HOW THE SHADOWS FEAST
i. the cursed girl in the convent

the first night

❅          ❅          ❅

SASKIA VRANA WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

She knew it the second she heard the raspy voice behind her in the middle of the night, like claws on shingles. As though it had never been used to produce words. And those it spoke were not meant to be heard.

Since she had arrived at the village of Schwarzhain, situated in the middle of a valley carved out of the Winter Mountains as if from an angry god's hand like a weak beating heart, Saskia had worshipped the goddess of light and darkness every day.

With each needle's stitch.
With each bright fabric woven.
With each prayer softly spoken and offering brought at the altar of the Bright Mother, where her effigy stood arms spread over the world.

Still, Saskia had only known her darkness and had yet to see her light.

Though in the candle-lit halls of the convent one never was alone, there was no life lonelier than that of the white-veiled daughters of Perhta. The thick walls kept the winter locked outside, only to allow a different kind of cold to slip through stones and under rough covers. It slowly froze the soul.

There was no fire tolerated besides the holy one they nurtured day and night.

Saskia Vrana felt herself wither away like a flower plucked before it was allowed to bloom.

She wasn't so much concerned with the beauty it had taken away—the rosy color of her cheeks faded, the soft curves of her face and body cut sharper by hunger's and seriousness' blade, the blonde hair robbed of its warm glow—as here it did not mean anything.
But the slow death of her mind and soul Saskia mourned.

Now the young princess was once again kneeling in front of the altar in the chapel, the cold of the stone seeping through her white dress. However, her veil was drawn back, and her eyes met those of the statue boldly, unmasking the false obedience of her whispered prayers.

The words her lips formed did not reach her heart. Where once there had been kindness, now moldering anger grew.

Over one year had passed since she arrived at this convent in the middle of the Winter Mountains' crests that mercilessly cut through lands, separating and delimitating princedoms with little regard for the desires of powerful men.

Her father had told her it was for her own good. This holy house would crown a future bride with the prestigious glow of piousness. However, Saskia knew the knez had lied. He had sent her here out of shame and fear, for she could see the darkness breathe.

It started harmlessly: The household spirit had appeared to her when she was three.

Despite it being a well-loved protector, its appearance being a good sign perhaps, there lay something unsettling in seeing things that should not be seen, discovering what did not want to be discovered by the world.

But Saskia saw the little creature again and again. She talked to it when bringing the offerings as she did with the spirits in the trees, and the family's happiness turned into concern.

When, besides the friendly deities, she happened to see ghosts and demons, everyone was afraid.

From this convent, the prince hoped to get his unfortunate daughter back healed from this malady and clean—or, if need be, not at all. A life spent in the sacred air of a convent was not the worst fate for a noblewoman. It was tradition for the tenth daughter to leave home, after all.

Perhaps it had been her own fault, too. Didn't she cry out when the shadows crawled into her room at night? When she heard them wail in the hallways?
How should Saskia have known then—just a little girl—that once bound by holy symbols to stay outside, she would miss their lifeless touch?

At least, she preferred them to those of the beating birch that became her best teacher here quickly.

"You are praying, daughter?" a familiar voice asked, violently disrupting the serenity of the chapel.

"Yes, Mother Gesa."

"For these Nights of Smoke to be safe?"

"No."

Saskia had learned to fear the darkest nights as a child when she first saw creatures crawling out of the dark and scratching at the windows, and heard the whips of the Wild Hunt crack afar. Today all screams from the top of her lungs had been released, and all the tears of panic shed.

After all, Saskia knew that, inside these walls, following the sacred rules over which the Order of Wolves carefully watched, nothing could happen to her. Not even in a place like Schwarzhain, a wilderness more reigned by spirits and gods than humans.

These rules were simple enough: Close the windows and doors; seal them with white chalk and burning candles. Light the yard. Do not look out into the darkness. Bring the Bright Mother your offerings. And never dare to leave the convent at night.

So, why pray for their safety?

"Searching for answers, then?" Mother Gesa asked.

"Yes." Saskia rose, putting the thin fabric of her veil back in its rightful place, where it softened the scornful look on her face.

And blessed be this light to thee, she whispered dutiful as she lit one of the candles and placed it in the great candelabrum where the ones of her sisters flickered.

"And found them?"

Finally, Saskia turned to the older woman, dressed in a black robe to denote her status and her face uncovered. The veil only fell down over her brown hair, enwrought with silvery grey as was her vestment with gold.

"No."

"What question did you pose?"

"Why should we call her Bright Mother if she is the mistress of the dark, too? And why, if she is that potent, doesn't free me from this horrible place?"

It was not the goddess Saskia loathed but those who spoke in her name.

The slap Mother Gesa responded with made her cheek flush with embarrassment and pain.
"Such impertinence! Perhta's light is only granted to those praising her; her enemies she blinds with it. All these months inside sacred walls, yet you know nothing. Did serving not teach you anything, foolish child?"

Saskia defiantly lifted her chin, however childish it was, and prepared herself for the punishment she was to face. "Besides being chastised for speaking the truth? No, nothing."

"You still think your noble blood is of any worth here." Mother Gesa simply shook her head, her face as serene as the Bright Mother's at the altar. Instead of raising them against Saskia again, her hands straightened the black robe. "However, it seems as if your prayers have been answered."

"How is that?" Saskia asked, frowning.

"Your father wishes for you to leave the convent." For a moment, the high priestess herself seemed more relieved about this message than Saskia herself, whose anticipation quickly mingled with bitter guilt.

What will become of Katinka then? Could she possibly take the only true ray of light at this place with her? Or would she be doomed to be left behind?

"When will he arrive?"

"He won't. It's your betrothed who will come for you."

"Betrothed?"
Saskia's heart sank.

A barely visible smile curled the priestess' pale lips as she answered. "Who else? If the convent cannot weed out that devilish darkness that clings to you, perhaps marriage will. Prince Rogdai will arrive soon."

Marriage, Mother Gesa called it, but all Saskia could hear was "selling"—from one prison to a different one.
Prince Vrana had found her stay at the convent fruitless, undoubtedly told by the high priestess Mother Gesa herself about her behavior, and now thought giving her to the very first respectable bidder, some stranger, would solve his problems.

And as it had been before, in the face of a new cage the old one, however cruel and small, appeared like home all of a sudden.

Saskia shook her head and swallowed every bit of bile that the following words made scrape in her throat. "No, Mother, please. Let me stay here and become a better daughter of Perhta. I will not disappoint you again."

Just please—please—don't sell me like a broodmare to a stranger.

All petulance gone, she let herself sink on her knees, clasping the priestess' robe like a lost child. However, Gesa was not the kind of mother to show mercy to a desperate daughter.

Swiftly, she brushed Saskia's hands away. "Get up, foolish girl. It's not for me to decide what will become of you.

"You should be grateful! Prince Rogdai is one of the richest men in his country. He will take you to his lands by the sea and cover you in all his riches. It's more than you could have hoped for. You should consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky? To be sold to some lord I have never seen nor heard about?" Saskia blurted.

The sea, she repeated. Even farther away from home than now. It would be weeks of dangerous travel to reach their estate she would never be allowed to leave her husband's side. Especially not if she was with child.

The mere thought drove cold sweat from her pores, making the fabric of her dress stick closer to her back. Would she die like her stepmother did? In agony and pain and leaving nothing in this world behind but a stillborn babe? For a man she did not love?

"Don't be such a coward! Not many men would offer to marry a cursed woman, anyway."

Cursed. Or mad. Or maybe both. No one knew, and they did not bother to try answering the question Saskia had asked herself ever since the creatures she saw—or thought to—first revealed themselves to her. It was all the same to them: She was a burden.

Before Saskia thought better of it, she stormed out of the chapel, through the never-ending dark halls and outside the door. Mother Gesa's coughed "silly girl" seemed to follow her out into the snow. Perhaps she or one of the other priestesses would punish her, but what did it matter?

Maybe this fine groom of mine doesn't want a bride who has to be castigated into submission. All the better, he should know what he was about to get himself into. If Perhta would show mercy to her once, she'd see him return to his palace at the sea sooner than later. Alone.

But what if not?

Run away? Where to?

For a second, welcoming the cold wind rustling in the spruce trees, Saskia pretended she could escape just like that. Her feet sank into the soft virgin snow as though it wanted to swallow her—Saskia would have greeted it. But instead, it just covered her to her calves and made the cold crawl through her white habit.

Schwarzhain was a small village in the wilderness—surrounded by deep forests, sharp cliffs, and torrential rivers. How far could a lone girl get before starving, freezing, or being killed by a wild beast?

There was nowhere for her to go.

Night had fallen fast. Too fast. The girl had strolled outside the mighty walls of the convent shortly before dusk, and when the long-limbed shadows of the trees that stretched over the snowy field had suddenly turned into all-consuming darkness, she was still not back in its safety.

I should not be here.

How easily those silly rules could be broken.

Cold shivers ran down Saskia's spine, and she was sure they did not stem from the harsh wind that swept over the mountains' icy crown.

❅

As Mother Gesa quickly mumbled a prayer at the altar before leaving the chapel, she felt relief.

On the day that girl had come here, the high priestess had already known she would be trouble—and, to her own shame, Gesa had to confess she feared her.

Some people were blessed with the ability to see what stayed hidden for most of the world. But never had she met someone to whom the darkness clung in such a way. It was unnatural. Evil.

And while leaving most of it behind sealed doors, the priestess still felt that part of that shadows had followed the young princess' step and invaded her sacred home.

The mere sight of the cursed child sent shivers down her spine.

However, a wicked kind of compassion nestled in Gesa's heart, too, that wasn't welcome there. For a small part of her felt for the girl.

The priestess herself never had been forced to marry but created her own home with a dozen daughters and sisters. But Saskia Vrana was not built for a life like this.

What life is she built for?

Now she would mourn herself, but she'd come back and do as she was told. After all, the girl would get over her sorrow when she once sucked in the fresh salty air, dressed in the finest gowns the world had to offer, and replace it with the motherly one for her children. She had to. Covent or marriage – what else was there anyway?

"Please, make it easy for her," she bid the Bright Mother, "and for us all."

Mother Gesa shook her head, casting away those thoughts. This would be the girl's last midwinter night in the convent, she reassured herself. Before the twelfth night had come, the unfortunate prince would arrive and take that cursed girl away.

Thank the gods, she will be gone soon.

But as she strode down the candle-lit corridor, she felt as if the shadows stared at her and followed.

❅

Saskia could not see the candles that should have surrounded the convent's yard with their protecting light, breaking the night's darkness and keeping out whatever lurked in the woods. Fog must have swallowed the building towering above on the rocks as if casting her out.

It was a brutal reminder that she was truly outside of the convent's shelter.

The demons and ghosts might show themselves to her, but this didn't mean every one of them was friendly. Those that could enter the world during the Nights of Smoke, when all walls of their own fell, certainly were not. They'd rip you apart.

If the Order of Wolves found her first, they probably wouldn't be much kinder.

Time had to have fallen out of its never-changing rhythm because neither of Saskia's steps seemed to bring her closer to the convent. Still, there was the thinning carpet of trees as if shying away from convent and the endless fields of snow in front of her. And the way only got longer and longer.

Had this little shrine at the now vanished path always been that far away from the convent?

The old wooden halidom barely deserved this name, rising from the ground askew and weathered and now almost drowning in the white sea of snow. It served as a mark on the road to the convent but Saskia had never seen anyone stop by or leave offerings.

Not until tonight. Because as she drew closer, a figure emerged from the mist right beside it.

Saskia's heart stopped. Who would possess the madness to go outside now?

My betrothed on his way to the convent. The answer seemed simple.

However, Prince Rogdai would never travel alone. He would have had his men, maybe even servants, with him.

The person at the shrine was the only one to be seen.

Saskia struggled towards him, the words already on the tip of her tongue. They quickly turned into choking dust when she saw his eyes: A burning, pale blue.

Demon!

Saskia stumbled and fell.

"Beware, girl," a voice croaked. Not his. It came from behind her.

In such a situation, Saskia had always thought running would be the first thing she'd do, even before realizing it. Her body would simply react. In reality, her limbs hardened, frozen in place as if becoming the snow beneath itself.

"Before the snow melts, you will pluck fresh flowers, crawl into the jaw of a wolf, and find a soulmate in a devil with no heart."

She forced her head to turn. Painfully slow. There was nothing to see but an owl looking down at her from a spruce branch. Its eyes were darker than the night.

They said sometimes in the Nights of Smoke, people could hear animals speak divinations. No one could tell for certain because one was not to survive the prophecies received on midwinter midnight.

Saskia should have died on the spot. Clutching her heart, spilling blood over her white dress—a sure symbol of her mistake, a soul inevitably tainted.

But there was no life-blood, no pain, no all-consuming blindness. Her heart kept on beating fast and strong. A bird that survived the falcon's claws.

The owl closed its beak and took to the air, and when Saskia turned back to the shrine the man was gone. From afar, she could only hear the soft chime of bells—the lovely sound of terror.

Shaking, she rose to her numb feet and ran. Not looking back once at whatever might have followed her from the woods.

When Saskia finally reached the convent's doors, they were ajar, and one of the candles had died out. But whatever kind of horrible thing this professed her mind was still revolving around that incomprehensible truth.

Saskia was supposed to be dead.

Yet, she lived.

Well, well, here we are with chapter 1 and I'm already hitting the first milestone!

I had as much fun creating this as it was a little frustrating. The fun part: weaving in a few of my inspirations (maybe you can already see them?) and writing some parts.

The not-so-fun part: Struggling to keep the world simple and understandable, and writing literally the entire rest. It was a rollercoaster it should not have been. So this year's ONC will be...interesting I guess.

Anyway: Let me know your thoughts in the comments and don't forget to vote and save the story if you like it.

How is the ONC going for you so far? Did you reach the first milestone already?

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2.911 words

Milestone No. 1 ✓
Milestone No. 2 ✗