Page 50 of As Many Souls as Stars
Miriam felt something not unlike fear—not fearitself, of course, that would be ludicrous, but… trepidation. Esther must not remember her past. Not now, when things between them seemed so fragile, when so much of the bitterness in Cybil’s eyes had been forgotten.
‘It is an illusion, my dear,’ Miriam said. ‘Your magic reacting to your fears.’
Esther did not seem to hear her. ‘The woman is screaming. Who is she? I think it is my mother, but I’ve never heard my mother scream.’
‘Open your eyes,’ Miriam said, sharply. ‘Enough of this now. We will go elsewhere.’
But Esther didn’t open her eyes. One of the trees bowed towards them: its branches bore enormous apples, or so Miriam thought. As it neared, she saw their red colour was just a glaze of blood. The tree wasn’t growing fruit, but instead hearts in clusters of three or four; they pumped into veins that wrapped around the branches like sprawling fingers.
Miriam was enchanted by the vision—touched by it, even, touched to be offered a heart—but when she looked down to tell Esther so, she was gone. Around Miriam, the Dark Walk was now transformed into a warped visage of Harding Hall’s orchard. Other trees gathered around her, each bearing hearts or lungs or dangling, bean-shaped kidneys; the air was metallic, suffocatingly powerful. Beneath her feet, the soil was damp with blood, rising up to meet the pressure of her shoes.
‘Esther?’ she called, and then she heard a sharp laugh.
Miriam turned again to see a figure standing between two heart-trees. It was a flame-haired woman in a white dress and high ruff, embroidered with gold filaments that seemed to glow in the darkness.
‘Greensleeves was my heart of joy,’ the woman sang, mockingly. ‘And who but my Lady Greensleeves?’
‘Cybil,’ Miriam said.
She stepped closer, and as she did so, Miriam could see her forearms and hands were dotted with eyes, each blinking and moving in tandem with those on her face. Miriam, startled, almost took a step back.Only a vision, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. Cybil had taken control of Esther, was commanding the darkness to create this illusion—but the vision would end, eventually. It would have to.
‘You could not keep away, could you?’ Cybil reached up to the tree and plucked a heart from the branch, with the grotesque sound of tearing flesh. ‘Could not wait for me to die in peace?’
‘I thought you were gone.’
‘Simply because I am forgotten does not mean I am not here,’ she replied. ‘I am Esther; Esther is me. Our souls are joined. I do not remember now, but I shall. Your presence ensures that.’
Miriam said, ‘Your soul is mine regardless. It doesn’t matter if you remember me.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Cybil lifted the heart to her lips and took a bite, staining her mouth scarlet. Once she had chewed and swallowed, she continued. ‘Do you know the tale of the scorpion and the frog?’
‘The what?’
‘Of course. Why should you?’ Cybil dropped the half-eaten organ to the ground and advanced slowly towards Miriam. Once they were close enough to touch, she pressed her bloodied hand to Miriam’s chest, looking up at her through her lashes with an expression that could only be described as inviting. Miriam found herself leaning closer, and Cybil tapped her finger against her sternum, tutting. ‘Do not become distracted,’ she said. ‘The scorpion and the frog, remember? It is a story. A fable, by Aesop. My mother once read it to me.’
‘I haven’t heard of it.’
‘I shall enlighten you, then. The scorpion asks the frog to take it across the river. The frog is frightened, as it believes the scorpion will sting it while they cross. The scorpion points out that if it did so, they would both drown. The frog sees that as guarantee enough, and thus it agrees.’ Cybil paused then, and Miriam raised a brow, inviting herto continue. ‘Well—as you might imagine, the scorpion stings the frog regardless, and they both drown.’
‘Are you the frog in this parable, my dear?’ Miriam asked. ‘Or the scorpion?’
‘That is not the significance,’ Cybil murmured, lifting herself up onto the balls of her feet so that she could whisper into Miriam’s ear. ‘The significance is that it does not matter. Scorpion or frog, Miriam Richter: either way,bothof us shall drown.’
Then Cybil pressed her bloodied mouth against hers.
Miriam had only a moment to chase the kiss, to feel the nip of her teeth and the heat of her tongue, before she felt hands pushing her backwards. Miriam allowed herself to be moved away, blinking in confusion—and they were in the Dark Walk again.
Esther stood in front of her in her mint-green gown. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes wide.
‘What are you doing?’ Esther demanded.
‘I…’ Miriam was confused; it was an unpleasant feeling, alien, and she was irritated by it. ‘You kissed me.’
‘I did not.’
‘You did,’ Miriam replied—it was both the truth and a lie.
Esther seemed uncertain. ‘I feel odd. I… Perhaps I did. I don’t know. I can’t recall.’
