Fairly Wicked Tales (6 page)

Before Armin could tell this to Eb, a squeal of hinges drew their attention. Something hard crashed into the floor behind the great cask, and a brightly colored green-yellow-and-red bird flew up. Eb ducked as it flew past and landed on the cage.

“So good,” the parrot said to them in singsong fashion. “So good so good. Do your will!”

“Who’s still alive up here?” a rough voice called.

“Eb and Arm, Grete,” Eb answered. “Not sure where Otto’s got to, or … damn the boy, I warned him!”

“Do your will!” called the parrot. Though the bird had been given to Armin by a traveler who had gotten it from a shop in Berlin and had grown tired of the novelty, he usually thought of it as his housekeeper’s. It only seemed to obey her.

“Shut up, Judda,” ordered Grete Koch, as she climbed into view. The old woman didn’t seem any worse for the morning, though he could hardly imagine how her visage might worsen. As it was, she appeared a pile of ragged, stitched-together cloths with a shriveled face and deep-sunk eyes. She shut the cellar door and considered Armin and Eb.

“Grete …” Armin started.

“The
noise
of the lot of you last night,” she snarled. “Judda’s already learned enough new words.”

“I thought he was a prophet,” Eb teased.

“He just repeats what’s said ‘round him,” Grete replied. She gave Eb a sharp look. “Which may well be prophecy to them who don’t listen to the words they’re saying.”

Eb barked another laugh, this one dismissive. “Just make us breakfast. Arm an’ I have a busy day ahead.”

Grete looked at Armin, who nodded. Though a guest, Eb had a habit of ordering Grete around as if he paid her to cook and clean, instead of Armin. She shuffled to the kettle, sniffed, then peered about the room at everything slopped on the walls and the floor.

“You should’ve saved some stew,” she sniffed.

“Do your will!” Judda squawked.

Armin tried to recall the night before in detail. He failed to summon any clear images, even now as he knew what must have happened. Nor could he fathom why he had been so sure he had a piece of his bride in his mouth on waking.

He thought of Viveka as he dressed, and how sweet it would be to finally be together. On more than one occasion, after her father had agreed to their union, he had tried to entice her to visit him. They had little time to talk in private and get to know one another, and her father had even encouraged her to go. She always gained a distant look in her eyes whenever he brought up the idea, though, as if the very idea of being alone in a house with him frightened her. No matter how he tried to convince her, she always made excuses.

Then, the day before, she finally assented. She would visit for a short while, only because he insisted. He went so far as to mark the trail with ashes, so she wouldn’t lose her way. All afternoon he waited, but she did not show.

No doubt, he decided, that was the reason he’d been so certain Viveka’s flesh had been in his mouth that morning, instead of a chunk from the stew. Her arrival had been on his mind all day long. The nightmare had used his longing and disappointment as fodder.

“Well,” grunted Eb, on seeing Armin in his clean clothes, “you’re about as presentable as you’re ever gonna get, I think. An’ you finally stopped looking like your ma just died.”

“Just had to consider a few things,” said Armin. He felt lighter than he had all morning, in good spirits at last. “What say we go?”

***

Hours later, in the shadow of the mill on the bank of the river, Armin and his bride sat at the most central of a collection of wooden tables overflowing with food and strong drink. Armin, whose face was growing numb from all the smiling he felt compelled to do, kissed Viveka again, to the loud cheers of all present.

She was lovely to him. Barely five feet tall with a thin frame that had drawn some comments about how she might not be able to bear sturdy children—talk her father urged him to ignore—she somehow managed to be more real to Armin than anyone else. Her eyes were the key, he decided—sharp green pools that drank in the light of the world. Her other charms, from her long blonde hair to her delicate cheeks to her slender fingers, were quite fetching, he had to admit. Without those eyes, though, he doubted he would have favored her so.

Her father waited for the noise around him to subside. While a strong man, he was not a loud one, and preferred to talk in something close to a murmur. With Viveka, he shared only the sharp eyes and a certain birdlike thinness of frame. His unkempt grey hair and ruddy cheeks made him seem like a scarecrow, though Armin kept the observation to himself.

“It is customary,” said Brandt Muller, “for all in the wedding party to tell stories at this time. Stories about how they know Armin and my daughter … and in their cases, stories of one another.” He gave Armin a wry glance. “I will admit I took some persuading to even consider this young man. She is the treasure of my life, and I would not have her with just anybody.”

“That’s … right,” said Eberhard, who lifted himself into a more-or-less seated position to make this observation. Armin, next to him, scented the liquor on his breath, and hoped when the storytelling got around to him, he would either be sleeping or unable to speak with clarity. He feared what tale might come out. “You’re … a good man. My Arm’s a lucky man. Hey? Hey!”

He hoisted his mug, and the assembled guests gleefully toasted whatever they thought Eb had said. Brandt spoke again.

“Perhaps you would be so good as to start, then.”

Armin let out an involuntary groan.

“Going back as far as I can recall,” Eb started, “this being at least a whole two weeks …” He paused while the assembled revelers laughed. “ … Arm and I were in town, doing some repair work, and I said to him, ‘Arm, how far you think I can spit?’”

It was far from the kind of story Armin thought his new father-in-law would approve of, though the miller listened and seemed to be as entertained as any of the villagers. Armin chewed his meat and thought about what he would say during his turn. He didn’t have Eb’s facility for making a few minutes foolery seem like the most hilarious time ever, and he doubted he should attempt anything profound. Likely, he thought, he would have to settle for a simple description of the first time he met Viveka.

Neither Otto nor Heidi was among Eb’s audience, a fact that bothered Armin. It was one thing for Otto to have gone off with the barmaid for a private tryst, but another for him to lose track of time and fail to show. At least, he hoped that was what happened—the possibility they had met some misfortune while alone in the woods was an idea which refused to go away.

He glanced at his bride, and realized she had become withdrawn. Her eyes were downcast, and her lips slowly moved, as if reciting a prayer. She clutched something tight with both hands.

For a moment, he thought her abashed at what she heard—a tale of a simple misunderstanding that had nearly gotten both him and Eb arrested—but concluded she entirely disregarded the story. It was as if she were trying to summon something from within herself. Perhaps, like he, she was trying to think of a story.

Then she opened her eyes, and those sharp green pools drank him in. He almost missed the tiny upward curl of the edge of her mouth.

The villagers applauded, and Armin realized Eb had finished. Brandt Muller waved his hands to urge quiet as the large man sat down.

“Thank you, Eberhard,” he said. “Now I know why you always hid while I asked around about Armin’s character.”

Armin laughed, and hoped he didn’t sound nervous.

“Now, who would like to speak next?” Brandt asked.

Several people murmured, but none volunteered. Armin again scrutinized Viveka, who now regarded the assembled wedding party with serene calm.

“Now, sweetheart,” said Armin, “do you know no story? Tell us something.”

Viveka gave him an inscrutable look. Something was within he had never seen before in her—a mixture of amusement, love … and cunning.

“I will tell you my dream,” she said.

Armin’s mouth went dry. He nodded.

“I walked alone in the wood,” Viveka continued, “on my way to visit you, my love. Though you had marked the trail with ashes, I had doubts as to how long they would last before the wind carried them off, so I marked my own way by casting peas and lentils to either side of me as I walked, so, if necessary, I’d have a trail of budded sprouts to follow back here.” She smiled and dropped her eyes. “Rather silly, I know, but is that not the way of dreams?”

Where Eb had played to the surrounding crowd, Viveka talked in a quiet tone, as if no one was present but the two of them. Despite this, her words filled his ears, pushing outside sounds away.

“Finally, I reached the darkest part of the forest,” she went on, “I came to a dismal house. An ugly and forlorn place, but I was frightened … so I went in.”

Armin opened his mouth to protest his house was not all that terrible, but she silenced him with a raised finger.

“Sweetheart,” she said, “the dream is not ended.”

Dumbly, he nodded.

“The house was empty, and seemed to me as if the walls had seen the last of their good days. The only living thing was the bird in the cage by the door … the beautiful parrot whose ability to speak of unseen things I have heard rumored. Do you know what it told me?”

He shook his head. He felt the color leaving his cheeks.

“It said, ‘Turn back, turn back, thou pretty bride, for within this house thou must not bide, for here do evil things betide.’“

Viveka rose from her chair as she spoke, her eyes never leaving Armin.

“Or perhaps it said something else,” she said. “Perhaps it only repeated some doggerel I spoke on a whim. What do you think, my love?”

Armin managed a tiny shake of his head.

“Finally I found the cellar,” she continued. “There, I met an old woman. So I asked her if my bridegroom lived in the house. She replied, ‘Ah, my child, if he is the carpenter who pays me to cook and clean, then yes.’“

Armin realized the silence outside her voice was no longer an illusion. The entire betrothal gathering, even Eb, had gone silent. They watched as Viveka leaned closer to Armin.

“I answered, ‘Grete, you are wrong. This is a house of cut-throats. My bridegroom does live here, but he invited me to his home for the sole purpose of killing, slicing, cooking, and eating me.’”

Armin started to protest, but stopped when Viveka placed a fingertip on his lips.

“Sweetheart,” she said, her voice taking the tone of a warning, “the dream is not ended.”

He tried to answer, or even nod, but failed.

“Grete was deeply distressed when I told her these things,” Viveka said, “She wanted to flee right away, but I told her it was folly. You and your cruel gang would be home soon. They would have her set a kettle of water on the cooking fire, and have me for their stew right then and there. I told her these things, and as I spoke, she came to know they were true.”

Armin regarded her other hand, still tightly clenched, and wondered what she held. Again, he struggled to speak, and failed.

“Grete had me hide behind the great cask. ‘When the robbers are asleep,’ she said, ‘we will escape. I have been waiting a long time for an opportunity.’ ”

Armin understood then that Viveka had made Grete believe it was so, changing far-reaching memories with her hypnotic power. For as she spoke, he stared even deeper into the wide green pools of her eyes, and thought, somehow, he saw that night there. Only it was not the inside of the house he saw, but the outside door, growing close.

“Then you came in,” said Viveka. “You, Eberhard, Otto, and that bitch Heidi. So full of wine you couldn’t stand without swaying. I crouched behind the cask and watched.”

In his mind’s eye, Armin entered the house, nearly tripping as Eb shoved him over the threshold. Heidi laughed loud, while Otto let the wine bottles land in the straw. Armin watched, vision lurching, as Heidi kissed Otto hard. Eb slapped the lad on his back before pulling Armin up into a roughly vertical position.

“Sweetheart,” Viveka said, her voice floating somewhere above the phantasmal sights that now consumed him, “the dream is not ended.”

Armin had the ill sensation of being a rider in his own body. Every move he made struck him as a move he willed and one that would have happened regardless of his will. He tried to stop when Heidi leaned back to him and offered her lips. He didn’t, and found Heidi tasted of ale, wine, and something else he found intoxicating.

“So I rose,” said Viveka, “and whispered words beneath your loud carousing. Though I persuaded my father you were of our kind, I later doubted. So, I had to learn for myself.”

The four drunkenly reeled through the room, barely avoiding upsetting the kettle. Armin heard whispers beneath everything. His senses further blurred into an ecstasy that threatened not only to unravel his thoughts but also his body.

“It is said strong drink loosens one’s judgment … but as regards some things, even a loosened judgment can be too strong. I whispered that night because I had to know … if yours could be overcome.”

Armin’s blurry vision coalesced, and he realized there was an axe in his right hand. Before him Heidi bled and screamed as Eb and Otto tore at her with knives and fingernails. He swung, striking her shoulder and cleaving through the bone.

“You became violent. She became dead. But sweetheart … the dream is not ended.”

He chopped again and again, reducing Heidi’s body to chunks. Howling, Otto threw a piece of her thigh at Eb. Eb ignored the missile as he fixated on pulling Heidi’s ring from her severed hand. Armin pulled the limb from him, threw it to the ground, and swung his axe at her fingers.

“You consumed the deepest of my whispers in the darkest of your thoughts. You experienced a
new
hunger.”

Armin flung pieces of Heidi toward the pot, not caring if he hit or missed. The scent of cooking meat soon filled the house, and Armin struggled to keep from plunging his hands into the water. Eb stomped about, searching for the finger with the ring. Otto cried.