The Ballad of Aramei (26 page)

“I have a terrible feeling about the fires, Father,” she said on that day. “Nightmares attack my sleep every night. You must warn the people!
Please
, Father!”

And he did because he felt it, too.

While most of the villagers in the beginning let themselves believe this strange unknown war that had nothing to do with the Turks would pass them by, Aramei’s father knew it might not. And so after a two hour debate, it became unanimous that the village must protect itself.

Aramei and Filipa have been sleeping huddled together on a bed in Filipa’s room since that night.

“Filipa,” Aramei whispers lying next to her, “I have to tell you something.”

Filipa rises to sit upright on the bed. “What is it?”

Aramei lifts from the bed, too, and pulls her thick robe tight around her to keep in the warmth. She gazes toward the window where she can see a single fire, far off in the distance, dancing victoriously against the sky. But at the last minute, Aramei decides against confiding in her sister. It never goes the way she hopes it will and if Filipa knew anything about Viktor’s murder, she would be in as much trouble as Aramei. Guilty by association.

She lets out her breath and lies against the cot, staring up at the low wooden ceiling.

“I’m just afraid,” she says; her voice distant.

“So am I, sissa. So am I.”

They lie together, curled against one another’s body as the night falls into an eerie, silent darkness. A howling unlike any they have ever heard before carries on the bitter winter air. But both of them are too afraid to speak of it, neither of them willing to admit they heard it because it truly sounds more monstrous than natural.

They tremble and shake against each other.

Silently, Aramei cries into her pillow. But she doesn’t cry because she’s afraid. She cries because she killed a man.

Finally, after hours of lying awake, the sisters fall asleep, but Aramei’s sleep remains tumultuous throughout the night, her dreams rife with horrifying images of Viktor’s face.  She wakes with a start, sweat soaking her cotton gown and pillow. She presses her hand against her breast and waits for her heartbeat to settle. But soon she realizes that it wasn’t a nightmare that had woken her. The low mooing of the cow in the barn sounds frightened and the sheep are…silent. Aramei looks over at Filipa lying next to her. Filipa is out cold, sleeping on her back with her mouth hung open. Carefully, Aramei crawls out of the bed and slips her feet down inside her boots. She takes Filipa’s heavy fur coat hanging on the back of the door and wraps herself inside of it, pushing the hood over her head.

Her father is passed out on the chair in the front room; a low fire burns behind the hearth in the fireplace, but it needs more wood; it’ll burn out soon. As Aramei goes toward the front door, she stops when she stands in front of it, placing her outstretched hand upon the wood. Slowly she pushes it open after sliding the lock away with her other hand and the wind licks at the flames in the fireplace as it escapes into the room.

Her father stirs, but doesn’t wake up and Aramei slips outside into the cold night and makes her way to the barn. The snow crunches underfoot as she draws closer and it and the cow are the only sounds that she can hear.

The barn door is open.

Like the house, the back portion of the barn had been boarded up leaving only one way in and out, but the barn door swings unevenly as if it had been knocked off one hinge. It makes absolutely no sound as it swings back and forth in the mild wind.

Aramei spots one sheep moving across the land about fifty feet from the barn and she expects that the rest of them have also gotten out. She hurries her steps through the thick snow and enters the barn. Something doesn’t feel right. The cow is agitated, constantly bumping her hind against the wood guard across her enclosure. The three goats also appear more agitated than usual, but they aren’t putting up as much of a fight to get out. Aramei approaches the cow and reaches her hands over the top rail, patting it on the hind. “It’s okay, girl. It’s okay.” The cow moos and smells god awful, especially with its back end facing her.

As Aramei looks away from the cow, she catches movement in the back of the barn from the corner of her eye. Peering further into the bluish-black darkness, puffs of breath coil up from behind Vela’s old stable and disappear into the air. Aramei’s breath catches and her hand springs to her chest, but she calms down once she realizes that it’s probably one of the sheep. And she approaches it, taking small, cautionary steps as though something in the back of her mind is warning her to stay away.

She pushes open the stable door and her entire body locks up in fear when she sees the giant beast lying bloodied on the barn floor surrounded by hay and the remains of one sheep.

She stumbles backward and falls over a wooden tool crate, cutting her forearm on something she can’t bear to investigate. Her heart hammers inside her chest. Her breath comes out in rapid, heaving puffs of hot air swirling amid the frigid cold through her gently parted lips. Her arm stings from the cut, but she’s too afraid and mesmerized to look away from the black beast-like creature staring back at her with dark predatory eyes.

“
Father
…,” she tries to shout out, but it comes out raspy and weak and dry. “
Filipa
….”

The beast, three times the size of her and twice her height, groans and growls as it tries to adjust its position. This is when Aramei notices the hilts of three swords protruding from its chest that should’ve been obvious before if she weren’t so mesmerized by its massive head. The beast moans in pain; blood has soaked up so much within its black fur that it looks drenched and heavy and sticky. Six-inch razor-sharp claws jut out from each of its ten massive fingers.

If Filipa were here, Aramei would already have been dragged right out of the barn with Filipa’s screams piercing the air for miles. Filipa was the sensible one, but Aramei, she had always been the curious one.

The beast’s left eye catches Aramei and for a split second the lid blinks over it. It raises its head carefully, revealing the other eye, which is also bleeding profusely as a great gash has been cut across the corner and along the bone toward the bottom of its pointy, hairy ear. It grunts suddenly and Aramei jumps in reaction to the frightening sound.

Its head falls back to one side as though it can’t bear to hold it up any longer.

Aramei takes a deep, concentrated breath, pushing down her fear and moves forward toward it, taking small, cautious steps. Her small fingers are clutched around the opening of Filipa’s long-coat and her soft, pale face peeks out from underneath the furry hood; wisps of her light hair blow gently across the bridge of her nose when a little breeze makes its way inside the shelter of the barn.

She stops about eight feet from the beast and crouches low to the hay-covered floor. And all the seconds that it takes her to go into a full crouch, Aramei’s curious, childlike eyes scan over every massive inch of this strange creature, every frightening feature from its tall animal, yet human-like hind legs to the enormity of its snout where a set of razor-sharp teeth are visible.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she whispers as softly as the wind coming through the roof. “You’re one of the Black Beasts that live in the mountains.”

The beast’s glistening dark eyes move over her as it tries to adjust its head to better see her. Aramei can sense right away that it’s aware she had spoken to it. Its colossal chest moves slow and unsteadily as it struggles for breaths.

Aramei moves closer.

Her perilous actions are part curiosity, part vulnerability, but most of all determination. Maybe now, once and for all, she will know that what her mother said happened to her was true.

Her hand emerges slowly from the sleeve of her coat as she reaches out to touch the beast’s foot. She pauses inches from it, waiting, searching its eyes for any sign that might cause her to stop, but sees none. And then she rests her fingers gently within the beast’s black fur. Her whole body shakes uncontrollably beneath the coat; the blood pumps through her veins so fast and so hard that she can feel it in the tips of her fingers and hear it walloping in her ears.

The beast’s black eyes roll over to search her; hot, visible breath emits from its nostrils sometimes followed by small shuddering noises that no longer seem to be any cause for alarm and so Aramei ignores it. A wounded creature of any kind can makes noises like that and she can tell the difference between those of warning and those of pain.

She strokes the beast’s foot, splitting her fingers through its long, coarse fur.

“I will help you,” she says gently, “but you will probably die.” She moves closer, now crouched at level with its knees and she knows she can’t go back now. She is fully in its reach. All the beast would have to do is reach out its massive arms and grab her. But she remains calm and continues to talk to it, showing it her most prominent quality: compassion.

Aramei reaches out her hand now to touch its arm and when she sees that it hasn’t rejected her, she runs her hand through the fur around its elbow and then downward over the solid muscles and to its hand. She never takes her eyes off its eyes and it follows hers intently. Briefly, she looks over at the sheep’s head lying severed from the missing body, but she doesn’t lose focus on the beast. Her hand now moves to one of the sword hilts.

“How can you still be alive?” she gasps quietly, carefully running her fingers along the intricate design that had been expertly carved into the silver. She sees that none of the swords have hit its heart, if in fact, its heart is in the same general spot as hers.

Her breath comes out in a long shudder, both from the cold and from the moment.

“I have to get the salve,” she says, carefully rising to her feet.

She looks down at the beast, which has not once taken its gaze off her, and she shakes her head sadly. She knows in her heart that there’s no possible way that this creature is going to live through the night. But she wants to help it die peacefully if she can.

She leaves the beast lying in the barn and comes back minutes later after rummaging quietly through the house for medicinal salve, clean rags for bandages and a sewing needle and twine and a small jug of clean water. The beast is lying in the same unmoving position as it was when she left. She goes to her knees fully this time, kneeling next to its body. And she stops and places her hand on its giant heaving chest, feeling the intense heat coming off its body in waves. Its heartbeat is unexpectedly measured and calm, but when it does beat it beats with the force of a fist thrusting from the inside, trying to force its way through the chest cavity.

Aramei touches the first hilt and sees that she’s going to need to stand upright in order to pull it from its chest.

“I’m going to pull them out,” she says with care and caution in her voice and then she rises into a stand. Wrapping both hands around the first hilt, she sucks in a breath and holds it there, shutting her eyes momentarily as if to prepare her body for what she’s about to do. She purses her lips and opens her eyes, meeting the beast’s gaze once more just to be certain and then she pulls. A long, agonizing growl rumbles through its body as the blade slides from its flesh. Aramei places the sword on the hay next to her and holds both hands over the open wound; blood pours from the opening, running thickly through all of her fingers. And as much as it is excruciatingly painful, the beast never loses focus; it never takes its eyes from her.

When Aramei feels it’s okay to continue, she removes the last two swords. By the time she’s done, she’s already had to remove her coat and her gown is covered in blood. She cleans its wounds first with the water, washing away the dirt and clearing a path through the fur to expose the beast’s thick, dark skin underneath. She continuously talks to it as she sews the wounds, hoping to ease its mind, wondering all the while if it can understand anything that she’s saying. And always afraid it might turn on her kindness and kill her, but her need to help this creature is stronger than her need to flee from it.

“I think my mother was hurt by one of your kind,” she says as she carefully slides the needle through its thick skin. “But she wasn’t killed by it. She died in bed, staring up at me. She wasn’t killed like Vela, or the sheep.” Her eyes move over to the sheep’s head several feet away to indicate it. “And you haven’t hurt me yet.” She’s still trying to convince herself of her own safety as much as she is trying to comfort the creature.

As she tends to its wounds, the beast begins to show signs of calming. Clearly, it’s still in great pain, but its body doesn’t struggle against its breath as much and something in its eyes appears to Aramei, accepting and even grateful. The eyes can reveal everything about one’s soul and Aramei can see that she’s in little danger in the company of this beast, if any danger at all.

She stays with it just until dawn, talking to it and telling it everything about her life. But she finds herself curious as to how or why she could feel so comfortable and safe with this creature. Why did it feel so natural to tell it all of the things she told it? And the entire time, it listened intently to her soft, melodious voice. It understood her. She could feel this and she knew this because she saw it in its eyes.

For the next three days, Aramei insisted that she take on Filipa’s chores, which involved cleaning out the stables and feeding the livestock.

“Let me do it, sissa,” she said to Filipa on the first day. “I want to do for you as you have done for me. You can do the cooking this week if you’d like.”

Filipa always preferred the house chores as opposed to the barn and outside chores, so it was easy to keep Filipa out of the barn. Her father rarely went into the barn except to get the horse for travel, but now that there was no horse, it was easy to keep him out as well. He was too busy with the other men in the village as they scoured the valley by day, looking for signs that the war was coming closer and setting traps for the wolves. Aramei worked double-time, spending hours out of the next few days inside the barn tending to the beast. And to her astonishment, instead of dying, the beast quickly began to heal.