New Skin

New Skin

It was that time again; the serpent has summoned her. Minerva made her way down the steep path to the beach where he resided. On her way, she passed the sentinel tree and touched it, asking for its blessing and leaving next to it a bead she had saved as an offering. She noticed someone else had been to the tree today, scattering bird seed around the base of the Scot’s Pine.

The path could be slippery when there was rain but today was bright and unusually warm, which made sense. The serpent would not have chosen an overcast day to do the work. Minerva paused at the start of the stairway to listen to a robin complaining at her intrusion. She apologised and continued down past the look out tower towards the beach. The serpent was waiting.

He lifted his head from the sand as she descended the final step, turning his eyes upon her. She saw that the spectacles over his eyes had gone cloudy. He could not see her but he could taste her on the wind. His tongue flicked as she stepped forward and bowed before him.

“It is time,” she nodded in agreement though she knew he could not see her. “Are you prepared?”

She had meditated that morning and laved her face with the water of the dark moon, then wound springs of rosemary into her hair; surely, he could smell that. He was a strict master though and expected all aspects of the ceremony to be followed religiously.

“I did not fast,” she admitted, “I hadn’t expected your call so soon.” His tail flicked, perhaps in annoyance, perhaps in a gesture of dismissal for the abstinence requirement. He ate so rarely himself that he did not acknowledge the sacrifice it was to a human to go an extended period without food.

“We will proceed regardless. You may find it more painful though.” She swallowed. How could it be anymore painful than all the times before?

“You have grown stronger. You will survive.” She wondered at his certainty. She did not know if she was stronger. It was not something she could test on a day-to-day basis. Her persistence to exist exhibited endurance but was that enough? Again, the tail flicked, this time clearly with irritation.

“Too many questions. Let us begin, then you will understand.” She sighed and stepped forward. He was right. Only by experiencing the ritual would she know her power. Reaching just above his nostrils, she took hold of a piece of dead skin and began to peel back a layer. The serpent held still for her, though she felt her own hands shake. Soon the pain would begin.

She managed to clear the whole of his face, though leaving the spectacles for later; they were always done last. The shed had reached his neck when the first memory hit her hard in the chest, as if someone had shoved her with all their might. This was an old one, it should have faded by now but she saw the colours vividly, the scene playing out before her as if it were happening today. Her children were running on the beach with the dogs, shouting encouragement as they threw stones into the surf. The dogs were diving in, determined to hunt their prize, coming back dripping, to drop the stones at the children’s feet, the cycle to begin anew. How young they were then, their faces still round with baby fat, the dogs still alive. Years had passed, her progeny long grown or gone, the dogs passed to another realm. Everything in that memory lost to her forever. She turned away from her task for a moment to wipe a tear.

“Continue,” prompted the serpent. Of course. She must continue. This was her task. Down the neck towards the heart of the creature, oh gods, another pain, this one a knife eviscerating her. It was a day one of the dogs had died, screaming its pain till the end. One child stood distant, frightened, another angry, screaming at the injustice of death. Her own grief making her incapable of comfort, she had left the children thrashing in their agony.

She had to stop then and take deep breaths. This the serpent permitted. Then his head nudged at her and she knew she would have to begin again, peeling back the layer of dead skin to make him new again, each centimetre of his body reminding her, reminding her. A long day spent by a sick bed, watching pointless ministrations of poultices and herbal elixirs. A life fading before her, even as she grasped it with both hands. A good-bye whispered to unhearing ears. This too shed away as she turned back more skin, moving along the length of the years.

At one point, the serpent twisted around her ankle and squeezed her gently. It felt like a hug. How odd that he should try to comfort her, him cold-blooded and unable to feel as she did. How kind that he had tried. It should have made her stronger but she felt herself falter, almost falling to her knees. She had to go on. She could not stop now. She knew what was coming anyway.

There it was, as she reached the tail, that awful final moment when her own flesh and blood had been rendered from her, spinning away from her, completely out of her reach. She bent double, retching as she felt her innards convulse. This memory she had clung to, refusing to shed it, but now it must go with the rest. She heard the serpent hiss so she ripped the final piece of skin from his tail, seeing her son look at her one last time and then turn away forever.

“You are not done,” the voice was quiet but firm. Somehow, she got to her feet and walked into the sea. She filled a bowl with the waves and returned to the serpent. Kneeling next to him, she took his head in her hands and using the hem of her skirt, dipped it into the sea water. Gently she stroked at his eyes until the spectacles fell away. He was looking at her then, his yellow eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Can you see now?” he asked her. She nodded, knowing that he could now perceive her gesture.

The sky was crystal blue. The serpent stretched in his new skin, luxuriating in the warm sand. Minerva raised her face to the sun and let it dry her tears.