From the first time I had hunted, I had known instinctively that I needed to remain downwind in order to conceal my presence from my prey. I remained motionless and silent as the buck entered the clearing just on the other side of the cover in which I had concealed myself. He was magnificent, one of the largest bucks I had seen in some time. His head was crowned with a very impressive set of antlers, telling me that he was a dominant male. He looked around, his ears turning from side to side as he assessed the situation. After a moment, he made the fatal error of deciding that he was safe, and he bent his head, grazing some low-hanging leaves.
I smiled at his lack of awareness, my blood quickening. Saliva dripped from my fangs, a delicious sensation of ferocity suffusing me, and I sprang. The buck had only time to look up and register terror at the sight of me. The scent of the fear emanating from his body provoked sharp pangs of hunger, and my fangs sunk greedily into his tender neck. He let out one brief cry of agony before falling forever silent. Wasting no time, I gave in to my urge to gorge myself, savagely ripping his flesh from his bones. When I had eaten my fill, I remained in the clearing for several moments, the air heavy with the scent of blood, as I listened to the wind whisper through the trees.
At last, I set back for the castle, running again but more slowly this time, for I knew what was about to happen. Even though I felt a heady sense of euphoria as I hunted, even though I gave myself over to the animal part of me, the human part always returned afterward, leaving me consumed with loathing and revulsion. As I remember the taste of the raw, bloody flesh on my tongue, my stomach twisted and I growled low in my throat. This was the worst of all torments, this instinct to behave like a beast but possess a higher consciousness that made me think like a man.
Upon my return to the castle, I went immediately into my chambers and found the water that my servants had left out for me. They always knew when I hunted and they knew that when I returned the water was to be ready for me. As the feral thrill of the hunt wore off, it was imperative for me to wash away the blood of my prey lest my human revulsion overtake me.
When I had cleaned the blood from my fur, I lay upon the floor and contemplated the wisdom of continuing to hunt if the maiden were to come to me. A part of me was regretful at the thought of giving up this base pleasure, but another part of me was relieved. It would be very difficult to resist the temptation to hunt, but if the maiden were to arrive and I were to attempt to woo her, she would surely not be impressed by the knowledge of my hunts or by the evidence they left upon me.
It was a triumph for my human self that I decided I had best give up my hunts if the maiden came to the castle. I felt such a powerful sense of relief at this triumph that it left me feeble and weak. The passage of time had rendered me more and more bestial, to the point that I had nearly stopped thinking of myself as a man. It had taken the wanderer's arrival and the prospect of his daughter to restore to me the memories of what I had once been. I had worried that I had given in to my animal side, that I had relinquished my will to defeat the curse, and I felt a sense of great power--and even greater relief--at the knowledge that this was not true.
Chapter 8
Into the Beast's Lair
Never before had I known ten days to be of such short duration. Since we had moved to Everforest, there were often days when I worked unceasingly from dawn until dusk. These days, as quickly as they passed, were nothing in comparison to the swiftness of the passage of the days that stood between my freedom and my captivity in the lair of a beast. It seemed mere moments between the time I lifted my head from my pillow to begin my day and when I laid my head back onto my pillow at night. Each day was so full of frenetic activity that, despite my troubled mind, I immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
The flight of those days was something like the death of my mother, for their passage felt like the beginning of the end of all things. Once at the beast's castle, all I had ever known or loved would be lost to me forever, just as my mother was lost to me forever. There was much I wanted to say, but I was not free to speak the words. I wanted every day to tell Papa how much I loved him but could not, for I feared he would instantly divine what I was planning and would stop me. Though it would pain me horrifically to leave him, it was inconceivable that I could survive the agony of his leaving.
In spite of my care and my diligent attempts to make all my own preparations, it was not long before I understood that I could not possibly ready myself without some assistance, and I turned to my sisters. They did not help out of the goodness of their own hearts, nor did they do so in order to protect Papa. Rather, they gladly offered their aide because it would help them achieve two of their dearest aims: to see me disposed of, and to ensure that Papa would remain with them and continue to provide for them until they could marry and transfer their dependence to their unfortunate husbands. In spite of my disgust for the motivations behind their actions, I was glad for their assistance. They were able to procure the supplies I needed for my journey and they agreed to divert Papa for as long as possible in order to delay his discovery of my departure.
While they were engaged with these tasks, I did all I could to see to it that the cottage would be in good order when I left. I did not know how Papa would maintain it once I was gone. My sisters surely would not be of any assistance to him, and I nearly wept as I thought of this. And yet I could not allow such thoughts to influence me; better to have him safe at home and eating stale bread than languishing in the dungeon of a cruel and terrifying beast.
We knew that Papa would not sleep of his own accord the night before his supposed departure. As the day approached, he grew paler and more withdrawn. We often heard the sounds of his soft footfalls as he paced our sitting room all night long. Three days before he was to leave, he had packed and settled all of his affairs.
As I descended the ladder the night before he was to leave, I grieved that Papa would wake to find that I had left in his place. In order to ensure that he would sleep soundly, I had slipped a preparation of herbs into his nighttime cup of tea. I felt badly about this deception, but I soothed my conscience by reminding myself that it had been done for his protection. I could not risk his waking and attempting to stop me.
My sisters and I stole from the cottage, carrying the pack of provisions we had prepared for my journey. I had decided to go on foot, as the horse was needed to pull the plow. This meant I would be unable to move as swiftly as I would have like, which made it all the more imperative that I left long before Papa woke. He must remain asleep until I was far from home, when there would be no risk of his catching me, no matter how swiftly he rode.
As I shouldered my pack, I turned to my sisters and seized their hands. "Please, I beg you, take care of Papa." I was unable to prevent my voice from trembling.
Rowena pulled her hand away from mine with a sneer. "We have shall fare perfectly well without you."
"Indeed," Thomasina added. "Your absence will scarcely be noticed. It is best that you go to the castle, for there is nothing for you here."
I turned away from my sisters, tears flooding my eyes. "Perhaps you are correct," I said, not bothering to keep the hurt from my voice.
As I began walking toward the forest, Rowena and Thomasina turned their backs on me and went into the cottage without another word. My throat thick with unshed tears, I paused for the briefest of seconds to look back at the place I had once called home before I began putting one foot in front of the other, focusing on making my pace as swift as possible.
I did not recollect much of the initial stages of my voyage, for my eyes were much too blinded by tears and my heart too sorely pained for me to pay any heed to the sights I passed. Though Papa had not told us how to reach the beast's castle, I had the strangest sense that I knew exactly which way to go. I tried not to reflect on this, as I could only deal with one terror at a time, and the impenetrable darkness of the forest frightened me almost more than I could bear. It seemed to close in around me, swallowing me whole.
>
Hours after sunrise, I paused at the side of the road, hurriedly drinking some water and eating a bit of bread and cheese, before concealing myself in the undergrowth and trying to rest. My sleep was fitful, interrupted first by a nightmare of highwaymen descending on me and murdering me in my sleep and next by one of a pack of prowling wolves devouring me whole. When I rose, I was more exhausted than when I had lain down, and my nerves were frayed. I decided I would not stop again until I reached the castle gates, and I laughed a little madly at the thought that the castle of a monster seemed safer than the murky road.
At last, deep in the midst of the night, I caught sight of the beast's castle. The tall gates opened of their own accord as I approached, raising gooseflesh all over my body, but I did not stop. I was so eager to put the forest behind me that I hurried through them with little hesitation. I shall never forget the cold, loud clink as they closed behind me. It felt as though my heart stopped beating, and I do not think I drew breath for a full minute thereafter. It was some time before I was able to move again.
In the gloom of the night, it was impossible to judge the castle's exact size, but I knew that it was the most enormous structure I had ever seen. I had the unsettling impression that it continued on and on infinitely, and I shook my weary head to clear my irrational thoughts. I knew where to go instinctively, and I did not question the sensation as I allowed my feet to carry me to a massive studded oak door that was nestled into a recess in one of the walls.
The inside of the castle was as black as pitch, with only a single, flickering candle sputtering in the distance. I turned toward this source of light, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I realized it was moving. Hesitating for a second, I tried to decide whether I should follow it. What if the beast was carrying it? However, the thought of standing alone in the inky darkness of the castle was far more terrifying to me than the thought of following that light. By the time my decision was made, the light was fading and I had to run to pursue it.
In spite of my rapid pace, I was unable to catch up with the source of the light. I ran for what seemed like forever, until the light stopped moving. Blood roared in my ears as I made my way cautiously forward, holding my breath. My eyes fell on a silver candlestick in a recess in the gray stone wall, just outside of an enormous white door. I cast a quick glance around me, but there was no one to be seen.
I turned my attention to the door, staring at it apprehensively as my mind raced with thoughts of what might lay behind it. Perhaps it was the beast, crouched in wait, prepared to set upon me the moment I stepped through the door. Would he harm me? What might he say to me, if he did say anything at all? Or perhaps the door led to a prison cell, in which I might be held until I perished. Looking about me, I did not think that it could be a cell. I knew very little about castles, but what little I did know told me that prisoners were usually held in dungeons or towers. The corridor in which I stood was above ground and could not belong to a tower, for I had only climbed one massive flight of stairs in order to reach it.
At last, I decided that allowing my mind to imagine any manner of horrors was not likely to improve my current situation and so I reached out, my hand shaking, and knocked hesitantly upon the door. There was no response, and I paused for a short moment before taking a deep breath and seizing the silver door handle.
The chamber beyond the door was nothing like I had imagined. It was well-lit, though the candlelight was subdued enough not to dazzle my eyes. A brisk fire was burning in the enormous fireplace, and its heat was extremely welcome after my long, cold walk. I immediately gravitated toward it, holding my hands out to its warmth and allowing my breathing to slow to a normal pace before I turned to study the rest of the chamber.
My uninterested eyes took in the many features as I wandered through my chambers, though none of them really registered with my fatigued mind. The only objects that caught my attention were the windows and the enormous, gilt-framed looking glass that hung in my dressing chamber. As I had passed through the castle, its decrepit state had not escaped my notice and the grimy, dingy windows in particular had caught my eye, which is why the glass in my chamber struck me as so unusual. The windows and the looking glass were immaculately clean and had been polished until they were crystal clear.
Returning to the sleeping chamber, I had the sense that something was amiss. It had been decorated in hues of lavender, spring green, and a calming blue, but somehow the atmosphere was still oppressive; the clean white walls seemed cold and stark, the colorful tapestries and paintings garish by comparison. The highly detailed embroidered curtains that hung on the bed lent it a strangely funereal air, and I shivered at the thought of closing them around me. Everywhere I looked, objects of obvious expense had been placed, but none of them lent the chamber any cheer.
My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the cold, unfamiliar objects about me. I was rather astonished by what I saw, for I had believed I was to be the beast's prisoner, not his guest, but the chamber suggested otherwise. In spite of the effort that had obviously been made to make the chamber welcoming, I heartily hated everything within it. I wanted to be back at home in my cottage, where all of my familiar and well-loved objects were. I had brought a few things with me, but there had not been much room to spare, and my heart ached for the beloved objects I had been forced to leave behind.
I set my pack down, too fatigued to even attempt to put things away, and dug through it until I found the object I sought. It was a miniature portrait of my mother, roughly the size of my thumb, and I focused on it with tear-filled eyes until I had an idea. Returning to the dressing room, I opened the chest, finding what I had hoped would be there. I withdrew a slender white satin ribbon and threaded it through the small eye on the top of the miniature. Once, I had worn the miniature around my neck on a fine gold chain, but the chain had been one of the many possessions I had been forced to sell when we had lost the old manor. It had been painful to cease wearing it, but I had placed it on the table next to my bed in the cottage and had been content to gaze upon it every night before lying down to sleep. Now, I felt the need to wear it once again and, as I tied the ribbon around my neck, I felt a slight abatement of the heartsickness that had plagued me since I had left the cottage.
Reluctantly and somewhat fearfully, I stepped over to the bed. I could see that a fine white linen shift embellished with lace had been laid upon it, and I carelessly removed my garments, leaving them in a pile upon the floor, before pulling the shift over my head and climbing into the bed. It seemed as large as my entire chamber at home, and I had the disconcerting sensation that I was lost, adrift in the midst of some strange sea of fine linen sheets and feather pillows. I would have thought that I could not sleep at all, considering how overwrought I was feeling, but I was exhausted from my journey. It was not long before my burning eyes closed and I drifted off into a deep, unsettled, sleep.
Chapter 9
The Guest
She was here. The castle walls seemed to reverberate with the consciousness of her presence. My voiceless servants flitted from one end of the castle to the other, attending to various chores in honor of her arrival. Their activity irritated me and the change in atmosphere of the castle was most unsettling. Years upon unchanging years had passed, and I was apprehensive of the changes that had already been brought about by the presence of this maiden.
I had struggled for some time with the decision of how to treat her. Was she my prisoner? Was she my guest? I knew the servants hoped that she would be my salvation, and this knowledge angered me. She was here at my will, not because she was meant to be my savior. In the end, perhaps she would deliver us from the torment we had known for so many years, but if this was to happen, it would merely be a means to an end. She was here to serve me, and I would have liked to have treated her thus, but I knew that if I did it would destroy any chance, however slim, of her breaking the enchantment.
Her reception had been unusual but necessary. I thought it
probable she would be in some state of turmoil when she arrived, and had not wanted to exacerbate this by exposing her to the servants. They were under strict orders to stay out of her sight for the first week of her residence, and I would follow suit. It seemed best to allow her some time to settle into the castle as much as she could before introducing her to its true horrors.
Sleep was impossible during her first night of residence in the castle. In spite of my many hopes and preparations, I had not truly thought that she would be the one to come to the castle. It struck even me as incredible that her father would have willingly surrendered her to such a fate. He had seemed a decent man and, in my experience, decent men did not willingly surrender their daughters to peril. Yet, what other explanation for it could there be? I supposed I should have been grateful for this turn of events, but I could not overcome my sense of wonderment. Perhaps, in some small corner of my mind, I had hoped that her father would be the one to return, for that would have been far less fraught with complications, frustrations, possibilities.
The fates continued to mock me. Here was the maiden who was my only hope, and for one of the rare occasions in my life, I feared what stood before me. Perhaps I should simply ignore her presence, keep to myself, and pretend she did not exist. But I knew I would not do this. Now that she was in the castle, I felt compelled to try to change what I had been convinced was my inevitable demise. This was the true perversity of my nature.
My mind wandered from these thoughts to thoughts of the maiden herself. During the last fortnight, my temptation to use the pool to gaze upon her had not abated, but I had not allowed myself to look, for I had not been certain it would be she and not her father who came. But now that she was here, I felt an inordinate sense of curiosity, and I knew that I would soon have to satisfy it or I would run mad. I did not fear that I would be unable to gaze upon her without her notice; rather, I feared what I might see. Until now, she had been nothing more than a figment of my imagination, and I was reluctant for her to become flesh and blood for it made my predicament all the more real. But how could I not wish to see her? Though she did not know it, this maiden might very well hold my fate in her hands.
The Eye of the Beholder (2012) Page 6
