Page 39 of Anathema

The very thought of what she was suggesting stirred a panic in my gut. “It could’ve been the wind I’d heard.”

“Yes. I suspect it may have been the wind. Now, back to bed with you. A young woman should not be up and about at the witching hour without good cause.”

Without another word, I hustled past her and up the staircase, but paused halfway to the top.

“Loathsome child,” Agatha muttered, and the tapping of her cane across the floor alerted me to keep on.

Hidden behind the door to the attic stairwell, I peered through a small crack, watching her climb the stairs, passing the attic for her bedroom. At the click of her bedroom door, I stepped out of the stairwell. Curiosity chipped at my good sense, but I couldn’t let it go. I had to know who was crying out for help.

On the tips of my toes, I slipped back down the stairs and, once again, found myself standing at that ominous entrance to the cellar. Slowly twisting the knob, I pushed open the door, careful not to creak the hinge by cracking it too far. Sticking close to the wall, I clung to the shadows as I rounded the spiral, stone stairwell. The sound of heavy breathing reached my ears, and I slowed my descent, my heart pounding against my ribs. Down a short corridor, I reached the door to Uncle Felix’s examination room, where the breathing grew louder over the sounds of whimpering.

I peered around the corner, and the sight that greeted me sent a shock through my bones. I palmed my mouth, not daring to so much as a breath.

On the examination table, nothing more than a raised stone slab, lay a pale, naked girl, with long black hair spilling over the edges. From my angle, with her head turned away, I couldn’t see her face, but her supine body lay motionless, as Uncle Felix caressed her breast. A look of adoration swirled in his eyes, something I didn’t think the man capable of, while he ran his thumb over her exposed nipples. He bent forward, taking one into his mouth, and my lip curved in repulsion as he seemed to suckle her, his head slowly bobbing, mouth tugging at her flesh, like a nursing child.

“Help me!” The voice practically blared in my ears.

With his fervent suckling, he jostled her body, and her head lopped to the side until facing me.

A scream begged to escape my throat, as I stared into the milky-white eyes of the Lyverian girl from Moros’s manor. Scattered across her face were the yellowing bruises of a beating. A cut slashed her cheek, and through her gaping mouth, I caught a glisten that left me wondering if her tongue had been cut.

“Maevyth!” she whisper-yelled, and I jumped, my foot knocking a bucket just outside the door.

Uncle Felix’s head snapped in my direction.

I drew in a gasp and spun around for the staircase. Taking two steps at a time, I raced back to the first floor, up to the second, and toward the attic stairwell. On passing the vent, the sound of her screams had me covering my ears. When I finally reached the bedroom, I could scarcely draw in a breath, as I stood hunched over, wheezing.

Still, Aleysia lay sleeping. Oblivious.

Bones rattling with fear, I crossed the room for my bed and hid under the covers.

“Maevyth!” a raspy voice whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to uncover my face. “Maevyth!”

In the darkness, I whispered The Prayer of Caedes. I didn’t know why. I didn’t believe The Red God would’ve helped me then. I didn’t believe in Him, at all.

“The dead don’t pray!” The voice screamed its words louder that time, and a whimper escaped me, as I lay trembling.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back. “I’m so sorry.”

The screams silenced.

Whispered breaths of my quiet sobbing bounced off the blanket. “I’m so sorry.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MAEVYTH

“All these leeks.” Aleysia groaned from beside me. “Better than two winters ago. Remember all we ate was gruel? Gruel for breakfast, gruel for supper. If I never eat a bowl of that slop again, it’ll be too soon. I feel nauseous just thinking about it,” she said, and not even her imitation gagging managed to sever the menagerie of thoughts pouring through my mind right then.

I stared off to the sound of my own quiet chopping, until a sharp sting struck the tip of my finger. “Ouch!” The wooden board where I’d been slicing potatoes for stew was speckled with bits of blood that dotted the white flesh of the vegetables.

“Good grief, Maeve, pay attention.” Aleysia had already gathered a cloth, and she dabbed away the blood before wrapping it up. While I stood entranced by the miniscule bit of blood soaking the cotton, she rinsed the bloody potatoes and threw them into the pot with the others.

“They killed her,” I said quietly, not wanting to draw Lolla’s attention, where she kneaded dough for bread across the kitchen, putting her whole body into the toil as she folded it one-handedly. Two days had passed since I’d stumbled upon the Lyverian girl in the morgue, and yet, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I’d thought about her all morning during bible study, during the afternoon while doing chores. Her face. That plea for help. “They killed her, anyway.”

“Who?” Aleysia asked, taking over my half of the potatoes, while I stanched the blood.

“The servant girl. A Lyverian. Moros had killed her, I’m sure of it.”

---