Chapter 43 Anassa #2
‘Do not fear, my children. Earning your key, stepping through your door, is the most magnificent gift. A wondrous new beginning … Here, let me demonstrate. Gruoch, if you will?’
Gruoch gets up, eager. ‘Yes, yes, goddess. I’m ready.’
Shepherd plucks a pendant from that cascading necklace of hers, and for the first time I can see their shape clearly.
Keys. So many golden keys, jangling together.
Clotho’s choice to arm us with our own seems more calculated now.
We were never meant to bow to Shepherd, were we?
We were always meant to cause chaos, to write different stories.
To retell is to rebel. I grit my teeth making my way forward, to Shepherd, to Gruoch, dragging Will by the hand.
I reach them right as a door marked with a saltire cross, the symbol of Scotland, appears in front of Gruoch.
I don’t know what possesses me to grab her sleeve, force her to turn around, look at me.
Gruoch squints, as if trying to remember who I am. ‘You … I saw your face in so many dreams … I was supposed to capture you. I thought I did, once, but you slipped from my fingers, taking flight. Who are you?’
‘I am myself,’ I say, and I’m surprised to find my eyes filled with tears.
I blink, and one breaks free, tracing a path on my cheek.
‘And you, Gruoch Macbethad, are also yourself. And this time, you can make better choices, if you want to.’ I reach inside my cloak, knowing exactly what I’ll find there.
I grab a black feather and give it to her. ‘A reminder. Of better choices.’
Reluctantly, Gruoch takes the feather and tucks it in the sleeve of her dress.
I like to think a part of me is with her now – perhaps the discerning, rebellious part.
She unlocks her door, and a burst of brilliance forces me to shut my eyes for a second.
‘Oh, it’s so beautiful,’ she mumbles, clearly seeing something meant only for her.
‘Thank you, goddess,’ Gruoch tells Shepherd, voice thick with happiness.
Then she steps through her door and disappears into the brilliant light.
A collective ‘aww’ from the crowd lingers longer than the door does.
‘See? Wasn’t that inspiring?’ Shepherd says, like a teacher ensuring their lesson had a lasting impact on their pupils.
‘And you can all experience this, soon. When the time is right for you, I shall give you your key, ensure your crossing. For now, remember my words, my children, and stay safe. The danger hasn’t yet passed. ’
The crowd begins dispersing, dividing into distinct groups. Still no sign of Claret.
‘What did you do with her?’ I whisper, knowing I need not raise my voice. Shepherd will hear me. ‘I saw your tail wrap around her ankle, I saw you drag her along. Where is she?’
Slowly, very slowly, Shepherd turns to face me.
I’m stunned by how her light has dimmed, the seven-pointed star above her head flickering, parts of it winked out of existence.
For the first time, she looks old, exhausted.
‘Claret saved us all,’ she says, and the sorrow in her voice sounds almost genuine.
‘I told her, her presence here is too destabilizing. That I can’t hold this world together with her in it.
So she did the decent thing; the queenly thing. ’
A million ravens flutter in my ears, blocking Shepherd’s next words. I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to believe them. Claret can’t have left me. Not willingly. Not after all we –
‘She accepted her key, opened her door and left,’ Shepherd insists, as if I’m slow and don’t understand. ‘Like Gruoch did. Like you should too if –’
I run so fast I’m almost flying, leaving Shepherd and her lies behind.
‘Where are you going?’ I hear Will yelling but I don’t stop, wading through the crowd for the sign I knew I saw before, the sign my corvid eyes acknowledged but my heart refused to pay heed to.
That scarlet stain, on that ghostly wall.
Only it wasn’t a wall, was it? It was a door – Claret’s first door, the white one with the blood-red doorknob. The door I opened when we first met.
I’ve almost reached it when I spot Ophelia, next to Claret’s sister.
They both look lost, confused, but finding purpose in each other, slow blinks turning to smiles, glazed gazes turning clearer.
Good. As long as there are more rebels in this world, more people willing to break free from their goddess-ordained narratives, there’s hope.
I want to say something, give them something, but I realize it’s not important.
They don’t need me. And I don’t need them.
All I need is behind that fading door, its contours vanishing into the wall by the second, the claret stain the only thing remaining.
I can hear Shepherd screaming, warning me I’ll undo her sacrifice, Claret’s sacrifice.
Warning me I will ruin them all. Didn’t I just tell Gruoch to make better choices?
‘This is my better choice,’ I say.
And this time when my ravens try to burst free, I let them.
One thousand hungry beaks attack the wall, two thousand wings flapping a maelstrom, tearing apart everything in my way, everything in this world that isn’t Claret.