Chapter 42

42

Lustina

Lustina gathered the basket of berries she’d picked at the request of Reverend Mother, who wished to have fresh fruit for the friar later in the afternoon. She didn’t mind the task, as it had brought her to the middle of the forest. How she had missed the days of picking berries with her mother. Those days had long since passed, however, and Lustina likely would never again know such freedom in her life.

Not too distant sounds reached her ears--screaming, as if someone was in trouble. Abandoning her basket, she ran toward the river, following the outcries to its bank, where in the middle of a stagnant pool, she saw arms flailing above the surface. A head poked up briefly, and Lustina’s heart caught in her throat to find the very young Agnes from the village calling out for help.

Without hesitation, Lustina trudged through the water, toward her, and when the shallows dipped into the depths that reached over her head, she swam toward the girl. Agnes disappeared below the surface, and with her heart thrumming inside her chest, Lustina swam faster, the skirt of her dress weighing heavy on her legs. By the time she reached the girl, Lustina’s muscles burned with fatigue, but she wrapped her arms around the limp child and pulled her back toward the shoreline. Once in the shallow waters again, Lustina dragged her up onto the bank. The girl’s dress caught on an upturned root of a tree as she hauled her farther onto the surface, until she finally lay her down well away from the river. Coughing and sputtering water, the girl squirmed and trembled.

“It is all right. You are safe, little Agnes.” Smiling with relief, Lustina rested a gentle hand on her arm to settle her, and when the child finally took a deep breath, she stared up at her with an expression of horror.

On a cough, she kicked herself backward, sitting upright, and lifted the part of her dress which had torn. Scorn burned in her eyes as she snapped her gaze back to Lustina.?“You ripped my dress! You wretched witch!” A hard smack against Lustina’s cheek carried the sting of humiliation.

Lustina touched the aching spot, confused. “My apologies, young miss. I did not mean …. I only wanted to help.”

“You should have left your cursed hands to yourself! What mockery will come of this, when those in the village find out! No one will dare to come near me now because of you. You pathetic fool!” The girl scrambled to her feet and stood over Lustina, and although short in stature, her harsh and unfair words left Lustina feeling much smaller.

“Listen to me Agnes, you would have drowned had you been left out there.”

“I would have preferred it.” Lips snarled, the girl spun away from her and ran back through the forest.

With an exasperated sigh, Lustina pushed up from the muddy bank and stared down at her filthy dress. She took a moment to rinse some of it away in the river, the merciless bite of winter air shivering her bones.

As she stepped in the direction of the monastery, a scent carried on the air, catching her attention, and turning back toward the forest, she lifted her nose, noting the notes of spice that watered her tongue. Delicious. Like the venison stew her mother would garnish with morels when they were in season. Although she was expected to return soon, she decided she had to investigate that scent, and followed the invisible path deeper into the forest.

The trees opened around a small clearing--one she’d never noticed in all the times she had stolen away into the woods. Curls of smoke rose from the chimney of a cottage covered in vines. Curious, she approached, the basket of berries still clutched in her palm as she passed the stacked wood piled off to the side, the goats corralled in a pen. The scent lured her for reasons she couldn’t understand. And she found herself at the door before she realized she had rudely arrived unannounced.

Cheeks warm with embarrassment, she turned to leave, when she heard a voice call to her from the other side.

“Lustina!” Not a voice she recognized, but it seemed its owner had somehow recognized her. “Won’t you please come inside?”

Frowning, Lustina opened the door, and found a dark-skinned woman sat before a fireplace, where a pot bubbled, sending a waft of that delicious scent her way.

Dressed in colorful robes and a golden head wrap, she looked magnificent and majestic at the same time. A queen from a faraway land. At her hip sat a thorned vine, coiled like a whip. She leaned forward and stirred whatever it was that steamed inside the pot.

“I am sorry, but how do I know you?” Lustina asked, stepping inside. Heat blanketed her, driving away the chill that lingered from the cold that clung to her sopping dress.

The woman didn’t bother to look back at her, but kept on with her stirring. “It is not you who knows me, child, but I who knows you. I was a friend of your mother.”

Something warm blossomed in her chest, and Lustina could not help the smile that tugged at her lips. A friend of her mother. What luck to stumble upon her! “May I ask your name, My Lady?”

The woman’s chuckle filled the room, and she sat back, gripping the arms of her rocking chair. “Please do not address me in such formal manner. For you are like a daughter to me.”

Lowering her gaze, Lustina smiled wider at that.

“My name is Camael. I am what is known as a Sybil.”

“A seer?”

“Seer. Prophet. It is all the same.”

It suddenly made sense to Lustina that she had seen her coming. Knew before she had knocked on the door that she would be standing there. If her knowledge on seers was worth anything, the woman had likely seen her coming years before.

“Why am I here?”

The woman’s deep brown eyes held such warmth, Lustina did not feel at all strange in a stranger’s house. “Why are you here?” she echoed. “You were fated to be here.”

“Fated?”

“You believe in the heavens, child?”

Lustina looked away, pondering the question.

“You do not believe in the heavens of the Pentacrux.”

“With due respect, how can I believe in a heaven which burns those not baptized in their beliefs? It seems cruel and unjust.”

A smile stretched Camael’s lips, and she seemed to study the girl from where she sat. “You speak of your mother.”

“Forgive me. Although you seem a friend to my mother, I do not know where you stand on the matter of witchcraft, for which she was very falsely accused.”

“Falsely accused. Bold words for a young girl.”

“Please.” Lowering her gaze, Lustina fidgeted with her skirt. “I meant no disrespect.”

“And I do not feel disrespected, child.” Camael reached for a slender object sitting out on the table beside her, and when she bent forward toward the flame, lighting the end of it, the whole room filled with the rich scent of tobacco. She puffed on the object a few times, sending smoke up into the air, then held it up. “I love a good cigar,” she said, and puffed it again. “The last, I shared with an ancient Mayan healer. He foretold many things to me.” Twisting it around, she licked her lips and set her attention back on Lustina. “Are you familiar with the pentad of blood moons?”

“My mother spoke of it, but I admit ignorance.”

“It is an ancient prophecy with many variations, told in many languages and cultures around the world. Your mother may have told you her own version of it.” At Lustina’s nod, she smiled. “No matter where it’s told, or how, every version ends in sacrifice. The one I know tells of a dark-winged creature who demanded a young virgin on the eve of the blood moon. So, the ancient people offered up their most beloved, in hopes he would spare them from suffering his wrath. The problem is, the Dark-Winged One fell in love with the girl and her kind, giving heart. And he was so smitten with her that he could not take her soul. So, he called on Death himself, and ordered the angel to grant her immortality. Well, not even Death had the power, so instead, he cursed her to be reborn. And on the year of the pentad blood moon, she is to be sacrificed to the Dark-Winged One, or there will be much suffering.”

Lustina vaguely recalled that her mother had told her a similar story. Although, her mother’s didn’t sound quite so much like a fairytale. In her version, the young girl’s rebirth served more as a harbinger of the darkness, warning that something horrible would befall the ancient people. Of course, Lustina only thought of them as stories. Never true prophecies.

“This dark-winged creature sounds awfully unreasonable,” the girl said to the elder.

Camael stared back at Lustina for a moment, and a burst of laughter sent her flying forward in her chair. For what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, she wheezed and calmed, then wheezed again with renewed laughter. Wiping tears from her eyes, she quieted and exhaled a long breath.

A flush of embarrassment rose to Lustina’s cheeks, which quickly turned to a huff of frustration, as the woman kept on with her laughter. “At least you find my naivete amusing. Unlike the bishop,” she muttered under her breath.

Camael’s laughter died with the serious expression on her face. “He is cruel to you, is he not?”

“I suppose that would depend on what you find cruel. Seems there are others in the world who suffer far worse. The poor and hungry, for example.”

“I have supped in the presence of both kings and paupers, and I can tell you that suffering has no preference for social status. Sometimes, those we deem poor have riches of happiness far beyond what we can imagine. Do not renounce your pain for anyone.”

“With what kings have you dined?”

Camael’s brow quirked and her lips stretched to a wily smile. “Ones as ancient as the gods themselves.”

Lustina eyed the woman warily. “You are telling me that you are ancient yourself?”

“Time is meaningless in my world.”

“What world?”

“Noc’tu umbraj. The shadowed one.”

The girl had never heard of such a place, and although talking about other worlds would invite suspicion of witchcraft, she could not deny the intrigue and curiosity of it. “What is this shadowed world like?”

“It is very old and very dangerous. The place where The Dark Ones walk. But there is an enchantment about it that calls to some.”

“How did you arrive here, if you are from there?”

“I have a gift that is of great value to some.”

“The Dark Ones?” Lustina asked. “What are they?”

“Do you believe in angels?”

“I do, but …”

“They did not come to your mother’s aid.”

A thought that had always troubled Lustina: if angels existed, why did they fail to intervene?

The older woman’s smile turned sympathetic. “Some fates cannot be changed, child. But yours can. You do not have to bear the burden that has been placed on your shoulders. Walk away from him. Urge him to sacrifice his love.”

Frowning in confusion, Lustina shook her head. “Who?” Before Camael could answer, what sounded like thunder rumbled outside the cottage, and on looking out the window, Lustina could see the sky had darkened. Storms had always terrified her. “I do not mean to sound hasty, but I must be getting back before Reverend Mother sends for me.”

Scanning over the ceiling, as if something lurked there, Camael set her cigar down by the fire’s embers and turned toward the girl. “Lustina,” she whispered. “You are here for a reason. The darkness lures you, but he is selfish. He puts you in grave danger.”

“What are you saying?” Lustina chuckled with her sudden discomfort. “I am the sacrifice this dark-winged creature is destined to seek out?”

“He has already sought you out.”

“Who is he?”

At another crack of thunder outside, Camael flinched, her gaze casted toward the ceiling again, as if something would come crashing through. She nabbed a tin cup and poured some of the broth from her cauldron into it, before passing it off to Lustina. “Something to keep you warm in the storm.”

The spicy scent drifted upward, and although Lustina hesitated to drink, the urge pulled at her tongue for one taste. She sipped the fluids, which instantly transported her back to the nights when she was ill and her mother would care for her, feeding her the spicy broth. It was warmth. Comfort. Home. Before she could stop herself, she swallowed every drop of it, savoring the flavor in her mouth and the heat in her belly.

The room widened and darkened until a blackness settled over her.

In that void, she felt as light as clouds, and she heard a the voice of her mother, calling to her. “Lustina, my love. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes to the darkness of the surrounding forest at dusk. Treetops peered down on her, like ancient men standing over her, and in their gaps, black ravens circled overhead. She turned her head to find the basket of berries lying on the ground beside her, the fruit scattered over the forest bed, and she sat up, desperate to recall how she had gotten there to begin.

The cottage.

Camael.

She pushed to her feet and ran through the woods, toward the clearing where she’d seen the small dwelling.

Only the waning beams of sunset shone down on an empty stretch of open grass.

Lustina stepped out of the woods and into the clearing, standing in the beam of the sun’s dying light.

There was no warmth there, though.

Only the cold promise of impending darkness.