Lady Macbeth's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

battlefield. “Tell the king how the loyal Macbeth fought. He doubled strokes upon our foes as if he meant to bathe in their blood.”
    “Be assured Duncan will show his gratitude. Where is Macbeth now?”
    “Not far behind us, making his way to the king’s castle at Forres.”
    As the men spur their horses and part company, Helwain rubs her hands together.
    “So the war-goddess favors Macbeth. And she leads him into our path. We must hurry!”
    Helwain leads the way across the rough moor to a hillock high enough to be seen from all directions. Atop the hill are crumbling rocks, the remains of a half-buried dwelling. Rhuven unloads the sledge and covers it with ferns while Helwain makes a small fire. I watch the sisters put on gray-green robes the color of the lichens that grow on old stones and trees. Rhuven and my mother rub their faces and hands with ashes. Helwain does not wear a disguise. She already looks frightful, with her wild gray hair, her bristly chin, and the shadows under her eyes.
    “He must be able to recognize who I am,” she says.
    Mother leads me down some crumbled steps into the ground, where the last light of day shines a little way into the sunken rooms. Brown grass grows between the collapsed stones. I am too excited to be afraid.
    “What is going to happen tonight?” I ask. “What magic will Helwain do?”
    “I don’t know. But you must stay down here and not make a sound. Try to sleep.”
    When she leaves I stand on a rock and peer between the stones. I am consumed with curiosity. But my leg aches from the long journey and my eyes grow heavy. I lie down to rest only for a moment. Instead I dream something terrible: a man’s head dripping with blood and gore. There is no body, only a head with a mouth gaping in a horrible grin. With a cry, I start up from my sleep. It must be Cawdor, the headless traitor, beside me in this tomb! My heart pounding with panic, I crawl up the steps and emerge on all fours like an animal, looking around for my mother.
    In the light of the moon, round and full, I see Helwain, Rhuven, and my mother around the fire. Helwain stirs her kettle while my mother and Rhuven dance. Their shadows waver and leap. The wind whips their robes about them. Mist rises from hidden pools and blows like clouds across the moor.
    From somewhere in the fog comes a man’s voice: “So foul and fair a day I have not seen!”
    Two men on horseback emerge from the fog. One has thick red hair. In the crook of his arm he carries a helmet and the moonlight glints on his sleeveless tunic made from links of metal. His arms, thick as trees, are painted from the shoulder to the wrist with circles and curious markings like those on the Skelpie Stone. His horse, spattered with mud, heaves under him. White foam drips from its mouth.
    The sisters stop their dancing, link hands, and face the men.
    “What are these withered and wild creatures?” the red-haired man says to his companion. Then to the sisters he shouts, “Speak! Who are you?”
    Rhuven calls out in a voice unlike her own, “All hail Macbeth, thane of Moray!”
    “All hail Macbeth, thane of Glamis and of Cawdor!” cries my mother.
    So this is Rhuven’s master, the man we have come to meet! I creep forward to get a closer look, ducking behind a gorse bush.
    Helwain throws back her hood.
    I hear Macbeth’s sharp intake of breath. “Banquo, see, it is the very oracle I seek! The old woman.”
    Then Helwain speaks, her voice like the grating of stones against each other. “All hail Macbeth, that shall be king hereafter!”
    Macbeth starts in his saddle. His horse shies as if struck by an arrow.
    “My lord, why do you seem to fear things that sound so fair?” asks his companion, coming forward. “You fantastical creatures, now speak to me!” He laughs, as if this is some jest. “Look into the seeds of time and tell me which grain will grow and which will not.”
    “Hail Banquo!” Helwain greets him. “Lesser than Macbeth and