Chapter 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 study this 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 both somewhere 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 I claim is 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 invisible inferno.
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 not discuss with 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 of quick-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.’
I squirm under her gaze – oh, how dishevelled I must look! Barely clothed, my propriety in tatters, my hair undone. But to be judged by a blood-soaked banshee, that I won’t tolerate. ‘You must not behold yourself in mirrors often, spirit. At least my skin is clean of sin.’
Partially. I try not to gaze upon my hands.
‘Sin?’ She spares a quick glance at herself, then points that infernal knife of hers at me again.
‘This isn’t sin, you insidious raven! It’s merely blood – well spilled, well earned.
A payment in kind, and I carry every drop with pride.
’ Her voice rattles like late summer skies, volatile, threatening with thunder.
This is a voice that peasants cower under, but not a queen.
‘You are a killer,’ I manage, disgusted by her brazenness.
I ignore the tiny inner voice that points out my hypocrisy.
She does not seem that offended by the word. ‘I am Klytemnestra, Anassa of Mycenae. I only kill those who need killing. Tell me, are you one of them?’
Mycenae … The name jolts the memory of something, something etched in myth, together with that other name she mentioned earlier. Trojans. Newfound fear slithers slowly up my spine. What if I’ve got it all wrong? If she’s no creature of the witches, then what is she? Whose will does she abide by?
And who controls this place I’ve found myself sequestered in?
‘I promise you, I mean no offence.’ I raise my hands again. ‘I came across your door by accident, it seems. So I shall simply walk on, if you’ll kindly leave me be.’
Her eyes narrow as she considers me anew.
Part of me wants her to deny me; to insist on waging war with words.
Though I fear her knife, I find myself suddenly dreading this unending empty corridor much more.
The silence that swallows every step. The desperate hope of ever finding a way out.
At least a demon, I could coax information out of.
Have it explain the rules of this place, so I can twist them to my benefit.
A human, if that is what she is, is useless to me.
But … She could be company. Someone to pass the time, in a place where no such thing as time exists.
Someone alive and vibrant to look at, even if this vibrancy comes with assorted violent nightmares.
The witches must be happy; I’m already driven mad.
‘Say something,’ I add, allowing desperation to lace my voice. Perhaps if I show vulnerability …
She furrows her impressive, bloodied brow.
‘You’ve tried to threaten me. Then, to bribe me.
And now you beg.’ She taps the blunt end of her knife against the palm of her other hand, in time with her words, as if counting my transgressions.
‘I don’t know what you are, but you’re hardly worth my while.
I have unfinished business to attend to.
’ With that, the demon turns her back on me, curls spilling drops of blood as she walks back whence she came.
The drops distract me for a second as they soak into the whiteness, quickly absorbed, vanishing.
And then I see it – or rather, I don’t see it. I don’t see it anywhere.
Her door has also vanished.