The Song of Gaál - Eleven

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Eleven ….......

Sotete Castle sat high on a rocky hill, its barren grounds covered with low, clinging weeds and its soil barely able to sustain the life of the kitchen garden. Pine trees thrived and surrounded the far side of the castle shedding their acidic needles that further inhibited plant growth. The shadows cast from the tall trees kept the back of the castle in near dark through the day. At night, the moon at its highest fought with the winds to make a path through the tall pines for its light to reach the dark stone walls. The moon seldom won the battle.

The winds blew mournfully through the old evergreen trees as the moon tried to reach the ground, chasing whirl-of-winds around the dark, grey castle. A deep coldness raced down the mountain and wailed against the outer walls of the castle, snaking along the passes and into Cassava's bones. Despite the discomfort, Cassava remained still as stone, watching the low lights in the castle from his vantage in a tree. 

The trees sang sadly to him, their bare limbs rubbing melancholy dirges, crying for the lost summer, while the evergreens on the hillside sheltered themselves from the snows. Cassava moved not a muscle. He suffered the cold winds and the cramped position, watching closely for the lights in the kitchen to be doused. He dared not glance to the windows high above the ground. He did not want his eyes to fall upon Mistress at all. The thought of Malika sent ghostly chills across his neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver.

After what seemed an eternity, the window went black but for one faint, bobbing glow that Cassava knew had to be the servant Ursula, walking to the stair with a candle. He had no feeling or thought for Ursula. The thin, blonde woman always watched impassively when any of the children in the castle were irrationally scolded, teased or struck by Master or Mistress. Often times Ursula would continue mending, cooking or cleaning without a glance to the child being punished. She showed emotion only once that he witnessed, the day almost three years prior when Malika ripped Ursula's newborn infant from her arms. Shaking off memory, Cassava counted to one hundred and slowly stretched out his limbs, forcing the blood to circulate before climbing to the ground. With barely the whisper of sound, he reached the hard winter ground and moved to the kitchen door.

He tested the latch before slipping his long knife between door and frame. Gently lifting the lock hook, he eased the door open and let himself in. 

Assaulted by a rush of emotion, Cassava stood with his back against the wall in the dark kitchen, his heart pounding against his chest. The smell of roasted food and fresh produce evoked the memory of Ursula chopping onions, Jazsef the stable master speaking with Malek, the stableboy, and of little blonde haired Beata, filling the soup pot with water. Shaking off the ghosts, Cassava surveyed the room. He had a purpose here tonight. He could not let anything muddle his brain.

The low fire in the cook stove to his left cast short, tortured shadows along the pantry and the walls. The embers in the fireplace glowed faintly red, creating the appearance of blood spilled along the wooden floor to his right. Closing his eyes, Cassava took three deep breaths, slowly exhaling each, willing himself to steady his nerves and reach the place within himself that housed no thoughts. He had to complete the task at hand and nothing more, silently entering, and silently leaving. He listened to the castle around him. Hearing no sounds from within the thick stone walls, he crouched low to the ground, making his way to the kitchen stair that would take him up where he needed to be.

Cassava climbed the stone stair, emerging from the stairwell into a small hall. His eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the candle in the sconce on the wall. His eyes immediately pulled to the door on his left. His arm moved on its own accord and gripped his wrist, rubbing until he pinched his skin on the dark leather bracer he wore. He pinched his hand sharply while looking at the door that led to Mistress' chambers. Burning anger and the taste of fear welled up in his throat. He pinched his hand harder to overcome the feeling, more angry at himself for not having his emotions under the control he believed he was capable of. He listened attentively for any sounds from the closed doors within the hall. 

Slowly moving along the wall, he passed Malika's chamber door and slid toward the end of the hall. Again he paused to listen, to be certain the castle slept, before reaching his hand to the latch of the door at the end of the hall. Pressing the rocker with extreme caution, Cassava released the latch, easing the door open. Slipping into the room, he closed the door behind him and stood still, surveying his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

His eyes moved along the room's perimeter, falling upon a cradle near the inside wall. He moved to the cradle and peered down at the small girl sleeping soundly. She was a slight baby with pale skin and dark hair. When last he saw her, she had no hair. He gauged her weight to be maybe two stones. He could not discern her features with her face shadowed by the woolen blanket that partially covered her. Cassava reached into his belt pouch for the flask and the cloth Kisertet gave to him. Following Kisertet's instruction, Cassava opened the flask with his teeth and covered the top with the cloth, upending the flask to wet the cloth with the liquid contents. Holding his breath, he replaced the top of the flask and dropped it into his belt pouch. He moved to the baby and gently covered her face with the cloth, pressing slightly against her nose and mouth, counting twenty breaths. Satisfied that movement would not wake her now, Cassava took the baby in his arms, wrapping her woolen blanket closely around her, covering her head. Moving silently, he reopened the door slowly, listening for sounds within the castle. Satisfied that the castle still slept around him, he moved to the stair, descended the stair, crept through the kitchen with its fire shadows dancing, and slipped outside to the cold, wintry air. The baby did not stir.