Chapter Text
The houses were all huddled disorderly along the river banks.
Under the clear summer sky, the slanted, red roofs could only suggest a meager idea of shade. Despite the morning’s heat, the dingy alleys were loud with people, swarming like a vivacious mass of black ants about their busy, dull daily life. Even from a distance, it was easy to imagine the vendors’ calls in the streets, or the yapping of the dogs chasing after each other in the dusty plaza.
It was the first time Sayaka saw the town from afar, for it was the first time she set foot on the drawbridge on the hill.
Had somebody asked her whether or not she liked her birthplace, her answer would have been a coy smile and a vague but polite motion of her head. Looking at it now, she had no love and no hate for what lay at the foot of the rugged slope.
Bringing her anxious gaze away from the houses, she leaned over the sturdy parapet of the bridge: from the placid surface of the river, Sayaka’s reflection looked back at her in glimmering ripples. The water murmured under the ancient stones, drawing a ribbon around the town and its towering mills, before circling back through the castle’s grounds.
Looking at her reflection, Sayaka took the chance to tighten the ribbons around her shiny black tresses. For what must have been the twentieth time, she also adjusted the light mantelet on her shoulder. Like all the twenty, previous times, the gesture brought little relief to her unease.
A brooch shone on her chest, polished silver shaped in a rose’s petals. With his own chubby fingers, her father had placed it on her mantlet. A gift, for good luck. Moving from town to town, seeking merchandise and customers, he would soon lose that softness that the colder season always brought upon his figure. Kissing his plump cheek, Sayaka had thanked him.
She caressed the brooch with distracted fingers. Like a magnet, her eyes kept going back to the place that had birthed her.
The town was big enough for merchants like Sayaka’s father to earn their bread, yet it was still small enough to hope for better discretion. Everyone knew everyone: Sayaka was the book merchant’s daughter and her mother had gone too soon, poor soul.
In their idle chatting, the gossip mongers never failed to mention that Sayaka was too plain and too quiet. A bit of a disappointment: at seventeen, she should have already found herself a handful of suitors.
The townspeople's gazes burnt on her nape when she walked through the main plaza earlier. The bubbling of the fountain joined the usual bustle of the morning’s market.
The butcher had called out as always, “ Fresh meat! Fresh meat, lady, this steak is so fresh you can still hear it mooing, by God, listen here! So what’s it gonna be? ”.
Sometimes, because his brother was the fishmonger, the butcher looked over the other’s stall too, and so his cries would be, “ Fish! Fresh fish! This trout is so fresh it’s about to go back to the boat, aye sir, so what’s it gonna be? ”
What’s it going to be indeed, thought Sayaka.
A life among fishmongers, or the hope of a better future.
Under her brooch, her heart thrummed against her ribs. Turning her face towards the gargantuan towers of the castle, Sayaka took a deep breath. The rippling of the river accompanied her steps as she made her way towards the guard post at the end of the bridge.
She introduced herself to the men in black, sleek uniforms, one of them indicated the gaping portal of the ancient fortress. Once inside, an old servant led her further into the bowels of the castle.
Through the thick, stone walls, the song of the river was inaudible, the hot, summer air could do nothing to penetrate the castle and its hallways. Shivering, Sayaka pulled the mantlet over her arms: for being inhabited, the halls were far too gloomy and cold.
From the golden frames on the walls, the sharp, pale faces of noblemen peered at that hesitant visitor with indifference, almost with scorn. Sayaka consoled herself with the thought that those painted gentlemen had long turned to dust, thus her commoner’s blood was now worth more than theirs.
She was starting to think that they had gotten lost in the labyrinth of stairs, hallways and halls, but once they reached a large oak-wood door, the servant bowed to her. He knocked, waiting for a muffled answer from within before entering alone.
When he came back, he bowed again: Sayaka’s timing had been perfect.
Fluttering, breath-taking excitement rose within her. Her fingers were still caressing the rose of her brooch as she let herself into the room.
A carved desk occupied the other end of the study. From the bookshelves, as plentiful as her father’s, if not more, came a pleasant scent of fresh parchment and exquisite leather. That was all Sayaka could remark before the only person in the room commanded every crumb of her attention.
“Be welcome,” said a pair of blue-painted lips.
Sayaka bowed in deep reverence.
Her hair is as fair as I remembered, she thought.
She had seen her interlocutor only once or twice before, during gray, misty days. Yet, even from afar and through a light curtain of rain, her brightness had remained in Sayaka’s memory, burning in her most intimate recollections for months thereafter.
As she waited for the other to finish writing with a gold-nibbed feather pen, Sayaka was eager to see more than the polished riding boots, the breeches and the golden embroidery that ran through their sides in impeccable craftsmanship.
At least the outfit proved the town’s rumors. The Countess was said to have a peculiar passion for hunting, and when the sun was high and the day was clear, she would spend most of her time in the forest east of the castle with her tireless pack of bloodhounds.
Adding to the general buzzing, the hunting grounds were off-limits to everyone but the Lady herself. The townspeople ruminated for days when men hung from the gates as proof of her law. They dreamt of fantastic creatures, unicorns and whatnot being kept for the Lady’s jealous amusement — a fortune to steal and sell for amazing riches. Most of the trespassers, however, must have been simply too hungry, poor and foolish to bother elsewhere.
“Raise your head, if you please,” said the Countess.
Her voice was as velvety as the rich corset that hugged her hips. As Sayaka obeyed, Her Excellency Momobami Kirari looked back at her with eyes as blue as the sky in the window behind her.
Yet, Sayaka remarked on a peculiar property about her gaze: the first word that came to mind was wilderness.
It was puzzling to see such an untamed glimmer among features as polished as those. It didn’t sit well with the delicate nose, nor the intelligent slope of her brow. Perhaps the nature of the Countess’ prey had rubbed off on her, after all.
Glancing at her now, the Lady might have been just a few months older than Sayaka, yet her composure betrayed her position. She bore the weight of the region on her shoulders. No wonder her complexion was as pale as the looping tresses that hung close to her ears.
Many took it as a sign of illness. Nonsense, clearly: if the rumors were true, a weak constitution would have never allowed a strenuous exercise like hunting.
If she is truly sick , thought Sayaka, she’s the most beautiful, bewitching ill woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
“What was your father's name, pray tell?” asked the Countess.
“Igarashi, Your Excellency.”
Sayaka brought her hand to the brooch again. To her bewilderment, the Countess’ eyes narrowed: in the clean blue of her gaze, the pupils retracted into dots.
Disgust? Rage? Perhaps even both.
Before Sayaka could react, the Countess turned towards the window. She touched the bookshelf at her right, to prove that she knew the Igarashi’s trade — or to disguise that strange paroxysm.
I must have been mistaken, thought Sayaka. She tried to swallow and found her mouth too dry for it.
Her father’s name had no reason to produce such a reaction, or else he would have dissuaded her from seeking an audience. Did the Countess scorn her uneasiness, perhaps?
As the Countess opened a window, the singing of the birds filled the room from the courtyard below.
“The head of the servants will help you find a proper occupation,” she said with flat voice. “Have a tour of the castle. I will see you again afterward.”
The embroidered sleeve of her shirt rustled as her hand left the windowsill. The gesture alone showed that the audience was over.
What was worse, Sayaka knew that it hadn’t gone as well as it should have.
***
The exhausting stuttering of the old servant dictated the remaining hours of the afternoon as he guided Sayaka through the castle’s innumerable halls.
The church bell in town must have been calling the vespers when they sat in the kitchens for supper. Sayaka forced herself to eat a few, reluctant morsels with the other servants. Not only her first audience had been brief and unsatisfying, but she had also failed to produce any kind of valuable effect. They had taken her for a maid, for God’s sake! So much for butchers and fishmongers.
The polite invitation to join the Countess’ during her meal arrived then, not too unexpected and not too appreciated. Sayaka left the kitchens like one on his way to the gallows. With the supper stew, she had sloshed words of regret in her mouth, readying herself for the inevitable disappointment.
It was easy to forget their taste as she stepped into the large dining hall.
The Countess sat at the head of a table almost twice as long as one of Mr. Igarashi’s carts.
Although Sayaka was sure that the sun was still out, the curtains on the right-hand wall were all drawn. The only light came from bulky, golden candelabras, scattered around the room and on the table at regular intervals. Yet, their light failed to bring an air of welcoming, familiar warmth to the room, which was left in an unsettling semi-darkness.
The roasted, honey-glazed skin of game glistened under the candlelight, side by side with oily cheese, candied fruit and roasted vegetables. In front of such grace, even the strictest monk would have doubted his vow of fasting. The aromas mixed and scuffled, trying to overpower each other in their delicious enticement.
With a glass of red wine resting in her fingers, the Countess’ nodded in Sayaka’s direction.
“Hello again,” she said in that velvety voice of hers. “Please. Have a seat.”
Murmuring her thanks, Sayaka’s face burnt as she headed for the chair the Countess had indicated.
Approaching the table, she couldn’t help but remark how most of the meal seemed untouched. Perhaps the servants had already started to clean up: although the food on display would have been enough to feed ten families, the only disruption in the painting-like perfection of the supper was a few bread crumbs at the Countess’ right. If anyone had eaten at her side, however, they were already gone.
“Wine, if I may?” asked the Countess. The crimson beverage swirled gently in her glass.
“I must refuse, for I don’t drink.” Sayaka bowed. “Please, accept my deepest thanks and forgive my offense in declining your offer.”
“No offense,” replied the Countess. The shadow of a smile appeared on her mouth as she drank. “I’m not fond of liquor myself, but this is the best season to enjoy some chilled hippocras. As you won’t partake in it, let us go straight to the reason why you’re here.”
Nodding, Sayaka dried her moist palms on her gown.
“Your father’s trade is one of the most coveted in the country, if not in the whole continent,” said Lady Momobami. “I was wondering, why would you refuse it? Is it because you believe it too risky for a woman?”
“Not at all,” replied Sayaka. “Growing up I educated myself exclusively through my father’s merchandise. However, I’ve come to realize that it is a foolish thing to learn in such a manner. It might bring more harm than good to one’s knowledge.”
The Countess arched her brow. Her air of interest, of amusement almost, had been lacking when they met earlier.
Sayaka blinked. Like deja-vu , or waking up from a dizzying dream: the subtle, insistent impression that she was talking with a different person assaulted her senses, confusing her.
In the background of her disoriented thoughts, the Countess said, “What is it that you believe then?”
Sayaka wavered. If this was truly a different person from before, she wasn’t sure she could give her answers — and vice-versa.
It was just an impression, like the trace of a scent, a different light on the same glass. You can’t explain such things.
Most importantly: you shouldn’t doubt aloud the identity of the most important person in the whole region.
Don’t be foolish!
Sayaka bit the inside of her cheek: this was not the best moment to start doubting her intellect. This audience was not going to end like the last one.
“I-In truth,” she started, torturing her hands under the table, “I don’t believe that knowledge — the true knowledge that ancient sapients have always sought — resides in books, or in any instructor’s lesson. I have come to believe that… that knowledge might lie within people’s hearts.”
Under the Countess’ attentive gaze, Sayaka’s ears grew hot, and so did her cheeks.
Lady Momobami rested her chin in her hand. “What kind of lesson would you expect to learn from the hearts of this castle?” she asked.
“The challenges you must face as Countess cannot be compared to anything my father has ever experienced in his profession.” Sayaka cleared her throat. “I might not learn how to become a ruler, but I can’t deny my interest when it comes to the inner mechanisms of… your world. Your power, the influence you hold, the responsibilities you carry— Some might almost consider them unfit for a mere human.”
The more she spoke the more Sayaka believed in what she was saying. There was a special air about the Countess, and it shined through now, even more than during their first meeting.
Perhaps the Countess’ steadfast eyes…
As Sayaka finished her speech, however, the vise of despair closed around her: Lady Momobami’s mouth slanted, indifferent. Like in the study, Sayaka knew she had lost her interest.
“Do you like roses?” asked the Countess after a short pause.
When Sayaka blinked, puzzled, the other made a vague gesture towards her chest. Sayaka’s fingers found the brooch.
“Oh,” she said, “I cannot say that, no.”
“Then, I suppose that’s a gift?”
“It is, yes. It was my mother’s, before she fell ill.”
Sayaka shifted the brooch in the same manner her mother used to. The silver shone as the feeble light of the candles caressed the fake rose.
To her surprise, a similar glimmer responded from the shadows in the further corner of the hall.
Sayaka paled: standing a few steps behind the Countess’s seat, a masked face had turned as if to look away.
Under the glare of the candles, Sayaka could see nothing but that white, unsettling porcelain mask. Its owner had cloaked themselves in the shadows, with the familiarity of someone who needs no attention, rejecting it altogether.
The blood rushed to Sayaka’s face, mortifying. She had been so captivated by the Countess that that second person had gone completely unnoticed!
A jester of some sort… maybe? she thought, trying to mitigate the embarrassment.
The Countess hummed. As she left her seat, nothing in her signaled that she had noticed Sayaka’s reaction, nor the movement behind her.
“Lady Igarashi, I’m afraid I cannot promise the knowledge that you seek. People guard their hearts with reasonable care, after all.” Again, she offered the shadow of a smile. “Still, I must admit you piqued my interest. I don’t believe it would hurt to see how you grow in my home’s habits.”
Sayaka’s voice rose an octave. “Then—!”
She didn’t have the time to rejoice.
The Countess was already standing before her. Close enough that Sayaka could see the golden thread of her corset, close enough that her nose was almost touching Sayaka’s. With cruel gentleness, the painted blue nails caressed the silver petals of the brooch.
The Countess’ head shifted towards Sayaka’s pale neck: she drew a quiet breath, inhaling, as if picking up a scent.
A sort of faded, metallic taste coated Sayaka’s mouth as a soft sigh tickled her skin.
“ Show me what you can find.”
The whisper tasted like cinnamon and wine. Like a smile.
The heart beat hard in Sayaka’s throat.
Just like she had arrived, the Countess was already gone.
***
The sun had long died. Beyond the curtains, the night was shimmering dark and blue, like only summer nights can be.
Tossing and turning in the unfamiliarity of the bed, Sayaka didn’t care for the night, for summer or for God. The silky sheets had grown tangled around her legs, sticky with the sweat that soaked through the back of her nightgown. She couldn’t sleep — she wouldn’t.
She groaned aloud.
I’m about to go mad .
The bedroom was thankfully the only witness to her tossing and turning. Her thoughts had been in a similar predicament ever since a maid had led her here, away from the dining hall and its haunting occupant. Hours had gone by since Sayaka had left Lady Momobami. In the dark of the night, the castle had become an extension of the Countess, the bed had turned into the Countess’ candid palm, the sheets into her white braids.
Sayaka traced her hand on the herbs-scented mattress: she imagined the delicacy of the Lady’s fingers under her own, the callousness of her palms, after the hours spent holding the horse’s bridles in the hunting grounds.
She thought about the Countess’ thighs inside the rich breeches, strong on the sides of even the most indomitable mare…
Her face was so close to mine. She could have almost kissed—!
Scarcely had the thought appeared in her mind that Sayaka pressed her face in the pillow, silencing the shout that accompanied it.
The more one seeks sleep, the more it grows elusive. The heat of the room and the excitement of Sayaka’s fantasy robbed her of the tiredness of the day. She got up and opened the window: no breeze blew in the gardens. The night had only the repetitive buzz of the cicadas to offer.
The desire for fresh air and for the open vault of the sky grasped at her sweaty skin. How she longed for the dewy grass of the Countess’ parks! How soothing would have been to breathe in the scent of the flower beds!
I wonder if I could visit them, she mused , only for a little while…
Nobody had forbidden her from leaving her room. Nobody was going to reproach her for snooping around — for Sayaka would do her very best to prevent it. And although the possibilities of finding the doors unlocked were feeble, Sayaka wasn’t sure she would have been able to remain in the room, trapped with her blistering thoughts.
Wearing her mantlet to cover her naked arms, Sayaka let herself the time to doubt her choice. In the end, though, the sweat on her neck chose for her.
She opened the door. The gaping, cold mouth of the hallway was deserted. In the shadows, everything was still. The carpet underfoot silenced her step as she ventured into the corridor.
Following the white pools of thin light coming through the windows, Sayaka had no difficulty remembering the way downstairs.
All was quiet, all was deserted. The lanterns were burning at the sides of a small door on the first floor. The guards must have been doing their rounds. Taking it as a sign to be quick, Sayaka tried the handle.
The door creaked on its hinges. Grimacing, Sayaka waited: outside, the only answer was the psalmody of the crickets.
She closed the door behind her. The sky was above her now, deep blue and alight with stars. The night blanketed everything around her: on one side, the shadow of the outer walls closed in on the gardens. On the other, the black, ominous mass of the forest was waiting on the horizon, mysterious and a little chilling.
Under the glimmer of the stars, Sayaka raised her gaze towards the castle. She found herself searching for a lit-up window, a sign that the Countess still existed, even in this desolate quietness. Alas, the east wing of the fortress was dark and sound asleep.
At least, the moon was there to keep her company. It was blinding in its paleness, large as Sayaka had never seen it.
It reminded her of the mask in the dining hall.
She tried to push the recollection away. As embarrassing as it made her, Sayaka was sure she would soon get acquainted with that puzzling presence at the castle.
The fresh scent of the flowers welcomed her. Strolling through tidy rows of white lilies and crimson marigolds, Sayaka looked at the shimmering vegetation. The first dew was appearing, big, fat drops that, condensed on the grass and the smaragdine leaves, were waiting for the morning to come.
Grateful at the freshness of the air, Sayaka followed the gravel paths, losing herself in her own fantasy, finding relief in that aimless wander. Soon she found the hedge at the very end of the grounds. Out of curiosity, she decided to peek behind it: she was surprised to find a stone wall three times taller than her. Still, what surprised her most was the sturdy iron door encased in the large stones. Although five metal bolts glimmered, as large as her palm, there were no padlocks to secure the gate.
I thought she wanted to keep people out of the hunting grounds, remarked Sayaka. This looks made to keep something in.
She peeked through the iron grating: the moon shone through the branches beyond, lighting the woods as if it had been in the middle of the day.
Those were the trees that watched the Countess pass by at every hunt, that was the grass that caressed her boots, the bushes that yielded in her horse’s path. Being a maid was not enough: had the Countess asked for it, Sayaka was ready to oil her crossbow, skin her quarries and ready them for her meals.
The yearning to touch the same turf as the Countess, even if at the wrong moment, seized her.
She tested the bolts of the gate: they were well-oiled and didn’t oppose any resistance.
A sudden boldness swelled in Sayaka’s chest. She knew that what she was doing was wrong — literally, the only worse thing she could have done would have been an attempt at Lady Momobami’s life. Yet, an irresistible pull from within compelled her forward.
Almost unaware of what she was doing, Sayaka closed the gate behind her, with the certainty that she'd be able to come back before a sentry could notice.
The memory of the Countess’ parting words ran through her body like a bad fever. A part of her — perhaps the only part of her that believed that young ladies should not wander the woods like lunatics at night — tried to remind her that she was breaking the law. People would have paid their weight in gold to peek at the castle’s forbidden grounds. Some had paid with their lives for their idiocy.
Even her father would have struggled to recognize her as the level-headed girl that spent her days in his library. Deaf to her own warnings, Sayaka’s fingers trailed the rough bark of the trees in the moonlight. At every step, she tried to remind herself where she was. At every step, her feet led her further on, drunk, eager.
The forest was a little darker than she thought. Still, it was better than the four walls of her room. The stars were watching over her and that was enough as an owl grumbled to himself in the branches, his hunt disturbed by her passage. A light breeze caressed her skin, bringing in the moist, salty scent of the river from the east.
There was room to breathe now. The forest would not judge her for the thoughts that had been haunting her nights for months.
Sayaka's desire for more had driven her here. Even now, the fact that she couldn’t comprehend it couldn’t prevent her from acknowledging that alien drive within her.
More than once she had been forced to admit that she wished nothing for herself. She didn’t care for the town, she didn’t crave her father’s riches, nor the nobility that would remain on her like dust on a shelf while living within the court.
What drove her to the Countess and to her fascinating life was the fact that Momobami Kirari owned herself like nobody else. In doing so, she also owned the rest of the world — including Sayaka.
That, in itself, had been the mermaid’s call. Sayaka was eager and perhaps a bit scared to let herself drown in those unknown waters.
Black, featherless wings whipped overhead. Sayaka winced but to her relief, the bat left her alone and disappeared.
That horrible creature had disrupted her reverie. Sayaka glanced behind her: without her noticing, the wall of the gardens had already disappeared through the shrubbery.
This… is not where I wanted to go, she thought, not without a chill of worry.
The presence of wolves so deep in the forest was of no concern. According to the town’s ever-present rumors, the former Lady Momobami had been killed by a pack of beasts during a hunting party. However, her granddaughter’s passion for hunting should have long taken care of the issue; exterminating them, if not out of revenge, at least to preserve her game. The same couldn’t be said for boars though and they could be just as dangerous.
Quietly, a twig snapped somewhere at Sayaka’s left. She stopped mid-step, listening.
Maybe… It’s time to get back…?
The rustling and cooing and whispering of the woods pricked her skin. The very sounds that had lulled her thoughts so far soaked the shadows around her as she looked about herself.
When more twigs snapped behind her, Sayaka didn’t have to look: whatever had been following her without her awareness was no boar.
“What da hell—” said a rough voice, startling her.
She tried to yell: a palm, bitter with filth, came to silence her.
Fingers curled around Sayaka’s arm, squeezing a muffled yelp of pain out of her. Her body reacted on its own, she flailed: the stranger shook her with enough ease to make her teeth rattle. Blinking the tears away, Sayaka screamed again.
“Cut that off, will ye?” grumbled the gruff voice behind her.
Trying to breathe through her nose, Sayaka rolled her eyes, trying to see, to understand . The scent of liquor and unwashed humanity wafted from the unkept beard of the man that immobilized her.
“ I oughta be yellin’,” he said, tightening his hold. “Ya scared me shitless!”
His tone was casual, as if he had caught her stealing berries from an orchard instead of in the Countess’ forbidden grounds. Yet, the tension in his large hands was unmistakable. He was crushing Sayaka’s left arm, the white of his eyes flashing in the dark as he looked about without rest. In the feeble light, his frayed, foul-smelling tunic shared nothing with the tidiness of the castle’s uniforms.
Trying to keep the mounting panic at bay, Sayaka became painfully aware of one thing: just like her, the man was not supposed to be there. Her mind ran quickly. Perhaps she could play the situation to her advantage.
She tried to relax and the man glowered at her, suspicious.
“What de hell are ye doin’ here, in de middle o’ the dam’ night?” he said, freeing her mouth, but with wary slowness.
“F-Forgive me—” Sayaka swallowed the filthy taste of his hand. “I— You—You’re the game-keeper, yes?”
The man scowled at her, grinding his teeth.
Take the bait, she begged, For both of our sakes, pretend you are, send me back…!
“I beg your pardon,” she added, stammering, “I-I went for a stroll and—!”
A frightful, human noise came from the lower branches at their left. Sayaka would have given half of her father’s fortune to turn it into a whisper of the wind, or the chirping of the birds.
As another chuckle joined the first, every hope died in her breast.
“Did ya catch dat, Micka?” called a man’s voice.
A second replied, then a third, a fourth.
“What’s this then, a slavey?”
“Hell, had I known the bitch keeps these kinda beasts in her woods, I’d make for a fine game-keeper too, lads!”
The forest rustled, alive. Shadows were leaving their places at the foot of the trees, behind the bushes. They grumbled and snickered, nightmarish murmurs dripping in Sayaka’s ears. The steel of their weapons glimmered in the dark, freezing the blood in her veins.
The fingers sunk into Sayaka’s arm, forcing her to swallow another scream.
“De game-keeper, the devil take ‘im!” said the poacher. “Old fella is drinking himsel’ dumb at the tavern tonight.”
“Tell her, Steph— a month we been waiting, aye!”
Sayaka’s voice trembled. “I-If you let me go, I won’t tell a soul—!” she begged.
“Ay, lads?” interrupted a loud whisper. “What would ye rather do: bring home a deer for the kids, or bring back a lass like this?”
“Shuddup, rascal, what about yer lass?”
The shadows birthed more laughter, not amused, as much as tensed. As loud as they were, the poachers were scared. Their apprehension prickled like needles on Sayaka’s limbs.
Desperation had led them here — desperation would lead them out. With or without Sayaka’s promises.
Somebody waved a crusty bow: a jute sack was making the rounds, going from hand to hand as it drew closer to Sayaka and her captor. A metallic tingle made her blubber: somebody was fiddling with their belt.
“Not now!” called the man that held her.
“Be quick—”
“Nay, I say— wait, what was that?”
Sayaka heard it too. Rustling behind the group, but not of wind, nor of men. She tried to take advantage of the distraction. As she struggled again, the stranger’s hands left painful bruises on her naked elbows.
“Stop it! Alexi—!” he called.
“I don’t know what da hell it is, man—”
“Quiet!”
The men hushed each other into stillness.
That’s when they all heard it: complete, utter silence. The insects had quit their buzzing, the owls had stopped calling for each other in the branches. Even the breeze had fallen, to let them all hear that unusual, unnerving quietness.
Too deep, too unnatural. A deep, dark terror crept into Sayaka’s chest. As everyone held their breath, she hoped her captors and their weapons could turn into her only protection against whatever had stalked them there.
Oh— Oh. How foolishly wrong she was.
Her ears hurt before she realized what was hurting them.
As the deafening, monstrous snarl split her head into halves, the night turned upside down. Limbs and voices mixed in the dark. The weapons glimmered, pointed at each other in the confusion. A tremendous crack, like the gigantic trunk of a tree shattering in half, shook the ground under their feet. As the first, blood-curdling scream cut the air, the man threw Sayaka aside and drew his bow. She did not stay to see how he would use it.
“Shoot! Kill it—!”
Loose dirt flew behind Sayaka as she bolted. Every atom of her was focused on the sole purpose of bringing her away as fast as possible from the screams.
The darkness was closing in, deafening her with the hammering of her own heart. It was merciful enough to impede the sight. It did not prevent her from hearing: behind her, the screams turned into wet, gurgling sounds, sticking to her mind like soot.
And the growling — the growling.
She had the time to think, They were right . The wolves are gone.
Whatever had attacked the poachers was much, much worse.
Losing one of her slippers, cutting and bruising her face and arms on the branches, Sayaka ran with every last breath she had. Her lungs threatened to explode at each step and still, she ran, like the lamb that knows that the axe will fall on its neck. Thorns and bushes tore the mantlet from her shoulders. She didn’t stop to gather its shreds.
Her foot got caught in the dark. Pain shot through her ankle: her escape came to an abrupt end as she tumbled down a slope, almost breaking her neck.
She fell, hard . The painful impact squeezed the very breath out of her lungs. Warm blood spilled from ugly cuts on her forehead and left arm, covering her eye, making her hand slippery. She felt the black dirt grind against the raw wounds of her knees, entering her torn skin as it wrenched a scream out of her.
Oh, God… Oh, God, please…!
A sob shook her. She cut her palms on the uneven ground, forcing herself up.
Trying to clear her vision of the tears and blood, Sayaka looked about herself: she had lost all sense of direction.
What would be worse , asked a malignant, little voice in her head, get mauled by whatever got them or die of starvation? The Countess will find your bones.
Sayaka clenched her teeth. Her fist landed hard on the wound on her forehead, squeezing out more tears and blood. The pain granted the desired lucidity.
“I need to get back!” she whispered. “I can’t stay here, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—!”
With the gelid, ever-present awareness that the beast was still lurking about, Sayaka forced herself into a light run.
An hour or ten could have passed since she entered the forest. The hope that the night was drawing to its end was as weak as the light of the stars through the branches. The shadows had grown thicker, the birds had stopped their chattering. A change had taken place in the hunting grounds. Even if Sayaka couldn’t be sure of it.
With a moment of delay, she realized that all was quiet now. The voices of the poachers had died out.
Goosebumps covered her from head to toe. She could just barely read the stars, enough to give a nebulous idea of her direction. At every step, the forest grew menacing around her, threatening her with that god-awful silence. Even the moon, that had been so helpful in reassuring her before, had hidden elsewhere, to spare itself the sight of what had happened among the elms.
Wounding her bare foot on stones and broken wood, Sayaka refused to think about the poachers and their voices — or lack thereof. If she let her thoughts linger, she knew her legs would buckle under her.
She knew then, that the worst tricker that walks on this Earth isn’t the Devil: it’s the dark. In its terror, Sayaka’s mind showed her shadows that were not there, vicious figures ready to seize her after every step. There was no time to reason: Death was lurking in the forest, waiting for her. She would not let herself meet it.
It was inevitable then, that when the silence deepened she wouldn’t notice.
Her body reacted first. A shiver ran through her belly, making her teeth clatter as if it had been the middle of the coldest, winter night.
Breathless, Sayaka slowed down to a walk. Soft, moist soil gave way under her.
She had no idea of where she was. Ivy, she could make out as much. Elms and oaks, she guessed them in the dark. Yet, the ground was littered with unknown shapes before her. Dark objects, yes, some as large as her torso, some smaller. All glistening in the shadows, as if soaked in liquid, or damp with moisture. One of them, large and dripping, was still gently swaying from a large trunk.
The breeze, however, had long stopped blowing
The crack that followed wasn’t really a crack. It was a wet, squishy sound, like the bucket of the fishmonger’s scraps toppling over, like—
Meat fresh MEAT LADY WHAT’S
like a sound Sayaka had never heard before.
The hanging shape broke. When one half fell to the ground with a nauseating splash, a long, elastic, wet rope kept the pieces together. The clinking of a belt accompanied it as another pulpy piece of the torn torso followed the first. Liquid warmth splashed on the grass, on what remained of the tunic, on Sayaka’s naked toes. She did not feel it.
Among the fleshy bundle of dripping entrails, blood dripped like honey from what remained of the splintered, glistening bones.
A jet of sour, bitter bile coated Sayaka's throat. She coughed, forcing down the supper’s meaty stew, begging for the numbness that threatened to overwhelm her. Yet, she was fully aware that fainting would have meant forfeiting her life.
The clouds shifted above the hunting grounds. When the moon shined again, before Sayaka there was—
MEAT FRESH MEAT LADY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP LADY PLEASE
nothing but wet, dripping, red.
It was huge, gargantuan, impossible. Sayaka could have raised her arms, gotten on her tip-toes, and still, she would have been unable to touch what stood in the shadows of the forest.
The long fur had been white, once. It still was, on the shoulders, that scraped the lower branches of the elms, that were larger than a continent.
The rest of the monstrous limbs was sopping, deep black-red. At every breath, the blood bubbled around the shiny snout. Pieces of what had once been tunics and working, human bowels were stuck to the tainted fur of the chest, trickling down razor-sharp claws. They reminded Sayaka of raspberry jam, big bits mixing with the liquid conserve. She could feel them sliding down her throat, the slimy, bloody stench prompting her to cover her mouth.
Hot, acid vomit spewed through her fingers. She fell to her knees, retching on the grass as she nailed her eyes to the nightmare before her.
Between the black gummies of the beast, the maw worked with the sound of shattering bones. The endless throat bobbled, swallowing the flabby morsel. The loud glump noise which followed made Sayaka’s stomach quiver all over again. As the inhumanly large mouth fell open, the silver fangs shone within, large enough to tear apart the moon and all its stars.
The sight of the beast came with the absolute, undeniable certainty that death was caressing Sayaka’s existence, ready to bring it to its end. The poachers were all around her, their pieces mixed so that nobody could ever put them together like they used to.
Pointy ears, as big as two palms, twitched towards her: Sayaka finished vomiting and drew her breath.
Among wolfish features, two, bright, blue eyes had been devouring the sight of her.
***
The grass was moist in the quiet light. Drops of newborn dew rested on the green blades, refreshing the air.
Her nightgown had grown damp with it. With her arms around her knees, she was trembling. Perhaps the night hadn’t been so warm after all. Perhaps the morning had already come. Or perhaps, things weren’t the same anymore and they would never be again.
She rested her chin on her arms. Her limbs weren’t her own as lowered her eyes, observing how the light changed with each of her breaths. Bits of recollections and phantom sounds had been prickling her consciousness like broken glass. She pushed them down, away, ashore. They could not hurt her now that the river was singing.
Sayaka stared at her bleeding feet: her fingers hurt around her brooch. Slow, quiet splashing disturbed the peace of the clearing.
The water was still dripping in rivulets from the naked chest, and hips and calves. The hair, long and as white as snow, clung to the slender, moist back. A pair of delicate hands cleansed the face and mouth one last time.
It was the end of the ablution.
When bare soles came to kiss the bank where Sayaka was sitting, the voice was soft under the murmur of the creek.
“Let us go. We’re a long way from the castle.”
Bright, human eyes had set above the crest of the hill.
The dawn had just tinged the eastern sky as Momobami Ririka left the pinkish waters.