Castle of Sighs

by Jennifer Murgia

  “Der Unsegen,” she mutters.

  I steal a glance at the helpless wonder in my arms. How dare she? How dare she ruin this by bringing up the curse? Beyond the window to the chamber, darkness floods the land. The longest day has been swallowed by the night and the maids rush to light the candles. A hush washes over the others’ lips, yet the midwife continues her chant. She knows what the others do not, frightening them enough that they back away, pressing themselves against the chamber wall. Some slip into the hall, leaving altogether. And on she murmurs.

  “The child was cursed. Let it sleep eternally now, where it belongs.”

  There is an unsettling pall over the room as she lifts her gaze toward the open window where the eclipse is but a shimmering ring in the heavens. “Evil Child,” she whispers harshly, and I hug the pale infant closer to my chest, keeping my vow that I would protect it always.

  “Enough!” The frail woman upon the bed yells unexpectedly, sending the others scattering.

  But the midwife stays, staring at the child in my arms with desperate black eyes. “The ruin will come. I’ve seen it!” she murmurs.

  “My Lady.” Adelaide tries to comfort her as the midwife’s accusations reach a feverish pitch.

  But the midwife has already said too much. Adelaide’s trembling caution consumes her as our Lady sits up upon the bed. With the child nestled safely in the crook of my elbow, I inch my body away from the edge of the blood-soaked bed. Adelaide’s concern is tangible. She knows not to intervene, watching quietly as the child’s mother swings her feet over the mattress and sets them upon the floor, standing before us all, steady and strong. The midwife, whose name I’d never learned, is wide-eyed. For all the women she’s attended, I have no doubt this one is the only one to move about so quickly after a birth. My Lady’s shift streams crimson. She has only moments to gather the strength she needs—and it is enough. Her arm sweeps in a wide arc.

  All goes quiet.

  The air is a shuddering current, a lightning bolt striking with invisible rage. The woman before me drops to her knees, suddenly begging for forgiveness. Had she known what her accusations would bring upon her, she never would have opened her mouth. But it is too late. The chamber door opens slowly then slams shut, hard enough that the wood splinters and scatters to the floor. A shriek from one of the maids, and Adelaide cowers over my shoulder at the gathering darkness that thickens the air.

  The darkness invades the room, snuffing the light from around us. But the ebony sky outside the window is no match for the hovering mass that approaches the bedchamber. It undulates and swirls, wreaking havoc, until it disappears beneath my Lady’s skin. Her fingers clench at the sudden power raging through her body, and then, she hurls an unseen storm toward the penitent woman.

  There is no time to beg for mercy. No time for her to scream.

  Instead, the midwife casts one final glance at the babe in my arms and crumples to the ground in a pile of ash. The remaining chambermaids stare in horrified silence, but Adelaide, the good girl that she is, knows what needs to be done, and fetches the broom from the corner.

  “Wait,” I tell her. “Give the ashes to me.”

  In a small bowl, I carefully collect the ashes, pushing from my mind that just moments ago the fine particles belonged to a living, breathing woman. Adelaide watches closely. So many questions are in her eyes but she does as I ask of her, cutting a thick cluster of hair from her scalp and placing it in the bowl. My Lady rests upon the bed, the magick nearly taking from her what she stole of the midwife. I twist the birth blood from the linens and let it drip upon the ashes, then mark the child’s body in runes with the gritty paste, infusing a spell, evoking the darkness and the light.

  And then, the child cries out. She is perfect. With rosebud lips she coos quietly in my arms.

  “Has she a name, My Lady?” An older maid asks. “Her name will be Leise.” I am the one to answer, knowing of my Lady’s wish long before the others, and ignore the strange looks the chambermaids shoot toward me. There is a mixture of envy and relief that I have been hand-chosen to serve as this little one’s nursemaid.

  In long, rhythmic sweeps, Adelaide brushes the remaining ashes into the hearth and disposes of them, a small dust cloud billowing against the logs. With a flick of my fingers, a blaze ignites. The room grows quiet and the maids set about their tasks, cleaning up before leaving us in peace.

  “You shall be a great Lady one day, my child.” I whisper softly to the baby as she falls asleep in my arms.

  Adelaide returns the broom to its place and says nothing at all.

  Chapter 31

  “It’s time you learned,” I tell Leise. Just shy of her fifth birthday, she already shows promise of becoming a great witch like her mother. Yesterday she showed me how to summon the birds nesting in the trees closest to the forest’s edge. To my wonder, they perched on her tiny finger the moment she called for them.

  Her tiny nose wrinkles as I lead her down the passageway. “It is damp here,” I tell her. “See how the stones collect the water from the ground the further we descend beneath the castle?”

  I let her trace her tiny finger along the large gray stones. To my surprise she does not ask about the musty odor. I am glad of it. It saves me from telling her about the bones.

  I carry her down the tight, winding staircase, deeper into the dark, until we are at the sacred room. Adelaide is already inside, preparing the herbs we will use to Cast protection around Pyrmont. Word has made its way to the villages that the Lady weaves a most questionable magick, and it appears it is not a favorable attribute.

  Adelaide acknowledges my presence. She curtseys a bit, though not as deeply as when our Lady enters the room, then continues about her work, but I do not miss the way her eyes narrow once she sees Leise poke around my legs. I have taught Adelaide much these last few years, but now that I have begun to prepare Leise, as her mother has asked, I am aware of the envious seed that has been planted in Adelaide’s heart. Still, she smiles at the girl and acts as if I am none the wiser to how she truly feels—but Adelaide has always held a spiteful streak in her. It is something I’d noticed immediately, but I knew that, if she used her lessons wisely, she could honor the Mother one day without the need for witch blood in her veins.

  “Have you stored the Black Henbane properly?” I’ve only recently allowed her to handle the poisonous herbs, hoping to temper her ever-growing resentment with something that requires absolute trust and experience.

  “I have.” She nods and goes about her task.

  I keep Leise at a distance from Adelaide, who carefully secures layers of thick cloth atop a glass jar and wraps a length of twine around its neck. Black Henbane is among the most poisonous I keep in the collection, so much so that merely inhaling the flowers will cause one to become giddy and forget themself. I’ve asked the Lady of Pyrmont not to keep it, but she insists, and so it has fallen to me to teach Adelaide to respect its potency, knowing she has a gift for the Craft.

  “What am I learning today, Mutti?” Leise climbs upon the wooden stool at the altar.

  “You must call me Matilde, my child.” I encourage her. “You have a mother.”

  Little Leise looks hurt by my scolding, but it is important for her to know the position I keep here. I pinch her cheeks until they glow pink, just so she knows I am not angry with her. I am more mother to her than my Lady, it is true, and the child has come to own a place within my heart as I do in hers.

  Her eyes are large saucers at the difference this room’s appearance is from the rest of the castle. It is like a magical world here, deep in the belly of Pyrmont. “This room was your grandmother’s before it was your mother’s, and so it one day shall be yours, for the witch blood runs red and true throughout your soul.”

  “Mother says I will be a great witch one day. Do you believe her? Matilde?” she asks me again, pulling me from the thoughts that have borrowed me.

  I let my hand caress her hair, feeling the fine curls gathered
at her brow. While I care for her deeply, I often refrain from touching her. I am so afraid…

  “I do.”

  A smile curls at her tiny mouth. “Why doesn’t my mother teach me?”

  Leise plays with a collection of small bones lying atop the table and I struggle with how best to answer her, knowing Adelaide is within earshot of our little talk.

  “Your mother is busy with her duties as Lady. Pyrmont is very large, you know.”

  This seems to suffice, so I quickly add, “You will learn all I know, my Schätzchen. What my mother handed down to me, I will hand down to you. And then when my Lady has time, and you are older, she will add to your lessons. Will you be ready for such a task?”

  It is so easy to forget she is just a child for she holds such a wise expression about her and seems to understand with ease what I tell her. I give her a slate and show her how to trace the runes. “See how they curve? Let your hand sweep up and over.” But Leise soon grows bored of tracing and slips from her stool, inching toward the cabinet I save for times that call for darker magick. It is a cabinet I dare not visit too often, and I save it for my Lady’s work.

  She stands in front of it, not speaking, but simply studying it.

  And then the cabinet opens.

  I sense Adelaide’s head turn, watching, measuring what is unfolding before us. Adelaide steps closer. Like me, she is well aware of what the cabinet holds. Even more, she is acutely reserved at how it has opened—knowing, as I do, that Leise holds great power for one so young and untrained.

  Leise reaches inside. My mouth is a taut line as I picture her little-girl fingers exploring the shadowy confines of the shelves. In my head, I already hear her delightful squeal and then, the grim scream at what lies inside, but she exhibits neither, and it leaves me breathless. I watch her pull the severed head of a rabbit from its hiding place, her face an inquisitive canvas. I cannot help but tremble. She’s found the offering her mother has saved for the Horned One, and she turns to smile at me—her lips curling in a sneer that does not fit on one so young.

  I smile because it’s what I’m supposed to do, all the while feeling Adelaide’s stare upon my back.

  When we are alone I will reassure Adelaide that this is to be expected. If Leise is to reign one day, she must be one hundred percent capable. I will not, however, tell Adelaide my deepest fears, how I refrain from allowing myself to grow close to a child. It is the way of the darker side of the Craft that causes this feeling inside me. The Craft my Lady prefers to dabble in, under the approving watch of the darkness that witnessed Leise’s birth.

  Chapter 32

  Shadows bleed across the stones as we ascend to the upper floors of the castle. Up a winding staircase and through an endless corridor, we walk by candlelight until we reach the end of the hall where the kitchen door stands open. A young nursemaid waits patiently, ready to whisk Leise off for her evening bath while I stay behind, warming my hands by the fire.

  The young child clings to me for but a second, and I allow my hand to touch her silken hair atop her head. Her mother, I sense, is oblivious to how she grows—merely waiting for her to reach an age where she will truly be of use to her, and I detect that little Leise knows this. It is no wonder she attaches herself to me, for in a castle such as Pyrmont, there is only darkness and magick, rarely affection.

  Adelaide lingers in the passage door.

  “Come sit by the fire, girl.”

  She is apprehensive but shuffles forth, and seats herself upon the very edge of the bench closest to the burning logs.

  “Now, tell me, what bothers you so?”

  Adelaide keeps silent. Fiddling her fingers along the edge of her apron, I know she purposely holds in what I have detected all along, but it will do no good for me to tell her I already know she is jealous of Leise. She works to please until her bones ache, spending hours attending our Lady’s every need, every whim. Pointing out this flaw would destroy her. And while her life here is far better than if she were to have been thrown to the mercy of the Black Forest, she is unhappy.

  I look into the burning fire and whisper a spell of calm to soothe her, invoking the heat to blanket her worry. It is a simple spell—one that will not only set her at ease, but will allow her lips to spill the truth of why she suffers so. “You know I am grateful, Matilde,” she whispers and I am pleased that the charm takes effect so quickly. “You are like a mother to me, and had I been born yours, I would be of more use to you.”

  Her frank words clutch at my heart. I turn to her and place my hand upon her honey-colored hair. I dare not do this too often, for it is far too perilous, but in this tender moment I can pretend, feeling it, just this once, what it might be like to lay my hands upon someone innocent, someone in need of comfort. Adelaide must have seen the rare moment of tenderness I showed toward Leise, and it must tug at her heart that she is very alone in this world.

  My soul releases a tremendous sigh. “You are more important than you’ll ever know, my dear. Have you no idea the extent of all I’ve shared with you? That out of all the other girls within these walls, it is you I trust most?”

  She lifts her face and a little smile escapes.

  “No one else has stepped foot inside the chamber. No one has ever dared. Our Lady has relied on my expertise in the Craft and has left it to me to allow you privy to our secrets.”

  “You think I am brave, then?” Adelaide’s eyes are alit with a hopeful gleam, and I move my hand to touch the space between her brows.

  “Indeed I do. You show tolerance for the Craft. You honor it as if it is your own.”

  This pleases the girl greatly, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with the need to share a most dire secret. This moment feels pivotal, more so than any other I’ve ever shared with her and the moment I do, I know her envy toward Leise will vanish.

  “Come, there is something I’d like to show you.” I gather my skirts and Adelaide’s delicate hand and lead her to the murky stairs. We climb until our legs burn with exertion and our hearts beat like tiny wings. From the pocket of my dress I produce the skeleton key she’s seen many times before, and I insert it into the lock of a great wooden door.

  “Our Lady’s birthing chamber?”

  “This key not only opens the chamber below, but this tower.” With a twist there is a simple click, and the door scrapes open. Inside is the small round room, closed off from the world with thick velvet drapes that are the color of a bleeding heart. It stands empty now. No bed. No maids. No more ashes in the hearth. The only reminder of that night is the broom in the corner. Upon the wide-planked floor is a circle drawn in black tar and around that, a white smear of salt.

  “What is this?”

  “I’m going to entrust a grave secret to you, Adelaide. One so dire, you must never tell another soul. For if you do, it will be with repercussions so great, you’ll wish for death.”

  Her eyes widen at my bold warning. I’ve never been so harsh with her, not even while witnessing her jealousy or her childlike clumsiness during her lessons. I’ve only ever been patient with her and now I know why. It has all led to this.

  “Do you feel it?” I ask her.

  I watch as her face tries to decipher what I’ve asked, then register a strange presence. She nods slowly.

  “I serve the Sacred Mother,” I begin. “She is light and purity and forgiveness, but make no mistake—there is something very dark at work here. And I fear for all of Pyrmont for it grows stronger, and it watches, especially when our Lady and Leise are near.”

  I step over the threshold, careful not to invade the circles, and I feel her eyes follow me.

  “This castle’s stones are so very old,” I sigh. “They hold secrets, whispers, sighs of days we can never get back—of mistakes and sacrifice, love and anger, even vengeance. I dare not ask the Mother to let me see all that it hides. I don’t dare.” I pause to gauge her reaction, remembering she is only a girl and not to reveal too much. “My own mother warned me of such darkness, raisi
ng me to serve the white magick she and those before her had always followed.”

  “What is this darkness?” she asks meekly.

  I shake my head. “We must be careful in venturing too close to see what it is; only know that it does exist, and it is very, very old.” I step closer to comfort her. “Oh, Adelaide, I’ve seen the shadows in your eyes. I know you are angry at your own mother for leaving you behind, at how I dote upon our Lady’s daughter when you, too, need comforting, but you mustn’t give in to such feelings. They are poison! That poison can cause the most terrible outcomes.”

  I swallow hard, take in her alarmed eyes, and then I tell her. “The family of this castle is of a strong line of witches. Only the daughters are blessed with the most powerful magick. Pyrmont has been their home for centuries, its stones soaked in births and blood and spells. Without a daughter, the legacy dies.”

  Quiet settles around us. “My own mother served the Lady of Pyrmont, years before the Lady I serve now.” Each time I let my eyes slip to the circle I see the night my mother told me she feared a peculiar darkness hovered over the castle, so vivid and unbidden, like a ghostly shadow. “Even then, it was as if all the magick conceived in the chamber below drew it out from the shadows. With each daughter, it seems to venture closer, intrigued, enchanted. Now, I fear it is too close, but I will not break my vow to protect Leise, always.”

  Adelaide’s small frame slinks back against the wall. Her face pales in the shadows as she accepts the gravity of what I’ve told her. I fear it is too much for her young soul to carry.

  I have made a mistake, and I step closer, instinctively wanting to shield her from this terrible new knowledge I’ve just given her.

  “You should have let the child die, as the midwife wanted.”

  “No, Adelaide,” I let a soothing smile find its way to my eyes to offer some sort of comfort. “Allowing the line to wither would never stop this. We need magick to banish it.”