“Well, why wouldn’t you want to steal from it? Do you think it’s inferior?” The figure seemed to grow with his anger.
“No!” I cried. “I don’t know anything about your mine. Or mining. I’m sure it’s very nice.”
“And now you mock me!” the monk cried, nearly back to his full size, towering over me as tall as a tree, his flaming eyes terrifying, shining as large as dinner plates.
What kind of ill-tempered creature was this? If I ran or tried to escape, I’d anger him further. His long arms would pluck me out of the trees before I made it over the hill. “No! I swear it!” My back hit a tree. “I’m only passing through the forest,” Desperate to calm him, I dropped into a deep curtsey. “It is an honor to meet you, brother. I am Salomé, an apprentice to Lord Death.”
The creature shrunk back to his monk size and began shoveling black silt between two large, wooden buckets. “I should kill you with my breath,” he muttered, but he was not so tall or so angry now that he was focused on his task.
“I would hope you not kill me at all. But how does your breath kill, that sounds very impressive?” I wanted to ask what he was doing—for he bent again to scoop dirt between the buckets, but there didn’t seem to be a point to his work.
“It is deathly poisonous. I should use it on you for interrupting me.” He paused, as if waiting for me to challenge him. When I didn’t, he turned back to his dirt.
“Since you are very busy, I shall leave you be and continue on my way.”
“No!” he roared, halting me before I could take a step. “You will tell thieves about my mine. Sit down, I will bury you in it tomorrow when I’m finished with my work.”
A sweat broke out on the back of my neck. “I don’t think that is necessary.” I eased one careful step back.
“You are distracting me from my work,” he snapped, still shoveling. “I shall breathe on you and bury your body later.”
“Why kill me when you could let me help you with your task instead?”
“Help? You are but a slight woman, you cannot lift my shovel.”
“You could let me try.”
“A waste of time,” he spat. But he looked at me and then he put the shovel in the ground and gestured for me to take it.
I grasped the handle and yanked. It didn’t budge. The shovel was so heavy I couldn’t imagine anyone moving it, not even a giant.
He lifted it up as if weighed no more than a spoon. “I told you, and now you’ve wasted even more of my time,” he said, his brow furrowed. “But because you offered to help, I’ll let you continue your way without killing you. Don’t tell anyone about my mine!”
“No, I will not,” I said with relief. “But, brother, what is the difference between one bucket and the other?” I asked.
“It’s very important!” he sputtered, his movements near frantic and trembling. “I cannot explain.”
I felt bad for him, fixated on this task. He was working so hard. He seemed almost fearful. I did not understand what could be important about moving the silt from one bucket to the next, but I felt as if I understood his fear somehow. His defensiveness. Instead of leaving, I got to my knees and between his shovelfuls, scooped up the silt with my hands and added it to the bucket.
He accepted my help without a word, and I rushed to keep up with his frantic pace. The silt was near the bottom of the bucket, but not quite empty, when night began to fall in earnest and I needed to leave. I stood, stretching my cramped back. “I’m sorry, brother, I must go. It is getting dark and it’s dangerous for me to be out.”
He paused, sweat trickling down his brow. “Yes, you are right. Take this to light your way.” He picked up one of his lanterns and offered it to me. “Bergmönch’s oil never burns out.”
I did not know how I could carry such a thing, but when I reached for it, it transformed just like he did, to the size of a regular lantern in my hand. I curtsied again. “Thank you.” Taking the lantern, I left him to finish his task, hurrying back to the château.
In my room, I put the lantern on the mantel above the fire, and itscheery flame did much to push against the dark—and he was right, it never even flickered.
IFELL INTO SOMETHING LIKE A ROUTINE AROUND THE CHÂTEAUand the forest. Shrouds of rain came, wrapping themselves around the mountains and thickening in the valleys. My little garden outside the château bloomed from little shoots to lush plants. I stole away as often as I could to check on it, through the narrow stone gate, rushing back with my cheeks red and my fingers still buzzing from the touch of magic.Mymagic.
I was truly intoxicated with my evenings spent discussing some bit of magical theory or alchemical process over wine in the château with Death. I was drunk on his smiles, his laughs, the furrow in his brow when he was thoughtfully considering my words, and the smell of frankincense and parchment and burnt beeswax in my fine clothes. I could imagine life stretching forever like this and the thought was a delight.
But then too, I was something else, something equally but differently affected by my time in the old woman’s grove, which grew high and verdant, buzzing with bees, thick with the smell of pure magic that seemed to cling to my clothes.
At times I thought Death could smell it on me. He would get close to me, humming over my translation of Latin in his books and his breath would stir my hair and he’d freeze. I could feel the tension in his body. Every time, I waited to see if he would remark on it. Could he smell the wild herbs and streaked lightning smell? Could he smell the familiar scent of darkness and the stardust and the shadows of gods? I could. It persisted on my skin, even when I changed my clothes and bathed in the water of his sanctum. My heart would beat in my chest, waiting for him to say something. I did not want to tell him; I wanted him to know. To wonder. But then he would move away, and I wouldswallow the tightness in my throat and be careful not to press too hard on my quill.
I was learning different things with each of my masters—and at times it felt like I lived in this strange liminal space that held two of me. In one I slowly grew green and lush and held pockets of simmering sunshine in my darkness and pockets of endless night in my day. In the other I became as dark and as strange as the moon and cold as the stars, everything cast in blue light.
I thought I could hold both lives in my two hands forever. But of course, those halcyon days did not last.
