The room settled and the morning’s lesson got underway. Chalk clicked and scraped over the blackboard and by midmorning it was almost covered with number problems. Outside the sun climbed and with it the temperature. Lady Demia was soon flushed with the heat and damp circles of sweat began to appear in the fabric beneath her busy arms. The difficulty of the problems rose slowly and the number of hands thrust into the air when she appealed for answers, dwindled accordingly. Della’s hands remained on her desk the whole time. She copied the problems from the board, but her thoughts remained outside the classroom.
She wondered why she still hadn’t told her uncle about the monster’s face. There had been plenty of opportunity to do so, but for some reason she hadn’t mentioned it. He was out there now, searching for the monster with trackers from the villager, and none of them knew about how it had copied her face. If it was still wearing that face, they would get a shock when they saw it. The trackers would jump to superstitious conclusions that might provoke them to turn on her uncle. A liquid guilt flushed through her from head to toe. She shifted in her seat and looked through the window. Two of the other children saw her do it and looked out themselves to see what she was looking at.
‘Della.’
She gripped the desk and told herself to calm down. The monster tried to copy her face, but how close did it really get? If she remembered correctly, it was still trying to perfect her when it pulled her in. It had captured her eyes, but the rest of it was a poor imitation - a crude head, best suited to a scarecrow. The trackers would have to be nose to nose with it to see any sort of resemblance to her. She released the desk and relaxed a little. But still why hadn’t she told her uncle about it?
‘Della…Della.’
The Black Eye
‘Della!’
She looked up. Lady Demia was standing in front of the blackboard with her hands on her hips and the whole class was giggling.
‘Care to join us?’
‘It’s that leg of hers,’ Ismara said. ‘She needs to warm up like a reptile before her brain starts to work.’
More laughter.
‘Enough! I don’t know what’s gotten into you two. Maybe a noon detention wasn’t enough. If this carries on, I’ll have to think about keeping the pair of you back after school.’
Ismara looked into her books and the room fell silent. They knew just how far Lady Demia could be pushed. It was a short distance and they had reached it already.
‘You’ve contributed nothing this morning Della. All you’ve done is squirm in that seat and stare into space.’ She tapped a nail on the board, indicating the current problem. ‘This one’s for you.’
Della scanned it. She had spent many years in classrooms, in all corners of the land and what was taught in them was pretty much the same. Despite this, she never felt much of an advantage over the other children. The biggest problem was that the pain in her leg made it difficult to concentrate and most of her education went right over her head. Her mind was clearest and at its most agile when she was Absent and the pain dulled down. She had summed this up in a little aphorism she came up with whilst doodling one day: Absent when present and present when Absent. If she could take her lessons in Absence, she would be top of the class. But it didn’t seem right to attend her lessons in spirit form, even it meant just hanging at the back like a patch of cold air. Some children were more sensitive than others and it would be selfish to scare them.
Her other problem was that what she did learn, she easily forgot. Learning was like forging new trails through a thick forest – trails that would soon grow over if they weren’t regularly travelled. This was true for everyone of course. But she had the poison to contend with as well. Some of it had invaded her mind and would often settle over those trails like a thick green mist. When the knowledge beneath it was needed, her mind could sometimes blow it away. But more often it would fail. It could be so frustrating. But as she looked at the problem on the board she realised there were no weeds on her arithmetic trails and not even a wisp of mist.
‘One hundred twenty-six,’ she said promptly.
‘Well done,’ Lady Demia said, her scowl slackening into surprised disappointment. She could feel the eyes of her class burning holes in her back. There would be repercussions for such a show of competence. Normally it would be a mistake to stand out in such a way, as it usually stoked Ismara’s desire to hurt her. But it didn’t matter today. Her uncle was picking her up at last bell and they were leaving Agelrish tonight. After today she hoped never to see Ismara again.
As Lady Demia’s focus shifted to another target, Della’s mind wandered again. This morning her uncle asked her if she felt any different now. He was inquiring about the wider effects of the poison and whether anything had changed now it was gone. The poison wasn’t just a pain and discoloration of her leg – it clouded her thinking, troubled her sleep and made her quick to fatigue. Worst of all, it robbed her of womanhood.
Performed daily, Absence could arrest the aging process. It was never practiced more than once a week by a child, for doing so delayed, and in extreme cases, prevent them reaching maturity. But such restraint had not been an option for her. She was stricken with the poison at fourteen and only a daily dose of Absence kept it at bay. If she ever delayed purging, there was always a chance of it rising from her leg and polluting her organs. And when that happened she would descend into the clutches of the vile mist sickness from which it would take weeks to recover. For five centuries Absence had given her life, but it held her prisoner inside the same body. She was a perpetual child, prevented from reaching womanhood by the very thing that was keeping her alive.
Lady Demia looked in her direction and she sat up straight, trying to look attentive. The poison was gone now and there was, at least in theory, no necessity for daily Absence anymore. She wondered if she took a long break from it, whether her stalled development would begin again. And whether she would blossom into the woman she had long wished to be. But perhaps that was too much to hope for after such a long time in the same body. Perhaps there was only one chance to become a woman and it had long since passed.
At midmorning the town bells began to toll and lady Demia went to the windows and looked into the square. It was empty now and bathed in brilliant sunshine.
‘Can anyone tell me what that sound is?’ All hands rose in the room. Della’s the least enthusiastic of them. ‘Yes Madeline.’
‘It is the sound of the tower bell.’
‘And why do they ring today?’
‘Cos today the Black Eye scours the land.’
The class became still, the words like a spell on them. Even Ismara was swept up in it.
‘And what fate for those foolish enough to ignore the warnings?’ asked Lady Demia. ‘And be caught in its black glare?’ She pointed to a little boy at the front - the school’s most recent addition.
‘A black curse would be bestowed on him,’ he said, showing more white of his eyes than usual. ‘It would leave him open to spirits and demons. Bring terrible trouble to his family, his neighbours and friends…’ Lady Demia tipped her head and raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to go on. ‘Tom p... p... piper looked at the eye and his hair fell out...’ he said in a nervous flurry, ‘…And his parents went blind.’
Della suppressed a smile.
‘Good,’ said Lady Demia, moving back to the black board and wiping it clean. She drew a large circle in the middle with lines projecting from it. Inside this circle, she drew another. She turned around, observing the disquiet in the class with prim satisfaction. ‘The time is here,’ she said as the light began to dim around the shutters. ‘Have no fear children, it can do you no harm if it can’t see you.’
Some of the children hid their faces and one girl started to cry. Della felt sorry for her and wondered what superstitious nonsense had primed her to be so scared.
Lady Demia pointed to the chalk circles on the board. ‘If you were outside now and were to look up at the sun, this is what
you would see: a black eye that almost blots it out. The Black Eye is powerful and can see everything the sun can. If you’re ever caught in its glare, what should you do?’
‘Hide in the shadows, before they disappear. Cover yourself if you can,’ said the boy who’d taken his turn at the tree before school. The one who’d been caught with his foot in the sun.
Della stared through the board, imagining all those villagers out in the fields, taking refuge behind the nearest tree or wall. Or huddling beneath fusty old blankets. And if her uncle was with anyone; he would have no choice but to join in.
‘That’s right. And don’t forget the Black Eye’s friends: the raven, the crow, the rook, and the jackdaw. Not least the blackbird - don’t be fooled by its pretty song. The Black Eye designed it to enchant you... The Black Eye soaks its black lustre into its plumage. Look into its eyes or let yourself be beguiled by its melody and you’ll be marked.’ She paced the front of the class for effect. ‘Do not allow them to rest their wings for even a second upon your fence or shingle. And most importantly of all; do not permit them to nest on your land. Put them to the wing with stick or stone, so that their cursed gaze doesn’t linger on your yard.’ Her face was flushed with passion now and her words like a reprimand. As if they had done such things already.
Della had done such things, and much more that would have shocked her teacher. She recalled the raven with a broken wing she nursed back to health and the black roses she once grew in a window box; wondering just how red Lady Demia’s cheeks would become if she informed her of these transgressions.
Outside, the daylight waned to an eerie twilight. Lady Demia stood at the window and watched in silence. Many of her pupils were now cowering at their desks, some looking at her as if in awe of her boldness. Della knew what was happening outside was nothing more than an eclipse. She had seen hundreds of them in her lifetime and never once with this Black Eye nonsense in her head. What she saw whenever she was in a position to look, was a beautiful ring of fire caused by the moon passing in front of the sun. And if she was Absent at the time, she could watch the whole thing without hurting her eyes. But as the rest of the class shrank further into their chairs, she felt a strange pressure to join in; even though she wanted to run around the room shaking them.
‘Do you not fear the eye Della?’ asked her teacher when she caught her looking around.
‘I do Lady Demia. I fear it a lot.’
‘Never let your mind wonder when the eye takes to the sky. Never. You must fear it. Only fear will keep you sharp.’
Della held her gaze and was struck with an insane urge to instruct her on the true nature of what was happening outside. To explain the slow dance of the heavens and to encourage her to shrug off the idiocy of generations and step out into the square. But such things could never be said and she looked into her lap instead.
When the light outside began to strengthen, Lady Demia rubbed the board clean and started covering it again with her chalky scrawl. Arithmetic was finished and it looked like she had some geography in mind. By noon the temperature was soaring. Old Lady Safarone arrived with a tray of freshly baked bread and cheese, signalling the end of the morning’s work. Normally, the snake on Della’s leg would be tightening by now; necessitating she spent most of her break meditating in a patch of shade. But the pain was gone now. She ground her foot in her boot to make sure and there wasn’t the slightest twinge.
Lady Demia helped to set the food out at the front, then she added a jug of water and called the children up to eat. In a well-practiced routine, they lined up, put some bread and cheese onto a plate, filled a mug with water and took it all out into the square. Lady Demia watched over them, scowling at any that dared to cut a piece of cheese too large - making sure there was more than ample left for her when they had all finished. On account of the discomfort Della usually suffered with queuing; Lady Demia had decided it was better for her to remain in her seat until the others took their share. It was a concession she no longer needed, but not wanting to arouse any suspicion, she remained in her seat just the same. When the others were done, she got up and limped to the front. Under Ismara’s frosty glare she took up the remaining plate, added a slice of bread and a modest chunk of cheese and returned to her desk. She had been unable to touch her porridge a few hours earlier, but she was ravenous now and tucked into her food in a way that Lady Demia seemed to appreciate. Ismara, however, was vexed by it. Those receiving her special attention were supposed to be knotted up with fear and anxiety and weren’t supposed to have appetites.
Lady Demia opened the three windows that looked out onto the square and soon a welcome breeze caressed the room. She took the remaining bread and cheese to her table and unclothed a pie that she’d been hiding behind her chair, adding it her the plate. It hung over the edge by half. She was just taking her first mouthful when a set of heavy boots thudded up the steps and into the corridor.
The Shadow Within
The door burst open and an ashen faced man appeared around it. Della recognised him as Mr Tilder, who ran the tailors shop on the square.
‘Forgive me Lady Demia, but can I have a word?’ His eyes flicked to Della and Ismara, then back to her again. ‘Outside.’
Della felt the temperature drop. The urgency in his voice and the wildness of his eyes suggested he knew about the monster. She feared the worst and spoke before Lady Demia got chance to. ‘Is my uncle alright Mr Tilder?’
‘Yes young lady. Your uncle’s fine.’
Lady Demia scowled at her for speaking out of turn. She took a moment to swallow the contents of her stuffed mouth and rose from her chair. Then with a reddening face she warned her detainees to behave and followed Mr Tilder out in a hurried waddle. When she pulled the door closed behind her, it rattled in its frame; filling the room with an ominous echo.
Ismara pushed back in her chair, scraping its legs across the wooden floor. She stood up, walked around to the front of Della’s desk and placed her hands on it. Then she leant forward until they were face to face once more.
‘What did you think you were doing this morning? Did your stupid uncle tell you to hit me with that cripple stick? I bet he told you I’d leave off if you did. But he couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not scared of you or him.’ She put a finger against Della’s forehead and pushed. ‘You’ve got it coming to you now. More so than ever. We were just playing with you yesterday. Next time we’ll cut that smelly leg right off. There’s plenty of hiding places on the lane and I’ve still got those sheep shears at home. My dad’ll put an edge back on them, if I ask him to.’
Ismara twisted her finger, digging the nail into her forehead. Della pushed it away, feeling the black rage surfacing once more. And when Ismara reached down to pinch the remaining cheese from her plate, her reaction was involuntary. Some door inside her inched open and an arm flew out of the crack. It slipped into her arm as if it was a long glove and snared Ismara’s wrist in a vice like grip. The big girl released the cheese as if it was a hot coal.
‘Get off! You’re hurting me!’ she screamed, clawing at her fingers with her other hand. Della released her and she staggered backwards. For a few seconds Ismara just stared at her in disbelief. Then she charged forward with a howl, swiping at her face.
The door inside Della swung wide open now and the shadow hiding behind it swept out, plunging into her other limbs and forcing her to her feet. It used her body to grab Ismara by the hair and push her away, hard enough to send her crashing into the lunch table. The water jug fell off and shattered, spilling its remaining content across the floor.
Ismara picked herself up in a flash. This wasn’t supposed to happen twice in one morning. Such rebellion was incomprehensible and needed quashing right away… But the fire in her blood turned instantly to ice the moment she locked eyes with Della again. The cripple had changed. Something was profoundly wrong with her. Something black was looking out from the pools of her eyes - some entity that appeared to be wearing her skinny frame like clothes
. She watched with sharpening fear as she, it, stepped around the desk and crossed the boards towards her. And with no sign of a limp.
Ismara had been head tormentor of Agelrish School for two years. There had been more than a few retaliations during that time and she had beaten all of them into greater submission. But the sight of Della coming towards her was crushing and all she could do was cower as the scrawny cripple girl approached. The fluffy bunny she had tormented this summer had peeled back it face and there was a black monster underneath. It was an image that would haunt her the rest of her life. A face that would reign supreme in her nightmares, the way her face did in the nightmares of the other children. Her terror was so all consuming that it distorted her perceptions. The room expanded, pushing the door and the sound of playing children into the distance. By contrast the cripple grew to enormous proportions; her pitiless eyes bulging like orbs of polished jet. If she had the capacity to move, she would have jumped out of the window and sprinted to Lady Demia. And without the slightest care to what the other children might say; she would have buried her face in her ample bosom. But all she could do was cower - her confidence and dignity running out of her with the warm trickle that ran down the inside of her leg and dripped off her ankle. But the attack she feared never came. The cripple blinked – a flutter of the eyes which brought back their true colour - two black moths morphing into bright blue butterflies. She walked back to her desk, sat down and stared into her lap. The warmth came back into the air, the room collapsed down to size and the sounds of the playground filled it once more.
Absence_Whispers and Shadow Page 5
