hunkered down so that its gigantic face was level with hers.
From "Sacrificial Offering"
In all her travels throughout the world, Medb hErenn had often encountered strange peasant rituals that mystified her, but the sight that greeted her as she approached the edge of the forest was one of the most unusual she had ever encountered. A baker's dozen of people stood just in front of a pair of short, fat obelisks that framed an opening in the trees. All save one were dressed in the rough and homely garb of people who lived off the fruits of the earth; the odd one, a young woman, wore a sleeveless shift of white, translucent, silky material that only came down to mid-thigh, and a crown of flowers on her head. She was also different in that the people who were with her were all short and squat, and as homely as their clothing, with dusky skin and black hair, whereas she was tall and slender, with a petite figure, flawless milk-white complexion, and blonde hair so light it looked like silvered bronze. She had an ethereal beauty that made her appear more like a work of art than a living person.
At first glance, it seemed to her that the people were gathered for a wedding, with the beauty being the bride. However, she perceived two things that contradicted that impression: there was no groom, and the assembled people were wailing as if in mourning. She had known cultures that treated marriage as a very solemn affair, but they seemed to be taking solemnity much too far. Ordinarily, she would not have interfered, but the whole tableau seemed so bizarre that she suspected something more sinister was behind it all, so she approached the small group to find out what was going on.
Among those in attendance was an elderly man who stood off to one side. He too wept, and as he did so he fingered a metallic ornament suspended from a necklace of wooden beads. She thought it best to speak to him first, so as not to disturb the ceremony. As such, she walked up beside him and asked him courteously to explain the ceremony.
"It is a sacrifice, my child. Each generation our village is required to give a maiden as bride to the Black Ram With a Thousand Ewes."
She recognized the name; the Black Ram was the male counterpart of Shub-Niggurath. "Why would your people do such a thing?"
"If we do not grant its demand, it will destroy us all. Through her bravery and generosity, she protects us for an entire generation."
"I understand." And indeed she did. The people from her homeland of Erin had often made human sacrifices to appease their bloodthirsty gods, and with few exceptions they were like the girl: beautiful, unblemished, born and raised for that purpose alone, and, strangest of all, ready and willing to fulfill their appointed destiny.
Even so: "Why do you not fight it instead?"
The man hung his head in shame. "Because we are cowardly and weak. We have not had the strength to defend ourselves for as long as this curse has been upon us. When I was a boy, I remember that a hero came to us and offered to go and confront the Black Ram, but he failed, and it came and decimated our village, consuming many of our souls. If one whose strength and courage was far greater than ours could not prevail against this fiend, what hope have we?" And he buried his face in his hands, as if to hide from his shame.
She took pity on him, and placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "How long has this gone on?" Her tone was gentle to soothe him.
The old man dropping his hands. "Longer than anyone can remember." He paused to wipe his eyes. "I remember tales of it told to me by my great-grandfather, who had heard them from his great-grandfather, who had heard them from his. We are an accursed people, and we have borne it for centuries, yet we still pray to our gods to rid us of this monster."
She felt amazed. "Why? It seems to me they have abandoned you."
For the first time the elder showed some defiance. "They have not abandon us!"
"How do you know this?"
"It may not be their will to remove this scourge from our lives, but they pity us and each generation send us one such as she--" He indicated the girl. "--that the rest of us may remain safe from the wicked grasp of this archfiend."
"And why would they do this if they refuse to deliver you?"
"Because we have remained faithful to them even in the face of this abomination."
"But what of her?"
"We...do not know, but all we can do is pray that our gods take her soul before the Black Ram can consume it." Distressed by that slim hope, the man once again buried his face in his hands.
She marveled at such a simple, stubborn faith; that it could survive, let alone flourish, under circumstances such as those; that it could still inspire hope for a miracle even after ten generations and longer. Among the people of Erin, the inability of any deity to save them from a fell supernatural force would be proof of that god's inferiority, and they would freely abandon it for another, hopefully stronger one. Though she knew the supernatural world was as real as the natural, she did not herself believe in gods, but the idea that any people would cling to them against all reason, especially ones so uncaring or ineffectual, defied all comprehension.
With her curiosity satisfied, she could have simply turned and walked away, leaving the people to their curse. Instead, she found herself saying something quite inexplicable:
"I will take her place."
The oldster lifted his head and gave her a stunned look. "Are you serious?" Disbelief stood naked on his face.
For a moment she wondered that herself, but she gave him a pointed stare with an enigmatic smile. "I would not have said it if I was not."
His face beamed as, for perhaps the first time in his life, hope filled his heart. "Are you a maiden?"
"I am," she lied.
Taking her by the arm, he pulled her towards the bride. "Then we must hurry, before she passes through the gate."
From "Oak Do Hate"
She ran back out to the cart and rode off; the source of the glow seemed to be just ahead. As she got closer her anxiety mounted, and in her imagination she saw all sorts of horrendous possibilities, each worse than the one before. What she finally did see, however, mystified her as she slowed the cart to a halt.
In the space of the park between the stables and the lake, on either side of the path, were trees, dozens of them, maybe even a hundred or more.
"There aren't supposed to be trees here." But they were the source of the glow. Each one emitted only a feeble light, but together they lit up the night sky, if only dimly.
She got out of the cart and walked among them, examining each with the torch. She realized they weren't actually trees, just trunks sunk into the ground, all between five and six feet tall, with two boughs raised into the air, but with no branches, and curiously no leaves. That early in autumn there should still have been some, even if they had turned color. Another puzzling feature: each had a strange, knobby growth, like a giant gall, at the top of the trunk between the boughs.
It doesn't make sense. Aelfraed hadn't told her about any landscaping being done, and she had been out riding a couple of days before and hadn't seen anything in that area. It would take longer than that to plant that many trees. On top of which, it would have been faster and more efficient to plant seedlings, but no gardener worth his salt would plant mature trees just before winter. And why cut off the boughs, or leave just two?
As she shined the torch around, she spotted a small reflection in the middle of one of the galls. She kept the beam steady on it as she approached.
What is that? When she reached the foot of the trunk, she found something embedded into the wood. She studied it in an intent manner, trying to divine what it was. When she finally recognized it, her heart seized as her blood ran cold, and she backed away from the tree.
"Oh my Holy God!"
It was a pair of pince-nez spectacles.
She played the light over the gall. The pattern of the bark was identical to the facial features of Aelfraed, except they were twisted into an expression of terror. She shined the light on another tree; that one had the features of Mrs. Widget, with her granny glasses embedded in the wood. Be
side her was a squat tree that looked like Holt, and beside him one that resembled Phillipa Trumbo, the pastry chef. Another reminded her of Doc LeClerc. She ran around the grove; all the trees had human faces on them, most of which she recognized as members of her staff.
In her growing panic she accidently ran into one of them. As she stepped back, she illuminated the gall-face and felt a jolt: Vlad's countenance stared back at her in a blank manner. Despair washed over her and she reached out to lay a hand on the bark. She wouldn't have believed he would end like that.
{Neither would I, My Master, but I am not finished yet.}
At first startled, she broke out into a relieved grin. You're alive?!
{In a manner of speaking.}
What of the others? Aelfread, Mrs. Widget, Holt--
{They are more alive than I. They are just encased in prisons of wood, as I.}
She felt her irritation flare. Why didn't you reply back at the house!?
{I could not. My prison prevented me. Only through this physical contact are we able to converse, yet just barely. Soon even this will become impossible.}
Oh. My apologies.
{You need never apologize to me, Master. Do you beg forgiveness of a pistol or a sword? I am only a weapon, albeit a broken one at present.}
Never mind that