(16/17 a) SPN_REVERSEBANG 2016: "the darkness came and i let it in" (Rowena)
“Oh, poor, poor Rowena. Always the victim of one conspiracy or another.”
- Olivette, 10.16, Paint It Black
The wind tossed Rowena’s hair, laying her skin bare to the evening’s bitter breath. She shivered against it, but couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. Not with Fergus crumpled in the corner of the room, reeking of cheap whisky and wheezing through his broken lips.
He had gone straight to the bottle when he got home, and this time, she didn’t raise hand or voice to stop him. The way he had plod past her - not angry or whining, his face hollow of recognition, as if she didn’t exist - made it feel as if the phantom of her father walked in his place.
She, herself, was a ghost bound in paper skin. Like one of her books. A dry illusion of life made from what had once been vibrant and strong.
Above, Cassiopeia was making her shameful crawl across the dark sky, and Rowena lost track of time while observing her struggle. Darkness above or that within, she took turns drifting in both, closing her eyes when even the starlight was too much to bear. Lost in their solitude, she had nothing left to sacrifice, which meant there was nothing left to lose.
Until even her shadows were taken away.
They came from the distance, a line of flames dancing across the horizon, little fireflies bobbing all in a row. For a moment, she stared, transfixed, the sensation of slipping into one of her childhood nightmares paralyzing every thought and motion.
Nearby, a branch broke in the gloom. A harmless night-sound, but in it, Rowena envisioned a noose, heard the snap of her own neck. She jerked into action like a woman ripped from sleep, fumbling against the stone wall, practically crashing through the door in her haste.
That many, this late? This isn’t about a brawl between children. Especially one that had my son at the losing end.
The thoughts flew through her mind nearly as fast as her fingers across her shelves. In his corner, Fergus slept on, oblivious to the approaching danger and the smash of jar and boxes, heedlessly knocked to the floor.
Something’s gone wrong. And they’re not going to let me ask what that something is.
Rowena didn’t spare the destruction a second thought, the ingredients to her many spells of no use. Given time, with fortune’s favor, she might have been able to create the kind of magic that would protect her home from such numbers, but there was no hope for that now. Now, her only option was to escape.
“Ah, there!”
She let out a sigh of relief when she found the small pouch. It was heavier than she remembered, but not as much as she’d like it to be. Inside was her brave attempt at a savings, which amounted to little more than a small weight of coins. Not exactly the kind of riches to begin a new life with, but it would have to do. If careful, she could make it last a few weeks on the road. Possibly a month, if she could suffer her stomach.
Fergus made a choked sort of snuffle from beneath his blanket, and the error of her plan scalded her stomach with a turn of bile.
“It’s not enough…” she murmured. “With me alone, I might be able to get by, but...”
She began to pace, clicking her nails against her teeth.
“I can leave you here. They’ll burn me without a second thought, but you? You’re just a child! ‘An innocent victim of circumstance,’ they’ll say. Looking like that, how could they not pity ya?”
Reluctantly, Rowena slid her eyes to the boy. Fergus didn’t so much as flinch at her words. If not for the small rise and fall of his chest, she could’ve taken him for dead.
“You’ll be fine on your own,” she insisted. “You’d be in greater danger if I took you with me.”
Rowena, mistress of manipulation, clenched her charm so tightly in hand that her nails cut bloody crescents into her palm.
She couldn't convince herself of the lie.
He was her blood - and if they thought her a witch, they’d think him the Devil’s son. Fergus would be buried under the same condemnation they cast on her.
Through the distance the voices of men traveled, like a peal of thunder, quiet but steadily growing.
“Count the seconds between their screams for blood to see how fast they're approaching,” she mused, a hysterical twitter welling in her chest.
Rowena raked her hands through her hair, thought of the forest she knew better than any. If she moved quick, tread carefully, she could be nestled in the deep green shadows before those idiots could find their way to her door. She could escape, so long as she ignored that voice in the back of her mind - the one reminding her that every gain required a sacrifice. A life for a life.
As if he heard her thoughts, Fergus turned in his sleep, and then whimpered at the pain the motion caused.
"...Damn it all.”
Rowena wheeled in the low light of the room, teeth bared. She wanted to be heard. By either God or Goddess, the ghost of parents or the bones of what had once been a lover.
“Damn all of you! I’ve given enough as is, and who are any of you to demand I keep giving!”
I’m not. Not any more. No more sacrifice.
Fergus hadn't been small for years. When she grabbed him beneath his arms, he was dead weight, still unmoving save for the pain contorting his bruised face.
I'll save my sins and myself .
"Fergus!" Rowena cried. Fergus, you've got to move! Wake up!"
But he only groaned.
*****
Surely, being roasted alive at the stake could hurt no more than this. Every mouthful of air was liquid fire in her chest, and her arms and legs burned as if oil ran through her veins. But she didn’t dare stop to rest. Every time she had before, it was harder to pick Fergus back up. If she dropped him now, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to raise him again.
The trees were less along the drover’s road, a narrow path of sparse grass and dirt, beaten into the earth over centuries by livestock and their masters. Without the higher cover of the forest, she had to keep low, which left her blind to what lay ahead.
Almost there , she told herself. You won’t let them get the best of you. Not like this. Keep moving. Almost there.
She didn’t stop to consider what would happen if the traveling merchants were gone. Those that stayed for the night usually camped on the outskirts of her village until dawn, leaving at first light. But they were a small community with little to offer, and it wasn’t unusual for travelers to find themselves more entertaining lodgings in the larger nearby towns.
“There!” she rasped, hearing the crackle of fire and rowdy conversation.
Stumbling through the brush, she came upon a small cluster of tents and carriages. Somewhere in the dark was the breathy chuff of horses, and louder than them, the drunken slurs and chortles of men.
Clutching Fergus to her chest, Rowena toed around the encampment, not revealing herself until she saw the familiar face: the would-be pig trader. She wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse that he seemed sober. He sat by a fire, as solemn as ever, as those he traveled with spilled their drink and shook with laughter.
She placed herself in his line of sight, behind the backs of the others. She panicked for a moment, thinking he meant to ignore her, or worse, call the attention of his companions, but he merely stood and snorted that he needed to take a piss.
He met Rowena further back, where the light of the fire no longer reached. Even in moonlight, Rowena could see the alarm that widened his eyes, though it was there and gone in a blink. It suddenly occurred to her how she must appear to him, hair wild as a brushfire, and her son’s face bruised and swollen the color of an eggplant. But she had time no time for explanation, too fearful of who could be at their heels.
“Here,” she whispered, thrusting the pouch of money forward. “This is all I have! Take us with you when you leave here. We won’t eat much, and we’ll work as best we can.”
His hard stare lingered on Fergus, unmoving. Rowena wanted to slap him.
“Did you not hear me? I’m offering you a deal! What’s in that pouch is more than enough to pay our way!”
“A woman on the run is never a deal,” he snorted. “Especially not when people say she’s a witch.”
Rowena froze. “Who said that about me?”
“Everyone, it seems. Though I’d wager they only started believing it tonight, given the state of ya. Get away from here. I want no trouble.”
He turned from her, but before he could take a single step, Rowena pushed herself in front of him.
“You’re an honest man. A good man. I can tell! I’ve always been good at reading people.” She tried to focus on the weight of the charm on her chest, to sense it as an extension of herself. “You have nothing to lose from this!”
“If you’re fleeing like this, I’d wager I have plenty to lose, my neck not excluded,” he growled. “The moment we’re spotted on the road, they’ll burn me right with you.”
“Then take my boy!”
Rowena gasped as soon as she said it. A plea like that seemed hardly her own, words tumbled out of a stranger’s lips. But now that it hung in the air between them, she seized upon it as if it were a life raft.
“You’ll eventually be passing through Edinburgh, no? Deliver him to a workhouse!” she pressed.
“They won't take a boarder at his age. Most don't even offer lodgings for more than a day or two,” he slowly replied.
“That’ll be enough! I'll find him by then!”
His look of skepticism wounded her already bruised pride, making her forget to keep her voice low.
“If you’re so concerned, then give him to a bloody church!” she snapped. “Let them practice some of that goodness they're always so quick to preach!”
He paused, and Rowena, forced to wait, shuddered and jumped at every noise in the wild around them.
“...Is it true?” he asked. “That you’re a witch?”
“Am or ain’t, it’s nothing to do with him. He’s only a child!”
She thrust out the pouch of money again. She would have cried, had she thought it could help, but she felt certain copper swayed a man better than tears.
After a moment, he narrowed his eyes. She resisted the urge to turn her face, expecting him to strike out.
“...Well enough. You have a deal.”
Rowena hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, but it escaped her now, coasting on a shaky sigh of relief. If he felt any joy for helping her, he didn’t share it. He merely reached out and took the pouch from her.
Rowena grasped his fist as the payment was passed. Against her breast, she felt Fergus’s heart beating.
“If you take back your word, if you let any harm come to my boy in your travels, you'll be cursed,” she warned. “And believe me, no matter where I am in the world, I'll know. This hand shake seals the deal. Go back on it, and I'll have your cock withering like a sausage on a spit. Do you understand?”
As far as lies went, it was a doozy, but the way he jerked away told her he bought it.
“The sooner I'm rid of him, the better. I won't mourn the last day I ever see either of you.”
He pulled Fergus from her arms, and although she had been pained by bearing his weight, her heart protested the loss of him.
“W-wait!”
For a moment, she couldn’t see the bruises on her boy’s face. Couldn’t smell the sweat of fear, or the stench of liquor, that he carried. Leaning in toward his ear, there was only the sweetness of his skin, the ghostly memory of the fresh downy of his hair.
“Fergus… I'll come for you in a flash,” she promised.
One of Fergus’s eyes was swollen shut, but the other opened a slit, heavy with sleep. Rowena’s heart leapt fiercely at this unexpected gift, at the chance to properly say goodbye.
“Don’t bother,” the boy murmured.
Returning immediately to sleep, he was beyond her reach. And so he'd stay for centuries to come.