How long have you suffered? And how long did you resist the many temptations? How long did you continue in this manipulation? I kept asking the dead girl in my arms. My heart was torn and broken, and in shambles, I stayed holding her. The echoing sounds of wind traversed through the scarlet and grey pond.
I felt for a minuscule second that the world had collapsed. It is irrational and unreasonable, I told myself. I had not met her, and I had not known her name. And yet, I stood there, watching the dead.
A minute passed. Then two. Three and many more.
It must have been a quarter of an hour later when I floated up, breaking the surface of the water. She too was there, her face alongside mine. In the scarlet moon, so foreboding, the deed had been done. She was gone. And yet, her body remains. That beautiful face, that skin and that figure… She was, to any man, beautiful. A gorgeous woman for a gorgeous world, the goddess Ivory was mentioned so. In my hand lies her child, breathless.
I held her close, afraid she might slip away from my grasp. I pulled her closer and studied the sickly stripes on her body. To the touch, they felt no different than the rest of her skin. There were a few around her chest, naval, thighs, and throat. Bereft and heartbroken, I caressed her cheeks. It was as if I had lost family.
The calm surface of the water was disturbed, and the red sheen trembled as I carried the body, dragging it across the large pond. It was difficult, but with care, I managed. I pulled her over the broken wall, across the shore, onto the foot of a nearby tree. It was an oak tree — bare and utterly lifeless, just like the girl. A mortal burial, it is, I thought, holding back the quivers. I rested her against the hollow trunk and took a heavy breath. Drops of water fell from my wet attire and long hair. I pulled the hair tie that had come loose. The ponytail broke and my half-wet, half-dry hair scattered. Locks and strands had tangled and become a mess. I shook my head, drawing curling lines of water across the ground and scarlet light.
I cast magic. The soil near the trunk was dug little by little as if small hounds were at work. Soon, a shallow grave was dug. The wind cried passing through the woods, as I prepared for a silent funeral. I pulled the girl and laid her in her new resting place, her arms by her side. Huffing and puffing, I stood over her. Heavy work was not my forte, and I had never expected I would attain a funeral whose gravedigger was none other than myself. For a few minutes, I stood there, recalling the night.
I must not dally, I told myself. Leaning forwards, ‘Xekourasteíte, agápi,’ whispered I in her ear. And with a kiss of farewell on her forehead, I bid her goodbye. As I climbed out of the grave and the soil began filling around her, I rummaged through my pockets and scattered a packet of seeds I carried on and around the grave. Once again, mana was commanded, and in minutes, the grave was filled with graceful, white lilies. Their bloom was pleasing to the eyes. I plucked a few and scattered the petals around. The night felt lonely as I stood there in the cold, watching the cruel fate play its marauding symphonies.
And now, he shall rest, away from you and me, said the one-legged Saelius, standing over the poor Lour, looking at his sister. And none shall know who was the queerest of men. His face was as straight and reticent.
Like mine, his heart too must have cried. But unlike me, he shed no tears.
‘Professor?’ I heard someone call. Turning around, I could notice a green-eyed, black-haired woman walking towards me. It was Ms Olsberg. She watched me and the grave of flowers — one of the most beautiful flowers. ‘You have made quite a spectacle,’ she said while looking around. Her green eyes were calm; they resonated with the grey world around but did little to elevate me. I gave a curt nod, wiping my eyes surreptitiously. The wind whistled, and Ms Olsberg, with some reservation, spoke, ‘What happened, Professor?’
I took a breath, hoping I would not sniffle or sob. ‘She is dead,’ I said quietly. My face was away from her, and I hoped none could notice my inexplicable grief.
‘…Your face, Professor,’ she said. ‘I ask about your face.’
I quietly looked back, confused. She gave no explanations, but on her face was wonder and amusement. Suddenly, my heartbeats quickened, and I recalled what I had forgotten. I spun around and ran towards the large body of water. My legs moved faster and faster. My feet were throbbing; I had done a tiring number of activities today, and the body did not fail to remind me. In secrecy, I put the crude black ring on my finger as I reached the pond.
It is not too late, I kept telling myself. On the surface of the clear water, as I glanced for my reflection, in the red light I noticed, a grey-haired face. The eyes that looked back were shining in a clear greyish hue, one lighter than the other. I touched my face and brushed my hair. The skin had become smoother, with a glean like a woman. It had turned a milky hue. Over my right cheek, under my right eye, ran a blackish mark like a long stitch. It felt rough to the touch. My heartbeats became louder, and I felt the fear set in. What I had hoped should not happen was happening. Uncertainty grabbed me and held me tight.
‘That was a superb commotion.’ I heard another voice.
‘Grand show, Professor,’ another said. I recognised both. One was Mr Mason’s while the other was of Ms Nancy's. The awe, wonder, amusement, and respect faded from their voices as they emerged from the ravine. Their eyes had turned towards me. And in surprise, they refused to leave me. I could spot eyes of wonder and amazement. There were those that looked at me and those that looked at the giant crater. Their excitement was palpable through the veneer of self-preservation. How? was what they wished to utter. Some were in utter disbelief; some with frowns. My eyes darted. Behind them were the teams we had so desperately searched for. Slowly, the grief was turning into anxiety. I have quite a lot to explain.
‘What happened to your hair, Sir?’ asked Ms Peak.
‘And eyes…’ whispered Ms Nancy, running towards me. She stopped right in front of my nose, watching my eyes intently. ‘You smell nice.’ She looked at me with suspicion. The night was lit with scarlet, but only eyes full of questions bothered me. ‘Flowers?’
Her words echoed in my mind and I sniffed my wrists and arms. The rich fragrance of jasmine, I affirmed. It wafted from me. I sniffed my skin and my hair. It seemed I was exuding the rich aroma from all over me. It was a pleasant smell yet a horrifying thought. What now? I kept asking myself.
‘What…is this?’ asked someone walking behind Ms Perk. It was a lady whom I hadn’t been introduced to. ‘And who?’ She looked at me, holding her head.
‘That is…the professor of Arcane Knowledge,’ introduced Mr Perk, doubting his eyes at the sight of me.
‘Really?’ The woman narrowed her hazel eyes, sweeping a hand through her rich red hair. I could spot freckles on and around her nose in the moonlight. ‘I thought he looked…different.’ I noticed a few more men behind her. There was a man who wore lighter clothes while others were in the familiar black uniform. The scout, I presumed.
‘How peculiar…’ Ms Nancy kept muttering.
‘What is this, Professor?’ asked Mr Mason as all of them gathered around me. ‘What happened here—’
‘Not now, Peter,’ interrupted Mr Harris. He looked over me, a slight frown twitching across his forehead. ‘We must leave the danger behind.’
‘We are leaving?’ asked Mr Mason.
‘Yes,’ the man with wide eyes said. ‘The Full-Moon Hunt ends here. We make for home. We will reach before daybreak if we hurry now.’ Ms Olsberg nodded, and Ms Amy agreed. And so, without questions, we began our journey back.
Near the entrance of the ravine, as we walked past, I noticed the familiar Forget-me-not, sneaking from the outcrop. It was a sad sight. In the grey world, like its companion, it too had succumbed to the passing of time. Its petals had flown away, and now it lay on the stone, lifeless. No more did it play with the occasional winds.
***
After leaving the ravine, our steps quickened. There were twenty-one of us. Each had something to ponder over. I had my worries. The whirlwind I had caused; the bare girl I had ended; my own disfiguration. There was much to question. My companions seemed to bare many queries. Their eyes would turn towards me intermittently, but none raised a voice without caution and out of necessity. Mr Harris too had completely abandoned the notion of friendly interrogation as we trod the path back.
The sudden rain hindered us, and the caution towards possible ambush did not subside. Perhaps, my earlier play with Wind was to blame. The change in weather was a curious one. The Professor of Meteorology was one of the persons I was interested in meeting once this mess was taken care of.
The red rain and caution had halted the many questions, but glances continued throughout the journey. Ms Nancy especially was glued to my eyes. Pretty, she kept muttering, as if possessed. I was worried she might try to pluck them if left idle, so I kept myself busy, away from her hands.
‘We found them caught between low branches,’ Mr Mason answered to one of my questions as we passed Scott’s Grave. It was in bad taste to mark a place by a man’s death, I believed. But a name must remain true to itself. Just another Grove and Hill seemed too plain to them, no offence to Mr Hill, of course. ‘As you instructed, we searched for them near trees. A vast, notable, strangler fig tree stood midst others not of its kind.’ He paused, examining my new and shocking features, as did I. ‘Thick, aerial roots had flown down its branches. They were caught in them, wrapped tightly.’ He shook a little. ‘Ghastly stuff. Had to cut them down.’
‘It was shocking, as if the tree itself had caught them,’ Mr Perk interjected. He was walking behind me. Suddenly, his voice grew closer. ‘And then, we saw that large root you seemed to have fought.’ He seemed to demand answers, I believed, but I was a tight-lipped individual.
‘They were unconscious. Some fell on backs,’ added Ms Perk. Indeed, they seemed out of character. Some held their heads, while some were in slight agony. ‘None was hurt. There was not a single beast nearby.’
I nodded approvingly. She wasn’t commanding them, I thought. Something came to mind and I asked, ‘Did you find anything nearby?’
Ms Perk shook her head. ‘Nothing, in particular, stood out.’
‘Something you know, Professor?’ her brother prodded.
‘Perhaps.’ My next few answers too were rather flippant or curt. It was unlike me, but so was weeping without a reason. Caution before geniality. Mr Quincy’s words echoed in my mind. Arsene is not a sane man. I wondered how much I should relay to such a man’s underlings. Perhaps, the silence was the answer. I was not about to lay bare my secrets.
Time passed as we kept our guard and walked the dreary woods. Jack the archer showed me a map of the forest. I noticed the Cavernous Ravine. To its south, ways across, was the newly-written Scott’s Grave. It had a symbol of a sword marking it. There were a few more names, courtesy of the tales from the other survivors. Rachel’s Death, Trevor’s Bed, Mark’s Rest, Ron’s End — these were all marked with the symbol of a sword. Mr Rupert had luckily survived. ‘Pity,’ I whispered, and the man nodded.
‘Would you like to share with us anything, Professor?’ asked Ms Olsberg as we nearly reached the outskirts. I could spot the familiar spider lilies. We were near the dilapidated building of my class.
I was not keen on answering but my nature and their gazes finally prised what little they could away from me. ‘I must speak with the Dean before I say anything.’ I spoke in riddles.
‘You will have more than the Dean to answer to, Professor,’ Ms Olsberg said, turning around. I thought about Mr Neumic, but the woman’s green eyes seemed to carry a different meaning. They were gentle, unlike when we were hunting. ‘The students will ask too,’ she said. I pondered those words intensely. I questioned if I had any words to convince the little things full of curiosity and if I should prepare sentences only half-sensible.
I gave a sigh, and soon, we arrived at the harrowing building. A few uniformed men were awaiting us near the unkempt grounds. We walked in their direction, and while Mr Harris spoke, the rest of us mingled.
We had all seen death, but eerily enough none of us shied away from casual chatter. I had grieved not long ago, and they had lost their comrades. Yet, neither seemed lost in farewells. My grief was gradually subsiding. The emotions I could not make anything of disappeared one by one, and the incomplete thoughts of my new face began flooding in. Who was I and who had I become? Such horrifying thoughts took me. I had always feared this, and now it had become a reality. I looked around, finding a laughing Ms Nancy. I felt envious of her. She could laugh even after witnessing all that she did, while I remain in the misery of my own making. Change is such a strange thing. Some wait for it, while some fear. And I was, unfortunately, the latter.
It was nearly five o’clock, ten minutes after our arrival, when Mr Harris walked towards us, seemingly content with the brief report he submitted. He said to us without a second of wait, ‘We will disband for now. Tomorrow, each of us — including the Professor — will have to give our reports.’ I looked at him questioningly. ‘Just a simple recount of what happened today,’ the man answered. ‘That is all for now. You are all dismissed; Christine will remain.’ Ms Olsberg was surprised. ‘You will accompany the Professor.’
The woman nodded, but I protested. ‘No need,’ I said courteously. ‘I know my way.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ He looked back once. ‘But there are tidings I am made aware of.’ He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Your student has awoken.’
How long have you suffered? And how long did you resist the many temptations? How long did you continue in this manipulation? I kept asking the dead girl in my arms. My heart was torn and broken, and in shambles, I stayed holding her. The echoing sounds of wind traversed through the scarlet and grey pond.
I felt for a minuscule second that the world had collapsed. It is irrational and unreasonable, I told myself. I had not met her, and I had not known her name. And yet, I stood there, watching the dead.
A minute passed. Then two. Three and many more.
It must have been a quarter of an hour later when I floated up, breaking the surface of the water. She too was there, her face alongside mine. In the scarlet moon, so foreboding, the deed had been done. She was gone. And yet, her body remains. That beautiful face, that skin and that figure… She was, to any man, beautiful. A gorgeous woman for a gorgeous world, the goddess Ivory was mentioned so. In my hand lies her child, breathless.
I held her close, afraid she might slip away from my grasp. I pulled her closer and studied the sickly stripes on her body. To the touch, they felt no different than the rest of her skin. There were a few around her chest, naval, thighs, and throat. Bereft and heartbroken, I caressed her cheeks. It was as if I had lost family.
The calm surface of the water was disturbed, and the red sheen trembled as I carried the body, dragging it across the large pond. It was difficult, but with care, I managed. I pulled her over the broken wall, across the shore, onto the foot of a nearby tree. It was an oak tree — bare and utterly lifeless, just like the girl. A mortal burial, it is, I thought, holding back the quivers. I rested her against the hollow trunk and took a heavy breath. Drops of water fell from my wet attire and long hair. I pulled the hair tie that had come loose. The ponytail broke and my half-wet, half-dry hair scattered. Locks and strands had tangled and become a mess. I shook my head, drawing curling lines of water across the ground and scarlet light.
I cast magic. The soil near the trunk was dug little by little as if small hounds were at work. Soon, a shallow grave was dug. The wind cried passing through the woods, as I prepared for a silent funeral. I pulled the girl and laid her in her new resting place, her arms by her side. Huffing and puffing, I stood over her. Heavy work was not my forte, and I had never expected I would attain a funeral whose gravedigger was none other than myself. For a few minutes, I stood there, recalling the night.
I must not dally, I told myself. Leaning forwards, ‘Xekourasteíte, agápi,’ whispered I in her ear. And with a kiss of farewell on her forehead, I bid her goodbye. As I climbed out of the grave and the soil began filling around her, I rummaged through my pockets and scattered a packet of seeds I carried on and around the grave. Once again, mana was commanded, and in minutes, the grave was filled with graceful, white lilies. Their bloom was pleasing to the eyes. I plucked a few and scattered the petals around. The night felt lonely as I stood there in the cold, watching the cruel fate play its marauding symphonies.
And now, he shall rest, away from you and me, said the one-legged Saelius, standing over the poor Lour, looking at his sister. And none shall know who was the queerest of men. His face was as straight and reticent.
Like mine, his heart too must have cried. But unlike me, he shed no tears.
‘Professor?’ I heard someone call. Turning around, I could notice a green-eyed, black-haired woman walking towards me. It was Ms Olsberg. She watched me and the grave of flowers — one of the most beautiful flowers. ‘You have made quite a spectacle,’ she said while looking around. Her green eyes were calm; they resonated with the grey world around but did little to elevate me. I gave a curt nod, wiping my eyes surreptitiously. The wind whistled, and Ms Olsberg, with some reservation, spoke, ‘What happened, Professor?’
I took a breath, hoping I would not sniffle or sob. ‘She is dead,’ I said quietly. My face was away from her, and I hoped none could notice my inexplicable grief.
‘…Your face, Professor,’ she said. ‘I ask about your face.’
I quietly looked back, confused. She gave no explanations, but on her face was wonder and amusement. Suddenly, my heartbeats quickened, and I recalled what I had forgotten. I spun around and ran towards the large body of water. My legs moved faster and faster. My feet were throbbing; I had done a tiring number of activities today, and the body did not fail to remind me. In secrecy, I put the crude black ring on my finger as I reached the pond.
It is not too late, I kept telling myself. On the surface of the clear water, as I glanced for my reflection, in the red light I noticed, a grey-haired face. The eyes that looked back were shining in a clear greyish hue, one lighter than the other. I touched my face and brushed my hair. The skin had become smoother, with a glean like a woman. It had turned a milky hue. Over my right cheek, under my right eye, ran a blackish mark like a long stitch. It felt rough to the touch. My heartbeats became louder, and I felt the fear set in. What I had hoped should not happen was happening. Uncertainty grabbed me and held me tight.
‘That was a superb commotion.’ I heard another voice.
‘Grand show, Professor,’ another said. I recognised both. One was Mr Mason’s while the other was of Ms Nancy's. The awe, wonder, amusement, and respect faded from their voices as they emerged from the ravine. Their eyes had turned towards me. And in surprise, they refused to leave me. I could spot eyes of wonder and amazement. There were those that looked at me and those that looked at the giant crater. Their excitement was palpable through the veneer of self-preservation. How? was what they wished to utter. Some were in utter disbelief; some with frowns. My eyes darted. Behind them were the teams we had so desperately searched for. Slowly, the grief was turning into anxiety. I have quite a lot to explain.
‘What happened to your hair, Sir?’ asked Ms Peak.
‘And eyes…’ whispered Ms Nancy, running towards me. She stopped right in front of my nose, watching my eyes intently. ‘You smell nice.’ She looked at me with suspicion. The night was lit with scarlet, but only eyes full of questions bothered me. ‘Flowers?’
Her words echoed in my mind and I sniffed my wrists and arms. The rich fragrance of jasmine, I affirmed. It wafted from me. I sniffed my skin and my hair. It seemed I was exuding the rich aroma from all over me. It was a pleasant smell yet a horrifying thought. What now? I kept asking myself.
‘What…is this?’ asked someone walking behind Ms Perk. It was a lady whom I hadn’t been introduced to. ‘And who?’ She looked at me, holding her head.
‘That is…the professor of Arcane Knowledge,’ introduced Mr Perk, doubting his eyes at the sight of me.
‘Really?’ The woman narrowed her hazel eyes, sweeping a hand through her rich red hair. I could spot freckles on and around her nose in the moonlight. ‘I thought he looked…different.’ I noticed a few more men behind her. There was a man who wore lighter clothes while others were in the familiar black uniform. The scout, I presumed.
‘How peculiar…’ Ms Nancy kept muttering.
‘What is this, Professor?’ asked Mr Mason as all of them gathered around me. ‘What happened here—’
‘Not now, Peter,’ interrupted Mr Harris. He looked over me, a slight frown twitching across his forehead. ‘We must leave the danger behind.’
‘We are leaving?’ asked Mr Mason.
‘Yes,’ the man with wide eyes said. ‘The Full-Moon Hunt ends here. We make for home. We will reach before daybreak if we hurry now.’ Ms Olsberg nodded, and Ms Amy agreed. And so, without questions, we began our journey back.
Near the entrance of the ravine, as we walked past, I noticed the familiar Forget-me-not, sneaking from the outcrop. It was a sad sight. In the grey world, like its companion, it too had succumbed to the passing of time. Its petals had flown away, and now it lay on the stone, lifeless. No more did it play with the occasional winds.
***
After leaving the ravine, our steps quickened. There were twenty-one of us. Each had something to ponder over. I had my worries. The whirlwind I had caused; the bare girl I had ended; my own disfiguration. There was much to question. My companions seemed to bare many queries. Their eyes would turn towards me intermittently, but none raised a voice without caution and out of necessity. Mr Harris too had completely abandoned the notion of friendly interrogation as we trod the path back.
The sudden rain hindered us, and the caution towards possible ambush did not subside. Perhaps, my earlier play with Wind was to blame. The change in weather was a curious one. The Professor of Meteorology was one of the persons I was interested in meeting once this mess was taken care of.
The red rain and caution had halted the many questions, but glances continued throughout the journey. Ms Nancy especially was glued to my eyes. Pretty, she kept muttering, as if possessed. I was worried she might try to pluck them if left idle, so I kept myself busy, away from her hands.
‘We found them caught between low branches,’ Mr Mason answered to one of my questions as we passed Scott’s Grave. It was in bad taste to mark a place by a man’s death, I believed. But a name must remain true to itself. Just another Grove and Hill seemed too plain to them, no offence to Mr Hill, of course. ‘As you instructed, we searched for them near trees. A vast, notable, strangler fig tree stood midst others not of its kind.’ He paused, examining my new and shocking features, as did I. ‘Thick, aerial roots had flown down its branches. They were caught in them, wrapped tightly.’ He shook a little. ‘Ghastly stuff. Had to cut them down.’
‘It was shocking, as if the tree itself had caught them,’ Mr Perk interjected. He was walking behind me. Suddenly, his voice grew closer. ‘And then, we saw that large root you seemed to have fought.’ He seemed to demand answers, I believed, but I was a tight-lipped individual.
‘They were unconscious. Some fell on backs,’ added Ms Perk. Indeed, they seemed out of character. Some held their heads, while some were in slight agony. ‘None was hurt. There was not a single beast nearby.’
I nodded approvingly. She wasn’t commanding them, I thought. Something came to mind and I asked, ‘Did you find anything nearby?’
Ms Perk shook her head. ‘Nothing, in particular, stood out.’
‘Something you know, Professor?’ her brother prodded.
‘Perhaps.’ My next few answers too were rather flippant or curt. It was unlike me, but so was weeping without a reason. Caution before geniality. Mr Quincy’s words echoed in my mind. Arsene is not a sane man. I wondered how much I should relay to such a man’s underlings. Perhaps, the silence was the answer. I was not about to lay bare my secrets.
Time passed as we kept our guard and walked the dreary woods. Jack the archer showed me a map of the forest. I noticed the Cavernous Ravine. To its south, ways across, was the newly-written Scott’s Grave. It had a symbol of a sword marking it. There were a few more names, courtesy of the tales from the other survivors. Rachel’s Death, Trevor’s Bed, Mark’s Rest, Ron’s End — these were all marked with the symbol of a sword. Mr Rupert had luckily survived. ‘Pity,’ I whispered, and the man nodded.
‘Would you like to share with us anything, Professor?’ asked Ms Olsberg as we nearly reached the outskirts. I could spot the familiar spider lilies. We were near the dilapidated building of my class.
I was not keen on answering but my nature and their gazes finally prised what little they could away from me. ‘I must speak with the Dean before I say anything.’ I spoke in riddles.
‘You will have more than the Dean to answer to, Professor,’ Ms Olsberg said, turning around. I thought about Mr Neumic, but the woman’s green eyes seemed to carry a different meaning. They were gentle, unlike when we were hunting. ‘The students will ask too,’ she said. I pondered those words intensely. I questioned if I had any words to convince the little things full of curiosity and if I should prepare sentences only half-sensible.
I gave a sigh, and soon, we arrived at the harrowing building. A few uniformed men were awaiting us near the unkempt grounds. We walked in their direction, and while Mr Harris spoke, the rest of us mingled.
We had all seen death, but eerily enough none of us shied away from casual chatter. I had grieved not long ago, and they had lost their comrades. Yet, neither seemed lost in farewells. My grief was gradually subsiding. The emotions I could not make anything of disappeared one by one, and the incomplete thoughts of my new face began flooding in. Who was I and who had I become? Such horrifying thoughts took me. I had always feared this, and now it had become a reality. I looked around, finding a laughing Ms Nancy. I felt envious of her. She could laugh even after witnessing all that she did, while I remain in the misery of my own making. Change is such a strange thing. Some wait for it, while some fear. And I was, unfortunately, the latter.
It was nearly five o’clock, ten minutes after our arrival, when Mr Harris walked towards us, seemingly content with the brief report he submitted. He said to us without a second of wait, ‘We will disband for now. Tomorrow, each of us — including the Professor — will have to give our reports.’ I looked at him questioningly. ‘Just a simple recount of what happened today,’ the man answered. ‘That is all for now. You are all dismissed; Christine will remain.’ Ms Olsberg was surprised. ‘You will accompany the Professor.’
The woman nodded, but I protested. ‘No need,’ I said courteously. ‘I know my way.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ He looked back once. ‘But there are tidings I am made aware of.’ He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Your student has awoken.’
