Ana The fourth soul
Ana
The fourth soul
Walking towards the horse to pet it, I remembered my last discussion with the Goat Man, before he left for the Iron Gates, to think.
“That’s not the way to do it, woman,” chastised Andrei. He watched me as I threaded the wool onto the loom.
I placed the cloth and checked the warps to make sure they would be tightly stretched, and began my work. “I’ve been doing this since I was a child.”
The ghost scoffed, looking around the room.
Seconds passed as I threaded carefully along the pattern Andrei brought to me. But silence for him was a nuisance.
“Have you talked with my master?”
My fingers stopped. “Why would I?”
“You said that you would forgive him,” he whispered, inspecting my work.
“Have you listened?”
His transparent brows hit his hairline. “A ghost can hear so much through thin walls,” he mused. He touched the warp, pouting his lips.
“We live in a cave. Its walls are very thick, as I recall.”
Andrei swallowed and took a step behind, leaving me to continue my work.
Last evening, he brought me all kinds of materials, including this loom. A gift, he said. Between the fabrics, I found an icon depicting Mother Mary. Her eyes were filled with love for all the people, her garments ragged, her hair tucked beneath in modesty.
On its back, it was written with the same handwriting that was behind the gruesome contract I signed: “Here is something for you to pray at. I do not want you to lose yourself in this world of mine, Ana.”
Even though he took a tentative step on the bridge to me, I couldn’t do it for him.
Despite all my aversions, I kept the icon under my pillow and prayed to it every night.
“Do you wish to speak to him?” Andrei repeated his question.
Sighing, I left the loom alone. “What is there to talk to him about?” My feet carried me to the terracotta stove, its warmth doing nothing for me.
“He doesn’t share my beliefs. He despises everything that feels remotely alive.
Goat Man only stays cooped up in his room, and if he leaves, he never speaks of what he sees out there. ”
I gritted my teeth; he could get out, and I couldn’t. Only to take another soul.
“Just go, woman. You’ll see,” Andrei winked. “He took the first step for reconciliation. Why wouldn’t you follow?” He crossed his arms over his translucent chest.
“Fine, but if you hear any shouts, I am not baking you any cakes!” My forefinger jabbed the air between us.
My feet were unsure as I got out of my room and into the hallway. Turning left, my long hair touched my ankles. I stopped in front of his chamber, catching my breath. The walk to his threshold was exhausting.
I swallowed, trying to find subjects to talk about without raising any spirits between us.
“Do you dare to take a step or will you remain there as a statue?”
His voice touched my skin, railing my blood up.
“It is pointless with you,” I said, turning around.
“Well, inim?, I know you hate me, so, there’s that.”
His words made me pause. “I don’t hate you,” I whispered. My brows knitted. As much as I wanted to despise the man, I couldn’t. He was my opposite in every way. Even though he was irritating to the point of boiling blood, he also tried to make amends.
Never have I imagined that the Goat Man would send me a wooden, hand-painted icon.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. So, I stepped into his room, squinting my eyes at the sole candle alight in the chamber.
“Why are you in the darkness?” I asked, searching for him.
“I am not,” he answered from his Mirror. He tapped once, and images of him being baptised played on the glass.
Dozens of skulls were surrounding him, their number larger than at my procession. The Elk placed the goat skull on my mentor’s head. As soon as that happened, fur replaced the smooth skin.
“Right before this moment, the Elk asked me to be the Goat Man,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And before?” I asked, getting closer to the Souls’ Mirror.
“Before, one thing happened that I would rather not show to you now,” he stated and turned to me, his eyes burning into my cheek.
“Would you stop looking at me like that, please?”
“No.”
I turned my head towards him, and warmth spread through my body. My eyes met his, and there were so many swirls in his eyes that I could spend an entire night trying to count them.
“Why is that?”
His nostrils flared. “Because you’re like the moon. I could watch it rise and go to sleep each time and never get bored.”
I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t say a word, because this was the first time a man complimented me for my appearance. And to have the Goat Man comparing me to the moon made my pulse quicken.
Seeing that I cannot speak, he continued. “Everything pales in front of it. Nothing seems more enchanting than the moon. It reigns over the sky better than any king or queen in this world.”
His hand grazed mine, and I almost leaned into his touch.
But not long ago, I was in church, promising God that I would stray from the devil.
Then, the devil asked me to stray from God.
I was torn again between two worlds. Even if I forgive the Goat Man for any wrongdoing, I couldn’t split myself between the two.
I closed my eyes. “Why do you say such things, when you know how I am? To torment me? To mock me?”
He stepped away from the Mirror, and I heard rustling next to his bed. “No, I’ve learnt my lesson not to mock you.” I heard his laughter bubbling inside his throat. A rare sound. A precious sound.
“Yes. A bit late.”
He appeared again before me, this time wearing his cloak. “I should have learnt my lesson when you tamed my horse.” A smirk appeared on his lips.
“I didn’t tame him. I befriended him.” I felt my lips stretching, sharing this moment with him. “Something you might try once in a while.”
“I am not searching for friends, Ana. I survived centuries without them.”
“But you were never truly alone, were you?” I asked, sidestepping him. “You either had your horse with you or servants.”
“Good observation. I needed them,” he said, his tone dry.
“Hm.” I turned to the threshold, feeling that if I spent much time near him, I would burst. But before leaving him, I looked at the Goat Man over my shoulder. “We are not meant to spend time alone, Goat. As much as you despise the company.”
“I don’t despise yours,” came his reply, too quickly for me to find anything else to say. So instead, I walked away.
Whenever we didn’t hold the knife to our throats, we could be the thing he didn’t want and the thing that hurt me. Friends.
My fourth soul was in a village next to the Danube. I watched the celebration of St Little Mary’s Day. This village was close to the Iron Gates, the place where I had seen the true face of the Goat Man. The day my world turned upside down.
The settlement even had its own mill and bakery, which not many villages had at that time. The houses were nearer to each other, their alleyways filled with late summer flowers, their scent wild.
I didn’t take the skull with me so I could breathe the smell of the food. At the bottom of my soul, I was still a human from the countryside. The one who could forget pain, just by thinking about clouds.
The skull was an omen, reminding me of what I have done and what I would do.
In that village, a nedeie was taking place. A celebration was organised for the holiday.
Many people were milling around, their feet ready to prance. The smell of fasole with ciolan cooked in a cauldron reminded me that I have not eaten properly for two days.
The adults were engaged in a dance of hora, taking two steps to the right, one backwards and two to the left. Looking at their feet moving, hitting the dirt with their opinci or boots, I realised I missed this.
I hoped that, at least once, in this eternity of mine, I could dance in a hora.
The men wore a simple linen shirt, and their trousers were dusty. They were whistling, their high-pitched shouts heard over the valleys.
They were circling the women, also dancing hora, but in a smaller circle. Their garments were simple, but clean. The younger women wore white, the married ones wore cream, and the older ones wore black shirts. Aprons in different colours brightened the women, their batiks ruffled by the breeze.
I wanted to be in their sentiment; therefore, my attire from that day resembled the joyful atmosphere. My skirt and ie were simple, but my vest and apron had poppies sewn by hand, the red thread filling the larger part of the garments.
Near the cauldron, a young boy was mixing the food with a large wooden spoon. Two women were lurking behind him. On that table was a large wooden box, beautifully carved, with money inside.
I fixed my eyes on the women; their dirty hands pushed the lid of the box and grabbed the money.
After seeing them the first time on the Mirror’s shining glass, I dug into their history to see that they were not poor girls stealing for their families. No, they were robbing, then murdering the house owners, just for amusement. It didn’t matter to them if their victims were poor or rich.
Their laughter, after smearing their faces with the blood of their casualties, still rang in my ears.
I squeezed the scythe and travelled to the cauldron.
My steps were silent on the grass, the first gush of cold wind circling my ankles.
Without even thinking, I slashed my scythe into one of the women. Her head rolled over, gold falling from her hand. The other woman screamed at the top of her lungs, making me cover my ears.
A blade that wasn’t mine descended on her.
Opening my eyes, I saw terrified faces looking my way. Screams passed the barrier of my ears, grating on my brain.
“Last time you stopped yourself from taking that soul because there were children there,” the Goat Man’s voice made me breathe again. Even though his tone was harsh. “This time, you lost one.”
“I had her,” I argued.
He only stood still, watching, battling with himself. To chastise me or not.
I sent the scythe away and covered my face with my palms. Instead of five souls left, I had six. Because I was reckless in getting out of the contract and to serve justice. Despite all that, I felt another swirl in, making its way into my eyes.
But it was too late, as the tears swelled in my eyes. Soon, they fell on my cheek, and I felt as if the world stopped again.
There was no music coming from the orchestra, no smell of food. Only the scent of old books. I felt his arms wrapping around me. The touch made my pulse decline from its rampage.
“There will be another soul to take, Ana.”
Grabbing my stomach, bile filled my mouth. Each time I took a soul, my body rejected the notion of me killing, as if it were against my nature.
“I wanted to finish with them sooner.” I winced at the tone of my voice. Sniffing, I released myself from his embrace, my pulse fluttering at the sight of the man whose touch lingered on my skin. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. I am the one who put you into this situation.” He took my hand in his and squeezed it lightly. “You did a wonderful job so far. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
I nodded. “Yes, despite everything, I did a good job,” I snorted.
Hearing the sound that came from my mouth, he laughed. Dragging me with him in his frenzy.
Laughter. Joy.
It was an odd thing.
My eyes roamed over him once. It was the first time the Goat Man had ever worn a belt or a vest under his cloak. Usually, he would wear a linen shirt and trousers. But then, he added a large belt of leather with floral motifs, and his vest had the same design.
“Is there something the matter? Am I stained?” he asked and looked over himself, disregarding everyone around us.
“No. You look more alive.”
Trying to run away from my feelings again, I passed by him. His hand touched my waist lightly, his odd eyes watching me.
“I have to show you something,” he rasped, his eyes on my lips.
He tightened his hold on me, his fingers digging into my skin, sending shivers through my body. And once more, I complied, thoughts of anger relinquished.
I was too enthralled by the Goat Man that I did not notice where we were. The pull this creature had on me should not exist, not after how he treated me. And still, he tried to be better.
Perhaps he was practising being human after all these centuries.
He confused me, he pulled and pushed, throwing me over the edge, a lint over his shoulder.
But my mind never lied. The feelings I had, I only read about them in books or heard stories from the other girls in the village, usually married.
I never dreamt of touching a man like I wanted to touch him, to feel his weight on me and let myself be consumed by his own nightmare.
But he represented the opposite of what I was, of everything I believed.
I had the love of God in me, still. The Goat Man had darkness creeping around. The many souls he took were visible in his eyes, blue swirls covering almost the entirety of the white orbs.
He drove me to madness. And despite everything, my soul never lied. I wanted him in every shape or form.
And what would be of me, once this contract is completed?
The Goat Man twirled me around, a destroyed hut before my eyes. Its wood was broken, eaten by termites and time, dirt covered the porch, and vines were growing through it. The stones which were used for the walls were still standing, the only clue that there was a house at one point in history.
“What is this?” I said, moving away from him.
“It used to be my house.” His voice flew in the wind, surprising me.
He took a step towards the first step of the porch.
“We were five siblings. I was the youngest boy. I tried to remember anything before that moment, but it feels as if that is my first memory. Ever.” He sighed, stepping next to the former hut.
“My middle brother died there.” His long finger pointed to a spot on the stairs.
“His blood seeped into the ground so fast…”
He turned and climbed one more step, his pain palpable. I felt the blood pulsing in my veins, ready to break them. My heart might be gone while I wore the body of eternity, but the feelings were there. If I had a ticker, then it would have broken at seeing his frantic eyes.
“And here,” he said low, “was my little sister. Most likely running from…”
Him.
I stepped closer to him, my feet caressed by the grass.
“And there,” he showed with his hands stretched to the end of the porch, “were my other brother and sister.”
The Goat Man crashed down, sobs rippling through the air, his scream cracking the remaining stones of the ancient house's skeleton.
How almighty he seemed the first time I laid my eyes on him with his scythe slaughtering my father’s hand.
And right before my eyes, he became…vulnerable.
I knelt next to him, my arms wrapping around his neck, his fear calling to my kindness.
He let his head fall on my shoulder, tears wetting my ie. His fingers dug into my skin until they turned white. I let him cry his sorrows, bending my head on his, my hair covering his face, cloaking him from the world.