I stutter. ‘How are we even going to –’
‘Trust me,’ is all Anassa says, and I do.
Gods help me, but I do.
I turn around to see Helene watching us, an odd expression on her face. Longing? ‘You should go ahead,’ she says, as if I asked for my big sister’s permission. ‘Quickly, before someone comes.’ A wind ruffles her hair, a wind that wasn’t there before. Something white – ash? – lands on her nose. Helene blinks.
Alarmed, I turn around. Anassa stands in the chamber’s doorway, the one that I know leads to the washing room. Only now an ornate, raven-hued door is there, made of something shimmering, soft and slippery. Like ink, or feathers. But it’s a door, real enough, half open, a gust of freezing air advancing through it. The petals on the floor are its first prisoners. They start floating, then swirling in this new, astounding climate. I didn’t know such cold was possible.
Anassa’s head is tilted at an odd angle, as if she’s deep in conversation with herself – or with the door. I don’t know if the odd light emanating from it, or the wind, or that frozen ash is to blame, but she seems … unsteady. Like she’s about to burst into a million feathered somethings. It’s the wildest thing, but for a second I think I can see beaks, and beady eyes protruding from the curtain of her hair. Then, she nods as if pleased, and the perhaps birds vanish.
Her outline solidifies.
‘It’s good we’re both still wearing our cloaks,’ she mutters, then turns to me. ‘Hurry up, then!’
For the millionth time today, I find myself unable to spring into action. The immensity of what she has achieved, a solid way out of Shepherd’s grasp … And she did it with the ease with which one shoves a fly aside. ‘How?’ I ask.
Anassa huffs, a rosy hue spreading on her cheeks and nose. Her breath mists. ‘I had some help, just now. But it makes sense. The door doesn’t matter; our intention does. It’s all about being certain of your destination, and believing without doubt that the door will get you there. That an innocent awaits you on the other side … Or something like that. Now, will you stay there and gawk while my fingers freeze off on this doorknob, or will you join me?’
I can feel Helene inching closer. My hackles up, my knife firmly in my grasp, I consider my next steps. But all my sister does is give me a firm push, nudging me forward. ‘Go, you silly swan. I will never forgive you if you give up on this chance to get away.’
I must be going mad. Because I let go of my knife, and I grab my own key, turning around to give it to Helene. ‘Take it. Use it. You deserve it.’ I place it in her hands.
Her blue eyes turn so big and wet I fear they’d even drown Ophelia, let alone me.
Hurriedly, before she does something despicable like hugging me, before what little scraps are left of my senses start demanding I take back what’s mine, I leave Helene behind and rush to the black-clad woman at the door, that curious crow once more inviting me to realms I know nothing about, to realms I shouldn’t cross. Anassa gives me her hand and I take it, stepping out of Shepherd’s sphere and into a snowy blizzard.
I dare a last look back and spot Helene, crying. Behind her, a mask of gold emerges from the wall, wheezing something that sounds like ‘why’ or ‘wife’, its furious shadows rushing to –
The door makes the softest thud as it swings shut behind us.
33. Anassa
Cold. Biting cold, bitter and familiar, coating every inch of my body as the door closes behind us. I place my key back in my cloak. ‘Oh, how I’ve missed the Scottish snow!’
The words come out of my mouth in heavy plumes, lingering in the air amid the swirls of wind and snow – and only laced with a little sarcasm.
It’s true, the weather is not helpful. Claret and I are both barefoot, with the thinnest slips of dress under our cloaks, and her pursed lips are turning a disturbing shade of blue already. But we’re here; we’re home. Gruoch Macbethad’s home, that is, but how hard could it be for me to find her? She is me, if just in part. I simply need to orient myself.
Or find the nearest inn to ask for directions, and hopefully a pair of sturdy boots.
I look around. There’s a small road curving up ahead, half hidden in snow, with no buildings in sight. On a sunny day, I’d propose we follow it but now … I can’t even tell what time of day it is; the sun is swallowed by that snowy shroud. If night falls on us soon, that forest up ahead may be a safer way to travel.
I turn my gaze backward, to where we came from, trying not to focus on our door which has, predictably, already vanished. Instead, I look at Claret; once more the brightest spot in a world full of white, just like when first we met inthat unseen hallway. Her hazel eyes tinted with copper, her new, red hair that’s almost of a colour with her cloak … Though she’s more scared now, more cornered. A glorious fox, realizing she’s out of moves – but still determined to outsmart her hunters, cause mighty pain along the way. Spill some blood.
Hopefully not mine.
‘What in the name of Zeus’ arrows from the sky,’ she grumbles, looking up as if she aims to cut each snowflake with her knife.
It dawns on me that if she is from an ancient, warmer climate, she may not be familiar with snow. Add that to the long list of things I yet have to unlock about her, should we make it someplace safe enough to linger, share our stories. ‘I’m sorry about our weather,’ I say. ‘We should hurry up, take cover in that copse of trees ahead, and keep moving before it gets dark.’
And so we do. Like two drops on an empty page, one of blood and one of ink, we trudge along through the oppressive white. We reach the forest, and I’m happy to confirm my intuition was correct. The ground here is not thoroughly submerged in snow. The trees’ evergreen, lush canopies offer some shelter, allowing only a soft powder to settle on the forest floor. We might even save our toes, if luck continues blessing us.
‘We need to find a tree that’s big enough to shelter under,’ I say out loud.
Claret unleashes an obscene string of expletives. I take it as agreement.
Shortly after, we reach a sturdy Douglas fir whose trunk would fit us both with ease, if it were hollow. Sadly, all we can do is crouch at its roots, our backs flush with its bark.
