by Emma Coal
Grace stayed on her rock for a while. Her eyes were better than most and she watched the two men and the little boat disappear. She scented the air, smelling fresh fish. Only when she was sure it was safe did she descend and approach the bag. She opened it carefully. The bag was filled with fresh fish, whiting, each the length of her forearm.
Grace stared pensively out at the water and sighed. That was the only time when her oddness had ever served her well. Perhaps she should have left long ago. Perhaps she was suited to dangerous situations and not to homemaking. Instead of the thought making her sad she began to feel a smidge of pride.
She might have a place in the world yet. Though she’d considered herself a young lady, complete with all of the requirements and restrictions, caution around strange men, the necessity of marriage, she realized that she might not be so constrained. Grace made a fire and cooked the fish, chuckling throatily as she ate. She’d chased villains away. She was feeling better and better about this journey.
The meal done she settled down for a nap, making the best of it upon one of the rocks. As she lay staring up at the sky, the edge of the cliffs cutting a crescent through the stars, she turned towards the other side of the bay her eyes refusing to shut. Finally, she rolled over off of her perch and scramble down the rocks overcome with curiosity. She felt that there was something interesting in the caverns on the other side of the cops. It was probably for something in the caves that the two fishermen had come.
This curiosity burning inside her, Grace crept along the beach in her bare feet, heedless of the water that lapped against her toes. A regular person would be unable to see and, while Grace had keener senses than the average maiden, in this particular case, she was driven by her particularly strong sixth sense.
The sea had crept further up the beach and she knew that by morning most of the cops would be submerged, save the largest rocks or highest piled rocks, a few cliff outcroppings and, of course, several of the caverns
She reached the other side and quickly scaled the rocks, callused hands and nimble feet being put to use and her sack securely wrapped around an arm. At the top of the pile was the first cavern. As she knew there was nothing of note within, she began to climb up the cliffs. The caverns were more or less stacked and of the same dark rock that lay scattered around. Crags and hand holds abounded. It seemed the rocks had formed by the same mechanism that the caverns had.
By the time Grace reached the top and what she thought was the fifth cavern, she gone a good ways up the cliff. She slipped inside the opening and retrieved her flint from a dress pocket to light a small stick of driftwood she’d retrieved earlier. The flame caught and cast flickering light upon the cavern and Grace felt pleased with herself, a throaty chuckle beginning in the back of her throat. She had been right.
The cops and its little beach were not as rarely visited as she had thought, at least they hadn’t always been. There had been others. There was a mattress fashioned of rags, a small fire pit and a variety of bags. The rags were musty and the bags were yellowed, she didn’t know if it was from age or weather or how much of it was the flickering torch light.
The drift wood began to smoke more, stinging her eyes and Grace finally gave in, exhaustion overcoming her half-sated curiosity. She curled up on the rag bed and blew out the torch. She was safe enough for the time being.
Chapter Ten: Bronze
Fires roared in many rooms, doors lay open or unlocked and treasures littered every corner, mostly antique furniture though Johan did encounter a number of bronze figurines of many shapes and sizes. A group arranged upon a table caught his fancy. Unable to help himself, he picked up one of an eagle perched on a piece of driftwood. It fit neatly into his hand, the weight impressive for such a small thing. He set it down and examined the others. A song bird, a bat and even a cat, not a crouching tiger or an exotic beast, just a small house cat. Despite the commonplace subject, Johan stared at the tiny bronze eyes of the little malkin and flinched. He found the creature to be far to real in form and gaze.
In that moment, Johan remembered why he was where he was, that he had daughters waiting for him to come home in a few days and that there was something horribly important about returning on time.
“Grace,” Johan gasped. He hurried to the window and looked outside. Fog hid nearly all detail and all he could see were shadows. He tried the latch but it was stuck fast. He grabbed one of the figurines and prepared to throw but then thought better of it.
The window wasn’t made up of large panes of glass rather several small rectangles and the frame in which the panes of glass were suspended was made of the same thick metal as the latch. He doubted that destroying a pane of glass would allow him to exit. Besides, he was an old man and his days of climbing out of windows were far behind him, if they’d ever been.
Johan left the room and explored the house with new urgency. He’d already been though many rooms but it had been with the intense focus of a museum goer or a shopper, not with the hurried gaze of someone desperate to find an exit.
He eventually came to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Unlike the other doors within the house which had opened easily, the latches on these would not budge and the metal was strangely cold. The old fellow collapsed against the cool molding and did his best to catch his breath, letting out several weak gasps. After he’d gathered himself he managed to stand again filled with new conviction.
He turned to the nearest accessible room and entered. This one was more sparsely decorated, having only a small table with a drawer and a delicate china vase with violets painted on one side. Reluctantly, Johan picked up the vase. He considered it for a moment and then set it down carefully. He regarded the windows of the room which were as sturdily made as the rest. With a grunt he grabbed the small table and swung it towards the window.
The house took action and Johan collapsed. The china vase shattered on impact but, as if time was going backwards, its pieces collected themselves and it reformed entirely. The rug rose up to catch the old man and carefully transported him into the hall, his body suspended a few inches off the floor. There the scarlet runner took over the duty. The little room was again returned to darkness as the door closed behind Johan. Within, both the little table and the china vase stood exactly where they had been before.
On the other side of the great double doors the beast listened for a few more moments and then turned away. He strode through the desolate space picking up speed until he fell onto all fours. He dove off the balcony gracefully, landing silently in the grounds below.
Beside the thorny rose bush perimeter and on the cool heather, the creature curled up with his tail over his nose. Here he could sleep, well away from all the noise and annoyance. Water droplets settled upon his thick pelt and he appeared to be merely a hulking statue, not a living and breathing predator. The mist swirled around him, masking him completely, save when he stirred. Even then, an observer would be hard pressed to figure on what kind of beast it was which slept cloaked in grey.
Chapter Eleven: Gold
Grace stretched and blinked against the shaft of sunlight which had shot across her face. She sat up and brushed her skirts off then let out a small sneeze at the dust she stirred up with the motion. She looked around curiously. The cavern was still only dimly lit but she could see a lot more than the night before. What she saw was intriguing. Towards the back, bags and boxes and all manner of containers lined the walls.
She poked around. Many of the things, the jars especially, were filled with preserved comestibles, fish and vegetables and one quite distressing container of globular things that, after examining with some trepidation, she realized was a container of pickled eggs. They well preserved and perhaps still edible but that didn’t mean she wanted to try.
Grace set aside the foodstuffs and went on to the boxes and bags. She came across a few sheaves of papers which she studied. She thought that they might be in Cornish. A second sheaf was definitely in French. Bored, she moved on
. The next container was a small chest about the size of her trinket chest at home. She picked it up, surprised at the weight, and set it in her lap. There was a lock on the little chest but it was rusted so when she jiggled the latch a bit, it came loose easily enough.
She tipped the little box open and peered inside. It seemed like she’d found another trinket box with little figures and chains and rings and coins. A shaft of light fell upon the box from somewhere above and Grace’s heart stopped. The trinkets shone brightly . Red and green and blue stones glittered and gold settings glowed warmly.
Though she was certain she was alone, Grace peered around the cavern and then back down at the box. She hugged it to her chest and chuckled quietly. These things had belonged to someone but they’d really help her and perhaps her sisters as well. There was no debate on what to do.
She took a ball of twine from her bag and wrapped the little chest up securely so that it didn’t fall open. She took another one of the burlap bags and wrapped the box in that as well. Though it tore and threatened to fall apart it was mostly for softening any blows. She went to the mouth of the cave considered the climb down to the beach below.
With a shake of her head, she decided not to risk it and went to the back of the cave to find the source of the light shaft. The open cavern became more of a corridor once she’d passed the last of the forgotten supplies and bits and bobs. The floor began to slope upward as the cavern continued to narrow.
Even for her it began to be a tight fit but she took a deep breath and worked her way through on all fours, ignoring any hard edges and the small rocks which scored her hands. Finally, she reached the beginning and managed to push herself through the heather and up to the surface, dragging her bag behind her.
Grace stood near the cliffs edge and brushed little leaves and dust out of her hair. She shook herself a little and brushed herself off yet again. Unsurprisingly, spelunking wasn’t very clean. She looked around the Moore and sniffed the air, scenting sea and green but also something else.
To the south along the coast she noticed that part of the cliffs was enveloped in grey. That was strange. She’d never been up on the cliffs during the day and hadn’t noticed the phenomenon before. She walked towards the mass. It looked like a dangerous place where a horse would bolt and an old man would get lost. Grace quickened her pace. She hoped he was alright. She hoped she would be also because nothing about walking into the fog seemed a good idea.
When Grace reached the area, it was as if she’d walked into a wall. The fog was so thick she swore she could feel it pressing against her. She pushed on, careful of her footing. Fortunately, her thin slippers allowed her to feel the uneven ground, part of the reason she wore them instead of boots.
She didn’t try to see into the grey, instead keeping her head down and walking along with assurance, aware of the nothing that seemed to loom before her but not actively trying to perceive anything else that might be there. In this manner, she continued for a while. Within the fog, light seemed not to penetrate to any meaningful degree and she was uncertain of the passage of time. It was quite disconcerting but also, in a perplexing way, soothing.
Grace glimpsed something at the edge of her gaze and blinked, stopping dead in her tracks. She turned slowly and examined a floating blue light. As she watched, it bounced and danced and was followed by several more of its fellows, bobbing and dancing as if to an unheard jig and forming into a curving line.
Grace batted at one of the balls but it darted out of her reach. Unperturbed, she continued through them on the path she’d chosen which was just a little off from the way they seemed to be trying to direct her.
The will-o’-the-wisps fell out of line and came back to her, this time spinning around her head. Obligingly she turned around with them but soon she lost interest and resumed her journey. She paused, sniffed the air and reoriented away from the salty tang of the beach. After a few moments, the lights stilled and then faded away.
“You can’t confuse me,” said Grace casually into the fog, careful to maintain her path and keep her footing.
Right after her utterance she nearly ran into a tree. She flinched but straightened then stubbornly continued walking with no change in orientation whatsoever. She felt the branches brush against her hair and grab at her shoulders but no trunk smacked against her temple and no bark tore at her face. She wondered what was next. Yellow pinpoints appeared hovering close together ahead. The pinpoints widened becoming orbs each about the size of an egg with a deeper slit of orange from the top to the bottom. Grace realized they were eyes. At the instant of that realization, a howl rang out.
Despite herself, Grace recoiled, her eyes roving nervously around. She wanted to huddle down as low as possible and wait until she was sure of her safety, or to come back the way she had come. She wanted to feel secure and hidden. She fought not to go back and find the tree, watching the eyes for movement or sign of attack.
A thunderous growl rumbled through the blurred landscape. Grace felt her throat tighten and the familiar bizarre vocalizations that she usually tried to suppress began to build up. Since it had worked before, she didn’t fight it. She opened her mouth and screamed wildly, her cry far from human.
The growling stopped but the eyes remained. Grace glared and continued on, walking directly through the apparition. Inwardly her terror remained but she felt she had to keep on her path and trust her instincts.
Nothing happened. No teeth. No growling. No brush of bristly fur against her body. There was nothing there. She had been right. Her treacherous heart kept on beating raucously in her chest. No enemy was faint comfort because it meant she had to anticipate meeting one later.
There would be an enemy, she was certain and it would be large and furry and full of teeth. It would possess gleaming eyes and have a cry like murder on the air. Her body wanted to experience every ounce of fear she was going to feel, right then, but she refused to let it.
Grace took one more step but instead sagged to the damp ground. She sighed and rubbed her shaking legs and arms, hugging herself in the process. The dress she wore was meant for spring and the thin material was soaked right through due to the mist. He limbs were heavy. She opened her sack and rummaged around inside it, eventually pulling out a wrapped parcel which seemed promising. She sniffed it and her spirits lifted. Cook had made her something nice for the journey.
She untied the parcel and unwrapped the small chicken. As she tore into the poultry, she idly wondered exactly which of the smug hens she was eating. Perhaps the hens were not so paranoid but then again cook caught and prepared the birds and the entire family ate them, so Grace was the last one they could blame for their eventual fate.
Grace wrapped the bones and bits of flesh in the napkin they’d come in and looked up to find the little lights back, glowing blue and hovering mostly stationary, watching her. She regarded them and then stood, walking past them with her head high and her shoulders proudly back. They didn’t deserve acknowledgement after the wolf scare. She stopped suddenly, wondering something, and pulled out the case and the little silver mirror. She stared into it and asked silently “where is my father?”
The mirror clouded, showing the fog and she wondered if it wouldn’t work then the fog thinned and she could see inside a window. Through the panes she could see into a room where her father lay on a bed, fast asleep. The mirror took on a blue tint and Grace frowned, glaring up at the voyeuristic will-o’-the-wisps.
Again the lights crowded around her as she continued to walk but then, to her surprise they darted forward and lined up, making a path. Grace hesitated but realized that the path they outlined was exactly the path she had chosen to walk. Her opinion of the little effervescent spheres changed. Perhaps, she thought, they were eager to be rid of her father and knew from the mirror that she was searching for him.
It was a comforting thought and she hoped she was right because it meant that no more shocks would occur on her journey to the place she was going, though she w
asn’t entirely sure where it was or what to expect when she arrived.
Grace’s casual observation of the scenery finally yielded results. She could see something, though she didn’t believe it at first. Not another tree but something much more significant. Something loomed in the grey, not a figure but a building that stretched up at least three floors. As she got closer to it the shape became more defined and there was no doubt, she’d found her destination.
Grace quickened her pace, her chest welling up with relief. She was almost through the miasma and would soon see her father. Everything would be as it should be. She was so excited she didn’t see the other shape resolve from the mist, rising up ahead of her. The creature outlined was nearly as tall as her and far wider.
Chapter Twelve: Stone
Grace woke to the crackle of leaves and the sharp ache of something in her back. She shifted annoyed and one leg lost purchase, kicking into empty space. She cried out in surprise and gripped the rough trunk, her bare breast scrapping painfully against the bark. She was in a tree. She looked around the base of the tree as best she could. It seemed there was nothing on the ground save the vague outline of a flattish, indistinct lump immediately below. She hoped desperately that the lump was her frock.
She scented the air. There was nothing around but she knew there had been something and it had smelled big and…unusual. She didn’t know what it had been but she began to shiver thinking about it, not from the cold this time though she was certainly that, but from the creature. She didn’t like it. She didn’t know what it was but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She wondered if she was feeling the way others usually felt about her.
Grace shimmied down the tree without concern for the coarseness against her inner thighs. She would probably be bruised and scuffed but it didn’t much matter since no one would see, one of the advantages of being unmarried, she supposed. She slipped into her dress and stared at the still looming building.
