Berian and Celeste

Celeste walked slowly down the lane, taking care to avoid the splatter of sludgy mud even as the rain slid from her leather coat. Clouds obscured the moon, and the flaming street lamps had been quenched by the storm. She couldn’t see me, but I saw her. Darkness kept me hidden well.

Perhaps her steps had slowed a bit over the last twenty years, time creeping up on her at last. It didn’t show in her ageless face, or her damp, graying hair - a glistening darkness that framed her smooth, lightly rouged cheeks. Still beautiful of course, as I remembered to my dismay. If only I looked as unchanged by the years as she did.

Yes, there was a hitch in her step, creating a halting gait. Definitely slower. I peered closer, and saw that she gripped her coat shut with wrinkled fingers, her nails painted blue, yet chipped. If not for her, I wouldn’t be able to pick out such details. She passed the window of my home, and the doorknob jiggled. She muttered something under her breath, Celeste’s voice conjuring memories I’d long since forgotten, and hoped never to remember. I heard the key snik in the lock, and the door opened to allow her shadow to enter my domain, cast by the lone lamp across the street that valiantly rebuffed nature’s attempt to quell it too.

“Berian, I know you’re in here,” she said, shutting the door behind her. Though the room’s shadows kept me from her sight, every move she made seemed enhanced by the sounds she made as she bumped against the dusty furniture. “Berian!” She yelled, but I did not reply. I hadn’t gone by that name in decades.

Celeste found a long-disused candle and managed to light it with a word, sparks leaping from her fingers to kindle the wick. Darkness fled but a little, the fuel provided creating only a meager flame. Shadows instead danced around the room. If I could, I would have chuckled.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” she offered, as if words would mollify me. “I can fix it now. Fix…you.” She held the candle aloft, twisting her head to survey the room, looking from corner to corner, her eyes casting upon the ceiling above. Of course she’d look there.

“Who?” I called, watching from my vantage as her startled gaze swung past me.

“You, Berian. You.” Celeste walked closer, not sure where I was. That of course was the point; she had long since lost my trust and I was in no mood to deal with her. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I made a mistake, and I can make it up to you.”

I watched her fumble her free hand through a pouch at her waist, feeling for something. Earn my trust? Is that what you’re trying to do? I thought. “I’ve got snacks for you,” she continued, drawing out a handful of dried corn and a mix of seeds. Insulting. “Come on, Berian, come out. Please.” She tossed some of it tantalizingly close, but I shied away, still unseen.

“Tchk tchk tchk,” she clucked, as if calling to a cat. Who did she think she was looking for? “Berian!” she called louder, the flickering shadows casting confusing doubt throughout the room.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” she said. Yeah, twenty years! “I know it wasn’t right, and I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “I didn’t think it would actually work.” Oh, it worked all right. “I’ve found someone who could help.”

“Who?” I called again, further from her this time. Watching her swivel her head like an owl to find me amused me to no end.

“Her name is Drina. She lives down near Whedby. I apprenticed with her. The things she knew… Berian,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, probably a good choice since her normal voice made my ears throb. “She knew things that turned my blood cold.” I could sense the terror in her voice. Her experiences had obviously shaken her. “The things I did for her…” She paused, considering.

“I stuck it out for you,” she continued.

“Who?” I asked again. Celeste’s eyes quivered in the candlelight, true sorrow leaving its mark.

“For you,” she reassured. “She bonded with me, too,” she said, holding her left arm aloft. I saw clear as day the burn mark in the shape of a tree branch forking along her forearm. It crisscrossed from her elbow to her wrist, pale scar tissue against the darkness of her flesh.

“Her mark brought me into her coven, Berian. I’m a witch now,” she explained. I knew all too well what kind of witch. For twenty years I’d followed her in the shadows and she’d never known. Only now, she sought to make amends? I don’t buy it.

Through the open window I heard the wind pick up, and rain pattered against the window pane, leaking between the gap of the jamb. It hadn’t been closed in years, and the wood had swollen such that it was now quite difficult to close. Not that I’d ever bother. The witch didn’t notice.

What I did notice were the swollen knuckles and chapped fingers, now that she’d come near. I changed my estimation. She’d kept her youthful beauty, but the years of slaving over a cauldron had begun to rot her hands. Why had I fallen for this vision of perfection? She had only led me to my ruin.

“For years, I told myself I’d find a way to undo this,” she said, walking right past me, unseeing. “It was a joke at first, before I saw how real it was. I didn’t think it would be like this. You're avoiding me.”

“Who?” I screeched loudly.

“Me, Berian! You’ve avoided me for twenty years! I couldn’t bear losing you like I did and it was my fault. All of it. All of this. We were good together,” she continued. Good for nothing, I thought. Celeste looked all around. At least twice she swept her gaze right past me and saw nothing. My choice. I wanted her to suffer more, for the years she’d stolen from me. “Please, show yourself!” Ah, so she’s caught on. It amused me even more.

She walked into the kitchen and I followed her. After a few moments she found a new candle and lit that as well. I wasn’t following close enough to be seen, but the extra light did make it more difficult.

“How do you live like this?” she gestured at a countertop, thick with dust, but no vermin droppings. I took care of those. “I should never have said those words,” she admitted, slumping her shoulders in defeat. There were a few puddles here, where the roof needed repair. Probably my fault, but I’d never admit it to her.

“I didn’t know those words had power of their own. I was young, and idealistically foolish,” she conceded. “I don’t even know why I’m here anymore. I lost you a long time ago.”

“Who?” I squawked quietly.

“Stop hiding, Berian. Please show yourself. I need to know what I did to deserve this.”

You know, Celeste. How could you not?

“It’s fine, you don’t need to talk to me. I understand. Like I said, I want to make it right. Aren't you curious how to undo it?”

A part of me did want to know. That small bit of piteous humanity I still had left. Celeste deserved no answer. Not from me. Not that I could give her one.

“I had to find out when Drina wasn’t looking, of course. She always kept an eye on things. Always had her books locked up. It took a long while to earn her trust. And a lot of pain,” she said, glancing at the witch’s mark.

Celeste trailed her fingers through the dust. I looked down, watching the scattering motes leave behind trails not unlike the scars on her arm. I could tell she’d suffered. I cocked my head, peering at the design she constructed. It glowed faintly, and she grasped her arm in response.

“Even here, I can’t escape her,” she whispered to herself, the design an exact replica of her scar now. Her eyes narrowed. “She comes!”

“Who?” I chirped, and she looked up, almost seeing me.

“Drina! I can sense her. She knows. She knows where I am. Where you are. I was a fool to come here. I thought I could help you, Berian. I’d hoped to help you.” Celeste brushed away the mark in the dust, but it had already burnt the counter with its power.

“Well, I’ve come to say what I wanted to say, and I’ve said it.” She looked around, one last glance of sad longing. “I need to get back before I have to face her wrath.”

“WHO!?” I screeched, my own wrath filling me with the pent up rage and frustration of the curse that had robbed me of my humanity and my youth. She shrank back, focusing on me at last as I looked down upon her from the rafters, my feathers puffed in indignation.

“Berian, I never meant for you to become a barn owl!” she exclaimed, the recognition of what she’d wrought those twenty years ago brought to the fore. “Come with me. I can restore you.”

I flew past her, out into the other room where the stuck open window beckoned. I could see faint candlelight reflecting in the moist wood, and the small puddles near the floor. I alighted near my nest, its warmth poached from the roof of the kitchen. No. I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want her love.

I didn’t want to know why she’d come here tonight, after all those lonely nights before. After all those years that were lost. I hooted softly, though I couldn’t tell if it was from sorrow, pity, or disdain. Celeste had toiled for years to learn how to undo what she’d done.

She’d never once called my name.

She’d never once come home.

I’d loved her once, a more assured claim I could not make. I was old now, especially for an owl. She’d slaved for years and lost the luster that had drawn me to her, and my time was spent. Celeste wanted to restore me? It was too late for that. I was at peace with my fate. She came around the corner, but I was on my way, gliding down to the window, edging through and flying away.

“Aren’t you curious how to undo it?” she had asked.

Nah, I’m used to it.