Chapter 13: Beldren What we Deserve, Part 5

Beldren lost count of the days. A slave brought them water now and then, but no food. Though he told Mabel that Patrick might die, he couldn't get medical aid for him past the bloodletting. He knew from the medical journals he'd been force-fed that many physicians swore by the method, only it didn't seem to help. Patrick's face oozed puss and maggots. Initially he replied when spoken to but, after what was surely a couple of days, he stopped responding.

The sisters came and went. While Mabel was there Beldren tried to pull himself together, to concentrate, to use everything his uncle had taught him. He complimented her, commented that Ismene didn't seem to appreciate her, that clearly she was put upon and being held back by her sister's overbearing attitude.

In return she let details slip. Ismene and Thomasin were not her birth sisters Ismene was not even her sister in blood, whatever that meant. Mabel and Thomasin had been together first and they'd met Ismene and decided to join her coven. At the phrase, the word "witch" flashed in Beldren's mind. He suffered a moment of horror, but decided that a witch a human woman aided by demons was better than one of the immortal creatures of evil.

He also discovered that they did not devour their victims flesh, but took only their blood. "We cannot eat anything solid," Mabel explained. "Not the flesh of animals or men, only blood."

"Can you not drink animal blood?" Beldren thought of the demons that surely controlled the witches. "Or does your master demand the sacrifice of man?"

"Master? I do not know what you mean, sir, unless you refer to Ismene. She does not forbid us to drink from animals, we have done so on many occasions, but the blood of man tastes sweeter. 'Tis a pity you would not enjoy the subtle flavors or I would show you."

Beldren's empty stomach clenched and he thought that blood would be better than nothing. "Perhaps I could?"

"The palate of the mortal is not so refined," Mabel explained. "Though perhaps you might still find some difference. Hold a moment and I will show you."

She moved to Patrick's limp form and bit him. He flinched and moaned and Duncan shouted at her to leave him alone, his words more Gaelic than English.

She released her victim and moved back to Beldren. He could see Patrick's blood staining her lips. He flinched, then made himself hold still as she pressed her gory mouth to his. Her tongue pressed against his lips, forcing them open, followed by a mouthful of warm, salty liquid.

Blood. Patrick's blood.

Duncan shouted in the background while Beldren swallowed and tried not to gag. Mabel pulled away to watch him as he licked the remainder from his lips and tried to work up enough saliva to wash the rest down.

"That is blood of man," she said. "Hold and I will find the other."

She disappeared behind him, but he could hear her rustling the hay that covered the floor.

"What does the foul monster do to you?" Duncan cried. "What games does she play?"

Before he could answer she was back, a tiny mouse in her hand. The creature writhed and squeaked as she held it to her mouth and bit. Beldren didn't have time to react before she jammed the furry thing against his lips and commanded him to "drink."

Though Duncan shouted at her to leave him be, Beldren did as she instructed. The salty liquid tasted the same to him and yielded less than a mouthful. His stomach rolled but screamed for more; for sustenance of any kind.

She discarded the dead rodent. "Were you able to taste the difference? Do you understand our preference now?"

Though he couldn't, he nodded. "Yes. Of course. And as I understand your preference, perhaps you might understand mine. To hang all day by these accursed chains, arms overextended and legs forced to stand, is overtaxing and torturous to say the least. Man does not treat his livestock so, and, as that is what we are to you and your sisters, it seems only fair to extend that same courtesy to your own animals."

Duncan shouted that he was no animal, but Mabel seemed to turn the idea over. "I would have to ask Ismene, of course, but I see no harm in lowering you. You would have to stay chained, for though you compare yourself to the dumb beasts, you are not as compliant as they, and even livestock must be corralled."

He couldn't argue with her logic.

The sun was up when a pair of terrified slaves moved their chains from the hooks in the ceiling to iron loops set lower in the back wall. The new arrangement allowed them to sit or lay and, though Duncan seemed relieved, Patrick only curled in a ball among the dirty hay, shivering and sputtering.

Then even that ceased. Beldren woke the next day from a dream of London to see the slaves drag Patrick's discolored body away. Duncan raged and pulled at his chains, but his attempts were weak. He tried to stand only to fall to the floor again. Beldren wondered dimly what it would be like to have a brother, to watch his body being hauled away by the servants of monsters, but he couldn't empathize, couldn't find any feelings at all.

Duncan fell to fits of raving, then to sleeping. He woke in the middle of his nap and called Beldren awake. "I fear I will soon follow my brother, Beldren. Should that happen do not let the demons eat my bones. Swear to me."

Beldren swore, his voice thick with thirst and sleep, and Duncan gave a satisfied nod before slipping back into oblivion himself.

His prediction proved true. It was the next day that the slaves hauled Duncan's emaciated form out of the shed. As the last man, Beldren endured a feeding by all three sisters that night. Ismene's bite was the worst, for as she drank she shoved her way into his thoughts, his dreams, his memories. He felt her walking the streets of London beside him, roaming across the English countryside, pledging love to young ladies only to hurry away in the night.

Mabel drank last. When she'd finished her meal she wiped her mouth and frowned. "You look weak, sir. I fear you will not last much longer."

"Not without nourishment," he agreed.

"Ismene finds feeding the provisions to be a waste. They die so quickly, regardless. But you are strong. Perhaps you would last longer. I will speak to her."