Caught in the Devils' Hand

by Ruby Duvall

  “You said that once you were done, you would leave me here. I hold you to that promise,” she shakily challenged, holding the basket in front of her as if it would ward him off.

  A longing expression passed over his face, and the answering desire that rose up within her sent her into the deepest depths of guilt to which she had yet sunk. Who knew if the Divine One would ever forgive her for this trespass?

  “The Golden One knew what he was doing when he made you. He put you here to torment me.” His voice was now hard as his anger took reign, surprising her, and she felt renewed fear as she wondered what this change in mood meant.

  He was angry with himself and at the god that despised him so much. His lot in life was strange and frustrating. In truth, he had grown to dislike intercourse, but his body demanded sexual energy to survive and he wasn’t about to let a trivial distaste be his killer. It had been almost a full moon since he last took lust from a human female and finding one lately was proving difficult. Going near a village, day or night, was dangerous. If he ventured near a village to slake his hunger upon a maid, he would undoubtedly need to slay several of her fellow villagers in defense and that would rouse a large-scale demon hunt, which he did not need when all he had wanted was to visit his home while on his way south to Stillwood.

  He had been close to death yet again and was in search of a new village from which he could tempt a female for her favors before the full moon. He hadn’t had much luck though. The sun had set and his horse was thirsty, so he stopped by a creek. The woman before him had appeared downstream so suddenly that he wasn’t sure at first if she was even human, but once he emerged from the tree line along the bank, the gasp of fright she made confirmed her identity.

  It was easy to catch her and she was so young. She had to be twenty years old or younger. Her heart-shaped face held large eyes, probably brown, a pert nose, just slightly upturned and full lips meant for all things carnal. Her breasts, high and full enough to hold comfortably in his large hands, were soft and smooth. Her wavy hair, misused and tangled, needed only gentle soap and gentle hands. She was a tad skinny for his taste, but he knew the reason for that.

  Women her age, though not at their sexual peak, had the stamina that he looked for when selecting women to steal. It was a surprise then, when a single mating with her had completely replenished him, confirming that she did indeed have black hair—that the moonlight wasn’t tricking him. With the last woman, her hair a simple brown, he had to take her three times to regain his store of energy.

  What now angered him was that he desired her again, even though he did not need her energy. This time, he simply wanted to lie between her thighs once more, feel her rise beneath him to meet his thrusts and hear those husky moans that had brought him so quickly to his own climax.

  He normally had no inclination toward sex, but he wanted to spend himself inside her body for the whole night. Out of impulse, he had even called upon the Binding. It could only be used for virgins and it was not meant to be used lightly.

  She would have been the perfect choice to sustain him for decades, but he had made a promise, and the Binding enforced his promise, which he really had never meant to keep. He cursed violently, taking a step back.

  “Be on your way then, but I would ask you something before you go.” She simply stared at him, saying nothing. His jaw stiffened. “Tell me your name, woman.”

  She seemed surprised at the question and backed up another step.

  “Shumei.”

  “I am called—”

  “I do not want to know your name,” she vehemently whispered, backing away even more. His hands fisted. “I do not want to see you ever again.”

  With that, she turned and ran, leaving him there. He swore under his breath, watching her disappear into the forest again. Whistling to his mount, he waited for the horse to return to him.

  Shumei ran as if the Damned One himself were on her heels. New tears ran down her cheeks as she thought about the crime she had committed—her first lover had come from Oblivion, the realm of the Damned One.

  The forest was strangely quiet as she ran the last leg to the village, and though her mind avoided even thinking it, she knew deep down that he was following her…making sure that she arrived home safely.

  Chapter Three

  Shumei crested the top of a hill, hoping to see a sign of where she was, but the moon was hiding, and she could see only a few trees in front of her. She waited with a petulant frown, silently berating the moon for playing tricks on her.

  Mama had been mean tonight, saying that she couldn’t go to the village festival tomorrow, so she ran away and she was never going back. She would live off nuts and berries. She’d grow her own crops and kill deer, just like mama and papa.

  After she had first run away, she could only think of one place to go, but finding the medicine field was a lot harder than she thought, especially since she hadn’t used the path. Even worse was that the sun had set an hour ago, so it was really hard to see anything. The moon was playing peek-a-boo with her, hiding behind big clouds and then coming out again just long enough for her to see that she was still lost.

  She suddenly heard the snap of a twig and made a small gasp of surprise. Looking around, she searched the underbrush near her to see if a rabbit was hiding, but it was too dark to see anything but shapes. Prickles of suspicion raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she knew something was wrong.

  She began to hear more noises…snapping twigs, crunching leaves and groaning trees when there was no wind. Mama had said not to come here at night, and now she wished she hadn’t. Fisting her little hands in the skirt of her new blue dress, she fought the urge to curl into a ball.

  “Little one, little one,” a husky voice called. She shrieked in fright, her head whipping about in all directions, looking for the source of the voice.

  She saw nothing but tree trunks, leaves and deep shadows.

  The tears began and she ran down the side of the hill she was standing on, sorely regretting her decision to come out here. She hated the forest, hated the moon…

  More snapping twigs, more groaning trees. It was following her.

  “Come play with me,” the voice called again. She sobbed, still running, and ignored the scratches being made on her feet.

  “Little one, little one,” it sang, its voice sounding happier. “You look so sweet.”

  “Go away!!!” she screamed, flinging out her arms at nothing as she turned to follow a small deer path. “I don’t want to play!”

  The voice giggled, low and fast.

  “But I want to play with you, dear girl. So sweet, so soft…I wonder how old you are,” the voice called. It was definitely behind her, but whenever she darted a scared glance over her shoulder, she saw nothing.

  “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” she sobbed, pumping her legs as fast as she could. She wanted her mama. She wanted her papa. She wanted to be home, to be safe.

  “All right then,” the voice sighed, sounding disappointed. “Good night, little one,” the voice called, sounding farther away.

  She ran and ran and ran…until finally, she couldn’t lift her feet as high anymore and clumsily tripped over a tree root, landing hard on her stomach. The air rushed out of her lungs, and she gasped in pain, sucking in a breath and pulling herself to stand.

  She gripped the rough wood of the tree trunk next to her, gripping the collar of her dress as her lungs worked overtime. She listened as carefully as possible, gulping the fear down her throat to flutter wildly in her stomach. The tears were starting to dry on her cheeks, but more were threatening to spill forth, and she wondered if she’d be able to find her mama again.

  The silence was complete though. No more snapping branches, no more groaning trees. The voice had actually left her alone.

  “Mama!” she wailed, curling down to squat on the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the tears fall freely, and muffled her hiccupping sobs in her skirt.

  H
er new dress…dirty, torn and now covered with her tears.

  Mama was going to be so angry.

  Something from above…it was above her the whole time…she felt her body lifted off the ground by the back of her dress, her feet leaving the earth and though her first reaction was a gasp, her second was an ear-splitting scream.

  “Let’s play, little one,” the voice said, now very, very close. It was a raspy, hollow sound, and she watched as one long, hairy limb reached down to grab her right arm. Then another hand grabbed her left arm, and she began kicking, her shrieks piercing the night.

  Then another hand grabbed one of her ankles and another grabbed her other ankle. She felt her teary eyes widen in disgusted shock, realizing that the monster that had her in its grip was definitely not human-shaped.

  “So sweet…so soft…scream for me, little one,” the voice rasped. She screamed as he commanded, unable to help herself, and struggled vainly against the grips on her four limbs.

  A fifth hand braced itself against her stomach and pushed up ’til she looked down at the ground again, her arms and legs out to the sides. A sixth hand began to push up her skirt.

  “You’ll be so tight around me,” the voice giggled, and she let out another scream, this one her loudest and longest yet.

  That’s when she fell to the ground again and a deafening holler rang out in the night. Her vision blurred. She had hit her head on a tree root and lay prone on the ground, falling into unconsciousness.

  When she woke again, all was quiet except for soft footsteps. She began to weep again, wondering if the monster had dropped down from his perch in the trees to approach her on the ground.

  A velvety voice shushed her cries and gentle hands that matched the velvety voice lifted her up, holding her against a warm chest. With great relief, she put her chin on the man’s shoulder, taking comfort in his spicy smell, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Let’s take you home,” he whispered.

  Chapter Four

  She slowly opened her eyes to the sounds of birds chirping. Her dream faded away almost immediately, and though she tried to catch the wisps of remembered scenes, they eluded her grasp.

  The sun had just come up, heralding the start of a new day, but for some reason, she felt like the day was already ruined. She wondered why there was such a foreboding feeling in her chest. It was just morning as usual. Oka would be asleep next to her, her mother would be getting up any minute now and they would be cleaning the hut today.

  The first thing she remembered was Oka’s fever. She bolted upright, feeling his forehead and thankfully came away with perspiration on her hand. His fever had broken. She looked to the boiling pot, which had cooled over the past few hours, and next to it was her mother, still asleep. The basket of herbs sat next to the pot, hastily thrown open. Almost all of the herbs were already gone as families came to their door that night, requesting medicine. Only worry for the life of a loved one would bring people out into the moonlight, even if they did stay within the protective circle of the barrier charms.

  Of course, her family hadn’t earned any money for the herbs used. Since Cooling Butterbur was so important for preventing death during the fever, the village leader had decreed that it would be free to any who wanted it.

  She brought her hand back to her body to rub off the moisture on her hand and felt something rough wrapped around her waist. Looking down, she saw a makeshift belt made of an old scrap of cloth, which was keeping her dress closed. The front of her dress had new grass stains, and her entire body ached, especially…

  The memories of last night flooded her brain, and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. Her face scrunched up, and she hiccupped a couple of times. She looked around the room in dismay, wondering what she was supposed to do now with this new and haunting memory…for last night had changed her.

  Her innocence was gone and though she tried to be thankful that her baby brother had survived the night because of her trip through the forest, it was very hard not to feel sorry for herself.

  The first thing she wanted to do was take a bath, but she forced herself to pour the last of the medicine from the pot into a few empty gourds first. Her stomach was upset too, so the pungent aroma of the butterbur made her gag once or twice. Next was the pot, which needed to be washed out. The small bowl of water sitting against the wall was supposed to be for washing one’s hands, but she brought it over and soaked a rag in it to scrub the pot.

  The smell of the herbs hit her again, but it was something more this time. Her stomach clenched, and she leaned to the side, losing what little food remained inside her. She gasped in air, eyes blurry with tears, and leaned back, looking at the wall to calm herself down. It was easier after that to finish cleaning out the pot, but she vomited again when trying to clean up what she had already thrown up earlier.

  Taking a break outside, she walked around the hut a couple of times, holding her stomach. The symptoms of the disease plaguing the village did not include this, so she wondered if she had some other, more common illness. Near the back of the hut as she passed around that side for the fourth time, her stomach rebelled again, and she leaned down to retch in the tall grass where no one could see her. Thinking that she had a few minutes of reprieve before it happened again, she cleaned the spot in the hut where she had emptied her stomach earlier and looked to her mother, whose chest slowly rose and fell as she slept. She then grabbed up a pat of soap and a handful of mint leaves as she exited the hut.

  The rest of the village was almost awake and she saw a few huts with smoke rising from the roofs. A light rain overnight had muddied the paths, but since she was already pretty dirty, she didn’t mind walking in it. The rice fields directly down the hill from her hut and a few others were already busy with workers, both male and female—probably the last of the villagers who hadn’t succumbed to the infection.

  The river between the village and the local temple was the only place where anyone felt safe bathing. The bushes lining the banks afforded small spaces where people could bathe in private, though it was mostly so that women could bathe without being seen by the men.

  Even as she walked in the direction of the river, her jaw slowly working as she chewed on a sprig of mint, memories of last night haunted her mind’s eye—memories of thrusting hips, wet kisses and heavy breathing. Phantom scents still teased her nose—the scent of rice wine, of exotic cologne, of crushed spring grass. Suppressing the memories again, she told herself that it would only be a few weeks, or maybe a few months, before last night’s incident became a sad but distant memory. She couldn’t fall into self-pity or depression, not when her mother and brother needed her the most, but no matter what she told herself, tears fell freely down her cheeks, and she kept her head down so that her fellow villagers could not see the change in her face.

  She was only a minute away from the river when she passed by the house of one of the richer families in their little community. The entire village was poor compared to even the poorest of lords, but this family had more than most. Ikuro, the lady of the house, was outside, observing one of her sons as he scrubbed the porch.

  “Once you’re done with that, you can have breakfast. I hope you learn your lesson from this to not pull on your sister’s braids!” she admonished, lightly whapping the boy on the head. He was the same age as Oka, already a handsome young boy, and he stuck out his tongue at his mother before leaning down to continue scrubbing the porch. Ikuro then turned to go back inside her house and that’s when Shumei noticed that the other woman was pregnant yet again, with what would be her fifth child.

  She continued walking, clenching her jaw in anger and hating Ikuro’s good fortune. Her children were wonderful, she was a wonderful mother, and even her husband was wonderful. Though they weren’t very rich, they had enough, and that was “wonderful” too.

  She knew that the bulk of her foul feelings were jealousy toward the older woman, but it wasn’t Ikuro’s financial state of which she was jealous, th
ough it was certainly enviable in its own right. What she wished for was a husband and children of her own. Children especially. Oka fulfilled some of her maternal needs, but he was her brother, not her baby.

  She wouldn’t find a decent husband in this village, which was the reason for her plan to run away in the very near future. New tears slipped down her face as she thought of her lost innocence and how that would severely and irrevocably narrow her options for a husband. Few families would accept a black-haired daughter-in-law, and even fewer would accept a soiled bride. It left Shumei with almost no hope for a good marriage like the one her mother had.

  Half-running the last few feet to the riverbank, she slipped between her favorite pair of bushes, which afforded a small, grassy area to disrobe, and the little branches of the bushes were just right for hanging clothing. The pool of water at her feet was only three feet deep, but it was clear and clean and sometimes had tadpoles in summer. When she was small, this little pool of water was enough for her and her mother to bathe together, but now two people would be merely a foot or two apart if they tried to squeeze into this space.

  Unknotting the awkwardly made belt, she hung it on a nearby branch and shrugged out of her well-worn robe, dropping the pat of soap and the two remaining leaves of mint onto the bank. She draped her robe over her arm and cautiously stepped down into the cool water. Sniffing away more tears, she gingerly settled down into the water until it reached her chin. The water at this time of morning was a little too cold for bathing, but she was too desperate to be clean to care, breaking off half of the soap she had brought with her.

  Finding a couple of large, smooth pebbles, she began to wash the dirty, grass-stained robe and was quickly disappointed that not even her mother’s soap could remove some of the grass stains from her tumble in the field. Thankfully, though, the bloodstains left from her rent virginity washed out quickly and she only shed a couple of tears as the blood drifted away.

  After she was satisfied, she wrung out the thin dress and hung it over the side of the bush where the morning sun would hit it. Then stepping back into the pool, she reached for the other half of the soap and sank to her knees. She began to methodically wash every part of her body and scrubbed especially hard over the places where he had touched her, hoping that she could also scrub away her sin.