I'm sure you know how it is; you can be hypothetically studying for a chemistry exam and these ideas just kind of pop into your head. This is really just a little bit of a story I'm on-off working on. I'd appreciate criticism (positive AND negative) and any kind of ideas or comments you have :)
...
At first he wasn’t sure what it was; the thing moved and dipped and danced and swung on its pole constantly, and the lambent firelight made it hard to see. Then it spun towards him and flopped lifelessly and he saw that it was the skeleton of a girl in the remains of a raggedy red silk tunic. There was still hair sprouting obscenely from the scalp- long, whipping, dull black hair that would have been beautiful when it was alive. Every bone was knotted firmly to the next with cotton threads the colour of cochineal, so that blood appeared to bejewel the fingers and toes. The leg bones clattered back against the wooden pole, to which the gleaming shoulder blades and spine and hips were affixed by means of a complicated tangle of rope.
For a handful of lucid seconds, it was nothing more than a gruesome totem. And then the madness that had been roiling off the crowd seemed to strike him and roll over him and the skeleton was no more a symbol of a lost religion, but something beautiful and otherworldly and dangerous and comforting all at once. The unsecured head flopped and twisted on its spine and the blank eye-sockets stared at him. He felt the personality of the thing hit him in one go, as a kind of mocking gaze falling on his face, coupled with a sharp, sarcastic laugh and the sensation of summer and a breeze through green leaves. In the licking light, the jaws fell apart and a wild laugh seemed to crackle out of the hollow ribs, as though only the body of the girl had died and the soul still lingered on in the bones.
“Behold!” An ecstatic voice cried by his shoulder and he half-turned to see Frieda, the man’s eyes reflecting the ruddy firelight. “The Lady of the Hills!”
“The Lady of the Hills!” Jacob echoed, and turned back to the mesmerising sight. The procession, if that was what it was, had moved on, and he felt an inexplicable sense of loss. Not for something pure, but for something deep and dark and thrumming with a disquieting and exciting form of life, even from the other side of the Veil.
As the Lady twisted and spun again high above the heads of her worshippers, something bright green and glowing in the flamelight flew free of the front of her tunic and then swung back on a glittering gold chain. The sight struck a chord within Jacob, in a way that was close to being physical, like a finger inserted between his ribs and tugging. It was an imperative that he could not disobey. He followed it, away from Frieda who called out to him, shouldering his way through the crush of people and pressing on and through to catch just one more glimpse of the Lady and her bright jewel.
...
When Jacob opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, looking up at leaves above him that were swaying and dipping in a gentle breeze. Jacob listened. Apart from the gentle sussuration, there was no noise. He got up quietly, so that the man next to him did not stir and padded in the still, shade-dappled coolness up the grove, taking care to step round out-flung limbs. The bonfire had crumbled into grey and black ash, but the scorched earth still radiated heat. Beyond it, the mouth of the hill was wide open and hollow.
He followed the tunnel, which bent and wound until there was no natural light left and he had to feel his way with his hands. After what felt like at least half an hour, an ancient sense told him that up ahead was light and open space. Finally, he felt his way around a sharp bend, and had to shield his eyes as golden light lanced into the darkness. The tunnel opened out into a cave, where the sudden sunlight coming in through the overgrown hole in the roof was blinding. As his vision cleared, he saw that it was a kind of grotto, with moss growing on the floor and dripping down from the edges of the hole above. There were dust specks and insects dancing in the sunlight.
The skeleton had been unbound from its pole and sat upright in a high backed stone chair on a kind of dais, the hands resting on the arms and the head slumped forwards as though the Lady was asleep. Her hair hung down over her shoulders and the edge of the seat. Jacob squinted, but he could not make out if the necklace was still around her neck; nor if she was awake, if that word could be used. He began to inch forwards into the light, little by little, expecting guards at any moment.
The voice, when it came, was clear and cold and feminine and the words arrived directly in his head without actually being spoken out loud.
Who are you, stranger?
Jacob started, but could not reply, gripped by sudden terror.
I saw you at my dance, the voice continued conversationally, You are not one of my people.
He felt something probe at his mind- curious and careful, turning it over and over in the same way he might turn a stone in his hands.
Hmm. Witchborn, the girl’s voice continued, Your name is that of the Trickster God?
“Yes,” Jacob said out loud.
Why are you here, Trickster-boy? the Lady said, voice amused.
“I was curious.”
A sunbeam shafted down through the roof of the cave suddenly and struck green fire from the pendant between her ribs. You like my trinket.
Jacob said nothing, and she laughed in his head, the same wild, terrible laughter he had heard the night before.
You may ask me your questions, she said, and had she still been capable, he knew she would have waved a languid hand.
“What are you?”
Not a goddess,”she replied, with a laughing curl to her voice, Not a witch. But I was powerful once, powerful enough to drive the old darkness away and replace it with the night; powerful enough to build a faith that has lasted for generation upon generation. I was a mortal girl, and perhaps in life I was kinder than I am in this not-death.
“You’re dead,” Jacob said, fascinated. “Why haven’t you passed on?”
And leave my people? she returned, My silly, stupid, faithful, little people? They cannot protect themselves; I protect them. They cannot think for themselves; I think for them. I bound myself in my bones, and my bones are the hills. I am the Lady of the Hills, and even now, I am strong.
“That,” Jacob said, “Does not answer the question.”
There was silence, and for a moment he thought she would not answer. And then it hit him in the same way water rolls over a stone, her mind sweeping him up into itself.
There was dank bracken and heavy snow and the pushing of green things up out of the leaf mould and agony and sorrow and keen wind and blood. He heard the sound of rushing water and smelt wood smoke and tasted the strange sweetness of the joy that comes after mourning. And he saw the cold night sky and the evenings and the mornings and the heaviness of the ground beneath him. And just for a fraction of a second, he saw also the young and laughing face of a girl with long black hair and startling green eyes, and felt the difference between her and the Lady, and understood how they were one.
The flow of sensation stopped so fast that Jacob did not know where he was. He stumbled, and when he righted himself, the Lady was looking at him with her blank eyes.
They’re coming, she said conversationally. My children. I imagine they will try to kill you. This is a sacred grotto, after all.
The chain holding the pendant snapped and the necklace thudded onto the moss between her bony feet.
Take it, she urged him, It’s a gift.
Jacob snatched it up and tucked it into his jacket. There were noises coming from the tunnel- shouts and yells and the unwelcome clash of metal.
"How did they know I was here?” he yelled.
I told them, she replied and then suggested, Run?
Jacob looked around wildly. There were no other tunnels that led out of the grotto and the hole in the roof was too high for him to jump. And then it was too late, as Painted People came tumbling out of the tunnel, weapons bared. In the same moment, the jaws of the Lady fell apart and a shriek tore from between the teeth that sent her people to their knees. The sound lanced also through Jacob’s head and behind him, he heard the fading, icy voice screaming, Mine! Mine! as he fled.
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