Ana
The horse stopped at the top of a hill overlooking two of the villages that bordered mine. A stab crossed my heart at the thought that I should be with my family, enjoying my sister’s engagement and celebrating with them.
Angelica’s wedding would be immense. Gavril was the only son, and his family was pretty wealthy.
They were known even in the largest city, where they usually sold their homemade wine and other beverages.
His mother was also specialised in making pastries; her cakes and biscuits were sought out in our county.
The wedding would take three days and three nights.
The preparations would have to involve both our families.
The women would have to cook, and the men would have to deal with the beverages.
My father would have to present the dowry for Angelica, but I knew Gavril’s father would not accept anything.
He was such a good man, despite the perpetual frown beneath his bushy eyebrows.
Gavril, being the groom, would search for the best l?utari, who would make sure that the dance would be continuous. And Angelica would prepare the small gifts for the guests and the large gifts for their godparents.
On the wedding day, the callers would go from door to door to announce the wedding and call each neighbour to see the Bride’s Hora.
After Angelica would get dressed in her best attire, she would have to lead the hora.
Whoever wanted to dance with her in the middle of the village would have to give a small amount of money.
Instead of helping them with the preparations, I was strolling with death itself.
Once I slid down from the horse, I offered my hand for it to sniff. As gently as it could, it placed its snout on my hand, breathing in the scent of flowers that smelled similar to my mum’s soap.
The other day, coming back from the meadow, my skin was broken over my legs. But once I stepped foot in the cave, my wounds healed. I thought myself mad when I scrutinised my skin in the bath. But there were no more bleeding cuts; my smooth skin was mended.
Andrei drew me a bath before I left, the hot water mixed with foam stinging my skin. I washed my hair, the fire from the hearth helping to dry it.
As my feet touched the hill, the grass was dried from the summer sun. There was no breeze, and the air was too dry. The scorching heat of Cuptor made it hard to breathe.
My opinci instantly warmed up as I stepped next to the Goat Man, who was gazing at what lay in front of us.
Luckily, Andrei presented me with some lighter options for garments than what I was used to wearing in the summer. I took the long linen shirt that draped over my thighs and placed it under a light skirt. The fota was dark, but the red and green embroidered crosses gave my attire life.
He also brought me wool ivory tights, which were warming my body. Even if I complained about them, he said that his master ordered me to wear them.
Whoever had chosen the clothes seemed to see life through a blend of darkness and simplicity.
Roaming my eyes over the hill, a crowd of stags were lying in the weeds, their antlers pointed to the sky. Dark snouts sniffed the air, their eyes watching us. Watching me.
They were surrounding a half-wall of an old church. The cross resting on the roof passed the test of time and stood overbearingly over the hill. Ivory vines were growing between the bricks, their lush leaves giving life to the ancient walls.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“An old church, destroyed by time and war,” the Goat Man answered, its eyes on the vines. Its voice created a cold breeze, welcomed in this heat.
I placed my braid on my back, the sweat dampening my neck. I watched the brute, my eyes narrowed as my palms rested on my hips.
“I hope you have not dragged me here to stare at the stags and an old wall, Goat Man,” I said, squeezing the skin of my arm with my fingers. “I promised Andrei I would help him cook and feed the horse.”
It snickered, and for the first time since we arrived on the hill, I noticed the lack of horns. The cloak’s hood was covering its face. When I narrowed my eyes at it, I observed that there was no fur.
It stood like a statue, unmoving under my scrutiny.
“Where are your horns?” I questioned, my eyes flying again to the top of its hood. I tilted my head, assessing its posture. It was significantly thinner than before, the cloak cascading from its slender body.
It stood quietly, a sudden gust of wind circling my legs. Its chest rose slowly through the cloak, dragging my attention to it. I ignored the blush that was threatening my skin.
Out of thin air, in my hands appeared a sheepskin coat, its fur soft and curly. “This heat shall be the end of me, wrapped in such a coat!” I whined, imagining the fur tickling my neck skin.
“Where we are going, there is no torridity, woman. Now put it on!”
Its voice boomed in my ears, scratching my thoughts.
I leaned my head on my shoulder. “Is your tongue always this sharp, or do you save the spite for my ears alone?”
The Goat Man tsked. “Are you sure your God will forgive your comments?”
We moved towards the old church’s wall, the stags enjoying the heat too much, their grainy eyes following my steps. Their stare raised the hairs on my body.
If I gained the courage to mount the blood-curdling stallion behind me, I had to find it in me to walk across the herd of stags.
Breathing loudly once and with my heart in trenches, I stepped after the Goat Man. It seemed to forget that I was behind. The cloak it wore brushed the burnt grass, the sound of it replacing the silence.
“Why are they here?” I voiced my thoughts, eyeing the stag on my right. It was tame enough, but the noble voice in my head said to stay away and not touch it. Especially not its antlers. Its brown fur had a reddish hue in the sundown, its wet nose gleaming in the sunrays.
From afar, they were alluring, drawing you in with their majesty and elegance.
“I will answer all your pestering questions once we are down,” the Goat Man hissed, his cloak flapping in its breeze.
The herd of stags was watching our every move, their beady eyes tracking our feet. The grass tickled my skin, sweat dampening my hair, and my patience was nowhere to be seen.
In addition, the coat was suffocating me.
I swallowed, registering his answer. “Down?” I repeated, looking around for stairs. There were none. I felt my heart racing, creating an unpleasant sensation in my chest.
“I sacrificed myself for my father, I signed my soul away to you again, placing my family over my life, so at least one answer, I think I deserve!” My voice was not mine; it turned hoarse and raspy.
I stomped my foot once on the grass, making the stags rise to their feet, one of them taking a faltering step.
The Goat Man halted, its head turning slightly in my direction. “Oh, but peasant, do you lack comprehension? I already said I would answer all your questions.” Its voice was calm, but I felt the insult crawling on my skin.
I stepped into its space. “I agreed to do your bidding out of fear, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot fight back, Goat.”
Without even thinking, I took the coat off my shoulders and threw it in its face. Turning around, I walked back towards the stallion, my fists clenching and unclenching. I felt the burning gaze of the Goat Man on the nape of my neck, but I couldn’t care less.
I was going back, tired of the way he was talking to me.
A gush of wind touched me lightly on my stomach, stopping me in my advance.
“You cannot escape the contract, or everyone you hold dear will be buried six feet under.”
My heart was pure, but at what cost?
The images my mind conjured were not pristine, with its skull hurled in the Danube and its body following. My thoughts were impure. I quickly dipped my head down, prayed for my redemption and whispered three times ‘Lord, have mercy’ under my breath.
“You can come on your own accord, or I will force you,” the Goat Man said, its voice sending goosebumps down my skin.
Finishing my prayer, I sighed. There was no escape from it and its wretched contract.
I ignored the sensation of its sigh on my face and strolled back, holding my head high and my shoulders straight.
“And please tell me, woman,” it began, waiting for me at the old church, “how would you fight back?”
The sheepskin coat draped itself around my shoulders.
With each step I took towards it, its voice became louder. “How can you say that you’ll fight back, when you couldn’t fight your father? At least, his wrath you could have escaped. Mine, not so much.”
I felt a scratch inside my neck. The words that I wanted to throw in its face were not kind. How did this creature manage to pull my darker side to the surface? A side of me that never showed itself.
Instead of voicing my real thoughts, for which I would repent later, I made a threat. “Goat, what will happen to you if I fail in collecting these souls of yours? Would you die?”
“So will you,” came its retort, but I heard the question in his voice.
“Yes, but I am not afraid of death.”
In a few days, my heart would be stained by the blood of the first soul I would take. Therefore, I had to accept my penalty and God’s judgement.
I sidestepped the brute and walked with my head high.
The sky was getting darker, the humid air replaced by freshness. Shiny speckles began to stain the deep blue vault, making me think of the times when I would stay with Angelica and debate if the sun and moon were like us.
She the light and me the dark.
Oh, how I missed her.
An arm grabbed me by my waist, pulling me towards a soft cloth. “Your ignorance would bring us doom.”
The voice rambled on my skin, goosebumps appearing on my delicate spots. I looked down, the warmth of the arm comfortable on my body.
And there they were.
Stone stairs stretched in front of me, the brisk gust of air chilling my face, drowned in darkness.