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CHAPTER31
CHRISTY
Stepping out into the courtyard, I look up at the Weeping Tree, it’s doused in a silvery light from the star-scattered sky. The gnarled wood of its branches are bare, the thick trunk pitted with scars of its own. Above ground it stands like a silent sentinel, witnessing years of violence, bearing the weight of it. Below the surface its roots grow deep, reaching for the serenity of a cool lake, slaking it’s thirst in the peaceful quiet.
“Am I doing the right thing?” I whisper as an icy breeze lifts up my hair in answer. Twisting on the spot, I peer into the shadowed arches surrounding the courtyard. My sweat-slicked skin covers in goosebumps.
I’m not alone.
Instinct tells me it’s one of The Masks.
But which one?
Is it Leon, an angel wrapped up in the sins of the devil?
Is it Konrad, a monster chained up by a man who’s finally strong enough to imprison it?
Or is Jakub, an abused boy who’s shed the skin of the demon his father moulded in his image?
Lifting my face to the sky, I breathe in deeply, refusing to fear these men. Willing to trust my mother, myself, even Fate. I’ve fought The Masks. I’ve struggled with my emotions.
I’m tired of the uncertainty of my feelings, and the certainty of fate.
Tonight I don’t want to think. I don’t want to fall into another troubled sleep. All I want to do is dance until I’m too tired to stand.
So that’s what I do.
Lifting onto my tiptoes, I throw my arms out to the side and begin to dance.
Not the steps Three taught me, but my own. My movements aren’t bound by routine, they don’t conform to a sequence. I dance from my soul. I let out weeks of turmoil, pain, anger, shame, fear.
I release myself from the guilt. I let it all go.
Pirouetting across the cobblestones, my hair whips out around me as I spin and spin and spin, moving around the Weeping Tree fluidly.
There’s no sense to my steps, just feeling. Just emotion.
I dance for Marie, for the woman whose kindness was turned into a lifetime of suffering.
I dance for the generations of Brovs who've suffered at the hands of their fathers.
I dance for Twelve who’s love turned tortured, violent.
I dance for Renard who didn’t live to see the men he hoped The Masks could be.
I dance for my mother, for Aoife.
I dance for the Numbers.
I dance for Thirteen, for myself.
I dance for The Masks.
Rain begins to pour, the freezing water dropping onto my skin, drenching me in seconds, but still I dance. I leap and twirl. I kick up the water pooling at my feet, sending silvery droplets scattering around me. I don’t stop when thunder rumbles, not even as its angry boom shakes the ground beneath my feet. I don’t halt my steps when lightning cracks directly above me, highlighting my masked observer. I don’t even falter when he steps into the courtyard, the blade of a knife glinting in his hand.
Jakub.
For the first time in my life I’m glad I can see into the future because it makes me fearless in this moment. Instead of running away from the danger, I dance towards it. I embrace the present, trusting in our future.
