The Glass Casket

by Templeman, Mccormick

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” Jude said, smiling. “Mama Lune said that everyone can see magic, but that normal people like us aren’t used to looking for it. She said that if you look closely, you can see its aftereffects. She explained it’s like seeing smoke from a dying fire.”

  “And you believe her?” Rowan asked, leaning toward him.

  “I do,” he said.

  “Then I do too,” she said, and reaching out to him, she rested her hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to startle him, unsettle him even, and so she withdrew it as quickly as she’d placed it. “But what does it mean? If there is a Greywitch in Nag’s End, what does it mean?”

  Jude pulled his leg up to rest a shin on his knee. “If there is a Greywitch among us, it would explain a lot, but she said that just because she’d seen Grey magic here, doesn’t mean that the witch is here. It could have been a spell performed a great distance away that is nonetheless affecting us.”

  Rowan’s mind began working furiously. Standing, she began to pace. “If there was a Greywitch among us, would we be able to tell?”

  Jude frowned. “I don’t know. They are wicked souls, Rowan. Mama Lune says that if it is a Greywitch, that she wouldn’t risk coming into the village openly and being discovered, but really so little is known about their ways. They haven’t been active in any number for hundreds of years.”

  Rowan walked with careful steps, trying to make sense of it all. “So this creature, then—this beast I saw last night—do you think it is the work of a Greywitch? I was of the mind that there were two separate forces at work, but after seeing what I saw last night, I just don’t know. I mean, that monster must be the thing responsible for the deaths, right?”

  “I would think so,” Jude said, concentrating hard. “But if it wasn’t born of the Goddess—and let’s face it, Ro, the thing you saw last night was not—then it couldn’t very well cross the village boundary. It would be confined to the forest.”

  “But …” Rowan said, stopping in front of Jude. “But a Greywitch is born of the Goddess. A Greywitch could cross the boundary.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes growing wide. “Yes, it could.”

  “Jude,” she said. “I’m frightened.”

  “So am I,” he said.

  Out in the woods, Tom awoke to a harsh winter light. He was cold and alone. Shivering, he pulled himself up to stand, his head spinning. The sickness was starting to bore into him. Wrapping his coat around himself, he staggered through the trees. He needed to go home. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last bathed. Days were slipping away from him. There was only Fiona, and when she wasn’t beside him, taking a breath felt like inhaling razors, and walking sent pain tearing down his spine.

  He was nearly to the village barrier now. As he crossed it, the low rock wall remained the only thing between him and his parents’ inn. His head spinning, he brought his hands to his eyes, and that’s when he saw it. Blood. His hands were covered in it—stained red with it. Sticky, metallic blood.

  Horrified, he stumbled back, as if to escape himself, and tripping over a rock, he landed sprawled out in the snow. Quickly, he pulled himself up, and eyes darting this way and that, he slowly backed away from the inn—from his parents, from his people.

  He would return to the woods; he would find Fiona. She would help him. He didn’t know how the blood had gotten there. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he feared the worst, and there was no going home. Not anymore.

  That afternoon in the village square Rowan heard what was to be done with the glassblower. The elders had put forth their case, and the duke had decided. Seamus Flint was to be executed at dawn. The hangman’s hood had yet to be worn during Rowan’s short life, and she feared the spectacle the morrow would bring.

  Although she wanted justice for Fiona and Lareina, she knew that there could be no such thing. What was done could not be undone, and punishing the guilty could never fill the void the dead left behind.

  She took the long path home, and as the snow fell in shimmering waves, her thoughts lingered on Goi Flint. She wondered what it was that made one man go mad but left his brethren unscathed. The elders called madness the hunger moon disease, after the third moon of winter, when food was scarce and desperation often took hold. They maintained that right living could keep any man from it, but Rowan knew that a mind once rent at the seams could unspool in the most spectacular way—and once it was fully unwound, what remained could be as disparate as diamonds and snow.

  She paused at her gate and stared deep into the Black Forest. Somewhere out there was a monster, she knew. She’d seen it with her own eyes. And yet the beauty of the place continued to leave her breathless. It was such a shame the things beauty could conceal. Shaking her head, she passed through her gate and into her yard.

  That was when she remembered she’d need to fix supper. It seemed to her a cruel thing that she should be tasked with feeding everyone when she was the one grieving most. Every time she set foot in the kitchen, she thought of Emily, and her heart broke anew each time.

  But when she walked in that night, she found the duke chopping winter herbs, and a pot of something boiling on the stove. She tried to hide her surprise. He smiled at her, that glittering beam of white teeth, and she did her best to forget the strangeness that had occurred between them the other day.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  “Hello,” she said. “You’re making supper.”

  “I am. I don’t see why I oughtn’t pitch in.”

  “It’s very kind of you.”

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said, scooping the herbs into the pot of boiling liquid. “I offended you the other night. I did not mean to. I hope we can remain friends.”

  “Of course,” she said, relieved to have the tension cut between them. “I imagine I might have been snappish with you as well. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “You were right to rebuff me. Your place is here with your people. Let’s not speak of it again.”

  Smiling, she nodded, and then started into the dining room to set the table.

  Seamus Flint awoke in his cell to the sound of someone lightly giggling. He sat upright, a sweat breaking out along his hairline, as he was gripped by an overwhelming sense of terror.

  “Who’s there?” he gasped, and then he saw a figure in the shadows.

  “Hello,” replied a girl’s voice.

  He could just make out a silhouette in the darkness. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  The figure spoke to him as if he were a child. “It’s me. Fiona. I’ve come for a friendly visit.”

  He held up his hands to her, making the sign of the Goddess, but nothing happened. “You’re not Fiona. You’re a thing from hell is what you are.”

  She laughed again—a high, tinkling laughter that made him feel like he might be sick.

  “I’ve heard the news,” she said. “I’ve heard that they’re going to execute you, and I just can’t let that happen.”

  “You can’t?” he asked, and for a brief moment, he was moved to believe this demon crouching there in the darkness was there to help him.

  “No,” she said. “Not after what you tried to do to me … after what you did to Lareina.” Fiona paused for a moment, then continued, “I want you to tell me something.”

  “Anything,” he said, nodding.

  “You knew my father well, didn’t you? Back before you were drinking. You were young men together.”

  “Yes,” Seamus said, his voice quavering. “I knew him well.”

  “Tell me, why did you marry his wife? Why did you bring us here away from our home?”

  “To—to protect you,” he stammered.

  “And did you do that?”

  “I did,” he gasped.

  “Think again, dear stepfather. Is that what you did? Were you really trying to protect us?”

  “Okay,” he cried. “No. That’s not what I did. Your father, he received money
from here, from Nag’s End. From your uncle. I thought I could use the money, only it wasn’t … it wasn’t enough. But please, it wasn’t just that. I also protected you. You and your stepmother would have been destitute if I’d not stepped in.”

  “Ah,” she said. “And were you trying to protect me that night when you came into my room?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to. It was the liquor. It was only the liquor,” he said, shaking now, violent shudders surging through his body.

  “Poor Seamus,” she mocked, stepping into the light now. “You must be so cold. And so scared. Are you scared? Do I make you feel scared?”

  He looked away, afraid to see the creature that stood fully illuminated before him.

  “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me why Goi Rose was paying my father.”

  He shook his head, and then he felt a hand pull his jaw forward, a burning heat searing his face.

  “Answer me!” she screamed.

  “I don’t know,” he cried, still averting his eyes. “Please, I swear to you that I don’t know.”

  And then the hand released him. “I believe you,” she said, her voice sweet again, and he sighed with relief. “Now, we’re almost finished here, and then I’m going to save you. Do you understand? I want you to thank me.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Just one last thing,” she said. “I want you to look at me.”

  “No,” he wept. “I can’t do that. Please don’t make me.”

  “Look at me,” she commanded.

  Trembling, he looked up at her, and for a moment, she was the person he remembered—beautiful Fiona, an angel among girls. But then something went wrong. She began to change, and right before his eyes, she transformed into a monster, full of fury and hatred, filth and evil, and the last thing he remembered was the searing pain as her teeth tore into his flesh.

  Fiona hadn’t been in any of the usual places, and Tom had spent the day wandering, searching, and when night came, he could barely move for the cold that had gotten inside his bones.

  Night was slipping into morning when he finally found her. She was back in her fairy hollow, having stolen past him at some point. At first he was relieved to see her, but something was wrong. She was curled up in her nightgown, and it was covered in blood. It was everywhere, all over her body, all over her hands and face, and to her hair clung bits of flesh and bone.

  He rushed to her and took her into his arms.

  “My darling,” he cried. “My darling, are you hurt?”

  She looked up at him, clearly only just realizing he’d entered the space. “Tom.” She smiled, and he saw that her teeth were stained pink.

  “What’s happened to you?”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “I was hoping you’d come.”

  He searched her body for wounds, but he found nothing.

  Reaching for him, she clung to him and wept. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, his head swimming, knowing that whatever was happening, there probably wasn’t a way that it could ever be okay.

  Gathering water from the basin, and a cloth soft as petals, he started to wipe the blood away. Stroke by stroke he worked, the ivory of her skin beginning to peek out from underneath. When he had finished, he helped her change into a white shift he discovered under a blanket in the corner, and then he led her to the little bed she had made for herself. For an instant, he was startled to see something on top of the bed, something white and smeared with blood. His heart stalled for a moment before he realized it was only a stuffed lamb. Fiona, barely looking at him, climbed under the covers, and gripping the stuffed animal to her chest like a child might, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  15. JUDGMENT

  THE NEXT MORNING, Jude returned from his hunt to find his father discussing something with his mother.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, and his father nodded, then apparently thinking better of it, he looked at his wife and shook his head.

  “No, everything’s not all right,” Elsbet said. Standing, she placed her hands on the table in front of her and stared down her oldest son. “What is going on with your brother? He’s not coming home at night. Where is he sleeping, Jude? I know that you know.”

  Jude raised his hands in the air. “Leave me be. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

  “He’s lying,” she said, and stalked out of the room.

  When Jude was alone with his father, the older man looked at him with pained eyes. “You mustn’t mind her.”

  “I don’t,” he said, not wanting to discuss his mother. “But, Father, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Henry Rose’s wife, what was her name?”

  His father thought for a moment. “Brigid. A lovely woman. Tall and beautiful, with a kind face she was. A sad thing, her death.”

  “Did you know her?” Jude asked, taking a seat opposite him.

  “No. Not more than to say hello. They weren’t here long before she died.”

  “Do you know where she came from—what province?”

  “I don’t.” His father looked at him with curious eyes. “Why all the questions?”

  “Mama Tetri, the Bluewitch staying with Mama Lune, have you ever seen her in Nag’s End before?”

  His father nodded. “I have. Water witches tend to roam. I’m sure she’s been through here a couple of times at least.”

  “Do you remember when?” His father shook his head, so Jude went on. “Do you think it’s possible that she might have come through when Rowan’s mother was pregnant?”

  Wilhelm seemed to think for a moment, then squinted. “Aye. I think so. Yes. Well, Brigid wasn’t pregnant anymore; she’d already gone to the Goddess during childbirth. Your mother and I missed the rites because Tom was quite ill.” He held a hand to his heart. “I still remember that like it was yesterday. Here he was just walking, just starting to get his sea legs, when all of a sudden he can’t lift himself up. Couldn’t even crawl or move his head. Came on like a summer storm it did. We had to call Mama Lune. She said he’d caught an ill wind, and she fixed him up. We thought he was going to die, but she had him right in a few days’ time. But yes,” he said, confusion lining his face. “I remember the Bluewitch was with her. She played with you while the rest of us tended to Tom. Goddess, am I glad you boys are grown, and those days are gone—those days when you were small enough to die from a hint of wind.”

  Jude’s father stopped, his face suddenly overtaken by sadness, and Jude knew that his father was thinking of how Tom was once again in danger. Both of them knew it, whether they wanted to admit it to themselves or not. And then something occurred to Jude.

  “Father,” he said, trying to piece it together. “You say that Tom was walking when Rowan’s mother died in childbirth?”

  “He was.”

  “So he must have been around a year?”

  “Just about.”

  “But Rowan is three months older than Tom,” he said, and the words seemed to stretch out in the air, distancing the space between father and son, and then the man winced and looked away.

  “I … I must be remembering things wrong. My mind, you know, it isn’t what it once was,” he said, moving to stand. Jude reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

  “Father, please. I need to know.”

  “It was so long ago,” he said, looking away. “I’ve probably said too much already. Just let it go.”

  “Please. It might help me help Tom.”

  Wilhelm bowed his head and sighed, defeated. “There was another child after Rowan. A stillbirth. Went when the mother went.”

  Jude sat stunned. “But why lie about something like that?”

  His father’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I just did what I was asked.”

  “Asked of you by whom?”

  “Henry Rose, of course.”

  Jude frowned, trying
to understand what it could mean. “But what purpose could such a lie serve?”

  “I don’t know, Jude. Your mother was the one to speak with him,” his father said, sadness in his eyes. “I’m just telling you what she told me. I’m an honest man. You know that. But a grieving father—a widower at that—shows up with a request, you do as he asks. So what if he doesn’t want his little Rowan to know she had a dead brother or sister? So what?”

  “You didn’t think it odd?”

  “I don’t know that I thought much about it,” he said, his voice straining. “That’s women’s business, for the most.” He paused and looked down at his hands. “He also made a donation to the tavern.”

  “A donation?”

  “Out of gratitude for our silence.”

  Jude leaned back in his chair and shook his head. He wasn’t sure what Henry Rose was up to, but he was sure now that he didn’t trust the man. He was about to question his father more, but the tavern doors burst open, and Goi Tate bounded in. His face was mottled, his eyes wide.

  “It’s Seamus,” Goi Tate said, his voice shaking. “Something … something’s got to him.”

  Jude had been shocked by the gruesomeness of the previous deaths, but they were nothing compared to what had been done to Goi Flint. While the creature had drained most of the blood from the two women, it had not seen to treat Goi Flint with such kindness. Beside him, Jude could hear his father gasp, feel his mother swoon. To say that the scene in the gaol was carnage would be to miss its true horror, because carnage brings to mind images of a quick death such as a fall from a great height or a swift blow to the back of the head. What had happened to Goi Flint had been slow and exact, and it was inaccurate to say that there was much bloodshed because it seemed that there had been nothing but bloodshed.

  The duke, who had been called as soon as the remains were found, shook with disbelieving horror as he stared at the scene.

  “It looks like he’s been turned inside out,” Tak was able to say before he vomited onto the toes of his boots.

  Dr. Temper looked pained. “I daresay he was skinned alive.”