The Hushing [#ONC2022]

Chapter Four (part 1)

Lady Ingrid said something more but Marion wasn't listening. She felt numb all over, panic swelling against her rib cage, making it hard to breathe. Septimus kept his hand on her arm, his grip a little gentler now, but still firm enough that she was grateful for the anchor.

Then he led her away, through the endless winding hallways and to a modest room overlooking the forest. A four-poster bed sat in the corner with black sheets, surrounded by black curtains. Everything was black, as if the whole room had been set on fire and scorched of color.

Finally, Septimus spoke.

"That display was for your benefit."

Marion wrenched her head up to look at him, bewildered.

"Me?"

He nodded. "Eventually, Lady Ingrid will ask the same thing of you. Bow to her. Swear your allegiance to her name. Serve only her and you can keep your soul, no matter how much it might fade the longer you stay here."

Marion gulped. Lady Ingrid had eaten that wraith's soul...

"And if I refuse?" she asked.

Septimus pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyebrows raised in a wordless expression that clearly said, I don't need to spell that out when you saw what happened.

Marion glanced down the hallway as if she expected Lady Ingrid to be right there, listening in. She didn't doubt that Lady Ingrid had eyes and ears everywhere in The Hushing so Marion had to be careful what she said.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked quietly. "Don't you want my soul's warmth like everyone else around here?"

For the first time since Lady Ingrid's throne room, Septimus released his grip on Marion's arm. She was surprised to feel a pang of loss, as if it took a moment to steady herself and regain her balance without Septimus to lean on.

"I can't deny that it is enticing," he replied. "But you are alive and that means you have a chance to leave. For the rest of us, The Hushing is home, whether we like it or not." Then Septimus shook his head. "You should rest. You've had a long day and Lady Ingrid will no doubt request your presence to accompany her sooner than you might think."

With that, he turned and vanished into the dark hallway, leaving Marion on the threshold with her candle, the flame trembling in the shadows. In the distance, the quiet whisk-whisk of wraith wings murmured. She retreated into her room, closed the door and pressed her back against it, even though she knew it wasn't any good. As long as she was in The Hushing, she wasn't safe, from anyone or anything.

Slowly, Marion slid to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. She clutched the candle in both hands, unwilling to let the light go out. But she only had one candle and she needed to save as much of it as she could. Once it was gone, she would be completely blind in this strange, unforgiving hellscape she'd wandered into. If she lived that long.

Then Marion blew the flame out with a shaky breath and the darkness closed in.

***

When Marion woke, curled up in a ball by the door, she couldn't tell what time it was or how long she'd been asleep. There were no clocks of any kind in her room, and no sun to hint at what hour of the day it might be.

One glance at her windows showed no change in the pale, low light outside, as if no time had passed at all. But Marion's stomach ached with hunger so much, she nearly felt sick. The last time she'd eaten anything was a bowl of cereal at breakfast with Grandma Louisa.

The memory hit Marion in the chest with a pang of guilt. Grandma. She must be worried sick over Marion's disappearance.

A delicate tap-tap echoed at the door. Marion scrambled to her feet, pushing the thought of her grandmother to the back of her mind. After what she guessed would pass for twenty-four hours in The Hushing, her eyes seemed to be getting used to the low light because she took a step back when the door began to slide open.

Two wraiths stood on the threshold, painfully gaunt and hollow-looking. They didn't make a sound – no screams, no murmurs, no shrieks – except for the whisk-whisk of their wings. Their silence sent a chill shivering over Marion's skin. She retreated deeper into her room until she bumped against a chest of drawers, the wood solid at her back.

Then Lady Ingrid swept in, wearing a stiff, high-collared silvery dress that shimmered like a minnow when she moved.

"Marion, my pet, I was beginning think you'd died in your sleep," she said.

Marion shuddered at that thought. She would do everything in her power not to die in this place. Lady Ingrid hooked her arm through Marion's elbow as if they were old friends.

"Remember that little celebration I mentioned yesterday?" she asked. "Well, I'm putting together a ball in your honor, so everyone can see that you are my guest."

Marion balked. The last thing she needed was a party to put her front and center. She wanted to disappear, not have every black wraith eye turned on her.

"That's really not necessary – "

But Lady Ingrid cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand as she turned away.

"Oh, I wasn't asking, darling. The decision has already been made and preparations are under way. It's so dull around here and we could all use a little something fun to liven up the place."

She gestured to the two wraiths still hovering at the threshold. The first wraith drifted forward with a long, thin gray box cradled in its arms. The second wraith held a silver platter full of food...and it was startlingly bright with color. Plump figs with rich dark purple skin. Thick, dusky brown crusts of bread with pillowy white dough. Golden slices of creamy cheese.

Marion's mouth watered but she swallowed hard. She didn't trust anything in Valecroft. What if it was poisoned? And where did it come from to look that lush in a dying world?