Viper

by Bex Hogan

  Sometimes, though, the silence allows too many unwanted thoughts to creep in. Thoughts of the life I ran from. It’s been nearly six months. Does Grace ever think of me? Does Bronn? I don’t want to think of them, or of my father’s failure to protect the islands from bandits. I want to pretend there aren’t horrors waiting out there for me, want to forget the prince I was supposed to marry, the sham of an alliance we were supposed to make. I wonder what my father will tell the King about me . . . no. No, I don’t want to wonder, or imagine; I want to forget, and I pound the dough, kneading it with the full force of my denial.

  When the lunch is made and Tomas has been called for several times, Clara turns to me with a sigh. ‘Go and fetch him, would you? No doubt he’s down in the meadow finding some rodent to rescue.’

  I laugh, because that sounds just like Tomas, and with a promise to be back soon I wander out into the heady midday air.

  The meadow smells sweeter than honey and I inhale its intoxicating perfume as I stroll over to where Tomas is sitting among the blooms.

  I kneel down beside him. ‘You’re wanted.’

  He turns his beautiful face to me and beams. ‘Look.’ And he holds up a small piece of wood.

  Carved into it is a profile. A very familiar one. Mine.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  I slowly take it from him, unable to believe what I’m looking at. ‘You did this?’

  Tomas nods enthusiastically. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘I can tell. It’s amazing. I didn’t know you could do this.’

  He shrugs. ‘I can teach you if you want. But you’ll have to use a knife and Mama says they’re dangerous because they’re sharp.’

  I look at the small blade in his hand, half blunt with age, and can’t help but smile. ‘I’ll try. But you’ll have to show me another time; right now your mother wants you to come and eat.’

  I’m about to stand up when I catch sight of it and freeze. Across the meadow, using the height of the flowers for cover, a she-wolf is prowling towards us, her intent clear. We’re lunch.

  ‘Give me your knife,’ I whisper, gesturing to Tomas to keep as still as possible.

  He’s seen our hunter too, and I can sense his fear as he presses the weapon into my hand.

  ‘Be careful,’ he says, curling his fingers into the folds of my skirt as I position myself in front of him.

  The shot’s not a difficult one; I’ve hit far smaller targets much further away. But if this dull blade doesn’t do its part, we’re going to be in trouble.

  The knife feels comforting in my grip, like my body has been incomplete without it. Tending the earth is satisfying, but this feels right. The realisation shakes me slightly, but there isn’t time to dwell on it. I quickly take aim and throw fast. The knife buries itself firmly into the animal’s chest before she drops to the ground with a yelp. Exhaling with relief, I turn to Tomas, who’s staring at me with a whole new degree of awe.

  ‘Wait here. I’m going to check she’s dead.’

  I move cautiously through the crops, until I reach the she-wolf’s body. She’s emaciated, which makes sense; she’d have to be starving to target humans. I stretch out to retrieve the knife but hesitate as I do so. I’m not certain she’s dead.

  She must be, because my aim was direct to her heart, but there’s still something there. The barely discernable hum of life buzzes around her body. I’ve sensed this before, in birds, in people – the last whispers of life that cling to a body once they’ve died. It always takes a moment before that goes, but this is stronger than I’ve ever felt before. It feels like, if I just knew how, I could reach out for that life and tug it back entirely.

  ‘Don’t.’

  I look up at Tomas in surprise. ‘What?’

  He’s walking towards me, confident that our predator is no threat, and yet he still looks afraid. ‘Don’t bring it back.’

  ‘You feel it too?’ I thought I was the only one ever to notice this strange sensation.

  Tomas nods. ‘It’s like knotted threads that you want to untangle and put neatly back in place.’

  I’m astounded. ‘Have you tried?’

  The look he gives me tells me he has, but unsuccessfully. ‘It doesn’t always happen. But sometimes when an animal dies it leaves something behind.’

  A spark of energy, a remnant of life, even in death.

  ‘Who taught you this? Can Joren feel it too?’

  Tomas shakes his head. ‘Only me. And now you. It’s magic.’

  A memory stirs to life, of a silver moonbird, broken, dying. Of how I wrapped my hands round it and willed it to live. How it had recovered before my father’s fist crushed through bone and breath. And I wonder.

  I stare at his open eyes – full of innocence, free from questions – and almost choke on the rush of affection that rises in me. ‘I think you’re right.’

  To have found someone so like me, from his love of healing to this, brings such a strange reassurance. I no longer feel alone.

  A voice shouting our names in frustration reminds me that Clara is waiting for us. ‘Come on,’ I say, wiping his knife clean on the she-wolf’s fur. ‘We’d better get home before your mother decides to eat us for lunch.’

  As we walk through the field an odd thought occurs to me. ‘Tomas, have you ever wanted to go west?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No, I like it here.’

  I nod, squeezing the hand he’s wrapped round mine, and turn my head westwards. It’s foolish to dream of venturing into such dangerous unknowns. I don’t need to go anywhere. I’ve found everything I need right here.

  And yet, when my chores are complete, I sneak back out to the meadow, where the she-wolf’s body still lies, a haze of flies hovering over her. It’s been a long time since I cut open a bird or a rat, and I need, need, to know what that was, that energy that felt so tangible.

  This time I use the blade that Bronn gave me, and it cuts through fur and skin without hesitation. Carefully I fold back flesh, exposing the soft mass of organs beneath, and exhale with wonder. It is a beautiful mess. I want to map it out, make charts like my father did of the islands, learn the routes that life flows through to make a body come alive.

  The she-wolf is much easier to explore than a tiny bird, and I root around, identifying the stomach, the liver and the kidneys, all remembered from Milligan’s teachings. I have to crack the ribcage apart to find the heart, and wonder at how such a small thing can be hurt by so much. A blade, a loss, a word. Would mine still look so whole, or is it covered in scars beneath my chest?

  I dig further, because there is no trace yet of the energy, the magic I saw earlier. I know Tomas warned me away from it, but I tasted it, the power. Maybe I shouldn’t have wanted to bring the she-wolf back, but I did. I do. And that hunger for knowledge drives me on as I take the animal apart, piece by piece, in my search for answers.

  ‘Marianne?’

  I hadn’t heard him approaching, and spin round in shock.

  Tomas is looking at me in a way he never has before. Like he’s afraid of me.

  I see the scene through his eyes: the gore, the scattered innards, the bone in my hand, the blood on my skin. And I’m ashamed.

  ‘Tomas,’ I say, not knowing quite how my sentence is going to finish. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I put the bone back down, and wipe my hands on the grass.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he says, trying to peer round me as I stand to block the sight.

  Deciding it’s best not to lie, I say, ‘I wanted to learn.’ I step towards him, wanting to draw his vision away from what was once the she-wolf.

  ‘About the magic?’ His voice is small and he can’t bring himself to look me in the eye.

  ‘Yes, about the magic, but also the body. So if anything ever happened to someone I care about, I could heal them.’

  Tomas is quiet a moment more. ‘Would you heal me? If I got hurt?’

  Oh, this boy. ‘Of course. You’re the first person I’d heal. Because I love you.�
��

  He does look at me then, his warm eyes willing to forgive, and he reaches out to touch the freckles on my face. ‘We match, don’t we?’

  I raise my fingers towards the freckles on his, red where mine are brown, but see the blood stains on my skin and stop short of touching him. ‘We do.’

  ‘Because we’re family, aren’t we?’

  Wrapping my arm protectively round him, I plant a kiss on top of his head. ‘We are. Now come on, it’s getting late.’

  I guide him back inside, gently suggesting we don’t mention any of this to his parents. I will come back to bury the she-wolf later. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Shouldn’t have risked getting caught. Shouldn’t have exposed Tomas to such a sight.

  But all I can think is how disappointed I am that I was interrupted.

  I sleep well in the cottage, the bed Clara made up for me soft and warm, the stillness that comes from being away from the sea so calming. Long hours of physical labour followed by good food leave me exhausted, and the security that comes from a sense of belonging lures me into deep sleep, far beyond the reach of dreams.

  So when I wake in the middle of the night, in need of a glass of water, it takes a few moments to push past the groggy confusion and for my eyes to adapt to the gloom – just in time to see a glint on the knife poised to plunge into my neck.

  All senses suddenly painfully alert, I roll out of the way and fall off the bed. My attacker loses his balance at my unexpected movement, but is quick to jump up, lunging towards me, swinging the blade in the hope of catching me.

  But my fear makes me fast. I duck his attacks, which come with frantic speed, and run to where my own knives lie carelessly out of reach. I’ve grown complacent.

  Snatching them up, I’m able to launch an attack of my own, and we dance around the room, twisting and turning to avoid fatal blows. My mind is growing clearer with every second and I don’t believe this is any ordinary bandit. He is too light on his feet, too quick, too skilled.

  And then the moonlight streams through the window revealing his face, confirming my nightmare.

  It’s Briggs.

  I should have kept running.

  Briggs is struggling, though, because he wasn’t expecting me to fight back. He will adjust quickly but I have a momentary advantage.

  I punch him in the face. Hard. It sends him staggering back, and before he can regain his footing I kick him in the guts, then in the jaw, then the groin. Briggs splutters as he tries to catch his breath, but I’m not stopping. He tries to lunge for me once more, and I swing my knife out, slicing him straight across his face. He howls with pain, but rather than retaliate he turns and flees, leaping out of my window and disappearing into the night. He always was a coward.

  Stunned, I wonder if I should follow him. He’ll most likely return, this time with others and I don’t want any harm to come to . . .

  My heart stops.

  I run out of my room, straight into the kitchen – where Joren lies in a pool of his own blood. I slip in it as I race to his side and cry out when I see the open throat, the lifeless eyes where once there was such warmth. I force my grief down, and run to Tomas’s room.

  I didn’t know a heart could scream until mine does, confronted with the sight of the small boy murdered while he slept. As I lift Tomas into my arms the noise that escapes me is feral. My sorrow knows no boundaries. His perfect face is pale, his body forever frozen in boyhood, and I stroke his soft hair, cradling my sweet Tomas, willing him back to me. My senses desperately search for any thread of life clinging to his body, but he’s gone. Utterly gone. There’s nothing I can do to bring him back, and the pain of such loss is an unbearable agony.

  Above my sobbing, I hear a wounded groan. Gently I lie Tomas back down and follow the noise into Joren and Clara’s room.

  Clara has been stabbed, several times by the looks of things, and she lies on the floor, cut down even as she was running towards the danger. Running to protect her son. Her breathing rattles as she drowns in her own blood and I hurry to her side, resting her head in my lap, my tears falling freely beside her.

  Her eyes meet mine. ‘Tomas?’

  I shake my head, and a single tear spills down her face. ‘He didn’t suffer,’ I say, hoping to lessen her pain, knowing it’s not possible.

  Clara raises her hand a little, and moves it to rest on my burnt wrist. She gives me a look, all at once telling me she knows I’ve kept secrets from her, and forgiving me in the same moment. ‘Make them pay.’

  I nod, holding her head while life abandons her for ever, and as she finally slips away something inside me snaps. Grief bleeds into rage. Consuming, blinding rage. I get to my feet and run.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m in my nightdress, that it’s dark or that I’m unarmed. Clara’s words ring loudly in my ears. ‘Make them pay.’ And I will. I swear I’ll make Briggs pay.

  He might have a head start, but I know this island, these fields, and fuelled by hatred I hunt my prey. There is no sense to my thoughts, no skill to my quest, just a fierce instinct to find him, hurt him. He will suffer as they did. As I do.

  From his tracks I can tell Briggs is heading towards the coast, but he’s taken an indirect route. I know a better one. I can cut him off. He won’t see me coming.

  The world is silent as I run. I’m aware only of my pounding heart as I sprint through the trees. Darkness has me in its unrelenting grip. Revenge is my mistress and I will be obedient.

  I see Briggs now, through the branches, running parallel to me, and in a heartbeat I switch course. I plough into him, the force of the collision knocking us both to the ground. I sense his shock that I’m here, and he tries to throw me off, tries to fight, but I’m hitting him, hitting him, hitting him. I’m blinded by white fury, driven by the agony of loss. He stole their lives, he took my future and I have nothing left but this need for his pain. I hate him. I hate all of them. How could they do this? Why, why, would he do this?

  A noise penetrates the violent fog clouding my mind. A roar. No, more visceral than that: a shriek, a howl, a wail. Slowly the madness lifts, like waking from a terrible dream. The sound is coming from me.

  I’m still hitting Briggs, straddling his body. But he no longer retaliates. He doesn’t move at all, his face barely recognisable. I stare at the blood, both his and mine, and hold my hands up in horror. I hadn’t known they were capable of inflicting such damage, but there is no doubt they’re responsible. I’m shaking now, and I slide off him on to the earth, consumed by shock.

  I’ve killed him.

  I am no better than the father I fled; my scream of anguish echoes through the trees.

  Clambering to my feet, half numb with grief, I stumble back towards the place I’d called home. I leave Briggs where I’ve murdered him, unmourned, for the wolves to find. And as I walk I weep for the family I have condemned, and cry until there are no tears left.

  I should have run.

  When I return to the cottage I pause. All the warmth of this place I once loved is gone, its heart ripped out. I stand there, the night air brushing my blood-soaked nightdress, utterly lost.

  I want to lie down, give up, fall asleep and never wake. It would be so, so easy.

  But then I think of Joren, my beloved Tomas and Clara, and I know I can’t. I won’t.

  Night gives way to day as I dig their grave. I make just one, wanting to rest them together, in each other’s arms for eternity. It is difficult to drag Joren and Clara out of the house and into the pit, and I leave blood trails everywhere. Tomas is light as air, and I stay holding him for a long time before I’m ready to say goodbye. Dearest Tomas. You did not deserve such an end.

  I broke my promise to him. Told him I’d heal him if he got hurt. I would do anything to bring him back now.

  In my hand I hold the carving he made of me. I look happy. The girl this place made me. Before the she-wolf. Before Briggs. I don’t recognise her any more. Reaching down, I place it on Tomas’s chest. That Marianne i
s gone – she lived with them, she died with them.

  When they are all settled in their final bed I cover them with the earth Joren loved so much. Now he will become one with the land he treasured. I pick some windflowers and scatter them on top of the grave and then I sit there crying until the sun sets. Light, life and love are all extinguished here – no more magic to be found.

  The guilt, the loss, it is all unbearable. I should never have come here, and certainly should not have stayed.

  I allowed myself to believe in a fantasy, but now I see the ugly reality. There’s no such thing as ‘safe’ anywhere; no such thing as freedom. Not for me, not for anyone.

  It’s time to wake up, Marianne.

  I sit up all night in the cottage, the cold shard of hatred that has lodged in my heart causing me to shiver, though the night is warm. I have been such a fool. A fool to believe I could escape my father so easily. A fool to believe I could stay here. A fool to believe nothing bad would come of it. And I hate myself for it.

  Something has broken inside me. For the first time I truly wanted to hurt someone, wanted to punish them and I did, losing all control, surrendering to the powerful instinct without question. I can still feel it within me – wild, unpredictable – and it terrifies me.

  ‘Make them pay,’ Clara said. But she didn’t mean for me to lose myself to the darkness. I’ll need to be stronger than ever if I’m to keep my promise to her. Because she didn’t want revenge just for her family. She was telling me to fight for all of them, for every family who had been savaged like hers. Clara knew I was more than I said, and she trusted me to go to war for the islanders.

  And if that means going to war with the crew I once called family, then so be it.

  I won’t let Clara down again.

  Today I buried my innocence with my true family. I know that Briggs won’t be the last to come for me. My father will send more. But this time I’ll be ready.

  And so I wait.

  It’s when the moon is at its brightest that I hear the softest tread passing over the threshold.