Marriage, birth, death, is that all I have awaiting me? What if I had taken control of the ship, with a sword and loyal Zillah by my side, discovering unheard of countries and having a say in my destiny?
But when I feel that way I run to the woods and draw. Inside the castle it is cold and empty, while out here everything is alive, growing as the seasons change. I can hear birds in the distance, rustling leaves, my pencil scratching.
Here, this is what I drew:
I wish the woods would reach out and take over Hellver Gate castle, cover it in a web of ivy and drag it down into the sea. Then no one could reach it and touch, only look. It holds a beauty which is tainted by its whale's stomach, the quiet and its owner.
Oh, he is all right when it comes to the night, methodical, intent on producing an heir to please his dead father. I am more a prize cow than an object for him to unleash his desires on.
He barely speaks to me, though, and I must make the servants fear me so that they stay obedient. Zillah I can trust, but she is old and will not be here forever. I grew up an only child, but I was always surrounded by noise. My mother would sing, children would come to my window and I would climb down to play with them, and we lived amongst the bustle of the marketplace.
The silence terrifies me, because I wonder what awaits us in it. It is the mute song of death.
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And the price is my womb. I turned twenty this last full moon and yet I have still not fallen pregnant. It surely cannot be my fault. I have followed my faith, I was young when I married, my bleedings appear normal... What about him? He is as dusty as our bedroom.
I wrap my shawl tighter around myself and pick up my drawing tools. The night is coming, and even I am not fool enough to remain out here. I have heard whispers in these woods, and the howl of a wolf, though my husband tells me there are no such beasts here. But I can tell the difference from reality and my own wild fantasies.
And the footsteps I can now hear are not my own...
A woman’s tread. I expect it to be Zillah, rushing through here to drag me back to the castle, a thousand reprimands and worries on her tongue. However, when the person appears it is someone I have never met before. I survey her, gauging whether she be a thief or mad woman.
She is old, incredibly old, I have never seen someone older than Zillah, and this woman does not wear her age well. Her hair, once an exotic blonde, has begun to curl up, wisp away into grey ashes that could be blown away by a breeze. Eyes forever darting, examining me too. They have grown small, into needle points, and I see a flicker of yellow in them.
Her dress is torn, her shoes are shabby, yet I can sense a great power from her, like an old God who has been forced into the body of a young woman, and as time went by his presence broke her fragile form, hollowing her out and making her into a husk.
Like a dying flower... Her skin makes a rustling sound as she smiles, and I cringe at the noise.
"What a pretty little thing you are," she says in a whisper. "But far away from home, yes?"
I nod, for what else can I do? The woman keeps up her smile, though it seems to hurt her.
"I have heard of you, Elenore of Hellver, and of your childless state."
"Then perhaps you should not listen to gossiping servants." I bite down on my tongue and curse myself. Fool! Do not engage with her. For there must be some trickery involved if she has managed to sneak onto the island.
"I do not need to listen to their petty theories, child. Your womb called to me across the oceans and mountains. It cried for the Witch of the Wolves to come and inject life into it, for it has been left too long without a child to nurture inside."
"I think that job is more to do with my husband than with you, witch. Good day. Do not drown on your way back to the mainland. Oh, no, wait, you would most likely float, would you not?"
Where are your wolves, witch? Hiding amongst the trees to drag me away? I have heard tales of your kind. I turn my back on her and look around in search of them.
"He is without life, barren, and you will become like him if you do not hurry. There is still time to fulfil your role. Do you not hunger for a child to love?"
"Of course I do."
"With a sip of this, you will conceive quickly."
A goblet, filled to the brim with milk, is thrust beneath my nose. It smells sweet, like honey, and I stare at it, wondering, wishing, it was true.
"Go to the bottom of the ocean with your lies, witch!"
"I speak the truth. Many women like you have been blessed with children with this." And she presses it against my lips. Only a droplet makes it way past, slips down easily, but a flood of fire erupts in my stomach. Yet it does not bring me pain, but joy. Why was I denying myself earlier? I try to think back to these last few minutes, and all I find is fog.
The milk will not harm me, it is here to bring me life, to pass down my sky eyes into a child I can hold and love and sing with. Our laughter will dance across Hellver’s corridors, we will never be silent, and my husband will be forced to endure it. He cannot make us both be quiet, or I will leave and take my son with me.
We will sail across the world, just the two of us. I feel that he will make a fine sailor.
What will his name be? What shall I call him?
"Elenore." The witch’s hand cups my chin and I am brought back to the present.
Frustrated tears well up in my eyes at how empty my arms and stomach feel. What is wrong with me? I am like a girl without her doll!
The goblet is still before me, and I take it in my hands, just to look more closely at the liquid inside...
And to try another droplet...
Another sip...
A gulp...
There’s nothing left to worry about. I drank it away.
"What was in it?" I murmur.
"Milk and honey," the witch answers.
"Surely not. I have never tasted this kind of milk from a cow before."
"Of course you haven’t. This is wolves’ milk."
Oh. Yes. She did say she was a Witch of the Wolves.
And then an actual wolf walks out from between the trees and towards us. His fur is grey, with streaks of black in it, and his eyes are centred wholly on me. I glance down at the ground. Zillah once warned me about wolves, telling me that I should never look them in the eyes in case they should take it as aggression and attack, or did she say that they could seduce you with the power in their eyes? I cannot tell anymore, everything seems like magic.
He turns into a human and I am not surprised. This wood is an impossibility, or I am dreaming or drunk from whatever this drink was, and now I am half dead and on the ground as the woman takes my jewellery and slits my throat.
He looks the same as a man as he was a wolf, though much leaner and uglier. The wolf had seemed softer. He reaches out, stroking my cheek. I do not blush, nor giggle like a happy bride, but stare at him, as if in a stupor from moonlight. The witch is still behind me, leaning against my back, and her words are hot and musky in my ear:
"Though the milk helps quicken the conception, no matter how many times you try it will prove unfruitful should you continue to lay with your husband, Howl shall give you what you need of him. He has been a loyal pet to me all these years, and has fathered a dozen sons and daughters."
My fingers trace the knuckles of his hand, feeling coarse battle scars across the skin, and then travelling down to encircle his wrist so that I may command him.
I will call my child Balthazar.
(Artwork by MDye)
Hello !!! Is this a Artwork courtesy of MDye ? I will keep in touch. Kind Dementor. Best dreams
ReplyDeleteYes, it was drawn by my mum, Marcia Dye. The actual cover for the Hellver Gate book was painted by my grandfather :)
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