Demon of the Black Gate

The woman lay out on a large oaken slab. She was young, in her twenty fifth year, dressed in the cotton print skirt and blouse common to the middle Stands. The rust-red bricks were barely lit by the candle sconces in the corner. She lay still, breathing shallowly. Her clothes were partially unpinned and unbuttoned for comfort.

Another sat bending over her wearing a scooped ivory blouse and a maroon and loden green motley skirt. A shock of red hair crowned her head. She ran her hands with a light and deft touch over the shoulders and across the breasts and ribs of the other before pressing lightly on the prone woman’s stomach. A third woman held a small candelabra and bent over the proceedings in a look of concern.

“She’s sleeping … I think.” came a hoarse whisper.

The seated woman waved her silent, and spoke to the blonde-haired girl that lay prone on the wood, her voice a low and warm contralto.

“Yea, Cassie, let yourself sleep. But you keep listening to me now. I’m feeling pangs where my fingers touch. Now I know you lost your young little girl, and it hurts you sorely. You let it go now, Cass. You gave her a short beautiful life, and there’s another just waiting to be gifted in your womb. Let it go. Holding it in, and suffering, has given you these pangs, and they’ll kill you sure.”

The woman in attendance brushed back a thick tangle of red hair. In her mind she sensed small obstructions, like arrowheads, puncturing the organs in the other woman’s vitals. She breathed in slowly and plucked them away from low in the prone womans belly, letting her fingers grab at the barbs she perceived. The woman holding the candlelabra saw nothing but the flinging of air. The red-haired woman continued to breath slow and even as the candles guttered in the dimly lit room, her hands resting on the abdomen of the prone young woman. Finally she bent over and whispered in Cassie’s ear.

“You’ll be thinking a lot more of a new wee one, when you wake up, and it’s for the best. I have some tea I’ve made just for you. I’m telling you now because it’s important. You’ll remember to take it now. Oh, by the way. It’s delicious.”

“It’s not vile at any rate.” the red-haired woman thought to herself with a smile. Cassie will enjoy it more this way. The blend of blessed thistle, burdock root, red clover and sheep sorrel would vitalize her. She had tossed in a little sultan rhubarb root even before she had sensed the catarrh in the others gut.

“I set a little toy out for you. A music box. When the song ends, you’ll be waking up, and feeling well rested. Come out and join us in the commons. Chandra here will be telling stories of her young days in Lederton.”

“Cerra!” the other hissed silently, and gave a light smack to the back of the redheads shoulder.”

“Just enjoy the music, Cassie. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Chandra assisted Cerra to her feet, speaking softly. “She’ll be fine? I mean like she was?”

“I’m thinking so.” returned Cerra as she shrugged a light tan shawl over her shoulders.

“Well you’re a remarkable woman. Thank you so much for seeing Cassie.” Chandra lowered her voice to a whisper. “Oops I said her name out loud.”

“Yes let’s leave before you ruin everything.” Cerra chuckled softly.

Cerra was a remarkable woman. On first glance it might be her storm of red hair, a longish nest of wave and curl that defied the brush that made her remarkable. She was not overly tall, so her full breasts and hips lent a sense of ripeness to her. Apple cheeks would describe her as well, rosy and healthy, nurtured by a seeming permanent smile and ready laughter. What was most remarkable about her was her eyes. Dark pupils surrounded by pools of deepest brown. The thin fire of iris was light veins of gold like the umbra of eclipse. Eyes that seemed to look right through things. Yes, her eyes were remarkable, for in spite of their brilliant dark color and deep life, Cerra was blind.

Chandra handed a carved wooden walking stick to her, and then walked ahead to the oak door that led from the room. She knew Cerra was adept at following the sound of her passage, and other than holding the door open, showed no deference to the blind woman’s handicap. If there was something truly remarkable about Cerra, it was how the people of the village ceased to remark on her disability. Cerra rarely needed help with herself, nor did she demand special courtesies. It had been questioned at times if the woman herself knew she was blind.

Cerra knew. She was aware of it every waking moment.

Two other women were in the adjoining room, a commons with benches and bars to accommodate many souls. It was the dining area of a large inn that dominated the center of the little village. In many years past, when the mines were active, the Inn was much larger, boasting rooms on two wings as well as two kitchens to support a busy clientele. Where Cerra had treated Cassie was one of the kitchens that had been long put out of service. The wife of the current proprietor had designated the rooms for her own use, and now it was a stage for birthings and treatments for the village women, the stones and fireplaces offered a cozy retreat. The extra rooms of the Inn were opened up, and the occasional infirmed were laid up until their breaks or maladies healed.

“Cerra, I have a chair for you right over here. Let me get you an ale. BARNAM …!

“No please, don’t call for your husband, Merilin.” Cerra laughed as she slid onto the long bench. “I’ll have some kafi, if you please. I’m riding back this afternoon. One of your ales, and I’d be dozing in the saddle.”

“Hard to watch where you’re going with that stuff.” said another. “I’m as like to land on my back.” she added with a knowing wink.

The women laughed as a short, stout man came into the commons from the kitchen bringing a platter of pastries and sweets. He was just finishing one of the morsels with a slight smack of his lips.

“What was that bellowing I hear’d from the kitchen? Did a goat get loose? Here y’ are ladies. A fresh dozen of my walnut rolls ... hot from the oven.”

“I swear, Barnam, I only smell eleven.” offered Cerra who had heard his savory appreciation as he approached the table. Barnum looked at his fingers, with still a bit of sugared glaze in evidence.

“Well ... a short dozen then.” he offered while his wife snickered. “Cerra, lass. Did I hear you’re riding home this afternoon? Where’s that cat of yours? I know there are mice in my pantry again.”

“Oh he didn’t come this time. He’s eaten here before, you know.”

The women laughed heartily as Barnam set the platter of sweets in front of them.

“I’ll try to fatten them up for him. Well, then you ladies can suffer through the rest of these if you like.” he grunted. He knew, as did the women, that he was the best cook around the entire shire. Without his fare, the Inn would have suffered long ago.

“I’ve got work to do. If you want more of those pastries to take home, you’ll have to get them yourself when they come out of the oven. Let me know if they’re tolerable enough to serve to the paying customers.” Barnam said with mock seriousness leaving once more for the kitchen.

“Are you sure you want to go back this afternoon?” offered another woman. “I’ve heard the most dire things coming from the Low Stands. You heard about the Gates didn’t you?”

“Just this morning, when I came in.” said Cerra. “It seems everyone is talking about it.”

“Well did they tell you it was some magics what did it? Maybe even there were demons. I heard like that from a potter that just come up the Falling Rocks Trail. A whole train of mules was tossed from the trail by a twisting wind. They said it was a demon too.”

“Why I’ve never heard of such nonsense. Children’s stories.” scoffed Chandra. “Still, these are strange days. Why in Scott’s Mill they said a pile of rocks came to life and smashed some houses. I think they were drinking, you know how those people are over there ... but still ... you should wait until Gaffner is going up to his orchard. He says tomorrow. But you know Gaffner.”

“I’ll be fine. I was untroubled coming to town without knowing anything, and I shall be untroubled returning not knowing anything more.” Cerra said confidently. “If I see anything I’ll let you know.”

Cassie came out of the second kitchen looking remarkably rested. “Did I nap? Cerra, I feel wonderful.”

“Come here, love.” Cerra said, patting the seat next to her. “I have some tea for you to take home with you.”

“A cup a day, I remember.” Cassie sat. “When did you tell me that?”

“As long as you remember.”

“BARnum!” Merilin yelled toward the kitchen. “Have your son bring around Cerra’s horse!”

She heard an epithet from the kitchen.

“It’s ‘his son’ when there is work to do. ‘Your son’ when it is done well.” Cerra laughed.

“That’s right! Before you go” Merilin said bustling over to another table. “Tamara left this for you. She had some extra material she said, and made this skirt with the end pieces.”

She brought back the small parcel, and pulled the wrapping back. Cerra felt the material. It was silk, she knew the texture well.

“Silk. You can’t have too much of that, and I don’t have enough.” Cerra laughed. “Is it pretty? ... oh, of course it is. Don’t tell me, there’s green in it.”

“I’m not telling!” said Chandra.”

Cerra snickered in mock annoyance. “I’ll ask Barnam.”

“HA. You’ll figure it out first.” said Merilin. “He’s like to tell you its like roast beef and salad.”

“So there IS green in it. And some maroon too I wager.

“It’s more of a burgundy actually. Barnam knows that color come to think of it.”

The women all laughed.

“Well, tell Tamara when you see her next that I’ll love it. I already do.” Cerra rubbed the material against her cheek.

Tamara was commissioned to do much of the dress work in the territory of the Dragon’s Teeth, especially the gentry. The eastern plateau was known for its silk worm production and exquisite silks. She also made all of Cerra’s clothes for Cerra had no view on her own appearance other than she was always clean and tidy. Color didn’t matter to her, likely the only woman in the territory who thought as much. For Cerra, the texture was everything. Tamara collected and saved the scraps and ends of her bolts of material in the shades of greens, maroons, rusts and golds that suited Cerra’s vibrant hair and light peach complexion. She had a care to choose the colors so that no matter what the young blind woman happened to put together, skirts, blouses or shawl, it all would mix well.

Cerra gave Cassie a hug, then stood to leave.

“I’ll carry it out for you.” offered Merilin. The women in the room exchanged their hugs and promises and Cerra followed the sound of Merilin to the door, though she was well familiar with the layout of the Inn.

“Be a dear.” Merilin said when they stepped outside. “Ride safe. I promise, me and the women will ride out for the Summersmoon. Ah Barsen, there you are.”

A strong, blocky lad, near adult, was leading a medium-sized mare, of 15 hands to the front of the inn from the adjoining stables. The horse was chocolate brown with a mahogany mane and tail. A light spattering of white, like a spray of snow-flakes, dusted her chest and rump. There was a snort of recognition as the horse caught wind of her rider.

“Sugar! Time to go home.

“Yes, Mer. Please do come out. The lake water is near perfect and the sun sets late. It will be so much fun.” Cerra giggled a quick aside, saying often what came to her of the moment. “Bring some wine. We’ll swim naked and you can regale Barnam the tales of our antics afterward … if you can handle the results.”

She got a jab from Merilin, as she stepped down from the low porch. She held her hand out for the reins, which Barsen lay in her palm. Cerra let her hands lightly trace Merilin’s face, then gave her one last hug. She slid her walking stick into a sleeve nested in the saddle flap while Merilin stuffed the dress and other small goods that Cerra had collected while in town into the saddlebags. Cerra lifted herself into the saddle.

“I’ll see you later.” said Cerra.

“No you won’t” came the quick reply, an old joke between them.

Cerra let Sugar find her way from town, the trail familiar. Cerra knew the sounds and turns of the route, but letting the horse have her head saved her the discipline for the moment.

Cerra lived about four leagues from the village, a ride that would take most of the afternoon, making it home in time for a late supper. Her cottage was nestled on a sunny lay of land between two small lakes. This close to the Granite Mountains, much of the district was punctuated with the giant columns and monoliths of stone that made up the Dragon’s Teeth. The lakes and grasses around her cottage comprised a large meadow, and Cerra was known therefore as Cerra of the Meadows, or more commonly, just Cerra Meadows. Her trade was herbs which suited her naming well. Alhough in her ministrations, it was obvious to all that she had a healing touch and sensitive mind. She was often included in the birthings and was routinely asked to attend to those whose illnesses confounded normal treatment.

Cerra wasn’t fond of traveling. The trip to the village was as much as she cared for, and it took a few years before that was anywhere near comfortable. But as she grew accustomed to the route, and she had been making the trip for seven years now, the nuances of the ride became more enjoyable for her.

The road followed a stream which led up past a few crofts to a small crescent lake that butted between two great horns of the Dragons Teeth. The soft earth of the trail was replaced by the hard rock of the shores as it curved narrowly around one of the twin spires of granite that caged the lake. She could hear Tasker throwing his net from the small punt he kept at the lake. She pursed her lips and with fingers in place whistled a shrill greeting, and waved. She guessed he waved back, for she heard a distant ‘allo’ skip across the water. It was a short league from Tasker’s Lake to the turn that led south to the village of Scotts Mill. Her own cottage was on the way. Long ago Jessann, her mentor, had hung a chime in one of the pines that cornered the path so that Cerra would always have a mark if others failed. It had been a few years since she had really needed the mark, but she liked hearing the light ring that signaled that she was close to home.

She made the turn, rather the horse did for Sugar knew they were close too, and her pace quickened.

Once she emerged from a large copse of chestnuts buzzing with bees, she could smell the grasses of the field about her cabin, and the welcome scent of the mountain zephyrs that carried down from the heights. She could feel the mountains looming and hear the many distant cascades as water fell and dashed down the steep sides of the range. The scenes that she passed were lost to her vision, but each of them portrayed themselves fertilely in her mind.

“Kamir!” she called, accompanied by some chirps and whistles that she always added for effect. Even over the clop and jingle of Sugar’s pace, she heard the padding of light feet racing past, accompanied by a rolling mewl. The cat darted ahead.

Cerra had come to the cottage when it was occupied by Jessann. Cerra had not always been blind. No cataracts blurred her vision or misshapen orb skewed her sight. She had lost both her mother and her eyesight to fever when she was but seven years old. The eyes had the mechanics to work, but no nerve remained to send the signals to her mind.

She had been orphaned in the experience, and was uncontrollable and crazed at first, so that no home would have her long. She didn’t know how Jessann had found her. She remembered being dragged from a closet, heard the clink of coin.

Jessann brought the unruly blind girl to this cabin of the lakes and began to teach her of life. Cerra preferred not to remember the first few months, instead recalled the many singular moments that Jessann had truly opened her eyes.

“There is much more in this world than eyes can see. You will discover the blessing of the sight you do have.” she had been told early on, and Jessann brooked no excuse in her lessons. She taught Cerra how to see again with the senses remaining and the intuition that she possessed.

It was not an easy task, Cerra recalled, but Jessann also managed to instruct her on the ways of plants, and the curative and healing properties they possessed.

“They are powerful creatures, and all may talk to you if you open your ears to hear them.” she had told her somewhere in the many hours she had spent teaching Cerra. Cerra had come to regard this as true. Much of what was given to her as intuition was the sense of ‘other’ that nature left her with. More than once she was grateful to be as she was.

Jessann had been old when she first adopted the fiery young blind girl. Ten years she was given to teaching Cerra all she knew about plants, and allowing her to cope with her blindness in such a way as to restore Cerra’s own trust in herself. She was once left near the back lake to find her way back. It was not far, though Cerra was petrified. But the cues and clues she found in what she could hear and smell and feel got her on to her feet and, with some weaving, back to the cabin. Cerra thought little of those things now. Jessann had been gone for eight years, and now Cerra felt the woman inside herself than lost to mortality. Jessann had been firm, but always compassionate. Cerra remembered well the tall slender woman who taught her so much.

“If ever there was a queen in the land”, she thought, “Jessann would be like that ... tall and slender and wise.” She also had a dry wit, making much of what Cerra learned much more enjoyable. When Cerra thought of Jessann, there was always a bit of sparkle surrounding her image.

The old woman had left, saying no more than she was leaving for another position. Cerra knew what that had meant, and for weeks she felt as bereft as though she was newly blinded. But Jessann remained after all. In her words and example. She was with Cerra everyday, in her heart and in her fertile imagination. In her life too, for she had become the new Jessann, and continued to live in the small cabin nestled between the lakes.

Sugar, as expected, trotted straight to the small outbuilding that served as a barn. Cerra dismounted and stretched her legs. It was almost immediately that Kamir, purring loudly, began brushing her legs.

“I’m glad to see you too.” she bent to pick up the black cat and gave it some hugs and mussings before setting it back down. “Now stay clear of my feet, you little beggar, or I’ll step on you sure.

“It’s good to be home. Nothing odd happens here.”