Witchwood and Seabound

by Ethan Proud

  “What is it?” Mond asked of Beatrice, sensing her unhappiness.

  “Nothing,” Beatrice lied, blinking back tears. Mond’s joy was contagious and the Town Secretary of Northgate felt her despair ebb for a moment.

  “Good, I would hate for my night to be eclipsed by your misery!” Mond beamed, though it lacked sincerity. She was having too good a time to concern herself with Beatrice, not that she had for the last three years.

  “Indeed,” Beatrice said drolly, though the goddess had already parted the crowd to entertain another throng of Hollandalers. She continued cynically, “The Goddess Mond shows all of her servants mercy and is both kind and generous.”

  Beatrice pursed her lips as she observed the magnetism of a god among mortals. She brushed the tears from her cheeks and wandered off to find a barrel of wine or beer. She patted her pockets and found them to be jingling with coin. Perhaps Mond was more generous than she gave her credit for.

  The once-secretary made eyes with a man serving ale in horns that rivalled her forearm in length. She sidled over to the street vendors stall only to see that he was much less attractive when she was within earshot. In the half light of the party, he had appeared to be quite the catch. However, that could have been the divine glamour of Mond wearing off as the distance between them increased. Nonetheless, Beatrice craved his wares.

  “How much?” she asked, no trace of sensuality or sexuality lacing her voice.

  “For a woman as beautiful as you are? It is free.” He handed her a horn brimming with a frothy head.

  “Really, I should pay you for this,” Beatrice argued, despite that her former life saw her taking advantage of every boon her beauty granted her.

  “No it wouldn’t be fair, your physical graces rival that even of Mond’s,” he said and Beatrice couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Well she is right over there,” the secretary said as she turned and pointed. The bartender’s jaw fell agape and drool threatened to spill from his mandibles as a look of enamorment came over him. Beatrice laughed and shook her head. He clearly couldn’t take any payment now. The Northgatian woman felt the thrill of alcohol after the first sip passed her lips and she drained the horn quickly. This was the first time she had tasted booze since her incarceration in the seventh realm. She finished the rest of her drink in three gulps. She tossed the horn to the ground and felt the buzz of the evening overtake her. Mond was dancing in a crowd of street urchins and gestured for her servant to join her. Beatrice was unable to resist. She turned and looked at the dissolved interplanal door behind her and saw the sun crest over the horizon and a magnificent gold overtake the city of Hollandale.

  Chapter Two

  “Dawn is nearly upon us,” Mond whispered into Beatrice’s ear as she sidled next to her servant. The goddess’ gleam was beginning to wane as the sun’s glow began to overtake the cityscape. The Hollandale roisterers look ragged and their eyes were bloodshot and their skin slack. Yet, they had experienced the time of their lives in the preceding hours. Beatrice sighed, she felt whole on the first plane while she felt ephemeral in Mond’s temple. Mond saw this and in a rare bout of compassion she said, “You will be returning soon, do not fret.”

  “But not going home,” Beatrice murmured.

  Mond shook her head as a portal to the seventh plane opened behind her. “Never. But it is time to make your last leap across the planes.”

  The goddess placed her hand on Beatrice’s back and directed her through the shimmering gateway and followed behind her. After crossing Beatrice felt less whole and lighter, despite the sinking weight in her stomach.

  The change in Mond’s attitude was palpable as well.

  “The night is over as is my sympathy. I hunger and need wine,” Mond commanded and Beatrice scoffed internally. The appetite of the gods were anything but holy. After a night of indulgence, Mond still needed more.

  ***

  Time passed, though unless it was a full moon, Beatrice had no way of knowing how many days had transpired. It could have been minutes or weeks, before Detrita came.

  Mond straightened on her throne and brushed Beatrice away, who had been fanning her with a palm frond. The air in the hall grew cold and clammy and the stench of decay and aroma of moist soil rose from the marble floor. Detrita came rising from the floor as if she was climbing from the surf, the weight of the water doing little to hinder her, though in this case, it was the marble floor that rippled around her. Spores rained from her robe and left dark streaks on the pearlescent floor. Detrita’s tawny skin was scuffed with dirt. Her fingernails were the same bone-white as the last time Mond had seen the Goddess of Decay. This time Detrita wore a necklace of carrion beetle carapaces and the hyphae of some unseen mushrooms were worked around her head in an elaborate tiara that housed the skulls of dead birds. The very power that she exuded put Mond’s Winter Solstice display to shame. Mycorr and Hizae followed along in their human form. They wore stately clothes and their skin reflected the same earthen brown as their mothers and their brown eyes were full of expression. Their hair was tousled and dirty and their faces were full of mischief. On their hands they wore rings fashioned like lichen.

  “Mond,” Detrita said pleasantly and the Goddess of the Moon merely growled in response. “You can’t still be pining over the loss of the Ramek girl?”

  “My grudges are as consistent as the path of the moon,” Mond said icily.

  “All things must come to an end,” Detrita said and the palm frond Beatrice was still holding wilted as if to accentuate her point.

  “You certainly make sure of that,” Mond said and she sat even straighter in her high-backed chair and crossed one leg over the other.

  “I do no such thing, I only make sure that the dead have a place to go,” Detrita said coolly. “But that is not why I have come. I am here for your ward.”

  “Then take her,” Mond said and gestured to Beatrice, who swallowed audibly.

  “It’s not that simple, Nipor has foretold that she must journey through the depths of the Underworld before she can return to the first plane of the Temporal World,” Detrita answered. “Mycorr will be her guide.”

  “Then let her be on her way, she has spent enough time here. She needs to go home,” Mond grated.

  “She needs to find her home,” Detrita corrected, but turned her attention from the goddess. “Come here child, the journey of a lifetime awaits.”

  Beatrice obeyed, though her legs felt like lead and her heart was hammering away in her chest as if it was competing in a foot race.

  “You’ve already met him, but this is Mycorr,” Detrita said and her son stepped forward and took Beatrice’s hand in his and kissed it.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Again,” Beatrice said and Mycorr smiled wryly, but said nothing. “Where do we go from here?”

  “He will show you,” Detrita said as the marble around her started to soften and swirl as if liquefying, despite the footing being solid beneath Mycorr and Beatrice. Detrita turned and the hem of her robe sank beneath the floor and she began descending steadily, as if taking the stairs. Once the Goddess of Decay and Hizae had left, the floor rippled one last time before appearing solid once more.

  “How do we get to the Underworld?” Beatrice asked Mycorr, even though she suspected he wouldn’t answer.

  “You will see, a gate is not far away,” he answered in a voice as melodic as his mothers. His, however, held a masculine quality.

  Beatrice sighed, tired already of the cryptic answers.

  Mond provided an explanation. “It’s my pond,” she growled in agitation.

  Chapter Three

  Beatrice rarely visited the pond, but she had seen it before and had marveled at the blackfish that seemed to glow gold when the light struck them or the many other oddities such as pale frogs, nocturnal insects who fluttered and skimmed along the surface at all times of the day, and the lilies and irises with stark white flowers and black venation. Strap-like leaves mirrored the crisp lu
minosity of a full moon with just a touch of yellow, while others mimicked the orange of the blood moon.

  “Why would Mond be upset that we are using the pond as a gateway?” Beatrice asked innocently and Mycorr smirked.

  “It doesn’t bode well for the oddities and creatures she has lured and bred here,” he answered without giving anything away. Mycorr sat down on the grass and mushrooms began sprouting around him, and the grass around him became a more vibrant green. The godling untied the laces of his boots, pulled off his stockings and rolled his pant legs up before pushing back off the ground and wading into the pond. It was rather shallow and came up to his hips at the deepest point. Mud swirled around his feet as he drew sigils in the benthic, dislodging algae, aquatic vegetation, and small mussels. Once he had made seven of the runes, they began to emit a sanguine light. Steam rose from the otherwise still surface and the moths that frolicked by its surface were singed to a chalky ash that floated in the air. The frogs and toads skin began bubbling and boiling before each of the animals’ skin tore apart in a tiny explosion of gore. Beatrice flinched as part of a liver struck her face. The scales of the fish floated to the surface while their pink bodies bobbed up a moment later. The plants twisted and curled in epinasty before withering into the crunchy skeletons they would have left in winter on the first plane. The water began to boil as it was converted into a gas and the mud at the bottom of the pond bubbled and popped until all that was left in the pool was Mycorr and a staircase cut from obsidian.

  “No mortal has ever been to the Underwold via invitation from one of the highest beings,” Mycorr said and extended his arm to gesture that Beatrice should descend the steps before him. Beatrice obeyed and stepped down into the dry pond bottom.

  “I thought I had to prove myself worthy of returning to my home plane?” Beatrice said dismissively.

  Mycorr snorted. “Humans and beasts are the pawns of the gods, while the gods are the pawns of the Fates. Do not let Mond or the other gods deceive you. Detrita and Messis are the only gods who have travelled from the Temporal World without inciting the wrath of the Fates.”

  “Will you be punished for guiding me through the Underworld?” Beatrice asked, hesitating at the mouth of the stairs.

  “On the contrary, my father will be pleased to have me visit. I can only hope that his familiars and guards remember my face,” Mycorr said with a snarky grin.

  Beatrice groaned, if she ever made it back to the first plane she would never petition creatures as fickle as the gods ever again.

  ***

  As Beatrice descended, she had no idea what to expect of the Underworld. Depending on the reader’s interpretation of various sacred texts, it was a place of punishment, reward, or another journey that the dead made before they could finally rest. She felt the heat from the stairs in the soles of her feet and her hand as she ran it along a wall chipped from a single piece of rock. Mycorr followed behind her patiently, lingered back two steps or so as she followed the meandering path from Mond’s temple into the underworld.

  After what felt like hundreds of feet, the stairs flattened out into a cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites of gargantuan proportions. At the end of the cavern a brilliant light was shining and the smell of food filled the air. Beatrice picked up her pace but felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “This is the first plane of the Underworld and serves to welcome new souls. It makes the transition into death easier. You mustn’t eat the food,” Mycorr warned.

  “I understand,” Beatrice said, though her stomach grumbled.

  “If you don’t, you will,” Mycorr said and brushed by Beatrice, though not rudely. “It’s called the Feast of the Damned for a reason.”

  Beatrice thought she heard him chuckle, but wasn’t sure. They crested the mouth of the cave and Beatrice’s mouth watered and every fiber of her being trembled. All of the foods that were familiar to her were spread across massive banquet tables, brimming from cornucopias, and carried in processions by small cat-like creatures who catered to the recently departed humans. Casks of wine, barrels of whiskey, and mugs of ale were passed around haphazardly, and more was plenty to come.

  “Don’t eat anything,” Mycorr said to reinforce his warning.

  “Is this one of your father’s guardians? A feast?” Beatrice asked out of genuine curiosity.

  “No, he is, though,” Mycorr answered and pointed to a scaled creature perched on a plateau above them. It was easily forty feet long, had the body of a lizard, the wings of a bat, and the head of a goat. Its yellow eyes alighted on Mycorr and it stretched and yawned, letting out a bleating noise before flapping its wings twice and rising into the air. It landed heavily between the feast and the two intruders.

  “Capraega,” Mycorr said and bowed. Beatrice followed his example.

  “You reek of lesser beings. Such as your mother,” the goat-creature snorted.

  “And if Nipor heard you slander her so, he would tear your tongue from your skull and banish you to the Temporal Plane to languish in penance for an eternity,” Mycorr warned.

  Capraega harrumphed. “You godlings are always so arrogant.”

  “Fatelings especially so,” Mycorr said in a steely tone. “Get out of our way, Capraega. My father has already decried that Beatrice will travel the underworld and return home.”

  “This journey isn’t hers alone. Nipor is testing you, Mycorr,” Capraega said while regarding the human with one eye. “The sooner you leave this plane, the better. The other custodians are not as generous as I.”

  Without waiting for a response, he leapt from the ground and flew back to his roost.

  “If I had a silver coin for every time I heard a celestial being refer to themselves as generous…” Beatrice mused.

  “You’d still be sick of it and gladly sacrifice the money to not hear it,” Mycorr laughed.

  Beatrice looked around and took in all the glorious food laid about her. She saw grapes, bananas, and other exotic fruits dispersed between roast pig, turkey, and beef. Loaves of bread the size of her torso were pulled apart by fist sized chunks while butters, reductions, and every imaginable topping were being poured from pitchers. Beatrice’s eyes fell on steamed asparagus and immediately felt her knees weaken. Her favorite food within reach after years of eating nothing. She couldn’t remember the taste of food, but she knew that she needed to sate her hunger now.

  Chapter Four

  Under further inspection, the asparagus was wrapped with bacon and lightly peppered, while next to it a spread of sliced tomatoes topped with bean sprouts tempted Beatrice. She looked around nervously, seeing the other humans around her eating ravenously, laughing with each other and having a merry time. Why couldn’t she indulge with them?

  Mycorr hadn’t noticed her straying eyes. What would one bite do? Surely it couldn’t hurt nearly as much as her aching stomach did right now. Her palms began to sweat as she reached out a shaky hand for the asparagus. Despite the presence of empty, clean, stacked plates she forwent all manners and etiquette. She would shovel the food directly into her mouth before Mycorr caught her. Her hand hovered over the asparagus for a moment before she stole a look behind her. On the mesa, Capraega watched her with a lazy eye. Smoke rose from his nostrils. His eyes glimmered dangerously.

  “Why shouldn’t I feast?” Beatrice asked Mycorr. He whirled around and saw her outstretched hand over the table. Her resolve showed in her face.

  “If you consume the food of the Underworld you can never leave,” came his severe answer.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve had real food or my fill. One bite can’t hurt. Just one,” she begged. Tears welled in her eyes and a single droplet cascaded down her cheek and dripped onto the table. From his roost, Capraega stirred.

  “If you ever wish to go home, you cannot even let the food touch your lips.” Mycorr’s face was tense but he made no move to stop the woman.

  “But not Northgate,” she whimpered and her hand drifted closer to the platter. “Why e
ven return if I can’t go back to the place I love?”

  “The Fates have foretold your return, you cannot defy them even if you wanted to. You will return, but if you falter now your sojourn will be laden with even more pain,” Mycorr answered and Beatrice deflated.

  She went to follow him, when behind her the flutter of wings roared over the sound of the souls feasting and Capraega landed heavily behind her.

  “YOU MUST EAT!” he boomed.

  Mycorr reached out and snatched Beatrice’s hand and yanked her away from the denizen of the underworld as his legs propelled him forward. The thought of food was banished from Beatrice’s mind as fear enveloped her. The thundering sounds of Capraega’s feet behind her mirrored her own frantic heartbeat as her feet slammed into the ground.

  The sounds of the lost souls behind her gorging themselves disappeared as her breathing intensified. She didn’t feel the human burn of her muscles crying out or the ache in her lungs as she would have on the first plane of the Temporal World. Instead, all she felt was the frantic need to outpace the demon-goat. She didn’t spare a glance behind her, knowing it would spell her doom. But she could feel the hot air of his breath bearing down on her neck and snorting in anger. Each of his heavy footsteps shook the very fabric of the plane, despite it not deterring the merrymakers from their feast. Beatrice’s mouth still watered, though her throat had begun to go dry from adrenaline and the rest of her mucus membranes would soon feel the parch.

  Mycorr’s grip tightened as his immortal legs reached heights that Beatrice could only imagine. Her hair streamed behind her as Capraega nipped at her blonde tresses. She almost felt like laughing as the wind whipped past her face and threatened to push tears from her eyes.