14. Rukh

Idon’t want to open my eyes, because it means that I’m trading this moment for something inferior. My body still resonates with the events of the preceding night, my every muscle stretched, memorizing positions and contortions from my time with Annette. I can still hear her moans in the back of my mind.

A pavo lands beside me, screeching in my ear, and I instinctively reach out and grab it, less to subdue or harm it and more as a message.

The creature quiets immediately. I loosen my hand, and it flies away.

The overcast sky looms overhead, a dull morning chill running over my body.

Beside me, under her own woolen blanket, Annette sleeps still and silently. Her light snores are barely perceptible over the harsh roaring wind.

I smile down at her in disbelief. I wonder if she’s uncomfortable on the rocks, out here in the forest clearing. Anybody could have seen us out here, and that only heightened the danger.

Trying not to wake her, I push my arms against the ground, cracking the joints, then bring myself to a standing position.

In the distance, I can still hear Mellara chattering, its citizens starting their bustling day.

And I can feel their darkness. It seems so much more appetizing than any of the wild beasts around me, whose hearts pump blood through their bodies, their every noise echoing in my mind.

My mind racks itself, trying to think of the best way for Annette to wake up. Even in the pre-storm weather, I can tell that the sun is not yet up in the sky. It should be some time before Annette awakens.

So I rush through the forest, killing beasts without poisons or agents. It proves relatively simple to kill two dripir. I’m starting to understand the peculiar qualities of modern dripir, understanding where they hide and how they gather. I also manage to find a few unattended eggs, carrying everything carefully back to the clearing.

I know that I’ve been gone several hours, so I’m relieved to see Annette still sleeping soundly when I return.

A safe enough distance away from her, I begin gathering lumber and digging a small trench in the ground. If I don’t safely encase the fire, it could spread into the neighboring forests, bringing disaster.

I roast the dripir and manage to boil the eggs.

I hear Annette moan and instinctively start to panic before realizing that this is exactly what I wanted.

“Mmm,” she says simply, her eyes still firmly shut. “What smells good?”

I consider running over to her, but immediately hear her snoring continue.

I’ll let her sleep a moment longer.

From my cave, I fetch a couple of plates and some silverware, which I took from a violent abuser. His soul was delicious, but it did cause me issues for days afterward.

Finally, I dish up the food in front of Annette, laying it down on the ground a safe distance away. I get down next to Annette and begin to cuddle her, whispering in her ear.

“Yesterday was fantastic,” I whisper. “But it’s time for a new day.”

She wakes up, then startles, feeling me behind her.

I feel her pull away from me slightly, sitting up and reaching for the fork. And for some reason, it bothers me.

“Thank you,” she says, wrapping the blanket around her nude form.

She scarfs down her food, and we sit around the campfire together, enjoying the silence.

Many days proceed like that. We settle into a comfortable routine, and she no longer balks at my every move.

At night, we hunt, finding new ways to bring her into city boundaries to kill more efficiently. She’s seemingly moved past the point of questioning my methods but likes to watch me work anyway.

I think she thinks she’s a light on my soul, though I can feel myself corrupting her every moment we’re together. And that causes a sensation deep within me that I neither like nor understand.

I try not to think about it, just wanting to linger in our current state. I enjoy having her here if I don’t think about what more it could mean. I enjoy how, in the mornings, we eat around the fire, setting up camp in open parts of the forest.

About five days pass, and one morning is particularly stormy. We have to build a makeshift tent, digging the fire deeper into the trench to keep the rains from extinguishing our warmth.

“It’s not always easy, having magic.”

She breaches the silence somewhat awkwardly. Her plate of eggs has stayed mostly uneaten, and I’ve wondered what thoughts are crossing her mind.

“So you’ve explained,” I say simply, not intending to dismiss her.

She brings the fork up to her mouth, savoring the eggs as they move around over her tongue.

“I could never get tired of your meals,” she says. “You’re a fantastic cook.”

I chuckle. “I kill things, and then I burn them. There’s not exactly a science to it.”

She laughs.

“When I first found out that I had magic, I didn’t really know what was happening,” she says, spacing out as the tent whips in the wind, the hails nearly pelting through our line of safety. “There was a boy who always bullied me, and I really hated him so much. So one day, I told him to go away. It was completely innocent. I didn’t mean him any harm.”

I listen intently, always glad to hear some piece of the past she keeps so guarded.

“They found him dismembered in the forest days later, eaten by worgs. Apparently, that wasn’t even how he died. He walked off of a cliff and fell forty feet before the animals found him.”

Children are complicated beings. Their souls are underdeveloped, and there’s no way to discern which direction their lives will steer them.

I long to believe that the child deserved his death. I want to comfort her at this moment.

But I say nothing, just enjoying the sound of her voice in the comfort of our sanctuary.

“So that’s when you knew?”

“No.”

She itches her nose.

“The elders told me I wasn’t responsible and that I shouldn’t punish myself. They said people often blame themselves when bad things happen to our friends. But he wasn’t my friend. I was scared to admit that I was kind of glad he was dead.”

She pauses, taking in the atmosphere and looking to me for reassurance.

“So when did you know?”

“There were countless incidents after that,” she continues. “It was usually a figure of speech I intended harmlessly that left another person or dark elf mangled and mutilated. And that started to hurt me because I think I knew, and I think the council knew, too.”

I just watch her for a moment. Her green eyes seem a million miles away, lost in the memory.

“That’s when they moved me away from the other humans, putting me in my own place on the hill in the village. And then I started to take books from them, and it just became common sense to me at that point. I could do magic.”

She scrapes her fork loudly around on her plate, putting a large piece of egg in her mouth. I desperately want to tell her more about myself, but she doesn’t ask, and it feels out of place to offer.

Then, about a week later, she confronts me with a question.

“So you were just buried underground for hundreds of years?” she asks.

The sun is brighter today, and we’re camped outside the entrance to my cave to enjoy the sunshine.

I nod in simple confirmation.

“How much do you remember before –”

“Before I woke up?”

“Yeah.”

I think for a moment. My memories still feel shattered and disjointed.

“The other day, you told me about how you found out you were a witch,” I reply. “I just remember waking up on Protheka, being subtly guided by the gods.”

She shakes her head. “You remember the gods?”

“I think so,” I tell her. “At times, I’m not sure what’s a dream and what isn’t.”

“I suppose that’s fair. So this isn’t the first time you’ve been woken up?”

I look out at the vast forest surrounding us. I can remember when there weren’t trees, and everything here was desert.

“Not exactly.”

“Well.” She hesitates. “Is there anything you do remember?”

“Sure. I remember lots of things. Someday, I’ll tell you all about them.”

She rubs her hands together over the campfire. In spite of the sun’s radiating brightness, it is still very cold.

“I think the thing I remember most of all…” I say. “It’s probably the looks they gave me when I first arrived.”

“The gods?”

I shake my head. “The humans, and the dark elves. They all saw me as a monster and ran from me the first time they looked upon me.”

She grimaces at me. I can see how easily she relates to my pain.

“That must have been very difficult,” she says.

“It was. I was on my own, with no memory and very little knowledge. To survive, I had to become the thing they feared. I had to let my own body guide me through the wilderness.”

“And the first time you ate a soul was?”

I can see her hesitation and how difficult for her it is to ask.

“Pure instinct. If I don’t feed for a while, I start to lose my reason, and my hunger just sort of takes over.”

She fiddles with her hands, and I can see her mind working.

“So it’s like you have two stomachs then? One for souls, and one for ‘eating?’”

I smile, always surprised by her precociousness.

“That’s exactly it, yes,” I say. “I need to eat to maintain my physical form, but to keep my mind intact, and to function, I need –”

“The darkness of souls.”

I nod.

In all of my time, and all of my disjointed memories, I can’t remember ever sharing a conversation with a mortal who I didn’t eventually need to reap.

In honesty, I don’t remember how I survived without Annette. She provides reason to my hunger, allowing me to see the corruption my reapings destabilize. She gives everything, my very purpose for existence, meaning.

We sit together over the crackling fire, and I take in every feature of her face. The way her green eyes shine against the orange burning light and how her hair burns like the sun.

I never want to leave her side.