The Glass Casket

by Templeman, Mccormick

  “Have you lost your mind?” she screamed, her world no longer making any sense. “We were going to go to the palace city with the duke—you and I. What of that?”

  “You will not be going to the palace city with the duke or with anyone else. You will be staying in Nag’s End with your husband,” he said, looking down at his papers. “This is the best path for you, Daughter. I will not discuss it further. This is my final decision.”

  Rowan blinked and tried to focus on the ground, solid beneath her feet. Surely she must be dreaming, but she knew she wasn’t. Her father was really saying these things to her. And all at once, she saw herself as her father must see her, as Tom must see her—weak, small, and useless. Beautiful in some fragile way, but what good was beauty? It had done Fiona Eira no favors.

  She felt trapped, as if she might suffocate. But something else swelled in her chest, something hot and burning, similar to the anger she’d felt earlier but more intense. It was sharp and spiked, and pointed directly at her father, and she knew without a doubt that she hated him. Hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone. More even than she hated the Goddess for taking her mother from her all those years ago.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she answered, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I understand.”

  “Good,” her father said, then stood and, walking around the desk to her, hugged her close to his chest as he had done a thousand times before, and she was astonished at how something that used to feel so warm and human could suddenly feel so dead.

  She turned from him, and doing her best to keep from breaking down, she opened the door, the coldness of the metal knob like a knife against her skin. When she stepped out into the hallway, she was stunned to find Merrilee standing there, leaning against the wall, her tiny navy dress blending into the darkness. Had she been listening? The girl smiled at her, then turned and raced up the back stairs.

  Tom tried to put his misgivings behind him as he approached the inn. Surely he was imagining things. Surely Rowan wanted to be his wife. There was no one who knew him better, no one who loved him more. So why had she reacted as if he’d proposed a double suicide?

  He burst into the inn and found his mother setting up for the supper crowd.

  “Hello, my boy,” she called, looking up from her washcloth.

  Jude sat in the corner, a piece of paper before him. He seemed to be puzzling something out. He glanced at his brother, and then folding up the paper, he put it in his pocket.

  “Hey now,” Jude said. “You look well for once.”

  Elsbet smiled at her youngest son. “You’ve done it, haven’t you?” she squeaked.

  “I have,” Tom said, ebullient. “Just now. I’m to be married.”

  Jude stared at him, stunned.

  “My brother,” Tom said, hands on the table in front of Jude. “I’ve taken a bride.”

  “What?” Jude laughed. “Who? I thought you were … excuse me here, but I thought you were in love with Fiona Eira. I thought you said no other girl was fit to touch the hem of her garment.”

  Tom drew back, seeing Fiona’s smiling face in front of his once again, smelling her breath on his neck, and then, as quickly as the vision had come, it was replaced with the image of her splayed out like meat in the slickening snow.

  “Jude,” Elsbet spat. “Show some respect for the dead. And for the living.”

  She moved closer to Tom and gave Jude a self-satisfied smile. “I’m going to have a daughter finally. I’d hoped you might be a girl, Jude, you know.”

  “So who is she?” Jude asked, beginning to warm to the idea of a sister-in-law taking the brunt of his mother’s wrath.

  “Why, our own Rowan, isn’t it?” Elsbet said. Jude froze, and Tom noticed his brother’s face grow pale. “You’re joking,” Jude said.

  “Not a bit,” Elsbet chirped. “Tom’s finally seen the light. Seen what was right in front of him.”

  Jude shook his head, anger slowly distorting his features. “Crow’s eyes if I’ve ever heard such a thing,” he seethed, his gaze boring into his brother.

  “Jude!” Elsbet yelped. “I’ll not have language like that in my inn. I’ve thrown men out on their ear for less.”

  Tom stared at his brother, his defensiveness piqued. “Do you have something you want to say, Jude?”

  But his brother just glared at him.

  “If you have something you want to say, by all means, say it,” Tom urged.

  Jude opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words flowed. He simply shook his head and stared at his brother with a hatred that seemed to reach into Tom’s very being.

  “You don’t like Rowan, is that it?” Tom said.

  “You know I don’t,” Jude said, looking away.

  “Well, you’re going to have to get used to her. She’ll be moving in with us in two months’ time. Soon she will bear my children.”

  And with that, a color rose in Jude’s cheeks. “It must be very convenient for you to be able to change your heart so readily.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” Tom said, looking away. “Rowan has long been my closest friend, and she’ll soon make an honorable wife. That is the most I can ask for.”

  “And I suppose you’re the most she can ask for?” Jude said through gritted teeth.

  “Jude,” Elsbet snarled. “You watch it, boy.”

  “You’re a hypocrite,” Jude said, his eyes trained on his brother, and Tom saw that every muscle in Jude’s neck was taut. He looked feral, like an animal waiting to tear flesh from bone.

  “That’s enough!” Tom yelled. “You will show respect to me and to my bride-to-be, or so help me …”

  “So help you what?”

  “You may be older, but I’m bigger than you, Jude, and I’m not afraid of you.”

  Tom moved closer, confident in his ability to hold physical master over his brother, but when he was within a few steps of him, Jude suddenly stood and, in one quick and terrifying movement, flipped the old oak table over, missing Tom’s leg by inches. Elsbet screamed as Jude pulled himself up to his full height, and though he was slight of build, his rage seemed to lay claim to the whole room.

  The two boys stared at each other, the animal within each pushed to its extreme—Tom ready to physically harm his brother, and Jude seemingly poised to kill.

  Elsbet’s hands flew to her face, and she backed away in horror from what she had created.

  The moment hung like the blade of a guillotine, ready to drop with startling finality.

  And then Jude stepped away. Tom relaxed his shoulders, and Jude turned and walked to the back door as if nothing had happened. Tom and Elsbet exchanged a look, the same one they’d been exchanging for years, as if to ask what they had done to deserve such a relation. But just as Jude was about to step outside, he turned back and stared at his brother.

  “I just want you to know. I’ll kill you before I let you marry her.”

  And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him with a heavy clash of wood against steel.

  Arlene Blessing had set the hearth fires to burn low for the night. She had tidied up, and had drunk a cup of willow bark tea. Things were quiet now, different since the world had taken her William from her. It had taken her babies too, years ago—decades now. And though she’d loved them truly and with all her heart, she’d only known each of them a few days before the fever took them. The grief had been so great that she’d decided she couldn’t bear another pregnancy, and she and William had been careful ever since. Still, she bore a constant ache in her heart for her children—Lily and Tim, she’d called them, but it was different to lose her William. She’d spent a lifetime with him—married a week after her fifteenth birthday they were, and now he was gone. One full spring and a summer he’d been gone, and now they were closing in on yet another spring. It wasn’t sadness exactly that she wore in her heart, it was an emptiness, as if everything inside her had shut off, and now she moved through her life waiting, half hoping that every coug
h might develop into something more, wondering each night when she lay down to sleep whether things might be better if, when the dawn came, she simply didn’t wake up.

  And so it was that night as she dressed in her nightgown, as she brushed her hair, as she stared at the blank wall that she and William had painted together. Sometimes she thought she caught a vision of him, out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes it startled her, and she went so far as to turn, sometimes to even call out his name. She set her brush down and closed her eyes, the emptiness inside her more than she could bear. Then she shook herself out of it, turned down the bed, and climbed inside.

  It was a moment after she blew out her candle that she sensed the presence. When you live alone in a house, you can hear things, feel things that you don’t when you live with other people. And Arlene had lived in this house without William long enough to know that there was a stranger in her home. She was also wise enough to know that this tiptoeing stranger meant her harm, but she didn’t move from her bed. She did nothing to arm herself. Rather, she lay there, clutching her sheet, and much of her wanted to close her eyes against it, whatever it was, because in the end, who wants to see the thing that kills you? But she couldn’t keep them closed. She had to see. She opened them wide, a child’s only defense against the dark, and when the door to her bedchamber opened, and when the shadow, slick as midnight, slipped into her room, she took a deep breath.

  It seemed to linger there over her, as if deciding what to do with her, as if it wanted to play with her as a cat might do with its prey. And then, faster than Arlene could even process, the thing was on top of her, biting into her flesh, gnawing into her bone, and the pain was overwhelming. It was only then that Arlene cried out, but by then it was too late. The last sound she heard was the smothered gurgle of her own broken windpipe as the blood filled her mouth and her life slipped away.

  Shafts of sun streaked out from behind dark clouds, and the snow was beginning to melt as Rowan walked into the center of the village. As she trudged through the slush, it seemed to her the scent of mountain pine hung somehow heavier in the air. It was an odd day, but then, she thought, maybe it wasn’t just the day. Maybe it was the world itself that was growing increasingly odd. Since the deaths on the mountain, things had felt wrong to Rowan. The scent on the breeze was just slightly altered; the water tasted different. And her life was no longer her own.

  Rowan was just heading over to drop some papers off with Ollen Bittern when she rounded the corner to see Mama Lune standing outside of the Widow Boone’s cottage. The old woman leaned into her cane, listening intently as the red-haired witch explained something to her. Mama Lune held a small jar of what looked like flowers and earth, and seemed to be telling the widow how to prepare it.

  Mama Lune turned and looked at her, and Rowan cursed herself for staring so long. Gathering her skirts, she began walking quickly away.

  “Rowan,” she heard the woman call out, and then behind her, she heard the shuffle of feet. In no time, the witch was in front of her, her green eyes seeming to draw Rowan in.

  “What do you want?” Rowan asked, trying to maintain her distance.

  “My guest, Mama Tetri, is wondering if you got her note?”

  “Yes,” Rowan said. “Yes, I think I did.”

  “She’s eager to speak with you. She has some very important information for you.”

  Rowan smirked. “How can she have information for me? She doesn’t even know me.”

  Mama Lune’s eyes grew very wide. “Oh my. You have no idea, do you?”

  A chill ran down Rowan’s spine. “What do you mean?”

  Mama Lune closed her eyes and tilted her head as if listening to distant music.

  “It is for Mama Tetri to tell you, my dear, and I’m afraid she is away just now—following the water. Dark days these are, do you not agree?”

  Rowan took a step back from the woman and nodded. “She’s a Bluewitch, isn’t she?”

  “Mmm.” Mama Lune nodded. “She water-witches. The water tells her things. Not my way, you understand. I could stand over a basin of water for a hundred years and not come away the wiser for it. Dirt is my business. But I’m sure even you know that.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Rowan said, ducking away from the woman, her fear turning to irritation.

  “You will come, then? When Mama Tetri returns, you will come and speak to her? I fear bad things may happen to you if you don’t.”

  Rowan turned and stared at Mama Lune. “Are you threatening me?” Rowan asked, doing her best not to seem intimidated.

  “I am simply relaying a message, my dear. Mama Tetri is your elder, and she has something she wishes to tell you. I suggest you come and hear her out.”

  “And why should I?” Rowan asked. “She may be my elder, but this woman is a stranger to me.”

  Mama Lune’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she gasped. “But you do not know even this, do you?”

  “Speak plainly,” Rowan snapped. “My patience is growing thin.”

  “Mama Tetri was your mother’s closest friend.” Rowan’s head went numb as she tried to take in the information. This could not be, she told herself, but the woman looked at her with utter seriousness. “It is true, my child. Your mother and her brother, Pimm, grew up with Mama Tetri. Your father never told you?”

  Rowan took a step away from the woman and shook her head. “You’re lying.”

  “I tell you the truth, my dear. Mama Tetri is your sooth-mere. She said sooth when your mother was pregnant with you. She has come to speak with you. That is a bond that must be honored.”

  Rowan jutted out her chin defiantly. “If she’s so eager to talk to me, why hasn’t she come by the house? Why must I come to her?”

  “She has called for you. It is you who must answer the call.”

  “No,” Rowan said. “This isn’t true. You’re lying. My mother wouldn’t have had sooth said while she was with child. She was a nonbeliever.”

  “Perhaps,” the witch purred, “your father only wants you to think she was a nonbeliever.”

  “Excuse me,” Rowan said, anger welling within her. “But I must be going.”

  “I look forward to seeing you, dear,” Mama Lune said with a cold smile.

  It was Emily who first noticed Arlene’s absence. She was used to sharing gossip in the mornings with the older lady, and since the death of Arlene’s husband, Emily had kept a protective eye over her. It had been a full day, and still she had not appeared in the village. Fearing she might be sick, Emily sent Onsie Best round to check on her while she and Rowan picked up bread for supper. The boy, who had been in the midst of skipping out on family chores when Emily had caught hold of him, was less than thrilled to have yet another thing to keep him from his favorite hobby of shooting at crows with his slingshot. Still, he was a good boy, and used to doing what he was told, so he went round to Arlene’s, hoping that whatever he found there wouldn’t provide much work for him.

  He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He knocked again before going around to look in the windows. There appeared to be no one home, though the curtains were drawn on the bedroom windows, so it was possible she had taken to her bed with sickness.

  “Fantastic,” Onsie grumbled as he climbed a tree so he might jump to her roof, and then down to a high window that he knew was easy to jimmy open because Arlene had had him do it once when she’d locked herself out. He pried the window open and then slid himself through, calling Arlene’s name all the while, half fearing he might give her a start, but even more afraid that he might see Arlene in some state of undress.

  He was in the hallway outside her closed bedroom door when he suddenly got the shivers. Something felt very wrong in that house, and for a moment, Onsie Best even thought about turning and running straight out the front door, but he knew he’d never live it down, so he swallowed his fear and opened the door to Arlene Blessing’s bedroom.

  Even from a hundred yards away, Rowan could hear his screams.


  Turning to Emily, her body stiff with fear, she grasped the other girl’s hand. “It’s happening again,” she said.

  Rowan dashed off in the direction of Arlene’s cottage, Emily fast on her heels. When Rowan reached the porch, she nearly crashed into Onsie Best rushing out, his face twisted in horror.

  “She’s dead,” he said, with lips that were turning pale blue. “It’s the most awful thing I’ve ever seen.” And with that, he promptly fainted.

  Emily, who had just reached the porch, breathless, crouched down and propped the boy’s head up on her knee, keeping an eye on Rowan. “Don’t you go in there.”

  But Rowan knew she had to. Without a thought for her own safety, she ran into Arlene’s house. She flew up the stairs and rounded the corner to Arlene’s room, but in the doorway she stopped abruptly.

  “Goddess,” she whispered, making the sign, and for a moment, she feared that she too might faint. Steeling herself, she moved to the body. The corpse was stark white, like a spider’s egg sac. An enormous bite had been taken out of what had once been Arlene’s neck.

  Stepping away from the body, Rowan surveyed the bedchamber. The windows were closed and bolted, the room undisturbed. It was as if Arlene had not had time to even put up a struggle.

  Suddenly the nape of Rowan’s neck prickled, and she had a terrible thought: what if whatever had done this was still in the house? How stupid of her to dash up there alone. Her eyes fell to the bath chamber, and for a second, she felt sure she heard breathing coming from inside. Holding her own breath, her heart beating like mad, she slowly backed out of the room, one foot behind the other until something grasped at her shoulder.

  Screaming, she turned to find Goi Tate glaring down at her.

  “What might you be doing here, little Rowan?” But then he saw the body and took a step away.

  Dr. Temper rounded the corner and upon taking in the sight of the room was moved to cover his mouth.

  “Oh, good Goddess.”

  Goi Tate, suddenly on his guard, moved about the room like a cat. He peered in the bath chamber and then out the window.