Whispers of Fate: Part 2

Part 2

From the moment that she was conceived, Drysi Taliad Maddox had lived an accursed existence. It is said that bad things happen to good people. Catrin and Ryss Maddox were among the most respected people in the town of Avengaver in the heart of Wales. Ryss was the grandson of the stonemason who had helped to construct the arch at the entrance of town. Catrin was the daughter of Lord Avengaver himself and was hailed as the kindest soul around. Their wedding was a modest yet beautiful affair with the majority of the town in attendance. At the time of the wedding, Catrin was pregnant with a beautiful baby girl. When the day came for her to have her child on a particularly overcast evening, three months earlier than she had expected, the local nunnery took them in. The whole event was an ordeal of painful proportions. Kicking and screaming, Catrin feared she would not survive the night but, to both her and Ryss’ relief, she was wrong about her prediction. However, it appeared that her child had undertaken the minor prophecy. The nunnery to this day still speaks of the child who had no face as it had been buried under a flap of skin called a “caul”. This caul strangled the poor child, stealing every breath she could muster. The nuns told Ryss that she would not see dawn. 

Ryss, now burdened with this revelation, stepped into the rain beyond the door where he simply kneeled on the road with his eyes cast to the sky. With every breath that he knew his child would not have, he screamed to the clouds. “Let my child live!”

The clouds maintained a distant and indifferent silence. However, a man answered his cries. “I can save her.”

Beside Ryss stood a figure who was taller than most anyone that he had seen before. The man was an odd sight to behold with a long white coat and matching wide brimmed hat which now sagged beneath the rain. Over one shoulder lay a long amber braid which fell down to his hip. His face was sharp angled, more deer-like than man, with ears that were longer than was natural. His voice, that of smooth silk, spoke to Ryss. He offered a deal. A deal that Ryss was too distressed to think over. A deal that was too good to refuse. 

Not an hour later, the caul dried up and fell away as if it were ash and Drysi took her first breaths in tandem with the sun. When he was interrogated on what had happened that night, Ryss’ response was a simple one: “I prayed and the gods answered.” 

For years, he kept the secret of what had truly occurred. Eight years later, he died at the hands of the beast that he had created with the secret still locked deep in his guilty soul. 

Chains. Why am I still in chains? 

Cold steel scraped away at the already raw skin as Drysi slumped awake. Total darkness told her that perhaps the escape was but a dream and her body remained in the box. This time she felt different. Perhaps the air was fresher or her sleep had been fuller. No matter, she could feel her strength had returned. The world had come into focus. 

She gave an experimental tug at the chains. The links around her right hand felt more loose than the other. Placing both of her hands onto the chain leading away from her right wrist, she closed her eyes. Immediately her heart began to move faster, her nails began to grow and the chain snapped at the sound of a beastly grunt. At that moment, a door in the darkness swung open, spilling candle light into the dark room. Drysi however did not open her eyes and instead chose to slump over and pretend as if she had not awakened yet. The guard, who had heard the sound of crushed metal, stepped further into the room. As he approached, Drysi could smell his sweat, rushing heart, and yet a distinct lack of blood. Just as it was with Gannet. He is afraid. 

As he approached the small child, her hand was suddenly around his neck. Dropping the lantern, he clawed at her hand, trying to scream for help. Instead, he could only gasp as her grip grew more solid. When his body became limp, she released him and opened her eyes. He is still breathing. His heart is slow. I shall let him live.

Dragging the body beside her, she searched his belt and eventually found a chain of many keys. By the time that she found the correct one to unlock her left hand, the other guard, Bulbul, noticed that his comrade had not returned from the cell. He turned the corner only to see the lantern lying shattered in the darkness. “Is everything good in there, Weaver?”

When his calls did not receive a response, Bulbul drew the sword at his side and took a cautious step into the cell. As he moved further in, a barely audible scrapping from the upper left corner stopped him in his tracks. Turning the lantern to the location of the sound, he tried to keep his voice from shaking as he addressed what he hoped was just a rat and yet logically knew it was not. “I warn you, whatever you are, any sudden moves and you will be regretting it.”

White knuckles wrapped around his blade, Bulbul stared down the corner until he was able to make out a creature of sorts gripping the ceiling. Another step and the creature suddenly turned to reveal a pair of yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the lantern light. This movement caused Bulbul to also drop and shatter the lantern as he screamed out in terror. 

Drysi looked through the open door, scanning for any other strangely incompetent guards but saw none. When the coast was clear, she stepped out of the room into a dungeon of sorts. On legs of resolved jelly, she began to run down the hall, passed various prisoners and to a large double door or solid iron. Shoulder to metal, she pushed the entrance aside and was met with a red carpet more lush than anything she had ever seen. 

Before she could get any further, her progress was halted by a black leather boot which made a swift connection with her side. Turning to strike, she was stopped by the tip of a silver spear and a resolute frown on a particularly burly guard’s face. “Ah good, so you are back to health. I was wondering how long it would be.”

It was not the guard but rather a much taller gentleman who spoke, one who stood behind him. This man was quite pleasant to look at with broad shoulders covered in a puffed white shirt, a thin waist held in by a blue vest, and eyes, eyes that could see right through you. Then there was his smile: long lips holding a pointed yet charismatic grin that made you feel as if you were in on a joke that only was between you and him. To put it simply, he was beautiful.

“Now, now, Goshawk, she is not one of your prisoners, Ms. Maddox is my personal guest.”

When the guard stepped away from the small girl, the tall man stooped and offered his hand which she gratefully took. “I do apologize for our… rough reception, it is simply protocol, you see? You can never be too safe with visitors. A great many humans have unsavory thoughts about people like us, people different from them. Now, where was I? Ah yes.”

He bowed deep and low before raising his head and lightly kissing her hand. “I am Kestrel, the main proprietor of this humble abode called Lorrington. Now, why don’t you come have dinner with me? I promise you that it will be of the most excellent fancy.”  

To the witches of London, height was a sacred matter. It placed them higher in the sky, closer to their goddess. This is not to say it is the mountains upon which they should reside. No, those highest peaks are for communication with Ashallalah and nothing more. Living underground was a way of separating themselves from the divine. People tend to get delusions of grandeur when left upon a hill for too long and so it is the Earth that reminds them that, despite their hands always reaching for the sublime, their feet will always and forever touch the ground. 

“Our feet will always and forever touch the ground… Our feet will always and forever touch the ground…”

It was between ragged breaths and snow covered footfalls that Natalie chanted these words.  “Our feet will always and forever touch the ground…”

It had been four days since her departure from her coven. When Sister Halasi, one of many witches who had been Natalie’s distant caretakers since she turned five, initially said goodbye, Natalie said nothing. She didn’t wish to focus on anything but the journey ahead of her. Now, with her mind in the throws of sleepless nights and long winded days, her mind had begun to turn inward on itself. She chanted to keep it at bay as she tread up the side of Scafell Pike, the highest and most sacred place in the entirety of England. However, once her words failed, she began to think once more. “Our feet… Our feet will… Our feet… Our-”

Natalie took pride in the fact she was not a bitter person. Even when she was young, she never once held a grudge. Perhaps it was because she was so often looked over that she was hardly there at all. Much like her more angry thoughts, she too rolled off the backs of others water off a duck. Yet, here she was: the center of the coven’s attention, and finding herself enraged over the strangeness of it all and the pure will of everyone around her to keep it that way. It was as if everyone had kicked her out onto a forty day journey just to spite her. It wasn't so much that she doubted the validity of the journey itself, forty was a common number when it came to attuning with artifacts, the world, and even yourself.  It was that they told her next to nothing then got rid of her as fast as they could. 

Yes, she was to become the Mara, the saviour of her people but what does that really mean? This bangle… she had heard tell of it for years and yet everyone neglected to ever mention what was so special about it? Why did Kestrel have it in the first place? Why does it have to be her? Could Ashallalah be wrong? Why does everything have to be so damn confusing? 

She looked at the bangle on her wrist. Perhaps it will reveal itself in time. No, everything will.

Leaning on a tree out of the snow, Natalie stopped to catch her breath and to slap her other wrist five times over as Isa had many times, wincing at each raise and fall of her own hand. Even her mind took the voice of Mother Isa: One must not speak ill of Ashallalah. Nothing is ever a mistake.

Looking up the mountain, she could see a rock face which she knew held a cave. If the sun comes down while I’m out here, I am as good as dead.

With these words of affirmation, she stepped out from under the tree into the biting wind and began her tortuous climb once more.

“What seems to be the matter my dear? Is the meal not to your liking?”

Legs crossed, her hands gripping her feet, Drysi stared intensely at the lavish spread of foods set before her by numerous slaves, all of which were regular humans, each wearing a chain around their neck just below the collar of their shirts. One was a girl not much older than she. Looking up at Kestrel, she shook her head. “No, I’m just not used to this. I’m also just not hungry.”

Kestrel offered an understanding grin before returning his gaze to the moderate cut of raw beef that lay oozing before him, a deep red ichor covering the plate and likewise filling his goblet. He cut a thin piece and sucked on it for a moment before swallowing. “Well, it would probably be for the best that you eat something, you have had a very long few days. Also, I do know what you mean. All your life you have been treated like you are a lesser being. I do understand your pain. My father was quite the king, but a rather poor parent. He liked his generals far more than his own sons. I, being the youngest, received the worst of it. He would often beat me saying that I am a failure to our bloodline. I am sure you have heard similar phrases?”

Timidly gripping her fork, she took a small sample of a small pot of potatoes beside her cup of water. It was good, far too good. 

She had lied, she was hungry. So starved that it scared her. She knew what could happen when she was hungry. The very thought killed her appetite. However, with the initial addition to her stomach, her appetite had weaselled itself back into her and soon she was nearly tearing though everything in her sight. 

Looking up from the edible carnage, she was met by an unexpected sight on her host’s face: satisfaction. Swallowing a strangely large piece of steak, she began to speak. “Sorry, I’m not very good at…”

“At being a conversationalist? Oh, no worries my dear, I didn’t bring you here just to entertain little old me.”

Setting aside his fork, he took a deep swig from his cup, red eyes peering over the dark metal at the little girl at the other end of the table. She did likewise, mimicking the way his hand warped itself around the thin neck of the goblet. “Why am I here then?”

“Because,”

He placed the cup back into its rightful spot and leaned back in his large wooden chair. “You had something stolen from you, something which was stolen from me a very long time ago. This being a childhood, something you could get back.”

She began to fiddle with her fork. “So?”

He set his elbows on the table once more. “I mean to say, my young Maddox, I know who did this to you and I know how to fix it. What do you say?”

Drysi looked deep into his eyes, saw truth in their crimson depths, and felt a long absent spark in her soul: hope. For as long as she had ever known, she had hated that which she was, just as everyone did. Now, there was a chance. A chance for her to be human, to be normal. 

Allowing a smile to spread across her thin face, she also leaned on the table. “Well, what are we waiting for then? What do I need to do?”

‘Uh, uh, not so quick, my dear. I fear that this little partnership of ours is bound to tear itself to pieces without the addition of one ever so important thing: complete trust.”

She knew what came next, how could she not? Drysi sighed. “You want to see it don’t you?”

Kestrel smiled. “But of course. I will show you my wolf, and you shall show me yours. Do we have a deal, Drysi?”

She nodded.

“Good! Now, why don’t you come for a walk with me.”

The night was clear as glass, the sky was that of the deepest ocean, the stars becoming drops of rain rippling back at the darkness. It was upon a small hill that they stood, the Castle of Lorrington looming over the fields from the top of its mountain. 

Crossing his legs on the wet grass, Kestrel allowed serenity to pass through all of his limbs and out through his metered breaths. Slowly and as sure as a fresh bloom, his skin grew into a thick black fur, his face elongating into a delicate snout. Another breath and his legs gently shifted, taking on a more canine anatomy. Then, just as there had once been a man, there stood a large black wolf, far more sizable than any other that Drysi had ever heard of. 

“Now then,”

Kestrel’s voice had grown deeper and more craggy alongside his transformation, every word seeming to take a considerable amount of effort to come through. “Show me.”

Taking a step back, Drysi took a deep breath and tensed but nothing happened. She tried again yet there was nothing. 

“Relax, you will hurt yourself. Think of a pleasant moment in your life, cling to that and let the change come naturally.”

She nodded at Kestrel’s advice and relaxed every muscle in her body. However, when she began to search for a moment in her mind to cling to, she only met the figure of pain, the figure of her father. Tears began to stream freely down her face as the image of his still eyes conjured itself as clear as day. Warmth covered her shaking hands as the blood began to flow from his body. 

Looking down, the blood had taken on the appearance of fur replacing her skin, replacing herself.  Gripping her head, begging the memories to cease, she began to writhe and howl in pain as her very body contorted and stretched out of shape. Her skin rippled, her bones cracking and mending themselves thousands of times over to account for the extra mass. 

As the beast overcame her, Drysi fought to remain conscious. Many times she had gone down and each time havoc was all that remained when she awoke. So she kept up the battle as her brain worked to shut itself off and take the easy way out. 

When the pain stopped and the field finally became quiet once again, the small girl had been replaced by a monstrous figure that towered over Kestrel by several feet. Its face, while being vaguely wolf-like, turned its flat nose and pointed ears toward the much smaller wolf. It was in deep grunts that it mimicked words. “There… See.”

Despite the ability to barely speak, Drysi seemed to mostly be in control of her senses despite how overwhelming it was to hold the reins. She was able to hold on for a minute before she felt herself slipping away. In order to stop the beast, she worked quickly to undo the transformation. The reversal, while certainly not being pleasant, was significantly less painful. Probably because she was in charge of changing back.  

“Truly a beautiful creature, the sort from which greatness is made.”

When she stood back upon her own feet, there Kestrel was as well, seemingly applauding the beast. However, despite his encouragement, Drysi felt sick. All of the nice food she had eaten felt as if it were resurfacing. Just as she had resisted the beast, she too resisted her reflux. She lost, of course, but it is the battle that matters, after all. 

After allowing her to take care of business, Kestrel shepherded his young guest back to the castle and procured for her a proper room. Afterall, even livestock had to be housed and fed properly if they were to yield any use later. Kestrel intended to make his stable so unrecognizable that any man could mistake it for a home and he did just that. The girl did not suspect a thing.