The Widow of Caer Mawnog

Submitted into Contest #205 in response to: Start your story during a full moon night.... view prompt

24 comments

Fantasy Mystery Suspense

Dame Armaelle Jullou - mounted, field-armored - galloped into the glade, holding a swaddled infant close against her breastplate. Battle-worn and bloodied, she reined to slow the animal, steadied, then stiffly rolled her hip to dismount. Stricken with pain, Armaelle stumbled when her legs met the ground, and, glancing fearfully behind her, cradled the child’s head and trudged on.

Armaelle limped into Caer Mawnog under the haunting glow of a full moon. The cemetery rested in a boscage of brooding willow trees with gnarled, reaching limbs that grasped for the moonlit sky. The night air, thickened with an ethereal mist, weaved like ghostly, drifting tendrils about crumbled tombstones, gothic statues, and stone markers.

Shambling through a sea of moss-covered headstones, Armaelle whispered desperate prayers of favor. Climbing a hill, she passed grime-coated statues of winged angels whose blank, stone eyes peered heavenward; kneeling children, their heads bowed in sorrowful prayer; ominous faceless creatures wielding tall, menacing scythes; widows, draped in mourning cowls, their grief-stricken eyes buried in their hands.

Fatigued and winded, Armaelle fell to her good knee and prayed.

“Blessed Maiden,” Armaelle implored the moon, ripping away her helm so her eyes might better comb the cemetery. “A hiding place! Quick! To save my sovereign!”

The baby girl burbled and cooed while, in the distance, Armaelle heard the pounding rhythm of approaching horses.

Armaelle clutched the child, frantically turning herself about to scan the cemetery for crevasses. “I beg you, please!”

Splinters, cracks, pops - the sounds of grinding stone - preceded the attention of a grieving widow, her bitter voice as the coldest winter wind. “I will barter.”

“Protect the child!” Armaelle gasped, addressing the animated statue.

The widow’s stone face gazed dispassionately at Armaelle and said, “Yes, in exchange for your unseeded vessel.”

Shocked, Armaelle placed her palm against her abdomen, then looked uneasily at the forest trail.

“A fair price,” the widow persuaded. “One life for another. A fertile womb from which to be reborn.”

“Agreed,” Armaelle breathed. “Steady, sweet princess.”

Tears welling, she lifted the swaddle from around her shoulders, and, as the statue accepted, the baby’s flesh petrified to marble in the widow’s arms.

Armaelle’s heart sank.

What had she done?

Suddenly, Armaelle keeled, her gut seized by torturous pain, and she began to bleed.

Terror-stricken, sobbing, and uncertain about the child’s fate and her role in it, Armaelle shuffled down the hill. Stepping into the stirrup, she groaned, stiffly throwing her injured leg over the saddle. Spurring on her mount, they burst into a gallop to disappear into the dark, misty forest.

Minutes later, six rogues on horseback came thundering into Caer Mawnog. Their lead, throwing himself from his saddle, crouched to inch his way along the earth; distrusting his sight, his fingers caressed the mud, feeling for tracks and warmth. He snapped to arrest his riders’ attention, then waved them onto the adjacent trail. So commanded, they dashed into the forest to give chase, leaving him.

Cautious, the leader withdrew a steel dagger to creep silently among the graves. He wore enemy leathers, a hood, and a soiled wool scarf that masked his face, exposing only squinty, weathered eyes. He made his way furtively, placing a careful hand on the gravestones he passed, prepared for an ambush, listening intently for a baby’s cry.

Moonlight spilled over the cemetery to bathe its headstones in pale silvery light trailed by long shadows.

Tracking her footfalls, the assassin approached where Armaelle took her knee. Finding her helmet, he lifted it to his face and sniffed. He inhaled the air around him and bent to the ground before following a scent up the leg of a statue. He found the figures of praying angels, sobbing children, a mother cradling an infant, and looming reapers; witnesses, all, yet motionless, silent, yielding him nothing.

Disgusted, he stood and tossed the helm aside to retrace his steps, investigating every possible cranny and nook, until - glowering - the rogue led his horse into the forest to search for what he’d missed.

Stillness descended, and the widow and child remained that way until a crone visited Caer Mawnog precisely one year later; another full moon hung listless in the midnight sky.

Lame, the old woman wandered the cemetery leaning on a crooked wooden staff and glanced earnestly at every tombstone and memorial she passed. Eventually, she encountered the grieving widow cradling a swaddled babe.

Kneeling, the hag removed a ceremonial knife from her robes to lay it before her, and - in taking a charcoal pencil - drew a one-inch square on her inner forearm. She prepared her ritual, muttering ancient rites to border the shape with four runes. Without hesitation, she dropped her pencil and snatched up the knife to stab her arm. She drew the blade along the perimeter, and as it cut, she did not flinch nor bleed; it sliced clean, and red, fibrous muscle was exposed underneath.

Balancing the once-inch square on her knife’s tip, she gingerly set it on the baby’s forehead. And as moist beads of blood ran down the baby’s cherubic nose, stone became flesh. Her eyes opened; she winced; she yawned.

Eagerly plucking the child from the widow’s grasp, the hag immediately brought her charcoal to line the statue’s eyes; she colored in the irises; gave definition to its lashes; penciled its nostrils; drew a crease along its lips, and traced the cartilage in her ears. Muttering old, forgotten words, the crone pressed her forearm against the widow’s peak to impress a bloodied square. Then bandaging her wound with spare cloth torn from her sleeve, the old woman lovingly embraced the child and departed into the forest.

Later, alone, sensing - alive, yet of stone - reborn, the widow strained to place her feet on the ground. Standing, she wobbled and teetered, bracing herself against headstones to stay upright. Once familiarized with walking, she lumbered headlong down the hill and into the forest, where the widow left Caer Mawnog, eager to flee its gloom.


July 04, 2023 18:53

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24 comments

Karen McDermott
14:20 Jul 08, 2023

Very atmospheric, nice response to the theme. I could really feel the tension.

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Russell Mickler
03:12 Jul 11, 2023

Hi Karen! Thank you :) And thank you so much for reading :) R

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Michał Przywara
01:23 Jul 05, 2023

Short and sweet. It's a neat ritual that exacts a bloody price - as such moonlight dealings ought to. And we're left wondering if it was worth it. The widow of course carried out her side of the bargain, but the child sounds like someone important. She's safe as a statue, but vanishing for a year can carry its own complications. Lots happening here behind the scenes, definitely seems like part of something bigger :)

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Russell Mickler
21:24 Jul 05, 2023

Hi there, Michal! So yeah! I'm doing a lot of publication and contest writing, mostly flash and fiction, 500-1,000 words, so I wanted to practice writing a 1,000-word fantasy. For this story, I felt I needed to capture a specific moment in time, amp up the suspense, and get the reader spooked/creeped out over the bargain, then lead breadcrumbs for "a year", "who is this princess?" or "what's with the hag? Is she a good character or bad?" and "who was the thief dude?" ... grin ... all of that was to flit with the "Mystery" theme of the promp...

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Will Oyowe
15:17 Jul 10, 2023

""" I felt I needed to capture a specific moment in time, amp up the suspense""" You certainly succeeded with this piece.

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Chris Miller
23:24 Jul 04, 2023

You created a really strong atmosphere here, Russell. The full moon's influence is subtle but critical. Some lovely ideas. A bit of a Frankenstein's monster feel at the end. Good story.

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Russell Mickler
03:20 Jul 11, 2023

Hey there, Chris - thank you again for reading :) R

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Fiona Stanley
00:15 Nov 13, 2023

The atmosphere you created in your story captivated me, from beginning to end. The use of a charcoal pencil to bring them to life was intriguing. I want to read the book!

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Russell Mickler
18:13 Nov 13, 2023

Thank you, Fiona :) R

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Martin Ross
20:11 Jul 19, 2023

That’s atmospheric AF — you have a gift for making the reader SEE what you’re telling. I actually shuddered envisioning Armaelle’s deal with the widow. And felt chilled thinking about the consequences. Vivid. “Unseeded vessel” — I could taste the doom, and that usually only happens if I eat at Denny’s. You’re so adept at capturing diverse moods and tones.

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Russell Mickler
02:58 Jul 11, 2023

My landing page for this work can be found here: https://www.black-anvil-books.com/the-widow-of-caer-mawnog Thanks for reading! R

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Will Oyowe
15:13 Jul 10, 2023

YES!!!! RUSSEL! Another Gothic goodness to my ears. This was a gripping peice and the few I read twice. At somepoint i will (hopefully) have to make a storyboard/animatic out of this(with your permission of course ;)) as everything is just atmospheric and awesome. Always great to see your writing Russel. I hope you win this week. I just love the idea of a child turning to stone inorder to be saved. Its a nice reversal.

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Russell Mickler
15:19 Jul 10, 2023

Hi Will! Wow, thanks for the raving review, AND IF YOU DO - PLEASE, I'd love to see it! - I might even HIRE you to build out more of them for me in graphic form! That would be awesomely amazing :) I've been looking for someone to do just this! Thank you - meh, I doubt I'll win, but I participate in Reedsy for a connection with people, and to practice writing ... winning is like icing or whipped cream or something :) Thank you so much for the kind words and for reading my stuff - I truly appreciate your time and feedback, Will :) R

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Will Oyowe
16:04 Jul 10, 2023

LOL no promises but if i get round to it I will post it on here!

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Russell Mickler
16:42 Jul 10, 2023

W00t! And no pressure :) Thank you! R

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Helen A Smith
09:15 Jul 10, 2023

Hi Russell Bewitching and beautifully written piece. I love the settings in your stories and the way you brought this alive. I felt I was there. What could be better than moonlit gravestones set on a hill? The child is obviously important here. A princess that needs protection. Although the story stands in its own right, what happens next to the child would make for an interesting sequel. Just one question. Was Armaelle the hag at the end of the piece come to reclaim the baby? I assume the loss of youth and fertility was the price extract...

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Russell Mickler
15:27 Jul 10, 2023

Hey there, Helen! Good to read you :) So on this one, I was trying to limit my story to 1,000 words, to practice writing more flash fiction. It's intentionally trying to capture a "moment" in time without explaining how the heroine or baby got to Caer Mawnog or where they went, or the outcomes, to kinda spark more thinking and interest outside of the story. Glad you feel that way about the sequel! :) In this case, I imagined the hag being another person. Armaelle speeds off only to be eventually captured and killed by the rogues, but befo...

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Michelle Oliver
04:37 Jul 05, 2023

Well that was quite a read, a slice taken directly from the middle of the action. (Or an arm!) I am left wanting more to know who this child is, what happens next. It feels like part of something bigger.

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Russell Mickler
21:20 Jul 05, 2023

Hey there, Michelle - I'm doing a lot of contest and publication submission writing these days, and I'm practicing writing smaller stories (500-1,000 words.) This was an exercise to write a 1,000-word fantasy story and I might make it into something larger, not sure yet! But yeah, if it inspires questions like, what's going on here, and, what happened to the princess - perfect! Thank you again for reading and commenting! R

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Lily Finch
23:38 Jul 04, 2023

R, very enthralling tale with vivd descriptions that immerse the reader. I enjoyed the story and the prompt was used well. Thanks for the good read. LF6

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Russell Mickler
03:20 Jul 11, 2023

Hi Lily! Thank you - I'm glad you liked it! Just practicing on the 1,000-word story lately. R

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Mary Bendickson
20:26 Jul 04, 2023

Picture comes alive with your words. Stones breathe.

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Russell Mickler
23:17 Jul 04, 2023

Grin - thanks Mary. I have been writing many stories about creepy gargoyles and angles lately. Not sure why! I'm sure I'll feel compelled to write a good halfling story or two in the future ... but I intended to write a story I could submit here and to a fantasy 1,000 word contest coming up. Two birds, one stone, that kind of thing. Thanks for reading! R

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Mary Bendickson
00:01 Jul 05, 2023

Could be a winner either place.

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