Melody of Ill Omen

She had always been different.  Everyone knew it.  Having been told so rather frequently, she retained a strong awareness of it herself.  No one ever fully understood her, and few tried.  Her interior and exterior were mismatched—a flaw that made her unsettling to look upon.  She possessed all the characteristics of a fine woman; a gentleness and benevolence that drew all to her naturally.  Her fine dark hair and smooth face complimented her sweetness, but there lay her condemning oddity.  In the frame of her fair complexion rested a pair of horrifying eyes.  Her pupils seemed endless, rimmed with such blood-like crimson they resembled the fiery entrance of hell itself.  The blemish marred her too vividly to be ignored.  The knowledge has long since been lost to man, but in those days everyone understood the significance of such eyes.  They were the sign of a seer: someone inseparably connected to the unseen realms all humanity feared and worshiped.  Seers could explain all things unnatural, blessing or curse, and were rumored to even peer into the future.  People craved their knowledge but feared their power.  They were considered the children of fairies… or demons. 

Such a woman walked down the dirt street, carrying a woven basket in the crook of one arm.  Every eye rested on her, and the crowds parted before her timidly.  Despite all her sweetness and beauty, her eyes tainted her every movement and expression with a sinister hue.  No soul dared draw too near, but none would draw too far away in fear of insulting her.  She, however, hardly seemed eager to take offense.  Such treatment had always been hers, since birth.  Her parents could not explain her existence, nor did they make any attempt to nurture her growth.  Out of fear they looked after her until they could pay some pour soul to marry her.  It had been a miracle indeed that such a man had been found, though most agreed his unhesitating intimacy toward his wife made him equal to her strangeness.  Her husband and son were the only souls on earth that nearly understood and genuinely cared for her.  That suited her fine.  Humanity could do as it pleased, and she would do the same.

“A moment, if you would, Banshee.”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.  Her lips curled in a smile that made her eyes twinkle.  Everyone within sight shuddered; certain she had some devious amusement in mind.  Initially, upon hearing her name, she assumed some poor soul wanted her advice.  They often came for it, when desperate.  “Banshee” they called her.  Fairy Child.  She had never had another name.  Labels suited her existence better than names.  Her husband called her “dear” and her son called her “mother”.  Labels… no name. 

The tone of superiority in the voice behind her corrected her first impression.  Only one person in the world spoke to her that way.  Lady Scarlet.  She sat in the same place as always, hunched under her canopy with an eerie smile and a raven perched on her left shoulder.  Her eyes were always hidden beneath the shadows of her hood.  Everyone knew the color of those eyes though.  Banshee was not the only seer.  The crimson shade of the woman’s cloak reminded all of what she concealed beneath it.  Hiding her eyes made them seem more powerful, and brought the desperate to her more than Banshee, which both seers preferred.  Lady Scarlet kept a good business, and Banshee had a little peace.  They associated together in their own way nearly every day.  Banshee almost looked forward to the encounter.  She and Lady Scarlet understood each other, as companions bearing the same unearthly knowledge.

“You may have as much of my time as you please,” Banshee answered kindly. 

Lady Scarlet’s crooked smile broadened.  “You know they’re with us, don’t you, lass?”

Always the same question with the unchanging response.  “They are always with us, Scarlet.”

The woman nodded.  Despite the regularity of such conversations, the crowd grew stiff and alert, hanging on their every word as if they might glean answers to life’s mysteries.  Scarlet always spoke vaguely, and Banshee responded with a similar ambiguousness.  Neither need specify.  By a matter of principle, they saw the world differently than everyone else.  References to an invisible “they” were as common as others commenting on a passing stray.  Though Banshee could not perceive exactly what Scarlet’s trained eye saw, she felt keenly aware of them.  In her vision they were shadows that took whatever shape they desired.  Banshee always paid heed to their calls and gestures, and thus understood things beyond human comprehension.  Scarlet’s raven, Banshee knew, remained silent and only gave its harsh cry as a bad omen, implying an approaching death or disaster that they would explain if she listened closely.  Though the sky was clear, both Banshee and Scarlet knew it would storm by tomorrow.  To their left sat a hungry hound about to snap at the woman passing with arms full of tempting food.  Banshee took note of the last strand of knowledge and cautioned the befuddled woman to steer clear of the dog.  What seemed common sense to her astounded those watching.  Scarlet chuckled knowingly, and the crowd shuddered with painful awareness of something unnatural among them.

“They are rather moody today, Banshee,” Scarlet sighed, “You should be careful.”

Banshee shrugged, shifting her basket to her other arm, “Don’t worry… I won’t take any favors from them.  I know the price as much as you.”

They constantly gave advice, but never acted unless requested.  Banshee never asked for anything because of Scarlet’s constant warnings.  A slight shiver ran through her as Scarlet’s hood shifted.  Scarlet’s eyes resembled blood even more than Banshee’s.  Her old, cracked lips formed her words harshly.

“Never forget it, lass.  Never forget.  They’re bored, and it’s good sport for them to have a request.  You know what they’ll take if you ask them for a favor, don’t you, Banshee?”

It grew quiet.  The crowd paused, watching the pair intently.  They had all heard the warnings before, but never had the satisfaction of hearing what price a seer feared to pay.  Lady Scarlet knew.  Banshee knew.  But neither dared voice it aloud.

They would take the debtor’s soul.

Banshee tossed the thought aside, returning to her usual good humor with a laugh that made the masses relax.  “Of course I know.  I would never be foolish enou-”

Scarlet’s raven rustled its feathers, raised its head, and called loudly.

Lady Scarlet stiffened.  Banshee grew rigid.  Both heard them, calling out.  Danger.  Worse… danger at the little house up on the bluff, east of the village.  Scarlet sucked in her breath.  Banshee dropped her basket, staring ahead blindly.  Lady Scarlet recognized the astonishment and the look of sheer terror that followed.  Regaining her senses, Banshee turned and fled as if death were on her heels.  For a moment Scarlet watched with concern, then gave a great shudder and sat back in her chair with a wearisome shake of her head.

“Despair makes fools of us all, Banshee.”

The words never reached her.  Banshee never looked back.  Fear urged her feet beyond their natural limits.  Her heart hammered with the human emotions her unearthly knowledge usually avoided: anxiety and terror.  She gasped for air, turning her racing feet down the nearest street leading to the countryside east of town.  The little house on the bluff was her own.

Never had the path home seemed so long.  Her mind raced with the voices of the shadows around her, telling her of the bandits that would come there at dark and taunting her to increase her speed.  If she asked for help… they could make her faster.  Banshee shut the thought out.  Not yet.  She had not reached such a point of insanity yet.  Her human mind bent dangerously under the pressure of unnatural knowledge and natural fears, but not that far.  It took her a good hour to walk to the market.  Now she found herself covering the distance in less than half the time.  Still it felt as if she could not get there soon enough.  The sun sunk behind the horizon.  She stumbled on a stone in the dirt path, too small for her to see.  They had not told her about it.  They wanted her to ask for help.  Banshee sunk her teeth into her lower lip and ran blindly down the last stretch of the road she knew and loved so well.  Before she thrust open the oaken door, they described every detail of what lay ahead.

Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the dim light of the lantern and catch a glimpse of her husband, limp on the ground, before rough hands seized her.  There were too many, holding her down, beating at her beloved, and grasping her precious son by the throat.  Hands everywhere.  No need to see their faces.  The hands committed the deeds that etched themselves into her eyes and tore into her soul.  She screamed, begged, and threatened.  No good.  They could not see her eyes well enough to care.  Blood pooled under her husband where he lay facedown.  In merciless whispers, they counted down the minutes till his passing and taunted her with the knowledge that her son would live to remember the murder of both parents.  Her unnatural wisdom warned her over and over, but her human mind, full of its flaws, broke under the weight of her love for those slipping away from her.  Trembling and weeping, she parted her lips with a scream.

“Save them!”

They need not be told twice.  She saw nothing.  Her eyes were already losing sight of the world humans so easily took for granted.  The figures and shadows around her became vivid.  She felt cold.  When she moved to wrap her arms around herself, she became aware that nothing else would ever touch her again except for her own, ghostly hands.  Then she saw all—the burden of both worlds in their full form.  She watched her husband and child fully restored, holding each other tightly to avoid looking upon the still form of their dear Banshee.  The place where her heart should have been ached, watching their agonized faces.  She only made one foolish attempt to hold them before realizing it was futile.  Her hands passed through them.  A shudder ran through her.  Her voice… perhaps they might hear that.  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.  She couldn’t speak.  Forever.  Her cursed existence—the ghoul that remained of her—would continue in its wretchedness for eternity.  Never could she live, and death could never claim her. 

Endless.

Clutching the bleeding dreams of yesterday in her trembling hands, she heard the raven call once more.  Not a warning this time, and not a sound any earthly creature would hear.  She knew it to be for her alone, calling out to her as one of its own kind.  Warily, she raised her head.  Her condemned existence shown clearly in her mind, and she smiled brokenly.  Nothing more than the raven’s kin… doomed as a bearer of ill omen till the end of time.  The raven did not remain silent until danger lurked by choice; it could voice nothing else.  She watched her loved ones weeping just beyond her reach, then closed her eyes.  The darkness soothed her a little, though she felt too aware of everything in both realms of existence to call it true blindness.  Breathing deeply, she parted her quivering lips and released the only sound her heartless, soulless core could form out of her parched throat.  She felt her dear ones cringe.  They could hear her now.  Could they understand?  She put every essence of her dark fate into her cry, hoping the love which had created it would reach them.  The raven joined her.  They harmonized the cry of empty souls.  Banshee and Raven sang their endless melody of Ill Omen.