The week flew by faster than any other that Seras could remember. The entire family went about their usual business—cheese making, blacksmithing, chores and meals punctuating the hours—but it was a mechanical process with no thought put into it. Their minds were all focused on the day creeping steadily closer, when their fates would be decided.
Not once did they even allude to the possibility of Seras being given to the demon in exchange for the blacksmith's life. Instead, her aunt seemed to mourn like she was already a widow while her uncle spent every possible hour in his shop, trying to finish his backed-up orders before he lay down his life.
Seras wanted to speak to them about it, but the subject seemed unapproachable. In her heart, she was terribly conflicted. She knew that her aunt and uncle would never willingly give her up to a creature that could work terrible magick on her or eat her body while keeping her soul captive by some dark means. Her nights were filled with terrible dreams of dark claws and glowing eyes, leaving her awake and trembling beneath her coverlet. Yet how much worse were the nightmares of a legion of creatures dragging her gentle, kind uncle to the pits of Hell while a dark shadow laughed cruelly at the women's distress!
But for all her fear and anxiety on her uncle's part, she hadn't cried. She was the sort of girl who had decided as a child that crying didn't do a whit of good, unless it was already too late. And so in lieu of grieving for what was to come (she left that to her aunt), she spent her time planning.
It was the first time she kept a sin to herself instead of going to confess it in the church, but she figured that if she was going to go through with her plan, she was condemned in any case and so it didn't really matter. Her sin was one of omission—she had hidden her growing idea from her elders, and in doing so had all but verbally lied to them. In their eyes, she was innocent of any deceit or scheming, but it was not the case.
No matter what anyone said, her uncle was an indispensable tool for the community. He was the only blacksmith in that part of the country, and three or four villages besides Eagle-bend used his services for all their smithing needs. If he were gone, without a successor apprenticed to his name, the town would be in dire need of another smith.
Not to mention that without his income, she and her aunt would be left penniless. Of course they had food to live on, but there were other expenses that needed to be cared for. He was a man, and in a man's world that was what she and her aunt needed. He was far less expendable than a small orphan child that had been raised by her father's brother.
And so she plotted and planned in secret, lying awake in her bed at night and slowly working by day, her mind leagues away. She half-wished her aunt would shout and scold her like usual, to bring some semblance of normalcy to her life.
There were times when her mind would take a darker turn and she wondered what demon claws would feel like clutching her skin, or how their teeth would feel biting into her soft stomach, ripping her innards and lapping up her blood. Would they keep her alive to feel it, or would she be blissfully dead by that point? At those times, she would shake herself out of her thoughts and swallow the knot in her throat. It was the not-knowing that frightened her; if she could only know what she was getting into, then she might be able to summon more bravery.
And then, all at once, the dreaded morning dawned on their little household. It was laundry day again, and Seras' heart wrenched in her chest as she looked at the unassuming baskets of bedclothes and linens. She wordlessly watched her aunt carry them towards the river, and heard the ringing of metalwork in her uncle's forge. Something about it all became too much and she turned, scattering chickens as she hopped over the gate and ran.
She went past the church, past the miller's, past her usual laundry-spot, over the hills and through the glens, never stopping even as her legs began to throb painfully. Finally she reached the boundary of the river, where it crooked once before attempting the wide bend that gave Eagle-bend its signature name.
She collapsed on the damp grass, her bare feet soaking in the soil while her hands clutched at the grass. The tears she'd been holding in all week spilled out, mingling with the muddy banks of the river and disturbing the tadpoles burrowing in the shallow pools of water at the bank's edge. She cried herself out after only a moment's weeping, wiping her eyes on her overtunic and then watching the scenery morosely.
The sky was brilliant today, with only bare wisps of white decorating the otherwise blemish-free blue. She sighed, sniffling and listening to the babbling waters. Father Anderson always spoke of God as a being who lived in Heaven but also in the church. She couldn't believe it that He would spend all His time in a stuffy building that reeked of incense and sweaty bodies. No, in her mind God would be out here, under the blue sky. She could hear His voice in the whisper of the wind in the grass, in the murmurs of the river, and she could feel him in the ground beneath her hands and feet.
Courage, she thought, wondering if it would do her any good to pray out here instead of at the church. I need courage. Please, please give me strength to do what I know is right. She strained to hear an answer, a confirmation that she had been heard. The wind whistled across the glen, the water rippled and sang, and she felt a little better. Then the grass behind her rustled and she turned to see who or what had disturbed her.
It was a great black dog, a massive beast that was as tall as she was, even seated on the ground. Its eyes glowed with a strange light, and it panted at her, showing white fangs. She was startled for a moment, but noticed the leather strap around its neck and relaxed. Most likely it was a hunting dog, on the search for its master's dinner. It came closer and she held out her hand for it to sniff, laughing weakly when it licked her fingers and wagged its tail.
"Go on, you mongrel," she said teasingly, boldly reaching to rub its pollen-dusted head. She scratched it behind the ears before pressing down gently on it, using it as a crutch to stand up. "I'm not a rabbit, and I doubt your master would enjoy devouring me for his supper." It panted and leaned against her leg for a moment before walking to the river's edge for a drink.
Seras looked around for a hunter or anyone who could have been its owner, but saw no one. She wondered if perhaps it had wandered from the town all the way out here, but of course it could give her no answer. She looked at it and it licked its chops, woofed once, and then bounded back through the grasses towards the woods in the distance. She watched it curiously before turning herself to head back to the cottage.
"Where've you been!?" her aunt shouted when she walked through their gate. The woman had been hanging out the laundry when she spotted her niece and her face had combined relief with fury. "I've been worried near to death! I couldn't find you." She marched over, clearly intending on giving her a stern scolding (and perhaps a swatting).
"I went to pray," Seras said truthfully. Her aunt's face softened and then she did something she hadn't attempted since Seras was a young child, dragging her into an embrace and kissing her forehead. Seras gave into her childish impulse and buried her face in her aunt's bosom, breathing in the familiar smell of herbs and sunlight and woman.
"My dear child," her aunt said with a sigh, lips still pressed against her head. "You've always been a brave, enduring girl. I'm afraid you've had to be brave for both of us. But don't worry, for I daresay it'll all work out in the end." Seras only hugged her aunt tighter, wishing she could wring every last drop of love out of her. She wished with all her might that she didn't have to break the woman's heart.
Her uncle stepped out into the sunlight from his forge, and saw them together. He strode towards them and wrapped them in his arms, soot and all. No one complained and they stayed together, gaining strength from each other. The odor of fire and soot combined with her aunt's scent filled Seras with immense love, which hardened into dutiful valor. She smiled and pushed closer into their combined bodies, soaking it up like a cloth in water until she was certain her entire body thrummed with it.
"He'll come at sunset," her uncle said quietly, and her aunt stiffened beneath Seras' touch. "I know it. Let's go inside and eat." He put an arm around their shoulders and walked them both back to the cottage. Today Seras noticed that while her aunt's glistened and sparkled with nervous tears, her uncle's eyes were the solemn ones. It seemed that he had resigned himself to his fate, and it only made Seras' heart beat faster against her ribs.
Her aunt crafted a meal of splendorous proportions, usually saved for Christmas or Midsummer. There was the rare presence of meat, fresh baked bread with butter, cheese, vegetables, and bottomless ale. It was a last supper to beat all others, but no one had much of an appetite. They ate in silence, staring at the hearth while filling their stomachs as best they could.
Then, as the light began to wane and cast shadows across the yard, her uncle rose and looked towards the open door. Father Anderson turned into their gate and they met with equal looks of somberness. He turned towards his wife and niece.
"You'd do best to stay indoors," he proclaimed. "I'll wait for him out there." Her aunt shook her head, defying her husband for the first time that Seras could remember.
"No, I will watch with you." She was resolved, and Seras felt herself rising to her feet.
"I will as well. We want to be by your side," she said. The meat curled in her stomach and she fought the bile rising. She didn't want to think about what was going to happen. Her uncle looked at them exasperatedly, but nodded his consent and the four of them went out to stand by the gate. As they watched the sun set lower in the sky, though the day was still plenty bright to see, they saw a figure come riding across the horizon and turn onto the path.
"Tis him," her uncle said, and Seras noted the slight tremor in his voice. "I'd know him anywhere." The priest ushered them behind the gate and used the splinters to hold pieces of paper. Seras looked at them inquisitively, marveling at the Latin written on it. She and her aunt looked up questioningly at Father Anderson.
"Tis a holy barrier, written from the words of God and the Bible. It is as good protection as I can muster for this house and its inhabitants," he explained. Her aunt nodded, accepting this answer, but Seras wondered if a demon could indeed be thwarted by mere pieces of parchment. The sound of hooves caught her ear and she turned without thinking, watching the rider as he approached the cottage and slowed. Her eyes took in the horse, pitch black as midnight and hulking. Then they went up, up, up, until she was looking right in the rider's face.
Her first thought was that she should be mortally afraid of looking into a demon's eyes, considering that it could work vile magick on her without touching her if it could see into her soul. Her second thought was that he didn't look much like a demon at all, other than being naturally intimidating. Truly, these creatures of the Devil are a deceiving bunch, she thought to herself, gasping involuntarily as his eyes raked over her and passed on dismissively.
He was clearly a tall man, even mounted on his horse, and he wore a shining suit of armor that was unlike any she had ever seen before. She'd watched the knights of Eagle-bend once or twice, dressed up in their chainmail and conical hats, but this man had no mail that she could see. Instead his armor was made of strange iron plates welded together intricately. Even his gloves were not the mitten-like mail of the knights, but instead greaves that were so detailed that each finger could clearly bend on its own.
His hair was a tangled mess, yet it was made not of shadow, but of thick black locks that curled and twisted and hung everywhere. Seras wondered briefly if his hair was ever caught in-between the plates of armor, since it tumbled across his shoulders and partway down his back. Looking closely, she highly doubted that horns could be hidden under the hair—any other color besides black would be noticeable.
His beard and mustache were well-groomed and made his lips and pale skin stand out with its dark color. His eyes were like embers, set deeply in his face and burning brightly with a red sheen. His profile was prominent, and while the features weren't softened he was still very handsome.
Seras thought that the shadows of dusk hung around his body like in her uncle's story, but on closer inspection she saw it was a great cloak that draped across his forearms and down his back. Furthermore, it was not colorless at all but instead a dark purple-black, and the underside appeared to be red. This confused her, and such a color was only worn by royalty as far as she knew. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed in thought. Was he some sort of demon king?
"I have come to complete our bargain," he said at last, after looking over each one of them. He spoke English, but the words were twisted beneath a thick accent. Seras was reminded of the Gypsies that came through sometimes, offering fortunes and potions in exchange for coins. Or, if not them, then the lord from Germania that allowed her uncle to fix his broken sword when he passed through the town once. His voice carried the same otherworldly quality, the same foreign, exotic nature.
"I'm glad to see you were enough of a man to stand here before me, blacksmith. Others before you have tried to run away, and it never ended well for them. Of course," he said with a hint of amusement, "it will not end so well for you, either. But know that you now have earned my respect, and take peace that you die with your honor intact."
"I am a man of my word, sir. I would not have tried to run away, when I pledged that I would be here waiting for you." Her uncle sounded completely sure of himself now, and the fear in his voice was gone. He bravely stepped beyond the holy barrier and stood before the demon's horse. "I am ready."
The demon man tilted his head and looked at him oddly a moment, but then threw back his cloak from his right arm. Seras saw a sword belted to his waist over the armor and the knot in her throat returned. She couldn't cry out, and felt her aunt tremble at her side, but her uncle did not show any terror at the sight of the weapon. It was only when he made to grab the sword that she felt herself moving, shouting in a voice that was not entirely her own.
"Stop!" Her aunt gave a squeaky sob of shock and fright and Father Anderson tried to grab her as she ducked beneath him, running through the gate and scattering paper barriers in her wake. She ran without thinking, sprinting ahead of her uncle to the man's side. When she was herself again, she realized to her horror that one hand was on the horse's neck, the other on the demon's leg.
She felt the cold metal beneath her fingers and heard a grumble. Looking up, she locked eyes with the man again and nearly lost her nerve. But he didn't draw his sword on her, nor move her hand from his leg, and she took both as a good sign. She heard the priest calling to her, and her aunt was openly crying from fear, but she ignored them. She focused only on the demon.
"Please, I bid you spare my uncle's life," she said boldly. The demon looked at the blacksmith before replying.
"He has pledged to me his life. Has he not told you of his greed?" Seras felt a twinge of anger at the words.
"He only asked for a place to sleep and some food for the night, when he was away from home and half-drowned!" she protested loudly, and the demon's eyes widened at her insubordinance. Her uncle looked distraught and flabbergasted that she had the gall to rebuke a monster who could kill her as easily as swatting a fly.
"I know what his crimes are," she continued, a little surprised at her own audacity. She knew she had nerve, but never before had she called out a stranger. "And I tell you this: my uncle is indispensable as a blacksmith, and if you take him away then the entire countryside will suffer for it."
"What do I care for you pathetic villagers and your need for an iron-worker?" he replied callously. "He and I have a deal, and it will be seen through."
"I know," she repeated. "That's why I am here, my lord," she said, determining that it wasn't too late for politeness. "You gave my uncle a choice—his life, or the first thing through his gate upon his arrival." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I was the first through the gate, for I saw him and went to greet him, worried that he had returned so soon." The silence stretched as the demon studied her, mouth set in a thin line. Then he leaned over, looking closely at her with a scrutinizing air. Seras met his gaze impudently, wondering if he thought she was too scrawny to eat.
"Are you giving your life for your uncle's?" he asked, almost as if he didn't believe her. "Of your own free will?" She looked back to the cottage, where her aunt and uncle wore identical expressions of horror.
"Do you promise to leave my family alone?" she retorted. The knight straightened and bowed his head in agreement.
"No harm will come to them by my hand," he vowed. Seras nodded.
"Then yes, I will choose to go with you in my uncle's stead." Her aunt cried out and Seras winced, for the sound went straight to her heart. The priest stepped to the edge of the barrier, his face a furious mask.
"Filthy, vile demon of Hell!" he roared, but the knight regarded him with little more concern than he might a mewling kitten swiping at him. "Taking an innocent virgin's life for your own evil purposes, when ye might have simply left them alone!"
"The man and I had a deal, father." The knight's scorn was nearly tangible. "And you, with all your laughable holy objects, can do nothing to change that." He looked back down at Seras. "Give me your hand then, fearless little one."
"No," the blacksmith said, stepping forward. "Seras, I have lived my life, and a few more or less years would have not changed me any. You are young, lass! Don't throw away your life for an old man."
"The village needs you, Uncle," Seras replied, hearing tears in her voice though none pricked her eyes. "They don't need me."
"How can your aunt and I live, knowing that you died for my mistake?" he cried in reply, eyes frenzied. She smiled, wanting his last impression of her to be just like the demon said—a fearless woman who didn't regret her decision to die for her family.
"You'll both live long lives in my memory," she proclaimed, and then without further ado she confidentially reached onto her tiptoes and grabbed the demon's offered hand. He swept her upon the horse before she could do little more than gasp, and suddenly she was sitting high above them all. Her aunt was on her knees, her uncle frozen in the middle of the path, and the priest was coming towards them, drawing a blade from beneath his robes. The man behind her laughed, and it sounded just like in her nightmares as the horse reared and turned, jumping over the priest to gallop back down the lane and through the fields, crossing hill after hill.
Seras held onto the horse's mane, the wind whipping at her face and eyes watering as they sped across the countryside towards the forest. She looked back one last time at the village, the sky over it dyed red by the setting sun. Then they crested a large hill and it was gone, replaced only by rolling scenery as the river shimmered ahead, growing ever closer.
They slowed when they reached the forest at the river's edge, the horse walking into the trees without being guided. Seras had heard of the forest, though she had never personally been in it. There had been no reason to stray from the main path, and the forest was home to crooks and outlaws. The horse headed through the trees, and Seras looked with interest all around her at the waning sun shining feebly through the trees, at the leaves trembling in the wind that didn't quite reach them on the forest floor, and listened to the sounds of animals in the underbrush.
She saw a deer and squirrels, but no outlaws. The demon had one gauntleted hand around her waist like a vice, the other loosely holding the reins. His sword bounced against her hip as they rode, and his chin brushed the top of her head occasionally. She dared to look up at him, but he didn't look back at her, nor did he speak. She contented herself to ride in silence and was about to yawn when they entered the clearing and she saw the manor house.
It was indeed just as her uncle had described, built of stone and wood with a properly tiled roof instead of one made entirely of thatch. The grounds were enormous, stretching as far as she could see in either direction, and only when the horse began to climb the hill towards the mansion did she comprehend how the forest spread around them like a barrier against the outside world.
She saw shadows moving quickly from the house towards them in the dust and braced herself, but when they approached the large black blob broke apart into a mass of great hounds. The one at their forefront was strikingly familiar, and the leather strap beneath his neck-fur solidified her assumption. This was the same dog from the riverside!
I suppose I spoke a falsehood to you, she thought wryly, watching the dogs swarm around the horse in greeting. Your master is one that would enjoy devouring me. A rabbit wouldn't do him justice, I'm afraid.
She noticed that though it was almost nighttime, the shutters weren't drawn over the glass windowpanes. She'd seen glass windows in the church, but never on a house—not even on the lord of Eagle-bend's manor. This man was certainly a very rich one… however, she wondered briefly whether his riches had come by lawful, or even worldly means. Suddenly, the manor house was more formidable than it was an object of curiosity, and she had to steel herself to prevent a shudder wracking her small frame.
The entire trip she hadn't felt frightened, per say—more a sense of abject wonder at the new sights combined with a growing sense of resignation. But now, as the horse slowed near the large doors and she heard muffled footfalls beyond the panes of wood and iron, the shock began to wane and she felt very afraid. What if the door didn't open to a manor at all, but instead a pit of flames that they tossed her into? What if—
But her imagination got the best of her, for when the door was open she could see a great hall just beyond the figure silhouetted by the torchlights, not a wall of fire and brimstone. The darkened shape was humanoid, but as her eyes were dazzled between the waning light outside and the bright shining within, she couldn't make out any individual features. Her stoic companion didn't seem fazed by the light, though. He called a command to the dogs in a foreign tongue, and they obediently backed away and gave enough room for him to swing down from the steed.
Seras was unceremoniously dragged off the horse too when she tarried on its back, trying to see further into the manor over the figure in the doorway. She was set on her feet and wobbled, her legs unsteady from the ride. She put a hand on the horse to right herself and it let out a hot breath into her face, nostrils flaring. She backed away, eyes wide. It seemed more impatient than the tired old mare at home.
"Come." It was the first word spoken to her since she had offered her life to the demon knight, and while it sounded cold it wasn't altogether harsh. It seemed more like he was simply used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Seras faltered a moment, but it was either follow or be dragged in, and she refused to die without her dignity intact.
As her eyes grew adjusted to the light, she saw that the great hall was divided into two corridors, one flickering with firelight while the smell of smoked meat wafted from the other. She wondered if her uncle had stood in the exact same place as she, and wondered about this foreign world. It was quite unlike her one-room cottage in the village.
"Welcome back, Sire." The words, spoken in the calm and cool manner of the aristocracy, made her turn around. It was the same way the lord's son spoke, the one time he'd ever addressed her for anything. Of course, this man wasn't speaking to her, but to her armored host. "All things are ready," he continued, "just as you requested."
He was far shorter than the demon king, coming only to the man's shoulders though he was still taller than Seras. His hair was brown and as wavy as the demon's twisted mane, but it was neatly combed and rested beneath a very fashionable hat.
His tunic reached to the floor like a cleric's, but it matched the elaborate dye of his hat and was trimmed with ermine fur. Seras guessed that if she were to touch it, she would find that it was made of silk instead of linen like her own meager clothing. He had golden rings on his fingers that matched the shining buttons sewn into his flowing garments.
His eyes were the same reddish glow in the firelight as his master's. His face was pointed and sallow, with rigid cheekbones and high-arched eyebrows. Seras didn't think he looked very handsome, but he held a certain stately air about him all the same, as if he were a scholar or philosopher. He caught her staring and frowned, looking as though he'd never met such a distasteful creature as her in all his years. She stared on steadily, not deterred by his off-putting attitude.
"Sire, if I may be so bold as to ask… what is that?" He pointed a long, bony finger at her. The knight regarded her for a moment before moving towards the stairs that separated the two corridors. Seras was almost afraid he wouldn't speak, but his tone rang out in the silence of the room as he began to ascend.
"Take care of her. I expect dinner on the table in an hour." And with that, he was gone.
Afterword: Next chapter out on June 13th!