Hi guys! Back with another installment of Blood and Kohl...
One little note about this chapter; it was a little difficult to translate what I wanted to explain, into what Milena would say, per se. Given her accent, assumed knowledge of English, etcetera, she may seem a little too well-spoken. But I digress; I tried to convey accurately what I wanted to. Please enjoy. xo
The gypsy camp was an exact replica of the one that had settled in the hills around Blackmoor several months ago. Dogs roamed, smoke billowed from fires cooking questionably-obtained meats, children played mutely around wagons comprising the caravan. The camp was given its usual quiet soundtrack, the flipping of cards and soft Slavic mutters the only things audible from many tents, where naïve Englishmen and women came to trade coins for cosmic advice.
Gwen herself had never been to the actual camp, as it was deemed the most improper of paces for young unwed ladies to linger, and Ben had never offered to take her along as he negotiated the gypsies' stay durations. She now saw no substance to the warnings, as this place represented hope and aid. She smiled warmly in the midday light as two children staring at her as they entered the camp on horseback. The children stared solemnly back, probably taught to be distrusting of English folk, before breaking into little shrieks, chasing each other as they raced into the maze of wagons that made the camp, presumedly announcing the newcomers' arrival.
Lawrence reached across the gap between their horses, his hand seeking Gwen's, squeezing it tightly when their fingers met and interlaced. She sent him a bolstering smile, and they turned in unison to the older gypsy man approaching. In faltering English, he said their horses would be attended to, that he knew who they were, and that Milena would see them now. He then gestured to two young men, who moved forward to take their reins as they dismounted.
Gwen was, ashamedly, a little surprised no one had demanded payment yet. She'd been led to believe nothing was free from a gypsy, that all services followed crossing a palm with silver; and this was the biggest service she could imagine. Still, as they were led past practicing knife throwers and bickering old ladies seated around a crackling fire, no mention of currency was made. Gwen held fast to Lawrence's hand as they passed the mangy bear who had been originally accused of being the beast ravaging Blackmoor folk; the animal in question shuffled nervously as Lawrence passed, recoiling as far as its chain would allow.
At last they arrived in front of what seemed to be the most embellished of all the wagons; curtains made of glass beads shone in the early light as a breeze rose, parting them and allowing a glimpse inside. The wind carried out the strong, cloying scent of incense, and a clear female voice was heard speaking Romanian, raised in argument it seemed, as they approached the glittering doorway.
The man leading them parted the curtain to allow them entrance, but not before a young gypsy girl, somewhere in her early twenties, flung herself out of the wagon, muttering to herself and casting a dark glare at Gwen and Lawrence as she passed. An older, weaker voice called for them to come in, and as they entered, Gwen first, the owner of this voice became visible, an elderly lady, nearly folded in upon herself with age, seated at a small table covered with dark velvet. She nodded in recognition at Gwen, who nodded gravely in turn, having sought her aid before; Milena then turned a fond smile upon Lawrence, who smiled back faintly; he didn't recall her being the one who had treated him for the turning wound.
She bade them take a seat at the small round table, as she refreshed a low-burning rod of incense in the middle of its surface. Her colorfully-patterned skirt whirled about her ankles as she moved in the confined space, putting one deck of cards away and retrieving another, and asking if they wanted tea. It seemed she was stalling for time, but Gwen and Lawrence both accepted eagerly, parched from their journey. It was a fortifying brew, refreshingly made from fresh herbs, nothing like the desiccated flakes Gwen was accustomed to making tea from, and she inhaled the steam from her mug eagerly.
Milena was still clattering about, slow as she was, still evading the reason they were there, the reason they had trekked across Britain to find the caravan, the reason dozens were dead. Avoiding the elephant in the room that was not an elephant at all, but a snarling, carnivorous monster.
With Lawrence beginning to shift uneasily, doubting that they would find much aid here after all, and Gwen's pleading stare burning a hole in her back, the elderly Roma finally faced them, heaving herself wearily into her chair with a resigned sigh. She took a few moments to shuffle her deck, laying out several cards in an intricate design on the worn velvet covering the table; her expression grew grimmer with each flick of a card. Gwen's eyes followed her movements robotically, and she dimly thanked heaven that the one gypsy who could aid them, happened to have the best English, as well. Maybe they were not so star-crossed after all.
Gwen finally spoke up, after glancing at Lawrence, whose agitation had coalesced into a nervous tapping of one booted foot against the wagon's wooden floor. "Madame Milena, is there a cure after all? You led me to believe that-", she drew a breath, "…that death was the only outcome of this curse. I'd like to know once and for all, so I can plan accordingly."
Milena raised an amused brow at Gwen's determined tone, the resolve she could see in the younger lady's eyes, in the defiant tilt to her chin. Still, she had a reputation to uphold, did she not, as a whimsically-toned, mysterious gypsy, and so she spoke a piece of truth they already knew, to prolong her performance. "You have fire, my child, but it cannot burn this curse."
Gwen's upbringing had always enforced politeness, respect, and the holding of one's tongue if the desired utterance was not socially proper; but she was growing frustrated at this point. How had Ben dealt with these people for so long, the verbal labyrinths and colorfully-worded repetitions?
Milena grinned, reaching a gnarled hand across the table to pat Gwen's. "I know you have not much time, my child, and so I will tell you, for all our sake's." She gestured with almost motherly affection at Lawrence, encouraging him to finish his tea. "When I was a child, many, many years ago, there was one with the curse in the mountains where I lived, a woman. The man who loved her would not accept that this was the end, and so she killed, and killed, for he could not kill her, nor help her. But an elder in the village, a very wise woman, she thought, and thought, and thought, while the beast killed. Finally, she believed she knew how to stop it. The cursed woman's lover would isolate her, trap her in a rural section of the mountains, chained in a cave, to prevent more damage if he failed, on the next full moon; of course no one else would risk their own safety to try this task. Once the moon rose, he would begin cutting her, with a blade of pure silver. Each hour, through the moon's cycle that night, he would wound her with the silver, though not grievously. This added more and more silver to the bloodstream, weakening the beast more and more through the night. It was hoped the silver would add up to a fatal amount, to the beast, but that the blood loss would not harm the human, too much. The problem was once the moon had risen, she would be changed, and so her lover would be at risk every hour on the hour, getting close enough to harm the creature. He also had to keep her restrained; the creature's strength was immeasurable, especially given the ferocity wounded animals tend to show."
Milena paused, letting the implications sink in, and refilling her tea, sipping before continuing the story. Lawrence noted with amusement that her accent became more and more pronounced as she reiterated the grim tale.
"The next morning, a group of trusted villagers, friends of the man, went up the mountain to find the man and bring him back. When they came to the cave, they found the lady inside, naked, covered in blood but otherwise now unharmed, cradling the dead body of her lover. When they could finally pry the corpse from her arms, they cut her with the blade again, to see if her flesh would still burn and smoke with the silver allergy. It did not, and they hoped the curse was gone. They brought her back to the village, and the man's body, burying him and leaving her to mourn alone. They had to wait until the full moon, to see if the curse was gone. Weeks passed, the man's grave growing over with grass and and weeds, before the next full moon approached. The same group of villagers took the woman, now quite mad with grief, up to the same cave, to see. The moon rose, and nothing happened. On their trip back, the lady broke free from then men, and threw herself off a cliff. The curse was broken, but at a terrible price. She had lived long enough to make sure her lover's work had not been in vain, and then she rushed to join him."
Milena fell silent, rising and squeezing Lawrence's forearm comfortingly as she moved past, whisking out the doorway curtain to give them some privacy to absorb the story.
The elderly gypsy wrapped her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders once she had stepped into the night air, moving through the camp. Past songs being sung around campfires, past the reprimands of mothers putting children to bed, past the snuffling of the dancing bear as it shifted in its sleep. At last she was far enough from the firelight to see the sky without a glare, and craned her neck, looking up to the stars. They could tell stories, the stars. But they, and the cards, and tea leaves; nothing was saying anything but Death to her, and yet she had to hope, for the two people currently in her wagon, for the love that had bloomed fully between them.
Both Lawrence and Gwen were silent, he rubbing a hand across his face as he leaned an elbow on the table, she slumped in her chair, ladylike posture abandoned for the moment in lieu of processing everything Milena had told them.
After a moment, Gwen leapt up, a feverish glint in her eyes. "So it's possible. All our hopes, it's…We can do this, Lawrence. I can do this, save you. We can be together."
"You mean I could be cured, at the potential cost of your life. I won't risk it." Lawrence rose as well, beginning to pace in the small space, raking agitated fingers through his hair. "We only have a couple of days until the next full moon…"
"Which is why we have to move, now," Gwen finished for him. "I refuse to let you go, to hand you over to the cruel hands of fate, to this curse. I won't do it, Lawrence. You cannot ask me to stand by while you do what, kill yourself? We have got to take this chance. It means everything to me. If you suffered for the rest of your life and I had done nothing…Or if I lose you to yourself, my life would not matter anyhow. Please. There is no time for debate."
"There is no debate, I will not put you at risk, be responsible for harming a single hair on your head, Gwen. Don't you understand? I would cease to exist if anything happened to you…"
It seemed they were at an impasse incurred by the tendency to self-sacrifice, which both were now displaying.
Tears were filling Gwen's eyes, spilling down her porcelain cheeks as she crossed to him, laying a palm against his cheek, rough with stubble. "I will take every precaution. I will make it through this, and you will too. We could have our own lives again…"
He closed his eyes, leaning his cheek further into her grasp. "I am wanted for murder, on several accounts, and you are believed kidnapped or dead…Nothing will be normal now, Gwen."
"I don't care," she maintained defiantly, lifting her other hand to his face and forcing him to look at her. "I just want you, Lawrence, nothing else, and this curse is the only thing standing in our way. It would be simple enough to adopt a migrant lifestyle, maybe even with the gypsies..."
He was unconvinced, his mind only seeing images of Gwen bleeding, screaming, ripped apart, dying in his arms, as he had when in the asylum.
"Lawrence. I'm asking you to take this leap with me." Gwen was steadfast in her acceptance of Milena's suggestion, and she planned to garner nothing less than acceptance from him.
He raised his stricken gaze to Gwen's eyes, calm and blue like a lake on a summer day. His hands flew up to cover hers, tightly and almost to the point of pain, as if he were anchoring himself in contact with her, and gradually he thawed, finally whispering, "But with one condition." When she nodded in reassurance, he continued. "If I appear to be getting loose…If it seems too dangerous…I want you to leave. No matter how much control I appear to have, no matter how much of a grasp it seems I've gained over my other side…Who knows what would happen? I will not risk you any more than is necessary. Do you hear me?"
Gwen nodded, all the while telling herself she would not leave, no matter what, as long as the choice was in her power.
When their voices had fallen silent, the young gypsy girl from before entered the tent, giving a brisk nod to the both of them, and gesturing for them to follow her. The olive-skinned beauty led Gwen to one tent and Lawrence another, and they emerged back into the evening light wearing fresh, borrowed outfits. Gwen quite enjoyed the feel of the loose white blouse and vibrant green skirt, twirling in excitement like a child for a moment as she rejoined Lawrence by the nearest fire, earning a fond smile from him.
The gypsies were immensely kind and hospitable, seating them and tending to all needs, treating a scrape on Gwen's arm, feeding them some sort of rich stew for dinner, then giving them privacy afterwards.
To Gwen's dismay, Lawrence began to pace again, circling over and over; Gwen was unpleasantly reminded of the warnings hunters gave, to keep a fire lit when in the forest, to keep wolves at bay. The flickering flames danced across his handsome face, alternately illuminating and cloaking it in darkness, as if a metaphor for the war being fought inside him, the two entities coexisting. She could see him losing himself; the curse was chipping away, little by little, at everything that was Lawrence, and she could not let it continue.
The moon chose that moment to show itself, the nearly-full orb casting a wholly different light on Lawrence. A chilling reminder of what was yet to come.
Hope that was enjoyable! ~xo Bon