III - Echoes of the Past

The rain hammered relentlessly against the bare rock, cascading down over the cave’s entrance like a curtain of water.

Melusine sat with her knees drawn close against the damp stone.

Her expression was empty as she gazed into the green valley below, lined with pines and olive trees.

Raymund stepped beside her.

“Our provisions are nearly spent.”

She didn’t react.

“We should head to the next village,” he continued. “Perhaps we might find something there to eat.”

“Very well…” she replied.

“Are you unwell? I had thought this weather suited you well enough…”

“It does… it's just...”

Suddenly she flinched.

“Hngh...”

“What is it?“

“Something… has changed. My core... glug... it feels firmer than usual.” She lifted her head, searching his eyes. “It's growing…”

But there was no joy in her gaze.

Only worry.

Raymund studied her for a moment.

“Can you still change your form?”

She thought for a moment.

Then shook her head.

“Not like I used to.”

Her hand brushed over her slightly swollen belly, and Raymund’s eyes lingered there for a heartbeat.

“I will go alone.”

Her eyes widened.

“And me?”

“You shall wait here.”

“But...”

“I won’t be gone for long.”

He pulled his cloak around himself, took up his sword, and pulled the hood low over his face.

Then he vanished into the rain.

Melusine watched him go.

Her hands stretched out, reaching after him before dissolving into the curtain of rain.

***

By the time Raymund left the sodden fields behind and climbed the hill, the houses of the village were little more than dark, washed-out shapes against the grey sky.

The rain had swallowed every contour.

Water dripped from his hood, gathered at his wrists, ran over his fingertips, but he barely noticed anymore.

It no longer felt strange for him. Only constant.

The place was larger than he had first thought.

The houses stood closer together the nearer he came, gathered around something at their center.

The church.

It loomed above everything else, heavy and still.

Raymund slowed as he entered the empty lanes.

No smoke rose from the chimneys.

No voices.

No clatter of tools.

No barking dogs, no calls of craftsmen.

He paused and listened.

Nothing answered.

“Strange… where are they all?”

Only the soft, ceaseless patter of rain, and the narrow rivulet winding its way downhill between the cobblestones.

Without quite knowing why, he followed it upward, as though it led him.

The higher he climbed, the clearer the church became, until at last he heard something.

Muffled voices.

Not loud. Not distinct.

More like a steady murmur, barely different from the rain.

Raymund stopped before the entrance.

“Seems they’re all at mass,” he muttered.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Then he stepped inside.

Warm, stale air hit him at once.

The pews were full, every seat taken.

People sat close together, unmoving, hands folded. Their voices rose and fell in a monotonous rhythm.

“Dies irae, dies illa… Solvet saeclum in favilla…”

No one turned.

No one reacted to him.

Raymund’s gaze moved over the rows, over faces half-hidden in shadow.

“I shall find no food here, it seems…” he murmured softly.

Suddenly, the voices stopped.

At once, the heads turned.

All of them.

Dozens of eyes, empty and unmoving, fixed upon him, as though they had awaited his coming.

Raymund froze.

“What in...”

At the altar stood the priest, craning toward him.

He drew a sharp breath.

“How dare you…?”

A step forward.

“How dare you carry a weapon into the house of the Lord, you accursed wretch!”

His voice sharpened.

“And stained with sin, no less!”

Raymund blinked.

My sword?

Slowly, he lowered his gaze.

A drop slid from the blade, leaving a red trail before falling onto the dark stone floor.

Blood.

His breath caught.

“But…,” he muttered. “That cannot be…”

Then the first rows stood.

And shuffled toward him.

His heart started racing.

He stepped back as his gaze moved over their faces, and stopped on one.

Grey skin. Lips slightly parted, tinged blue.

He knew that face.

But that is… that plague attendant from back then?

Another. And another.

The overseer from the guild…

One by one, he recognized the others.

All dead.

All killed by his hand.

His stomach tightened as they came closer.

“You… you deserved it! You brought it on yourselves!”

But they did not answer.

They just kept coming.

“Accursed devilry!”

He spun around, slammed into the door, tore it open so violently it crashed against the wall, and stumbled outside...

Into sunlight.

It was so bright it blinded him for a moment.

“I… I had no choice!” he burst out.

But the cold sweat on his skin warmed quickly as he took in the bustling square.

Voices echoed through the streets, the creak of wagon wheels rose from below, and everywhere was the murmur of trade as merchants hawked their wares.

“But… what...”

A little girl with a white cap and long black hair stood a few paces away, watching him curiously.

“Non state in buona salute, messere? Non avete forse potuto trovare redenzione nella Santa Chiesa?“

Raymund stared at her for a moment.

But it wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t understand her that kept him speechless.

“Did... I imagine all of that…?”

He turned, yanked the church door open again.

Light from the stained glass bathed the interior in warm colors.

A few people glanced at him, then returned to their prayers.

Otherwise, the church was almost empty.

“Messere?” the girl asked again.

But instead of answering, he drew his sword and examined the blade.

Notched. Tarnished.

But clean.

“What is going on here…?”

A middle-aged woman grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her away.

“Guardate, Francesca. Sta’ discosta da quell’uomo, ché pare egli sia scellerato…“

Raymund wiped the sweat from his brow.

Better leave this place quickly. Something about it isn’t right…

The smell of fresh bread reached him.

He let out a breath and felt for the pouch at his belt.

…once I’ve got the supplies.

Then he followed the scent.

***

Raymund’s clothes had almost dried by the time he reached the green hills where he and Melusine had taken shelter.

From afar, near the cave entrance, he could already make out a multitude of small white dots moving slowly through the tall grass.

Their loud cries carried far across the meadows.

“Baaah!”

“...Sheep,” Raymund muttered uneasily, quickening his pace.

Just before the cave entrance, several of the animals stood close together in a circle, their heads bent over something.

“Baaah! Baaah!”

Raymund pushed his way past the woolly bodies.

Then he saw what they had gathered around.

A small body.

It wore a simple woolen dress. Curly hair spilled loosely from beneath her bonnet, hazel eyes staring lifelessly up at the sky.

Her staff lay still in a puddle beside her, next to a woven basket from which most of the contents had spilled.

Dry branches. Twigs. Kindling.

“Baaah!”

For a moment, Raymund simply stared at the corpse, and something heavy pressed down on his chest.

His thoughts drifted back to the church and his hands began to tremble.

The pale faces. The half-rotted bodies.

That… that was only my imagination.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again.

But this…

The girl still lay there.

“…is real.”

Her skin had not yet turned waxen. Death had come only recently. The body was drenched, yet still warm.

“Baaah!”

Damnation.

Raymund shoved past the sheep toward the cave.

“Melusine!”

His voice echoed loudly off the damp stone, as he took a few steps inside.

“Melusine, you foolish wench. What have you done?”

Then he saw her reddish shimmer in the darkness as she appeared.

Not dripping, not flowing as usual, but walking, emerging from deeper within the cave.

“My beloved, you have returned at last...”

“Explain to me, why is there a dead girl out there?”

She tilted her head, her expression empty.

“Why does it matter?“

“Why does it..." he repeated, puzzled. “Because they will come looking for her when she doesn't return!” he shouted back.

Melusine's gaze dropped.

“She… glug... saw me…”

“And why did she?” Raymund snapped. “Why did you not hide yourself?

Melusine’s gaze drifted to her belly, where the swollen area around her core had turned milky, no longer translucent.

“It… was not possible. I can still make myself smaller, glug, but I cannot thin myself out completely anymore...”

She sought his eyes.

“When she followed my light and found me deep within the cave, I had no… glug… choice but ending her screams.”

Raymund clenched his teeth.

He wanted to lash out, to scold her, but he couldn’t.

If this is true. Then there truly was no other way. Foolish girl...

“My beloved?” she asked cautiously, almost pleading.

“What?” he replied curtly.

She brushed a hand over her belly.

“It changes with every day. And I… with it. I can feel it.”

Raymund’s eyes widened as he stared at her abdomen.

What does that mean? Is she becoming human? Or… something else?

“You won’t let anything happen to our child, will you? glug…” she went on, her voice suddenly tense. “You… will protect us from that dreadful creature, won’t you?”

Raymund flinched at the thought.

At once, the grotesque face rose before him again, grinning, giggling.

“I already told you I would…” he muttered, not looking at her.

A faint smile spread across her lips, but it soon faded into concern.

“Is all well, my beloved? Your hands are trembling…”

She stepped closer, her cool, damp fingers closing around his, steadying the tremor.

“I am here for you…”

He slipped free of her grasp.

“It is nothing.”

A brief gesture toward the cave entrance.

“Let us begone from here, before someone finds us.”

“But… it is broad daylight… glug. How shall I conceal myself wlth these new limitations?”

Raymund lowered his head, thinking for a moment.

Then he looked up again, his gaze drifting toward the cave entrance, where the woven basket still lay beside the dead shepherd girl and her bleating sheep.

“I have an idea.”