Chapter 18 Claret
From waves to ponds to reeds to desert … This world has changed so much within the last few hours, each iteration a bit drier – as if a thirsty beast is gulping all the water at its heart.
And now, as we arrive at what the Bard seems to treat like our destination, a curved cyclopean arch tall enough to fit my palace walls, I wonder if I’ve found the culprit.
And if we’ll be the ones to be sapped next.
The spotted cat next to the arch unfurls before my eyes, black markings moving on its golden skin.
I don’t have time to wonder if this is the same cat I saw while swimming, when I was carrying Anassa.
Because between the span of one breath and the next, it stands on two feet, humanlike.
Its muscled haunches shrink into a slender, female body, wrapped in a dress with the same markings previously covering the cat’s hide.
Its mighty snout morphs into a mouth, fig-coloured lips stretched wide into a smile that almost distracts from its – from her – sharp teeth.
A smile I can assume is meant to put us all at ease.
I bristle at the transformation; at the insinuation that I need appeasement. Let this world’s horrors maintain their forms, for once. Let deadly waves be waves instead of long-dead daughters, meant to drown your heart in sorrow. Let threats resemble threats.
I eye the second spotted cat, the one that still stands statue-like, guarding the entrance to the arch. Is this one also hiding something living? Will it pounce on us if we displease it?
The Bard rushes forward, bowing to the cat-turned-woman.
‘Resplendent Shepherd, Mistress of the House of Books,’ he begins, ‘thy light has once again triumphed over Lethe’s waters, bringing us safe to your glorious summer shores.
As always, Shepherd, your presence is so …
so …’ He pauses, eyes twitching as his words elude him – as if the mere fact that words elude him brings him corporeal pain.
‘… Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? ’ he manages.
The cat-turned-woman, Shepherd, tuts. ‘I’d much rather you didn’t. My Bard,’ she adds, reaching out a hand for him to kiss. Her long, lithe fingers are coal-black – coated by the same hue as Anassa’s, a sign of having fought a wraith and lived. Maybe she’s meant to be our ally.
Why would the Moirai make us go through all this heartache, all this terror, otherwise?
‘Your guide will take you where you need to go,’ Clotho had said – and to his credit, all obnoxiousness aside, the Bard did bring us here in one piece.
Maybe I can lay down my knife now. Maybe Shepherd will tell us more about our doors, show us how to earn the right to open them.
Or maybe she’s the final obstacle to overcome, the final trial that the Moirai have for me.
What if I’m meant to skin this cat alive, turn her into a hearthrug?
I cast a glance at Anassa, to gauge her thoughts. Her face remains impassive; a mask she uses when she wants to hide her fear, her anger, or simply her sharp mind’s machinations.
Shepherd tilts her head in my direction.
I can’t entirely blame this buffoon, the Bard, for so openly fawning over her: she’s an extraordinary creature, her tawny skin glistening with gold freckles, her rod-straight black hair barely covering her neck.
A gilded chain wraps around her throat and sternum, spreading shimmering spiderwebs across her shoulders and down to her waist, where it spools into a zoster adorned with endless …
somethings. It’s hard to take in all the details when there’s so much light about her.
The seven-pointed star that guided us across the waves, leading us here, no longer crests above the arch.
Instead it follows her, hovers atop her head; a loyal diadem for a goddess.
Though I know better than to bow to gods, or trust in their benevolence.
‘My children,’ Shepherd purrs, arms opening wide towards me and Anassa.
Her chain shimmies as she moves, its pendants ebbing and flowing, their shapes strangely familiar.
‘My poor, lost stories, torn before your time; how confused you must have been, how scared … And what unlikely allies have you found in one another!’ She glides between us, offering each of us a hand, clearly expecting us to show the same subservience the Bard exhibits.
Anassa’s eyes widen when she sees Shepherd’s blackened fingers. I cannot tell if this alikeness puts her mind at ease or makes her worry that the danger hasn’t passed. As I begin to think she’ll turn Shepherd down, Anassa grasps her hand. A second later, I do too.
It’s good to move on with the times, before they bite.
World-draining threat or ally, hers is the only path ahead.
‘But this ends now,’ Shepherd states, her voice like laurel leaves swaying in the breeze. ‘I’ll take you both exactly where you need to be.’ Smiling, she drags us closer to the arch. There’s nothing on the other side, nothing but brilliant light.
Shepherd turns her gaze back. ‘Follow along, my Bard. You did well, bringing these wayward children home. As a reward, I’ll help you pick a brand-new story, shape it right.’
Anassa’s eyes are glassy, the forests trapped inside them covered in frost.
I don’t have time to reach her, to tell her that this man does not deserve a single tear, a single scar-line frown, that she is glorious and beautiful and better off without him.
With much more force than her frame suggests, Shepherd drags us both forward, until we’ve reached the threshold of the arch. A now familiar burning spreads across my skin, a spark that urges me to fight back, to demand answers, to not go gently.
Before I can open my mouth to speak, Shepherd pushes us towards the light.