The Beasts: A Winter's Tale

Dear friends, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've come with me through this adventure so far. Now, we are arriving at the end of the Beasts, and I am going to take a week or so break from this saga before returning to it. In the meantime, I will begin running my first full fantasy story, The Book of the Blue House, and I hope some of you will be around for that. And now, the conclusion ofThe Beasts.

ONE BREAD, ONE BODY, one Lord of all
One cup of blessing which we bless
And we, though many, throughout the earth
We are one body in this one Lord.

The church was crowded for a funeral at this strange time of the year, and why was it a strange time, Marabeth wondered? Why was it that no one could die on Christmas, that nothing bad could happen on the second day or the third day of the year as this was. Why was it someone said, “Oh, your mother died on Christmas, how horrible!” As if, had she died in the middle of summer it would have been better. Been smellier maybe, but surely not better. Anything could happen any time, and it was just the lie of the holidays that nothing awful could happen here.

And then, this had not happened over the holidays, anyway. It was only that the dreadful news, like a gift of the Wicked Fairy, had come to them at this time.

”…And we, though many, throughout the earth
We are one body in this one Lord
Many the gifts, many the works
One in the Lord of all…”

It was as if, at this moment, there was no room in the story for her life, for what had occurred in the last few days. Jason McCord over last night. The broad faced, good natured detective in her bed this morning. He had been watching her, playing with her hair, making faces while Kristian called, and she wondered if her brother suspected something. No matter, life was short and often painful. The proof was right here before them all. One must take what pleasure one could.

And yet, Jason McCord was part of the story. He was at work now. She had lain in bed watching him dress, pull snug boxers over a round bottom pure as milk, then cover his lovely ass in trousers, his broad torso in tee shirt and dress shirt, push his thick hair from his neck and straighten his collar. It had been so long since a naked man had been in this apartment, slept in this bed, she lay their treasuring it even when he turned around and said, “I’ll call of work. Do you want me to come with you?”

Things had changed now, and now Marabeth wanted to talk to Kris’s friend, or rather his mentor, Uriah. She could not do it today, but she would be knocking on his door shortly.

“Yes,” Marabeth said. “I do. But you shouldn’t.”

“Mara—”

“This is not the way I want to present you to my family.”

“You want to present me to your family?

“Yes,” Marabeth answered.

He kissed her roughly then. He kissed her so powerfully she almost undressed him and brought him back to bed. She felt the surge of power in her she’d had the night before. She saw Jason’s eyes change, then he pulled away and barked, “Fuck off! This is for me and her.”

Just like that, the strange heat was gone, and a more ordinary desire passed over her. Whatever Jason was, he had power over Hagano. She pulled Jason down by his tie and kissed him.

“I wish I could go with you,” he told her.

He had to work, and she had to mourn, and that was that and that’s where they left it.

She had arrived right before her Aunt Marianne. Marianne was Peter’s aunt really, a cousin who had been close to Nathan, and she came out of her convent more frequently these days, but usually in plain clothes or a simple habit like the nuns in school. This morning she arrived in full black and heavy black veil over her white wimple, a weighty old rosary in her hands.

“Marabeth,” she said handing her a package, “this has been with me some time. It was given me by my aunt Pamela, your aunt Pamela, when I went into the convent. She was strange to many people, but good to me, and I thought,” Marianne said, as Marabeth opened the old blue shawl smelling of perfume and other scents he could not name, “that you should have it now.”

Marabeth had made to put it on, to please Marianne, but the old nun cackled and said, “No, you can’t wear that to a funeral. Or even outside the house. It’s for old women and nights sitting inside reading. Not for that dress you have on or your figure. Leave it on the hook by the door.”

Marabeth grinned at Marianne who grinned back like an old wolf and said, “Love is in your life. I can see. I can practically smell it on you."

Right now Marabeth was sitting beside Kris, and if he hadn’t gently nudged her, she wouldn’t have gotten up to go to the Communion line. She didn’t go to church all the time now, and she wasn’t sure she would in the future. Here she was in the front row, and she thought it would be false to take a look at the covered casket, to touch it affectionately, though she was tempted to let her family know she was a dutiful daughter, to let everyone know that she was what she should be. But who she was was someone who did not want to look at the long and silent casket on its catafalque and wonder what it housed, certainly nothing like the father she had known. And the truth was she had what was left of him. She had it in her apartment, had been reading it for over a week.

“Body of Christ, Mara.”

“Amen,” Marabeth said to Father Jefferson, which was the one concession the family had made. The pastor of Saint Agatha’s would preside over the funeral, and she was glad to take Communion from him. She took the chalice from her cousin Myron who always looked nervous when he was a Eucharistic minister. He was staring at her so hard, and she thought, “Well, he loved Father.”

Can you hear me?

Marabeth blinked.

The world seemed to have slowed down around them, and she looked at Myron.

Can you hear me?

What in the absolute fuck?

We need to talk.

Myron?

We need to talk.

Marabeth did not know how to hide her…. Not terror, but she only nodded, then she moved from her cousin, the goof of the family, shaken, How in the world…? But not now. At the house.

Marabeth nodded to the altar, remembering what her cousin Marianne had taught them, “You bow to the Tabernacle, not to the altar. The Tabernacle contains the physical presence of Christ in this world. In the Tabernacle, Jesus is present.”

,
One bread, one body, one Lord of all
One cup of blessing which we bless
And we, though many, throughout the earth
We are one body in this one Lord
We are one body in this one Lord

Because she was one of the first to the altar, she could watch the long line of cousins in black, and friends, some in black, some not, as well as parishioners from Saint Agatha’s. There was Joy with Peter. She dipped down to kiss Marabeth on the cheek on her way back to her seat, and Marabeth looked around the church, at the old apse with the veiled tabernacle behind the white stone altar, the statue of the Blessed Virgin in her niche on one side of the altar, and Saint Joseph on the other. High and away from the altar, the marble statue of Jesus with his arms outstretched looked over the people heading down the southern arcade, and all along the back wall of the apse were the saints and angels in a mural of clouds, Saint Peter reaching down with his keys, toward Saint Paul who carried, negligently, the sword that had once beheaded him. The piano swung into another song, not sad at all, and tears sprang to Marabeth’ s eyes as she remembered the vaguely soulful choir at Saint Agatha’s, and her father, in his watery silky blue Hawaiian shirt, his hair thick and dark, singing along with her mother when Rebecca’s hair was long and red.

River of glory, springs of our birth
flood of God's riches poured on the Earth
We are born from the darkness
and clothed in the light!
We are bathed in the glory of God!

And suddenly she was so sad. It was as if she had been frozen by winter, frozen by everything, and life was just so sad and so cold and so awful and so hard, and everything she was learning was hard, and she wanted that happiness, the happiness that seemed to be more like a rest from life than actual life, when she was happy and Kris was happy, and Mom and Dad were happy and the house was filled for feasting and not this funeral.

Marabeth had retired to her room.After a while she didn’t think she needed to do anything but be by herself. There was no message from Jason, and that almost bugged her. He usually knew the right thing to do, then again, their relationship had been a matter of days and started with a fuck on the floor. Besides, maybe he knew the right thing was to leave her alone. Being alone was, after all, what she really wanted right now.

Also, after all of Myron’s strangeness at church—no, that was not it—Myron had reached into her mind and spoken to her. Myron was Amy’s brother, and her favorite male cousin next to Jim, who was more a brother than a cousin. She had always thought Myron was more than a loveable goof, but she was not ready for what he had done. And then he had received a phone call and departed the house as if his urgent words were not urgent at all, and now no one knew where he was.

Downstairs she had played the gracious host, and wasn’t it good enough that she wasn’t going home tonight? It was as if all the misery of the last few days had not been allowed to overwhelm her, and now she let it. Why must this life be so hard, and with no promise of getting any better? And then she cried till there was nothing else really, until she just lay on her back in the half dark and gathering shadows of a new year that would surely have as little promise as the last.

Even as she allowed herself the rare luxury of this self pity, Marabeth heard something. It was a hum, but now she detected a rhythm. There it was again, an almost singing. The tune was familiar, and the words were faint, occasionally audible.

“It’s not in the house. It’s on the street.

Christmas carolers. But Christmas was over, and now she pushed open her window to the cold air.

In the gathering darkness, holding lanterns, their voices rising eerily from down below, she heard several people singing low, and then with a high intensity their voices rose.

“THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
—Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
—And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art past
To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.”

Marabeth sprang from her bed, struggled into shoes, then plodded down the steps, trying not to call attention to herself as her family looked up at her, Amy, putting a hand to her cheek, Peter touching Joyce’s hand. Marabeth came through the living room, and taking it from the hook off the wall, she wrapped Pamela’s shawl about her. She entered the small mudroom, opened the great door and stood there, hearing them sing

“If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane

-—Every nighte and alle,
The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane.

—And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,
-—Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;

—And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
-—Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;

—And Christe receive thy saule.”

Their voices had risen and fallen, like an enchantment, and now they rose to their height and then went down to their depths finishing.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-—Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
—And Christe receive thy saule.

By now Kris had come. And Jim and Peter. Cyrus, Joy, Rebecca, too, but they were all behind Marabeth, and from the circle of singers came one, bearing a lantern of cut glass that winked in the night. Marabeth thought these people were not like her family, because they clearly did not inhabit the normal world, but they were like her, because she, in a way did not inhabit the normal world either, and the Black man in his wool cap and flashing spectacles stopped singing, extended the lantern and said, “Marabeth Strauss, I have come to bring you greetings and condolences. This is my clan, and I am Lewis Dunharrow.”

When daylight returns, we shall continue the story of the Dunharrows, the Strausses and learn more concerning witches, blood-drinkers and all creatures of the night in

The Wicked