by Mary Ting
Weaving around people, I shoved through bodies to look at the merchandise in show windows or handcarts. People stood shoulder to shoulder, bargaining. At last I arrived at the hatter and went inside.
The owner turned my way when the door slammed shut. I glanced at the wall to wall shelves that held hats of various colors and sizes.
“How can I be of service?” He raised his eyebrows when he looked up from his work.
Perhaps he had never seen someone young shopping alone. Maybe he thought I had no money and meant to steal from him. Towering over me, he squinted like I would cause trouble. His sour expression made me feel small as a weasel.
I stood taller and lifted my chin. “I want to buy a hat, sir. I possess a silver coin.”
He frowned and examined me like a master to a horse. “You can’t buy much with one silver coin, little girl.”
Little girl?
“I’m not little.” I stomped my foot as heat flushed to my face. “I can buy a hat with a silver coin. Your assistants told me before.”
I almost clasped my mouth with my hand, surprised by my rude tone.
He looked behind him to two finely dressed maidens. In the finest silks and wearing pretty jewels around their necks, the ladies turned nosy eyes to me.
He leaned closer. I thought he would scold me. Instead, his tone became softer, and he gave me a fake smile.
“All of our hats are of the highest quality. My boy told false; however, I will hold true to his word. We want no accusation here.” He spoke the last sentence louder, making sure the ladies heard.
Stupid man.
He’d insulted me to make himself appear honest.
He pointed to the bottom wooden shelf lined with simple hats. “Take a peep. Do tell me if one suits your fancy.”
My manners strayed. I glared at him and picked up the hat that piqued my interest. Dark brown and made of wool, it looked almost identical to the one Father had. Then I eyed the hats in the middle shelf, but they looked too fancy, so I decided to buy the one I held.
“I want this one, sir.”
I handed him the silver coin I’d retrieved from my boot when I’d bent to grab the hat. He had just finished with a lady customer, who paid three silver coins for a fancy red hat with feathers displayed on the top of the shelf.
“One silver as promised.” He looked at the ladies, who simpered back at him.
Swindler.
I wished to scrub away his smirk with my boot. He had no idea Father had trained me well. I imagined swiping my feet across the floor in one swift motion and knocking him down. I had done it to Father, and Father appeared stronger than that hare brain.
I dropped the coin in his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
I spoke politely, even though I wanted to shove Angel’s poop on his head. He said nothing and attended to the next customer while I snickered under my breath, imagining his face covered with dung.
The wind buffeted me when I stepped out, pushing me several steps forward to jostle a stranger. I apologized, hugged my cape closer, and carried on.
I browsed about the wagons for a trinket for Mother. When nothing held my interest, I treaded toward a wagon that traded brushes and mirrors, but stopped when I saw the meat market and the delicious smell of cooked beef churned my stomach.
I dismissed Father’s warning and strayed past the first butcher shop. For Mother, it would be worth the scolding. As I rubbed the coin between my fingers, itching to buy something for her, I pushed the guilt away.
“Just a silver coin for a brush and mirror, handcrafted for the lovelies,” the old woman said when I approached her.
She wore a black cape, and a hood covered half her face. Silver hair peeked out around the edges. Long, deep scars began at her mouth and disappeared under the shadow of the hood. The lines, almost like a bear had clawed her cheek, merged with the web of wrinkles around her mouth, puckering the skin like aged apples.
A carved rose accented both the wooden handle of the brush and the back of the mirror. Other sets had flowers such as irises and daisies carved into them. The one that caught my eye had been accented with a leafy vine, climbing like a beanstalk. It looked similar to the brush Mother always used for my hair, but bigger and more elaborate.
I reached out, and just before I touched the brush, the old woman grabbed my wrist. Her probing fingers seemed to be seeking something. I gasped and jerked away from her sharp nails and the coldness of her touch.
“I apologize.” I tugged at my sleeve, even though it was already down, for fear she had seen my birthmark.
Her hood shifted and her dark, snapping eyes assured me she had. But when she peered up at me with a small smile, she eased my mind.
“Have a care, please.”
Her raspy voice stunned me, as she continued to stare, examining me like I was some kind of novelty.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “I want to buy the set for my mother. I have a silver coin.”
I showed it to her. Perhaps she thought me a thief like the hat seller.
“Which one suits your fancy?”
She reached underneath her cloak for something—a dagger maybe?
My pulse raced. My mind became unsteady. Defeating an old woman would be easy, unless she was a witch. I had heard tales of witches in my younger days, but I’d never paid attention. I wished I had.
I pointed. “That one, please.”
She handed me the brush first and then the mirror. I ran my finger across the vine from the bottom, feeling the curves and indentations and the fine texture of the smooth wood. Admiring its beauty, I knew Mother would be pleased.
The old woman’s eyes stayed on my covered wrists. No fear showed through them, only recognition or something else unexplainable. Before she could ask me a question, I placed the silver coin in front of her and turned to leave.
“Stop,” she said.
I gulped fear down my throat.
Have I done something wrong? What will she ask of me?
All my life, no one had asked me about my birthmarks. I hid them well.
“Yes?” I turned to her, smiling.
“Here, I have a gift for you.”
I was foolish enough to think she would give me a silver back, so I opened my hand to her. She dropped three beans in it and closed my fist. When her hand touched mine, she gasped sharply, and her eyes rolled back.
I shuddered at her expression. I wanted to run far from her, but I remained calm when no trickery played from her. But why beans? Not a bag of beans, but three shriveled, gray, speckled beans.
“Nay, thank you.”
I tried to open my hand to return them to her, but she held steady onto me. The old fool giving me beans—she must be mad. And I needed to head back to Father.
“You look like your mother. Have ’em.” Her eyes bored into mine, and then finally let go. “You’d be wise to hold these fast. A time will come when you are in need. Use them wisely.”
I glued my eyes to her mouth as she spoke. Her lips seemed to move too slow. The air around me shifted, and her body spun. Impossible. Sucking in a deep breath, I blinked to see clearly again, and ran. I did not even thank her.
What happened? Was she a witch? Or worse, the devil himself?
What did she mean, I looked like my mother? People said I looked like my father. We shared the same brown eyes and dark hair. Mother had blue eyes and golden hair. Mother knew no witches.
Lies. That woman told lies.
After I passed the first meat shop, I turned back to the old woman once more. Though the wagon remained, no sign of her existed. I checked again and again, and even counted to ten, thinking she would appear. Either my mind played tricks on me or she had packed and left.
So quickly?
I rubbed my temples. Perhaps I had seen a witch, or I had been deprived of sleep, but her gift proved she’d existed. Opening my hand, I stared down at the ugliest beans I’d ever seen. What use did I have of them?
“A time will com
e when you are in need,” she’d said.
In need of beans?
I scoffed but did not loosen my fist. Crazy things had been happening. I’d thought about tossing them away or giving them to one of the children passing by, but my gut told me to keep them, so I shoved them inside my boot. Hiding the hat, brush, and mirror under my cape, I dashed to meet my parents.
The night air nipped my nose and my toes. I ate supper in the wagon as we rolled home.
I hid the items I had bought under the bed when I got home. I did not have much space in my room, and Father might find them if I hid them somewhere in the barn.
After I changed into a chemise, I went directly to the fire Father had started. As always, Mother warmed some milk before bed.
Father reminded us he would leave before dawn. Mother packed bread, dried meat, and a jug filled with water for him, while Father readied his other supplies for travel. We said our goodbyes, and I went off to bed thinking about the old woman, unable to erase her from my mind, and the beans still inside my boot.
You look like your mother.
Her words haunted my dreams.
Chapter Eight
The Secret Meeting
Father had asked me to tend to the chores while he was away, which I would have done anyway, but I did not plan to be there. Instead I decided late that night to go with him. I wanted to see the beasts they talked about.
Yes, I was scared out of my mind of these monsters, but curiosity gave me reason to be brave. And my haunting dreams nagged me to find out if the monsters and I were connected.
I’d had a vision of them when I’d touched the lance. There had to be a reason. I had to find out. Or I was a stupid fool.
I packed bread, dried meat, and my own jug, and then I snuck inside the wagon and buried myself under a wool blanket already in the back corner.
Three sheep bedded down by the wagon, tied snugly to the wheel kept me company. The poor sheep. He would use them as bait to lure the monsters out. I felt sorry for them. Unable to rub the sleep away, I drifted to slumber.
The movement of the wagon as Father loaded up the sheep startled me awake. Darkness still blanketed the sky. Mother would wake soon and find no eggs or fresh milk. Worse yet, I would be nowhere to be seen. I would receive many days of harsh scolding for my trick, but it would be worth the punishment to see monsters firsthand.
Later, I opened my eyes to the brightness of day, but the sun remained hidden behind the thick, gravel-gray clouds. The bitter air stung my skin from the sudden cold slap from the air. Needing warmth, I blew hot breath onto my fingers. Then I gathered the bits of hay that had spread during the previous day’s travel to cover myself more thoroughly, just in case Father decided to check the wagon again.
When my stomach stirred in hunger, I sparingly ate bread and dried meat. Curious as to what my father was doing, I peeked through the slats of the wagon. He was eating, too. I smiled. We rode together, and he wasn’t alone.
Without a sword, I’d be no help if bandits threatened him, but I’d brought a dagger with me, one I’d taken from Father’s secret place. I prayed I would not have to use it.
I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful when Father stopped the wagon. My full bladder had begun to make the ride unpleasant. When Father got out, he went to a nearby tree. Unfortunately, I did not have that luxury.
Cautiously, trying not to make too much noise, I climbed out, glanced around to make sure no one saw me, and relieved myself next to the wagon. After climbing back inside, I tucked myself in the same position just in time as Father came back, and we rode again.
We passed through the market town we’d visited the day before. People filled the streets and business ran as usual with trading and bargaining. I did not realize how big the town was until we traveled through it.
Usually, we only journeyed to the market and then set out for home to make it before dark. Sometimes the countryside roads were not safe, so the earlier we left, the better.
As we exited the town, the road split in two. When the wagon veered to the left, the landscape changed. The trees thinned as we passed the barren, autumn fields, and the hills gave way to dry, flat plains. We traveled on a dirt road, showing no signs of civilization, and I shuddered in apprehension, for we were on our way to Black Mountain.
The night suddenly became eerie. Branches snapping under the wagon’s weight made me jump in the quiet, and my pulse raced at the thought of monsters leaping from behind the trees.
All was fair so far. Father hadn’t found out I’d hitched a ride, and I’d acclimated to the harsh cold. But just as those thoughts entered my head, several drops of water fell on my cheek.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I peered up, half expecting to see a sheep’s behind, but more butter-soft drops brushed my face, and the sheep all lay quiet.
Menacing clouds covered the sky, moving faster and darkening every second. Their bellies hovered taut and dangerous, ready to unleash a storm. I flinched as the lightning struck and thunder cracked.
Covering my ears, I shivered under the blanket. Rain began to fall rapidly, then faster, and then came pelting down, like God’s strong hands slapping the ground. Within seconds, I was completely drenched.
I quickly ate my last bread before the rain soaked it, but I savored the water, careful not to drink too much. The rain continued until I was a frigid lump, and by the time Father slowed the wagon, darkness cloaked everything outside the glow around the lantern he had next to him, further limiting my view.
Father parked the wagon by a tree, jumped out, and led the sheep down to the ground. Holding my breath, I lay still while he moved. Then other horses and wagons pulled up beside ours, and I stayed low until I thought it safe to peek.
Though plenty, the tall, barren trees gave no shelter from the rain. My teeth chattered and I trembled without cease. My bones and muscles ached and refused to move, not from the long ride, but from the icy wetness. Holding on to the side of the wagon, I pulled myself to my knees and glanced over the side.
I kept my eyes locked on five flickering lanterns.
Only five? Where are the other seven? Cowards.
I spotted Father tugging on the sheep, a sword in his other hand. He’d come ready for whatever he might meet, as had I. I tightened my grip on the dagger as the men trudged up the muddy road, moving farther and farther away from the wagons.
They stopped deeper into the forest. Stray gleams from the lanterns let me know where they stood. Though trees and rain spoiled my view, I spotted Father by the pale sheep next to him. I was certain I would catch a cold, or worse, a fever.
After Father tied the sheep to a tree, the men retreated and hid by another. They had no shelter from the rain under the bare branches, and certainly none from the monsters. I did not know how much time had passed, but even seconds seemed too long, especially when my whole body felt like ice.
“What if the monsters don’t come?” The speaker shouted over the pounding rain and the savage wind.
It sounded like Aldwin. He always had plenty to say.
“If you wish to go home, go. You serve no one,” Father replied with a hint of annoyance.
“Perhaps the rain is the problem. The weather is not in our favor, but I doubt if it favors the monsters either.” I recognized William’s voice.
“Then I’ll sleep tonight and wait tomorrow. I’ve come this far. I will not waste the effort.” Father spoke like a true leader. “I’m not going to force you to stay.”
“How long will you wait?” asked a voice I did not recognize.
“As long as we must.” John’s voice? “Stop bickering and be a man. We’ve just begun.”
I moved to the other side of the wagon to get better shelter under the tree, but my vision became severely limited, worse than before. When streaky lightning emblazoned the sky, the horses, including Daniel, stamped and whinnied, but the rope around the tree kept them secure.
In that one-second flash, I saw a silhouette of Black Mo
untain, and a dark despair seized hold of me all the way down to my marrow. Then, from nowhere, loud shrieks pierced my ears—the same sound I’d heard in my nightmares so many nights.
Pain washed over me, like nothing I’d felt before. I dropped to the wagon on bended knees, struggling to keep the sounds at bay. Soft moans escaped me, but I screamed inside, praying for the pain to stop.
What is happening to me?
But I knew. It came and went without any warning, but it had never happened during my waking hours. The devil had possessed me. I was sure of it.
My body burned, my muscles twitched, my head throbbed, and my fingers and toes felt like pins had pierced every single nail. The need to pull out my hair and pummel my head against the wagon seized me, but I held my limbs tightly. It would soon be over.
I wanted to scream, claw through my skull or stab the dagger into my heart to stop the torture. No release came from the waking nightmare. Then, fast as it had come, it stopped. Relief flooded over me, and I raised my face to the rain. I sighed as the icy water soothed my burning skin, until the sheep began to bleat and struggle against their ties.
I sat up, this time not caring if men saw me. My teeth chattered, and the rain kept falling, and my vision stayed unclear except for the bobbing lights of the lanterns. I could no longer tell where Father stood as I peered into the night, until the sheep bleated louder.
The roar of the monsters whirled in the air—one deafening snarl after the other—and loud thumps steadily approaching shook the earth.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
From the sound of them, there were at least three. Maybe more.
Their rage rumbled the earth like a lion’s growl, but a hundred times worse. I wanted to see what they looked like, but the rain and the darkness made it impossible. I had to wipe water off my face every second to better my vision.
When the lanterns moved closer to the sheep, I stiffened. And not too far from them shone six glowing circles—radiant like the sun—high above the ground. My gut told me they were the monsters’ eyes, burning like Hell’s fire.
God help us.
