The Lord of Feathers
by David TallermanIsabella first saw the Lord of Feathers in the early days of spring. Knights from all the reaches of the north had come to joust for cups in the courtyard of the castle of the Fourfold Baron, her father.
Isabella watched the Lord of Feathers as he arrived, late in the afternoon, from where she sat with her mother high in the stands. He wore a close-helm and full armor, and the armor and helm were the red of sunset when he rode in the light and of rust when he rode in shadow. The insignia on his banner was a single magpie, and his horse was black.
Isabella's mother was leaned towards her and didn't see his arrival: "Is the Lord of Seven Hills not handsome?" she said. "One day soon he will inherit his father's lands, which are very great. I will introduce you at dinner this evening."
"Who is that?" asked Isabella, pointing to the rider in red.
Isabella looked at her mother when she didn't reply immediately, and found her expression strange and unreadable. When she finally answered, "that is the Lord of Feathers," her tone was just as indecipherable.
There were two jousts left that day, and the Lord of Feathers won them both. He rode with such measured grace and struck with such casual ferocity that it was hard to believe his victories involved any effort at all. After each event he walked to where her father sat and received his reward, and each time he removed his helmet for just long enough to exchange a nod and take his prize. His face was younger than she would have imagined, although his beard and hair were grey, and longer and more unkempt than was fashionable, and even his eyes were gray. Nevertheless, she thought that he wasn't much older than her. After he received the second cup, he replaced his helmet, reclaimed his banner, and rode away in the direction from which he'd come.
He had been in her world for no more than an hour, but Isabella had seen enough. She had never been in love before, with anyone or anything, and in falling now she fell completely.
Nevertheless, she said nothing at first. Through the night's festivities she was courteous to the seemingly endless series of young men to whom her parents introduced her. She even danced a little. She ate modestly, drank two glasses of wine, and excused herself early. That night she dreamt of a forest, and of darkness, and of grey eyes that swam in the darkness like water.
When she woke she dressed quickly and went to seek out her parents. They were breakfasting in the gardens, beneath a trellis of climbing red roses.
"Good morning," her father called; but her mother said nothing.
"I've decided that I must leave to seek the Lord of Feathers," Isabella began without preamble. "When I find him I will offer him my heart. Father, will you grant me your blessing?"
"My blessing would do you no good, and I couldn't give it even if it would. But I know you, child, and know that if I deny you, you will go regardless. Go with my permission, if not my blessing."
Isabella's mother looked at her husband with an expression that, again, Isabella could not fathom.
"When do you intend to leave?" he asked her.
"I would only like to take a little breakfast first," Isabella replied.
In addition to her own belongings, dresses and jewellery and books, The Fourfold Baron gifted Isabella a coach and horse, a driver, and a purse of gold. It was also agreed that her maidservant Madeleine would accompany her. "If you should ever wish to return, know that you are welcome here," he said. But her mother turned and walked back into the gardens without a word. Watching her go, Isabella doubted herself for the first time since she'd fallen in love with the Lord of Feathers. When her mother disappeared from sight, she turned back to her father and said, "I don't even know which way to go."
If he had asked her to stay then, she might perhaps have changed her mind. But instead, he replied, "Travel north for fifty leagues and you will come to a village known as Lantern. There is an inn there called The Hag; its landlord will be able to direct you."
She nodded. She would have liked to hug him; but instead she said, "Thank you, father," and stepped into the coach. The horseman, who had heard the Fourfold Baron's directions began to drive.
She didn't look back as her home disappeared behind her, but she did cry quietly to herself.
Isabella insisted that they travel without break, and before long she was tired and sore. Nevertheless, as she put aside the sorrow of leaving home and began to dwell instead on envisioning her future, so she became happier with each passing mile. Madeleine, who adored her mistress, was a great help in this. As Isabella narrated how she would find the Lord of Feathers, how she would offer him her heart, how he would be overwhelmed and would fall in love, so Madeleine embellished the tale and filled in any missing details. By the evening their shared imaginings had assumed the weight of prophecy.
Still, they were weary, and were glad to find a wayside inn where they could rest. That second night, Isabella was too exhausted to dream.
When they recommenced the next morning, her entire body ached, and her legs and back were bruised. It was uncomfortable, but Isabella didn't allow it to bother her unduly. The landlord had told her that Lantern was only two days' journey away by single horse - in two days she would see her love again, and what did it matter if she ached a little? Still, the conversation was more subdued that second day, Madeleine was less cheerful than usual, and they did stop at dinner and again late in the afternoon.
When three days later they still hadn't arrived, Isabella was beginning to feel disheartened. The unaccustomed journeying was taking its toll. The further north they travelled, the wilder became the land through which they passed, and the poorer the roads, they had had to replace a wheel and one of the horses had become lame on the fourth day.
Madeleine, unused to such hardships, was poor company, even in the evenings - each day she had become less prepared to indulge Isabella's fantasies of their eventual arrival. By necessity their stops had become more and more regular. Even once they arrived, she would not be able to begin her search for the Lord of Feathers immediately - it might take them days to recuperate.
Still, she found it easy to reassure herself. What did delays and adversities matter compared with the lifetime of happiness that awaited her?
They had been traveling for a week when they finally came upon Lantern late in the afternoon. They'd been told in advance of the beacon that gave it its name, but the village was small and isolated, and had been hard to find. Lantern nestled high in the hills, amidst bleak countryside of gorse and copses of twisted pine. There were no more than a dozen buildings, all dilapidated and little more than hovels.
Even The Hag, the ancient inn set apart from the rest of the village, was in desperate need of repair. There was such an air of hopelessness to the place that it took all of Isabella's courage to go inside.
She didn't have the strength left to ask about the Lord of Feathers; instead, she paid for rooms and went to her bed and fell asleep fully dressed. She slept without dreaming, as she had every night since they'd left - or if she did dream, her sleep was so fathomless that she remembered nothing when she woke.
The two weeks that followed their arrival in Lantern proved desperately hard. Madeleine had become ill during the journey, and not wanting to burden her mistress had said nothing - hence her unaccustomed silence. Now that their travels were over she fell into a fever, and for two days could not so much as lift her head. Isabella looked after her as best she could. There were times when she really believed that her maidservant and only friend would die, and then she was overcome with guilt and fear.
But Madeleine recovered, albeit slowly. By the end of the second week they were both in reasonable health, though ashen and worn from the unaccustomed poverty. Isabella had money, but there was little to buy, and in any case she was careful about showing her gold.
Upon Madeleine's recovery, she went and spoke with the landlord, a small and twisted man with ancient skin like sagging leather. He seemed uncomfortable when she spoke of the Lord of Feathers; "what would as pretty a lady as yourself want with such as him?"
"I seek employment in his court," Isabella lied, bargaining that the landlord would know little of such things.
"He's served by only men; he would not have a woman in his court."
"He will have me," she replied haughtily.
"Very well then, little miss. There's a trail to the northwest, leading up past the forest. Follow it and you will come upon his castle after three hours' hard walking."
Isabella's first thought was to take the coach - but there was unusual warmth in the wind, and the air was fresh and smelt faintly of pine. The walk would do her and Madeleine good. If the Lord of Feathers couldn't offer them his hospitality, they would have more than enough time to travel back to Lantern before nightfall. They packed bread and cold meat in a hamper and set off in the mid-morning.
They found the trail easily enough. It was wide and well travelled, hiding amongst the low hills and then resurfacing as a charcoal thread strung over their crests. It was also badly potholed, and the recent rain had turned whole sections into torrents of liquid mud. It was hard going for Isabella and Madeleine, who had spent the last two weeks in the inn doing very little. After an hour they took an early lunch and rested.
Soon after they set out again, they discovered the forest the landlord had referred to. A steep climb brought them out on a hilltop and there it was, stretching on their left for miles ahead, a vast woodland of bent grey pines. Below, the trail ran down to meet it and continued along its edge.
Isabella noticed that beside the path were a wealth of small flowers - bluebells and snowbells and celandine and peony - and a thought occurred to her. As they continued, she gathered small handfuls, and also sought out any berries and fruits that she could find. It wouldn't do to arrive empty handed, and a meagre gift was better than none at all.
She'd almost filled her basket by the time they found the castle of the Lord of Feathers. They came upon it early in the afternoon, and unexpectedly, since it was hidden in a dell in the ground with great old trees gathered around like watchful sentries. It wasn't what Isabella had expected - she'd imagined towers and minarets and statues of bronze and ivory. Instead she saw a squat building of ancient grey stone, with a slanted slate roof and high walls all around.
On the gate stood two guards, armored in the colors of the Lord of Feathers, with his magpie badge upon their breastplates. As she walked towards them she could see a cobbled yard beyond, and two more guards stood to either side of great wooden doors. Nothing was how she'd imagined it - the castle was bleak and unwelcoming, the soldiers unkempt and even somehow savage. With each step her heart sank, however much she tried to clutch to her hopes.
She stopped before the leftmost guard, and didn't allow her voice to shake. "My name is Isabella, daughter of the Fourfold Baron. I have come to speak with your master. I have come to offer him my heart. I have brought this gift, which I ask that you give him. Please tell him also that I wait for his answer."
The guard, who was a head taller than Isabella at least, looked down with an expression so disinterested that it bordered on contempt. His eyes were the strangest color, almost yellow. But when she proffered him the basket he took it, without so much as glancing at its contents. He turned and walked across the courtyard, pushed open the doors, and disappeared inside.
When he returned he was empty-handed. He resumed his post without the least acknowledgement that Isabella stood waiting. Finally, she asked, "Does your Lord send any answer?" But he only shook his head.
Isabella, though her optimism had been tarnished by the hardships of their journey and their stay in Lantern, had not for a moment expected a reception as terrible as this. As she walked back to where Madeleine sat, her mind was reeling.
Madeleine, while her face was full of pity, said nothing. There was nothing to be said.
Isabella sat on the grass bank and hung her head. Had the guard not passed on her message? Perhaps the Lord of Feathers was out on business? Or perhaps he was offended by her paltry gift, which she thought now would have been laughable coming from a maidservant, let alone the daughter of a Baron. Had he seen her from a window, and thought her so unappealing that she was not worthy of an answer? But she had no answers to offer herself. She sat wrapped in unbreakable silence - and the sky darkened, became red and gold with sunset and sunk into blackness, but she didn't see it.
When something finally roused her from her stupor, she looked up to see liquid stars glittering. She didn't realise at first what had caught her attention; but then she saw that the guards were leaving their positions, in unison, as if according to some invisible signal. Together they filed through the great wooden doors into the castle.
Glancing beside her, Isabella saw that Madeleine was wrapped in her shawl, asleep. She stared at her, guilty at the thought of waking her; but just then a sound echoed from the direction of the castle that froze her in place, and Madeleine sat bolt upright, staring at her mistress with wide eyes.
It was the howling of wolves, long and low and fierce and melancholy. As the first moment of fright passed they leapt to their feet, and in the same instant saw them - five huge beasts of shaggy grey, tumbling through the gloom towards them. Despite her fear, despite the darkness, Isabella could see every detail: hungering yellow eyes, bared wet teeth, muscles rippling effortlessly beneath sleek coats.
Then Madeleine had caught hold of her hand and suddenly they were running back down the trail, not daring to look behind them, the night air reverberating with howls that seemed to come from right upon their heels. Isabella ran till she was out of breath, and long after that, until the pain in her chest became unimaginable, and she fell to the ground and lay panting, not caring if she was torn to pieces.
But the pain slowly subsided, and finally she looked up, and there were no wolves; only the rough path disappearing into the darkness and jagged pines stretching above her and Madeleine sat clutching her sides. Together they stood and, without speaking, Isabella picked the direction that she desperately hoped would take them back to Lantern.
Isabella awoke in her bed the next morning, fully dressed and caked with mud and unsure where she was or how she'd come to be there. Then, abruptly, her memories crowded in on her, and it was all she could do not to cry. She clutched her head and rocked back and forth, feeling lost and hopeless and desperately alone.
But even through her sorrow she was aware of something drawing her attention, and finally she had to look up. She saw then the state of the room - every cupboard door stood open, every object was scattered and out of place.
On the night they'd arrived she had found a loose floorboard and hidden her gold beneath it. She fell out of bed and crawled over to it on hands and knees, tore it up, and began to cry.
Frenziedly she scrambled around the room, inspecting everything, silently adding up losses. Her money was gone, and her dresses, her jewellery, everything that might hold the least value. She searched over and over, almost believing that she would find her lost things if only she looked hard enough. When finally she had to surrender to the truth she curled into a ball and sobbed for a long time.
When Madeline came in and found her, Isabella looked up and said, "everything is gone."
"Your gold is gone?"
"Everything is gone, and the Lord of Feathers does not love me."
"We should go home, mistress. There is nothing here."
"But ... the Lord of Feather's does not love me."
"Then we should go home."
"We can't. We can't go home. I must make him love me."
Isabella sold the coach and three of the horses. The gold was a fraction of their worth, but enough to keep rooms for her and Madeleine, and for food. She sent the coachman home with the fourth horse and a letter for her father that said simply, 'All is well. I will call for you when we are to be wed.'
And then, for days that became weeks that became months, she locked herself away and gave in to despair so absolute that nothing could pierce it. She remembered her first sight of the Lord of Feathers, remembered the guard staring down at her with cold eyes. One thought recurred: what would a knight want with flowers and berries, what gift was that for one as fierce and wise as the Lord of Feathers? Perhaps he'd thought her some lunatic local girl, who imagined that she could win him with the preposterous lie that she was really the daughter of a baron.
It had been a dreadful error - no wonder she'd failed. And the more she thought this, the more she knew what she should do. She should take him a proper gift, one worthy of a lord and worthy to be given by a lady. But she had no gold. She had nothing, and nothing to give.
Then, one night, she dreamt: of a forest and of darkness beneath the trees that the full moon could hardly penetrate, of a wild face with grey eyes that swam and returned the pale light.
When she awoke she saw the pile of books beside her bed, which being of no value to ignorant thieves, were one of the few things left. They were her most treasured possessions, and she'd taken some small comfort that they hadn't been stolen with her other belongings. She didn't doubt that the Lord of Feathers would recognize their worth, or that the beauty of the gift would draw his attention to the beauty of the giver.
Isabella went out alone, without telling Madeleine what she intended. She hadn't left the inn in days, or perhaps weeks, and was surprised to find that summer had come, alarmed by the green of the hills and the warmth of the sky. She felt hopeful for the first time in what she realized must be months. How foolish she'd been! Probably the Lord of Feathers wouldn't even remember her previous visit, and the opportunity she'd sought had been beside her bed the whole time.
The walk seemed easier this time, even pleasurable. She came upon the castle early in the afternoon, and was surprised to find it less austere and intimidating than before. She recognized as well the guards to either side of the gate - did they even seem less fierce?
She strode over to the guard to the right and said haughtily, "My name is Isabella, daughter of the Fourfold Baron. I have come to speak with your master. I have come to offer him my heart. I have brought this gift, which I ask that you give him. Please tell him also that I wait for his answer." She handed over the parcel of books, which she'd tied with a white ribbon. Then she retreated to the bank beside the path to wait.
As before, the guard went in with her present, returned without it, and resumed his post without so much as glancing at her.
"He will come, he will come soon," she whispered, but with each passing instant she was surer that he would not. What had she done wrong? She had given her greatest treasure, how could it not be enough? When there could no longer be any doubt, she nestled her head in her arms and wept silently, lost in her pain.
A noise disturbed her - the howling of wolves. The sky was dark and it was no longer warm. The guards had left their posts and she was alone.
But only for a moment - for sudden as lightning five wolves tumbled from the doorway of the castle and leapt in a mass towards her, their fur bristling, their fangs bared. She didn't have the strength to run or to stand, or even to fear for her life.
As the great beasts closed on her she saw that the one in front was larger than the others, and its eyes were grey rather than their topaz yellow; the closer they came the more the others held back to let this largest take the lead. It slowed abruptly, just before her, so close that she could feel the warmth of its breath as it inspected her. Then it turned and ran into the forest, the others following; and she was alone again, except for a long howl vibrating in the air.
She was awoken the next morning by Madeleine, leaned over her with tears in her eyes. Isabella's tattered, mud-covered dress beside the bed was evidence enough of where she'd been, and that she had returned proved her failure. "Mistress, there is nothing here for you. We must go home."
"Go home? The Lord of Feathers does not love me. How can we go home?" And Isabella turned her face away and closed her eyes again.
Their small supply of money was almost gone. Part of her didn't care, would not have cared if she were to starve to death here. But another part still clutched to a sliver of hope. The present had not been right - if she could only understand why then perhaps she could still claim the love of the Lord of Feathers.
So Isabella went to the landlord of The Hag, and although she suspected that it was he who had been behind the burglary of her room, she asked him for work.
"Can you cook?" he asked her. "Can you serve ale? Can you sweep floors and wash dishes?"
"I can learn."
"My wife and I are all the work I need."
She didn't have any answer to this, and hung her head.
"But you are pretty, I suppose, and the men would like to see you. Perhaps you could learn, after all."
The work was terribly hard - the landlord took advantage of Isabella's desperation, and as soon as she'd grasped one thing would force a new responsibility upon her, until she was doing everything and the landlord and his wife next to nothing. Because she was receiving board and lodging, he paid her only a pittance. The men who visited would jeer and mock her in the lewdest ways, and would clutch at her as she passed. Her hands became calloused, her complexion red and mottled, her body thin and angular. She'd been wearing Madeleine's dresses since her own had been stolen and no one, seeing her, could have imagined what she'd been a mere six months ago. Still, she hardly cared - she was lost so deeply in her depression and in thoughts of the Lord of Feathers that she moved through the days like a sleepwalker.
Madeleine would come to her sometimes, in the brief interval between her finishing work and sinking into oblivious sleep, and would plead with her to return home. She paid no attention, or screamed at her to get out, or at her lowest points would answer simply, "He does not love me," and collapse into tears. It came as little surprise when one morning she found a note at her bedside that read, 'Mistress, I am going home, if I can find the way. I beg of you, follow. There is nothing here for you.' She threw it into a corner. It was for the best, and she would be glad of the money that she'd save on Madeleine's small room.
She ate sparsely and refused to replace the dresses that Madeleine had left her, however ragged they became. And the more parsimonious her life became, the more she found that she could save a little money. Increasingly she was obsessed with a certainty that if she could only find the right gift then the Lord of Feathers couldn't help but acknowledge her. She understood now that her books had held value only for her - to one so fierce and wild as her love, they would have no meaning or worth.
But, despite that realisation, she had no idea what would; and the months passed, and her supply of coin slowly accumulated, and still she could see no end to her suffering.
Then, one night early in the autumn, she dreamt: of a forest of skeletal pines, of a darkness hardly broken by the bulbous moon overhead, and of a savage face with eyes of deep grey that swam with reflected light.
When she awoke she gathered her money, searched out a dress that was less ragged than the others, and went to the landlord. She instructed him to slaughter and cook as many beasts and fish and poultry as her money would afford, and to take them and her by cart to the castle in the forest.
He laughed at her but accepted her coins, and early in the afternoon they drove through the dying colors of the autumn wilds to the gate guarding the castle of the Lord of Feathers. As before, two sentries stood at the inner door, and two watched the outer gate.
She selected the one to the left, and said, "my name is Isabella, daughter of the Fourfold Baron. I have come to speak with your master. I have come to offer him my heart. I have brought this gift, which I ask that you give him. Please tell him also that I wait for his answer." She couldn't hide the sadness in her voice, nor did she try.
The four guards went together, and each took up a plate. Immediately the landlord turned his cart and drove the horses at a canter back towards the village, without so much as offering to take her with him. Meanwhile three of the guards placed their plates on the steps before the castle's great wooden door, while the fourth went inside. When he returned he still carried his plate, which he set down with the others before returning to his post.
It occurred to Isabella then that she wasn't expecting the Lord of Feathers to come - that she had deluded herself. With that realization, something inside her died. She went to her place on the verge, curled up with her threadbare shawl around her shoulders, and went to sleep.
She was awoken, as she'd expected to be, by the sound of wolves baying. When she looked up the five great creatures were tumbling through the castle doorway. She sat and watched, feeling strangely distant, as they proceeded to devour the banquet that she'd brought. It was disgusting the way they tore meat from the carcasses and tussled over scraps, yet there was order as well - they allowed the largest beast to take its share of each dish first, and to pick the choicest portions.
When every bone had been picked clean, they turned together and jogged towards her, too glutted to move at their usual pace. As always the largest wolf, with its cold grey eyes, led the way. Those eyes never left her as they came closer. Finally, it stopped in front of her, with its jaws hung open before her face and its forepaws straddling her chest.
Isabella wasn't the least afraid as she gazed into its eyes, for all the ferocity that she saw there. She didn't try to move or to make any noise - she was content to watch the bestial face poised above her. Finally, the jaws opened a little wider. The wolf's breath was warm on her face and smelt of meat. With a tongue as big as her hand it licked her face, almost delicately, from chin to forehead. Then it turned away and in a single bound was through the tree-line, with its brethren close behind.
They found Isabella the next morning sat beneath the beacon that gave the village its name, curled up and singing nonsense songs to herself, oblivious of the cold. She wouldn't respond to any of the villagers' questions, or so much as acknowledge them. The consensus was that she'd lost her wits. They took her to the landlord, by the logic that she was more his problem than she was anyone else's.
Whilst there was no doubt that Isabella had gone mad, the landlord discovered that she would still work so long as she was given precise instructions. She did so slowly, methodically, without the least sign of interest. Nevertheless, she was useful enough to justify the outlay of her small room and a little food. At first the men continued to abuse and grope her, but they soon lost interest - there was something alarming in her unresponsiveness. She was indifferent to cruelty and kindness alike, and as the weeks passed they increasingly ignored her. To the people of the village she became 'Mad Bel', but no one bothered to speak of her much.
Isabella was more aware than they realized. There were thoughts and memories aplenty in her mind, though they were cluttered and confused and she couldn't be sure which were real. All of them related to the Lord of Feathers; she had forgotten her life before her arrival in Lantern. Somewhere beneath her conscious mind, the same questions were being asked: What did I do wrong? Am I unworthy? Is there any gift that could win his heart? But she was incapable of answering, or even of understanding her own questions. Instead she drifted through the days as the oblivious slave of the landlord, and weeks and months passed by.
Then, on the night of the first snow, she dreamt. Isabella couldn't remember the dream the next morning, but could feel it a fraction beyond her reach, almost tangible and alive within her. Looking out her window she saw that it was still dark. She pulled the bed sheets over her ragged nightgown and set off into the night.
It was light when she arrived at the castle in the forest, and the trees were crested with white. Though she was mud-stained and wet and wore her sheets trailing behind her like a bridle train, the guards paid her no more attention than they had on each past occasion.
She selected the rightmost and said to him, her voice frail from lack of use, "My name is Isabella, daughter of the Fourfold Baron. I have come to speak with your master. I have come to offer him my heart. I have brought this gift, which I ask that you give him. Please tell him also that I wait for his answer."
The guard only looked at her with bright yellow eyes. She turned and walked away, past the verge where she'd sat before, through the periphery of the forest and into the darkness within. Then she selected a place, wrapped her sheets around her and settled down to wait.
She might have slept, or she might not have - there was little difference by then between her sleeping and waking. But she was suddenly aware of darkness, and of howls echoing between the close-set trees.
She had just time enough to look up at the full moon, cracked and fractured between the branches, and then the wolves were upon her. The four circled around, cutting off her escape - though she made no move to flee. The fifth, the greatest, came unhurriedly towards her, his head turned up to stare at her, his grey eyes reflecting back the dim moonlight. When he stopped she let the bed-sheets drop from around her and then pulled her nightgown over her head and laid it beside them. There was still snow on the ground, but she didn't feel the cold at all.
With a low growl, the Lord of Feathers dismissed his servants - en masse they turned and disappeared into the shadows. Then he came closer, so close that she could feel his fur against her skin, could smell his breath, so close that the hum in his throat sent shivers through her. He nuzzled her once, rubbing his head against her breast, gazing with grey eyes that showed no hint of ferocity.
And then, with a small push of his hind legs, he leapt up and tore at her throat with his teeth, and she tumbled backwards into the pile of her clothing and lay quite still.
When he was certain that she was dead, he set about devouring her body, slowly and with great care - until there was nothing of Isabella left but pale bones and what lay within him.
But, out of respect for her great love, the Lord of Feathers left her heart till last.
©David Tallerman
David Tallerman lives in York, England, working as an IT Technician and writing in any and all genres. He has recently been podcast by Chaos Theory: Tales Askew and published in the new webzine Yellow Mama. A third story is forthcoming in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. His remaining spare time is spent watching too many movies and volunteering as an editor and reviewer for Son and Foe magazine.