The Empty Mirror
Chapter 38: Dougal
Within this presumed family, Dougal emerges as the steadfast mainstay, guarding Esma and Hilda's safety, providing sustenance and restoring the ancient well from which Hilda draws the life-giving liquid. He is Esma's passionate lover, her fiancé, and we fervently hope that one day they will crown their love with the blessings of the sacred marriage bond of the Peste.
Unlike the damsels, he has faced challenges since the dawn of his existence, and, with resolute determination, he chooses to leave the noises of the city behind, to embark on a new life with his beloved and his mother-in-law, taking on the laudable burden of being Esma's old stand-in after her father's tragic demise at the hands of the ruthless mob. Dougal, heir to the ancestral cabin, the legacy of his venerable grandmother, whose memories he barely glimpses in the dimness of his memory, is an orphan who has carved out his destiny with indomitable mettle.
In the course of a hunt, Dougal has required my assistance. Several weeks have passed since, by choice or perhaps influenced by Esma's influence, I chose to remain in the hut in the company of these three beings, who, with apparent benevolence, have welcomed me as one of their family. Although my presence gives me the sensation of being an outsider, I find in this situation an ineffable serenity... perhaps.
With seriousness and determination, Dougal addressed these words to me: "Our child, join me in the hunt, but this time it will be different. Yesterday, just a few miles from this spot, I found signs of a deer. It could be our next source of sustenance if my suspicions are correct. It is a singular occasion. So far, our catch has been limited to the nimble squirrels; we have never seen a deer.
Without hesitation, I accepted his proposal and we ventured into the confines of the forest. Dougal had a pistol with him that had been lying dormant until then, along with a sharp steel knife. As for me, I had only a gleaming pocketknife, which I had never used to hurt another human being.
We moved stealthily forward, gradually distancing ourselves from the hut. Dougal followed the trail of the possible fawn, though as the minutes passed, the hope of finding it seemed to fade, as the tracks we were following became blurred. Nevertheless, he showed me the footprints he had sighted the night before. Despite their gradual fading, we still glimpsed the possibility that they were the footprints of a deer, thus keeping our hope alive.
However, I could not restrain myself, and in the quiet of the moment I asked, "Do you possess the gift of tracking? Dougal, in a quiet voice, replied, "Actually, I have no such ability. I have only a vague notion of it. I have spent my whole life in the city, and I do not count myself among the hunters. I have only been acquiring knowledge for the last two years.
The ground in that region seemed to give way under our feet, as if the roots of the trees were devouring it insatiably. In the blink of an eye, I found myself hurtling towards the soft earth, about to bang my head violently against the ground, but Dougal, with a lending hand, grabbed my arm and pulled me away from that perilous fate, leading me towards a more solid surface.
However, the roots had twisted around my leg and, with the impact, I felt a sharp pain in my ankle, which twisted under the weight of my body. Fortunately, only my ankle suffered the misfortune; otherwise, I might have suffered a more serious fracture of the leg.
I barely mourned the torment, as Dougal assisted me with a solicitous arm. We tried to return at a slow pace, but the pain, sharp as a lance, prevented me from moving forward. So, with my limbs battered, he lifted me onto his sturdy shoulders, letting my head hang, determined to abandon the hunting and return in haste to the country shelter. There, within the rustic walls, Dougal could nurse my injured ankle and medicate my ailment.
As Dougal plodded on, my moans mingled with the whisper of the wind. He tried to comfort me, trying to distract my distress with tender words: "Giselle, I am sorry for your suffering," to which I mumbled in reply: "Do not find fault with yourself, it is my own follies that afflict me."
"Our child, in my endeavour to understand, I perceive your youth, and, though I hold you in high esteem, I am sorry that I have been too severe with you. Do you perceive in me an excessive harshness?" - Dougal inquired quietly.
"No, don't be affronted," I whispered in a harsh voice.
"I confess I have been somewhat abrupt, but with no intention of hurting you. My duties with Esma and Hilda absorbed me completely, and I was not prepared to be helped," Dougal reflected humbly.
I asked quietly, "Have you been alone all your life?
"No, I have never been alone, in spite of everything. I am an orphan," he replied uneasily.
"What happened to your parents?" - I asked with interest.
"I know nothing about them, perhaps they are in the grave. Only my old grandmother lives on in my memory. In this leafy forest my first memories germinated, even when I was at least six years old" - she answered solemnly.
"Did your grandmother always reside in the forest?" - I questioned sceptically.
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"It is a mystery that still eludes my understanding. She pursued a legend..." - he said, momentarily halting his gait, slowing but not stopping completely.
"A legend..." - I murmured in an expectant voice.
Carefully he began to weave his tale: "In this forest there is whispered the presence of a vampire, a monstrous creature that satiates itself with the blood of its victims. My lips remained sealed at his words, though my attention remained sharp, urging him to continue.
"This legend of old goes back centuries. Though it belongs to the chest of time, few are the sages who keep it in authenticity. In ancient times, at the dawn of the cities, the villagers spun this myth on their tongues, but the echo faded with the passing of the decades. With the passing of generations, the memory gradually faded. Nevertheless, it still lives on in some corners of the educated society. Even if it fades, its echo lingers in the shadows'" - he narrated cautiously.
"I received rumours about this legend before I came here, although I only retained fragments of it," I confessed with a start.
"There are multiple versions of the legend. Some speak of a vampire, others mention a witch, and others still whisper of albino monsters lurking in the forest thicket. However, they all converge on the same premise: the monster's appetite for the blood of humans. That is the heart of the legend, which makes it a bloodsucker's tale," he said cautiously.
"Was it your grandmother who bequeathed you such a disturbing narrative?" - I inquired with subtle curiosity.
"Truly, though it does not constitute a narrative in the conventional sense. There is no definite plot woven around the forest, but it is the very essence that defines it.
My grandmother passed the legend on to me, although her story did not mention a vampire, but rather those pale creatures that feed on blood. However, this conception my grandmother shared is rooted in the story she was told. She went to a seer," he whispered with a shadow of doubt.
I remained silent, and he continued: "In her youth, my grandmother consulted a seer. Though fervent in her spiritual devotion, she also professed an unwavering faith in the god of the Plague. She could be called a heretic, and that is how I regard her as well.
Therefore, you should not be afraid to express that opinion if you share my perspective. The seer foretold that her destiny lay in entering this forest and ending her curse. Despite her words and his faith in the spiritual, he ignored her and moved on with his life, though he never forgot those words.
My grandmother, in holy matrimony, bore children, among them my father and my uncle. Time passed, and my uncle, already in the prime of his youth, ventured into the forest on a mission to study the flora. It was there that he met his end. Some time later, his body was found, riddled with sores and wrapped in a blanket of pallor, with no blood in his veins. At that moment, my grandmother evoked the ancient legend and, overwhelmed by the pain of loss, abandoned her consort and progeny, determined to prevent a similar fate.
I do not know the details of those tumultuous days, but I presume that my grandfather, her husband, breathed his last, while my father went his own way, married and begot a new life, mine. The fate of my mother and father remains veiled in the mists of oblivion, perhaps claimed by the grim reaper. My grandmother revealed to me in a moment of confidence that I was homeless, and the veracity of her words cannot be questioned.
Somehow, in his magnanimous heart, he took responsibility for my upbringing in my helplessness. He took me with him into the forest and watched over my safety, until he finally departed this world. The moment of his passing into death faded into the mists of my memory, and I may never recover it. However, by a tortuous path, I managed to escape from the clutches of the forest and, on the verge of death, reached the city of Bafranbu, where I plunged into the hardship of begging.
In the days of my destitution, a woman with a generous heart provided me with food, sometimes sharing the scraps from her table. To her I owe eternal gratitude. Later, I discovered that this lady from Bafranbu was Hilda herself, a detail that still evokes laughter between us, for this truth was not revealed until years later, when Esma already held the title of my beloved.
My existence was wasting away in penury, without the certainty of stable resources. It is an unfathomable enigma to me how Esma came to feel affection for me, a source of constant fear of losing her," he said, his voice tinged with an amalgam of feelings.
"And how do you argue that you were never alone?" - I inquired, mulling over his words, in an attempt to discern between the possibility that the stag was Dougal, who in an act of disloyalty had been antlered. Inwardly, he sketched a subtle joke on the subject.
"Because I feel the constant presence of Esma and Hilda, as if from time immemorial they have walked beside me, even before fate brought us together" - he sighed wistfully.
"Have you shared with them the legend, the story you have shared with me?" - I questioned.
"I have revealed the secrets of my past to them, but I have kept the legend hidden. I do not intend to instil fear in them with such a story, even if its veracity is questionable. For me, it represents a crucial piece of my grandmother's legacy.
The hut stands as a legacy given to me, and I do not wish to tarnish her memory. It seems as if she had sensed my return, as if it were an omen. At one point, I came to conceive the idea that my grandmother possessed mysterious gifts, almost as if she were a witch" - she explained in detail.
"Do you have faith in the legend and the curse that your grandmother tried to mitigate in the recesses of the forest? - I questioned in a barely audible voice.
"No, to me, such thoughts are blasphemy against the god who rules the Plague" - he replied simply.
"I understand... Have you never heard from your progenitors?" - I whispered, wrapped in doubt.
"No, everything I know was passed down to me from my grandmother. I was barely an infant and I barely retain the memories of those stories," she declared with conviction.
"Why do you choose to confide all these details to me?" - I asked.
"Esma has proclaimed that you are now an integral part of our family, so it is only fair that we include you," he replied solemnly, as a sombre unease crept over me, like an ominous omen.
After a few moments, we returned to the humble hut, where Esma and Hilda were fretting about what had happened. Dougal settled me down on the mattress and extracted a pristine bandage and a vibrant green ointment from the suitcase, which felt soothingly cool to the touch. As Esma and Hilda set off to fetch water from the bower, Dougal began to gently massage my ankle, stripping off my shoe and stockings.
The twisted joint showed obvious signs of swelling, with the skin reddened and tight around the perimeter. Veins were drawn under the epidermis, outlining the affected area, while small purple and blue bruises extended from the point of twisting down the foot and leg. Every movement provoked a wince of pain, and the joint was clearly displaced from its usual position, conveying a sense of vulnerability and weakness.