Lora of Two Worlds

When Elara and I had put on the masks, we sat upon either side of the table. She was the first to speak. 'My dear, was today's meal to your liking?' Then she burst out laughing. 'Forgive me, forgive me! It feels like a game of housekeeping. I cannot hold it in. Let me begin again.'

She gathered her feelings, and spoke again. 'My dear, was today's meal to your liking?'

'Wife, your skill at the kitchen grows ever finer,' I answered at hazard. Then I thought what next to say. 'By the way, did Mother go out to play at tiles again today?'

Elara nodded. 'She did. Mother won a few dozen coppers today, and was beyond herself with joy.'

I could not forbear a wry laugh. 'When she loses, it is by the hundred. What is a few dozen won? Do not let Mother go out so often. It were better she stayed at home and watched the stage.'

Elara said, 'Speak those words to Mother. I cannot hold her. She has but this one pastime. Would you, her son, take it from her?'

'Alas, I do but fear lest she take a misstep on the stair,' I said.

At first, our talk was wholly feigned. At every pause we halted a moment, to think what to say next. But by degrees, it was as if we had melted into our parts. The words flowed from our lips, natural and smooth, as from a true wedded pair.

We spoke of common matters. Elara even made with her hand the motion of eating. And, wondrous to tell, the room that had been black as pitch grew bright. Sunlight came in at the window. From the neighbours came the sound of frying, the crying of a child, the barking of a dog. From time to time a carriage passed without.

I was as one fallen into a dream most true to life. My mind and my body were wholly parted. From my lips, without thought, there came the words: 'My dear, you are with child now. Have a care for your health. Next time, do not make so greasy a dish.'

She who sat across from me was no longer Elara in the Jumang mask. It was the dead woman, in the days of her life. She was past forty, but bore no mark of age. She wore a purple knitted jerkin. Her hair was combed smooth and neat. At a glance, she was a wife of seemly bearing.

She spoke in fond complaint. 'Every time I stew a chicken or a pig's trotter, you complain there is no savour. When you come home from your work, is it not a fried dish and a cup of small mead that you love?'

I looked down. The table was spread with rich fried dishes. Before me was a flagon of warmed mead, and a small wine-cup. I took up the cup and drank. The bite of the drink spread through my mouth and throat. Gods below! This was too true to life!

I said, 'For the sake of our babe, I will eat plain food for a few months. Moreover, I will give up the pipe. The second-hand smoke is ill for the babe.'

'I know not if it will be a boy or a girl. I should be better pleased with a boy. We have a daughter already. A boy and a girl, that is the perfect tale!' she answered.

I heard the sound of chewing at my side. I turned my head, and there sat the old madam, the mother of the dead, eating in silence.

How could it be so true? I could see the very day of the murder. Every detail, every motion, was before my eyes as though I lived it.

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I cast my mind back to the recipe written in the book: datura, longan, sage, wolfsbane... Gods below! This was no recipe to stir the passions. It was a drug of delusion! Forefather, you have cozened me!

But by now I was wholly caught in the snare. My own mind began to wander and drift. 'I' enjoyed the fine food and drink. Then, of a sudden, there was a hum in my ear, as if some exceeding sharp sound bored through my skull. My head gave a sharp pang. Of instinct, I clutched it with my hand.

'Wife' asked, in concern, 'My dear, what ails you?'

'I' answered, 'Mayhap I have taken a chill...'

'I told you the weather was cold. I bade you put on an extra hose, and you would not. Does Mother not ever say, 'Despise your feet, and the frost will climb to your head'?' So saying, 'Wife' rose to shut the window.

Then, of a sudden, she clutched her head and sat down. The 'old madam', too, ceased her eating, clutched her head, and groaned.

The three of the household sat at the table, and all at once fell into a strange and dreadful feeling.

I knew, in a flash, that this strange sound was the very key of the case!

'What is in my head...' 'Wife' held her head, and knit her brow.

'Go, shut the window!' 'I' cried.

'I cannot. My head aches. I cannot stand!'

'Shut the window, I say!!!' 'I' struck the table hard.

'Do not shout at me so!' 'Wife' of a sudden dashed her bowl to shivers. 'Day in and day out, naught but commands! Is my life so easy? I gave up my work to serve you old and young. The housework is never done. Look at my hands! How old and worn they have grown!'

'You ungrateful wretch!' 'I' roared. 'Day in and day out, I am abroad on my trade. Before my clients I bow and scrape like the lowest of men. I drink with them till my stomach bleeds, all for this house! And you do not pity me. You think I keep a mistress abroad! You search my garments!'

'Wife' grew wild with wrath. 'Spare me these words! You come home late every night. You hide a message-rune in secret. Do you think I know nothing? Who knows what evil you are about all day!'

'I' drew forth my belt, and cracked it in my hand. 'Curse it! Dare you speak to me thus? All these years I have not touched a hair of your head. You grow more ungrateful by the day. Today, I will teach you a lesson.'

'Strike, then! I carry your child in my belly!' So saying, 'Wife' overturned the whole table. Her strength was wondrous great. The dishes rained down upon me like a storm.

'I' threw up a hand to guard my face, then lashed out with the belt. 'Wife' caught my arm, bared her teeth, and flung herself upon me. 'I' kicked her in the belly, and sent her back.

At this, the 'old madam', trembling, beat upon the arm of her wheeled chair, and cried aloud, 'Stop... stop...'

At the sight of the old madam, 'I' felt a loathing such as I had never known. I roared at her: 'It is all your burden, you deathless old fool! You make me feed the young and the old alike. The whole house weighs upon my shoulders alone! Curse you, you are never at peace! To pay for your healing, I spent the money I had saved for a house! And you do naught but go out to play at tiles, and give away my hard-earned gold!'

Wrath rose in 'my' heart. I picked up a pair of chopsticks from the floor, and drove them into the old madam's eyes. So great was the force that the splinters of the chopsticks pierced my fingers.

'I' felt the chopsticks go clean through the eyeballs, and into the brain.

The old madam's scream well-nigh split my ears. Her two hands clawed at the air, and tore my arms, skin and flesh, into bloody furrows.

'I' grew wild with fury. From where I know not, I found the strength to lift the old madam, chair and all, and hurl her toward the window.

With a crash, the old madam fell to her death below.

In 'my' heart there rose a tangle of feeling: relief, and regret, and bewilderment. What had come over me? Why had I slain my own mother? Gods, how had it come to this!

At that moment, 'my' arm went cold. 'Wife', her hair wild, looking like a wraith risen from the Abyss, had seized a sharp kitchen knife, and fell upon 'me' in a frenzy of hewing.

'I' gave back, hard pressed. My boots crunched on the broken bowls. 'Wife' shrieked, 'I will slay you!' The knife in her hand was a blur. It hewed deep gashes in my arms and shoulders. The flesh gaped open, a fearsome sight.

The blade was so sharp that, at first, I felt no pain. Then the burning sank into the very marrow. The agony drove 'me' to a beast's rage. I kicked her away, and ran to the kitchen to seize a knife of my own.

Then, of a sudden, an unseen fist struck 'me' in the face. Something flew from my face.

And my sight grew dim and shadowed. The kitchen, the blood, the roaring 'Wife', all faded slowly from before my eyes...

'Soren, wake! Wake!' Broderick gripped my shoulders, and shook me hard.

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