Beast Berries

"Quickly, now! And like the dead!"

Ivy kept her knees high as she crept through the brush, careful not to crunch the autumn leaves below. But her tread was too careful; she tripped on the hem of her dress and fell forward, her lantern smashing loudly in the dirt.

Maida turned around with fire in her eyes and brought an angry finger to her lips.

"Shh!"

Dogs were barking in the distance now. As silently as she could, Ivy rose to her feet and plucked the shards from her knees.

"Did you drop the token?"

Ivy pulled the folded cloth out from under her cloak. "No, it's here."

"Good. Then come on."

Maida offered a hand. Ivy took it gratefully, and together they continued with their mission.

They had to be swift as they made their way to the outskirts of the village, their vision guided now by only the moon and Maida's flickering candle. They had bought themselves some time with wine, laying down their husbands to bed with their bellies full. But dawn was approaching, and if they were not found lying beside their men at sunup, they would have to put on their best masks and spin some convincing fiction. Their husbands were both good and gentle men, but there was no telling how they would react if they discovered the truth.

After all, the witch's tavern was forbidden.

The women hurried into the forest, the cool wind rustling through the trees. Ivy looked up as a shadow slashed across the moon, the silent silhouette of an owl. It made her heart skip a beat, though she knew far more fearsome predators lurked in these woods.

They were almost three miles from the village when Ivy abruptly stopped, bending over, panting like a dog.

Maida slowed down ahead of her and wheeled around.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I just need to catch my breath."

"If you can say so then you have enough breath to run. Let's go!"

"Perhaps we should go back," Ivy blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Go back?"

"This is foolish. At this rate, we won't make it back by morning."

"Ivy," Maida said, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, "I have killed my only goat and left my sleeping children in the care of my drunken husband, and even sober he isn't that reliable. And now you're telling me you've changed your mind? Tell me, do you want a child or not?"

Ivy raised her eyes and nodded, steeling herself.

"Then let's go."

Together, the two girls picked up their pace and stole into the night. A few miles later, they arrived at their destination.

The orange windows of the tavern glowed in the dark like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. The women slowed down as they came near. The large wooden shack stood in the middle of a clearing, horses strung up beside it while hooting voices and loud music blared from within.

Maida slid her hand in Ivy's.

"Hide your face," she whispered, pulling her hood over her head and raising her scarf so that it covered her nose. Then, together, they entered the tavern.

The room was bustling and full, drunken men yelling and downing drinks by the pintful. Half-dressed barmaids lingered about the tables, pulling their skirts aside to tease their garters, or slapping away the wandering hands of greedy patrons.

A gentleman with no front teeth rose from his table to greet the young women.

"Hello, lovelies," he said, his breath like sour milk. "How much for a poke?"

Ivy gasped, disgusted, but Maida just pulled her through the crowd until they arrived at the bar.

A barmaid hobbled over to them, appearing half asleep. Her face was smeared with clownish makeup and her corset was strung so tight her veiny breasts looked ready to burst.

"What can I get you ladies?" she asked.

Maida slid her scarf off her mouth and leaned in to whisper. "We're here to see the witch."

The barmaid glanced over her shoulder and looked back at them. "Have you brought a token?"

"Yes, here," said Ivy, pulling out the bundle and laying it on the counter.

The barmaid picked it up and squished it, the ruddy stain bleeding through the cotton. She handed it back to the women and whispered hoarsely, "This way," before wobbling towards a back room.

The ladies followed the barmaid down a hallway, careful to avoid the rowdy travelers as they belched and bellowed. Ivy looked down at their guide's feet and gasped, the wooden tip of a pegleg poking out from under her skirt.

"The Madam is in here," the barmaid sighed. "Be quick about it now; she's very busy."

Then she sauntered away.

"Thank you," said Maida. She turned to Ivy expectantly.

Ivy supposed it made sense that she should be the one, having brought them here. She raised her trembling hand and gently rapped on the door.

A bone-chilling voice called back to them, "Come in."

Ivy opened the door, creaking loudly on its rusty hinges, and stepped into the back room. The two girls gasped together at once.

The space was small and cramped, illuminated by a crackling hearth. And all around, on every wall, hanging from the ceiling, were various instruments of suspicious design. Whips and chains and floggers and riding crops, tassels and straps and collars and saddles. They would look for all the world like torture devices if it weren't for the careful craftsmanship, the velvet and leather and polished brass.

"Don't just linger, introduce yourselves."

The ladies looked down from the instruments to the center of the room, where the witch huddled over her desk, counting a pile of coins. She was younger than Ivy expected, perhaps the same age as her mother. Her hair was frizzy and wild, streaked with black and silver. Her high cheekbones and pronounced chin suggested that she may have once been beautiful, but now her withered skin betrayed her better features. And her eyes-she had the most striking eyes, glazed over with a milky film. With a shudder, Ivy realized the woman was blind.

Maida slid off her hood, letting her auburn locks fall down to her shoulders. "I am Maida, and this is Ivy," she said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. "We've come from the village just south of here to offer you a token."

Ivy pulled back her hood as well, revealing her strawberry blonde curls and bright green eyes. She walked up to the desk and laid down the bundle.

The witch took it in her claws and sniffed the damp fabric. "Goat balls?"

"Yes," said Maida, her freckled face white with fright. "I cut them myself."

The witch smiled and tossed the bundle onto a stool beside her where it landed with a wet thud. "But I assume you're not just here to offer me presents?"

"We were hoping, Madam," Ivy said hesitantly. "To make a trade."

The witch nodded. "I sense a burden heavy on your spirit. Speak on it, child."

"It's true, Madam," Ivy began, her eyes welling with tears. "I am blessed in so many ways, with a husband I love so dearly. He is a good and gentle man. He works tirelessly in the fields each day, provides me with a roof over my head and a belly full each night."

The witch snorted. "But something is missing."

"Yes," she admitted, breathless. "It's been a year and a half and still I cannot bear a child."

"We've been to all the midwives," Maida added. "They cannot find a remedy-"

"But the trouble isn't yours," the witch cut her off. "I can smell it on your skin, your womb is ripe and fruitful. But you knew that already, didn't you? Tell me, what's wrong with the man? Is he a cock swallow?"

"No, Madam," Ivy said, slightly appalled. "At least, I don't suspect so... He desires me, I should think."

"But he leaves you craving?" the witch smirked. "I can fix that easily."

She pulled a wooden phallus out from her desk drawer and laid it on the table, the glossy varnish gleaming in the firelight.

"A new contraption, a mechanical wonder, I can report," the witch grinned. "Watch."

She lifted up the wooden rod, revealing an iron key lodged in its side. The witch twisted it, winding it up like a clockwork, then set it on the table. The phallus flopped on the desk like a fish, bucking and twisting and rattling against the wood.

Ivy's eyes went wide. Maida bit her lip, intrigued.

"No, no," Ivy said finally. "I'm never left craving. The man is good with his hands-"

"But he has the old man's limp, does he?"

The witch held up her finger to demonstrate, then slowly let it curl like a dying leaf.

Ivy winced in recognition. "Yes," she admitted, the words heavy on her tongue. "I love the man, but-when I lie with him, he can't-sustain himself."

The witch giggled, her laugh deep and bubbly like a boiling cauldron.

"Have you tried to appeal to his second nature?"

She gestured to a back wall, where a number of wigs and gowns hung from a wire, bustiers with holes cut out in unseemly places.

"I think I appeal to him as I am," Ivy said a little defensively. "Really, I think the issue is... mechanical."

The witch nodded. "And even though he satisfies you, it's the child you desire?"

Ivy nodded. "It's been a year and a half. His mother is spiteful towards me now. She thinks it's my fault, but I've done everything I can think of to do."

"Terrible how we blame ourselves," the witch sighed. "Inside every man is a beast waiting to be awakened, but only he holds the key to his inhibitions. Still," she added, a smile curling the edges of her crusty red lips. "If he cannot free himself, we can at least try to break the lock."

She turned around and lifted a glass jar off a shelf behind her, as easily as if she could see it with her vacant eyes. She turned back around and laid it on the table.

The two women leaned in. There, at the bottom of the jar, was a handful of berries-each the size of a pea and red as blood.

"Wait for a full moon," the witch said, unscrewing the lid and plucking a berry from the pile. "And for one night, you will release his second nature. The beast within."

The witch dropped the berry into Ivy's outstretched palm. She looked up at the witch, somewhat doubtful.

"Just one?" she asked. "For one night?"

"If you do not conceive after the moon, return to me and I will provide you with another."

Ivy sputtered, somewhat irritated. "But Madam, with all due respect, we've come all this way. Can't I take another now and save it for the next moon?"

"I would not tempt you with that," said the witch, bringing the jar back to the shelf behind her. "Believe me, you must be sure that he takes only one each month."

Ivy took the berry carefully and dropped it into a pocket in her cloak.

"Thank you, Madam," she said, and turned to leave.

Maida looked back at the desk, gave the phallus one last wistful glance, and walked out through the door with Ivy, heading back into the night.