The Goat Man
She had gold speckles in her icy blue eyes, veiled by her dilated pupils.
Blood rushed beneath her skin, colouring her already tainted cheeks. Her breathing quickened, her nostrils flaring. The scent of summer flowers invaded my senses, and my hand twitched to touch her hair.
“Those eyes… they do not belong to this world,” she whispered, her iciness travelling over my skull.
“Yes, you’ll have them too.”
Her eyes continued to move as if counting how many souls I had taken.
“When you get baptised, your eyes will turn completely white. Once you take your first soul, the first blue swirl appears,” I explained, but I was not sure if she was listening.
We stared into each other’s eyes. Moments, hours, days must have passed, or at least that is what my mind made me believe. Her gaze roamed from one eye to the other as though she were looking at a man.
And not the Goat Man.
I had the urge to take off my skull and show her what lay behind it.
“What more would you like to know?” I whispered over her lips, her head tilting slightly upwards. I felt her body shiver, leaning slowly towards mine.
I straightened as if waking from a nightmare.
Because that was the human before me. A nightmare that stood between me and my long-time wish. And not even countless golden speckles swimming in the bluest sea would make me relent.
The movement made her wake from the reverie. She closed her eyes and took a step back. When she opened them, she looked straight at the ceiling.
“How would I know which soul is evil?” she repeated her question, her neck turning scarlet.
I went to grab my cloak, satisfied that she felt flustered under my gaze. Water dripped from my body, making the stone slippery. I placed the mantle over my shoulders, invoking one settee, its velvety brown fabric tempting me to slumber.
“You will see in the Souls’ Mirror,” I said, stretching my legs over the settee.
“You mentioned it before. What is…?” She turned to me, her eyes roving over the settee. “Will I be able to do that as well?” Her mouth opened, her legs carrying her with a strut to the foot of the divan. Her fingers grazed the velvet, a smile spreading over her lips.
She forgot everything about her internal turmoil and the sins she might commit.
She had a ravishing smile, my mind wanting to see it on many more occasions. But how could one achieve that?
I shook my head, dispelling the thought and cleared my throat. “Yes, you can do that too, once you have your final form.”
My feet jerked at the touch of her coat. “What is the Souls’ Mirror?” she echoed her question, her dark eyebrows joining.
“It’s a mirror that you will receive on the day of your baptism. It will show you your next soul to take. Besides that, it will also reveal to you the reason why he or she is evil.”
Her eyebrows rose. “We only had a mirror at home. It belonged to my mother,” her voice became softer, as if she was lost in thought. “She promised to give it to me for my dowry.”
“Well, since you’ll be something more, you can conjure yourself whatever trinket.”
She shot daggers with her eyes. “Yes, instead of building a family of my own, I have to be a judge of souls.” Her hands fretted in front of her skirt, leaving stains behind.
I sighed, my patience with the woman thinning with each word. “You will also receive a scythe that will be used as your weapon,” I explained, conjuring mine. Its dark blade shone in the torchlight, the handle smoother than silk.
Her eyes tracked the large blade, and I sent it back to the cave.
“Why do I need it? Can’t I,” she took a deep breath in search for words, “take a soul without it?”
I huffed. “The scythe and the Mirror are somewhat linked. If you do not use the blade, then the Mirror does not recognise the souls taken.” My lips pouted, remembering a time when I took the lives of an entire army with my thought alone. “Believe me, I tried that once.”
My master was not happy.
“How did you become the Goat Man?”
Her question felt too personal, too close to my own inquiries.
“I believe that is a story for another time, woman,” I urged, standing on my hooves and sending the settee back to my imagination. Spending too much time in her presence unnerved me.
I strutted to the stairs, and as my hooves touched the first step, she asked something else.
“Will you stand beside me when the baptism comes?”
Turning fully to her, a pair of blue eyes was fixed on me. They were filled with quiet hope – that she wouldn’t be alone in this new and odd situation.
“No, I have to prepare for my new life which awaits,” I said flatly, turning, my coat brushing the stones. I climb the stairs two by two. Why did this human’s existence make me run? And why did she have to ask such questions?
No one was there to hold my hand while I emerged from the deep waters, watched by dozens of skulls from different species, to comfort me while I took the scythe and cut bones with it for the first time.
I remembered the blood that dripped from the blade.
It stained my clothes, and my then servant couldn’t get it out.
And more importantly, to hug me when I saw my siblings covered in blood.
I was not going to support her while all the other members of the Order would stare at her, crying and thrashing.
They would have no mercy either way.
As I stated before, I couldn’t care less about her. I threw her to the wolves. I would be surprised if she turned out not to be a sheep. The Order had immense power, and I was glad that for my plan, the Elk was on my side.
If I were to succeed.
With that thought in mind, I was hit by the fresh night air, the stars keeping the moon company.
The stags surrounded my horse, which lay asleep. Not a care in the world, this one.
The stags’ antlers shone in the moonlight, their bodies hidden by the night’s shadow. Only their gazes were visible, following my steps. Each turned its head as I walked further towards my horse.
I whistled, and the stallion leapt to its feet, the stags glancing my way. I didn’t have to be at the baptism to know what skull she would choose. There was no better option than the stag.
As if I had conjured her, she emerged from the cave, discarding the sheepskin coat at the entrance. I stood still, watching her move as swiftly as a lady of high birth.
Her dark hair was loosened from the braid, and her eyes were set on my horse. My brows knitted as I took in her determined walk. “Where are you going, human?”
She stopped, turning her head slightly. “To pray.”
I laughed so hard that the stags rose and eyed me again. But my laughter died as she climbed onto my stallion. She lifted her chin, but she bristled under the gust of wind I sent her way.
Taking the reins, she turned my horse towards the forest, her shoulders straight. “I believe we must sleep this night and see what tomorrow brings. Don’t you think the same, Goat?” she shouted over the wind. Every stag turned towards her, as though she were a beacon of light.
Earlier, she made me realise that I had a name before I became the Goat Man.
Which was it?
I did not enjoy being called ‘Goat’ by her. The irony didn’t escape, as she surely didn’t appreciate me using the words peasant and human when addressing her.
Casting that aside, I watched as my formerly loyal horse shook its mane.
“Let’s see if the horse doesn't buck you first!” I laughed, the throaty sound making the old church’s walls tremble.
The horse kicked its hind legs and galloped through the woods.
“Damned creature!” I screamed into the wind.
I did not have to make this easy on them.
With my hands up, the trees from the forest bent, their branches arching into a crown. Their long arms intertwined, their leaves shining in the starlight like diamonds.
The human bent her head, just as a branch filled with needles passed over, catching my horse on its back. The stallion galloped faster, making her jump, her braid coming undone. Her hair was blown by the horse’s speed, black strands flowing behind her.
Her crystalline laughter, carried by the wind, boiled my blood as she escaped my grasp. It made my pulse stop at how beautiful the sound was and how I wanted to silence it.
Mocking the Goat Man was no reason for her to laugh.
Not when the image of my lips silencing her rambling crossed my mind.
If for her taking a soul would be a sin, for me kissing a lesser being would be a ticket straight into my master’s blade.
I raised my hands again, and the ground rattled, roots growing from the dirt, trying to ensnare my stallion. Its hooves passed swiftly through the jarring dirt, my attempts to slow them down futile.
My next attack at delaying them was to send a flock of crows after them. Even though such birds did not roam the sky in the night, I summoned them at my behest. Dozens of them surrounded the human and my stallion, their caws deafening.
But my horse, being the finest on Earth, escaped them with incredible speed.
I stood there and watched as they became a dot in the distance, leaving me stranded.
Damn that girl and that horse!
Clever girl, nonetheless.
Walking home, I sent my skull back to the cave. I had no idea why I hadn't shown my true form to her. My human appearance would have made her relate to me in some way.
I didn’t want that.
The road back home on foot was invigorating, to say the least. I had time to think thoroughly. It took me the whole night, but as the sun crept into the sky, I had my future life planned out.
Mostly, I dreamt with my eyes open about what I would do as soon as I felt my heartbeat again.
There was plenty of blood in my body. My stomach could receive food and beverages, my brain could think and analyse, and my nose could detect everything from the sweetest to the spiciest fragrances.
And yet, there was no heart pumping blood.
That thing I mentioned to the wretched human, but I didn’t think she registered that piece of information.