“You sound as if ’twas a bad thing.” Hilda rapped her knuckles against the counter. “Mm, suppose death has a way of putting things in perspective, don’t you think?”
When I didn’t respond, she turned back to her ale and drummed her knuckles against the hardwood. Hushed voices spoke low, trading in secrets and scandals, when all I wanted was to keep mine and find Silas’s among the whispers.
More than half a year had passed since the night in the church, and I was no closer to my freedom or figuring out Silas’s curse. The shadows and the weird curses appeared to be my only clue, with the black hair boy haunting my every waking thought. The little I knew was his connection to Silas, and even then, he was, well, Silas.
A few months ago, I didn’t imagine anything outside of duty and death. Choices that weren’t mine to make freely had since presented themselves to me. The fear was making the wrong choice in the face of things I didn’t understand.
“I see.” Hilda narrowed her eyes, taking a long stave of drink. “Ayla is not with you. Something happened. Perhaps our discussion the last time has caused some... doubts.”
I shifted in my seat, drumming my fingers against the rough wood. “No, she is not.” My mind flashed to Ayla’s grim face in the cottage. But I had no proof—no true proof or any evidence of another person who could be behind it. Most of the villagers, just as Ayla was, were convinced it was the man on the hill who was responsible. “We just had a disagreement, that’s all.”
“Shame,” Hilda said. “I thought you were quite the pair. It’s been sometime that Ayla has had anyone close, outside of visiting me every now and then. Not since the death of her parents and fiancé. The odd thing is that it was—I saw her mother now and then, eerily similar even for mother and child. Her fiancé, on the other hand, met his unfortunate demise.”
“Unfortunate if you mean the entire lot of us thought him guilty and behind the plague.” I snapped my head to the bartender.
Hilda waved her hand in dismissal. “Ya’ll were chomping at the bit to condemn him. Wasn’t he the preacher for a time? I half remembered how many folks of the congregation objected to the town’s... handling of the matter. Never paying any mind to the oddity of that little shack just out of town.”
“Aight, there you go, telling strange tales about the girl,” the bartender remarked, pushing two mugs forward. “As if she hasn’t done enough, but the rumor mill keeps churning.”
“I didn’t order another.”
“Trust me, dearie, you’re going to need it.” He huffed with a slap of the towel, tossingit over his shoulder and sauntering off at the call of another patron.
“It ain’t just me who thinks it’s peculiar she showed up out of nowhere the same time that castle did.” Hilda mused into her mugs, taking long drawls before giving a happy gasp and wiped her chin. “Nothing beats some ale on a cold winter’s day, dont’cha think?”
“You seemed to know a lot about Ayla and the creature on the hill,” I surmised, swirling the mug about and watching the foam froth over the porcelain edge.
The bartender rolled their eyes. “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart. It’s just the ramblings of an old woman who has a few screws loose.”
Hilda waved him off, scowling. “The only reason no one is pointing a finger is her willingness to assist us in our troubles and the tragic end of her fiancé. No one is willing to admit to her face the horrible damage done.” She took a sip, then smacked her lips. “Now tell me that you haven’t had at least a thought of the unusualness when your grandmama told you about the castle and the fog on the grounds to prevent anyone from getting close or of the fact she’s the only one who can seem to cure such a thing.”
“Bah! She’s done nothing but kindness. She even treated Marius just last week, and he’s doing better after catching whatever the blast was from when he got too close to the perimeter of the fog!” the bartender remarked, leaning over the counter to challenge the old woman.
Hilda laughed. “Seems I struck a nerve.” The old woman shifted in her seat with glee, seemingly in anticipation. “Oh, yes. Been here quite a while. Almost too long if I have anything to say about it.”
“What can you tell me about the creature on the hill?”
The question tumbled from my mouth before I could stuff it back in, and the tavern went still.
The bartender paled, fist balled into a rag stuck into a mug as he, too, listened in close.
Wrinkles turned upwards, her mouth stretched thin, revealing teeth missing in her placid smirk.
“Interesting question. He is quite the enigma even here in such a cursed place. Beautiful to some and monstrous to others, quite the conundrum. Wanted to die so badly, and yet he didn’t listen to my instructions carefully.”
I frowned. “Wanted to die—how do you know that?”
My heartbeat drummed against my ears loud enough for all to hear.
Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum.
“Hm, strike two, I see.” She motioned for the bartender, exchanging wordless glares with the man. The bartender gave in with a sigh, and another mug full of ale appeared. She wrapped bony fingers around the mug. “You had a look about you, a knowing of too much yet too little of the grander picture. I had not seen others possess in quite some time. You’re close. I can tell you that. And Ayla has had many assistanceover the years, but none seemed to... stick around long.”
The crackle of the fireplace snapped me out of the trance, as if it were a piece in a grandeur puzzle of a greater mystery. I never asked Ayla out of respect for her and her privacy such as the reason behind the ring she bore, her family, or how she can claim to know so much in a place that knows so little. But with the lump in my throat, perhaps I ought to have, which terrified me more than I’d like to admit.
I chipped away at the ale, the buzz from the alcohol encircling my limbs as the fog descended upon my senses. The tavern seemed to flicker as the residents of the castle do, pale figures draped old harsh woods. Conversations became nothing more than grating whispers I strained to hear over the loud buzzing.
“Have you heard the tale of the prince who wanted to die?” Hilda peeked over, graying hair shifting white. Shadows danced at her fingertips, inching closer hungrily, licking up the dying light. “Of a stranger promising to end his suffering, although he bought more than he wanted. Suffering for so long as we all have—endless, boundless cycles.”
