Claret looks … oh, she can’t possibly be sad about them leaving her.
I’m still affected by the rain, not thinking clearly.
One of the sprites speaks. ‘Oh Bard most Blessed and Merciful, if I may –’
He waves his hand like the king he should have been. ‘You may, Mustardseed.’
The sprite approaches his ear, whispering something I can’t hear. My lord’s eyes narrow, finding new focus, as he looks at me and Claret. He nods. ‘I see. It’s time to take these two lost sheep to Shepherd.’ He casts a melancholy glance to the floor, where his empty goblet and the donkey mask lie. ‘Alas, I was enjoying my wine and my respite. But such is my duty, as a custodian of ideas.’
Claret groans, exasperated. She doesn’t repeat her offer out loud, but lifts the blade of her knife ever so slightly, showing me she means murder. I shake my head. ‘Fine,’ she mouths.
Suddenly, my lord pushes his throne aside with shocking ease, revealing a trapdoor underneath. He lifts a gilded doorknob, and the trapdoor opens. ‘After you, ladies,’ he says.
I freeze. Not another enclosed, underground passage! ‘My lord husband,’ I say, hoping I have misunderstood, my voice light, mellifluous, ‘do you mean us to go in there?’
‘You know, I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. It’s inappropriate.’
‘Inappropriate? You would rather I didn’t call you my lord? Or hus—’
He raises one hand at me, pinching his nose with the other, as if my even uttering that word brings forth a headache. ‘Just call me Bard. The Shepherd will explain the rest.’
Caught between my recent fear of tunnels and my need not to offend him, I simply nod.
‘Good. Now that’s sorted: I’m merely your guide, and as such I must urge you both to hurry. Terrors abide, waiting for little stories to be left unattended, to tear them from limb to limb.’
Claret swears under her breath. Then, to my surprise, she steps forward. ‘It’s like the Moirai told us, Anassa. We found our guide; we must follow him.’ She gives my lord –the Bard, if that’s the title he now fancies – her most vicious smile. ‘We can always kill him later.’
The Bard blinks at her words. Claret pays him no mind, already approaching the trapdoor. She looks down, tsks, and starts descending. Her red cloak gradually disappears out of sight, like blood seeping into the bowels of the earth. I feel the urge to hug myself, contain the many jarring feelings in my ribs. This man, who seems to have forsaken me, treating our matrimony like a nuisance. This new darkness. And this new edge to Claret’s words, after what happened in that meadow earlier, between us. Something both sharp and soft we can’t take back.
‘Do hurry up, my Lady Macbeth,’ the Bard says, making me flinch. That name already feels like a glove too small, blocking my blood flow. ‘And do not fear. Your trials have ended; I shall keep you safe till I deliver you to Shepherd.’
I do not know who Shepherd is, how any of these words and instructions fit together. If I should even obey him, out of some familial duty I seem to be the only one to carry. Unconvinced but unwilling to let Claret go ahead alone, I approach the trapdoor and descend, grateful for the wall I find on one side, grasping the mossy stone for comfort. Claret’s cloak billows as she descends, the only bright sight ahead of me. If she can face this, so can I.
I don’t even complain when the Bard follows after me and shuts the door behind us, trapping me once again in unforgiving darkness.
16. Claret
That buffoon shuts the trapdoor, killing the light. I forgo all thoughts of sweetness.
No more rolling on the grass, contemplating what would cut me better – a trusted blade, or a reckless kiss. No more allowing rain to soften me. This is the part I’m meant to play, daring the darkness first, my knife in hand, Anassa’s soft cloak whooshing behind me like a wave. I’m meant to cut to shreds the things that threaten me, that threatenus, no matter the cost.
But then the buffoon speaks, and I’m reminded that my part has changed.
‘Careful, my ladies, wait for me.’
It is no longer just the two of us. The man Anassa called ‘husband’ only to be scolded not to, that absurd amalgamation of drunk donkey and vainglorious fool, fumbles with something for a bit – and the dark subsides. I turn around against my better judgement and see him picking up a lit torch from a metal contraption that sits on a wall lined with heavy stone. ‘Ah, finally, light. How did that line go?’ He waits for a second, as if expecting us to answer, then, somewhat disappointed, he continues. ‘Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.’
He signals for both Anassa and me to step aside, so that he can go first.
That suits me fine. I can always stab him in the back if he keeps mumbling nonsense. He makes as little sense as that first wraith. Part of me wonders if there is a thread between them, pulsing in shadow – but it can’t be. The Moirai wouldn’t lead us to him if that were so.
As he walks past us down the stony steps, the torch flickers. Anassa flinches. That cave we both so narrowly escaped, whose bloody walls attempted to devour us, still haunts her. I want to offer reassurance, tell her not to worry, but no words come out. This bond between us is such a new, tentative thing. Despite Clotho’s assurances that we were brought together for a reason, I cannot see us continuing on our common path. Not with him leading us. Not with her yearning for his gaze.
Not with my heart changing its metal, forgetting that it’s sheathed in steel for a reason.
Resigned, I turn my back on her and focus on my footing.
The steps are slightly curved, a crescent moon that never waxes. The further down we go, the less substantial the surrounding walls become, stone retreating into nothingness, reminding me of that wretched, endless corridor Anassa and I had to face when we first met. Only this time we’re not wading through a sea of white. Mint-coloured mist engulfs us from both sides, its ghostly hands of ivy slowly grabbing hold of rocky surfaces, taming them over time. I can still see the steps in front of me, and that pretentious donkey man ahead, but not much else.
