The Owl Killers

september

those who gather nuts on this day will be gathered straight to hell or driven mad. any unwed maiden who gathers nuts this day will reap a crop of bastards.

i FELT IT MOVE TOWARDS DAWN. I lay rigid in bed, praying that it had only been a bad dream which had woken me, but I knew it was not. I couldn’t pretend any longer. All those weeks I had tried to convince myself there was nothing inside me, but there was. It was alive and it was moving.

I followed the others into the chapel for Prime, but I couldn’t pray. All I could think about was that creature growing in my belly. There was another heart beating inside me. I was certain I could hear it. Everyone must surely hear it, that hot rapid beat that wasn’t mine.

“Aufer a nobis, quaesumus Domine, iniquitates nostras…”

“Take away from us our iniquities, we beseech Thee, O Lord…”

As Servant Martha said the words, I felt it flutter for the second time. It could hear the holy words even through my belly and it was fighting against them. I pressed my hands tightly against it, sure that everyone would see the thing moving through my skin, but the tighter I pressed the harder it fought and I knew that even if I smashed a stone into my stomach, I could not kill it. Its wings were beating inside me. It was biting at my entrails and that’s how it would get out, it would eat its way out through my belly. There was a monster growing inside me and I had to destroy it.

I looked up and saw Healing Martha watching me, a frown on her face. I forced my hands away from my stomach, held them together in front of me, pressing them so tightly to stop them shaking that it hurt. Healing Martha mustn’t know. She couldn’t find out. She would see the bruises on my stomach, would know that I had tried to crush it and she would lock me up, tie my hands so I couldn’t hurt it. I looked around at all the faces of the beguines; they too were scowling as if they all knew. They’d force me to carry this thing. They’d make me give birth to this monster. To kill an unborn child was a sin.

She can get rid of warts and more besides. That’s what Pega had said that day out in the hay meadow. Old Gwenith, she’d know how to get rid of this creature. Who else could I go to? Who else would help me?

I slipped out of the gates straight after Prime. Everyone was too busy with their chores even to ask where I was going. And where was I going? Pega had said, Old Gwenith lives far up the river, where the valley narrows. But I had no idea how far that was. D’Acaster’s daughters weren’t permitted to wander about the countryside. All I could do was follow the river and pray that somehow I would find the place.

I ran until I reached the ford, desperately afraid that if someone saw me they might call me back to help with some task in the beguinage or, worse still, insist on coming with me. I picked my way across the slippery stones, the icy water lapping round my calves. It was only when I reached the other side and my feet began to slip inside my wet shoes, that I realised I had waded across the ford without taking my shoes and hose off.

The river skirted the edge of the forest. Even though I was on the other side, I glanced fearfully across the water towards the dense mass of trees. Though I knew that the demon which hunted in there stalked its prey in the darkness, yet even in daylight I did not feel safe from it, as if it could slip between the shadows of the rocks or ride in the storm clouds and find me. I ran up the bank as fast as I could, my feet slipping and sliding in my drenched shoes, until I had left the curve of the forest behind me.

I do not know how long I walked. The bank grew steeper and narrower. The crashing of the water grew louder and louder until it filled my head. I slipped on the rocks as I scrambled up the hillside, grazing hands and knees, but I could not let myself slow down. All the time the river rushed past me, as if it wanted to catch me and drag me back down the hill with it.

I saw the old woman before I saw the hut. I knew it must be her. Who else would live this far from the village? She was squatting with her back to me, pulling at something between her knees. Her back was bent and her long grey greasy hair swung over her shoulder in a single thin rope.

My legs were trembling from the climb. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to ask. Suppose she couldn’t do it after all. Pega had said warts and more besides. What if that wasn’t what she meant? And if she could, how would she get this thing out of me-with a knife? What on earth was I doing? I began to back away.

“A love potion is it, little maid?” Old Gwenith rocked forward and, picking up a staff from the ground, levered herself to her feet. A skinned hare dangled from her bloody hands.

I shook my head. My mouth was too dry to speak.

She beckoned with a crooked finger, bright red with scarlet blood. The skin of her face was burnt brown and it looked as if the bones inside had shrunk to the size of a cat’s skull, leaving the skin sagging loose and as crinkled as old bark. I’d never seen anyone so old.

“Come closer; my eyes aren’t what they were.”

“I made a mistake… I have to…”

“You’ve had a hard climb for nothing then.” Her laughter was harsh and rasping, breaking off in a fit of coughing. She spat out a mouthful of brown liquid and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. Her thin chest heaved as she struggled to regain her breath.

“All who come here say they want nothing, but they all want something.” She cocked her head to the side. “Another grey one. But you’ve come for me this time, not my Gudrun.”

Another grey one? Did she mean another beguine had been here? But who would go to her, unless it was Pega? What would Pega have wanted?

The old woman edged closer.

“I see the way of it now. You’re no maid after all.” She was staring at my belly and I realised that my fists were clenched across it. I jerked them away, but it was too late.

Old Gwenith laughed again, and again the laughter crumbled into a fit of coughing. “A lifetime of pain for five minutes of pleasure. Was he worth it, girl?”

“I tried to fight…” I found myself blurting out. “I was forced…”

“Aye, it happens.” Her rheumy brown eyes took on a kindly expression instead of mocking. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Men think they can take anything they want by force, but what matters can’t be got that way. Smash an egg and you’ll not get a prize falcon from it, just a mess in your hand. You think on it, lass. He’s taken nothing from you that’s worth a fart in the end.”

“It wasn’t a…” I was on the verge of blurting out it wasn’t a man who’d done this to me. It wasn’t a child growing inside me, but a monster. But if the old woman knew it was a demon who had done this to me, she might be too afraid to kill its spawn, and she had to. There was no one else who could get the thing out of me. “You can… get rid of it?”

“Aye, I can rid of anything that’s not wanted.” She wiped her bloody hand on her skirts and held it out palm up. “What have you brought me? A gift for a gift.”

“But I haven’t got anything. I didn’t have time… I didn’t think…”

She shrugged. “You get nowt for nowt in this world.” She turned and shuffled back towards her hut.

I found myself running towards her. “Wait, please, I can get something, anything, anything you want. I have money. I’ll go back and get whatever you want after you’ve done it. I promise I’ll bring it straight back, but please you must do this first.”

“Fish promise a good supper, but as long as they’re in the river, your belly stays hungry. You fetch a gift, lass. Then I’ll do what you ask.”

I knew I couldn’t go back, not with this thing inside me. I could feel it growing as I stood there. I wanted to take a knife and rip my belly open and tear it out, but I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to do it.

“No, no please, it must be now. I can’t bear to have it inside me, not another hour.”

She looked at me curiously. “You hate him that much?”

I nodded.

“What’s that on your chest?”

I groped around and felt a small sharp pin, it must have caught the light and she’d seen it glinting. “A boar, the emblem of Saint Osmanna.”

The old woman frowned as if the name was unfamiliar to her.

“Osmanna was a hermit in a forest and gave shelter to a savage boar when it was being hunted. That’s how the Bishop found her-he was hunting the boar and it led him to her and seeing how she tamed the wild beast, he converted her to Christianity and baptised her.” I don’t know why I explained all that except that I wanted to keep her talking and stop her walking away from me.

“The boar did Osmanna no favours then.” Old Gwenith shook her head as if she could not believe such things. “So why do you wear this boar? You didn’t tame your wild beast, else you’d not be here.”

“My name is Osmanna. She’s my namesake.”

The old woman stared at me for a long time, her toothless gums pressed together, until her mouth was a mere slit in the folds of her dark wrinkled skin. “Then I’ll take that, as the gift.” She held out her hand again.

I hesitated. I hated the name Osmanna almost as much as Agatha, but the emblem had been blessed. Without it I felt naked and vulnerable. I could not go unprotected, not out here. The emblem was all I had to ward the demon off. I glanced fearfully behind me in the direction of the forest.

The clawlike hand was still extended towards me. For the third time that day I felt the flutter of those wings in my belly. I reached up and tore the silver brooch from my cloak, not caring that I ripped the fabric too.

Old Gwenith took my wrist and pulled me towards the hut. Her grip was deceptively strong for such frail bones. Before my eyes could adjust to the light, I found myself lying on a heap of mildewed bracken and rags with the old woman pulling up my skirts. I fought the urge to push her away. Cold hands pressed hard into my belly, kneading, pressing, and pushing.

“You’ve left it late, lass. Should have come to me before.”

I clutched at her arm. “No, please! It’s not too late. You must do it. Get it out. Get it out now,” I begged.

“Hush, lass. I’m not saying it can’t be done. But it’ll go harder with you now that the brat’s quickened. Herbs alone’ll not do it now. It’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care how much it hurts. Just get it out.”

She laughed. “Easy to say now. Wait there.”

The bracken scratched my bare thighs. The embers of the fire beneath the cooking pot were still warm enough to glow red in the semi-darkness, but the hut felt chill and damp. What did she mean herbs alone would not do it? What else would she use-an image of the knife swarmed back in my head and I was half on my feet as Gwenith returned.

She pushed me back down onto the bracken. “Here,” she said, stuffing a wedge of cloth into my mouth. “Bite on this. I don’t want screaming. It frightens Gudrun.”

The cloth stank of old sweat and I almost gagged on it, but moments later I was biting hard, as cold hard fingers prised open my rigid legs. She knelt her thighs between mine, keeping my legs apart. I smelt her sour breath as she bent over me, the stink of stale piss on her skirts. In the darkness of the hut, I couldn’t see the expression on her face, just the glitter of two eyes staring down at me.

I felt her bony fingers pushing up inside me, then a long slender stick sliding over my thigh and being forced up into me. I knew it was only wood, but it felt like burning iron. I writhed backwards, fighting to get away from it. Her free hand pushed down hard on my belly. She gave a sudden upwards thrust that sent white lights exploding in my skull. Then it was over and she was pulling the stick out.

She threw the stick aside and tugged me until I was sitting. I drew my knees up to my chin, clutching my legs until the pain subsided to a raw stinging ache. My mouth was so dry it was glued to the filthy rag in my mouth. I pulled it and tasted the blood welling on my lips as the skin tore away with it.

“Is it… is it gone?” I moaned.

“It’s dead. Blackthorn’s killed it, but it’s still in there.”

“No, no,” I screamed. “You have to get it out.”

Her greasy hand clamped across my mouth. “Hush! I told you I don’t want noise. Here.” She pushed a knotted rag into my hand. “In this are bay berries. Mind you chew them well; don’t just swallow them. Then you’ll start to bleed heavy and the dead bairn’ll come away with your blood. No one’ll know it’s not natural. You’ll have some cramps, mind-it won’t be easy.”

The old woman’s head jerked up and she tensed. “Someone’s coming.” She dragged me upright and pushed me behind a ragged cloth that hung across the corner of the hovel. “Stay hidden,” she hissed.

I crouched on the stinking earth floor and bit my fist to stop myself from moaning from the searing pain between my legs. Then I heard a man’s voice outside the hovel.

“So, Mother, I hear you’ve been sending the brat to keep watch on the house of women.”

Gwenith laughed. “What could my poor little Gudrun tell me of anyone?”

“You can hear the bones of the dead talking. I reckon you’ve ways of finding out what you want from a dumb girl. The question is, Mother, why are you so interested in the women? Do you think you’ll be able to persuade them to help you to work against us? Is that it?”

I peered round the edge of the cloth. Gwenith and the man stood just outside the door of the cottage. The man was much taller than the low doorway and I couldn’t see his face, only the long brown cloak of an Owl Master.

“Afeared of the women are you?” Gwenith’s tone was mocking.

The man snorted. “I think you’re the one that’s scared, Mother. You’re the only cunning woman now, since we got rid of that witch, your daughter. But those women’ll not take your part. They’re Christians; they’d see you hanged first.”

“Aye, they might. But then again maybe there’s more that binds us than divides us, though they may not know it yet. That leader of theirs has got the spirit of Black Anu in her. You’ll not cow them into submission like the villagers. Not every woman falls on her knees at the sight of what dangles between your legs.”

“You witch-” The man raised his fist, but I saw the flash of a blade in Gwenith’s hand. He gave a gasp of pain, clutching his arm.

“You’ve cut me, you vicious old hag!”

“Forgive a poor old woman. My hands get shaky; knife’s apt to slip. If I were you, I’d stand back. I’m such a clumsy old thing, I shouldn’t wonder if one of these days I don’t take someone’s eye out.” Her knife was still pointed at him.

He backed a pace away. “There was a time when you and I were on the same side, Mother. We could be again. Together we could defeat the Church, and bring Ulewic back to the ancient gods who first ruled this valley. You know things will continue to go ill with this land until the old ways return.”

“Together?” Gwenith laughed sourly. “In the hour you spilled the blood of the night-cat, you turned your hand against me.”

“You think you can turn the villagers back to the old ways without blood?”

“There’s blood that’s meant for the spilling and there’s sacred blood that must never be touched.” Gwenith spat on the ground. “If you follow the path you’re bent on, you’ll be leading Ulewic into such darkness and destruction that none of you’ll be able to find your way out again.” She lowered the knife, but she still held it tight. “On May Eve you spent the night in the bull oak wrapped in the hide of the white stag. No man’s dared that since my own grandam was a bairn and the last one who did ran mad and was taken by the river afore cockcrow. It takes a rare courage to brave the hide and live to tell the tale, but courage is not enough, not to stand against him.”

“How did you know about the hide, Mother?”

“It changes a man, marks him for life. Happen you think if you can survive the horrors of that hide, you can command him. But he’ll not be commanded, not by your skills alone. And I’ll not lend you ours, so think on it. Remember what’s carved above the church door-Black Anu, the maid, the mother, and the hag. She was ancient long before the Church was young. She is ours. Without our skills, you have only half the power. You’ll not control him. Don’t be such a fool as to unleash what you can’t master.”

“Your skills! A cunning woman’s skills? What are those-a witch-jar to set the bowels of some wretched man afire; a charm to flux some farmer’s calf; a toadstone to detect poison? You think a bunch of herbs can master him? Iron, blood, and fire, that’s what will control him and I have them. I am the Aodh. I have them all.”

He leant towards her. “You said there was blood for the spilling, Mother. Take care it is not yours.”