Marie Among the Moles

Even if Uncle Mortimer had not heard of her brief but impassioned presentation in the great hall, he would have understood what sort of mood Marie was in as she swept into the house, followed by her younger sister, whom she promptly slammed the door on and locked out. The child looked in sadly from her perch atop one of their fence's iron posts, then hopped down and raced into the newly created and too soon gone cloud of dust her sister had stirred up. Marie frowned as high-pitched laughter filtered through the walls. Too overcome by pity and concern to worry about the possible biting-off of one of his four remaining fingers, Uncle Mortimer drew Marie to him and patted her on the head, comforting her as well as he could manage. But the expression on her face when at last Mortimer released her was not one of resignation and slowly recovering optimism but sadness and desperation. She studied his face closely as if attempting to commit it to memory, then pushed him away, bursting into tears as she ran out of the house and out of sight, leaving her uncle and sister with their mouths agape, staring out at the deserted corridor.

Marie and her family had always lived slightly isolated from the rest of the community. They made friends, attended and assisted in preparations for many a parade and festival, but still they refused to leave their ancestral home, many a city dweller obeying the centuries-old prohibition against unnannounced visits to Crownberry Place, even as the descendants of those who made the rule laughed at their being so old-fashioned and cheerfully passed out invitations to their latest party.

These were not times Marie had had the pleasure of living in, however. No carefully composed and sealed sheets of the traditional Crownberry stationery had exchanged hands since the death of her mother and father, ripped to pieces in the first attack. She still carried with her a frayed strip of bloodstained fabric--the piece of her mother's dress one of the survivors had solemnly handed to her on the day after that sad event.

"The first of many," she thought to herself, and feeling like crying again, she resolved to concentrate entirely on watching for signs of life and formulating a defense, should it turn out to be something other than one of her own.

She walked for many hours, wary of the sudden move from the outside that would plunge her into total darkness, cutting off the moonlight. Just as she had given up hope of ever finding anyone, she heard a rustling sound and ducked behind a rock. She knew hiding was unlikely to do her any good if it were one of them, but maybe it would buy her a little time. Fear mounting, she peered around the side of the rock and saw an old woman shuffling towards her in the half-light, eyes closed, hands still at her sides, but moving with complete confidence across the rocky terrain. Marie watched carefully for a while. Then, deciding that the woman was harmless despite her odd behavior, she walked up to her. "What are you doing out here all alone?" she demanded, forgetting what little manners she had as she was overcome by curiosity. The old woman was perfectly still for a moment, and Marie had just opened her mouth to repeat the question when the woman smiled, a slow, emotionless smile, as she pried up first one eyelid, then the other. Marie's mouth hung open, horrified by what she saw, horror turning into indignation and sadness when she realized the significance of what the woman had shown her. She slowly nodded and as if she knew, somehow, that she had been understood, the old woman dropped her hands back to her sides and shuffled off, leaving Maria shaking with rage, still shaking as she began the long walk home.