Women of Shadow

An excerpt from chapter 5 of Lumen Marcia:

The Ganz Machen Hall was tucked in a corner on the edge of Carcosa, near a graveyard. High stone walls and gates guarded the building alongside enormous statues of the black-fingered crows of Golgotha, whose wingspans matched the width of a house. The monuments regarded Shoshanna with large, round eyes and whispered with chapped, peeling lips.

In addition to being so far removed from the main town, the hall was small and unassuming. A slot rested in the center of the red doorway, for the stigma surrounding the Ganz left people wary of direct contact. Those who chose to interact with them often did so by slipping written requests through the slit.

Shoshanna, of course, did not hesitate. Though she didn’t expect to see anybody—she never had, despite visiting the place many times—she pushed her way through the door, into a dimly lit room.

An orchestra of sound sang out from the recovered devices lying about the cramped space. Shoshanna found the rhythmic ringing and ticking pleasant. The poor light made it difficult for her to discern which instruments attributed to which sounds, and at times she found herself unnerved by the larger motions deep in the shadows. Somehow, however, these shifting movements added to the hall’s grand waltz. For a moment, she couldn’t help but close her eyes and lose herself in the sacred place.

When she woke from the trance, she found a child staring up at her. Shoshanna’s breath caught in her throat. The child gazed at her, leather straps and buckles working their way around the black cloth it wore from head to toe. The same garb the children in the procession wore the night before.

Such children had been sighted from time to time, moving about on the edges of town, watching from the shadows with expressionless faces. People spoke of them with fear and distaste, assuming they were Ganz Machen. But no one could be sure, since none had seen the folk outside the massive bundles of armored robes and masks they wore.

Shoshanna smiled at the youth. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the child mimicked with a thick accent. It wore surprise and fascination without shame or awareness. Despite most of its face being exposed, Shoshanna had a hard time determining whether it was a boy or girl. She saw only a pale complexion and youth.

She realized she was staring. “My—my name is Shoshanna. Shoshanna Leviroux.” She curtsied. “And who might you be?”

Again she was met with wide-eyed wonder. “Tromass,” it said.

“Tro-mass?” Shoshanna tried to repeat what the child had said, but the thick accent challenged her. “Thomas?” she tried.

No response.

She found herself fidgeting with nerves or excitement. “I have come to put in a request, if you would be so kind.”

The child’s eyes widened even more as she approached. It reached beneath the counter to retrieve a charcoal pencil and parchment, its gaze never leaving Shoshanna. The black eyes moved up and down, studying. The mouth hung open, and the chest heaved with breath.

Shoshanna had brought her own parchment and drawing utensils in her tool satchel, but she still took those the child offered and began to inscribe her request. As she leaned forward to write, Tromass’s hand shot out and touched a tendril of her hair. She froze, and her reaction caused the child to freeze at the same time. Instead of recoiling, she pretended not to notice and placed the pencil back onto the parchment.

While drawing her request, the youth’s small moist fingers continued their inquiry. At first tentative, it gained boldness as Shoshanna gave a permissive smile. Soon its movements were calculated and methodical, and it leaned forward to obtain better reach. When it finished with her hair, the child examined her clothing and the skin of her arm.

Shoshanna had always hoped to interact with the reclusive and shunned Ganz Machen, but she never expected something like this.

“Unusually large eyes.”

The sudden outburst startled Shoshanna, and her knuckle dragged across her drawing. She hissed, looking down at the smudged line, and went about repairing her mistake.

Tromass continued to rattle off observations. “Unusual affection for sound and movement. Low fear response to dark environments. This corresponds to previous encounters. Why did you stop and close your eyes when you entered?”

“Because I enjoy the syncopation,” she said, drawing. “The sound of mechanization forces harmony onto the incongruous.”

“They have seen you do this before.”

Shoshanna paused a moment. “They?” She smiled, looking into Tromass’s face with a curious glint. “Is this some sort of flattery?”

“No.” The child shook its head and pointed behind Shoshanna. “My elders—”

A hand moved out of the darkness behind Tromass, but Shoshanna never saw it, as she’d turned to follow the youth’s pointing finger. She searched the emptiness behind her, and a chill ran through her body.

“I—I don’t see them,” she whispered. “There are others here?” She couldn’t tell if her eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the room or if the room had grown darker. The path to the door was visible, but only as a dim island of light. When she received no reply, she spun back around and found the child gone.

“Thomas?” she called out, looking around. No reply.

Shoshanna placed both hands on the desk and bent forward, eyes narrowing, attempting to see into the darkness. What is…? She jumped back with a gasp.

A tall veiled figure had been standing there, just beyond the reach of the light. The long pointed black hood, the exposed pale chin, and the blue lips were just visible.

Shoshanna backed away slowly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—the child—I—”

The Woman stepped forward and picked up the drawing Shoshanna had been working on. She held it before her, studying it from beneath the veil. Symbols and scars covered her hands.

Shoshanna watched nervously. For the second time in as many days she had crossed paths with the Women of Scathac. They were unsettling to see, let alone interact with. None seemed to know their exact relationship to the Ganz Machen, but the Women sometimes showed up in groups of three for rituals and meetings with town elders, acting on behalf of the Ganz.

From time to time, the flowing black robes and pointed hoods towered above crowds in the city. The people would part in huge swaths, gasping and chattering in fearful reproach. Shoshanna had never seen one so close. Even when the Women of Scathac attended rituals, they often roamed dark corners, alone, departing once the cleansing had been performed.

Though her fingers flexed with anxiety, Shoshanna took this moment to study what she could of the Woman—which wasn’t much. But she did notice that the skin had a blue tint to it, and that the lips, bluer still, dripped a black substance down the chin.

“A string snapped,” said the Woman in what sounded like several rasping voices. Still on edge from adrenaline, Shoshanna jumped. The voice continued: “When the tension released, the plectrum cracked.” More of the black substance dripped each time her mouth opened.

Shoshanna nodded.

“You have seen it, then? The old instrument in the død landsbyen, beyond the fishing village and shores of the lake?”

Fear struck Shoshanna. The tone of the question felt like an accusation, as though the Woman were aware of Shoshanna’s familiarity with the described location. And that she did not like it. Had she seen through Shoshanna’s plot to misdirect them?

“Y-yes,” Shoshanna muttered. “On the far side of the lake, about an hour’s walk inland. South of the river.”

The Woman lifted the parchment and blew softly to clear the excess charcoal. Then she reached into her robes and pulled out a small clear vial. She poured the transparent contents into her mouth and sprayed a fine mist between her lips, onto the drawing. Holding it before her, she scrutinized it from beneath the veil.

“This will take time,” she said, rolling up the drawing. “You will be notified.” The Woman held the scroll in the air. A third hand appeared and pulled the request into the shadows. Shoshanna could just make out another pointed hood in the darkness.

“Yes, of course.” Keeping her eyes locked on the veiled face, she backed up. No other movement came from the Women of Scathac, but at some point during Shoshanna’s careful watch, the tall shapes melted into the shadows.

With her heart throbbing at the base of her neck, she turned to leave. She did so with such haste that she’d forgotten to search the surrounding darkness for the watchers. For the shine of their leather or the glint of their glass-eyed masks. It did not even occur to her until she left the gloomy hall and breathed the muggy swamp air.

Great black shapes took flight from the graveyard, into the sprawling star-filled sky. They laughed and moaned at her, but she paid them no mind, for she was thinking back to Tromass’s words.

“They’ve taken notice of me?” she breathed.

Follow the black crows of Golgotha to read Norther, Wallace, and the Turkey.