The Red Band

By: Lucia L

Long ago, in the city of Tahoon, Bastoon, Narcissus the hag reigned terror over all. She was a vicious monster. Her gnarled hands ripped at throats, many travelers walked into death, brave men were slaughtered in their sleep, infants ceased in mid-wail at her screech. Narcissus got all she desired with blackmail, torture, ransoms, and other dark designs. But, she had one thing other witches did not.

She had guilt.

Narcissus had a sister by the name of Nymphadora. Attached to her shoulder, a gross sentient tumor, Nymphadora beleaguered every sin, every slaughter, every torment, every threat. Night and day, Nymphadora’s words smarted at Narcissus’s shriveled head.

“How can you eat such a small child, look, she’s shivering … torturing old butlers for information, even you shouldn’t sink that low … that kitten never touched a hair on your head … don’t you dare, Narcissus, no, don’t! … you’re foul, Narcissus, foul.” And soon it came too much to bear.

On a, even now, celebrated day, Narcissus the hag slew herself. All of Bastoon heard her screech, “ ENOUGH!” from her cave days before her head was found. A shiver ran through the world, the happy were sad; the hopeful, doomed to failure; the beggars and peasants that succeeded in wealth thought of old times, when all there was were rotting desperation. But only for a minute was this sadness. After that everything was normal, happy.

Just to be safe, the king sent fifty-nine of his knights and one of their squires into Narcissus’s foul cave. It was extremely hard to choose; none of the knights volunteered to go. In the end, the king randomly chose sixty knights. They all declined, were threatened by the prospect of death, and had to accept. One cowardly knight decided to finish himself. He did not get any funeral whatsoever, but, instead, was thrown into the woods. His rather friendly squire immediately replaced him.

The soldiers easily found Narcissus' thankfully dead body - and their hounds almost as easily discovered theirs. Physicians couldn’t determine the reason of sixty completely capable men’s deaths. There were no arrows, no blood, no scent of poison on their lips. In silent prayer for the dead knights, no one noticed a sinister red band slither out from the cave.

* * *

It happened suddenly and unexpectedly. Everyone saw her, perfectly healthy, the night before, during her anniversary celebration.

Lady Cardiff, wife of Baron Cardiff, had been murdered in her wardrobe. The Baron was in state of shock. Everyone saw, as she was placed in her barrack, her marble hands around her throat, the panic, still fixed on her face. Every face was grim as the Baron announced that taxes had been reduced, as Lady Cardiff had wished for.

But, at home the peasants celebrated. Taxes had been reduced! Singing, dancing, and wine were to be seen everywhere. Children laughed and sang, though not knowing what the merry ruckus was about. Everyone danced and ran about, and there were a few injuries, though none noticed.

But by the afternoon, most of the cheer had faded, and talk was of how this “plague”, as they called it, was headed north, toward Demon Territory. An odd child or so would think it a good thing, for a plague to enrapture Demon Territory. But, he would soon learn from the rest of the community, that demons feed on plagues, and might grow strong enough to attack Bastoon, which borders the vile place.

Gossip tittered this way and that; by nightfall the northern side of Tahoon was utterly convinced that Cardiff was possessed by the devil, while the southern side thought the knights’ deaths were clever murder. As the city squirmed into uneasy sleep, and overlooked red band waved from its clothesline into the still night air. If the peasant stoking the fire were to have turned around and stare out of the crude hole of a window, she would have noticed how peculiar it was for any garments to wave on so windless a night. It waved again, almost stiffly, showing a row of eyes, cat’s eyes, brown eyes, and mostly shades of blue Bastoonian eyes. Darting this way and that, the eyes were crying, panicky, surprised, and tortured eyes.

“Comicus,comicus,” the band said in a clairvoyant tongue. A squinty eye in the middle of the band glowed a eerie red.

“Hweat nechst?” The band seemed impatient and then went rigid. All the eyes turned black, growing wider and wider until they were only dark caves, blending with the night. An unearthly shriek howled through the air and the eyes began a bone-chilling, yet disturbingly peaceful chant:

I’ll give your life a little ease,

I’ll listen to your needing pleas.

An innocent life is the price,

Prepare to make your sacrifice!

As the chant ended, the pupils dimmed, and returned to their desolate selves. But the one that cackled stayed cave like and turned glassy. Like a curtain lifted from a gypsy’s orb, the eye depicted a rich merchant selling trinkets in the city of Esperoba, capital of Bastoon.

“Comprehendere,” said the band. It wriggled of its line and slithered north, out of Tahoon, toward Esperoba.

* * *

Ulysuss the merchant dressed in his most lavish clothes; dark purple finery with a white shirt sporting elegant ruffles underneath. Ten rings for every blistered finger on his broad hands made them look like fire when glanced of sunlight. To finish it off, he put a golden circlet over his head, the latest fashion among lords and ladies. Aspen, Ulysuss’ lanky, scrawny nephew, had told him, rashly, that it was pointless, since the circlet was barely noticeable among his fiery red-gold locks of hair. He yelled at Aspen, as he had every morning for some reason or another, felt guilty afterward, as he also did daily, but was always too proud to apologize. Ulysuss was ashamed of his undersized, orphaned nephew. Aspen was a studious boy with no physical power whatsoever. His uncle thought it unmanly.

As he stepped into his white carriage, Ulysuss’ thoughts were tossed toward sweet Annaliese Cardiff, whose mourning ceremony he was attending. He courted her years before, and was about to profess his love when she took interest in young Baron Cardiff. “Of what I wouldn’t give to join her, anywhere,” he thought in painful regret. As the carriage bounced along the dirt road, Ulysuss’ mind switched to a new matter; the mysterious plague heading north. It was, according to gossip, last heard of in the nearby city of Tahoon, striking a killing his sweet Annaliese and fifty men without trace of pox, rash, or blood. He shivered. The carriage rumbled to a halt. He had arrived at Lady Cardiff’s mourning ceremony.

* * *

The red band hung onto a branch on an old wilting willow. It knew there was a sadness enveloping the area. “Festum!” it said in dignified, yet ill-contained glee. The eyes sucked in the solemn faces. “Delicia,” it breathed in bliss. Then the band saw him; the trinket seller of Esperoba. He walked right under the willow. Slowly inching onto the next branch down, the band searched for a good place to land unnoticed. Red cardigan, to far away, red bishop hat, not dark a shade enough, a flash of red hair, perfection! And right on his victim’s head. The band dropped down onto the trinket-seller’s blazing red hair. It lay there, perfectly still, and – the merchant tilted his head. The red band fell down, down, down. It hadn’t noticed how tall this mortal was. An auburn wrist past by. Stretching its full length, the band grabbed the wrist and felt a pulse. He squeezed brutally before losing his death grip and falling roughly to the ground. It cared not. Its task was done. It headed north, toward his final destination; Demon Territory.

* * *

When Ulysuss’ got home, he felt very tired. Laying himself on his softest featherbed, the old merchant closed his eyes. It wasn’t until midnight that the maid found his cold, dead body.

* * *

Aspen found out the next day; his uncle was dead. He loved the old man, though Ulysuss’ looked down on him as a boy, not a man. As he dusted out the soiled shop, Aspen thought of old times. He reminisced when he was taught how to climb a tree, he could still do it, though slowly. He had earned himself a decent featherbed from Ulysuss’ when he learned about credits and debits and managed to obtain fifty gold coins. Ulysuss’ had taught him the power of a silver tongue, and Aspen managed to buy twelve Asian carpets, a silver penny a-piece. He couldn’t take it anymore. Aspen sat down in a dusty corner and sobbed.

* * *

Ulysuss’ was having a dream. He had blue wings with black dots speckled here and there. Lady Annaliese Cardiff stood in front of him in a honey-yellow dress that matched her hair. She, too, had gossamer blue wings. They were in a field, with flowers as large as houses, and monstrous birds chirped. He looked around, bewildered, and waited to be woken up.

“This isn’t a dream, Ulysuss. I thought so too until I found out…” Annaliese said, and ended in a sigh, and a tear trickled down a rosy cheek. Usually, Ulysuss would have swept her in his arms and comforted her, but he was too stricken to. A sudden transmitted explanation flowed through his brain. “I’m dead. In death, people are fairies.” he thought in awe. He met Annaliese Cardiff’s gaze. In comprehension beyond words, they sat on a tulip and watched as sixty fairies rode in on dragonflies and started a friendly joust in the overlarge field. In the end, Ulysuss’ Illiad did join sweet Annaliese, and they are somewhere among flowers still.

* * *

Aspen had stopped crying. He sat on an oak chair in mute mourning. Two blue butterflies fluttered in and for some unexplainable reason, he felt better. Good enough to read the letter sent to him by the baron this morning. It was a brief:

July 19, 1293

Dear Aspen Illiad,

Following Sir Illiad’s death, it was decided that you, Aspen Illiad, as his only heir, would inherit the following possessions: Ulysuss Illiad’s capital, Ulysusses Illiad’s shop, his manor with its many belongings, and finally, a saved dowry, which he never used.

Sincerely,

Baron Augustus Cardiff

Aspen did not feel better now, he felt positively joyous. And from that day on Aspen Illiad became a merchant, and a prosperous one. Every month, he would throw a bag gold out his window (since he could afford it, of course), and watched as a beggar snapped it up with a warm feeling in his heart. His children did the same. And so did their children and their children’s children . . .

* * *

Trouble always came in threes. As three deaths had past, the king believed the mischief to be over. To celebrate, he gave one large gold sack to every major city and, in return, the crops grown were the best in years. Festivities were everywhere (because the king ordered it), and all slept full and blissful. Peace, again, after a month of panic.

* * *

Narcissus’ red, eyed, band had reached Demon Territory. It smoothly slithered past the border and disappeared into the earth made of disintegrated bones, never to be seen since. All was well, and would be for a long time.

“Here I sleep for centuries ten,

To return one day and take life again.”