Chapter 61. The Two at the Crossroads (14)
Donovan whistled as he scrubbed the old grime off a huge iron cauldron.
Normally, since he lived with only his daughter Alice, there was hardly any need to bring out such a big pot. But today they had two extra people—if he were to make stew, a small kettle would never suffice.
He rubbed the pot with a bundle of dried straw, his face flushed as though he had been drinking. Passing by the well, his longtime friend Tuss spotted him cleaning the cauldron and teased him.
“Getting remarried, are you? You look unusually cheerful today.”
Donovan shot him a sharp glance and retorted gruffly.
“Remarried, my foot. Who’d be crazy enough to take a new wife when the only thing left to count is the days until the coffin?”
Though he said that, his mood was indeed very good. It was simply delightful to have a new face break the monotony of his simple, quiet life.
Being a man who had always liked company, and who had been lively in his youth, he was excited, as if a long-lost relative had returned—even though the guests would leave in a few days.
He rinsed the dust off the pot with cold water and straightened his back with a groan. In younger days, he had been praised for his strong build, but age did not spare him. Watching Donovan thump his back with a clenched fist, Tuss clicked his tongue.
“At this rate…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be asking you to nurse me.”
Though Donovan said it with a joking smile, Tuss still couldn’t hide his concern. More than that, he seemed to have something on his mind—he lingered, circling around without leaving. Donovan, puzzled, looked up from the pot.
“What’s wrong? Got something to say?”
“No, not exactly…”
Tuss’s hesitant attitude was clearly unusual. Donovan put the pot down, straightened his back, and faced him.
“Not exactly? You’ve got it written on your forehead that you’ve something to say. Out with it, before I die of suspense.”
Tuss fiddled with his scruffy beard, giving Donovan a sidelong look.
“Well… it’s nothing much. Just something I heard. Um… how’s your daughter these days?”
At that moment Donovan’s face instantly turned pale. Before Tuss even finished speaking, the memory of a recent night flashed through his mind—
Alice, barely dressed, pacing up and down the top step of the stairs all night long.
“What about Alice?”
Donovan’s sudden fierce tone startled Tuss.
“Why are you so mad all of a sudden? I just asked, that’s all. I ran into her briefly at the shop the other day and it made me think of it…”
“What do you mean, how is she?”
“Well, um…”
Flustered, Tuss sighed heavily, running his hand down his face.
“Listen, I only heard this and I’m passing it on, all right? You know old Slick from the neighboring village?”
Donovan’s brows knitted immediately.
“Why bring up that name?”
Slick was a wealthy, elderly man in the next village over. He owned wide wheat fields and several shops in town, giving him enough standing to throw his weight around in such a small region.
But though people bowed before him, behind his back they spat. Not only was Slick himself despised, but his three sons—each from different mothers—were notorious scoundrels.
Tuss mumbled awkwardly.
“Well… his eldest son’s been married a while, but… apparently, no children. Slick says it’s because his daughter-in-law has a bad temper. So, you know… they say Alice is plain, but she’s kind-hearted. He thought maybe…”
Clang!
The iron pot Donovan had kicked crashed against the well. Tuss jumped, startled, and even passersby turned their heads to see what was going on.
“Do you want to die by my hand today?”
Tuss frantically waved his hands.
“No! Think about it—Slick is rich, isn’t he? Even as a second wife, wouldn’t it be better? And if things go badly with his eldest son’s wife, maybe he’ll divorce her and bring Alice in as the main wife—”
“Don’t spew that madness at me! I’d sooner hang myself than give my daughter to that good-for-nothing brat! Say that in front of me again, and I’ll dunk you headfirst into the well!”
Donovan’s furious outburst sent Tuss fleeing in a panic. Even after he was gone, Donovan’s rage wouldn’t subside. Huffing, he heaved the cauldron up with one hand and carried it back home.
When he returned, his daughter Alice was already back. She still hadn’t removed her veil, as though she had just walked in.
“Father! Where were you?”
Alice, halfway through removing her hat with the veil, widened her eyes at Donovan’s flushed face and the cauldron in his hand.
“Why’d you bring out that pot? And why do you look like that? Did something happen?”
At her innocent voice, Donovan felt his chest ache, as if crushed under a weight. Tears threatened to well up, but he forced them back with a sniff.
As Alice removed her hat, half of her face was revealed—horribly twisted as if melted by fire. From the top down, the flesh sagged grotesquely, as though half her face had melted away.
The other half, unscarred and flawless, hurt Donovan even more. If only she had been born entirely disfigured, she would not look so pitiful, he thought again and again.
“Father.”
Alice approached, concern in her eyes, and gently placed her hand over his. Donovan blinked back to his senses, sniffing.
“It’s nothing. Was the work hard?”
“I only picked some ears of wheat. It wasn’t hard. But why were you cleaning this big pot?”
“Ah, we’ve got guests. They were looking for a place to stay, so I dragged them in. You know we have spare rooms.”
Alice frowned slightly, the scarred side of her face twitching strangely.
“Father, really. You should’ve dusted first. They must’ve run off in fright when they saw the rooms.”
“Nonsense! Once I’ve caught them, they can’t escape. Isn’t that right?”
“So that’s why you cleaned the pot? Where are the guests now?”
“Hmm, should’ve been back by now.” Donovan looked toward the doorway.
“There’s nothing to see here. Are they tourists?”
“No, knights of Tentinella. I’d only heard of them, but seeing them in person was impressive. Oh! Right—my girl, they might even be able to help you.”
Alice’s eye twitched. The other eyelid quivered as well, but buried deep under layers of scarred flesh, it was hard to notice.
“Help me? Why?”
Donovan set the pot on the kitchen table, not seeing her strange expression.
“Your face…” He faltered. He realized he had never spoken of the things he saw at night, when Alice roamed the stairs.
Like Tuss earlier, Donovan now wore a troubled expression.
“Your face… The knights of Tentinella, they say they can do wondrous things with magic. I asked, just in case, and they said they’d take a look. Think about it, Alice. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if… if you could…”
“Father.”
Donovan’s rambling stopped abruptly.
It was only then that he realized he couldn’t even bring himself to look his daughter straight in the face. Never once since she was born had he done that.
Meeting her gaze, Donovan froze. It was as if he were staring at a stranger, though he had seen his daughter’s face every day for over twenty years. Yet a sharp, undeniable conviction struck him—
That is not my daughter.
Alice spoke.
“Why are you lying to me?”
Donovan’s breath caught. His chest constricted, lungs squeezed. A moment later, he realized—it was fear. A terror so sharp and immense he wanted to turn and run to the ends of the earth.
“M-my girl…”
“Why are you lying, Father? Are you ashamed of me? You want me gone, don’t you?”
Crack.
Donovan instinctively knew that sound. As a child, he had once fallen from a tree and broken his arm. The dull, resonant crack that had rung through his body then—the same sound now came from Alice. And it didn’t stop at one.
“Alice! Alice!”
Donovan screamed. Like dry sticks snapping all at once, the sound filled the room as Alice’s body bent backward unnaturally.
With her belly upward, she planted her limbs on the floor, craning her head back. Her mouth stretched wide, splitting grotesquely like a torn sack. Inside, rows of sharp white teeth lined the roof of her mouth all the way up.
“You’re ashamed of me! You wished I were dead! Every day you wished your daughter would die! Fine! Fine! Fine! I knew it! I knew it!”
Foam spewed from her gaping maw. Donovan couldn’t even scream.
Then, her limbs scuttled across the floor like a spider’s, making a skittering sound. Like a water strider gliding across a pond, Alice darted out through the back door.
Donovan fainted on the spot, cold sweat pouring from him like rain—unnoticed.
“Wait, Laila.”
At Eustar’s voice, Laila stopped and turned, her face grave. Both their faces were flushed, cheeks and noses red, sweat beading as though they had just been in a fierce struggle.
Breathless, Eustar glanced around.
“It’s time we admit it. Don’t you think?”
Laila swallowed hard and turned her eyes away. Beyond the thick fog that blanketed their vision, a vague, tall shape appeared—it was a crossroads signpost.
Laila nodded, brushing her lips with the back of her hand.
“We’re lost, Eustar.”
