The procession’s drummers grew faint as they crested over the hill and into the cemetery. The market returned to its business, haggling and bartering with sunken faces, and the anxiety of death flushed against their necks.
“What’s been happening here?” I asked, hesitating to add, “Is Silas responsible?”
Wary of listening ears and prying eyes of those in the market privy enough to see the guilty secret, I held upon my finger.
The woman grabbed my arm, guided us into an alley, and whispered, “Many of us believe that evil lives in the castle upon the hill. There have been many deaths since its appearance, and several townsfolk have seen the beast prowling the grounds only to disappear from the scenes into the shadows.”
Shadows.
I thought back to the previous night, the inky black mass, and the thousands of red eyes peering from its dark depth. Horror and nightmare incarnate snaking its tendrils toward me, its voice still curled around my ear.
I shuddered. “When you say appearance, do you mean that the castle has not always been there before?”
The woman nodded. “It appeared on the hill less than a century ago. One night, a storm rolled through—divine punishment from the gods I presume for what was to follow. Lighting struck the hill, a clapof thunder appeared, and then it was there, born from forlorn darkness with nothing to explain its abrupt appearance. From then on, people have been drained of blood, dying, or dead within a few days of being bitten. It has gotten worse over the last decades, with the population slowly decreasing either from dying or moving far away. Although those that choose to live beyond the town are never heard from again.”
She paused, eyebrows raised in suspicion. “That is why no one simply moves here.”
I shook off her hand. “I was kidnapped from my wedding and watched evil tear apart an entire person. It was awful.” I trembled.
To learn I was not the only victim—that there was more suffering terrified and enraged me. There must have been some way to survive, to not be consumed by him or any of the shadows lurking in the castle and maybe... maybe save more than myself from this hell.
“If the beast in the castle is responsible, why not try and capture or kill him?” I said, a plan forming against the churning tide of thoughts.
If there were more of us, perhaps there was a chance to kill him. There had to be something I could do before being consumed whole by my captor.
“The beast cannot be captured, and we cannot storm the castle nor pass through the fog. Turning instead, in circles just to wind back down the road.” She shifted, scanning the dank alley for listening shadows. “There are reasons he is called Death Incarnate. Many cannot escape him.”
Quick, shallow breaths escaped from my lips, my chest burning as I collapsed in on myself in that tiny alley. I was trapped there, living with Silas with the high chance of dying by his hand and screaming out to no one when he takes my life.
“What can I do?”
In that dank alley, hot, wet tears stuck to my cheeks.
I wiped my face, rubbing profusely as the stranger pulled out a handkerchief and patted my cheek.
Her expression darkened before the corner of her lips curled into a smile.
“Maybe we can help each other?” She brushed a strand of ash hair away from her face.
I perked up. “How?”
From her basket, she pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote quickly in curling script. “Come to this address on the edge of town tomorrow, and I’ll explain.” She held my hand, and hope thrummed from her capable hands through mine.
My heart ached as the small part of me thought of Miriam back in Endovier walking the streets, begging for scraps—or worse, being married to William Sharpe.
We strolled back out to the town center, to the bustling of the market in full swing under the late afternoon’s light.
The woman swung her basket around her, her dress swaying in the breeze. “I should introduce myself especially since we’ll become more acquaintedeven with the circumstances.” She held out her hand. “My name is Ayla Wallace.”
I shook her hand. “Pleasure, I’m Valeria McCallister.”
Ayla smiled. “I hope to see you again soon.”
The unease shuffled along with me as the cobblestone path turned to gravel with the castle looming ahead.
I clutched the note, the black ink a lifeline to the growing anxiety threatening to suffocate me.
In the middle of the four-way intersection, the illusion of choices brought me to this point where one path led to the castle. To the man who will keep me as a doll or a pet until he grows bored and tosses my husk into the dark recesses of the crumpling fortress. Another led to the village who were as much of a victim as I was, trapped in cycles of death, unable to get out, unable to climb the hill and push the iron gates open to rid themselves of the nightmare.
