Agatha lay on her back and looked up at the darkening sky, waiting for the blood rush. After hearing all the rumours and hints about the nature of the impending change, she had decided she preferred the image of a rapid increase in her heartbeat and a sudden forceful hastening in her bloodstream. She would feel more alive than ever while her blood boiled and her voice changed. Blood burst; bloodlust; blood bath. Blood, blood, blood.
Why was she so fixated on that visual? It could just as well start as a sharpening of her vision. Her surroundings would stand out stark and clear as daylight and no detail would escape her. The rest of her senses would soon follow. She would smell the fear in her prey, hear its ragged breathing and taste its cold sweat. Her heartbeat – there it was again, blood – would make her temples throb and she would slide through the velvet darkness with a newfound purpose. The women hunt; the men attend to the land and home. She would hunt.
Her fire was breathing its last sparks. She huddled under her mother’s blanket. It wasn’t that cold yet. It was autumn and the moon was only half-full. It was the night for renewal. She could see the fading lights of other fires where the town’s teenage girls whose time had also come sat and waited. Her sisters, united in anticipation. Fierce and steadfast hunters in the making. Are they all this nervous or am I the only one who’s feeling this uncertain, she wondered? Are they excited? She knew Rebecca couldn’t wait. She wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks, despite their being discouraged to discuss it in any detail. You’ll know when it comes and it’ll feel as if you always knew, their teachers told them, so no sense in spending time idly speculating. You’ll all go through it alone but in the end you will be as one. Our eyes and ears in the sky. The reason we are still fed and warm and protected. Yes, the men do their best to contribute and we are fond of their companionship and softness of touch, but without us this sliver of safety would cease to exist. Be proud of your legacy. Surrender to your power. Revel in the transformation. Grow wild and strong. This will be your first taste of womanhood. Enjoy it. You’ll see.
Why was it taking so long? All this build up and pent-up excitement and fear for what? Nothing was happening. How could she blame Rebecca for her impatience? They were barely given any details and they were supposed to just tell when it was time. Her veins were still and her blood was cold. She was tired. It was so late! No, no, she had to focus. Maybe it was already happening and she was missing it. Focus.
She closed her eyes and pictured her mother’s tapestry hanging in her room. A forest at dusk. Nearly too dark to see. The trees seemed to go on forever and their branches were frozen mid-sway as the shadows deepened. If you looked closely you would start to discern the winged shapes until the woods were crawling with hunched solemn-eyed observers. Her sisters staring out at her, inviting her into the woods. She hadn’t been ready. Would she be ready now?
She opened her eyes. She could finally hear her sisters’ screams of pain, or was it delight and violent relief? She peeked in the twilight gloom at the sources of the sounds where she could barely make out distant figures rolling on the ground and tearing at their clothes. The screams changed into high-pitched screeches and there was a sense of a broadening; a widening; an extra layer of flesh? She was on the ground, trying to shrink herself invisible. She had to understand what was happening to the others to follow their lead. The ones she could still see started moving towards the forest. Some crawled and some ran. The screeches intensified until they morphed into inhuman laughter echoing through the trees. They were almost lost to her now, venturing so far beyond her. Did she hear the flapping of great wings or was that just the rising wind?
She was oppressively alone and left behind. Why couldn’t she follow? Maybe she had to induce the transformation somehow. She was on the wrong track believing that the change would be forceful, sudden and inescapable. Perhaps the only way to know is to actively seek the knowledge; it won’t just magically reveal itself to you. Come on, make it happen. Listen to the whispers inside. Let them guide you where you need to go. Listen.
This isn’t happening. This is not going to happen. You are weak.
She put her hands over her ears and screamed into the night. She screeched as loudly as she could. She tore at her clothes. She scratched her face raw. She rolled on the ground until all she could taste was dirt. She laughed until her throat hurt. She laughed until the sound lost all meaning to her. It was all a sad simulation of the real thing. She felt like she was caught in a lie and there was nothing else to show. She drew her limbs close and stopped moving. There was only sadness and fear where there should be excitement and triumph. Her fire went out and the cold found her.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, but there came a point when a decision needed to be made. She wasn’t fierce and strong. She couldn’t hunt or protect. She was no woman. She could run and hide and never return. How could she face her friends, her teachers, her parents?
She got up and dusted herself off, looking at the edges of the forest. There was another way out. She would let her sisters take care of her. They would tear her asunder limb from limb and she would welcome it. She started running until the sky gave way to a canopy of twisted branches and the trees were gathering close till there was no more room to breathe and she could barely see. The wood creaked and snapped and it was all that she could hear until she broke into a clearing and fell to her hands and knees.
She wasn’t alone. There was more than splintering wood now; there were footsteps and heavy breathing. Something dragged its way across the fallen leaves. Something that knew when to make noise and when to stay quiet until it was too late. It wasn’t afraid of her. She steadied her breathing before lifting her head to face the end. The creature stood in front of her in the moonlight. It – no, she – was taking her time. She was holding a rabbit in her claws and its entrails were snaking from its sliced-open belly to her beak. Her wide wings were spread out in a shuddering arc and her eyes were still disconcertingly human.
Rebecca looked at Agatha in puzzlement, not anger. Agatha started crying. Rebecca dropped her catch and brought her wings around Agatha, holding her tight. Agatha pressed her head against her friend’s soft chest and breathed deeply the comforting smell of blood. She would never fly. She would stay the same while the others embraced their nature and fulfilled their destiny. She calmly lifted one of her friend’s talons and placed it on her exposed neck. Rebecca shook her head and before Agatha could react she was lifted off her feet and they left the clearing behind in a flurry of feathers. The wind was electrifying and when she looked down her head swirled with vertigo and she laughed the night’s first genuine laugh.
In the morning they all came out of the woods, shaken and smiling with fresh bruises and mud in their hair. Agatha was holding Rebecca’s hand. Whatever was to come next, let it come. She was not a hunter, that much she knew. Whatever she was, it was something new.
