by Mark Eller
Chapter 11— A Matter of Forgiveness
Anithia straightened her tunic and grasped Missa's hand tighter while quickstepping her way home from brood-mother Kali’s, the only safe place she had found to leave her daughter while she worked. Looking around, she tried to wear her ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude, but with her feet thudding dully on the cracked boardwalk and her mouth twitching nervously, she knew she failed.
They passed a young pickpocket who made a laughing comment to two friends before he leered at her breasts and made an obscene gesture, indicating exactly what he would like to do to her. Mouth dry, Anithia touched her knife’s comforting handle before narrowing her eyes and staring back, letting him know she was nobody's easy victim. Larson, gods bless the sorry bastard who had died and left her alone, had spent a good deal of time making sure she knew how to handle herself when threatened. She might not be able to beat most of the toughs in the Downs, but she was fierce and determined enough to hurt them badly, making the price they paid for her rape very high. Most of the ones in the area knew this. Some still did not.
"He has pretty eyes," Missa said once they were safely past. "Don't you think they were pretty, Momma?"
"They were beautiful." Anithia absently agreed, though all she had seen was emotionless calculation. She looked at Missa, wondering if strangeness looked out of her daughter’s eyes again, but Missa’s perfect orbs were still clear and blue and far too innocent.
Innocent. Ani didn’t understand how Missa lived in the armpit of Yylse and was unable to see the horror around her. The only thing outweighing her astounding inability to see danger and evil was an incredible intelligence which made the child seem unnatural.
Sometimes, Ani despaired of what would happen to the girl when she got older. Missa was too smart not to escape the Downs, only she was so naive she might not live long enough to do so. Maybe Missa would get incredibly lucky and catch the eye of a rich man, or as quick as she was at learning things, Ani might be able to apprentice Missa to a baker or a seamstress. Almost anything would be better than what the girl claimed she wanted. Missa once told Ani she wanted to be a demon slayer for the goddess Anothosia just like her father. It would never happen. If Ani had her way, Missa would never go near that particular goddess’s temple no matter what the cause. She had already lost a husband to the bitch’s service. She would not lose another to a goddess who cared nothing for her faithful. As proof of Anothosia’s indifference, none of Larson’s fellow knights had bothered attending his funeral. Only she and Missa and a priest of Omitan had been there.
"I want to play with Scone." Missa said. "Today's Thursday, and you told me last week we'd go to the baker's for fresh bread on Thursday. You said I could play with Scone."
Barely hearing her daughter, Ani frowned at a dirty figure hunched near the opening of the alley ahead of them. The figure didn’t look like a thief or a thug, but it was very unlikely it was a beggar either. Anyone looking for castoffs in the Downs would starve on what they found.
Ani’s stomach churned with sudden fear, and she gripped her knife harder. The still fresh bruises on her arm, cheek, and throat from her last attempted rape and beating throbbed. She could not take a second beating this week. She just couldn’t, especially not with Missa looking on. It wasn’t right for a young girl to watch her momma cut someone while getting Athos’s hell kicked out of her. A thought for later. At the moment she had other problems, one of which was the stranger ahead of them.
Feeling nervous, Ani paused to study the figure a little more closely. Man? Woman? She didn’t know, but she did know the stranger made her uneasy. The— thing— might not look like trouble, but it would be easier if they crossed the road, just to be safe.
"Momma," Missa prompted, "you did promise."
Anithia eyed the street for a crossing place which was not littered with horse droppings or crushed rat carcasses. She held Missa’s hand tighter to be sure the girl didn’t take it into her head to wander away.
"We don't have the money to buy a fresh loaf, Missa. Maybe next week."
"But momma, you promised! You promised. You promised. You promised." Missa stamped her foot. Small tears trailed down her cheeks.
"Missa Markie!" Ani snapped. "Enough!" She didn’t need this right now. She didn’t. Despite her misgivings, expediency had forced her to accept a job she didn’t want. Most days at the Hellhole were bad enough, but this day had been worse than usual, and now there were people on the street she didn’t know. Her nerves were shot. The last thing she needed was for Missa to start crying. "I didn't promise you anything. We might go there tomorrow if my tips are good, but I'm not promising that, either."
Frowning unhappily, Ani glanced across the street again to see three unsavory men watching her. More strangers. Their dirty, unshaven faces were hard. Hungry. She looked back to her daughter and groaned. Missa's expression said her feelings had been hurt. Missa’s wet wounded eyes, her quivering bottom lip, and the way she blinked and looked away made Ani feel like a heartless bitch.
"I'm sorry, sweetie." Releasing her grip on her daughter’s hand, Ani leaned low to cup Missa's face, gently tilting it upwards while smiling an apology. Ani did not mean to be so gruff. This neighborhood and the new people in it made her irritable and uncivil to the one bright spot in her life. It wasn’t Missa she was angry at, but the rest of the world, especially Larson.
"You hurt my feelings," Missa sulked.
"Mommy's just tired," Ani gently explained while keeping an eye on the three young toughs watching from across the street. Behind her was the pickpocket and his friends. Ahead was the strange figure. She would not cross the street. She couldn’t take the risk, not when Missa was with her. Going back toward the pickpocket might risk another attempt at rape, so she had little choice in the matter. She would have to risk the unknown.
When she looked again the figure in the alley was gone. Fighting uneasiness, Ani grabbed Missa’s hand and pulled her along.
"It stinks." Missa pinched her nose and waved a hand in front of her face as they passed the alley.
"I know," Anithia said. A quick glance showed the alley held piled filth and old crates. A couple of those crates stood taller than she was. Nothing else was there. Nobody. Drawing a deep breath, she hurried past.
Missa abruptly stopped. She tugged on Ani’s hand with a force far too strong for a mere child’s.
"What!" Ani snapped. She didn’t have time for Missa’s strangeness now. Not here. A quick glance showed that the three toughs still watched her.
"He’s trapped." Missa’s voice sounded hollow, as if she were speaking inside a tunnel. "He climbed inside one of the large crates to get at a scrap of rotting food. A beam fell against the lid, trapping him.
“What?” Ani began, but those strange eyes were back, looking at her from her daughter's face again, eyes that swirled like ice-hard, blue mist. Missa’s orbs shimmered, turned blank, and then Missa's innocent blue eyes again gazed back at Ani.
"He's trapped, Mommy."
Ani stared at her a moment while a shiver traveled along her spine. She had first seen those eyes a month after Larson’s death. Soon afterward Ani heard quiet whispering from her daughter’s bedroom late at night, almost as if Missa spoke to an invisible friend. Sometimes, when Missa turned strange like this, Ani felt as if someone else, someone different, watched her through Missa’s steady gaze, using her daughter as their portal. The thought of some other creature sometimes inhabiting her daughter frightened Ani, but she didn’t know what to do.
Closing her eyes, Ani took a deep breath. She wanted to get home safely, but she could not stop herself. She had to go back and look. This once she had to know whether her daughter was right or not. If Larson were alive, he would have expected it of her.
Missa’s stance was expectant, demanding. Trembling, Ani fought back the sensation of having no choice but to give in to her daughter’s will.
Anithia gripped Missa’s hand tighter and backtracked to the alley
. “Wait here and watch for anybody approaching. If anyone does, you let momma know. Do you think you can do that?"
Missa nodded. “Like when the bad mans wanted your clothes but you wouldn’t let him take them.”
“Exactly like,” Ani agreed.
With Missa left standing at the ally’s mouth, Ani climbed over a small pile of debris so she could reach the largest crate. A heavy rotted construction beam from one of the torn down tenements leaned against the crate’s lid just like Missa had said. When Ani examined the beam, she found it was caught in a tangle of half rotted rope. If not for those ropes the beam would have fallen harmlessly to the ground.
Missa’s giggle sounded behind her. "Mommy's a garbage-digger."
Anithia released a thin smile. Despite her reservations about what she was doing, Ani could see the levity. She pushed and pulled at the timber, then gave up in frustration when it refused to move.
She knocked on the crate's lid. "Anybody in there?"
"He's in there," Missa called out. "I know it."
Ani heard scrambling, and then Missa stood by her side, proving she couldn’t obey orders for longer than a few moments without wanting to get involved in whatever was going on.
Ani gave her a slight smile. "I know, honey. I'm just checking to see if he’s awake." Or, she thought more darkly, whether he’s even still alive.
Moving closer to the crate, Missa set her ear against its side.
"Missa! No! It’s filthy." Ani grabbed Missa's arm, pulled her away, and shook her head. Why was she standing in this trash littered alley when she could have been almost home by now? Anithia sighed so deep she was sure the essence of it reached her soul. This was not safe. They were isolated in this alley, trapped, and those three toughs knew they were here. She acted the fool by ignoring all of Larson’s lessons.
Silent, unwanted tears slipped free. She was so tired of being afraid. It often felt like her sanity, a thing so fragile and unsure, slipped a little further away from her each day, and Missa did not make things easier.
Ani squeezed her eyes shut and silently cursed. This was Larson’s fucking fault. He’d cared more about being a hero than he had cared for his family. Opening her eyes, she silently swore she would never be so foolish again. She would do this because Larson would want more than for her to just climb down and walk away. He had demanded more from her, but this once was it. Never again.
"I just wanna see," Missa said, prying at the box. "Why is he in there?"
Ani shrugged. "I guess he was looking for food, like you said."
"Why?"
“I don't know, Missa. I don't know why some people starve. I just know we have to get him out of there before he dies."
She rubbed the back of her neck. Her head hurt— again, as if some unknown pressure rode her. Sometimes, she wished Larson’s memory would go away. No matter how hard she tried she could never live up to his expectations.
After taking a moment to look around, making sure nobody was sneaking up on them, Ani reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out the short, dull knife, her only weapon. The knife wasn’t much, but it would work on half-rotted rope.
She sawed at a worn section of rope where it wrapped around the roughhewn beam.
"How could he die?" Missa asked.
Pausing, Anithia squinted in pain. The throbbing in her head had increased again. She wished Missa would forget how to ask questions for just five minutes. Five short minutes would be enough time to settle her thoughts and find a bit of peace.
"Bad people might find him while he’s trapped. They might even take him off to the glue-makers." Or he could die of thirst or starvation or because he slowly cooked to death inside the crate or for half a dozen other reasons. Whatever his fate turned out to be, Ani felt she could not let it be death. “Stand back a bit, honey. I don’t want you to get hurt when everything starts tumbling down.
“Yes, Mamma.”
The rope parted, and a section she had not cut broke away when the beam slid to the side. It rushed to the ground and struck with a crack. Ani yipped and made an involuntary jump backward. Moving back to the crate, she carefully lifted the lid and shoved it to the side until it overbalanced and slid away to the ground. An impossible stench rose out of the opening, nearly making her puke.
"Good Gods and Two," Ani cursed. Her head swam, and her body swayed. Anithia caught herself before she fell backwards. Approaching, Missa tried to look into the crate, but she retreated as soon as her nostrils encountered the newly released smell. "Momma, is he in there?"
"Yes, honey," Ani answered. "He is."
She peered into the crate and fought against her spasming stomach. The stench was horrid, but the thing she looked upon appeared even worse than the smell indicated. She tried to determine how old the being was but could not. His true age was hidden behind a mask of hideous scars and facial deformations. She supposed in dim light on a stormy day he could almost pass as human, but Ani knew instantly he was not. After all, she worked at the Hellhole Tavern. She had seen her first spawn just the week previous.
Anithia frowned at the spawn. The thing peered up at her, face blank, eyes empty. Why was it here? She’d been told spawn never made it past the Hellhole Tavern's front door. Carrid said when they escaped from the hole in his cellar, a demon, Krastos, almost always came up to reclaim them. The few spawn who managed to go unclaimed were stupid and cowardly. They were too weak to live long once they left the caress of Hell's miasma.
Maybe so but this one— this one was different.
Anithia turned slowly toward her daughter. The tight, nervous feeling in her chest had grown much worse. Missa had been impossibly correct about someone— something— being trapped inside the crate. What in the name of the two Hell’s possessed her daughter?
Drawing in a slow breath, she leaned back over the opening. Anithia had to pull the spawn out. She couldn’t afford angering the thing inside Missa. Although she no longer cared about the dealings of the heavens or hells she wanted no more problems from those realms, either. No, she would get the spawn out and then go about her business.
"Hey, you," Ani called. "Climb up out of there." Reaching in, she cautiously shook the spawn's boot. The boot looked like it might once have belonged to a highborn, but if so it had been long ago. The boot was scuffed, torn, and covered with filth. She searched his ripped and threadbare clothes for signs of injury. His body appeared thin, stick-like. His skin held a gray mottled color, but there were no bloodstains.
"Come on. You have to get out of there."
"Is he okay?"
Ani smiled at her daughter's worried tone. Missa cared for everyone and everything. Larson had been like that, too, when he wasn’t hunting demons, devils, and other hellkind. "I don't know. He won't answer me."
She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of having to reach into the crate. Its sides were covered in black dust, and someone had thrown rotted food into it.
"Damn," she muttered. She didn’t want to crawl inside, but she could not leave him lying there looking like a stupid chicken waiting to get its head chopped off. Anithia thought about asking for help, but help was notoriously rare in this neighborhood, and most sensible people would prefer the spawn died. Besides, the only possible help she had seen frightened her more than did the spawn.
Cursing under her breath, she pulled up her sleeves, leaned over the edge of the crate, and grabbed hold of the spawn's clothing. She shook him.
"Hey, you!"
The spawn blinked and began to come out of its seeming trance.
"Is he okay?" Missa called.
"He's alive. That's a start." Ani shook him again. "Come on. You have to get out of there."
It opened its mouth once, made a croaking noise, and tried to move.
Sighing resignation, Ani reached further into the crate and started to remove bits of debris from him— then she stopped. Traveling slowly along his body, her eyes became transfixed on the end of his left arm. A strange, vile, green,
hook met her gaze. It was his, this being’s, attached to its wrist instead of a hand. The hook was ghastly, but somehow, it almost felt— alive.
Shivering, Ani leaned up out of the crate, and started to leave. She didn’t care what creature she angered. There was no way in the two hells she would touch the spawn or its cursed hook.
"P-Please," the thing whispered.
Turning back, Ani saw the thing looking at her, his hook reaching out, reaching toward her.
She released a small shriek and stumbled back.
"Mommy!" Missa squealed.
Ani grabbed Missa's hand and tugged her away. "We're leaving."
"But you have to save the man." Missa insisted. "You said he might get killed if he stays there, and the lady in my head told you he had to be saved."
Breathing hard, Anithia stopped pulling on Missa's hand. She looked down into her daughter’s heart-shaped face and wondered if Missa would ever understand how Ani could leave a being to die.
But could she abandon the spawn? Could Ani defy the being living inside her daughter and risk its retribution? Larson would have expected more of her, but Larson was dead, killed by his own ideals. Look at what they had gained for him.
Disgusted, Ani shook her head. Fuck Larson’s ideals. She was no hero.
"Missa, you don't understand. He's not right. I can't help him."
With a slight tilt of her head, Missa gave Ani a look very much like one Larson used to give her when he thought Ani wasn’t doing the right thing. It was a sad, disappointed look. Missa’s eyes swirled again, becoming cobalt blue and granite hard.
Damn
“The spawn must live to seek his heart and soul. He must find what was lost.”
Missa blinked slowly. The darkness in her eyes faded, and her child's face looked surprised. "His heart and soul, Momma.”
Ani shivered before turning back toward the spawn. "I can't find his heart and soul, Missa, but I suppose we can pull him out of there and let him stay in the broken-down shed behind us.”
Missa smiled up at her. The rays of the setting sun outlined her delicate frame in strange tendrils of pure white light. The picture terrified Ani. Missa was a divine child, too full of purity, kindness, and love to thrive in this world. Ani hoped experience would eventually drive most of Missa’s fluffy-headed dreams away before she was too badly hurt. She prayed Missa would eventually be smart enough and tough enough to replace her unrealistic expectations with the hard-edged reality of constant suspicion and distrust necessary to survive the Downs.
But not today. Missa did not need to learn those lessons today.
Against all her better judgment, Ani reached into the crate, grabbed the spawn’s filth encrusted clothes, and pulled. She shuddered when the hook brushed her skin. Its touch felt evil, horrid, but Ani pulled on the spawn anyway, helping it to stand, and then to climb out of the crate. It staggered, dragging Ani to the ground as it fell.
Screeching, Ani shoved the spawn away. She scrabbled to her feet, turned to look for Missa, and saw the three street toughs walking toward the alley. They fingered knives and laughed loudly.
Ani shivered and grabbed for the knife she had left lying on the crate. How could she defend against all three of them?
After entering the alley, a cut-faced man nudged the other two while rubbing his already stiff member through his torn leggings. “This is for you, whore. I’m gonna to pound you into the wall and then watch these two do the same.”
He was almost upon her, only a few feet to go. He laughed, then paused, almost staggering. His face grew anxious. Sweat beaded his upper lip and dripped down his forehead.
Ani shook. Her hand gripped her knife tightly. If they wanted her at least one of them would pay with his life. She was done with being beaten and raped. Twice in the last month was more than enough. Both times her rapist had paid a heavy price, but now there were three.
“Missa, when I tell you to run— run fast. Run all the way to the end of the alley then go left. Just keep running. Ask one of the street kids how to find Mother Brood.”
“Momma, I don’t want to.”
Frustrated, Ani nearly screamed at Missa. What little courage she owned was slipping closer and closer to outright panic. “Sweet goddess, don’t argue with me. Just do it Missa.”
Cut-face’s expression shifted, changed into something Ani didn’t understand. “Forget this bitch. I just saw a toff lead a whore into the old warehouse. Let’s go wait for him. We’ll teach him what happens to people who come into our territory without asking.” Cut-face spat on the ground at Ani’s feet before the three turned and strolled toward the warehouse.
Ani stood still, disbelieving her good luck. Shivering with released tension, she turned slowly around to see the spawn standing directly behind her, eyes blazing-white orbs, the putrid hook pulsing with a life of its own. Gasping, Ani took several steps back.
The spawn’s eyes drifted to Ani, holding her in place with the force of his stare. The corners of his mouth slowly twitched into a macabre semblance of a smile. Without a trace of fear, Missa stepped up beside the creature and slipped her hand inside his. She turned and smiled at Ani, sweet, kind, and innocent.
“Shall we go home now, Mommy?”
Ani shivered. What she saw made her wonder if Cut-face would have been a kinder, quicker death, for she now watched not one set of swirling, god touched eyes— but two.
