Wavespire:Characters:Shayla:Backstory1

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Shayla’s Story

This room is very small, but the discomfort from holding my knees to my chest for so long isn’t what’s getting to me the most. It’s the darkness. I can hear the worms crawling through the walls and the rats scratching at the dirt around me. Sometimes, probably when night falls, the rats become bolder and try to nibble at my toes. They like to chew, and chewing on living or dead flesh doesn’t seem to matter to them. I managed to kill one recently—or was it long ago? There’s no way of telling time in here, so that incident could’ve been minutes ago or days ago. Still, after killing one of them, the others seem to have gotten the point. They haven’t bitten me in a long time, but the sound and feel of their little feet still makes me want to go mad.

The darkness in the pit is tangible. It’s a weight on my skin, like mud drying on my clothes. Still, it I know it isn’t the darkness I need to fear, but the things that dwell within it. After studying under Dugald for so long, I know very well the type of things that lurk in this sort of musty darkness. I also know that if Dugald is looking for me, his emissaries can peer into this darkness and see me very well. I wonder if he’s watching me suffer right now. Does he hate me? No, he still loves me in his own cruel and twisted way. I can feel it. That’s what frightens me more than the darkness, more than the interrogations, and more than finding out the verdict of my death sentence. What if he somehow rescues me? If that happens, then death would be a blessing—though, I still fear it.

The only times I’ve seen light have been when they push food to me through a slot in the trapdoor and when they take me out to peer into my mind. Peering into my mind is too kind a phrase to use. They ravage my mind. They leer above my darkest feelings and the things I’m most ashamed of, and I relive them over and over again. It’s as though this pit is nothing but a dream, and I’m working with Dugald again. I still can’t decide which is worse, working for Dugald or the darkness and silence of this pit. I’ve been told they’ll let me out as soon as they reach a verdict, so at least here, shining like a firefly in a jar, there is still a flicker of hope. While working for Dugald, however, there was never any hope, but torturous or not, I get to experience both, the pit and my memories.

And yet, sadly, my memories are the only things keeping me sane. When I start to feel as though this is nothing but a terrible dream, and when the darkness makes me wonder who I am and if I’m dead, the memories set me right again. The Magi of the Order of Hermes told me to be penitent. They said that I should reflect on my life and my sins while I waited here, so that’s what I’ve been doing. At least when I think back on my own memories, I’m the one doing the sorting. They told me that I should reflect on where I went wrong, but despite my efforts, I’ve yet to be able to find the exact moment where I “went bad.”

I’ve always felt as though my life was out of my control, that I was an abused toy, played with by others much more powerful than I could ever be, and even now, my life is held in the hands of these Magi. I think that they see me that way, as a doll, something worthless that they can throw away. I don’t have much hope that they’ll spare my life, and truthfully, I’m not sure if my life is worthy of being spared. Still, I have pinpointed one of the times I acted under my own volition which I think first led me down this path that could lead to my downfall…

1

It was the time that I first found out that I had a talent for magic. I was only seven years old, and my Mother had spoken harshly to me again because I was careless and dropped the water pail on the way back to the house. She sent me to my room as usual.

My home is in Ireland, and I grew up learning all of the Irish legends. My old room faced the forest, and I always imagined fairies frolicking among the flowers, and even sometimes thought I saw them prancing just out of reach from my prying eyes. I could watch the forest for hours and remain entertained, so being sent to my room wasn’t really a punishment, but I wasn’t about to let my Mother realize that.

On this particular day, I was watching a fox playing in the snow outside of my window. It was as though it was teasing me, jumping from snowdrift to snowdrift, bouncing. It was so playful that it was almost as though it was a street performer, dancing for money. However, in this case, his payment would be the mice that were staring at him frozen, fascinated.

I giggled, my heart was filled with joy at seeing a wild animal so close to my small room, and I began to pretend that I was one as well. I could feel my heart beating faster, my fur, warm and natural wrapping around my body, and it was as though I was changing size. Before I knew it, I wasn’t just pretending to be a fox, I was one. I immediately jumped from my open window, and bolted towards the other fox.

We regarded one another with curiosity. Still, he was very wary of me. Even though I had changed form, I wasn’t used to being an animal. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. After a few moments of regarding me, the other fox bolted away. Still, I could’ve followed him. His scent was a colorful line of red that I could see easily, but I could tell he didn’t want me to pursue the trail, so I headed back towards the house.

I heard my Mother calling me. She was in my room, staring at the clothes I had discarded before I left. I climbed up the small ledge back into the room. She brandished the broom she was carrying at me for a moment, but in a sheer effort of will, I forced myself to change back—and she screamed. I had never heard her sound so terrified.

She yelled, “DEMON! What have you done with my daughter?”

I began throwing my clothes back on and stammered, “Ma, it’s me. I just found out I can turn into a fox. Can’t you?”

She snapped, “Stay away from me. I knew it. I knew you would be a changeling.”

I said, “I’m not a changeling. I was just pretending to be a fox and then I turned into one. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She said, “Not another word. You just stay away from me—you and your fairy magic. I should’ve known better than to trust that man. I should’ve known he would’ve taken my real daughter away and left a demon in its place.”

Her words devastated me. I started crying and tried to follow her, wanting to be hugged, wanting her to tell me that she loved me, but she wouldn’t speak to me. She wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. In her mind I was a changeling, and that meant I was a monster.

I don’t resent her for her feelings, at least, not anymore. I understand now. There are women that can change into animals that are a certain type of demon. Usually, they are called varying things in different cultures, everything from Wampus Cats to Hags, but they are all creatures of evil, or at the very least dark feyfolk. In my Mother’s mind, I wasn’t her daughter anymore, just some sort of creature that killed and replaced her daughter.

For weeks afterward she wouldn’t speak to me. But still, she made enough food for both of us to eat. By that fact, I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced I was a monster. I didn’t change into a fox again, afraid that she would close me out of the house. I could tell that she still loved me, though she never admitted it aloud. She often cried at night and prayed loudly for my soul. I guess she thought her prayer would make me burst into flames or would drive me away if I was a devil. I tried to be the perfect daughter, doing all of my chores without her having to tell me twice, obeying her without question, but I knew nothing would be the same.

I should’ve known that what came next was inevitable. That year there was a particularly harsh winter, and food became scarce. As the food began to dwindle, my Mother began dropping subtle hints that I was no longer wanted.

She muttered at the table, “You know, foxes forage for food all winter long. If you can turn into one, perhaps you should go and forage your own food.”

I told her, “I don’t know how.”

She said, “Surely, you have some instinct, or have you been preying on me and my emotions all this time?”

I snapped, “I’m not a changeling or a demon! I’m your daughter. I don’t even know why I was able to do that.”

She muttered under her breath, “You’re so like your Father. That’s why.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

My Mother very rarely talked about my Father. She told me, usually when she was particularly mad at me, that I was “my Father’s child.” And, I could always tell from her tone of voice that she was very bitter about him. She would spit his name, Brion, as though she was saying a curse word. Still, that evening she had been drinking a great deal of mead, and her eyes had the glossy look they often had when she was lost in her own past.

She stared off in the distance wistfully and said, “I knew he couldn’t be human. He was far too beautiful to be anything but one of the fairfolk, but I loved him anyway. He slept a winter and a summer with me, but was gone with the autumn. He came with the autumn and was gone with it as well.”

I asked, “Why did he leave us, Ma?”

She said, “I’ve never been quite sure, but he told me I looked like a lonely princess, and that he would be my knight in shining armor and he would rescue me from my loneliness. So, he slept with me just long enough to fulfill his promise and make me a baby to keep me company. That’s the nature of the fey—like you don’t know it.”

I said, “I’m not a fey.”

She stared at me and said, “I swear, you look exactly like him.”

I asked, “Is that why you hate me, because I look like him?”

She said, “I don’t hate you, Baby.”

I asked, “Then why don’t you hug me anymore? Why do you act like you’re afraid of me?”

She said, “Because, if you aren’t a changeling, then you’re one of them, one of the Magi. I don’t think I can raise you anymore. You frighten me.”

I said, “I’m sorry I scare you. But, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

She said, “You might not be able to help it. Magi are dangerous to be around by nature.”

I asked, “But what are Magi?”

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. My Mother seemed glad for the interruption, but I wasn’t. I followed her into the living room to ask her what Magi were one more time, and that was when I first saw the person that would be my future Master. You see, I didn’t really have a choice about what my future would be. I didn’t go seeking my Master, he came and found me.

He was very tall and intimidating, with shoulder length black oily hair and hazel eyes that seemed unnaturally light. His skin was pale and he wore a long black, hooded cloak and dark leather armor over a very nice dress coat, silk shirt, and pants. At first my Mother seemed intimidated, backing away slightly. I could understand why. Even though he didn’t intimidate me right away, something about him struck me as odd. I was never a very shy child, but I felt compelled to remain quiet around him. It made me think of the way a horse’s skin will twitch when it’s nervous, because I could almost feel my skin doing the same thing. I could tell my Mother felt the same, in fact, more so from her expression. Still, the man was clearly rich, and upon seeing that he was a handsome gentleman, and probably to make sure she didn’t show that she was afraid of him, my Mother immediately smiled and curtsied. He smiled back and bowed slightly.

He said, “Am I in the presence of Miss Keira, and her daughter Aisling?”

She said, “Yes. Do I know you, stranger?”

He said, “Forgive me, my name is Dugald. I heard from the local priest that you were having some trouble with your daughter.”

I asked, “Ma, you were talking to the priest about me?”

She said, “Be silent in the presence of a guest, Aisling. Yes. I thought that maybe they would let you join the convent this winter. But when he heard about your special needs, he wouldn’t take you.”

Dugald said, “That’s why he sent me. I would like to help. You see, I’m a Magus.”

My Mother’s expression was hard to read. At first she seemed angry, as though she was ready to throw the stranger out of our house, forcibly if necessary. Then, she seemed weary and even a little relieved.

She said, “Aye, that explains it. Please come in. I was just about to explain what a Magus was to my daughter. So, I take it she really is one of them?”

Dugald strode confidently inside and said, “I wasn’t sure from what the Father said, but now that I see her, I can tell that she is definitely one of us.”

My Mother said, “I was starting to think she was a changeling. Thank goodness. At least she isn’t a monster, though this isn’t much better.”

I muttered, “Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

Dugald ignored my comment and grabbed my Mother’s hand, looking into her eyes and saying, “I know this must be very difficult for you. My parents almost abandoned me when they realized I had ‘the gift.’ I never resented them for it. I can understand what you’re going through. It must be so disappointing…”

My Mother began to cry and said, “Yes. I never even meant to have her. Her Father tricked me. He was one of the fairfolk.”

I looked at the floor and began to cry. I never expected my Mother to say something like that in front of me, and the pain of it was almost too much to bear. I contemplated transforming into a fox and running away, but I knew I would freeze to death, so instead I just sat down and pretended not to exist. Listening, wondering what the stranger would coax my Mother into saying next.

I didn’t have to wait long.

He said, “I know that what I’m about to ask is going to be very difficult, but I’d like to take this terrible burden off of your hands. I’d like to take Aisling with me and make her my apprentice.”

My Mother said, “But, she’s all I’ve got. And, she is my daughter. Even knowing what she is, I love her.”

I said, “I love you too, Ma. Please don’t make me go.”

My Mother glanced at me, but the stranger gently pulled her face back towards his and locked eyes with her, saying, “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. I have more than enough money to provide for her, and I wouldn’t leave you without reimbursement either.”

She muttered, “I don’t know…”

Dugald said, “Think of what’s best for her. This way, she’ll be with her own kind. I’ll treat her like my own daughter, I’ll be her Pater. I can tell that you’re not even sure if both of you will last the winter. She’ll be well fed and happy with me, and you’re needs will be provided for as well. I would hate to see such a beautiful woman waste away because of one harsh winter, not when I could help.”

Dugald was stroking her hand and glancing into her eyes.

My Mother blushed and said, “You’re right. It would be for the best.”

I said, “I don’t trust him. Ma, please don’t send me away with that man.”

She simply said, “Pack your things, Love. You’ll be in good hands.”

I had no other choice. I could tell that from the stern expression on her face, her mind was set. There was no arguing with my Mother when she set her mind on something. I have a stubborn streak of my own passed down from her. Still, I really didn’t like the way Dugald was looking at my Mother and stroking her hand. It was like a snake staring down a bird. Something about the man’s eyes made them hypnotic. When he first walked in, I knew there was something I didn’t like about his eyes. I would find out exactly why that was later, but for now, I knew my life would never be the same, and deep down I knew I would never see my Mother again. The stranger’s argument was persuasive, but there was something very false about his sincerity. It was the way his smile never touched his eyes, and the way he didn’t remove his black leather glove to stroke my Mother’s hand. After I packed, I hugged my Mother one last time before I followed Dugald, and she told me that she loved me. I’m glad I got to hear it one last time.

2

As Dugald led me towards his awaiting carriage, I realized that all I had to remember my Mother by were the few possessions she gave me; a doll made of rags and yarn, her ivory comb, a few sets of clothes, and an old knitted blanket. I held the possessions close to my chest, as though somehow I was still hugging my Mother. I could see her silhouette in the window, watching me go. I thought I heard a soft sob, and then she was gone. I forced myself not to cry. Even as a child, I somehow knew that I didn’t want to show my emotions in front of Dugald.

As we got closer, I noticed that there was a man in a dark cloak sitting in the front of the carriage with the reins in his hands. Something about the man made me feel uneasy, as if the area around him was cold and my skin would wither if I got too close. To my horror, I noticed that the plants around the carriage were dead, and the woods close to the carriage were entirely silent, as though the presence of the driver sucked away sound, life, and hope.

Dugald followed my gaze and said, “Don’t worry about him, Little Girl. I’m far more dangerous than my driver.”

I stared defiantly at my new Master. He glanced at me and chuckled.

He muttered, “I can see you already despise me, how delightful.”

I asked, “What did you do to my Mother? She wouldn’t have let me go. You must’ve done something to her.”

Dugald said, “You’re mother is nothing but a weak minded mortal. She’s a sheep. The only reason why she’s still alive is because everyone expects a wolf to kill a sheep. They never expect a wolf to feed one.”

I stopped and snapped, “I’m not going with you!”

Dugald said, “Do what you’d like, but if you go back to your Mother, I’ll be forced to kill you both. If you run into the woods you’ll freeze to death.”

I said, “You won’t kill us. You just said so.”

Dugald said, “I insinuated I wouldn’t kill your Mother because it would cause more work for me. However, if you aren’t coming with me anyway, I see no reason to leave you alive. I won’t have anything to show for my money, so I might as well take it back.”

I begrudgingly stepped into the carriage. Dugald sat beside me and before I could even move, he thrust a black silken bag over my head, tying it tightly around my neck.

He said, “Don’t scream, if you want to live. We’re going to your new home. You will stay silent and still.”

I whispered, “Why won’t you let me see it? I thought you said you would be like a Father to me…”

He said, “Most apprentices call their Master “Pater” because he is supposed to be like a Father, but I bought you as a slave. You have to earn the right to be a full apprentice, and even then I will be your Master. You will call me such. The bag is a precaution, just in case a miracle happens and you get away from me. Should you ever attempt to escape, pray for a miracle, because when I catch up to you, you’ll need it.”

I began to cry, but he grabbed my head through the bag, muffling my sobs with his hand and making it difficult for me to breathe.

He snarled, “And, you’re wasting your tears on me. If I catch you crying, you’ll have something else to cry about, do I make myself clear?”

I nodded.

He said, “Good. Now stop that sniveling. You need to toughen up if you want to survive even the first year.”

We spent the rest of the carriage ride mostly in silence. I could hear him rummaging through paper and the sound of the pages of a book scraping against one another as he read. Still, he rarely talked to me. I tried speaking to him when the silence became unbearable, and sometimes he would answer politely, but other times he would slap me across the face through the bag, saying, “Be silent, or I will remove your tongue.”

The threat was enough to keep me silent and make me cry. Still, any time that I shed any tears I was careful that my sobs were quiet enough to be drowned out by the sound of the carriage wheels.

Even though I couldn’t see through the bag, I could tell subtle differences in lighting. We were on the road for five days. I was given a crust of bread, some wine, and some dry jerky each day. I was usually fed in the evening when the carriage was lit by an oil lamp. Only then was I allowed to remove my mask, but the windows of the carriage were drawn entirely shut. During the final day of the trip, I finally became bold enough to speak once more, when the mask was off, and I could tell Dugald seemed to be in a much better mood.

I asked him, “Are we nearly there?”

Dugald replied with a smile, “Yes, we’re very close.”

I noticed the large leather bound book he was reading and whispered in awe, “Am I going to learn how to read?”

Dugald grinned and said, “You know, I never thought about the fact you probably couldn’t read. Yes, my Dear Girl, you’ll learn to read in more than one language.”

I asked, “Really?”

He said, “Yes, of course. You would be no use as an apprentice without knowing how to read. Reading is the primary way that we learn our magic. One day, you might even write a book of your own.”

I asked in a quiet voice, “Are you going to teach me?”

Dugald said, “Yes. I’ll be the one to teach you everything.”

For the first time since I joined Dugald, I actually felt hope. I had never even dreamed that I would one day be able to read. When my Mother mentioned the convent, the one consolation to the thought that I might have to join the church was that the church would give me an opportunity to be educated. Despite how unpredictable Dugald was, and that I didn’t know much about him, I suddenly thought that I could somehow be happy learning under him, and everything would work out.

I know it was naïve of me to believe I could be happy. I already knew he was unpredictable and dangerous but children hang on to any hope that they can get. And, at the time, I was sure I couldn’t manage on my own, so I decided to make the best of it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have wanted to learn to read, or maybe I should’ve tried to escape despite his threats. I’m not sure if the Magi feel that I was right to desire to read as a child. I think they thought already during that time I wanted power, but the truth was, I just wanted to make the most of a bad situation, and perhaps somehow make my Mother proud.

3

Dugald’s home, or I should probably say hideout, was in the middle of a large stretch of woods. The carriage stopped many miles away and we had to travel the rest of the way on horses through narrow trails. I didn’t see very much. Throughout most of the journey, I had the silken bag on my head. Dugald had one hand on my shoulder to keep me steady and probably also to make sure I didn’t try to run away. Having never ridden a horse, I had no intention of jumping off. Still, every now and again we would travel through a town and Dugald was careful to take off the bag before each town visit. He even sometimes held me close to him as though he was pretending I was his child. I assume it was, yet again, a gesture to make sure he didn’t have “more work” to do.

His home was a small stone hut with a thatched roof several miles away from the closest town. It looked so small that even with just the two of us we wouldn’t have much space. The interior was neat and functional. There was a small sitting area, a small dining area, and a small bedroom, but the place looked suspiciously neat. There was nothing “lived in” about the rooms. It turned out there was a good reason. Dugald’s home wasn’t inside the house, but under it. Instead of showing me around “the house,” Dugald led me to a cellar door in the kitchen. It opened into a plain cellar, but behind one of the crates of food there was a trapdoor leading to Dugald’s real quarters.

I had never seen such intricate stonework. The rooms were carved into bedrock with high arches like those of a cathedral. Our footfalls reverberated off of the high stone walls like the sound of ghostly horses pawing at the dirt. I got the impression that this was a sort of church, but no church that I would want to pray in, though now it seemed I had no choice. There were stained glass windows depicting disturbing scenes of sacrifice, backlit by what looked like flames without a source. From the moment I entered the catacombs beneath the small house, I knew that no holy light could touch me here. I wasn’t even sure if any holy entity could find me. It made me feel even smaller, and hopelessness enveloped me along with the darkness of the underground.

Dugald said, “You are not to go anywhere unescorted. Eventually, once you learn your way around, I’ll allow it, but for now you are to be confined to your room. Do you understand me?”

I said, “Yes, Sir”

He corrected me with, “Master,” and continued, “There will always be certain rooms that you won’t be allowed to enter. Don’t assume just because this is your ‘new home’ that you have the right to explore it. Also, should you go against my helpful advice on this matter, you might not live to regret it. There are sometimes dangerous guests that roam these halls. They don’t take well to being disturbed.”

I said, “I have no desire to search this place, Master.”

He grinned at the sarcasm in my voice and said, “Good. I see we understand one another. I’ll come to fetch you later this evening and I’ll explain your new duties then. In the meantime, get some sleep. Most of the work we do takes place at night. You’ll be starting right away.”

He led me to a small room at the end of a long hallway. The room was close to an elaborate set of double doors. I didn’t need him to tell me that those were his quarters, and that his quarters were also off limits. Still, I have to admit, I was pleased with my room.

The room was actually bigger than my old one. My old room was mostly just a large closet since my Mother was poor and couldn’t afford to expand the house. This room was the size of the living area in my old house. There was a small cot, a desk with writing implements, and a shelf full of books along with an attached washing room with a tub, washing basin, and chamber pots. Even though I didn’t know how to read, I found myself walking towards the shelf of books and stroking the spines lovingly. I opened one of the books and quickly put it back, finding disturbing illustrations of anatomy that I wasn’t ready to see. Still, I was fascinated by the knowledge right at my fingertips, picking the book back up out of morbid curiosity and thumbing through it again.

As I put the book away, I caught sight of “the painting” above my bed. In the future, I would get to know this painting very well. It was a picture of my old home. It was my tiny house, the large oak tree next to it, and the pond and forest in the background, and everything was coated in snow. Still, there was something very wrong about it. The forest that I was so used to watching as a child somehow looked sinister, as though the trees had eyes and sharp teeth. Some of them looked almost like human bodies with limbs stretched towards the sky twisted in strange, almost agonized poses.

It was the way I saw the forest in a nightmare when I was five. My Mother had told me a story about dark fairies that stalked the world in winter. The longer I looked at the picture, the more frightening things I began to see. For instance, the pond itself was so reflective that it seemed as though the water was real, a silver mirror where I could see a reflection that wasn’t my own. There were also definitely fairies in the forest, but all of them were dark fairies; withered old crones, goblins, and other cold hearted things. I tried to pry the painting off of the wall to put it beneath the cot, but it wouldn’t budge, so I quickly turned and looked away from it.

It wasn’t so much the disturbing images contained in the picture that frightened me, but the fact that the picture was there at all. How long had Dugald been watching me that he had time enough to paint a picture of my home? How did he know about my dream? From where had he watched me at all? I thought that Dugald’s coming was a mere coincidence. I thought that he simply had been in the area, talked to the priest, and that was how he came to know I was gifted. From that picture, I could tell that was entirely a lie. Maybe he had talked to the priest, but he intended to come and get me specifically from the start, since he had time enough to paint the picture. Was he watching me grow up, waiting until my magic manifested itself?

I decided to take his advice and go to sleep. I was hoping that it was all just a strange and terrible dream and that if I went to sleep I would wake up back in my old room, but deep down I knew it wasn’t. I was Dugald’s slave and I was at his mercy. I also knew, from that painting, that Dugald was a bit too interested in me to ever let me go. When I first got there, I was hoping that maybe I would earn his respect by learning to read and being a good “apprentice” and that maybe he would one day let me visit my home, but that picture told me something different. It was Dugald’s way of bringing my home to me. I was, sadly, already there.

4

Dugald came to get me later that evening as promised, poking me roughly in the side to wake me up. He gave me the privacy of having a lock on my door, possibly for my own protection, but I figured he would have a key. Still, seeing him as I awoke sent a shiver of despair down my spine. I never expected to wake up and find myself back in my own room, but unfortunately that was what I dreamed about, making the sight of him an unpleasant shock.

Dugald said, “Wake up, Lazy. It’s time for dinner, and then I’ve got a job for you to do.”

Dugald pulled me roughly out of bed and then walked out, closing the door behind him. I noticed there was a plain black robe folded at the end of my bed. I couldn’t read the note he left me, but I knew he wanted me to put it on, and so I did. I hurried out of the room and Dugald was waiting for me outside.

He muttered, “You sure took long enough. This is your servant robe. You’ll get a new one when you become a full apprentice, but for now this attire will do. The dining room is this way. You will eat dinner with me in the evenings. During early morning, breakfast will be provided for you by the servants, right before you go to sleep.”

I said, “Servants? I haven’t seen anyone else here since I came.”

Dugald grinned and said, “They’re here. Some of them are human, and some of them you wouldn’t want to see even if you could. Just stay out of their way if you do happen upon any of them.”

I nodded.

Dugald continued, “I don’t want to hear any complaining, whining, or crying. If I do, you’ll be punished. Ah, dinner is ready. Excellent.”

There was a long table with only two chairs, one on each opposite end of the table. There a fine silver cup at the head of the table and wooden cup at the other end. I was surprised that I was to be given a cup at all, but I knew which one was mine immediately. I took my seat before Dugald even sat down.

He chuckled and said, “Well, it seems you at least aren’t as foolish as you look. I like those who know their own worth.”

I ignored the comment and looked at the questionable meal in front of me. It was some sort of soup on a crust of bread. When I tasted it, I could tell it was beef, but the coppery aftertaste made me a little sick to my stomach. I could tell there was a great deal of blood intermixed in the sauce, but I didn’t know why, nor at the time did I care. After travelling so long with only one small meal a day, I would’ve eaten just about anything. Dugald was also eating his greedily. His manners were impeccable, but he moaned softly as he ate, as though he was enjoying every morsel immensely. I noticed that his soup seemed thinner than mine, and wondered, with disgust, if his was thinned out with even more blood.

After a silent dinner, Dugald said, “Your first job will be to care for the animals.”

I asked, “Animals?”

Dugald said, “Yes. I keep many different kinds of animals, mostly livestock, but also a few birds. I’m going to use this as a test to see how responsible you are. If you do a good enough job, I might trust you with other responsibilities as well.”

I asked, “Am I still going to learn how to read?”

He chuckled and asked, “Did you think I was only going to have you tending to a bunch of stupid animals all day? You might be a slave, but your magical abilities are why I bought you. For that, reading is essential.”

I said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Dugald frowned and said, “Don’t be. While you’re living with me, you’ll be earning every meal you eat and every second of rest you get. When you’re finished tending the animals, we’ll have lessons, and before you go to sleep, you’ll have to review your lessons. For every wrong answer you give me, every mistake you make, I’ll take it out of your hide.”

After dinner, Dugald took me on a quick tour of our living quarters. There were some tunnels I wasn’t allowed to go into, but as I stated before, I had no desire to enter those tunnels anyway. The tunnels he didn’t want me to enter were unfinished stone. They seemed colder than the rest of the area and foul smells came from a few of them. They also weren’t lit at all, and just looking into the darkness inside of them made me nervous.

He simply said, “These tunnels have various uses. The servants occasionally use them to dispose of garbage, but dangerous things also live inside. You’re protected only as long as you stay out of them, but once you take only one step in, you are no longer under my protection.”

I said, “But I thought you said the servants use them.”

Dugald said, “Yes, but they always are carrying something to leave behind when they do. Still, by all means, step in if you’d like. I can always buy a new apprentice. I’ve lost more than one that way. For some reason, they thought they could escape from within the tunnels. Such fools…”

That statement was enough for me. I had no doubt he was serious and it made me wonder if I annoyed him too much if he would simply throw me inside one day. Still, it wasn’t Dugald’s words that frightened me the most, but the breeze that wafted out of the tunnel. It smelled like rotting death itself and reminded me of the withered plants around Dugald’s carriage. Along with the breeze, there was a terrible groaning sound and the sound of stone tumbling somewhere from within the tunnel.

Dugald muttered, “Let’s continue.”

He showed me the rooms that I would be using the most. There was a large study, filled with books. It was the room I felt most comfortable in since I arrived at “my new home.” There was a large stone fireplace, and the walls were earthen, but there was a covering of soft green moss across the floor like carpeting and small oriental rugs placed around, making the room feel like an odd combination of a forest and a great room. The room also had a musty earthy smell mixed with the smell of old books.

Dugald said, “This room will be where we conduct our lessons. You’ll be spending a great deal of time here, some of it with me and some of it without.”

I muttered, “I’ve never seen so many books…”

Dugald smiled proudly and said, “There is a wealth of knowledge here. If you finish your obligations to me for the day, you may study here alone and pursue personal projects as long as you remain quiet.”

I nodded. I could already tell the best policy when around Dugald was to remain silent.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked, “What sort of personal projects?”

Dugald said, “Well, it won’t be something you would know how to do right away, but one day you’ll learn enough to make your own spells. You might even want to summon a familiar. Something like that is of no consequence to me, but you may attempt it on your own during your own time.”

I asked, “What’s a familiar?”

He snapped, “Enough questions. You’ve only been here one day and already you’re annoying me.”

He slapped me lightly across the back of my head and said, “Come on. There’s more to see.”

We walked down a long hallway and he pointed at a large elaborate door. The door was plated with gold and made out of cherry red colored wood.

He said, “This is the sacred chamber where we perform sacrifices and ceremonies. You are never to open this door unless I give you permission. I don’t care what you hear, you keep that door closed. Do you understand?”

I said, “Yes, Sir.”

He paused and his voice became gravelly as he asked, “Yes, what?”

I stammered, “Yes, Master.”

He said, “That’s better. The next time you make that mistake, I will hurt you.”

He pointed at two doors next to the door to the “sacrificial chamber.” They were plain wooden doors across from one another that made me feel as though I was getting a splinter just from looking at them. There was a small window on the top of each with stone vertical bars covering it.

Dugald said, “Those connect the prison cells. The right door is closer to the women’s side and the left is closer to the men’s. Still, either one will get you to the large chamber in between the two. That’s where we keep the ‘interrogation’ devices, and our medical tools.”

I asked, “Why are there prison cells here?”

Dugald said, “To hold those we deem worthy for sacrifice. If you do a good enough job taking care of the animals, perhaps when you’re a little older I’ll allow you to take care of the prisoners instead.”

I frowned and turned away. I didn’t understand the concept of “sacrifice” but I could guess what it meant. I knew whoever was unfortunate enough to be in those “prison cells” would die. I knew I didn’t want to be the one to take care of them, but I also knew better than to neglect my duties to the animals to make sure I didn’t have to. If I didn’t do a good job taking care of the animals, Dugald would punish me. So, I tried simply not to think about it for the time being.

Finally, Dugald led me into a small hallway that sloped downward that led into a large underground chamber filled with cages and pens. There were several cages of white doves, some pigs, three white cows, two black horses, a few chickens, and a little white lamb. I fell in love with the lamb in an instant. It was thin and shivering with little puffs of white wool growing on its head and back. It was bleating as though it was frightened, and without thinking, I immediately walked over to it and hugged it close.

Dugald said, “Yes, I can see this is a good arrangement. When you wake up in the mornings, your first assignment will be to tend to these animals. Feed them, clean the cages and pens, brush them, give them fresh water and then leave for your lessons. Right before bed you are to come back here and do the same. Do you understand?”

I said, “Yes, but I was wondering…”

He prompted, “What now?”

I asked, “Are we going to eat the lamb?”

Dugald paused and then said, “No. I detest the taste of young animals. It’s far too sweet a meat.”

Looking back on it, I realize that what followed was entirely my fault. I smiled in relief at the statement and assumed that he had the lamb for wool. I should’ve never even hinted to Dugald that I was already attached to the animal, but by then it was too late.

He simply said, “Well, when you’re finished in here, meet me in the study.”

5

At the time, I thought that Dugald was bluffing when he said he would “take my mistakes out of my hide,” but during my first lesson, I found out that he was dead serious. Learning to read from Dugald was more of an exercise in trial, error, and pain. He taught me the alphabet that day, and he expected me to memorize it immediately. Every time that I missed a letter or got something out of order, he slapped me. By the end of the lesson, my face was red for the rest of the day. And, according to him, that was a “kind” punishment. He assured me that the punishments would get worse for worse mistakes. He wasn’t lying about that either.

From then on for every mistake I made during my lessons I was beaten. Usually, for every slight mistake it was a punch or kick, but sometimes for the worse mistakes, such as mispronouncing a Latin word or phrase, he would put a cigar out on my hand or administer hard lashings across my back. He explained that mistakes in pronunciation could lead to a botched spell, and a botched spell could lead to disaster. Still, I do know, looking back on it, that Dugald was far kinder to me in my training as a little girl than he was when I grew up. When I reached the age thirteen, my punishments always left scars or took weeks to heal, but before thirteen, they only left bruises.

I have the scars all over my body now. Ironically, they aren’t unattractive, but I hate them anyway because they remind me of Dugald. The scars are just another way that he marked me. If I ever take another lover, these scars will be something I would have to explain. Even as it is, I hate that the Magi stripped searched me when I first got here. I hate the looks that they give me. Some of them think that I enjoy pain or scarred my own body on purpose. Others can tell it was some form or abuse and look at me with pity. Still, the ones interrogating me know exactly where those scars came from. It’s just another way that Dugald has retained some control over my life, even though I’m no longer his apprentice.

It sickens me knowing that Dugald made sure the scars were symmetrical or looked like a design on purpose. He never left any scars on my face or on places where they couldn’t be covered. Most of the scars could probably even be made into tattoos and covered up entirely, and if I survive this ordeal, I might just find someone to do that. He wanted to keep my body attractive, but also to mark it as his own by carving lasting “lessons” into my flesh. I have to admit that, cruel though it is, when someone carves a design into your skin for doing something wrong, you always remember why. Still, he did it for another reason, something I would find out later—but I digress. If I think of that now, my memories will become jumbled and confused, and I need to remember everything to remember who I am and why.

The next year was a blur of animals, lessons, pain, and exhaustion. I was only seven, so I didn’t have the stamina to withstand such a full day. Sometimes, as soon as I was done caring for the animals, I would fall asleep in the pen with the lamb curled up next to me. The lamb was the only thing that made me feel happy. It was so sweet and playful, that it made me feel as though I had friend again. I found myself talking to it, as though it was a person, and spending the few breaks that I had nuzzling it. It began to follow me around so much that I had to be careful to close the gate behind me so it wouldn’t follow me right out of the chamber. One day, however, I forgot to close it. It was a day I would never forget.

I walked into the study, without realizing that the lamb trailing behind me. As usual, Dugald was relaxing on the softest leather chair, with a wine glass casually balanced in his hand. He looked over and did a double take, and automatically I knew I was in trouble.

I asked, “What’s wrong, Master?”

Dugald asked, “What is that filthy animal doing in here?”

I felt a gentle push on the back of my leg as the lamb head butted it softly.

I said, “I’m sorry, Master. I forgot to lock the gate. Would you like to administer my punishment now or shall I take her back first.”

He said in a harsh tone, “Take the lamb back first.”

His eyes were lingering on the lamb, and I was horrified by the expression on his face. I knew he meant it harm, so I quickly grabbed her by the collar and led her back towards the pen. I felt the tears falling already. I knew I was in for a harsh punishment, and now I was certain it would involve my friend as well.

I began piling some straw over the lamb and muttered, “Shhh…stay quiet and stay under here. Maybe he’ll think you got away.”

I knew it wouldn’t work. The creature thought it was a game and began to buck and kick the straw off of its back. I quickly wiped my tears clean and returned to Dugald. I decided I would try to bluff him. Maybe I could make it seem that I was annoyed with the animal for following me in the first place, or maybe I could convince him to punish me with a severe burn and to leave the lamb out of it.

I was relieved to see that Dugald no longer seemed angry when I entered the room. In fact, he seemed even glad to see me and motioned at the chair across from him with a smile. I didn’t say a word and sat right down, hoping that he was drunk on the wine and that he had already forgotten the incident.

Dugald said, “You’ve been here a full year now. Hard to believe isn’t it?”

I nodded.

Dugald said, “You’ve done an excellent job of taking care of the animals. Still, I’ve noticed you’ve grown quite attached to that lamb.”

I said, “Oh, no, Master. I’m just as annoyed at seeing it follow me as you are. It showed me that I’ve been too lax in my duties for leaving that pen open, and I’ll willingly take any punishment you should desire to give me.”

Dugald chuckled and said, “It’s cute that you’re trying to lie to me, but you’re talking to someone with over a hundred years of experience.”

My mouth hung open stupidly for a moment.

I said, “Over a hundred years?”

Dugald said, “Yes. I’ve kept myself young through secrets that you aren’t worthy of knowing, but don’t try to change the subject, I know you just lied to me. Yes, you’re attached to that stupid beast. I’ve seen you playing with it, heard you laughing. You even named it ‘Agnes,’ if I remember correctly.”

I muttered, “How did…”

Dugald said, “You forget yourself when you’re playing with it and speak too loudly. I’ve also heard what you’ve said, about me and about how miserable you are living here.”

I bit my lip, forcing myself not to show any weakness by crying. I realized only then that the smile he had on his face when I returned hadn’t touched his eyes. He was furious, and I was in for the worst punishment I had ever experienced.

He asked, “Do you miss your Mother, the woman that would’ve given you over to the church or starved you to death over the winter?”

I snapped, “My Mother loved me. She wouldn’t have given me up to just anyone. She was only going to give me over to the convent so I would be safe. You did something to her to make her sell me!”

Dugald grinned, “You’re right. I did do something to her. And, you asked me that day what it was and I wouldn’t tell you. I think today is the day that I’m going to show you. Bring that ugly little lamb to the sacrificial chamber in ten minutes.”

I stammered, “I won’t.”

Dugald moved so fluidly and swiftly that he knocked me off of my feet. He pounced on me and grabbed me by the throat. I couldn’t even scream for the pressure on my windpipe. He looked so thin and frail, yet when I tried to wrench his hand away from my neck, but it was like trying to uproot at tree with my bare hands.

Dugald said in a harsh whisper, “You don’t talk back to me. You know you don’t talk back. If you aren’t in the sacrificial chamber in ten minutes with that lamb, I’ll break its legs and drag it down there myself. Which would you prefer?”

I mouthed, “I’ll bring it.”

Dugald said, “That’s better.”

He stood up, brushed himself off, strode towards the sacrificial chamber without another word and left me coughing and gagging on the floor.

I finally managed to pull myself up. My throat felt like there was a small block of ice stuck inside of it, but that wasn’t what was on my mind. All I could see were the lamb’s big brown eyes staring up at me. She trusted me and I was about to betray her trust. The pain in my throat made it difficult to cry, so I cried in silence, forcing myself not to sob, and I walked like a person in a trance towards the animal pen.

The lamb was waiting for me, wagging its tail. I attached a rope to its collar and led it down the hallway. For a moment, I contemplated running up the stairs and releasing it outside, but I knew better than that. Dugald had come one inch of crushing my throat for my disobedience in the first place. If I did that, I might die in the lamb’s place. After only living with Dugald for one year, I was terrified of him and my terror stopped me from acting. Once again, I felt powerless to do anything. It frustrated me so much that once I was in front of the ornate door, I hit my hand against the wall until my knuckles bled.

I looked down at the lamb and muttered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I opened the cherry red wooden door.

I had never been in the sacrificial chamber. I think I expected it to look like I imagined a dungeon, dirty and ill kept. Still, I was surprised to see the polished marble staircase that led so far down that I almost couldn’t see the bottom. The walls of the chamber were worked stone, much like the main entrance to the catacombs, but they were far more ornate, worked into gothic arches. Everything was impeccably clean. There were lit sconces on the wall that cast an eerie orange glow on everything around me, especially the white wool of the lamb. There were also crystal candelabras across the ceiling that added little additional light, clearly put there only to add atmosphere.

Still, it had a gloomy feeling, as though I when the door closed I wasn’t coming back out. I think the thing that unnerved me the most was the silence. All I could hear was the popping of fire from the sconces and the echoes of my footfalls as well as the hoof beats of my lamb. I was afraid I was going to have to carry her at first, but it seemed that the lamb navigated the stairs like an adventure or a game, bouncing down them. I couldn’t look at her. I felt too ashamed, as though I had already betrayed her.

Dugald was in the center of a large round chamber. It was darker in the chamber than in the hallway, despite the fact the round walls were lined with sconces and the floor bore a strange design of lit candles. In the center of the room there was a marble altar. There were shackles attached to bars on the four corners of it. Dugald was wearing a long ceremonial robe. The robe itself was red, trimmed with black and entirely made of silk. His expression was somber. He had a large ornate dagger in his hand.

He motioned me forward and said, “Shackle the animal to the altar.”

I stammered, “Please, please don’t do this. Punish me. It was my fault. I should’ve never said those things…”

He shouted, “DO IT NOW!”

I stumbled forward and put the lamb’s feet into the shackles. It began to bleat in protest immediately, straining against the restraints.

I turned away.

Dugald said, “Turn around.”

I said, “I don’t want to watch.”

Dugald said, “You aren’t going to watch. You’re going to kill it.”

I turned and looked at him, horrified.

I stammered, “I can’t.”

Dugald reached over and grabbed my face, and snapped, “Look at me.”

My eyes met his for a moment, and suddenly, I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare into those strange and terrifying eyes. They weren’t hazel anymore, they were red. His irises shimmered like small pools of blood in the firelight. I tried to scream, but no sound would come from my mouth. It was as though the command, “look” echoed in my mind over and over again. And all I could do was look at those eyes.

Dugald said, “Take the dagger.”

I said in a subdued voice, “Okay,” and I took it.

Dugald said, “Approach the altar.”

I tried my best to resist. I tried to close my eyes, but they wouldn’t close. They were still fixated on Dugald’s. It was as though my feet were acting of their own accord. I wasn’t conscious of moving them, but despite that fact they were moving, step by horrifying step up to the altar.

I muttered, “No, please.”

Dugald said, “Slit its throat.”

One hand grasped the lamb by the head. I think it realized at the last moment that it was in danger, because the sound it made still haunts me to this very day. It bleated and whined, in one terrified sound that I’d never heard it make before, and I swear it sounded like it was pleading with me, begging for mercy. But my hands still acted against my will. The sound abruptly cut off in a sickening gurgle. Warm liquid flowed across my hand and Dugald immediately flicked his eyes away from me.

I looked down. The lamb’s pure white wool was stained scarlet all the way down its fuzzy chest, and I saw the exact moment when its eyes went lifeless. Then, I focused on my hands. They were covered in blood. The bloody dagger dropped from them as they began to shake. I screamed, and my scream echoed across the chamber so loudly that it hurt my ears. I collapsed onto my knees and continued to scream for what felt like an eternity. Tears poured from my eyes, mixing with the small droplets of blood from the knife on the floor, diluting it into a sickening pink.

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. Dugald was looking down at me. I slapped his hand away and stumbled backwards. He rushed forward and grabbed me by the back of the neck, marching me back in the direction of the altar.

He said, “This is probably your most important lesson, so pay attention to what I’m asking you now. Which do you want to be, a lamb,” he grabbed my face and turned it towards the corpse of the lamb on the altar, and then continued, “Or a wolf?”

I couldn’t speak.

He said, “If you decide you want to be a lamb, I’ll go ahead and take your life right now. You’ve been given a gift. You have claws and teeth. Your Mother was nothing but a sheep and she did to you, what you just did to that lamb. I don’t want to hear you defending her again. You should be grateful to me for taking you in, away from someone stupid enough to be afraid of her own child. But now, you know how it felt for her to sacrifice you. And, now you know what I did.”

I couldn’t control it. My hands balled into fists. I stared at him, defiant, and snarled, “And this was supposed to make me feel grateful?”

Dugald said, “I don’t care if you hate me, but we’re stuck with each other now. You have no home to go to. Your Mother hung herself from the oak tree outside of your home recently. Hate me if you like, but be grateful for having a roof over your head, and someone to teach you how to use your magic.”

I stammered, “My Mother…”

Dugald said, “Consult that painting if you don’t believe me. But, first,” He unshackled the dead lamb and slung the carcass over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

He put an arm around my back and led me up the stairs. I was too bewildered to take everything in. The blood had dried sticky on my hands, and I could smell it. I held them out in front of me, as though if I even touched something with them it would die. The thought of my Mother committing suicide was a weight on my mind. My temples throbbed as though my brain was about to expand until my skull cracked open. I couldn’t take it all in. I felt dizzy. I soon realized that I wasn’t walking anymore. Dugald was dragging me in the direction of the unfinished tunnels. He sighed, put the lamb down, and then slung my body over one shoulder, the lamb’s over the other. I turned my head to avoid its dead gaze.

I muttered, “You’re going to kill me?”

He said, “No. I’m leaving them a snack.”

He put the lamb carcass on the ground about five feet into one of the forbidden tunnels and then walked back outside. I was still slung over his shoulder, and as he walked away, I saw them. I don’t remember anything about it. You could ask me what they looked like or what they were and I still wouldn’t be able to recall a thing about the event. All I remember was they swarmed over the carcass of the lamb and they skittered as they moved. I was screaming, mostly to drown out the noise. I just couldn’t fathom the sight of the things that shouldn’t be that were devouring a carcass in front of my eyes. I struggled and began to cough and choke with sobs, nearly swallowing my own tongue. I was gibbering with the madness of what I had seen.

I remember Dugald saying, “I should’ve known this would happen,”

And then, he hit me over my head and there was blissful darkness. I woke up, tucked into bed. I was clean and was wearing more comfortable clothes, though I couldn’t remember how I got there. The memories of the day slowly came back to me. I decided to look at the painting. The background was a mural of colorful trees and autumn leaves that reflected beautiful colors in the water. At first glance, I felt a pang of regret at the scene, remembering how beautiful the forest was in fall. But then, I noticed the silhouette of a woman in a noose next to the house. I stared at it for a very long time. The longer I stared the more horrible details I noticed.

It was definitely my Mother. She was wearing a house dress made from the same material she used to make the one on my rag doll. Her eyes were closed, but from the shadow of a crow on the tree across the way, I had the feeling they were gone entirely. Before I could take in anything else unpleasant, I forced myself to look away. I still couldn’t wrench the painting it away from the wall, so instead I placed a blanket over the frame, covering the picture.

On the foot of my bed, I noticed a small box wrapped in plain paper. I noticed the words “Happy Birthday” written in Dugald’s ornate script. I almost threw it away, but, overcome with curiosity, I decided to open it. Inside was the lamb’s leather collar, and hanging from it was an obsidian charm in the shape of a wolf.

There was a note that simply read, “Would you rather be a wolf or a lamb?”

I wept and stammered to myself, “I guess, if I have no other choice, I’d rather be a wolf.”

I guess a normal person would’ve thrown the gift away, but instead, I tied the leather strap around my neck. I decided that I was going to remember the lesson I learned, but not the one that Dugald taught me. I would remember what he forced me to do, and I vowed silently that I would never be anything like him.

When I heard the knock on the door, I didn’t even want to answer it. I was surprised that he knocked at all. Still, I stumbled out of bed and answered the door.

Dugald said in a hopeful voice, “I see you like the gift?”

My hand wandered up to the collar around my neck, but I didn’t say anything.

He said, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t think about the fact that you had never seen one of those creatures.”

Once again, I didn’t speak.

He actually had an awkward look on his face as he muttered, “I should’ve told you, the reason I owned the lamb was for a sacrifice. It would’ve happened anyway. Since you were so attached to it, though, it seemed it would be a good time to teach you something important.”

I muttered, “That if I’m a lamb I’m going to die.”

Dugald said, “We live in a world where the strong prey on the weak. You need to overcome your weakness or you won’t survive. The specific weaknesses that you need to overcome are your baser emotions.”

I asked, “Baser emotions?”

He said, “Getting attached to something or someone is always dangerous. I learned that the hard way. So, I’m teaching you ahead of time to avoid that sort of entanglement. Things like love and attachment will just make you weak, but anger and hatred can make you strong. It’s the same reason I’m discouraging you from getting attached to me.”

I asked, “So you want me to hate you? I think I can do that.”

Dugald said, “No, I want you to simply appreciate me, and to understand that we’re stuck with each other now, so you need to give up this idea that you can go back to who you were. You could never go back, from the moment you entered the carriage.”

I asked, “Why? Why couldn’t you have just told me? Why did you make me do that?”

Dugald said, “Actions are more potent than simple words. You’ll remember this lesson, just like you remember something when I punish you harshly for it. I didn’t understand when I was an apprentice either, but I understand now.”

I asked, “Is this how your Master treated you, then?”

Dugald said, “Yes. I didn’t understand at the time either, but everything he did to me had meaning. There was always a lesson in it, as there will be for you. You might think I’m being harsh with you now, but this is nothing.”

At the thought that my lesson that day was “nothing,” despair swept over me like a wave. I sunk to the floor and wept. For once, Dugald didn’t punish me for my tears. Instead, he knelt down and did something I would never forget. He hugged me and wept with me.

I asked, “Why do you have to be that way? You hated it yourself. You don’t have to be like him.”

Dugald said, “This method of training works. I would never be as powerful or as strong as I am without my Master’s training.”

I asked, “But he wouldn’t have to know. Where is your Master?”

Dugald muttered, “Presumably in Hell. I killed him.”

My mouth gaped open.

Dugald stood up and said, “It wasn’t an easy trick, so don’t get any ideas. And no, it wasn’t for the way he trained me. You’ll forgive me for the harshness of your training one day when you are as powerful as I am, but he did something I couldn’t forgive him for…”

I asked, “What?”

Dugald said, “Nothing that should concern you.”

I muttered, “Of course…”

Dugald said, “You’ve had a rough day. Would you like a lullaby?”

I asked, “Really?”

Dugald muttered, “Just this once.”

I nodded.

He actually tucked me in and then sat down by the bed and began to sing. I’ve never heard such a beautiful voice. He sang a very sad song, though I can’t remember what it was about, mostly because by the end of it I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. Occasionally, I would hear Dugald singing while he was working in one of the other rooms, and it was always such a haunting melody that his songs made me feel enchanted. Sometimes, I imagined if I walked into one of the other rooms I would find a fairy prince in place of Dugald.

As soon as the song was over, Dugald got up and said simply, “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

And then, he left me stunned. I’ve thought about this conversation for a very long time, and every time I think of it, I know he was being sincere, and I pity him. Yes, I pity Dugald. Everything I went through, he went through himself, along with something extra that would make him angry enough to kill his Master. If he wasn’t angry enough to kill his Master after suffering as much as I have, then what his Master did to him had to have been even more horrific and cruel than anything Dugald has ever done to me. So yes, I still do, in a way, feel very sorry for him. Later, I would find out exactly what his Master did, and would feel even more pity for him, but not enough to be loyal to him after what he did to me…

Still, for now, suffice to say, the conversation left a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to pity Dugald. I wanted to hate him. But, upon finding out he had been through the same thing I was going through and survived it, I knew that if I was smart and played along, I could as well. And, it made me realize that Dugald was teaching me the way he was taught. Somewhere deep down, I did want to be as powerful as he seemed. Despite everything, I did in some ways look up to him. He was the only Magus I knew at the time, and I wanted him to be like family to me, especially knowing I would never see my Mother again. Still, as I child, I decided I would hate him. Hating him was simpler than pitying him. When you’re young, you usually look for the easiest solution, and at the time, that was it.

I know now that for some reason, that was the decision that Dugald actually wanted me to make. He wanted me to hate him. It might’ve been that he wanted me to hate him because he wanted to make sure I learned his lesson about not “getting attached,” but I think a more likely explanation is that Dugald didn’t want to get attached to me. It’s easy to dislike someone that you know despises you. At the time, I did despise him, but I don’t anymore, which is why I’m afraid he’ll come for me one day.

Still, even after the conversation, Dugald was back to himself the next day, and never mentioned it again.

6

Unfortunately, the “lamb incident” marked a change in my responsibilities in Dugald’s eyes. I guess you could say he gave me a promotion. He began grooming me to take care of the prison cells instead of the animals a little bit at a time. On my ninth birthday, he promoted me to “prison guard,” although technically none of my duties were really guard-like at all. My new job consisted of feeding the prisoners, giving them water, cleaning the cells, and sponge bathing them for “sacrificial ceremonies.” (I got the initial grime of the cells off of the portions of their bodies that I could see, but they kept their undergarments on. Dugald would ritualistically bathe them, which is a much more rigorous process that, at the time, I wasn’t mature enough to handle.)

I did learn one thing from the sacrifice of the lamb. I took some of Dugald’s advice about not “getting attached.” The prisoners often would plead with me, begging me to set them free or just talking to me in the hopes of hearing another human voice (usually if the others were dead), but I didn’t speak to any of them. I pretended that I was mute so that eventually they would give up on talking to me. Ironically, though, when they thought I was mute, they pretended that I wasn’t even there and talked back and forth to one another. They talked about plans to escape, what they thought we were going to do to them, and even theories about why I was working with Dugald. I usually found those theories to be amusing. They usually involved me being an illegitimate child, or a niece or nephew. Some of the theories they had were just ridiculous, sometimes even insulting.

I shocked one of them once by snapping back at a particularly rude comment at my expense, “You thought I was mute, not deaf.”

I can still remember all of their faces, though I made sure to never care enough to remember any names. Most came in looking relatively healthy when they arrived, but they all quickly became haunted and mad by the time it was time for them to “go.” Dugald tortured them at least once a week, trying to wear them down mentally and physically so they wouldn’t put up much a struggle when the day came for them to be sacrificed.

This was also when I learned my first lessons in torture and anatomy. Dugald had devoted entire books to torturing people to the point of madness. He worked with pain the way some artists work with paints or marble. The one way to get him to waste an entire day was to ask him about the “many colors of pain.” He had a theory that every type of pain could be associated with a color. He said it was something he used in his ceremonies, manipulating the colors of flames in the room to enhance whatever type of pain he was working with. He also promised that one day I would have the privilege of witnessing a ceremony in action, though I’m sure he knew I had no interest in doing anything of the sort. Those lectures and promises were mostly just for his own benefit, so he could “think out loud.” I don’t think that Dugald had anyone else to really talk to, and I was literally a captive audience.

Whenever a ceremony was over, Dugald would bring me the body of the prisoner and insist that I dissect it. At first, my attempts at dissection usually ended badly. Blood made me sick to my stomach. Whenever I saw or smelled blood, I would tremble and feel faint. I think it was a sort of side effect from killing the lamb. My mind buried the details of that event deep in my subconscious, but blood always seemed to dig it up. Still, whenever I botched a dissection, Dugald would demonstrate the process by peeling little pieces of skin off of one of the live prisoners. He knew that I had a much softer heart than he did, and he exploited it to the best of his ability. While I didn’t get attached to the prisoners, I couldn’t watch them being tortured because of something I did wrong, so eventually I overcame my weakness.

I taught myself a sort of meditation to keep me sane and to allow me to keep my hand and my body steady as I performed dissections. I learned to separate my feelings from my logical mind. Sometimes I pretended that the bodies I worked on were only puppets and that the blood was paint. I perfected a step by step process, concentrating on one cut at a time instead of on the horror of the entire situation. Other times, I imagined that the body wasn’t dead but was a living person that was in surgery and one mistake could kill my patient. If everything else failed, I would go into a trance like state where one part of my mind would be imagining playing in the forest as a fox, or that someone had broken in to the underground fortress to rescue me, while the other part of my mind concentrated and worked. Somehow, I was able to push aside my feelings and concentrate hard enough to endure doing the unthinkable, dissecting bodies section by section, piece by piece.

While it was terrible, I must admit that I gained a great deal of knowledge from the process. I learned how to determine causes of death, set bones, and even how to do very minor surgeries. Still, while Dugald valued the fact I was learning to heal the prisoners (after all, they needed to be healthy for the final ceremony), what he really wanted me to learn was how to inflict pain. Still, since you can’t inflict pain on someone who is already dead, that meant a different kind of lesson.

A few months into my work in the dungeons, Dugald told me that he wanted me to assist him in breaking the prisoners. He taught me a spell that I still know today. It was a spell that used my knowledge of the body to cause the subject agonizing pain. Oddly, this isn’t an infernal spell either. It’s a spell that uses basic principles in magic to do something incredibly cruel. It stimulates the nerves of the body into sending pain impulses coursing through the person’s system. It’s just a minor change, but the body feels it and reacts in a very major way. After I learned the spell, Dugald made me use it on a child about my age.

I know I said that I didn’t get attached to the prisoners, but the boy that I was forced to demonstrate on that day was the one exception to my rule. His name was Banan, and he was the last prisoner of that month. I knew the time for his sacrifice was drawing near. Dugald usually liked to do his sacrifices on the first day of the full moon. So, I tried to make Banan more comfortable, bringing him extra food and treating him with more respect than I had the others. Initially, I think it was because he was around my own age that I took so much pity on him and decided to actually talk to him.

One day, while I was sponge bathing him, he asked me, “Why do you work for him?”

I said, “I was sold to him. I’m pretty much his slave. If I don’t work, he hurts me.”

Banan said, “I saw your bruises. He beats you?”

I nodded.

Banan said, “I also saw what he did when you couldn’t do that dissection. You have a good heart.”

I said, “I don’t. I’m still working for him, you know. If I had a good heart, I’d just kill myself.”

Banan said, “I’m…I’m sorry for you.”

Banan, being my age and weaker than the other prisoners was allowed to have his hands free during the “bath.” And he did something I didn’t expect. He turned around and reached out for me. I flinched, thinking he was going to try to hurt me, but instead, his arms wrapped around me, and he hugged me. He held on tightly and there were tears coursing down his eyes. I found myself starting to cry. It had been so long since I had hugged anyone that it overwhelmed me. I was shaking with so many conflicting feelings that I felt almost faint. My emotional response to it also frightened me, so I quickly recoiled.

I snapped, “Idiot! Do you want Dugald to see you?”

Banan said, “I’m sorry, but I just feel so bad for you. It must be awful.”

And so, I told him all about it. It felt so good to talk to someone again that I can’t describe it. I told him about the lamb and about my Mother. I told him about my conversation with Dugald and the mixed signals he sent me. At times Dugald would seem interested in my day and almost kind, and other times he treated me like I was nothing but a slave, an object to abuse.

Banan just listened to me patiently. He also seemed happy to have someone to talk to. He told me that he was an orphan and that he was raised by the church. He was an acolyte, and was studying to one day become a priest. It didn’t take us but one day to become good friends, but sadly, I never learned my lesson about “attachments” enough to spare myself any pain. I knew that one day soon Dugald would kill Banan as a sacrifice, but I didn’t know that I would have to be the one to torture him.

I should’ve known that Banan would be the prisoner I would have to practice on, simply from my horrible luck. I was hoping that Dugald was waiting for me to practice my spell on the next group of prisoners. For once, I think it was a coincidence that I was forced to hurt someone that I cared about. Dugald didn’t know I liked Banan. At the time, I was sure that if I told Dugald about it that I would’ve been performing the sacrificial ceremony rather than just torturing him as another lesson in learning that loving someone “is always dangerous.” Still, knowing what I know now, I’m not so sure. I think it would’ve been better if I told him. I still to this day blame myself for what happened to Banan. It’s one of the things I regret the most.

The memory is still burned into my mind. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. Dugald and one of his servants strapped Banan down onto a wooden medical gurney and wheeled him into “the interrogation room.” Dugald didn’t waste any time.

He said, “Begin the interrogation, Aisling. Do it now.”

I asked, “But what are we trying to find out, Master?”

Dugald snapped, “Do as you’re told.”

He punched me in the eye. Banan looked at me and shook his head. It seemed that he wanted me to do it, rather than to see me hurt. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I obliged him.

I chanted the words and lifted my hand in Banan’s direction, and he convulsed as though he was having a seizure. He screamed and cried and muttered unintelligibly. I had never seen anything so pitiful. It was far worse than murdering the lamb. Banan was kind to me, and I was causing him agonizing pain. I wondered why I had to hurt everyone that cared about me. I began to wonder if it was a curse. Even though I had seen Dugald using normal means of torture, this new spell seemed far more effective, and I hated myself for using it. Banan screamed, begging to know what information we wanted, but Dugald didn’t seem to want any information at all. The boy’s body flopped around like a fish on the deck of a boat, his eyes bulging in horror, the image completed with my knowledge that he would be gutted like one later.

Dugald was grinning at me, his eyes going from me to the boy’s body.

He muttered, “Excellent form. Yes, you’re learning quite well. I think I’ll have you interrogate the prisoners with me from now on. However, you did recite the incantation incorrectly. You’ll see the effects of that soon enough.”

I think I temporarily lost my mind. I screamed. My screams were in time with Banan’s. I could feel what he was feeling. It was maddening. The pain was so horrible one moment that I wanted to die, and the next it seemed to be going away, only to come crashing down with the force of a felled tree. I wept and screamed until I was hoarse, and then Dugald broke the connection of my spell right as I hit the floor.

Dugald said, “That’s enough for today. You see why I punish you now? Every small word or gesture has to be sound or something like that can happen. Still, you did very well. That should weaken his spirit sufficiently. Go get some rest. Tomorrow you clean the cells for the next group.”

I wheeled Banan into his cell on the wooden table, and Dugald helped me lift him off. His body was limp and his eyes were glassy and staring. As soon as Dugald left, Banan sat up. I reacted as though I had seen a ghost.

He chuckled bitterly, “If you can take that and still be walking, so can I.”

I said, “I’m sorry.”

He said, “You did what he made you do. Besides, you suffered with me.”

I muttered, “I guess I did.”

Banan’s eyes began to tear up, as he asked, “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

I nodded.

He continued, “I was working on a way to get out. It’s on the wall of my cell, a loose stone towards the top that actually leads outside. I won’t be able to make it, but you might if you can make the hole bigger. The light doesn’t leak in because it’s covered in clay that I made from dirt and my own spit.”

I said, “Outside, really? I thought we were down too deep.”

He shook his head, “We’re mostly buried, but I think this cell is at the base of a hill. Water leaks in here whenever it rains. I think it’s dug a groove in the earth.”

I said, “Thank you.”

He said, “Don’t thank me. Just get out when you can. I was raised by the church. I’ll be okay.”

I got the silent insinuation. Banan was raised by the church, and probably had strong faith. Even if he died, he would be going to heaven. He had proven that he had a strong spirit by not being driven to madness by the torture and he had even taking pity me, when I had hurt him the most. I could almost see the aura of kindness and love radiating off of him. I was working for Dugald and didn’t have a strong religious background. There wouldn’t be anything friendly waiting for me when I died.

“Why?” I asked.

He said, “What?”

I asked him, “Why, are you being so kind to me? I’m just like him you know.”

He said, “No. You aren’t. You don’t want to kill anyone. I’ve watched you, remember? You can still save yourself if you get out now. The church would take you in.”

I snapped, “I’m a Maga!”

He said, “It doesn’t matter. I know they would. I know because I have a gift too.”

I said, “I thought the other Magi came to get you if you had any talent. At least, that’s what Dugald told me.”

Banan said, “They do, but the church has hidden me. Besides, most Magi don’t want to cause problems within the church. It becomes a hassle for them. If you have enough faith, they won’t want you anyway. The priest tells me that sort of thing interferes with their magic.”

I had never noticed it before, but Banan did have a magical aura around him. It was fainter than most Magi, but the aura was there. It was probably the reason why the other prisoners didn’t talk to him very often. It was also probably why I felt a connection to him. Still, there was another aura to him that overpowered the other one. I can’t describe it. It almost was like a golden light. Still, the church never trained him to use his magic, so he was just as vulnerable as a normal human being.

I said, “Then you don’t have to die! Tell Dugald. He’ll spare you. He hates to waste a gift.”

Banan said, “I know. He made me that offer. But, I told you before. I would rather die than do what you’re doing.”

I snapped, “I can’t help it. What do you expect me to do? If I kill myself, I’m damned. But if I live the way he makes me, I’m damned too. I want to live as long as I can.”

Banan said, “I know. You’re afraid of him and you’re afraid to die. That’s how I was before I found my faith. If you can get out, run to the nearest church. They’ll help you.”

I heard the sound of footsteps and singing in the hallway above me. Dugald was returning to the dungeon. Banan motioned with his head towards the opposite staircase and I bolted up it as fast as I could. I just managed to get out as Dugald was coming in with one of the members of the cult. They were coming to take Banan. I looked through the bars on the upper door, afraid for him.

Before they reached the cell, Banan made his body limp as though he was still in shock, and he stayed that way as the two of them picked him up and put him back on the rolling table. I ran back to my room before they could come back up the stairs and cried. Still, I had some comfort knowing that Banan’s spirit wasn’t broken. Whatever they were planning to sacrifice him to, more than likely it wouldn’t get to devour his soul. And I had a bit more hope as well. The next day, I was going to escape.

7

I looked over at Banan’s cell the next evening, but it was empty. I knew it would be, but seeing something and knowing it are entirely different things. What was even worse was the fact there was a wooden gurney in the middle of the room with a small body on top of it covered in a sheet. I knew it was Banan, but my morbid curiosity wouldn’t let me ignore it. I removed the sheet. His eyes were closed and there was a peaceful expression on his face, as though he was only sleeping. It was the first body I had seen that looked as though he had died in peace. Still, that expression of peace was marred by the nasty gashes along his body. I wept bitterly. All I could think of was the fact that I was there when Dugald took him away. If I had only known more magic, or if I had chosen to act, maybe he would still be alive. I realized at that moment, even though I hated Dugald for terrorizing me, I hated myself more for being afraid of him.

Still, Banan’s words echoed in my mind, “Don’t thank me. Just get out when you can.”

I muttered, “I won’t let him force me to desecrate your body, not yours. I’m getting out today.”

And, that was exactly what I intended to do. Dugald knew it would take the entire day for me to prepare the dungeons for a new set of prisoners, so that meant he wouldn’t even miss me until the evening. The filth from the last group of prisoners covered the stones of the cells like a layer of icing on a cake. Every cell needed scrubbing, sanitizing, and there was even a need for pest control. Cleaning up after caged humans is far worse than cleaning up after animals, but Dugald wanted to be sure that before the next set of prisoners came the cells would be entirely clean.

Dugald was even known to say, “No prisoner of mine will die a due to causes beyond our control.”

Dugald never wanted the prisoners to die of “natural causes” under his watch. He wanted to make sure that he was responsible for the way in which they died. That’s one way that I know the Magi at least don’t have any intentions of keeping me for some sort of terrible purpose like experimentation or torture. This pit is absolutely filthy. That means, they don’t count it as a big loss if I die of disease. Never be relieved if you’re thrown into a clean prison cell. It means that your captors intend to keep you alive for as long as possible, which usually isn’t a good thing.

I opened Banan’s cell door and ran my hand along the wall. It seemed colder in his cell than in the others, and I soon found out why. The rough dirt covering a stone just high enough for me to reach fell off as I touched it, and a fading ray of sunlight poured in through the crack between the stones. At first, I shielded my eyes away from it. It had been so long since I had seen the sun that it burned. But, as my eyes adjusted, I realized I was laughing through the tears. I had forgotten what the sun brought with it—hope. If I could escape, there was still hope for me. And, even if he caught me, I felt that if I could just have enough time to see the sun setting that it would be worth it.

I pulled the stone down, but thankfully Dugald wasn’t close enough to hear it clatter to the floor. The opening was small, but that wasn’t a problem. There was still an ability that I possessed that I still hadn’t shared with Dugald. I could turn into a fox, and a fox would be able to fit through the hole.

I walked back to my room, pretending to have forgotten something. Still, thankfully, Dugald wasn’t in any of the hallways. I gathered together some very thin clothing, rolled it up as tightly as possible, and fixed together with twine. I attached the bundle to me with a belt. Even though it would be difficult, as a fox I would be able to pull the strap tight against my body with my teeth. It was the only way I would be able to turn back into a human without being entirely naked.

I knew I would have to be a fox for most of the journey. Even though it wasn’t quite winter, it was still cold enough that the fur would be much more comfortable than my clothing. Once I got close enough to a town to change back I would have just enough clothing not to be comfortable, hopefully making someone at least take enough pity on me so I could sleep in a barn until I could reach a church. Once I got to the church, I felt sure I could convince them to let me stay. I would have to vow never to use my gift again and to devote my life to the faith, but at that moment I thought anything would be better than living with Dugald.

I walked calmly back down to the dungeon, but I felt as though my heart was going to beat its way out of my chest. Once again, Dugald was nowhere to be found. Once I was there, I immediately began stacking objects up as close as I could to get to hole left by the stone. I started with a large barrel of supplies. Even though I wasn’t strong enough to lift it, I rolled it into the cell and turned it upright. Then, I stacked a small chair on top of that, and a small box on the chair. Then, I changed into a fox.

The strange combination of objects wasn’t what you would call “steady.” Still, you’d be surprised the types of feats of agility you can accomplish when you have a light body and a tail. The objects wobbled precariously back and forth, but I managed to hold on with my teeth and claws and regain my balance with my tail. I jumped onto the box on the top and took a large leap, just as the combination of objects toppled over beneath me.

Then, I was out in the sunlight. I could see scent trails forming every color of the rainbow in my mind. They air was thick with mist, the smell of fresh rain, and the sunlight glinted off of the droplets like diamonds. The fall weather was almost over, but there was no snow on the ground yet. That would definitely be to my advantage. And, in front of me, the sun was setting in a spectacular display of gold, pink, and red that made the risk entirely worthwhile. I was giddy with excitement. Even though at that moment all I wanted to do was sit and stare at the sunset, I knew I didn’t have that luxury. It would get cold and much more dangerous if I didn’t reach town by nightfall, and while I did have a fox’s fur, as I told my Mother, I didn’t have any instinct.

I bolted away from the small hut behind me. I ran in erratic zigzag patterns, hoping to throw off anything trying to follow my trail by scent. Even though a fox is a predator, fox hunting is a popular sport, and sometimes larger predators will eat whatever they can catch. I kicked off of trees and walked through the center of shallow streams to try to make anything attempting to follow lose track of my scent.

Nightfall was coming much faster than I wanted. I’ve always been able to see in the dark as easily as I can see in the day. When my Mother slipped and told me that my Father was one of the fairfolk, it explained a lot of the unusual abilities I had as a child. For me, the moon was almost as bright as the sun, the only change being that everything seemed to be in black and white. Still, if I could see that well in the dark, it meant that other predatory animals could as well. I needed to hide.

I was following the smell of humans along the road but I mostly kept to the woods, careful to take advantage of any running water or more powerful scent trails around me. I knew I was nowhere close to the last town we passed through on the way, and I probably wouldn’t get there before the next evening. Up ahead of me there was a large oak tree on the side of the road, and there was already a sizable cavern created by its roots. So, I slid in between the roots of the tree, dug a little further in, and curled up into a ball, ready to sleep for the night.

I couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes when I heard a terrible snuffling snort nearby. It seemed that I had a few instincts after all, because every muscle in my body tensed, ready to run. There was a scent of a larger animal somewhere very close by, and somehow the scent was familiar. I saw four large black paws in front of the tree roots, shifting from foot to foot. They were the paws of a large black wolf. It began growling. I shivered against the back of the burrow, hoping it wasn’t hungry and that maybe it was following my trail out of curiosity. Then, as the wolf took a few steps closer, I could see its large muzzle sniffing the ground. At that moment, I knew it wasn’t an ordinary wolf, and I knew that I was as good as dead.

I could smell incense, blood, and the musty smell of the study. His smell was musky as an animal, but I would recognize it anywhere. Dugald had found me, and Dugald was the wolf. As though he read my mind, he glared into the burrow. His hazel eyes still looked almost human and were very expressive as they met my strange orange ones. The look in his eyes told me that was furious, yet triumphant, and amused at my form. His fur was the same shade of black as the hair on his head, straight and sleek and oily. Even though he didn’t look very strong for a wolf, his muscles were taught and lean, strong enough to chase anything down, especially something small, like me. His maw opened into a toothy grin, and then he stuck his head entirely into my make-shift burrow and his jaws closed around my tail.

I yelped in pain as he pulled me out by the tail, jerking his head to the side and flinging me into the trunk of a nearby tree. I heard his laughter in my mind.

I stammered in a yipping bark, “Mercy!”

It seemed that though I couldn’t speak like a human, Dugald could understand me. Animals communicate in different ways than people. They use body movement, tail signals, even the size of their pupils to convey emotion. I’ve never been very good at communicating with them, but it seemed Dugald was linked with my mind so that he could understand me, because his voice echoed in my mind while he snarled in answer to me.

His voice was a gruff throated growl as he snarled, “None for you.”

Before I could even regain my footing, he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and tossed me against a large rock. The force of it was enough to almost make me black out, but I felt myself being lifted up by my side before I could even stand. His jaws were tight enough to hurt very much, but not tight enough to break my skin. He clearly didn’t want to kill me, but I knew I was in for a world of pain. Dugald threw me up into the air. I managed to grab a hold of a tree limb, but he simply snapped his jaws around my foot and pulled me down. I howled in pain and landed sprawling on my back. Droplets of my blood were silhouetted against the white moon for a moment. He had lost control when I attempted to get away from him, and my foot was mangled.

Dugald snarled and I heard his voice in my mind once more, “You bitch. How dare you keep this secret from me? Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

I tried to limp further away from him, but he slammed his large paw down on my wounded foot.

He snapped, “Did you?”

I said in a strange series of barks, “I had to try.”

Dugald asked, “Why do you think your soup tastes like blood? My blood is what you’re eating. You and I are linked. I knew you were up to something, but I never dreamed you would be this stupid! Where were you planning to go?”

I knew if I told Dugald I was going to seek shelter at the church he would kill me where I stood. He told me many times that the church was a beacon of hypocrisy and false hope. He often tortured any member of the clergy far worse than anyone else in the prison. I could only assume that Banan was kept in the dungeon so long to break his spirit, simply because of the fact he was a ward of the church. So, I quickly thought of a lie.

I said, “I was going to seek help from other Magi.”

Dugald laughed. In his wolf form it sounded more like a bitter cough.

He said, “What a fool you are. Don’t you know the other Magi would be just as cruel to you as I am? They’d probably kill you for even associating with me.”

I said, “You took me against my will.”

Dugald said, “You got into the carriage on your own. It wasn’t exactly a kidnapping.”

I said, “You threatened to kill my Mother.”

Dugald said, “Is that really why you got in? I don’t think so. Face it, some part of you wanted to be my apprentice. It was the part that asked ‘am I going to learn how to read,’ while you were on the way here.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. He was right. Some part of me, buried deep in the back of my mind, wanted to learn more about magic. I wanted to read and make my own spells. And, I even wanted to know some of Dugald’s secrets. I wanted to be powerful and dangerous, if nothing more than to destroy Dugald myself. I’ve acknowledged to my captors that the temptation was there, which probably hasn’t helped my case, but it also makes me a bit more human. Everyone desires to be powerful, especially if they’ve always felt powerless. And, at that moment, with Dugald lording over me in the form of a wolf, putting pressure on my wounded paw to the point I was hissing with pain, I wanted to be powerful.

Dugald didn’t wait for me to answer. He snapped his jaws over my tail again and began dragging me back in the direction of the hut at a medium pace. My face and chest took a battering for the first thirty minutes as they rubbed painfully against twigs and stones. The pain in my tail was excruciating, but not as much compared to the friction caused by my skin against the rough ground. The more the ground rubbed on the same part of my fur, the more I felt as though my skin was simply going to be torn off by the time we reached the hut. When Dugald noticed the small cuts all over my face and my chest; he dropped my tail, picking me up by the scruff of the neck.

He said in my mind, “I should’ve let the skin peel off of your face. You would deserve every bit of it.”

Still, he held me that way the rest of the way, running instead of walking in the direction of “home.” We got there before the sun rose, and he took me to my room.

He snapped, “Change back.”

I pulled the belt off and then did as he said, without hesitation.

Dugald changed back as well.

There’s a certain degrading feeling you get when you stand naked in front of someone, especially if you’re an injured child. My body was covered in cuts and bruises. I had also never seen a man entirely naked before, and Dugald was naked in front of me. His body was covered in elaborate tattoos, but from our conversation after the lamb incident, I knew what to look for—he did indeed have scars all over his body, and the tattoos were covering them. I turned away in an awkward shame and embarrassment. I quickly located my clothes and put my long coat around my body. When I had the courage to look back at Dugald, he was covered in a long black cloak.

He said, “If I ever catch you trying to flee away from me again in that form, you will stay in that form for the rest of your life. I’ll put such a tight collar on you that if you even think of changing into a human, you’ll choke.”

By the way, I’ve still haven’t learned to keep my mouth shut, and as a child, I usually didn’t either.

I snapped, “You wouldn’t. You only want to keep me here because of my magic.”

Dugald backhanded me across the face so hard that I lost my balance and fell.

He snarled, “How many times do I have to tell you this before you understand. I don’t need you. You need me. I own you. I can get another apprentice with more talent than you could ever dream of, with you as my house pet, or with you as a corpse. Think long and hard about that. If I own an animal, it’s my choice if I want to kill it, train it, or keep it as a pet. From now on, in my eyes, you are an animal until you prove yourself otherwise. In fact, I think your new quarters should the stable.”

He turned to leave and I muttered, “Yes, Master.”

That gave him pause.

He turned and said, “Perhaps I’m being too harsh with you. After all, it was very brave of you to attempt to escape, foolish, yes, but brave. When will you learn that I’m doing all of this for your own good?”

I asked, “I don’t know. When did you learn?”

I flinched, expecting him to hit me hard for my insolence, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Just keep hating me. I don’t care anymore. That makes things easier for you and for me.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

Dugald said in a frustrated tone, “Just forget it. You won’t ever learn to appreciate what I’m doing for you, so I’m just wasting my breath and my time.”

I felt ashamed for a moment and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Dugald said, “I wasn’t lying though. If you use that form to escape from me again, you will live in it and you will live in the stable. Do I make myself clear?”

I could tell he was dead serious.

I quickly stammered, “Yes, Master.”

He said, “Good. Then I’ll have Accalon come and bandage you up in a moment.”

“Accalon?” I asked.

Dugald said, “Ah, I guess you haven’t met Accalon yet. Accalon was my old apprentice. He’s one of the few that made it through the training to become a full member of the cult. He’ll be staying with us for a little while to assist me with rituals you aren’t ready to perform. You are to treat him with respect.”

I said, “Yes, Master.”

Dugald said, “I’m glad to see you’re starting to learn your manners. Put on only your undergarments so he has access to your wounds. And, let me know if he… well, just let me know how it goes, Little Kit.”

Before I continue to reminiscence about what happened after that, let me just take this time to say, my hatred of Accalon made my hatred for Dugald look like apathy. There is nothing redeeming about the man. Even Dugald has a certain sense of dignity. I’m sure that in Dugald’s mind he was always doing me a favor. Despite the horrible things he did to me, he did them in an attempt to teach me and to make me loyal to him. Accalon does horrible things because he likes to cause pain. He’s a sadist in every sense of the word. Corruption cloaks him like cheap cologne. I’m sure that there is no atrocity that Accalon hasn’t committed over the course of his life, and he isn’t much older than I am.

Accalon didn’t bother to knock on the door when he got there. I had barely even finished putting on my undergarments when the door flew open and Accalon came sweeping in, as though he had every right to be in my room as much as Dugald.

From the moment he entered the room, I didn’t like the way Accalon looked at me. He had a sick grin on his face, like the grin of a village drunkard that has been around long enough to be cynical and dangerous. I also recognized him as the one who helped carry Banan into the sacrificial chamber that day, which also made me hate him from the start. He was probably only five years older than I was, but his face looked much older. Still, I suppose working with Dugald would prematurely age anyone. His face was slightly scruffy and his head was shaved bald. I could tell that he also had the blood of the fey within him, and, even though I was just a little girl, I blushed and looked away from him, feeling a strange attraction that I didn’t understand.

He looked me up and down and said, “So, you’re Dugald’s new infatuation.”

I pulled the blanket of my bed up in front of me instinctively and said, “I’m training to be his apprentice.”

Accalon snickered and said, “No, you’re just an infatuation. For some reason you interest him right now, but you’ll never make it to be a full member of our little club.”

I said, “He told me I had potential.”

Accalon frowned and said, “For some reason he thinks you do, but do you know what I think? I think you’re an overreaching, ungrateful little bitch. His nickname for you now is ‘Little Kit,’ well to me you’re ‘Little Bitch.’ I think my nickname suits you better.”

I remembered what Dugald said about treating him with respect and somehow managed to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something I would regret.

Accalon continued, “You know, this used to be my room. Oh, the painting…”

Accalon pulled the sheet off of the painting dramatically. I flinched away, afraid of seeing the decomposing corpse of my Mother, but thankfully, it was no longer in the picture.

Accalon muttered, “So, this little shack is where you used to live. It’s still better than where I came from. I lived in an alleyway. I used to watch this painting for hours. Everything that happened in that alleyway would show up on here--people murdered one another, smoked opium, and every time I blinked the picture was a little bit different. You don’t deserve this room.”

I asked, “How did you end up with Dugald?”

Accalon said, “I saw him one day from the alleyway. I saw him turn into a wolf and kill someone right in front of my eyes. It was beautiful. There was so much blood in the snow…”

Accalon’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and I swear, he bit his finger until it bled and then ran it along his tongue.

Then, he continued as though nothing had happened, “I sought him out. He has a way of knowing when people want to find him, and he offered me the honor of being his apprentice. The day when I became a full apprentice was the best day of my life, but I still miss this room.”

For once, someone scared me more than Dugald. When I saw the psychotic gleam in his eye, I realized that Accalon was not someone that I wanted to piss off. He was clearly insane. There’s an odd sort of fear that comes from seeing someone like Accalon. You’re afraid because you don’t know what he’s thinking. His actions and his words are unpredictable, and it’s hard to relate at all. And, apparently just from the fact I was eligible to be a full apprentice for his old Master, Accalon already thought of me as a threat.

I said timidly, “Maybe you can have this room back. I can ask Dugald for you.”

Accalon sighed and said, “No. It would be nice to live in here again, but no. He would say that I didn’t appreciate the honor of being a full member and would demote me. Or is that why you offered, Little Bitch, to get me demoted?”

I said, “No. I just thought since you wanted it back and didn’t think I deserved it…”

Accalon said, “Do us both a favor and don’t talk so I can get this over with.”

Accalon ripped the sheet away from me and muttered under his breath, “Heh, you do have potential. So, that’s why he’s been sparing your pretty face.”

I stammered, “What are you talking about?”

He said, “Nothing. Lie down. It looks like a few bones in your foot are broken. There’s a little internal bleeding on your side, but nothing that’ll kill you. Lots of superficial cuts, but there are some pretty nasty gashes on your lower back, probably where he bit your ‘tail.’ This won’t take long.”

Accalon set the bones in my foot first. I screamed in pain as he snapped the bones back in place without any warning or any care. Then, he pulled a strange black bandage from the inside of his medical satchel and it wound tightly around the wound by itself. To my horror, the bandage seemed to nuzzle and then melt into my own skin. I began to whimper in terror, but eventually the bandage stopped moving and looked normal once again. Accalon’s expression went from apathetic to a delighted grin.

He chuckled, “That was fun. It almost makes me wish I had set them the wrong way first, just so I could break em’ again. Oh well, maybe next time.”

He slapped me on the foot making me yelp and then turned me over, moving on to the gashes in my back. He splashed some sort of strong smelling liquid on my back and I hissed in pain. It burned so sharply for a moment I thought my back was actually on fire.

Accalon muttered, “It hurts like hell, but it helps with the healing.”

He sewed the wound shut with what looked like a slim needle made of bone and thread made out of what appeared to be the thickest spider silk that I had ever seen. Then he applied another one of the strange bandages. The thing that unnerved me about the bandage the most was the way it nestled into my flesh, reminding me of how an earthworm writhes through soft dirt.

Accalon said, “Yeah, this will heal nicely. Probably won’t even leave much of a scar. If it were up to me, I would’ve let it heal up on its own without the stitching, but Dugald wouldn’t hear of it. You’re lucky. I still don’t get why he likes you.”

I muttered, “Dugald doesn’t like me.”

Accalon seized me by my wounded side and rolled me over so that my face was inches away from his and said, “Don’t act like you know Dugald. I know him, you don’t. He likes you, and you don’t deserve to be in his presence, much less his good graces. He sought you out and yet I had to beg him to take me in. Is that fair?”

I stammered, “No. I guess not.”

He said, “You guess not. You are so lucky that Dugald would have my head if I did anything to you.”

He thrust the bottle of liquid into my hands and said, “You can treat the small cuts on your own. Put this on them twice a day to prevent scarring. You can apply it to the bruises too. Those bandages will fall off after your cuts heal, but don’t mess with them. They’re enchanted to bite if you try to pull them off.”

I muttered, “What in the Hell are they?”

He chuckled, “What in the Hell, indeed. Pleasant dreams, Little Bitch.”

Accalon stormed out of my room. I wish I could say that was the last I saw of him, but unfortunately, when Dugald said he would be staying for a little while, he meant he would be staying for a few years.

As I lay down in bed, I reflected on the events of the day. First of all, I remembered what Dugald had said, the food I was eating was laced with his blood. Even though I was still fairly new to the concept of magic, I had read enough to realize that drinking Dugald’s blood was giving him an arcane connection to me. That meant, even if I had escaped him, he would’ve been able to use magic against me. He might’ve even been able to look through my own eyes to figure out where I was and would be able to come to get me later. Also, he knew my true name, which in a way gave him even more power over me. If I had realized that and thought things through, I would’ve realized my attempt at escape was doomed to fail from the start.

Still, what could I do? Dugald insisted on eating with me every night. I couldn’t starve myself and expect Dugald not to punish me. I also couldn’t skip meals since he insisted on eating with me. If I vomited up my meals, he would notice the connection fading away and would know what I was doing. I could try to only eat a little bit of my meal, particularly portions without sauce, but I had a feeling Dugald would be looking for that sort of behavior, especially since I think he slipped up when he told me that. No, I would have to play along. If I ever wanted to escape, I would have to keep that in mind and research to figure out how to counteract his connection to me before I left the catacombs. At least, now I knew how he tracked me down so quickly.

Still, there was one other good thing that came from my escape attempt. My wounds were too bad for me to continue working for the next few days, so I got a few days to research and recover. I couldn’t even get down the dungeon steps with my broken foot. And that meant that I never had to dissect Banan’s body. I never found out what happened to it, but I think for once Dugald simply disposed of it. Even with the pain of my wounds, I was glad about what happened. Being spared from laying a hand on Banan’s body was enough to make the escape attempt well worth it.

8

Oh, the next few years…where to begin? Every year I was given new “responsibilities,” each one worse than the last. When I reached age ten I was given the duty of torturing the prisoners. I used the spell that I used on Banan practically every day. I was getting to be an expert at ignoring cries of pain. The fantasy that I escaped into was always the fantasy of trying to escape. If I imagined myself escaping, I could get lost inside of my own mind until the interrogation was over. Dugald didn’t seem to care. As long as I didn’t cry or show sympathy, he seemed satisfied. Thankfully, I know Dugald could never actually read my mind. I felt sure if he could he would’ve killed me long ago.

I was also becoming an expert at dissections. Since I never got attached to any of the prisoners, learning my lesson from Banan, I easily did what was necessary to please Dugald. I even found dissections to be in a perverse sort of way relaxing. For the most part, Dugald left me alone to dissect, allowing me to study his anatomy books on my own time as part of my “homework.” Any time not spent with Dugald was a blessing; because it was a time I didn’t have to worry about upsetting him, getting punished, or learning something new that would involve hurting someone alive. When I was dissecting was also one of the few times that Accalon seemed to leave me alone.

Now, given that I didn’t enjoy working with Dugald, if this tells you anything, Accalon actually made me appreciate the time when I got work under Dugald alone. I became his hobby. Accalon would often barge into my room unannounced, stare at the picture on the wall and attempt to analyze what the picture was saying about me. He would make me tell him if “he was right” in his theories, and if I even insinuated that I wasn’t happy to see him, or ignored him, he would punch me in the stomach hard enough to make me bleed out of the corner of my mouth.

He also had taken to playing stupid pranks on me. One time he put a bucked of blood above my cracked door so that when I opened it, it fell onto my head, soaking me and my apprentice robes. Dugald was a stickler for cleanliness, so I immediately had to change so that I could clean my robes before they stained and take a bath—only to find he had hidden my soap. Still, I knew better than to tell Dugald about it. Accalon threatened to kill me secretly if I did that. He swore that the killing would look like an accident, so I would be a fool to cross him. Do I believe he would have actually done it? Oh yes, I’m sure of it.

One day, after going through my new duties for a full year, I noticed something odd when I went to dissect the body of a young woman that had been sacrificed earlier that evening. When I removed the sheet, the body had been replaced by a bunch of objects pasted together to look like a corpse. There was an illusion over the objects to make it look like the body, but it was clearly done in haste, because the moment my hand touched it the illusion was gone. I looked around me, wondering if Accalon was playing a foolish trick on me, but there was no one else in the dungeon but the prisoners.

One of the prisoners said, “That freak took it.”

I muttered, “Which one?”

He said, “You know, that young guy with the shaved head. He took the body and replaced it with that crap. He told me if I said anything he’d kill me, but I get the feeling you’ll kill me eventually anyway. I don’t like the way he was looking at her…”

I asked, “Why would he take the body?”

The prisoner grunted and said, “Despite all of the horrible things you do, I think you’re a little young to find out. Just go and tell your Master.”

He turned his back to me.

I think you can tell that I’m very curious by nature. I’ve always been way too curious for my own good. Still, I’m not curious enough to take foolish chances. My primary reason for going straight to Accalon’s room that day was because telling Dugald would mean ratting Accalon out to him, which could put my life in danger. Still, secondly, my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn’t think of one reason why Accalon would’ve taken the body. If he wanted to dissect it, he could’ve done that in the dungeon. (As you can see, during this time, I still had at least a little naivety left.)

I went to Accalon’s door and flung it open without knocking, figuring that if he could disrespect my privacy enough to do it to me, then I could just as easily do it to him. Still, when I saw what he was doing, I immediately regretted it.

The entire room was lit up with candles. There were wildflowers scattered all over the floor, making the room smell so strongly of floral scents that it made me want to sneeze. There was perfume in the air so thickly that I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. On his study table there was a bottle of champagne and two glasses full of it. Still, that wasn’t what disturbed me the most. The girl’s body was tied to a chair in the center of the room. It was wearing a lovely skirt and a corset with no undershirt. The nails were painted and there was make-up on her face. Accalon had been in the process of kissing his way up the dead girl’s arm when his eyes locked with mine.

It felt like we stared at one another for an eternity. He had the look on his face of a child caught trying to steal from a marketplace. Even though I didn’t totally understand what was going on, I understood enough of it. He was playing with the girl as though she was a life sized doll. He was pretending that she was a live woman and that he was courting her. Even without thinking of the connotations of that, it disgusted me.

For one instant there was fear in his eyes, and I realized the position I was in. I had caught Accalon doing something that I was sure that even Dugald wouldn’t approve of to one of the bodies of a sacrificial victim. As far as Dugald was concerned, even dissection had to be done with dignity if a person “gave their life for the cause.” If I told him, Accalon was in serious trouble. Accalon seemed to realize it too, and his fear immediately turned to fury. He stood up, rushed towards the door, shoved me inside, and then slammed it shut behind me.

Accalon stammered, “You didn’t see this, do you understand me? You didn’t see crap!”

I said, “Yes. I understand.”

He snapped in a deadly whisper, “You will NOT tell Dugald about this. If you do, I don’t give a damn what the consequences are, I will kill you.”

My eyes wandered to the dead girl and I said, “Accalon, I wouldn’t even know what to tell Dugald…”

He snarled, “Good, keep it that way!”

I asked, “What were you doing? I just don’t understand…”

Accalon muttered, “You’ll understand when you’re older. We don’t exactly get shore leave here do we?”

I asked, “Shore leave?”

Accalon said, “When sailors return to port, they go and they have a little fun before they’re stuck on a ship again. I’ve been here for two years now.”

I said, “But, you’re playing with that body like it’s a doll.”

Accalon said, “It is a doll. When someone dies there’s nothing left, so they can be anything you want them to be.”

I muttered, “That’s just so wrong.”

He snapped, “Who the Hell do you think you are, judging me? Why are you here anyway?”

I didn’t want to get the prisoner killed, so I said, “I was getting ready to do the dissection. When I saw the illusion, I thought either you or Dugald must’ve taken the body. I figured that if Dugald had taken it, he wouldn’t have bothered with an illusion. I thought you were playing a prank on me.”

Accalon voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, “Well, sorry to cut into your personal time. When I’m finished here, I’ll bring it back.”

I asked, “Can’t you just bring the damn thing back now?”

Accalon asked, “You really don’t get it, do you? Do you really want to know what I’m doing with this body?”

I began backing up towards the door. There was a dangerous look in Accalon’s eyes. He was starting to walk very deliberately in my direction.

He said, “Maybe I should show you exactly…”

I didn’t give him a chance to complete the sentence. I bolted out of the room. Something about the way he had looked at me terrified me so much that I didn’t know how to handle it. Even though I was naïve, by the end of the conversation, I had gotten the point. I knew exactly what Accalon planned to do with the body. It was sick. And, by the end of the conversation, I knew if I hadn’t gotten out right at that moment, he would’ve done something similar to me, only I would’ve been alive and that concept seemed worse. I was so panicked and scared that I didn’t even see Dugald walking towards me and ran right into him. And, I did something I never expected to do. I hugged him and cried into his robes. I felt his hand gently stroking my hair and he made soothing sounds, like a Father trying to comfort his child.

He reached down and took me by the chin and asked, “What’s wrong, Aisling.”

At first, I didn’t want to say anything, but his eyes flashed red briefly and he said in a commanding tone, “Tell me.”

I glanced back at Accalon’s room stammered, “He says he’ll kill me if I tell you. I don’t know even how to describe it, it was so awful…”

Dugald grunted in disgust and said, “He stole the body, didn’t he?”

I nodded, grateful that I didn’t have to keep explaining.

Dugald continued, “It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

I muttered, “Yes. It is. You knew?”

Dugald said, “I’ve always known. He seems to think I’m very unobservant. I saw the way he was looking at that body. I had hoped he would have better sense, but I see he hasn’t changed.”

I asked, “What should I do?”

Dugald said, “You’ve learned a great deal from dissections already. I think I’ll relieve you from that duty from now on, unless there is a special case I need you to examine. Go to your room and rest for the remainder of the evening. I’ll deal with Accalon.”

I grabbed his arm, “No, please. Master, he’ll know I told you.”

Dugald paused for a moment and then sighed, “Then, he’ll get away with it this time. Still, next time he tries it, I’ll pay him an unexpected visit.”

I said, “Thank you, Master.”

He said, “Stay away from Accalon. I don’t trust him around you. If something like this happens again, notify me first, understand?”

I said, “Yes, Master.”

Dugald said, “You know, out of all the apprentices I’ve had in recent memory, I think I like you best.”

I must’ve still been under the effects of his spell, because I found myself being brutally honest.

I said, “But, I hate it here. I hate what I do, I hate Accalon, and sometimes I even hate you.”

Dugald muttered, “Hmmm…you said sometimes that time. My line of work attracts the worst kind of people. You’re the first apprentice I’ve had that doesn’t have some sort of bad addiction or vice that gives me more work to do or that disgusts me—well, other than your desire to escape. You’re also the only one whose spirit hasn’t been corrupted by the work that you do, and that intrigues me as well.”

I muttered, “Thank you, I think.”

He chuckled, “At least with you, I know where I stand. I don’t even know how to read Accalon. As for the others, they don’t care what happens to me as long as the cult continues. I think some of them would sincerely like to take my place.”

I said, “Well, Accalon seems to love you. The last time he spoke to me about you, he told me that only he knew you and I shouldn’t be presumptuous enough to assume that I did. He seemed to think of you as a savior.”

Dugald shrugged, “I guess in some ways I did save his life. If he was ever captured for his crimes, he would’ve been hanged, and he seemed to have a potent gift so I gave him a chance to prove himself.”

I said, “He’s a monster, though.”

Dugald simply nodded and said, “If I knew the sort of things I know about him now, I would’ve helped them capture him. There are some things even I wouldn’t do…”

I shivered.

Dugald said, “Well, is there anything else you need to talk to me about?”

I shook my head.

Dugald asked, “Did you know that I was fond of you?”

I said, “No, Master. I actually thought that you hated me.”

Dugald said, “I don’t hate you. That’s just the trouble. Still, don’t think that for a minute I’ll spare you should you decide to cross me, Little Kit.”

I said, “I know that, Master.”

Dugald said, “Good. Then you’re dismissed for the evening. Use this time to do something you enjoy. You earned it.”

It was the first time Dugald had ever suggested I do anything but study. It also made me realize something very sad. There was very little I could enjoy while living with Dugald. Reading was my one pleasure, but there was very little to read in the study except books on magic. Still, I had managed to find a few interesting books from the library that I took and hid under my mattress. I had already read them so many times that the spines were bent out of shape. One was a book written about fairies, but instead of being a reference book it was more like a combination of short stories and personal accounts. Another was the story of King Arthur, and the mythical accounts of his life and adventures of his knights. And the last, was a romance story that must’ve been smuggled in by one of the other apprentices.

Even though I was only ten when I found it, the romance story fascinated me mostly because of the interactions of the two characters within it. I wanted someone to confide in, someone to be that close to me. I knew that I wouldn’t find that person while working with Dugald. Even when he admitted that I was his favorite apprentice because of the vices of his previous ones, it only reaffirmed the fact that I didn’t belong there. In some ways, I understood Accalon’s fascination with the bodies. He had admitted that the bodies could be anyone he wanted them to be. So, even though he was using them in a disgusting way, he was also making up a romance story in his mind and acting it out with them.

I thought, “Maybe this romance novel belonged to Accalon…”

No, it couldn’t have belonged to him. Otherwise, he would be missing it after I took it from the library. And, after seeing what he did to that body, I couldn’t imagine him truly being a romantic at heart. He was too much of a pervert for that.

Still, one good thing came out of me catching Accalon. It seemed that he felt threatened enough by me to stop paying unexpected visits to my room. Occasionally I would come in after studying in the library to see him staring at the painting, but he would leave the moment I entered without even speaking to me. He seemed to regard me with mixed emotions.

Occasionally, he would look at the floor when he saw me watching him, as though he was ashamed to even make eye contact with me, but sometimes, he would seem furious and snap, “Remember, you never saw a goddamned thing!”

Truthfully, at the time, I wished that I hadn’t seen any of that at all. However, if that incident hadn’t happened, I might’ve not survived when I tried to escape the second time. My dealings with Accalon became the excuse that probably saved my life…

9

Things went on similar to the way they were originally for another year. Dugald kept his word and I no longer had to dissect the bodies unless there was something specific he wanted to show me. I also no longer had to care for the prisoners, though he still had used me as his torturer. During most of the day I studied complex magic with Dugald and he had me researching a few spells that interested me on my own time. He was teaching me mostly about ritual magic. The rituals he taught me became more and more complex each day.

However, when I turned thirteen my duties changed yet again. It seemed it was time for him to carry out his threat of showing me a real sacrifice and having me actually play a part in it.

I know what you’re probably thinking. If I even was taking part in a sacrificial ritual, then I’ve gone way too far and the Magi should’ve killed me on sight. Still, you forget that I was nothing but a puppet. I didn’t ever willingly take part in any of the ceremonies, but whenever I tried to refuse, or run, or even cry and beg not to participate, Dugald would simply look into my eyes and my body acted. My mind went to “my happy place” and I would count the seconds until the ceremony was over. I never learned how to perform any of the rituals, nor did I have any interest in ever doing anything of the sort. And, thankfully, Dugald wasn’t teaching me how to perform any of the infernal rituals, or the language of the creatures he dealt with, because if he had the Magi would’ve killed me by now. That’s been the one thing that has kept me alive this long, the fact that I was an unwilling participant. I never wanted to know the creature that they worshiped and sacrificed to and I never really wanted the power that came with it either. It terrified me.

Anyway, on my thirteenth birthday, I was forced to enter the sacrificial chamber to witness a ceremony for the first time. My only role was to hold a silver chalice to “catch the blood.” It was considered an honor and a birthday present by Dugald, but I protested the entire way down the stairs, begging and sobbing, until he stared into my eyes and forced me to be silent. The fire in the stairwell glowed with an eerie purple light instead of the orange I had seen when I first entered. It gave the place an even more sinister look and when we reached the bottom of the stairs I saw why.

All around me there were people standing along the walls and chanting. They were all extremely beautiful, male and female, and I knew at once when I saw them that most of them were fey. They were speaking in a language I didn’t understand, and strapped to the altar in front of them was a human. She was breathtakingly beautiful, wearing nothing but a white gauzy silk robe that emphasized her body. She wasn’t moving, but her eyes were wide open. Oddly, she had a dreamy expression on her face and a slight smile. There was a solitary tear running down her cheek, but her expression was resolute. It was almost as though she wanted to die.

Upon seeing the confused expression on my face, Dugald whispered in my ear, “She is a willing sacrifice. I thought this ceremony might be a bit easier for you to endure as your first time. All I need you to do is hold the chalice steady against her open wounds until it’s full. We need it to be full to complete the ceremony.”

I was still under his spell and nodded in compliance. Still, I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. She was willing, that was clear, but the question that remained was why? Why would someone willingly do what she was doing? As I scanned the room, I realized the answer. One of the fey men had tears running down his face. She was locking eyes with him. Clearly, they were involved with one another, and he had led her here. Still, I could tell something that she clearly couldn’t. His sadness wasn’t touching his eyes. They were as false tears, nothing but glamour. He had convinced her to give her life for him. It made me sick. I wanted to throw the chalice at him, unbind the woman and slap her until she snapped out of her delusions, but all I could do was walk forward, holding the cup.

I had never imagined such a brutal and disgusting ceremony. It wasn’t just a sacrifice. I was expecting Dugald to kill her quickly, the way he had done with my lamb, but it seemed that he had something else in mind. I won’t go into gory details, but it was a vivisection. Not only that, but somehow he managed to keep the girl alive while it was going on. I could feel raw power coursing through the room with every stroke of his dagger, and I’m ashamed to say, it was euphoric. I’ve never felt such power. It was as though a voice was whispering in my ear, tempting and teasing me with promises that it could fulfill.

I found myself laughing, and noticed that all the other fey, including the one that shed false tears earlier, were laughing as well—and I hated myself for it. The woman wasn’t laughing. She was going mad with pain. When I snapped out of the euphoria of the waves of power around me, I threw the chalice. Blood poured from it in a flood of droplets like a puddle of red rain. There was an audible gasp from the group. Dugald’s eyes flashed with anger for a moment and the chanting stopped.

Under the accusatory glances of the cultists, I cringed, began to cry, and bolted as fast as I could towards the stairs. I heard Dugald yelling after me, but my head was throbbing so badly that I couldn’t make out what he was saying, and at the time I didn’t care. Everything seemed to fall into place. Suddenly, I knew the fate of those that I used to care for, and I realized just by caring for them at all I was just as responsible for the terrible ceremony as the cultists. I felt dirty at the thought of the power washing over me, and the fact that I actually liked it. I could still feel the power working in my system, and it was somehow allowing me to run faster.

The hallways blurred by me on the way to my room. When I reached it, I slammed the door behind me, only to realize that Accalon was inside, waiting for me.

I shouted, “Out of my way,” And rushed towards my wardrobe, searching for a change of clothes.

Accalon said with a sly smile, ‘I knew this would happen, so I took the liberty of packing a bag for you.”

I turned around. Accalon was holding a bag out in front of me. I snatched it from his grasp and looked inside. It seemed that he wasn’t lying. There was an extra set of clothes, my Mother’s comb, and even my favorite books inside. Every possession that I treasured in the slightest was there, except for my cloth doll, which he was holding. There was a lock of my hair sewn into the doll’s dress. It seemed he took it from me while I was asleep.

I asked, “Why are you doing this?”

He said, “I think you know why. I want you out of here.”

I reached for the doll.

He pulled it away from me and said, “Not this. I put a spell on it. Since Dugald has a link to you, I needed something personal of yours to create a new focus. I’m going to take it the exact opposite direction that you run. It won’t throw him off forever, but it’ll buy you some time.”

I frowned. It seemed too easy, and it also seemed very uncharacteristic of Accalon to help me. As I mentioned before, after my first escape attempt, Dugald accidentally admitted that he had formed an arcane connection to me by lacing my food with his blood. I researched spells to counteract that sort of focus and found that if I used something personal, like my doll, I could temporarily create a different link that would throw him off of my trail. It seemed that Accalon was reading my notes all along and knew my plan, and yet he hadn’t told Dugald and was actually helping me carry it out.

Accalon seemed to read my mind, “I just want you to go. I’ve got nothing to lose. All of your notes are here so if Dugald still manages to catch you, he won’t believe I had anything to do with it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you to get out of here and for me to get rid of you. Take it or leave it, but you don’t have time to waste…”

I took the bag and ran out.

He called after me, “Use the front entrance, no one is guarding it. I made sure of that.”

I didn’t know where I planned to go or what I planned to do. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay there for another moment. I bolted towards the front entrance. It seemed that Accalon had drugged the two guards that usually kept watch, because they were fast asleep next to the door. No doubt he would be planting evidence that I had something to do with it in my room, but at the time I didn’t care.

When I ran outside, for a moment I thought I had died from the light reflecting all around me. The snow glittered like broken glass and dazzled my senses, making me instinctually cover my eyes. Still, the light was quickly contrasted by dark clouds in the distance. I didn’t care. I ran in the direction of the road. I heard a strange hissing sound, and realized, as I harnessed whatever was left of the dark power in my system, my footsteps were melting the snow around them. I glanced again at the clouds. I prayed silently that it would snow and that my footsteps would be covered up by it—it was the worst prayer for that particular moment.

I ran for fifteen minutes before I finally got too tired to continue. My lungs burned with every breath of cold air, but I realized in that fifteen minutes, it was more like I had run for thirty. I was already almost to the oak tree where I had rested as a fox on my first attempt at escape. Instinctively, I flinched and looked around; expecting to see Dugald bearing down on me in the form of a wolf, but there was nothing around me but an eerie, permeating silence. It was the silence before a storm, a snow storm.

As I struggled onward, I realized why Accalon helped me. The temperature was freezing. I hadn’t changed out of my apprentice robes and the cold cut through me like a blade through my flesh. At first, the snow only fell lightly, like the white blooms falling off of a thornapple tree, but it didn’t take long for the snow to become thick and unbearably cold. I looked into the bag, hoping for a coat, only to see that Accalon had packed only light clothing. It seemed he really didn’t have anything to lose, because if Dugald didn’t catch me and kill me, the weather would do it just as efficiently. I cursed under my breath. I was in such a hurry to go, I didn’t care about what was in the bag as long as I had my few treasured belongings. A great bit of good they would do me now…

For a moment, I contemplated turning into a fox.

I could always sit in the shelter of those roots until it stopped snowing, but then I remembered Dugald’s words, “If you use that form to escape from me again, you will live in it and you will live in the stable.”

I shivered, but not just from the cold. No, I decided I would rather die than to live out the rest of my life as a fox in the stable. The thought of being Dugald’s pet was far worse than being his apprentice. At least, as his apprentice, I got to research and use my magic. So, even if he did catch me, assuming he didn’t kill me, it was possible I could escape again eventually. I decided that I would put on the few clothes Accalon did pack over me and trudge onward. If God was willing I would find a campsite or a barn eventually. If not, I would die, and either way I would be free of Dugald and would never hurt anyone again.

Cold is agony. I never realized it until that day, but it really is agony. Even now, as I’m shivering in the dungeon, I think the cold is bothering me more than my locked muscles, the gagging smell of filth, and the rats. That day in the snow, I realized what true pain was. And, what was worse was the fact I was choosing to endure it. At any moment I could’ve turned into a fox, burrowed a quick hole in the ground, and at least then I would’ve been dry, but I was too afraid. I had a horrible feeling that with every step I took, Dugald was scampering somewhere behind me as a wolf, waiting for me to fall. I decided that if he was going to capture me again, it was going to be in the form of a human. At least then he wouldn’t be able to grasp me in his teeth and play with me as though I was a rag doll.

I began to hallucinate as I walked further and further into the winter forest. Though, looking back on it, I’m not entirely sure everything that happened was a hallucination. I thought I saw a man walking among the trees in a thick fur coat. He had long red hair like that of a fox and bright orange eyes—I’m sure the man was my Father, whether real or a hallucination. He reached out one hand as though beckoning me to take it, but it seemed, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach him. The image moved further and further away, leading me deeper into the woods until I was hopelessly lost.

Then, the image disappeared and I saw a cave in front of me. There was a sheet of ice covering the entrance so thickly that I could see my reflection in it like a mirror. However, my reflection looked much different than it should have at the time. I was wearing a very thick fur cape, along with an exquisite gown and a silver crown on my head. I had a very cold and ruthless smile on my face, but I was beautiful and totally grown up. I was sitting on an ornate throne. There was a handsome man sitting on a throne next to mine with orange hair and cold eyes, and he was wearing a similar crown. Our hands were entwined.

I heard a voice in my head, “You wanted power, and now I’m offering it to you. Aren’t I a generous Father?”

My teeth were chattering so badly I could barely speak, but I spat, “You abandoned me.”

He said, “But I can still claim you. I’ll even provide a knight in shining armor for you to marry. Dugald can’t reach you here. You’ll have a family again, a place where you belong.”

I was more tempted then than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I knew I didn’t want to become like Dugald, and while I didn’t want to become like my Father either, I was offered so much. Even though my Mother was bitter about my Father, I still wanted to know him. I was so tired of feeling hatred, and here was an opportunity to replace that hatred with love. He was offering me the love of a Father, something I never experienced and always wanted, along with everything else I desired. I would have a Father, a husband, and power beyond my wildest dreams. I almost reached towards the image, but then I quickly drew back.

I remembered the stories my Mother told me about the fey. There was always a catch to their bargains. Nothing was ever free. Even from her own experience, my Father told her he would save her from her loneliness, and he did that by giving her a child and then abandoning her. It made me wonder if she got to rule on a similar throne during her time with him. If that was true, then the only difference in the image I saw before me was man ruling next to her would’ve been my Father, and she would’ve been a fairy queen, rather than a fairy princess.

I could understand her bitterness at that moment with such intensity that it hurt. To have ruled there as a queen and then to be reduced to barely having enough to eat with nothing but an unborn child to remember that it actually happened at all—she had every right to be bitter and to hate him, and so did I. And, that picture, while beautiful and tempting was nothing but glamour. I would be powerful, in an imaginary world. I would have a husband, but he would be as cold as winter snow and his love would be as shallow as a frozen stream. And, in place of Dugald, my Father would be my Master.

I said, “Never.”

He said, “You’ll freeze to death.”

I said, “At least death is real. That isn’t.”

My Father chuckled and said, “You’re quite clever, but you can’t resist my offer forever. My blood is in your veins. This is where you belong. You’ll come back one day, begging for this, and being and generous Father, I’ll grant it to you.”

I said, “Don’t count on it,” And walked away, only to see that I was back on the road already.

If it was a hallucination, it was a damn realistic one, but then, I was burning up with fever at the time. My forehead was hot, even in the middle of a blizzard, and my head was pounding loudly in my ears. I could see a town ahead of me in the distance, but every step I took towards it was like learning to walk again. I stumbled and fell, but then through sheer force of will pulled myself up again and took another step towards it.

I thought, “I can get there. Someone will take pity on me when I do, maybe even a member of the clergy. I just have to keep going…”

I took another five steps and then fell again. My clothes were soaked. I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet. I shouted for help in the direction of the town, but it was as though my words were swallowed by the silence of the snow and the sound of the wind. I heard my words die off only a few feet in front of me. I think at that moment, despair made me lose my will. My legs crumpled beneath me, and I couldn’t find the strength to stand back up.

I watched the snow covering my hands and realized that I couldn’t feel it anymore. I felt so tired; I thought I could just close my eyes and surrender. The snow could claim me, and at least then I wouldn’t have to fight anymore. One part of my mind was screaming that I was a fool to die so close to the town, while the other part was telling me that I was too tired to press on, and if let the darkness press in around my eyes, I would finally be at peace. My mind was battling with itself, but either way, my body wasn’t moving.

I thought the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow was just another hallucination. Still, I felt a warm hand pressing against my forehead and then the hand was gone. Suddenly, I was being lifted out of the snow.

Everything was blurry, and I couldn’t make out who it was, but I knew him the moment he spoke, though his voice was cracking slightly as though he was crying, “You’ll be okay, Little Kit. Let’s go home.”