The Veil

Outside the window, far past the valley, the sun has begun to set. Violet and pink rays stream through the withered curtains and dissolve into shadows. The steel of the knife glints in the fire light. The shadows leap from the hearth and dance around the small room, across the dirt floor to the bed in the far corner. The wind outside begins to howl and the house shakes from its wrath. I run a worn cloth down the length of the blade, feeling the sharp tip beneath my fingers. I pick up the stone from the kitchen table and swipe it against the edge in one quick motion. The knife is sharp enough now to cut through parchment, I am sure. I stick the knife in my belt with three of its brothers. On the table in the center of the room I have laid out everything I hope I will need.

Several knives lie in a neat row from smallest to largest. I start with the smallest and position the blade against the edge of the stone. There is no need, I have sharpened them many times in the last few days, mostly in the night when neither my mind nor body could rest. I had not slept the last three nights but instead sat in the chair by the fire and let the blade swipe against the stone again and again as I watched the flames eat the logs in the hearth. My thoughts were fragmented, asking myself the same questions over and over again and finding no answers. When dawn came, I found I had let the hours pass around me without me knowing, listening to the sound of the knife against the stone like a ticking of a clock. I would rise and walk to the sunken bed in the corner and collapse onto it, falling asleep to the sound of morning birds.

           We had known it was coming. It was the legends our grandfathers had told us while we sat on their knee, listening in awe and wonder as they spoke of the night that was to come, the night where the barrier would be broken. They had seen it when they were children, but everyone’s story was different, each tale describing details that never quite matched the others. There was no way to know who was right and who was wrong, or if anyone could be right or wrong.

           “Our ancestors used to have a ceremony,” my grandfather told me once, when I asked him what happened on the night that everyone feared, what had come to be known as the Darkest Night.

           “They would go to the valley, the one outside the village, and have a bonfire and dance under the moon. There would be a sacrifice, a man or woman who gave their lives for the ceremony and their soul would enter through the Veil.”

           “Did you see them pass through?” I asked, perched on my knees by his feet, drinking in the story. “Did you see the soul enter the Veil?”

           “No, child,” my grandfather explained. “There hasn’t been a sacrifice in hundreds of years. Now, no one dares to go near the valley on the Darkest Night. They are too afraid of who they might find- or what they might find.”

           For centuries the Darkest Night was a time for celebration, but now it evoked fear into men’s hearts. It became a forbidden topic, one that men would whisper around fire places long after their wives and children had gone to bed, stories children told to each other in the dead of night that would send chills through their bones. Some said the Darkest Night was nothing but legend, a myth that lingered from the days of old. When it only came once every hundred years, there were many who lived and died before they saw it for themselves. But everyone, even those that boasted it was nothing but superstition, would lock their doors tonight and bolt their windows, keeping the candles burning long after they had gone to bed to grasp onto the comfort of the feeble light. Children would be told to be home long before sundown. Young lovers would not dare to venture out into the forests to meet in secrecy. Tonight, the village would lock itself away, afraid of the valley and what they would find on the horizon when the sun set.

           There is a knock on the door and I am pulled from my thoughts. I set down the knife on the table and head across the room, my leather boots silent against the worn carpet. I open the door and find my sister there, her face illuminated in the failing light of sundown. I can’t help but sigh at the sight of her. Her skin is paler than usual and dark circles rest like half-moons under her eyes.

           “I guess I should have known you were coming,” I tell her.

           “Can I come in, sister?”

           I move out of the doorway and let her pass. I shut the door behind her and she faces me in the living room. She doesn’t remove her cloak. She is not planning on staying long. I walk back to the table and feel her eyes following me. She looks to the knives on the tabletop and her jaw clenches.

           “So, I guess it’s true what I’ve heard.”

           I say nothing as I grab the rucksack bag from the tabletop and check its contents. A length of rope, a rolled-up cloak, a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a few apples and a fresh tunic. It may not be enough, but there was no way to truly prepare so I had to make due with what little I could carry.

           “I guess so.”

           “You know this is madness, right?”

           I say nothing. I slip the knife into my belt at my waist and make sure it is snug. I glance at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes until sundown.

           “Let’s talk about this,” my sister says, her voice steady.

           “There isn’t time. Either help me get ready, or leave.”

           I reach for a dagger when her hand snatches my wrist, her fingers squeezing tightly. I look up to see she is staring at me, her eyes fiery.

           “You cannot do this.”

           “Can’t I?”

           “You don’t know what is waiting out there. No one who has ever crossed the Veil has made it back. It is not a journey meant for the living. You are not going to survive.”

           “You don’t know that.”

           “Are you really so vain to assume that you can do what so many have failed to in the past? You know the stories of the men who tried to venture into the valley on the Darkest Night. They were never seen again. Do you really think you can, just out of sheer will?”

           “Making it back is not important.”

           “Maybe not to you.”

           Her face is different now. The fire in her has begun to vanish. Her lip quivers slightly.

           “I know you are in pain, but doing this will not bring him back. He is gone. One day when you breathe your last and cross the Veil you may find each other again, but not now. No mortal has ever entered into the land of the dead and returned. Do you think a knife will guard you from the unknown horrors beyond that barrier?”

           I shrug. “It’s good to take precautions.”

           “A precaution would be not risking it in the first place!”

           “I need to know he is there. I need to see him, one last time, before I can be at peace. And I will not take my own life like some coward and die alone in my house like some pathetic old hag. After tonight I will not have this chance again. I am not going to live out the rest of my life not knowing what would happen if I didn’t try.”

           “And what of me, sister?”

           I turn and face her. Her face is engulfed in shadows from the dying flames of the fire. She looks older beyond her years, though she is ten years my junior. Our father’s eyes stare back at me from her face and I wonder what he would say if he could see me now, if he knew what I was to do tonight. But he had been gone for years now, far away beyond the Veil.

           “You will be fine.”

           “Not without you. I need you. My children need you. What will I tell them when you do not return tomorrow morning?”

           “Tell them I did what needed to be done.”

           There is a bang as her hand slams down on the table. The window rattles slightly from the force.

           “No! I will not! I will not let you kill yourself because of your grief. I will not stand idly by and watch you throw away your life.”

           I laugh and it’s a harsh, ugly sound. “Life? What life? I died the day they buried him!”

           The wind shrieks against the windows. We stare at one another until she looks away. When she speaks, the rage has vanished out of her voice.

           “Do I need to beg you? Is that what you want?”

           “No.”

           “I will. If I need to. I will beg you, on my hands and knees, to stay. Please, sister.” Her dark eyes shimmer with tears and now it is my turn to look away. “Please, do not go.”

           “I need to.”

           “Why?”

           “I just do.”

           “Why!”

           “I need to tell him I am sorry!”

           There is a moment of silence. I turn my back on her, my throat burning.

           “It is because of me he is dead.  He didn’t want to fight; he didn’t want to be a pawn in the king’s game. He wanted to stay with me, to have a family, but I told him he needed to go. That the people needed him. That I would be waiting for him when he returned, my valiant soldier. And he died on the battlefield, a sword through his heart, choking on blood. He died in the dirt like he was nothing. He died because I thought it was better for him to die a soldier than live a coward and look what my stubborn pride cost me? I lost everything that night. Yes, I have my pride and my honor, can live on as a wife of a soldier who died for the kingdom and my pride rests like a stone in my chest. My pride doesn’t dry my tears or keep me warm at night. My pride killed the only thing in this world I ever truly had.” There is a silence. I shut my eyes and force back the tears. The time for grieving is over. I had had ten years to grieve and I had done so. That time was past.

“And now your pride will kill you too.” Her voice is soft.

           I wipe my tears from my cheeks and swallow, but it burns. I grind my teeth and force myself to focus. I knew this was coming. I knew she was going to come and try to change my mind. I take a shaky breath and turn back to her.

           “That may be so. But I need to make things right. And if it kills me, then so be it.”

           We stare at each other once more and it occurs to me that this may very well be the last time I ever see my sister, my sibling who I had cared for like she was my own child. A child whose tears I had wiped away and had sang to sleep at night. But we were not children anymore and I could not stay for her. I needed to do this for the one who I had wronged, for the one who I failed to save.

           “I cannot make you stay,” she says, her voice quiet. “I knew that before I even stepped through your door. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try or say goodbye.”

           “Give my love to the little ones. Hopefully one day they will understand why I did what I did.”

           “I don’t. I hope they never have to know what it is like to make a choice like this.”

           I nod and look to the table again. I slip a knife into my belt with the others and gather my sack. I force myself to keep my eyes on the table, do not take the risk of one last glance. There is a click as the door shuts and I am alone again. My heart clenches but I shake my head. I had a job to do. I look to the clock. Fifteen minutes left. I throw the sack over my shoulder and toss sand into the fire place to extinguish the last few embers. I blow out the candles on the table and watch for a moment as the smoke swirls in the fading light. Checking around the room once more, I make my way to the door.

           I shut the door behind me and rest my palm against the threshold for several moments, as if I could feel the pulse of the house and carry it with me. For many years it had been a home for me, a place I could find safety and comfort and love in the arms of who I loved, but then, in a single night, it simply became a house, four walls and a thatched roof under which I would rest my head and nothing more. These walls meant nothing to me now, but maybe it could give another family what it had once given me.

           The trees tremble and shake as the wind blows. There is no sign of my sister, she no doubt has hurried home to her children and husband. It is silent tonight, the usual chatter of the villagers gone. No one is on the streets and each house I pass is shut up for the night. I make my way down the road and out beyond the village, watching the last rays of twilight fade into the sky. I stop on the edge of the valley and peer down, watching as it fills with darkness like a basin fills with water. The wind whips my hair from my face and my eyes water from the chill of it. The last shreds of light vanish entirely over the edge of the horizon and there is a shift in the darkness below. The air shimmers, as if it is water and from beyond, shadows begin to form. I brace myself and secure the sack on my back, leaning forward to the valley. I take a deep breath. The clock strikes the hour and the Veil thins and vanishes.

Then I run.