Beyond the beaded curtain, the real world waited for me. Astrael negligently swept it aside and set a hand on the small of my back to guide me through the dark of the cave.
More snow had fallen since we had retreated to her hideaway. The moonlit world was brilliant white against the bare black trees and the deep blue of the sky. Owls perched in a tree, watching me curiously, and my guardians were together still, bickering over the shredded body of some small animal. The largest took off, circling us once before landing on my shoulder.
He caught a strand of my hair and gave it a fond tug, and the fear coiling through me relaxed away. Astrael was waiting silently beside me, and when the ravens took back to the air, I followed behind them with her at my heels. As they had led me to the clearing, so they guided me back to my father's house, where the door stood open even in the cold night.
Though I was still barefoot, I somehow trod through the snow without as much pain as before. I felt as though I had a steady fire licking just beneath my skin and scarcely needed even the thin shawl over my shoulders.
I stopped in the trees, not far from where Henry and I had attempted our ill-fated coupling, and stared out at the rectangle of light cast on the snow by the open door. I had thought to find the door closed tight, and perhaps even an open grave by the row of small mounds containing my siblings. My future had felt so certain on the long, dark journey through the forest. I couldn't help but entertain fantasies of my father holding some new sister to the window and telling her of her failed siblings, and how he hoped she would not disappoint him so gravely as her only named sister had. I wondered even if my grave would stand nameless, that future sister wearing my name like a hand me down.
The light looked so welcoming. I thought it must be cold inside, and my father was making my mother suffer it to be sure I could get home again. I forgot Astrael, forgot my guardians, forgot everything except that I was safely home again. I fancy I drifted right over the snow and to the door without leaving a single footprint.
My mother was nowhere to be seen, but my father was in his chair by the fire. His head had fallen forward, and his chin nodded against his chest. He kept himself shaven, claiming it was far cleaner. He had dark stubble coloring his cheeks and chin. My smile grew at the sight, and I stepped inside, pausing to quietly close the door behind myself. I just waited there, watching him as the fire quickly warmed the room.
As though he knew what the heat meant, my father snorted in his sleep and shook his head. His shoulders tensed only moments before his eyes flew open and he vaulted out of his chair with a furious roar. My mother's name died on his lips when he saw me.
"My baby," he said, reaching out to catch my shoulders and crush me to his chest. "My girl," he said, possession winding through the words as I felt his cock stiffening against my stomach. Without the harsh reminder of what had so recently passed between us, I may have melted into his arms and never left again. "I knew you would come home to me. I knew you wouldn't leave me."
"No, father," I said softly, trying to pull away from him. His arms only grew tighter around me until I thought I would shatter. I remembered Astrael's words to me, the sorrow in her eyes. "Father, I came to say good-bye."
His hands clenched to fists in my hair and he jerked my head back so that I had to meet his eyes. "You will not leave me. I will not allow it. You are mine." His words grew louder as his teeth clenched together until he was grinding out each sound. He shook me hard and threw me to the floor, then stepped over me.
I couldn't move, though I knew I had to leave. No matter what happened, I still couldn't believe I would really be hurt. With my bruises healed, I could even tell myself he had only hurt me because of Henry. I had hurt him, and he had hurt me in return. If I was a good girl, he would only keep me safe and happy.
When I was too small to venture from home, he had cradled me in his arms and whispered about the life he had built for me. He set thick ropes in my small hands and taught me all the tricks for the best nooses. When I had mastered such tasks as best a child barely able to crawl could be expected, he instead tied them into clever dolls and animals for my play. I had never once imagined my father would tie that rope into one of his nooses and thrust the circle over my head and tighten it about my throat. He dragged me to my feet and tied my wrists tight behind my back. He checked his bonds and picked up the coil of rope extending from my neck before he pushed me outside.
Our tree crouched over us, and for the first time I shuddered at the sight of it. When I looked beseechingly to the trees, I could see Astrael shining in the dim light like the owls. Though she was too far for me to see her face, I could tell she was only relaxed and waiting. I was without help, without hope, and betrayed by my father. He left me standing outside, and I tamely waited as he fetched a chair, and climbed up to stand on the seat when he positioned it beside me.
His back was to me while he tied the end of the rope around a stray stick and used it as weight when he tried to throw the rope over the branch above my head. I felt tears stinging my eyes and couldn't move. If I couldn't leave with his blessing, I didn't know how I could leave at all.
I was almost happy to commit myself to the rope when I heard wings and felt talons dig into my wrists. The stick with the rope landed in the snow at my father's feet, and without glancing at me, he picked it up and tried to throw it again. The rope seemed just a little less tight when the raven flew away, brushing my cheek reassuringly with a wingtip. Another took its place, and another again while the stick flew into the air and fell short of the branch again and again. The ropes fell from my wrists, and I kept them behind my back as my final guardian flew back to the trees to disappear near Astrael's luminous form.
The rope finally flew over the branch with the stick dangling low enough for my father to catch. He drew it so tight that I had to stand on my toes to breathe, and he tied it around the trunk with a quick, business-like air. The row of mounds covering my siblings was at my back. I was surprised to see tears in his eyes when he turned around and walked to me, reaching out to grasp the chair. I wondered if tears would fill his eyes when he told my story to whatever child he next chose to keep.
"Father," I whispered, and he stopped. I opened my mouth to beg him not to hurt me, but I couldn't do it. "Father, kiss me one last time."
He looked up at me, but he couldn't stand tall enough to meet my lips while I was unable to bend to meet him. So he stepped up onto the chair beside me, and dropped his head to kiss me just like Henry had.
I closed my eyes and reached up to pull the noose from around my own neck. It was such an easy matter to slip it over his head. He pulled back, looking startled, and I pushed him.
He fell off of the edge of the chair. My fate would have been to strangle, and so was his. His toes almost brushed the top of the snow, and if he tried, he would probably be able to set his feet back on the chair. So I stepped down and picked it up. I didn't dare let myself think too deeply about what was happening. He twisted and thrashed, staring at me with wide, betrayed eyes while his fingers pulled at the rope.
I set the chair out of his reach. When he realized I wouldn't come to his aid, he tried harder to get a grip on the rope. His nails scored into his throat, and his fingertips were stained with red.
I walked to him, and he stopped struggling. His face was purpling and his eyes reddening. I reached out to cup the bulge straining against the seam of his pants. "You made me," I said, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss against the material. "You raised me and you loved me. For that, I thank you."
He tried to make a sound, though he knew far better. I didn't stay to watch him die. I wasn't sure I believed in Astrael's gift until I felt my father's death welling up inside of him, until I knew I could reach out to him and draw his life into me, make it a part of me.
He had given me everything. I would let him keep his death. I picked up the chair to carry it back inside.
The memories of a happy childhood were ingrained in the very wood of the
house. I set the chair in its customary place and lightly touched the back of my father's favorite seat, where I had spent the evenings of many years safely tucked into his lap. I ran my fingers reverently over his favorite pipe, where it lay by its bag of smoking herbs on the table by his chair. His hood was hanging on a nail by the door, waiting for his summons to work. My favorite doll, battered and stained from love, had a place of honor on the mantle.
I could hear the creak of the rope against the bark of the elm. What had happened swept over me, leaving me dizzy and sick. I might have left then, might have fled into the darkness, but something across the room drew my eye. Embroidery sat neatly folded and tucked almost out of sight beneath a chair matching the one I'd carried into the room.
When I remembered her, I realized I could hear my mother. She was in the house, lurking out of my sight. She had been the first to betray my siblings and myself. I couldn't be surprised that she would have let him hang me. She'd have served him breakfast in the morning all the same, had lunch ready for when he asked and dinner on the table at his usual time. She'd retreat to his room and let him do whatever he pleased. She'd bear him more and more children until he had the one he wanted and never say my name again.
I could hear her, and I knew I could find her. I had murder in my mind and thoughts of blood and revenge filling my senses. I would rip the life out of her and feast on it.
She was cowering in her room, with her hands pressed over her face. I stood and watched her trembling and heard myself ask, "Who are you?"
She peered at me from between her fingers and whispered, "I am the hangman's wife."
I laughed. I fell back against the door frame, and I pressed my hands over my mouth, and I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. My mother stayed at my feet with terror written on her face. "No," I told her. "You are the hanged man's widow."
I walked away from her without another glance. I stopped only to pick up my father's ropes and throw them into the fire. The smoke that leaked into the room from them was both sweet and acrid, stinging my eyes and nose. If I stopped to think, I might lose the sense of triumph still beating against the cage around my heart.
The door was standing open. Astrael was in the trees, visible still because the moonlight sought her through the branches, or perhaps because she had some of the light from her parents. I stayed just outside of the door, waiting until she had walked into the open air and closed the distance between us. She opened her arms to me, smiling. "Who are you?" she asked me.
I accepted her embrace, closing my eyes and letting out a long sigh as she folded me in her cloak and her wings. My father dangled beside us, now no more than the gruesome fruit of his gallows tree. "I am Isabella."
About the Author
J Lily Corbie has no idea what she's doing and no idea what she's gotten herself into. She's the offspring of geeky parents and a lifelong geek herself. She's currently employed as a publications editor for a vague, yet menacing, government agency, where her work seems to rarely include any actual publications. She lives alone with a couple of cats and a couple of dogs. She writes sporadically and is making a habit out of shouting into the abyss.
Find her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JLilyCorbie
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The Hangman's Daughter Page 4
