- Feb 3, 2024
- LitBits
- 0
New blog post by Pamela Jo – discussions in this thread, please
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“The werewolf’s bride is late.” The words echoing in my head were spoken by a black horse. With a toss of its mane, the horse became a giant bird with wings like grey shrouds. The thing’s eyes remained yellow. As drunkard’s piss, granddad would say.
A woman held up an admonishing finger, her face hidden from me. “Doubt not, Pooka. The bride hastens to her wedding night.”
Who spoke? Did I know them?
“My daughter awaits her maid of honour. The child is not yet one of us. Until this month she was too young.” An arm stretched upwards towards the round full moon glowing golden above.
“Ah, a first communion.” The Pooka’s laugh hurt my ears. “Or perhaps the last?”
The pines standing around have bark growing in a pattern of pointed stars. The same as the quilt my sister gave me last month for my 16th birthday. Sewn by her own hand. The tops of branches disappear into darkness above me, entangled like hands in prayer.
I willed myself to stay asleep. I liked this dream.
The tzing of locusts stilled. The way words drawn on a window pane reappear with a warm breath, mists swirled, became solid. Beak, jowl, hoof, and paw, strange creatures formed out of dark air shuffling right or left.
An aisle formed down the centre of the clearing. Suddenly ears pricked, nostrils sniffed. All turned to observe eyes glowing in the distant darkness
The first pair were silver-grey, like bullets. The next red as embers. The final eyes were ill matched. One green as corpse light, the other blue as winter ice. Whatever approached slipped closer, like will-o’-the-wisps on All Hallows’ Eve.
Three large black wolves appeared to murmurs of “He’s arrived. They’re here.” With the dignity of kings, the groom and his attendants padded between the assembled congregation and took their place under a flowering hawthorn canopy. Solemn and handsome they awaited she who would marry the cursed.
Every muscle tensed, ears cocked, the largest wolf smelled for the scent of his love. Who was she? A fairy with ancient strength who need not fear this husband? Maybe something even stranger? She’d have goats’ feet, striking snakes for hair, a unicorn’s violet eyes?
A wheedling fiddle took up a tune. I felt the groom’s longing as he searched for the first glimpse of his beloved.
A figure veiled in crimson blossoms stepped into view. Her lips were red as a gashed throat. Shining ink-black hair fell curling to her naked ankles.
The blue eye in the great wolf’s head lit with happiness. The green eye burned with desire. The bride’s arm raised in my direction. Her finger beckoned.
“Come, sweetheart.”
I tried to move. But couldn’t.
I began to not like this dream.
My body floated like an angel’s above the wedding. Fierce eyes looked up at me with curiosity. Expectation. Hunger.
It was my sister Elaine who called my name. The child in me wanted to run to her as I had always done. The 16-year-old knew to be afraid.
“It is time, little one. Hecate, our goddess of the moon and crossroads who comes and goes to heaven and hell as she wills calls you.” My sister held her arms out to me. “Become one of us.”
“Yes.” The voice was someone I loved, yet changed. The woman turned so I could see her. “Choose your destiny.”
My mother.
“Embrace thy purpose tonight. Join the circle. Drink from the cup.” She offered a goblet full of dark red liquid.
Elaine’s long fingers rested intimately on the shoulder of her groom. The moon drenched them in silvery light. A sharp tooth dripped saliva. It flashed like a spark thrown from a fire.
What If I refused? Tonight would I sleep in the cold ground?
The macabre beauty of this night no longer pleased me. My fingers cut half-moons into the softness of my palm.
Blood fell to the ground, quickening the nostrils of the wolves. The red-eyed one’s tongue lolled from his mouth with an insolent grin.
Silence stretched on and on like a final gasp of breath until there was nothing left of the life that had been mine.
“Mother dear,” I whispered, “Whoever thou art, so must I be. Tell me what I must do so that I may dance at my sister’s wedding.”
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Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
For more posts by Pamela Jo click here In The Pines – Litopia
---
“The werewolf’s bride is late.” The words echoing in my head were spoken by a black horse. With a toss of its mane, the horse became a giant bird with wings like grey shrouds. The thing’s eyes remained yellow. As drunkard’s piss, granddad would say.
A woman held up an admonishing finger, her face hidden from me. “Doubt not, Pooka. The bride hastens to her wedding night.”
Who spoke? Did I know them?
“My daughter awaits her maid of honour. The child is not yet one of us. Until this month she was too young.” An arm stretched upwards towards the round full moon glowing golden above.
“Ah, a first communion.” The Pooka’s laugh hurt my ears. “Or perhaps the last?”
The pines standing around have bark growing in a pattern of pointed stars. The same as the quilt my sister gave me last month for my 16th birthday. Sewn by her own hand. The tops of branches disappear into darkness above me, entangled like hands in prayer.
I willed myself to stay asleep. I liked this dream.
The tzing of locusts stilled. The way words drawn on a window pane reappear with a warm breath, mists swirled, became solid. Beak, jowl, hoof, and paw, strange creatures formed out of dark air shuffling right or left.
An aisle formed down the centre of the clearing. Suddenly ears pricked, nostrils sniffed. All turned to observe eyes glowing in the distant darkness
The first pair were silver-grey, like bullets. The next red as embers. The final eyes were ill matched. One green as corpse light, the other blue as winter ice. Whatever approached slipped closer, like will-o’-the-wisps on All Hallows’ Eve.
Three large black wolves appeared to murmurs of “He’s arrived. They’re here.” With the dignity of kings, the groom and his attendants padded between the assembled congregation and took their place under a flowering hawthorn canopy. Solemn and handsome they awaited she who would marry the cursed.
Every muscle tensed, ears cocked, the largest wolf smelled for the scent of his love. Who was she? A fairy with ancient strength who need not fear this husband? Maybe something even stranger? She’d have goats’ feet, striking snakes for hair, a unicorn’s violet eyes?
A wheedling fiddle took up a tune. I felt the groom’s longing as he searched for the first glimpse of his beloved.
A figure veiled in crimson blossoms stepped into view. Her lips were red as a gashed throat. Shining ink-black hair fell curling to her naked ankles.
The blue eye in the great wolf’s head lit with happiness. The green eye burned with desire. The bride’s arm raised in my direction. Her finger beckoned.
“Come, sweetheart.”
I tried to move. But couldn’t.
I began to not like this dream.
My body floated like an angel’s above the wedding. Fierce eyes looked up at me with curiosity. Expectation. Hunger.
It was my sister Elaine who called my name. The child in me wanted to run to her as I had always done. The 16-year-old knew to be afraid.
“It is time, little one. Hecate, our goddess of the moon and crossroads who comes and goes to heaven and hell as she wills calls you.” My sister held her arms out to me. “Become one of us.”
“Yes.” The voice was someone I loved, yet changed. The woman turned so I could see her. “Choose your destiny.”
My mother.
“Embrace thy purpose tonight. Join the circle. Drink from the cup.” She offered a goblet full of dark red liquid.
Elaine’s long fingers rested intimately on the shoulder of her groom. The moon drenched them in silvery light. A sharp tooth dripped saliva. It flashed like a spark thrown from a fire.
What If I refused? Tonight would I sleep in the cold ground?
The macabre beauty of this night no longer pleased me. My fingers cut half-moons into the softness of my palm.
Blood fell to the ground, quickening the nostrils of the wolves. The red-eyed one’s tongue lolled from his mouth with an insolent grin.
Silence stretched on and on like a final gasp of breath until there was nothing left of the life that had been mine.
“Mother dear,” I whispered, “Whoever thou art, so must I be. Tell me what I must do so that I may dance at my sister’s wedding.”
---
Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
For more posts by Pamela Jo click here In The Pines – Litopia
