‘If that is your divine decree, I’m not impressed. Do better,’ I say. ‘You want me to submit? Make me.’
The goddess blinks as I approach. Taking her all in, no, she doesn’t look like anything worth praying to. A nest of black hair – or is it feathers – sprawled around a neck too slender for its own good. Tall like a tree but with skin so pale, as if she’s bathed in milk so much it’s left a mark on her. Like all her colour has been washed out. If I touched her, would she ripple? Would those proud shoulders be soft and pliant? Would that long neck pulse under my bloodied palms? And would I leave too permanent a mark on that milk-white skin of hers? A strange, warm itch pools on my fingers, my murder-sated hunger from before awakening and kicking in my stomach, starving for something I can’t name. I raise my unarmed hand to touch her … and then stop myself. What could have brought on these impulses,when I was thinking only of her neck, and my knife, and how the two should kiss?
Perhaps this is some kind of witchcraft; some savage, Trojan thrall she’s put me under. Perhaps Cassandra is a stronger conjurer than I expected; this goddess is her way of fighting back. Still, nothing like beating enemy gods to break enemies’ spirits.
I smile, showing the goddess all my teeth, and raise my other hand instead; the one that holds my trusted knife. She takes two steps back, her shoulders almost engulfed by that outlandish golden glow surrounding her shape.
One should not gaze directly upon gods, the elders of my court have always warned.
Yet, what kind of goddess cowers before human wrath?
I have the sudden urge to find out.
‘I will admit this much,’ I tell her, ‘I always believed waging that wretched war was wrong. Achaeans had no right invading Troy; my husband had no right sacrificing our daughter for the weather. But both these crimes are done now. I can’t undo them.’
She seems terrified, ready to flee. No wonder the Trojans lost the war, if this was their defence. Emboldened, I take another step, crossing the threshold. There is no door frame made of wood or stone that’s opened, no precise border between ‘here’ and ‘other’. Only a chasm of light. My foot is lost to it.
‘What I can do, though,’ I continue through gritted teeth, ‘is make sure such crimes don’t take place under my rule.’ My heart beats like thunder, warning me not to go further, not to step into this goddess’s strange realm. I ignore my heart, stupid muscle that it is. I need to prove my point here; show my strength. ‘But make no mistake,my rule is absolute. No foreign phantom coming to my house to steal from me shall find me to bea pleasant host.’
I press my knife into the goddess’s soft neck, forcing her to retreat further into the light.
And then, because I cannot help myself, I follow her.
5. Lady Macbeth
The short, stout demon lunges for my throat, knife brandished high.
My breath catches.
I retreat into the hazy whiteness, as far away from that hellish landscape as my feet can take me, the humid heat diminishing with every step. I hope the demon will diminish too, like a horrific nightmare that retreats upon your waking, like the witches vanished when their work was done. Yet this demon laughs, all loud and tangible and real, the blunt part of her blade biting deep into my throat.
A sheen of frozen sweat covers my skin, my heartbeat pulsing in my neck, slow and deliberate, echoing the cold steel of her knife. I was so elated to finally see shapes again – yet all that room contained was blood and terror. The woman on the floor, so lost and frightened; the mangled body in that bathtub … Any half-sane human would have run from that. But my escape is woefully short-lived. Before I take too many steps, my back is pushed against a solid surface, a wall I cannot see. I’m forced to choose between my death by demon knife, or knocking on a wall that might as well entomb me. This pallid realm, it seems, was but a trap for me to step into; a trap to spell my ruin if I try to escape it. I resist the urge to shut my eyes in terror. Instead, I opt to better studythis murderous visage in front of me – she, at least, is the threat I can see. Her demented eyes gleaming copper with delight, her hungry smile, her blood-dripping curls bouncing like skinned snakes.
She must be the witches’ creature, equal to them in filth and malice though she does not share their old age and ugliness. So where are they? Why won’t they stop this outrage, when I’ve done everything they asked? My anger at this latest indignity overcomes my panic. This cannot be the way my story ends. My soul shall not be torn asunder by a cloud of claret fury, who more than makes up in vileness for everything she lacks in size.
I take a deep breath. ‘Begone, foul demon,’ I yell, pushing her back. I immediately recoil from touching her sticky, blood-soaked skin. So warm and supple, that skin is; so befitting a hellish creature like her. An image flashes all around me, as if for a short breath we’re bothsomewhere else,somewhere colourful. But the vision disappears faster than my jumbled thoughts. I rub my arms on my nightgown, hoping its black colour will conceal this new stain. Hoping it won’t stick to my skin this time. ‘My life will not be yours to claim,’ I tell her.
She stumbles, only slightly. ‘The only thing Iclaimis my sovereignty, you goddess of nothing at all. How dare you think you can insult –’
‘You speak my language, spirit?’ I mustn’t let the shock show on my face. When this one barked at me before, making incomprehensible sounds like her gums were filled with gravel, it made as little sense to me as any mindless beast’s growling. But with a demon who’s intelligent as well as armed … A different path might be the most prudent to follow, if I am to escape this invisibleinferno. I raise my hands, an obvious gesture of surrender. ‘Perhaps we can discuss this in a civilized manner. No knives needed.’
No further bloodying of my hands to win this war. Surely I can outwit her.
She spares me a look just as sharp as her blade. ‘Your words are odd. And I do notdiscusswith Trojans – but since you made it to my halls to save your princess, I will take your surrender.’ A monstrous smile scythes her luscious lips in two. ‘Your life, as well as hers.’
The more she speaks, the more I’m baffled. What princess am I saving? Who are the Trojans? I comprehend her words yet can’t contain their meaning; it shifts like spiderwebs through my fingers, leaving only sticky threads behind. That her intent is murderous and her threats not idle, of that I’m certain. She would slay me. I should fear her. Still there’s this feeling I can’t shake, this bewilderment I also see reflected in her eyes, disguised behind bloody bravado.
What if she’s as dumbfounded by this place as I am?
I shake my head. ‘The only life I strive to save is my own. You say I made it to your halls? A mistake, then. I was merely seeking a way out. I was told …’Those witless witches and their talk of claret.‘I was led to believe your door would lead me home.’
‘Home …’ The demon pouts as she repeats the word, bringing my attention back to her mouth. Ripe lips, wild cherry red, covering teeth that look entirely too human for my comfort. I cannot bear to look at them for too long – it feels like I’m committing heresy, studying a demon’s features closely. Yet I cannot look away either. She is the only vivid point in my sight; a jarring, violent canvas ofquick-drying blood and curly hair, determined to be seen amid the white.
Surely she’s been brought here to test me; to tempt me.
Still, I have no choice but to carry out this conversation, such as it is. ‘Yes, home. My castle. At Dunsinane. Can you take me there?’ Then, after a pause – and why the devil not, ‘I’m the Queen, you see. Or, I am meant to be. I shall reward you greatly should you find it in your heart to help me.’
The demon scoffs. ‘What would I care about rewards when I have all the gold and grain I could ever ask for? You say you’re meant to be an Anassa? A …queen?’ Her eyes travel up and down my body, from my crownless head to my naked feet. ‘I pity your kingdom.’
