The Beast Is an Animal

by Peternelle van Arsdale

  Alys stayed still while Ffordd tied her to the chair back, once around her shoulders and again around her waist, and then another time around each ankle, fastening her to the front two legs of the chair. Ffordd was unmarried, Alys remembered. She could smell his breakfast on him. Mutton and cheese. And the stench of a shirt worn too many times. When he’d finished, he looked up at her with his turnip face and his little rodent eyes. She smelled his fear. It was rank on him.

  Or no . . . not rank at all. It was sweet like honey. And warm. Alys had been so cold for so long. She drank up his fear and heat filled her chest.

  This was what soul eating was, Alys realized. This, right here. This warmth, this rush of blood and feeling, this blooming inside of her. And why shouldn’t she do this if she could?

  Ffordd hurled himself away from her. He gasped and pointed, clutching his chest, his mouth moving but no words coming out.

  Mistress Hardy cried out and fled across the room, followed quickly by Mistress Daniels. “Soul eater,” she cried out. “That’s what she is. We should burn her and be done with it before she kills us all.”

  Alys felt her head yanked back by her braid, and she stared up into the upside-down face of Mistress Miles. “We know she’s a soul eater, you fools. Now help us here and stop cowering in the corner.”

  “I think we have this well in hand,” said Mistress Ffagan, bending over Alys. “The bridle is all that’s needed.” She pursed her lips in concentration while she held over Alys’s face a small, head-shaped iron cage with a door in the back. In the front of the cage was a flat, spiked bit about three inches long that pointed inward. While Mistress Miles pulled down on Alys’s braid so hard she felt her neck might splinter, Mistress Ffagan forced Alys’s entire head into the iron cage, pressing the bit into Alys’s mouth. Alys gagged and pushed with all her might, but there was no good direction to push in. Up only forced the bit deeper into her mouth, and her neck couldn’t bend any farther back without breaking. Shaking from side to side scraped her tongue. She heard bells ringing and realized the cage itself was hung with them, front and back and one on each side. With a click, the cage door was fastened and locked in back of her head. “There,” Mistress Ffagan said. “All done. There’s nothing to fear now, sisters and brothers. She is subdued.”

  Mistress Miles let go of Alys’s braid, and Alys lifted up her head, wobbling under the weight of the iron and the jangling bells.

  “This,” Mistress Ffagan said, “is a witch’s bridle. We haven’t had cause to use one in quite some time, but it fits her perfectly, like it was made for her. You see how the iron wraps around her neck and the vertical bars are set close to her head so she can’t free herself from the bit. It’s locked tight in back, and I have the only key. She can’t talk, and she can’t free herself from the bridle even if we release her from her tethers. Please untie her from the chair, Mistress Miles.”

  Alys might have struggled against Mistress Miles. But the urge to recoil from her was squelched by the pain of even the smallest movement of her head. Alys found that if she kept quite still the agony of the metal bit in her mouth was just bearable. Even the slightest tip of her head forced the bit deeper and caused her to gag. Panic also caused her to gag. Only calm concentration allowed her to swallow her own spit without the use of her tongue.

  “Stand up, witch.” Mistress Daniels yanked on the rope tied to the front of the bridle, and Alys lurched up, the bells clanging loudly in her ears, the bit raking against the roof of her mouth.

  Mistress Ffagan nodded to Ffordd to open the front door. “Now ye shall be judged,” she said.

  TWENTY-ONE

  A steady rumble of noise had penetrated the room even through the closed shutters, and it vibrated through Alys like a hum. The sound magnified when Ffordd opened the door, and Alys saw that it belonged to a throng of villagers gathered around, waiting and staring. Ffordd and Enrik went out first, affecting vigilance and strength with crossed arms. The voices from the crowd rose like thunder, and a tide of up and down movement rolled across them. Some recoiled at the sight of Alys, others leaned forward. When Mistress Ffagan emerged, they all fell back to clear a path for her. Mistress Miles snatched the rope from Mistress Daniels, and she yanked Alys forward leading her out into the snowy street behind Mistress Ffagan. Wails of terror went up from the crowd at the sight of Alys and her iron witch’s bridle. The path widened farther.

  Alys couldn’t close her eyes now or she’d fall. Instead, she stared ahead at Mistress Miles’s broad black back. The bridle bells jangled with every step she took, and she heard the squealing of children all around her, though she refused to look left or right. The villagers on either side of her were a solid mass, no single face emerging more than any other.

  Alys felt a prick of something familiar, though she couldn’t have said what it was. It nudged her like a memory. She turned suddenly to her right, setting off a peal of jangling bells and a surprised, high-pitched shriek from the crowd. Standing in the snow, crammed in among the legs and feet of curious villagers was little Ren, white-faced and wide-eyed. This time he didn’t call to Alys, and when she caught his gaze, he turned and ran.

  The meetinghouse rose in front of her now and the crowd closed in behind Mistress Daniels and Mistress Hardy, who both held the rope fastened to the back of the witch’s bridle and made a great show of the effort. More villagers milled about in the meetinghouse yard. Enrik and Ffordd rushed forward to fling open the double doors to the meetinghouse, and Mistress Ffagan’s steps quickened to enter. Mistress Miles yanked Alys forward to match Mistress Ffagan’s pace and Alys nearly fell but caught herself just in time. The bells crashed in her ears.

  Walking through the entrance, Alys saw the nine Elders facing her, seated in oaken armchairs that Father had made for them when the meetinghouse was first built. Behind them, a roaring fire burned in the wide hearth. Its warmth died long before it reached Alys.

  Several feet in front of the Elders was something that Alys had never seen before. It was a wooden cage, still smelling of sawdust and fresh pine. It stood perhaps a foot higher than Alys’s head and three feet wide. This must have been the structure the High Elder had asked Father to build last night.

  Mistress Ffagan walked toward it and opened the door to the cage. “Sisters, give the ropes to Enrik. Ffordd, put her inside.”

  Ffordd shoved her hard from behind, and Alys might have fought him, but with her hands tied and the iron bells ringing in her ears, she couldn’t think of a reason to bother. One more shove and she was in the cage. The door closed behind her and fastened with an iron lock. The ropes attached to the bridle front and back now fell freely and puddled at her feet.

  The High Elder nodded to Ffordd. “Now ye may call in the faithful.”

  Alys could hear the doors swing open behind her and a shuffling of feet and buzz of voices that grew in volume as the benches filled with villagers. Once again Alys felt as if the world were pulling away from her, as if the distance between herself and those around her were a chasm too vast even to call across. She felt herself fall, her knees bending, and it was all she could do to straighten them again. She leaned against the side of the cage, and her bells jangled. There was a hiss and a squeal behind her.

  The doors to the meetinghouse were shut behind the villagers and the room dimmed. Lanterns were lit and hung from hooks around the room. The air was chill and damp despite the fire.

  The High Elder stood. “Brothers and sisters, we are brought here today by the discovery of a great Evil in our midst. It is a powerful Evil. An Evil that if left to its own devices would spread amongst us and defile us all.” As he spoke, Alys felt his voice vibrate in her chest. His face seemed to dissolve, shuffle its parts, and reassemble, and Alys thought again that she might fall. Her forehead tingled and her cheeks felt hot although she shuddered with cold.

  “It is an Evil that we know by many names.” The High Elder paused and looked around him. “Witch,” he said.

  There was a gasp,
a stifled cry.

  “Soul eater,” he said.

  There was a murmur, a collective sucking in of breath.

  “But the Good Shepherd has taught us that no matter what we may call it, there is truly only one Evil. It is The Beast. And just as our flock follows the Shepherd as He leads us on the path of righteousness to His loving protection, The Beast’s children follow It on a path of perversity and eternal damnation.”

  Alys stared into the fire that crackled and smoked behind the High Elder. Still she felt no heat. Her nose ran, tickling her lip. She tasted iron.

  “One of The Beast’s children has grown up among us. We have been kind to it. We have fed it. Nurtured it. Given it shelter and protection. It is crafty, this one. It has laughed at us, scorned us. And we have been trusting, but we have not been wise. We have not seen through its vile cunning to The Beast inside.

  “Now, though, we have seen. And we can no longer hide our eyes from the truth. The Good Shepherd is calling to His flock and we must hear His voice and follow Him. Only He can lead us on the path away from Evil.

  “We know this Evil now. It is here in this room. And we must cast it out.” The High Elder sat down and folded his hands in his lap. He held Alys with his pale blue gaze and Alys felt nothing, sensed nothing. It was as if she were staring into rock. There was no seeing through it.

  The room rumbled and shook with voices.

  Elder Yates stood, unrolled a sheet of parchment, and cleared his throat. “Sister Cerys Miles, step forth and offer your witness to the Evil.”

  Cerys sat next to her mother on the women’s side of the meetinghouse. She wore a sober gray dress and her hair in a tight braid that yielded not a tendril. She looked up toward Elder Yates, then bowed her head and rose up, swaying just slightly, as if she weren’t quite steady on her feet.

  Elder Miles leaned forward. “Are you quite well, my child?”

  “Ay, Father, I am,” Cerys said. She pulled herself up, breathed deep.

  The High Elder stared at the girl, his eyes opaque. Unmoved. Then Alys stopped looking into his eyes, and she looked into him instead—into his hard heart. He knew, Alys thought to herself. He knew the boy he’d raised, what he and Cerys had been getting up to. Of course he did. She could read the lies he concealed as clearly as if his chest were opened up in front of her. If she were closer to him she felt sure she could smell all those lies. They would smell like vinegar.

  “It happened yesterday,” Cerys began. “I was out looking for apples as a surprise for Mother and Father.” She glanced quickly toward Alys and then just as quickly away. “Alys told me there was a tree that hadn’t been picked clean yet and the apples were still good. And she told me where it was, and so that’s where I went.”

  Elder Yates drew his eyebrows together until they formed a single white shelf. “Apples this time of year, child?”

  There was murmuring on the women’s side of the meetinghouse. Alys wondered which idea struck them odder—apples in the snow, or Cerys doing anything that resembled work.

  “The child is trusting,” Elder Miles said, looking not at Elder Yates, but at the High Elder who sat next to him. “And the evil one is sly.”

  “Ay,” Cerys said. “She misled me. I couldn’t find the apple tree, so I turned back for home. And then suddenly, there she was. I hadn’t heard her, nor seen her up to that moment.” Cerys looked around her. “It was like she just appeared out of nothing.” Mistress Ffagan clapped a hand to her open mouth, and fast intakes of breath hissed around the room.

  “And so I said, ‘Alys, you frightened me!’ And then it happened. It was like she reached right inside me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t call for help. If Brother Rhys hadn’t come upon us she would have ripped the soul right out of me, I know she would have.” Cerys dropped to her seat and buried her face in her mother’s bosom.

  Alys closed her eyes. Cerys had lied about everything that didn’t matter, but she’d told the truth about the one thing that did. Alys had tried to eat Cerys’s soul, there was no denying it to herself. And she’d enjoyed it. She remembered the warmth inside of her, the flush that spread to her skin. She had never in her life felt so awake, and now there was no going back to that sleepy time before she knew what it was like to sniff out another’s soul. She was no longer merely like the soul eaters, as The Beast had said she was. She was one of them. Alys looked toward the windows. The sky was bluing to twilight. The other children of Gwenith would be heading toward the fields, mounting the Gate, to protect the village from creatures like her.

  “Brother Rhys Ffagan,” Elder Yates said, “offer your witness to the Evil.”

  Rhys rose from his seat on the front bench. “I was hunting for deer when I came upon them,” Rhys said. “And when I saw what that thing was doing to Sister Cerys, I knocked it down. Then I tied it up and brought it back here.” He sat down again. Alys noted the looks of disappointment around her. The villagers had been hoping for more detail.

  In the silence that followed, Mistress Daniels jumped to her feet. “Soul eater,” she cried and pointed at Alys. “Witch! Burn her before she kills us all.” She looked toward the Elders. “We must ask ourselves, how much illness has she caused among us? How much misfortune has she brought on us? How many women are barren because of her? Her own mother can’t catch a baby. And why, I ask you. I’ll tell you why. That one’s sucking the babies out of her while she sleeps. There’s naught but skin and gristle left of Sister Argyll after all these years giving shelter to that witch. We all know it. That poor woman won’t last the night.”

  “Ay, it’s true,” Mistress Hardy said. “And the witch tried to take Ffordd’s soul, too.” She pointed her chin at Ffordd, and he grunted and nodded, looked around him at the assembled and puffed up his chest.

  Voices from around the room rumbled and thrummed in Alys’s ears. She felt the meetinghouse tilt around her, and she lost the thread of what she’d done and hadn’t done. It hardly mattered anymore, there was no point parsing it in her mind. It would all end the same. She sank to the floor of her cage, the cage Father had built for her. Father. Father had built her a cage. He’d had no choice, but still. It hurt her more than anything yet.

  More voices rose up above the others.

  “Wasn’t she the one awake when the soul eaters descended on Gwenith?”

  “That’s what the traveler said, isn’t it? That she was out wandering when he found her, while all the rest of Gwenith was dead or sleeping.”

  “I heard she was skipping through the village like nothing was the matter.”

  “I heard she was singing.”

  “It was an incantation!”

  A shriek, a cry. First a woman’s voice, then a man’s. And back and forth it went. Alys closed her eyes.

  “She killed her own parents, danced around their dead bodies.”

  “She ate their souls!”

  “Ay, she ate them all!”

  “Why’d she leave the children alive?”

  “To bring them over to the soul eaters, to turn them unholy like herself.”

  “And hasn’t she done it? Haven’t the children of Gwenith been wandering away from us, one after the other?”

  “Ay, she’ll lead them all away before long, and then we’ll have no one to guard the Gate.”

  “That’s when she’ll bring the soul eaters back here to take us all!”

  So many people speaking at once, and yet Alys could identify each of their voices like individual needles piercing her skin. She heard Mary whose baby she’d held while Mother healed her. She heard Brother Ellis who’d taught her sums. She heard Elin and Fflur, girls her age who’d never in their lives had to climb a frozen Gate.

  The High Elder’s voice lifted above the din. “Silence, brothers and sisters.” More grumbles, questions, but quieter now. “The wolves gather around us, but all those who follow the Good Shepherd are safe in His loving arms. This child of The Beast is merely a test of our faith. It is naught but a wolf that threatens o
ur flock. And when we destroy it, our flock will be safe in the Good Shepherd’s arms once again.”

  More murmuring. Back and forth and back again.

  “Burn her.”

  “You’re daft. And set the whole village ablaze?”

  “Drown her.“

  “What if she floats? Then what? Anyway, nearest pond’s still frozen.”

  “Stone her.”

  “Ay, that’ll work. Or crush her.”

  The High Elder lifted his arms, palms outward, and silence fell. The lamplight cast stripes of light and shadow across his face. “This creature wishes to frighten us. So we shall destroy it in the way all creatures like it fear the most. By fire. At first light, all able-bodied men shall load three wagons with wood. Then the creature shall be taken outside the Gates to the northwest clearing. There we will build a fire so hot it will cleanse us of this filth forever. And by the light of this great blaze we shall sing a hymn of thanks and praise.”

  Alys was cold, so cold. Crouched there on the floor, chill drafts creeping under her dress and crawling across her skin, she tried to imagine hot licks of flames rising around her, but she found she could not. As the villagers filed out of the meetinghouse, Alys felt the cage vibrate around her. She watched the passing feet, skirt hems, and boots turned gray from mud. She had no thought for tomorrow. This chill, and the gaping empty space in her chest, were all that she knew for now.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The villagers were long gone, the lamps that ringed the meetinghouse burned out. The shutters were closed to the cold, and moonlight glowed blue through the cracks.

  Otherwise, the darkness inside the meetinghouse was thick and black. Still, Alys’s sharp eyes made out the lumpen shapes of her guards. Vaughn and Sayer had been left behind to watch her through the night. They huddled under blankets near the cold hearth, which had burned to ash hours before. At first the two men had whispered to each other, occasionally glancing back at her nervously. Then they lapsed into silence pierced every so often by snoring. When Alys shifted minutely and her bells rang, they jumped in place and reached for their bows. Alys wondered if a soul eater could be killed with something as simple as a bow and arrow. She had no idea, and doubted whether Vaughn and Sayer knew, either.