9 Tales Told in the Dark 23

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  "But…"

  Miriam leaned toward me and whispered, "There is another life for you, child."

  "Naomi, bed!"

  "Yes, father."

  Once upstairs, the only barrier between the two women and us was one-inch planking, and their chants rose through the gaps. The sounds were high-pitched raspings, phrased together tightly.

  As I listened, my arteries drummed. My existence was cleaning and cooking and vegetable growing, but these women rode their lives like cavalry. I briefly felt sorry for myself, but the trained hate took over. As I fell asleep, I thought that the chanting and my pulse seemed to be in rhythm.

  In the morning, I was sent into the village with one of the quarters. Father rehearsed me curtly- how much to pay, how we had found such riches, and most importantly, how to explain buying so much food when there were only two of us.

  I was taught to haggle, and the lying came easily. I returned with a silver dime, four copper cents, and a trash bag filled with food. Father meanwhile had the shuttered the downstairs windows so that the women wouldn't be seen during the day. Once I was inside, Esther nodded at me approvingly, as if she'd been with me at the market.

  Father pressed his lips together when I handed him the bag and coins. "You've done surprisingly well."

  I shrugged. "It would have been better, but I had to give Donnie the butcher a penny interest that we owed before he would sell us more meat."

  During the mid-day meal, Esther leaned over to my father. "You have seen the nourishment we bring, the coin. For this to continue, we must ask you for two simple things."

  "What things?"

  "Nothing important or difficult. To remain in our presence you must be purified. It's a ceremony of a few minutes."

  "Like a baptism—"

  "Just the reverse, John. It's a desanctification to remove your baptismal curse. You’ll recite some words in the One's tongue."

  "What do the words mean?"

  "It doesn’t matter. The words have power without your understanding them. Secondly, we ask that you remain upstairs after each dinner so that we may have women visit after dark. Women that you should not see."

  Father paused. "What about Naomi?"

  Miriam answered. “We need Naomi to assist us. We will pay you an additional coin for her help."

  "What if I just told you to leave now?"

  "We would do so. We must be invited in. But when we shake off the dust of your home, other things may visit. Like your not friendly villagers."

  "You would tell them, Miriam?"

  "Never. But without protection things have a way of going wrong."

  "And that's all you'll ask?"

  "Oh yes. Everything else would be what you want to do."

  My father nodded.

  "You must say the words."

  "Oh, very well, I agree. You may use Naomi."

  Esther smiled. "Excellent, now strip off your shirt."

  "What?"

  "I must anoint your skin, not your clothes."

  My father cursed, but unbuttoned and took off his shirt. Esther gave him a sheet of paper with foreign words on it, and had him repeat them one at a time until he got the pronunciations right. Then she mixed up an ointment, saying more things over it.

  She had my father sit in a kitchen chair, and as he recited the words, she applied the ointment with a charred bone to his forehead, mouth, hands, chest, and back. The rank smelling unguent was applied right to left crossing and bottom to top, a reverse signing of the cross.

  Esther’s actions were matter-of-fact, and as she worked, Miriam explained to me what was happening.

  "We're scouring off your father's contamination. The bone is a relic from the same martyr as the money pouch, one of the thirteen. The salve contains Lucent wine and bread consecrated during our Sabbath. It's a spiritual antibiotic, killing off religious disease."

  My father twitched at each application. "Is it hurting him?" I asked.

  "Not in the way you mean."

  Esther set down the ointment and bone. "There, John, we're almost done. I need to rub the potion into your skin. It's a mild aphrodisiac, so you should enjoy the process. And don't wipe it off when you put your shirt back on."

  Miriam touched me on the shoulder. "Come, child I have things to explain to you."

  She and I went into the living room and sat on the same sofa as we had the night before.

  "After dinner this evening, ten women will come to the house. Some you will know, but show no sign of recognition, it's considered impolite."

  She explained my duties, mostly just serving and clearing things away. "And most importantly, whatever happens, you must not leave. And don't scream."

  "What can happen at a women’s tea?"

  Miriam raised her hand as if to slap me, then lowered it. Her voice took on the piping lilt I'd heard the night before. "The false god of good teaches women to breed and feed. We are the alternative. We lead legions of powerful women who relish adventure and welcome death."

  "Death?"

  "We all die, Naomi. What difference if a little earlier and with more satisfaction? And before we go we gorge on sensation."

  "Is that what you meant by another life?"

  "The way of the wicked is at your feet, child."

  That evening at dinner my father’s expression was vacant. He didn’t yell at me, and looked toward Esther as if taking cues.

  Miriam glanced at him. "John, are you still willing to stay upstairs this evening?"

  My father glared at her, but then glanced at Esther and subsided." Um, if I have to. Naomi, you do as you’re told."

  “Yes, father.”

  Miriam stood up. "Naomi, please clear the dishes and set my bag on the kitchen table. John, time for you to go upstairs. If you're still awake after we're done, Esther will explain a few more things to you."

  Father left without another word, and I cleared and set Miriam's knapsack on the Formica-topped table. Miriam took out a capped glass jar and artist's brush. "Can you paint, child?"

  "Only badly."

  "Bad is what's required. Let’s start." She opened the jar and took a small obsidian knife from her belt. "Give me your left hand."

  I wondered about refusing, about telling them that I wasn’t their slave, but I wondered more about what the women could do. While holding my wrist she picked up the knife and slit the back of my hand. I half screamed, but she waved me into silence. She pulled my hand over until it hovered above the jar, letting my blood drip into it. Then she wrapped the hand in a clean rag and let it drop.

  "The blood is the solvent, child. Pick up the brush and stir the paint."

  My lips half puckered into why, but her expression told me not to ask. I began to swirl the dark blue, almost black paint, and my blood blended into it without a trace.

  "Put the bristles of the brush into your mouth and suck the paint off."

  "Ugh, Why!"

  "Almost sister, you do not know enough to ask questions, just do as I bid. It will not make you sick."

  The paint tasted of blood-rust and oil, and herbs and overripe things. "It's foul tasting."

  "So are many medicines." She handed me a rectangular piece of paper with symbols drawn in each of the four corners, and a larger symbol in the center. "This symbol," she said, pointing, "goes on the table in the left corner closest to you, then upper left, upper right, lower right and center. Paint them exactly as you see them."

  "How big?"

  "It doesn't matter, but big enough to see easily. During the day we'll cover them over with a table cloth."

  The symbols were shaped like stretched circles, with odd lines and arcs inside. They were uncomplicated and painting them took only a few minutes. "What now," I asked.

  "Gather up thirteen glasses or cups."

  "We had to sell our china, I'm not sure we have that many."

  Miriam shrugged. "Glasses, mason jars, anything that will hold liquid is fine. Set them on the side table, you'll be serving us fro
m there."

  My expression must have been worried, for she stroked my cheek again. Her fingers were rough, but the touch was soft. "Little woman, you won't be injured, and you'll learn many things. Just remember to not call our visitors by name, even if you know them, to never lean over the tabletop, and not to scream no matter what you see. I'll refer to you only as 'Child.' You will refer to me only as 'mistress.'"

  The women arrived in twos and threes shortly after sunset, all wearing hooded pullovers and jackets. When the hoods came down I saw Donnie's wife Betsy, a prostitute named, I think, Helga, and Shelly, the mayor's wife. Another woman I thought I'd seen two years ago at Christmas services, but I couldn't be sure. I kept my gaze down at waist level and noticed several scars on the backs of their hands.

  Miriam and Esther kissed each of them on the lips, muttered something, and assigned them places in a tight circle around the table. Miriam then turned to me. "Child, take this jug, portion out the liquid into thirteen goblets, and hand them out."

  "Yes Mistress." But I smirked. We had four water glasses, three coffee cups, four beer mugs, and two soup bowls. I took the jug and carefully poured out portions, a dollop for each of us. I handed out the containers and stood in the circle with the others.

  Miriam chanted in high, harsh tones for a few minutes, paused, and said," Drink now to the arrival of his servant, to the honor of the Lucent One."

  We drank and stood in silence, waiting. It'd tasted like alcohol and over ripe fruit and spoiled meat and I wanted more.

  The candle light flickered across the faces of the other women. Their expressions varied from Miriam's serenity to Donnie-wife's fear to the rictus-grin of the Mayor's wife. Miriam handed me her obsidian knife. "Child, cut the back of your left hand as I showed you, and let your blood drip onto the icon in the middle of the table. Then hand the knife to your right. When we have all participated, grasp the hands of the women next to you."

  Once we’d all been bled Miriam spoke again, but her voice was hoarse as a puma's cough. "What I will say I will say first in the language of the One and then in your words. But know that your words have no power, only the One's words."

  She chanted something, then in a flat voice. "Magnificent woman, we your slaves implore your mercy and beseech you for eternity of service." More words, then, "Our infernal lady, this virgin blood signifies our devotion. Send us we pray your slave, who will intercede for us against the godly and the nonbelievers."

  Miriam continued chanting in the unknown tongue without bothering to further translate. The women began to sway, and I with them. Our movements caused the candles to flicker and the light to become erratic. I felt aching pleasure and dizziness. The candles sputtered almost to extinction, and when they flared back up there was writhing smoke on the table.

  I choked back a scream. The black shape shifted with the candle flames. Rank odors of stale urine, blood, and sweat filled the room. I knew without seeing its organ that it was male. It seemed to leer at me just before it spoke.

  "I will service it." The voice was wrong, like stretched audio tape. It didn't belong here. Miriam waved the knife.

  "Your services are not yet needed. We are gathered for the One."

  "She occupies herself with more important things."

  Miriam sliced the knife through the smoke and the shape winced. "Listen to what we require and obey." Miriam shifted into the rasping tongue. She paused once to address us. "He is noting down your presence and vows of service. To back away now means a visit to you will not be pleasant."

  Miriam resumed the One's language. The male thing cringed and glowered, but nodded.

  "So shall it be done," he said. "Which of you shall I visit tonight in your sleep?"

  Miriam nodded toward the mayor's wife, who smirked at being picked.

  The demon also nodded, and withdrew within itself, leaving behind fine ash that drifted down onto the pooled blood in the middle of the table. The women released each other's hands and began talking.

  "Silence!" Miriam's tone cut across them like a straight razor. "Child, scrape the blood and ash off the table top and into the jar I give you. Be very careful not to taste it."

  I wanted to ask why, but only gave her a quizzical glance.

  "Because," she said, "Demon ash is used in curses."

  As my lingering fear dissipated, I felt the sweet/sour taste of having gotten away with something, of having displayed my own arbitrary power. The expressions of the assembled women looked smug and satiated. They said little more before they left, bowing as they exited. Esther and Miriam exchanged glances.

  Miriam took my left hand. The blood from my cut had dried during the ceremony. "You are changed more than you know, Naomi. If you go to the village tomorrow be modest and quiet, the change won't be noticed as much."

  "Why did you involve me with this?"

  Miriam laughed. "We could not proceed without you. And you appear to be what we had hoped. But you have a choice, your last one. You have seen what we do, what we are. Is it your wish to continue, to learn from us, if worthy to become one of us? Be careful with your answer, for it is a vow."

  "Do I have time to think about it?"

  "No. If you decline we will leave, and your life will be as it was before, probably worse, for that is the commonplace. If you agree, you will know discipline and pain, and pleasure, such as you don't yet imagine. And a memorable death. You will know secrets that no man knows."

  "But my father—"

  "He will release you."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "Because he will think he wants it."

  Miriam released my hand and stared at me. "You must decide. Which path, child?"

  I felt dizzy, as if the potion hadn’t worn off. "But I don't really know anything about your religion."

  "You know enough. We are not love and charity, and certainly not chastity. We are strong, vindictive, and pleasure seeking, most often sacrificed by mobs for not forsaking our One. And we spread our message and increase our sisterhood. Decide."

  My left hand throbbed. All the men and boys that I knew, despised our family and would only want to use me. I wanted more, even if the more was laced with poison. "All right," I said, almost with relief.

  Miriam smiled and took my hand again. "Let us sit. You must begin to learn the pleasures of terror."

  "Child," Esther said, "I will look in on your father and ensure that he was not disturbed by the evening's events. I may also work with him on a ritual, so you could hear occasional noises from his room."

  I said nothing, unsure how my father would react to a late evening visit. Since the death of my mother during the first riots, his moods were usually foul. Esther sensed my hesitation.

  "I'm quite sure he will welcome me."

  "Bring him something to drink, it will help."

  "Of course," Esther said, and left.

  Miriam talked and I listened for several hours. When I eventually climbed the stairs toward my bedroom false dawn was leeching black from the sky. Sounds came from my father's room, the rhythmic squealing of springs on his bed, sounds I had not heard since before my mother took sick. He and Esther were mating, and I sensed relief. He would be focused on Esther, and not belittling me.

  Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Father and I were thinking through our new roles, and Miriam and Esther were still tired from their varied duties. Once I'd cleared the dishes, Miriam waved me over.

  "Leave them, child. Time for you to learn the value of hate."

  "That's a contradiction."

  "No, that's a guiding principle. Of the villagers who hate you and your father, who do you hate the most?"

  "I don't hate—"

  "No! Naomi, you're beyond hypocrisy. Which hate burns most fiercely?"

  I needed only a second's thought. "Donnie the butcher. He tried to rape me. But his wife is one of you…"

  "One of us. Know child, that once beyond postulance, men are conveniences and not companions. Do you hate him enou
gh to hurt him?"

  "Yes." I nodded. "I think so."

  "I will make arrangements. You will lead tonight's invocation. Can you read?"

  "Yes, my mother taught me."

  Miriam smiled. "Good. Read this, it's a sounding out of the words you will need to say tonight. Memorize it."

  As the women filed in that night, Donnie-wife handed Miriam a clump of gray hair. "From his brush," she said.

  At the invocation, the demon smoke reappeared, roiling into and out of itself in sentient ebony.

  Miriam prepared the creature in her high tones, then said, "Recite the words, child."

  I did, but nothing seemed to happen after I'd finished. Miriam looked pleased however, and dismissed the demon.

  The next morning I went into the village for food. My last stop was the butcher shop, where Donnie was chopping through pig meat held down by his left hand. He glanced at me and said, “You’ll have to wait, bitch.”

  As I waited on the other side of the counter, Donnie's left hand jerked forward as if his elbow had been pushed. It happened as the cleaver was swinging down, and Donnie chopped off the front half of three fingers.

  Blood began spurting, and he grabbed his greasy apron and wrapped it around the finger stumps to try and slow the bleeding. "Go get Murphy!" he yelled at me.

  I had an urge to make him say please, but turned without saying anything and went to fetch the closest thing we had to a doctor.

  Miriam was waiting for me when I got back to the house. "How did it feel?"

  I thought to say 'Terrible.' But I said what I felt. "It wasn't enough, but it felt good."

  "Oh, I think you'll do."

  For the next three months, my days were spent with Miriam and Esther, my evenings with ever changing coven members. Each woman spent three evenings with the coven and went back to their lives to serve the shining One in secrecy. Almost three hundred women from the surrounding villages swore allegiance. After the first month, Miriam had trained me to invoke the demon.

  I questioned Miriam about my role. "Why am I receiving special treatment? Why was I not dispatched after three gatherings?"