Cursed, p.14
Cursed, page 14
Gild continued, “After the storm started I saw a bunch of hunters running toward”—his voice turned extra meaningful—“the, uh, the hall we were in? This morning?”
Her eyes widened. Was it possible that this vicious storm had something to do with the weird chicken-snake creature she and Gild had awoken? Was that what had made the Erlking so anxious?
“Also,” Gild added, denial etched onto his face, “I heard something about the queen’s announcement?”
He was waiting. Horrified, but also hopeful that he might be wrong. That perhaps he had misunderstood. She could see it written plainly on his face.
But in the end, she didn’t have to tell him. Gerdrut did it for her.
“We’re going to have a baby!” she cried, bouncing on her toes. “At least, Serilda is. But I’m going to help take care of it!”
“Ah,” said Gild, nodding stiffly. “I see. Congratulations.”
Serilda watched him carefully, wishing he would hold her gaze for longer than half a second. Then maybe he would see the truth that she could not speak aloud.
The child was his.
But he avoided her eye.
How many times had she opened her mouth to tell him the truth, before he could hear the lie and be devastated by it? It might not have surprised him. He believed she’d been intimate with the king for weeks now. He believed that was the king’s entire aim in marrying her—to father a child with his mortal bride.
After today there would be no denying it. No pretending that she had not been in the Erlking’s bed.
But it wasn’t true, she wanted to scream. The Erlking didn’t even have a bed!
“You … uh … probably should rest, then,” Gild said.
“No, I’m not tired at all,” said Serilda, which was true. Though she’d been exhausted during the hunt’s demonstrations, she now suddenly felt wide-awake. A new idea struck her as she thought of what Agathe had told her. “We should continue our search, while the hunters are preoccupied with the … storm.” She affixed Gild with an intent look.
“All right,” he said uncertainly. “If you’re sure.”
“Just let me tuck in these little troublemakers. It’s been a long night and an even longer day. Do you think you could find something for Anna’s wounds? She thought she might have some broken bones.”
“I’ll check with the apothecary for something to help with the pain,” said Gild. “You’ll find that ghosts heal much quicker now than when they were alive.”
“I can go,” piped up Fricz. “Why does no one take my job seriously?”
“No, please,” said Gild, backing away. “You all take care of Anna, and … and Serilda. I’ll be back soon.”
With a wan smile, he vanished. Serilda knew he wasn’t only going to get help for Anna. He needed a moment to himself, to come to terms with her news.
It tore at her insides, the truth screaming inside her skull.
She shut her eyes and forced that truth down, down, down.
“Come along,” she said. “We’ll get comfortable, and then I will tell you a story.”
It has oft been said that a god captured beneath an Endless Moon will be forced to grant a single wish, but in the beforetimes it would have been ludicrous to imagine one of the old gods ever being trapped by tricks or wiles. Just as humans are made of skin and bone, the gods are made of magic and starlight. They have the power to change their forms at will, with no earthly limitations on their figures. With nothing more than a thought and a wink, a god might become the smallest of insects or the greatest of sea serpents. For thousands of years, the seven gods inhabited the lands, the seas, the skies—sometimes as humans, sometimes as beasts. They interfered little in the affairs of mortals, preferring to keep to themselves, and to enjoy the freedom and pleasures their magic afforded them.
But that began to change, many years ago.
For you see, the dark ones had escaped from Verloren.
Velos had done all they could to stop them. The god of death had tried to keep the demons trapped in the land of the lost. But the demons managed to flee across the great bridge and through the gates into the mortal realm, and now they were free to wander the earth.
Unlike the gods, the dark ones did not keep to themselves. Nor did they wish to settle quietly among the human villages and live simple, tedious lives. They would not tend crops or spin wool or learn a trade. They saw themselves as superior to humans. They were stronger and faster and more beautiful, and above all else, they were immortal.
And the dark ones wished to rule.
Soon, the dark ones began to terrorize the poor, frightened humans. They took what they wanted without consequence. Their lives became endless sport, made possible by the servitude of the mortals who could not fight against them.
At first, the gods did not intervene, preferring to let matters settle themselves. But as the dark ones grew in strength and cruelty, the gods determined that something must be done.
They met at the peak of Mount Grämen on a cold winter’s night, when a solstice moon hung full and heavy in the sky. There, they talked and argued and discussed a solution.
Tyrr wished to slaughter the dark ones and wash their hands of the whole matter, but Eostrig insisted that to do so would only send their spirits back into the ground, where all that maleficence would sprout up as something even more terrible and poisonous.
Freydon wished to send them back to Verloren, from whence they had come, but Velos knew that the demons would never go willingly, and to try and entrap them could lead to a war unlike anything the world had ever seen.
Hulda wished to imprison them in golden chains and drop them to the bottom of the sea, but Solvilde would not hear of the waters being so tainted.
And on and on and on they went, with no suggestions posed that would satisfy them all.
Until, finally, Wyrdith stood. The god of stories and fortune had thus far been silent, but now they took out the wheel of fortune from their heavy robes.
The other gods fell silent as Wyrdith lifted a hand and gave the wheel one powerful spin.
They watched and waited to see where fate would land.
When the wheel finally stopped, the gods peered at the god of stories, waiting to hear what solution they had to offer.
“Fortune smiles on us,” said Wyrdith, “for I have seen what we must do.”
But even in speaking this, there was a sadness in Wyrdith’s eyes, for they alone knew what must be sacrificed.
Wyrdith explained, and the gods, seeing that it was the only way, each willingly gave up a single thread of their own hallowed magic.
Wyrdith gave up their golden quill. Velos gave a tooth. Eostrig a horn and Hulda a serpent’s scale. Tyrr gave a gem, Solvilde an egg, and Freydon a claw.
Hulda took the seven gifts and used them to spin an unbreakable yarn. They spun for hours, and when the yarn was finished, Hulda took it and began to weave. Again, hours passed. It was nearing sunrise when finally the work was complete.
Using the magic of the gods, Hulda had woven a cloak that would cover the world. A veil that was unbreakable and impenetrable, one that would forever trap the dark ones and keep them separate from the mortal realm.
As Hulda worked, the other gods grabbed hold of the edges of the veil and pulled it protectively around the whole earth.
But as the moon was descending toward the horizon, Perchta, the great huntress, saw what the gods intended to do. With moments to spare, she took her bow and an arrow from her quiver and aimed toward the sky.
She fired.
Though the veil was nearly complete, the arrow shot straight through the only remaining gap in the magical shroud and struck the full moon beyond. The moon began to bleed from its wound, and one single drop of moonlight fell onto the veil. Where it struck, Hulda found they could not complete that final stitch, forever leaving an opening in this otherwise perfect tapestry. An opening that would be visible only beneath a full moon and on nights when the sun and moon fight for dominance in the sky.
Determining that they had done all they could, and the veil, though imperfect, would nevertheless be enough to keep the dark ones from continuing their rampage through the mortal realm, the gods returned to their separate lands. Tyrr to the volcanoes of Lysreich. Solvilde to the coast of the Molnig Sea. Hulda to the foothills of the Rückgrat Mountains. Eostrig deep into the heart of the Aschen Wood. Freydon to the lush grasslands of Dostlen. Velos, to the shadowed caverns of Verloren. Wyrdith to the basalt cliffs at the northernmost edges of Tulvask.
There the gods lived in peace for some time, pleased when the veil held, for the dark ones could enact only so much harm on but one night of each moon cycle, and they felt they had succeeded in tempering this great threat.
Only Wyrdith understood the full extent of what they had each given up that night. It would be many years before the other gods understood that by giving of themselves to create the veil, their magic had been irreparably changed. In creating a prison for the dark ones, they were also entrapping themselves. Having given up a thread of magic, the gods found their abilities to change their physical forms now had a single limitation.
Forever after, on the nights of an Endless Moon, like the one beneath which the veil had been created, the gods would no longer have dominion over themselves. Rather, they would be forced to take the forms of seven terrible beasts.
After that, it became possible to catch a god on that long, dark night. Possible to hunt them, to capture them … and to claim that elusive wish.
Ever since, whenever the full moon rises on the longest night of the year, the hellhounds can be heard sniffing and searching for their prey.
Seven gods made into seven extraordinary beasts.
* * *
It took four tales before the children fell asleep, so excited were they from the day’s events. Anna fell asleep last, after struggling to find a comfortable position to lie in, and grimacing every time one of the other children shifted beside her. Gild had eventually returned with an elixir from the castle apothecary, and Serilda doubted Anna would have gotten any sleep at all was it not for the herbs easing her pain.
“Your stories,” Gild whispered from the other side of the room, “are not for children.”
Serilda blinked at him. She hardly remembered the tales she told, when the entire time she’d been half-focused on Gild and his reactions and wondering if he was thinking about her child and believing it was the Erlking’s and what would she do if he asked her about it and how would she possibly maintain this lie until the Endless Moon?
So his statement caught her off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“Demons enslaving humans? Gods turning into beasts? And that one about the child being tricked into eating her grandmother’s teeth? What is that?”
Serilda rubbed her palms into her eyes. “I hardly know what I was saying.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you could just, you know … read them a story? I was flipping through this book earlier. There are some pretty good ones in here.” He picked up the book of fairy tales that Leyna had stolen from Frieda’s library. She’d been so distracted these past weeks with thoughts of her baby and her curse and the five children and doing her best to play the part of the Alder Queen, she hadn’t been much in the mood for fairy stories that ended in happily ever after. The farthest she’d gotten in the book was the opening page, a note to the reader about how the stories were collected by a contemporary scholar who had spent years traveling around Tulvask gathering and transcribing household tales that she believed to coincide with true historical events. Normally, it was the sort of thing that would have intrigued Serilda, but now she could only think about what a luxury it was for this scholar to travel about the country, listening to stories and writing them down and never fearing that one of those story’s villains might kidnap her and curse her and keep her trapped in a haunted castle.
“I really liked this one,” said Gild, flipping to a page with a woodblock print of a prince and a farm boy, their hands cupped together, holding a tree sapling between them. The title was written in flourishing calligraphy: “Hardworking Stiltskin and the Northern Prince.”
“It’s got a good moral,” Gild added. “For people who like that sort of thing.”
“Maybe you can read it to the children, then.”
“Maybe I will.” He shut the book and peered at her. “You look tired, Serilda. Maybe we should just—”
“No, I want to search for our bodies. I want to help you. Are the hunters still preoccupied?”
Gild scratched behind his ear. “Last I checked, yes. But, Serilda … I’ve probably gone over every inch of this castle a dozen times, at least, every inch that I know of. There’s a surprising number of storage rooms in the basement, and I’ve checked them all. Plus the chapels, the towers, the dungeons, every garderobe, which was not enjoyable. The studies, the tower attics … I even went to the bottom of the water well.” He shrugged. “Nothing. He wouldn’t have left our bodies somewhere anyone could just stumble onto them, least of all me. Wherever he’s hiding them, I don’t think it will be a place that I can easily pop in and out of, not if I don’t even know it exists. I’m not discounting the possibility of secret passageways or rooms, but if that’s the case … short of tearing up the foundations … I don’t know where else to look.”
“Actually, I had a thought earlier. Though it will probably amount to nothing.”
“More likely it will amount to something creepy and awful,” said Gild. “That seems to be where your thoughts typically go.”
She rolled her eyes. “What about the throne room?”
“What about it?”
“When I was speaking with Agathe today, she mentioned how she recalls being in the throne room during the massacre, and how she couldn’t leave, I think because she was protecting your mother and father.”
Gild fidgeted, as he always did when she brought up the family he couldn’t remember.
“And I realized how so much that happened that night revolved around this one part of the castle. Your paren—er, the king and queen were murdered there. The princess was…” She trailed off, remembering the awful vision of the child hanging from the rafters. She shook her head. “It’s where the Erlking lured you when you returned, and where he cursed you … and where he cursed me, for that matter. When you or I go beyond the walls of the castle, the curse brings us back to the throne room, every time. Now, this might be nothing, but … in the mortal realm, there’s something different about the throne room. Everything else in the whole castle is decrepit and marred by age, but the dais and the thrones … it’s like they’re trapped in time. Unchanged in hundreds of years, while everything crumbles around them. There’s some sort of magic there. What if…” She shrugged. “What if it has something to do with the curse?”
“Except … our bodies aren’t in the throne room,” said Gild. “We would have seen them. It isn’t like there are a lot of hiding places.”
“Aren’t there?”
He opened his mouth, but hesitated. He leaned back on his heels, considering. “The walls,” he murmured. “Or … possibly the floor?”
“Specifically,” said Serilda, “I think they could be under the thrones. I wonder if maybe the magic needed to sustain our bodies is … somehow leaching up from the floor. And that’s what’s preserving them? I could be wrong. I have no idea how any of this works, I just—”
“No, no, it makes sense.” Gild smiled. “We should explore it, on the Straw Moon.”
She shook her head. “I’d like to go now. While the Erlking is busy dealing with the … that thing. That we woke up.”
“The legendary chicken-snake,” Gild said, without humor.
“I know it’s risky, but…” She trailed off. She wanted to say that they were running out of time. Months were going by too fast, and soon her child would be born and the Erlking would capture a god and wish for Perchta’s return. But she didn’t know how to bring up her pregnancy to Gild. She didn’t know what to say to him. So instead, she finished lamely, “It isn’t like anyone really goes in the throne room. I’ve never seen the Erlking there, aside from when he cursed me.”
Gild inhaled slowly. “It shouldn’t take long to check.”
She smiled at him gratefully, but it quickly fizzled. Serilda stood, wringing her hands. “Gild … about the announcement…”
“You don’t have to.”
She hesitated. “I don’t have to what?”
“Whatever it is you’re about to do. Explain or apologize or … just … talk about it, even. I mean … That didn’t come out right. If you want to talk about it, of course, we can. I want you to feel like you can talk to me. But only if you need to. You don’t owe me anything, I guess, is what I mean. I just…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I just want to be here for you, Serilda. However you need me to be.”
She wished these words made her feel better, but they didn’t. If anything, his attempts to support her and care for her through all of this only made her feel worse.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
His brow drew together. “There is the, um, the matter of the…”
He didn’t finish, and Serilda didn’t know what he was talking about. The matter of Serilda being in love with him? The matter of her husband being a murderous bastard? The matter of—
“The bargain,” said Gild. “The … deal that we made.”
Ah. That matter.
“I haven’t told him,” said Serilda.
“I figured as much.”
“I never thought … when we struck that deal…”
“Neither did I.”
Serilda pressed her lips together.
Gild wiped his palms nervously down his tunic.
“Nothing we can do about it tonight,” she said.
“Agreed,” said Gild. “We should focus on the important things. Not that this child … your child … isn’t important.”
“To the throne room, then?”
He nodded vigorously. “I’ll meet you there.”
