Legends of Astræa_Cupid's Arrow

by Sophia Alessandrini

  I had spoken too soon.

  I woke to the sound of his menacing growling with his very sharp teeth gleaming inches from my face. With his black crest hackles raised, his ears flattened, crouching with his muscles tensed, his tail held rigid, and his teeth baring, he snarled once, low and with intent.

  Crap. He had undone his muzzle. I wondered how had he ever allowed me to muzzle him with that old apron to begin with. I remembered freezing in the position I was in, not lying on the floor but not fully sitting upright. We glared at each other.

  Ungrateful beast, I thought, suddenly aware of the sheer size of the animal in front of me. Adolescent or not, he was enormous compared to me; his tensed haunches rose nearly to my chest. He snarled again, this time looking at me, pressing me to move back against the wall. His silver eyes gleamed and narrowed.

  Stupid little girl. What were you thinking? The words rang inside my head. No sound. I was sure.

  “WHAT?” I screeched out loud. I must have hit my head harder than I thought when I’d passed out.

  The wolf winced, suddenly surprised, flattened his ears to his skull, and snarled but backed off. His legs buckled beneath him, and he slid to the ground, clearly too exhausted to stand any longer. I got up slowly, making sure my movements wouldn’t set off his volatile temper. His mysterious silvery eyes followed my every movement as he opened his mouth. I swore it was human words that came twisting out.

  “What is your name, little girl?” he’d asked me.

  The memory of my shapeshifter friend made me smile. Gavril was a real boy—a rarity to say at least—who could shift into a wolf on a regular basis, something I have kept secret from everyone, including Mother Clarisse, afraid for him to be discovered.

  What would be my future? I knew the Sisters loathed my presence and evil was hunting me, of that I was sure. I couldn’t stay. Perhaps Gavril could help me.

  Hidden from everyone, I slid onto the floor of the old chapel, letting grief take me over. The tears poured out of me, and I wailed into the night. I imagined I heard a howl in reply, but I was too consumed by my own grief to do anything other than note it.

  I wept until my voice was gone and I couldn’t make any sound louder than a hoarse whimper. I cried until my eyes were swollen and my skin felt hot, dry, and burned. I wasn’t done grieving, but my body was too exhausted to give me the release of any more tears. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth in the dark.

  When the spate of tears had run their course, even though it was late, I wasn’t ready to go back to the academy. I was already in trouble. Missing dinner wasn’t going to make it that much worse anyway.

  Realization continued to overwhelm me.

  Mother Clarisse was gone—and I was stuck with deranged and insane dreams and a powerful and invisible enemy. Panic rose inside of me.

  To quell it somewhat, I swore over and over again I was going to avenge Mother Clarisse. I would find whatever or whoever killed her and destroy it. Mother Clarisse… My blurry gaze rested over her poetry book. It was still mercifully mostly dry, having been sheltered from the rain as I had held it to my chest.

  The letter.

  In my grief, I had forgotten it.

  Across to the right of the chapel, a large marble cenotaph erected empty directly across from Our Lady of The Stars as a monument in honor of the convent’s founder. An old brass heat vent stood on the stone wall behind it, and inside, I had stashed a box with matches and old candles I had been stealing from the kitchen since I was a child. Using one of the matches, I lit a candle from the praying shrine next to Our Lady, then I sat down next to her and dripped some wax on the stone floor to secure the candle.

  For one crazy moment, I felt like one of those characters in Gothic novels, reading a letter by candlelight inside an old chapel. Somewhere my mind recognized that it was funny. But I didn’t remember what funny meant.

  No.

  Not today. Maybe not ever.

  I slipped the letter out of the damp leather book. I turned it over in my hands and ran my fingers over my name printed in her elegant longhand on the envelope. I inhaled deeply, feeling an ache in the back of my throat. I traced the familiar long and firm downstrokes of her handwriting.

  A moan escaped my raw throat. My hands shook as I opened it carefully. Taking a deep breath, I smoothed the page and read:

  Dear Ailie,

  I am getting older, child, and I worry that I will not be there for your sixteenth birthday to tell you who and what you are. If you are reading this letter then I have departed this world, and I am with my Heavenly Father. So do not weep for me, my dearest child, for I am where I am supposed to be.

  Even though I know you will want to leave, I must ask you to stay inside the convent sacred grounds. I know life here has been hard for you, and I know you have always dreamed of seeing the world. However, outside these walls, only the worst type of danger awaits you.

  Please, my dear child, don’t leave St. Mary’s.

  I know I am asking you something that will make you very unhappy, even miserable, but you must trust me. At the very least, you must consider joining the order for your own protection after you graduate. But, if you must go, if for any reason you are forced to go, then you must seek Father Dominique in France. I must warn you I have not heard from him for almost a year. He lives in the town of St. Émilion. He is the only person I know that would have all the answers you seek. I’ll continue to pray in this life and the next that Our Lady of The Stars keeps you from harm.

  If you lose your path, pray.

  If you lose your faith, pray.

  And if you must make difficult choices, pray.

  Be grateful for the life we had together, for the love we shared.

  Be good,

  Be brave,

  M.S. Clarisse

  A tear splotched the paper, smearing the ink of Mother Clarisse’s beautiful handwriting. Somehow my body found new tears, but these felt different than the wild grief. These felt just as raw but filled with a fierce and desperate love. I blotted it away with a corner of my damp shirtwaist’s cuff and moved the precious letter away from my dripping face. Then the words sank in… or half of them. I reread it, feeling desolated as I understood what she was asking from me.

  She wanted me to join the order and not to leave St. Mary’s. I shuddered at the thought. Why was she asking me to take vows? For my protection? Crap.

  Mother Clarisse hadn’t realized before she wrote this letter that evil would kill her right here within these walls, that danger was already here in this place—of that I was sure. A torrent of tears broke the dam again as I reread the letter a third time.

  Her choice of words struck me deep right into my core.

  “Who and what...”

  What? I was a What?

  My mind skittered around, trying to forget that dreadful “what.” It wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense; nothing in my life made sense. I scratched my shoulder blade again, and the light tingling went away.

  My heart raced.

  Oh God. Was I truly cursed? Was I evil? No, no. Don’t think of that. I shifted to something else equally worrisome.

  France.

  I had to get to France. To have answers—any answers. I wondered how much more Mother Clarisse knew about my origins.

  I always questioned Mother Clarisse why there wasn’t a file for me, and all she said was to be patient, that there would be a time for explanations. So I left it at that, knowing she wasn’t going to give me any answers until she decided to. This left me with nothing. Crap.

  I looked the single sheet of paper over again, turning it over to check for an address to this Father Dominique. The back was blank.

  How would I find one Father Dominique in some town in France without an actual address? Even I, who has never been outside this place, knew that much. It was the twenty-first century after all. Stop it, Ailie, I reprehended myself. I couldn’t lose my faith or my hope. Focus. France.

&nbs
p; France was a modern country with very progressive ideas, not a secluded island in the North Atlantic. A priest should be working in a church. I had the town. It should be relatively not that difficult to track him.

  Perhaps the Internet could help me in this case. Everyone was available through the internet. Well, everyone except for us. Mother Clarisse had been very emphatic of keeping me secluded to protect me. However, none of the Sisters had even a simple thing like a personal email. The school did but not the Sisters. Because of the vow of poverty they made, they avoided owning technology in general. So it was uncertain that a priest would be available through the Internet.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  The thought of leaving had crossed my mind more than twice after what happened to Mother Clarisse, but where would I go? I had no money, no ID, the Sisters barely let us access the internet on the computers. Although I had found a way to break the parental lock to access everything, many things required still a credit card or identification. Phones were monitored, cell phones were not allowed. Not that I owned any. Send word? How?

  Where I came from. Who I was. I asked her numberless times, but she avoided telling me with a simple: “Nothing for you to worry about, until you are of the right age, child.”

  When would that be now? Never. A traitorous knot inside my throat formed again. Nothing could change the fact that she had been murdered by an invisible entity, which I doubted needed the use of the Internet to find Mother Clarisse or me.

  I had nothing at all. Mother Clarisse had died before she told me anything about my parents, but as impatient as I’d been, I thought she would tell me eventually.

  Now what would I do?

  Chapter 4

  Suddenly, the familiar walls of the old chapel seemed to be closing on me. It was hard to tell how many hours I had been there. I tied the damp cardigan around my waist and ran, pushing the door open, angry at myself for feeling like I was about to crumble into tiny pieces.

  The rain had abated, but the cold of the night had steadied down. A few stars peeked around the passing storm clouds. The moon was almost full and had an unusual blue tint. I strolled toward the garden gate. I pushed hard to open the gate; it was old and was always stuck from a little rust in the hinges after a downpour of rain. I wondered if Gavril would be near.

  I looked at the nearby east horizon where the forest rose like a wall of dark green against the sky. The forest didn’t seem threatening under the stars. How I wanted to feel free, see the world, attend college, and become a surgeon or perhaps a scientist, anywhere far from here. I yearned for it, not that anyone would care about that, since there were no college applications filled for me.

  Mother Clarisse had been quite clear on that, when I asked her again and again to help me apply for college. “It is too dangerous, Ailie. Do not ask me again.” The time came for those letters to return. I watched, feeling sick to my stomach, all the girls who got responses. I never got one, even when my scores were good for scholarships. Of course, unlike me, those girls had last names, parents, and money to afford college. Why wouldn’t she let me apply for college? So many questions unanswered. So many things she never told me.

  God, I needed some normalcy in my life even if that came with an odd friend who was capable of listening to my thoughts and could speak to me inside my head, had a large nuzzle, and soft white fur. Despite that, Gavril felt like my most normal friend. The only one I had left at St. Mary’s.

  Gavril, are you here? I telepathically called to him as I waited over the threshold of the open gate, hoping to see him. From behind the outgrown curtain of vines, I saw him—a flesh and blood teenage boy, considered by most of the girls as practically a mythological creature on the island.

  We didn’t have much time left before curfew, but I needed him to help me make a plan. Gavril was usually a great source of ideas and know-hows for me. Perhaps together, we could figure out a way to France. That is, if I could find a way without any identification or money. I needed some help.

  I grinned widely when he came into full view. I walked away from the gate to meet him halfway. This evening, he wore torn jeans, a washed out blue T-shirt that read save-the-planet drink-more-beer, and black Dr. Martens work boots. I raised my chin to look at him. He was a very tall boy about my own age. His silvery-ice-colored eyes and dark brown spiky short hair that seemed like it had been purposely disheveled gave him an air of a true rebel, someone who would break the academy rules often to sneak all the way to the roof of my dorm and sit with me to see the stars.

  Together, we have learned about the constellations and talked for hours. We played silly games like Scrabble, or he would bring sick squirrels, rabbits, or hideous toads for me to heal. Other times, he would tell me about his brothers. I had the suspicion his brothers bullied him because of his twice-weekly visits. He never admitted this. All I knew was that we had this weird connection since the day I’d healed him. I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but ever since, Gavril had always seemed to care for me, as if I was his little sister.

  Demons, nightmares, the scorn of the academy, and I had just lost the closest person I’d ever have to a mother, and yet Gavril had managed to make me smile. His strong, squared jaw flexed a clean white smile that matched the brightness of his ice-gray eyes.

  I’ve always wondered what Gavril was doing at the Lady of the Stars convent’s back door steps, most times as a wolf. I have asked him multiple times, but he always found a way to distract me or avoid my questions.

  “Hey,” he said, looking concerned. “How are you feeling?”

  I guessed the news had reached him. Mother Clarisse was gone, and the entire academy believed I was the primary suspect of her death.

  “She left me a letter,” I told him, wishing the academy would stop blaming me. I wished I would stop blaming myself. I stared at the floor, holding back the need to sob. I missed her so much.

  “I know how much you loved her. I am so sorry for your loss, Ailie,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I cleared my nostrils with a deep inhale, trying to be brave. His compassionate smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he waited patiently for me to explain about this letter, although he probably already knew what I was going to ask. I inhaled to continue and said, “There is someone who knows where I come from. He knows everything about who I am—” I paused briefly, feeling a little anxious. He had a frown on his face, and he wouldn’t look straight at me. “But he is in France, and I need your help to find my way to France very soon,” I said, wondering if he would come with me.

  He spoke off the wall, evincing seriousness in his narrowing eyes. “No—”

  I gasped at his unexpected overthrow. I was desperately determined. “I have to be in France, Gavril,” I pleaded at him.

  Ailie, if you leave, terrible things will happen, Gavril said in my head. Yeah, right. They would happen if I stayed. The story of my life. Of all the people in the world, why couldn’t Gavril understand?

  “Gavril, I need to find this person.” I paused, interlacing my hands and nervously rubbing my palms together. This was the most important thing I had ever asked him. “You got to help me—please,” I begged him.

  “Under no circumstance, leave these grounds,” he repeated emphatically, holding his hands over the door bars, his voice above a whisper. Now he sounded like Mother Clarisse. Why was everyone so focused on keeping me inside these walls? How could I fight my own demons if I didn’t know what I was up against? How was I to fight whatever killed Mother Clarisse if I didn’t know anything about myself?

  “Why not?” I asked him.

  He sighed. There is something evil lurking out here, Gavril explained, gazing around and beyond St. Mary’s walls.

  Yeah, according to rumors around here that might be… oops—me. I sighed. My inner sarcasm hardly covered my state of denial. My only friend wouldn’t help me.

  Oh, well that sucks, since friends are supposed to help each other, I chastised him telepathically.

  It wa
s very important for me to know why I had these cursed gifts, why unexplainable things kept happening to me. I needed to know the truth, and only Father Dominique could answer my questions. No matter what, I had made my decision. I was going to France, I was going to find out what or who killed Mother Clarisse then avenge her death, and for once, I was going to find out who I was, with his help or not. I raised my chin and looked straight at him.

  Ailie, do you understand we can’t be friends if you leave these grounds? Gavril’s words had a final tone to them. An ultimatum.

  I closed my eyes for a short moment and blew a deep breath away. I couldn’t believe he’d said what he said. I shook my head with terrible disappointment.

  I guess if you feel that way, then we can’t be friends. I inhaled another deep breath, holding back more waterworks. I didn’t want him to know how much this hurt me. This was the first time we had a disagreement like this.

  All right, all right. I am sorry. Ailie, please listen to me. If you leave… the world—”

  “I need to get back,” I told him, feeling disappointed. I looked back at the academy. I had to get to my room before curfew, or I would have demerits on top of demerits.

  Ailie, I only want to protect you… you are my friend. I wouldn’t lie to you, he told me. Right…

  “I really have to go,” I repeated and turned on my heels and ran, holding pent-up tears. I felt so hurt and never so alone.

  My heart was broken.

  The academy bells tolled eight times. Eight o’clock, curfew time. I realized I would be late if I didn’t run faster. So I ran back toward my dorm room and climbed through the broken basement window undetected. I was hungry and exhausted. The last thing I needed was the Sisters reprimanding me for not respecting the night curfew hours at the academy.

  I thought about what I should do as I ran the curved, open staircase, taking two steps at a time and holding my hand over the classically decorated pediments for support every six steps. My dorm room, by the way, was not only the smallest room but the only one up in the attic.