LJ Idol Week 6: Heel Turn
The narrow path reached with twisted fingers and sharp nails to grab at the worn leather of Saden’s borrowed boots. Her feet ached from the long journey through the dense greenwood. Something snapped loudly in the gloom behind her. She leaned against a tree, peering around its girth, her eyes wide. Her breath was shallow, her chest felt too heavy and tender to bear. She slid her sweat slick palms down her tattered skirt and swallowed past her nausea. After days of hard rations, small fires, and nights spent on unforgiving ground, she was more anxious than ever to meet her only hope, Babcia Altheda.
The old woman was rumored to be 123 years old. She was well known by the village girls, who whispered behind calloused palms about the aide she could provide; blindness to an abusive parent, impotence to a young rogue, or even the elimination of an unwanted guest of home or womb. The nicest girls would hiss, “Czarownica,” with sneers smeared across their smug faces, but none were brash enough to mutter the crone’s name in the same breath.
Saden stopped to massage her calves as she listened for any indication she was close to the small hovel belonging to Babcia Altheda. Miles down the path she saw her first clue; a bone tied to a branch with red strings. Saden overheard a woman whisper to her cousin once that a girl could know she was close to the crone’s homestead when she heard the rattle of the many bones tied together around the Babcia’s home. Her stomach churned, the shadows clung, and the air was musty and cloying. She heard an owl call in the distance. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she stood quickly to hurry forward.
She guessed the moon would be high in the night sky by now, but none of its comforting light reached Saden. Her small lantern offered little comfort as she carefully trod the rocky path. Her thigh muscles burned as she climbed the mountain’s incline. The wind picked up and she heard the clap and rattle. There in the gloom ahead she saw a small amber light. She bit down on her fear and picked up her pace. When she reached the small well near the front of the home, the splintered door swung wide. Saden’s skin crawled as the silhouette rasped, “Child, come in.” Saden felt the voice vibrate deep in her bones.
The room was impossibly tidy. The dirt floor was packed tightly, the hearth had no soot, the cooking utensils gleamed in the firelight, and the shelves were laden with dozens of objects arranged in meticulous rows. There was a strange sickly-sweet smell just under the citrusy air. Saden quickly pulled an orange from her threadbare bag. She offered it with a bowed head to Babcia Altheda. She stood with her trembling arm outstretched for a long while. She chanced a glance, and held her breath for fear she might cry out as her eyes met the crone’s eyes.
Czarownica, she thought reflexively. The old woman’s gaze pierced her to the spot as surely as a pin through an insect on a board. The old woman’s face was hard as stone and formidable in the shifting light. Her eyes were sharper than pins, or knives, or village girls’ tongues. Saden’s swimming eyes tore away from that impenetrable stare. She panted with the effort. Her gaze fell on Babcia Altheda’s hands. She stared at the fingers, transfixed. They were darkened with a stain she could not name. The fingernails were pointed and black around the edges. They seemed impossibly tidy, too, capable and powerful. The crone took the orange and beckoned Saden follow her to sit by the hearth.
Saden’s story tumbled from her mouth as Babcia Altheda deliberately peeled the orange with deftness and precision. She carefully pulled each section from the whole, savoring each bite. Saden watched her in fascination and horror, as secrets she never meant to tell escaped in a rush. She shook with the effort of keeping the darkest of them untold. Just as she thought she couldn’t possibly keep anything from the crone, Babcia Altheda’s eyes became impossibly wide and her mouth worked frantically, but no words came forth. A long hiss escaped from her lips as she pitched forward out of her chair to the ground. Saden jumped back from the old woman, as a terrible gagging noise tore from the crone’s throat. Her large stained hands dug into the dirt floor.
Saden blinked rapidly, realizing her plan had worked. She moved forward with grim determination, the blade of her knife flashing in the firelight. She expertly severed the forefinger of the czarownica’s right hand. The blood was thick and black in the dimming light. Babcia Altheda’s blue lips pulled back from her teeth as she choked out a single word, “Why?”
Saden, feeling triumphant, stepped back slowly as her shoulders relaxed and her breath became even and deep. “Thank you, Babcia, this last ingredient is just what I needed to ensure I can become just as powerful as you. I will not waste it secluded in a hovel as you have done. No, I have grander plans for my future. The villagers will bend to me. I am untouchable now.”
The bones clapped and rattled. An owl called forlornly in the distance. Somewhere, a cat yowled.
***
If you liked this story and would like to read the other entries and vote, you can go here:
http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/973316.html
The old woman was rumored to be 123 years old. She was well known by the village girls, who whispered behind calloused palms about the aide she could provide; blindness to an abusive parent, impotence to a young rogue, or even the elimination of an unwanted guest of home or womb. The nicest girls would hiss, “Czarownica,” with sneers smeared across their smug faces, but none were brash enough to mutter the crone’s name in the same breath.
Saden stopped to massage her calves as she listened for any indication she was close to the small hovel belonging to Babcia Altheda. Miles down the path she saw her first clue; a bone tied to a branch with red strings. Saden overheard a woman whisper to her cousin once that a girl could know she was close to the crone’s homestead when she heard the rattle of the many bones tied together around the Babcia’s home. Her stomach churned, the shadows clung, and the air was musty and cloying. She heard an owl call in the distance. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she stood quickly to hurry forward.
She guessed the moon would be high in the night sky by now, but none of its comforting light reached Saden. Her small lantern offered little comfort as she carefully trod the rocky path. Her thigh muscles burned as she climbed the mountain’s incline. The wind picked up and she heard the clap and rattle. There in the gloom ahead she saw a small amber light. She bit down on her fear and picked up her pace. When she reached the small well near the front of the home, the splintered door swung wide. Saden’s skin crawled as the silhouette rasped, “Child, come in.” Saden felt the voice vibrate deep in her bones.
The room was impossibly tidy. The dirt floor was packed tightly, the hearth had no soot, the cooking utensils gleamed in the firelight, and the shelves were laden with dozens of objects arranged in meticulous rows. There was a strange sickly-sweet smell just under the citrusy air. Saden quickly pulled an orange from her threadbare bag. She offered it with a bowed head to Babcia Altheda. She stood with her trembling arm outstretched for a long while. She chanced a glance, and held her breath for fear she might cry out as her eyes met the crone’s eyes.
Czarownica, she thought reflexively. The old woman’s gaze pierced her to the spot as surely as a pin through an insect on a board. The old woman’s face was hard as stone and formidable in the shifting light. Her eyes were sharper than pins, or knives, or village girls’ tongues. Saden’s swimming eyes tore away from that impenetrable stare. She panted with the effort. Her gaze fell on Babcia Altheda’s hands. She stared at the fingers, transfixed. They were darkened with a stain she could not name. The fingernails were pointed and black around the edges. They seemed impossibly tidy, too, capable and powerful. The crone took the orange and beckoned Saden follow her to sit by the hearth.
Saden’s story tumbled from her mouth as Babcia Altheda deliberately peeled the orange with deftness and precision. She carefully pulled each section from the whole, savoring each bite. Saden watched her in fascination and horror, as secrets she never meant to tell escaped in a rush. She shook with the effort of keeping the darkest of them untold. Just as she thought she couldn’t possibly keep anything from the crone, Babcia Altheda’s eyes became impossibly wide and her mouth worked frantically, but no words came forth. A long hiss escaped from her lips as she pitched forward out of her chair to the ground. Saden jumped back from the old woman, as a terrible gagging noise tore from the crone’s throat. Her large stained hands dug into the dirt floor.
Saden blinked rapidly, realizing her plan had worked. She moved forward with grim determination, the blade of her knife flashing in the firelight. She expertly severed the forefinger of the czarownica’s right hand. The blood was thick and black in the dimming light. Babcia Altheda’s blue lips pulled back from her teeth as she choked out a single word, “Why?”
Saden, feeling triumphant, stepped back slowly as her shoulders relaxed and her breath became even and deep. “Thank you, Babcia, this last ingredient is just what I needed to ensure I can become just as powerful as you. I will not waste it secluded in a hovel as you have done. No, I have grander plans for my future. The villagers will bend to me. I am untouchable now.”
The bones clapped and rattled. An owl called forlornly in the distance. Somewhere, a cat yowled.
***
If you liked this story and would like to read the other entries and vote, you can go here:
http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/973316.html