be for something so small, and she stood there, Jackson propped on one shoulder, holding the item in her left hand. It filled her palm and glowed with the morning sun streaming through the windows.
Her mother stretched and said, yawning, "What have you got there?"
"A golden heart," Ellie answered in a whisper.
"A gold—what?" Her mother jumped to her feet and came around the bed. She snatched the object from her daughter's hands. She tested it with her fingernail, and then her teeth. "Where did you find this?"
Ellie told her about the old woman in the woods. About how she had fallen asleep there and woken here, holding the golden heart in her hand. "An old woman," murmured her mother. "And she obviously gave you this—but why?" Ellie didn't know.
"Where there is one, there may be more," said her mother. "But I don't trust that you'll know how to get them. Watch Jackson. I'll be back."
So Ellie spent the day watching her brother. Whatever had ailed him before was gone, and they played with the golden heart, which he seemed to enjoy. She would roll it along the carpet, thumpety, thumpety, and he would laugh and clap his hands.
When darkness fell, their mother returned. "A waste of time!" she said, picking twigs from her hair. "I couldn't find the old woman's hut. Well, no matter, I will take the gold to town tomorrow to sell."
"You can't! It's mine," argued Ellie.
"No matter that it was yours. It's mine now. This means that we can live well, better than we do now. Give it to me."
Ellie refused, but her mother overpowered her and snatched it away. "You wicked child!" she scolded. "The old woman of the forest will eat you for being bad!"
The girl said nothing. She got little sleep that night, knowing her mother would be selling her heart tomorrow.
Her mother was gone early and stayed away all day. When she returned, she was furious.
"No one will buy it! When I showed it to them, they just took one look at me and threw me from their store. Maybe they thought I stole it, or maybe it isn't gold after all. See, look at my hands. They have turned red from handling it, so something has rubbed off on me. But, no matter. If they won't take it from my hands, maybe they will take it from yours," she told Ellie. "Tomorrow, you will come to town with me and sell it."
"I won't," said Ellie, holding Jackson. Her mother moved to take the baby, but Jackson howled and clung to his sister.
"Fine then, see how you like going hungry!" snapped her mother. "If you won't sell it, then you both can starve."
The next morning, their mother packed up all the food in the house and carried it with her to town, not once glancing back over her shoulder at the two children standing in the doorway watching her leave. As the hours passed, Jackson cried and Ellie could give him only water from the well to fill his belly. With her own stomach snarling at her, she warmed the golden heart between her hands, and an idea suddenly came to her. Quickly, she bundled up the baby and herself and walked into the woods carrying Jackson.
The trees seemed to bow down before her as she walked and Jackson became quiet. He watched the winter sky, which showed clear blue through the sere branches. Before long, they were at the house in the heart of the woods and Ellie knocked on the door. "Enter," said the cold voice.
The room was much the same as before. The old woman lowered her knife and put it on the table when she saw them, but said nothing in greeting. "I have returned with my brother," explained Ellie under the watchful eyes of the old woman. "And I come to thank you for the gift."
"What gift?" asked the woman guilelessly, then laughed. "I see you are both hungry. Come, there is much in my stew pot today." She put bowls before them and watched as Ellie fed her brother the soft vegetables in the broth first before touching her own stew. After Jackson was done eating, he played on the floor with the wooden spoon from the pot.
The girl ate steadily and looked at the old woman's necklace. It was yellow and made of long, thin beads, as if it were made from bones, and the image reminded her of her mother's threats about the dangers of the woods and old women who ate children. Before she could scare herself, Ellie looked away from the necklace and tried to think only of the warmth and the comfort of the food which filled her empty stomach.
"You have a long journey home," said the old woman when she was finished. "But you are always welcome here."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Ellie.
"Call me Grandmother," said the old woman.
"Thank you, Grandmother," she said dutifully. Smiling, the old woman gestured them on their way.
The trip back didn't seem so long and the trees nodded at them as they passed. When they got home, their mother was waiting and her face darkened when she saw them. "Where have you been?" she demanded. When Ellie told her, their mother ripped at her own hair in frustration. "Show me this path in the woods!"
So Ellie pointed to where she had walked through the forest, and watched her mother run off into the gathering twilight. The girl put Jackson to bed, rekindled the fire and waited. Eventually, her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep.
When she woke, the first thing she saw was a kettle hanging over the flames of the fireplace. The pot gleamed as bright as moonlight and the smell coming from it made her mouth water. Jackson must have smelled it too, for he was sitting up in his crib, clutching at the bars and staring at her. She took him out and fed him broth from the pot, and then ate herself. She had never tasted anything so wonderful. The meat was tender and juicy, the vegetables as flavorful as if they had just been pulled from the earth. Jackson laughed and clapped his hands.
The door opened just as she finished eating and her mother stormed in, her hair a rats' nest. There were scratches on her face, as if she had tried to claw her way through branches and been clawed in return. Her palms were still bright red from when she had touched Ellie's golden heart and she sniffed the air until she located the silver pot on the fire. The woman let out a shriek and advanced on the stewpot. "Where did you get this?"
Ellie told her about waking to find it there. Her mother dipped a ladle of it into a bowl and began to eat, but she spit it out after several mouthfuls and went gagging to the door. Ellie glanced in the bowl—a wriggling worm bobbed to the surface and then dipped back down into the soup.
"What trick is this, you nasty child?" said their mother on her return. She hauled the silver pot out the door and dumped its contents in the woods. "I will take the pot to town to sell," she said, straightening her hair.
Ellie stayed silent. She was unsurprised when their mother returned that afternoon, ranting and raving and still carrying the pot. Her mouth was colored a bright green that she swore came from the stew she had eaten and vomited. Between her red hands and green face, she looked like a holiday decoration.
"Tomorrow morning, I will follow you into the woods," she said. "And we will see how that old biddy does, then."
And that is what happened. Morning came, and Ellie carried Jackson into the woods. The trees let the two children through easily and their mother pushed in behind them, even though the snarled branches tried to block her way. When they came to the clearing, Ellie almost hoped that the house would be gone or some other such magic, but there it stood, perched upon its pile of twigs. The old woman's voice called out when the girl knocked and the three of them went into the house.
"Hello, Grandmother," said Ellie.
"Don't 'Grandmother' her," said her mother. "I want answers."
"Answers, hmm," said the old woman. "I will answer your questions. But, for each you ask, I will ask one also."
"Fine," her mothe
r said shortly. "Why have you given Ellie such wealthy gifts?"
"Gifts?" said the old woman. "I have given her nothing from my hands except food and shelter when she was lost and hungry. You may have the same, if you wish."
"But what about the heart and the kettle? Where did they come from?"
"I think," said the old woman, "it is my turn for a question."
"Very well."
"Where do you go when you leave the children?"
"That is none of your business!" said their mother.
"Answer the question. Speak truly." The old woman's voice was cold.
"I go nowhere."
"Hmm," said the old woman. "Now it is your turn."
"Why will no one buy the gold and silver?" she asked.
"Because they are not yours to sell."
"But how would they know that?"
"My turn," said the woman.
"Ask, then!" shouted their mother.
"Who is the father of these children?"
"I don't know," answered their mother, growing pale.
"Hmm," said the old woman. "Now ask your last question."
"This can't be my last question! I have a lot more questions to ask."
"Nevertheless, this is your last one. Choose it carefully."
"Fine." Their mother stared at the old woman, as if she could divine her secrets with the force of her gaze. "Then this is my question. What can I do to get your riches?"
"You can't," said the old woman. "For I have none. I already told you that I gave no gifts. All my possessions are in this room that you see. Now, for my last question. Who is the mother of these children?"
Their mother turned the color of the snow outside. "I am. That is enough, old woman."
"You are right. It is enough." And with one quick movement, the old woman threw her knife across the room and straight through their mother's heart.
Ellie screamed and nearly dropped the baby. Jackson, feeling his sister's distress, started to sob, while the impaled woman hit the floor with a noise like stones falling. Ellie turned horrified eyes from their mother's body to the old woman, who had not moved from her spot in the chair. The girl cried, "Is this my punishment for leaving Jackson? I promised not to do it again! How could you take our mother from us?"
"Hush, child," said the old woman in the voice of winter. "I have taken nothing from you. That woman was no mother of yours. Not one word she spoke in this room was true."
"But…she raised me. She brought Jackson home to be a brother to me," Ellie said.
"If you were older, you would know that children are not brought home, like a parcel from the marketplace. She stole you away from your real parents and kept you hidden so that she could gain money by promising to return you. You are not the child of that woman. You have a mother and a father who have never stopped wishing to see you again. And your brother is no brother to you. He was taken the same way from his parents."
"No," Ellie sobbed. "Why? Why has this happened?"
"It is the way of wickedness," answered the old woman. "The wicked shall fall before the just. Now, you must return to your family and the baby must return to his." She got to her feet and made her creaking way over to the two of them. Ellie clutched Jackson fiercely to her.
"No! You can't take him away from me. He's mine."
"Child," said the woman. "He belongs to himself. You must let him go."
"I love him!" she cried. "He's my brother. He's all I have."
"Aha!" And with that, the old woman bent over and dipped her finger into the blood pooling under the dead woman. She raised her hand and touched a dot of the blood to each child's forehead. Ellie was too shocked to resist.
"Stupay s Bogom," said the old woman. And then the room swirled up around the two children, a whirlwind that encompassed them. When the winds died, the children were gone.
The old woman looked down at the body on the floor and knelt beside it to retrieve her knife. She used the blade to make the first cuts, cleanly and clinically. She had to steady herself as the house stood up on its large and spindly feet, stretching legs like an oversized fowl. Then the cottage shouldered its way out through the grasping trees, taking steps that shook the forest with their power. Using a direction known only to itself, it headed for the place they would be needed next.
She worked as quickly as she could. By tonight, there needed to be more meat for her stew pot.
The Lost Children(Short story)
by Alison McBain
Originally published by Third Flatiron Anthologies.
When the midwives came running out the door, crying, Minos rushed into the birthing room. His wife already had the two babies at her breast. The one on the left waved her hands gently as she nursed, but did not turn her head to look up at him. Her long-lashed eyes were closed against the brown hair covering her face, her bovine lips suckling intently. The one on the right kicked his hooves, blinking his sleepy human eyes at the king standing frozen in the doorway. Minos stared at Pasiphaë with horror.
“They are born from your arrogance,” his wife told him wearily. There was a note of triumph in her voice. “You would not honor Poseidon by sacrificing the white bull. And I have fallen in love with the bull as deeply as you have.”
Minos looked at the two half-creatures, part human and part calf. “More deeply, it would seem,” he said. Dazed, he slowly started to walk towards her. “I will kill these monsters. And you,” he added belatedly. “For making a fool of me and sinning with the god’s beast.”
“The bull was Poseidon’s gift to you, but you would not sacrifice him as the god commanded. If you had killed him when you were supposed to, this would never have happened. The goddess Aphrodite has already come to bless these children. Would you argue with the gods?”
“I have before,” said Minos. He was human, and he had made mistakes. He should have done what the gods had told him, but he had, as his wife said, been arrogant. He shrank back against the wall, feeling suddenly old and spent of his fury. “Very well. But expect nothing more from me except for your lives.”
Pasiphaë raised her chin. “I have never expected more. And you have given to me the nothing you promised, over and over again.”
***
By the king’s decree, the children were allowed to live, and indeed, their lives were peaceful. They stayed in Pasiphaë’s rooms at first. The girl, Agaphya, was a gentle and docile daughter. She did exactly what she was told, but couldn’t manipulate her large cow’s tongue to speak human language, and so remained mute. Her brother, Asterion, grew at an alarming rate, the same as any bull. Within half a year, it was hard for him to enter through the narrow doorway leading to his mother’s room. Within a year, he was forced to spend his days outside, in a covered tent rigged up for him in the courtyard with the assistance of his mother’s handmaids. Although his body grew at a bull’s rate, his head grew at a human’s rate, so he had the small baby face of a one-year-old perched atop his strong bull’s neck.
Agaphya refused to be separated from her brother. If she was taken away for even so much as a moment, she would wobble her large cow’s head atop her small baby’s neck and low and low endlessly. The sound was inescapable, her moaning cow cries impossible to hush. Finally, their mother allowed the girl to toddle out to her brother and sleep against his warm side at night. The girl spent her days riding on Asterion as he walked around the courtyard, her legs split wide over the expanse of his broad back. He was careful of his hooves around the tiny girl when she walked on her own feet, and one could tell where his sister was standing simply by the direction in which he pointed his face at any given time. They were like one creature separated into two bodies—or, more correctly, two creatures meant to be one.
The king’s subjects grew so used to having these two as a fixture at the palace that it sometimes came as a shock when visiting dignitaries expressed fear or disgust at seeing them for the first time. The only one who never seemed to accept them was Minos, who took pains to avoid the
main courtyard. When he was forced to cross it, he would hurry by and never look up at the two children-beasts there. And they would watch him silently, never speaking or drawing attention to themselves. Their mother had told them about Minos. What she had said was best left unrepeated.
Twelve years passed, and Asterion’s face lengthened, grew larger and more proportionate with his bull’s body. Agaphya’s huge cow head no longer tended to overtip her if she walked too quickly, for she grew taller and broader. By age sixteen, the two halves of their nature seemed to settle into a complementary whole, a blending together of things as intended by the gods.
But the more content the two siblings seemed, the more the king’s face grew wrathful every time he happened to spot them. When he overheard his counselors speaking about these two creatures as “The Minotaurs,” some sort of benevolent symbol for the city, he was furious. This was his city, not a place for the foul offspring of his wife’s adultery. He needed to do something, and that something came about through listening to his wife, incidentally enough.
He hadn’t touched Pasiphaë since the birth. Not brushed a sleeve past hers or put a hand on her skin. He had barely seen her. But at important state functions, he needed a queen as hostess for the appearance of things, and so several times a year, he would summon her to attend court. She always came and fulfilled her duties impeccably. But the slow burn of hatred in his heart engendered by her deceitful presence took weeks to disperse again.
This time was no exception. Even though he had summoned her, upon seeing Pasiphaë’s still-beautiful face, Minos was overwhelmed for a moment with rage. He had to take several deep breaths before he could speak. “We have visitors from the mainland,” he told her.
“Very well.”
“I will send you the details via your handmaiden. Tomorrow is the feast. I want you to show them all honors.”
“Of course. Is there anything else?”
The presumption of the woman! He seethed, but finally shook his head. He did not trust his voice. She turned and left without saying anything else, without once meeting his eyes.