Serpent Deeds

The air in the fields carried a light dampness, promising rain later that day. A young man, dusty haired and lean, straightened up and brushed soil from his knees. A mourning dove whistled in the nearby forest, and the early morning was still. Few were awake at this hour. The dirt was healthy and shielded many sprouting shoots, not yet burst in to the air. The young man was satisfied; the harvest had all the potential of a good one. A rooster crowed in the farmyard, making him start.

"Michael, you're out early, aren't you?" He looked towards the barn, where Silas was heading in to tend to the goats. The old man had hired Michael to work in the fields, as he was getting too far along in his years.

The young man smiled, and it was clear his boyhood wasn't too far behind him. "Just thought the sooner I started, the sooner I could return home." Silas raised his hand with amusement. A moment later, the old farmer walked towards him, a dark look in his eyes. "You haven't seen any wolves around out here, have you? Another goat's missin', and I don't know what else coulda picked them off…" Michael frowned, "No, sir. I'll keep my eyes open." Silas nodded and turned back to his chores.

"Say good morning to the wife from me, Silas." "We'll see you tonight, son. Good fortune to you!"

It was a good walk from Silas' farm and back to the central town. It was a time of solitude that Michael enjoyed. Today he was anxious to get back, however, and he lengthened his stride. Tonight, he was to be married. A nervous excitement cultivated in his stomach. His father had said he needn't go out to the farm today, but it calmed him. A rush of preparations would need attending to once he walked in his front door. He smiled as he thought of the busy morning his bride must be having. Poor Nora.

Nora, at that moment, was being roused by her mother. "Rise and shine, dearest. You've got a demanding day ahead of you! I've made you breakfast." The weaver, his watery eyes blinking blearily, poked his head in the door. "Ma'm, which tapestries need to be brought to the ceremony?" Madame Fairview owned a shop centered around the mastery of this little old man, Dale the weaver. Dale had taught Nora about the loom and threads from a very young age. She sat up and smiled at him, fair features soft with sleepiness. "Good morning, Dale." "Ah, good morning, Nora, and many wishes of happiness to my favorite pupil." He winked at her, and disappeared. Her mother sighed. "You wake up for that old codger and not your dear mother… Well, I suppose I should oversee the handling of those tapestries. Don't go back to sleep, hear me? Go and enjoy your breakfast while it's hot." She bustled out the door, and Nora flopped back on to her mattress.

Reposing for another moment or so, Nora resigned herself to wakefulness. She ate her fruit and porridge, preoccupied. Today was the day that would change her life. Of course, she was excited, and she loved Michael. But was she ready for this?

Her mother blessedly left her alone for a whole half an hour before ambushing her. "You have to get ready! The wedding is tonight! And there is so much to do…" And then a brush was being pulled through curly red locks, and almost immediately they were out in the street. Nora followed her mother from the house, and towards the center of town, where all the shops were located.

They picked up the dress, they checked up on the food preparations, called on her two aunts and a multitude of female cousins, and by noontime, Nora was practically sick from all the hurriedness. She needed to weave, something simple that would keep her fingers busy but let her mind free. She was glad to be able to return home for a brief respite before she would be driven to the little church.

It would be dusk soon. Nora sat at her loom in her ivory bride's dress, long red hair braided and pinned loosely. A few early spring blossoms had been tucked behind her ear by her youngest cousin. "You look beautiful." She looked up to see Michael standing beside the open door. She couldn't help but smile. "And don't you look dashing? But I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown." She got up and kissed him softly. "It's just a superstition. I needed to see your face today." He looked down at her, and he felt so certain about what they intended to do, so certain she was the one. She looked so unbelievably stunning in the sunlight, her blue eyes sparking with excitement. "I better go, the caravan will be here soon… My uncle will be wondering where I've gotten too. And I don't fancy being caught with the bride! I love you." She laughed at him. "I love you, Michael. Better skip out before my mother returns."

He left, and Nora was soon again besieged by her maternal guards. All preparations were being made to move her in to a small house near the forest, and her mother was near hysterics at the thought. "But, momma, I'm just across the town! It's not like we'll be in a different settlement…" A kindly aunt led her in to the kitchen. A few cousins exclaimed at the tapestry Nora was working on, and slowly trickled from the room.

The last to leave was Nora's favorite, a second cousin called Aggie. "Bet you'll be excited once this ceremony is over with, won't you?" Nora sighed. "You're right, I hate this rush…" Aggie giggled, blonde braid shaking gently. "That's not what I meant." Nora colored to match her rosy hair. "Agate!" Her mother called from somewhere near the front of the house. "I'll leave you to ponder all those important thoughts circling you're scarlet head," Aggie smiled and shut the door behind her, and Nora sat down to finish another few rows in her tapestry.

The shutter in the back facing window snapped open with a splinter. Nora looked up from her weaving, startled. There was someone standing outside the open window. She squinted, but couldn't make them out against the setting sun. "Michael? I thought you'd gone." The tall figure didn't speak. She got up and started towards the door, even as the delicate hairs on her arms prickled. "What do you want?" No sound.

Michael gazed distractedly out at the darkening sky. Something troubled his mind, tickling with barbed feathers. With a sigh he turned away from the ornate window, and surveyed the beautifully decorated chapel. All of the guests, besides the bride's train, were assembled and milling about with a feverish joviality. His aunts were disciplining the twins. The farmer Silas and his wife were chatting with a jewel merchant and the baker. Michael's great-uncle was grumbling to his parents.

Uncle Dawlish was among the oldest men in the village, yet he often seemed half his age. His icy blue gaze was a much harsher version of Michael's own eyes. They flashed about, like restless demons. "I don't like this Daniel. A wedding on the fifteenth of March? It doesn't bode well to start a union with the Ides." Michael's mother shushed him gently. The grizzled old man looked around with suspicion.

Michael decided he couldn't take any more old people congratulating him and saying, surely Nora would be a lovely wife, a wonderful mother. He agreed with them of course, only he wasn't very social by nature, and nerves were gripping him. He ducked out to the front porch that spilled out on to the main street. A chilly breeze blew inside his dark navy jacket, making chills run through his bones. The ruckus issuing from inside the church grew increasingly jittery. The hour was becoming late. Where was the caravan? The whole bridal party was supposed to be here by now. Michael smiled, thinking of the fuss Nora's mother must be making over last minute details. But still his mind was uneasy.

Horses snorted in the distance, and he relaxed a little. Soon, Nora would be here, and they would be married. Michael went inside so as to be out of the way when his bride arrived. His father came to stand by him, a stocky man with a blonde beard shot through with grey. A tough figure, but his appearance was now softened by his oddly subdued and solemn mood. He looked like he wanted to speak. Michael looked at him questioningly. "Son, I just want to say…"

A great clamor arose from the abbey doors. Several hysterical-looking women entered, fine garments in disarray. "What happened?" Michael turned from his father, worry gnawing at his stomach. Aggie, red eyed and frantic, emerged from the group. "Michael! We're so sorry… Nora…" She looked tortured. "Nora's gone!" She burst in to sobs.

A silence fell upon the assembly. Michael's mother walked over to Aggie and held her. "What else do you know?" Silas looked to a middle aged woman, who ran a book store. She looked up, twisting her hands. "Nothing. We had searched the house and street from end to end, calling. Agate last saw her at her loom. The door was open, and there seemed to be no struggles."

Michael felt everybody's eyes on him. Something cold and hard was forming inside him, chilling his very soul with some twisted emotion he couldn't name. In a steady voice, he said, "I have to go find her." At this moment, Uncle Dawlish spoke up in his gravelly voice. "Was last Friday a full moon?" The wedding party mumbled amongst themselves. The fishmonger's wife, a self-proclaimed hedgewitch, gasped, "That it was, Dawlish. And the thirteenth of the month, to make it worse." Uncle Dawlish snarled wolfishly. "What a day for evil magicks." Michael looked over at Silas, and told Dawlish, "There were a few missing goats up at Silas' farmyard." Even skeptics fell silent as the old man cursed. His fingers formed the sign against darkness. He was mimicked by a few nervous guests. Finally he spoke. "My boy, your betrothed has been captured by some demon."

Nora regained consciousness, blinking and confused. It was dark, and she could barely see anything, save for something she took to be a statue about ten feet to her right. Everything else was a mystery, except for the closed-in feeling of being underground. There was pressure at her wrists and ankles, and she supposed that she was chained. A sour panic crawled up her throat and she fought the impulse to scream. Where was she?

A dark voice bloomed out of the foreboding shadow. "You are awake?" It scratched like bones through dry grass, yet was deep and rich at the same time. Nora felt a shuddery feeling in her abdomen that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but she was more afraid than she had been in her whole life. "Who are you?" Laughter greeted her words. "Who I am has been lost to you mortals for ages. But soon, I shall remind them. My realm will rise once more to power over your naïve race." The figure she had taken for a statue moved, advancing towards Nora. With it came a smell. It was the smell of corroded metal, of decaying flesh and old graves. When she scented it, something in her snapped. The poor girl screamed, and writhed in her bonds. The figure laughed to itself.