by K.W. McCabe
10
MOURNING: A SON’S GOODBYE
He held on far longer than I expected he would, far longer than my siblings wanted. I couldn’t tell you what I wanted... Perhaps I wanted what I had never had. I still remember, vivid and painful, the many times I tried to be important enough for him. Important enough that he would look at me—just once—and decide he wanted to see one of my football games more than he wanted the year end’s bonus.
It never happened.
I graduated at the top of my class, went on to Harvard and graduated there with the same. And it still never happened. I made a promise to myself, before I left home, that I would not be like him. I have tried, to the best of my ability, to uphold that vow.
And now, sitting here my wife, Sharon, sitting warm against me…I am glad I did. I can see in his eyes the man I might have become: An old, lonely man, unsure of his children’s love. Unsure his death will bring any regret in the family who should have mourned him the most.
Sharon nudges me and I look down into her eyes. She looks up at me with warmth and a love which soothes, easing the rough edges of uncertainty and loss.
I hear a sigh, a gasp. I look. I see his chest rise and fall one last time. I bow my head against the regret—the wish things could have been other than they were.
Go into that night, old man.
Rest in Peace.
11
Escape
The can bounced down the street, rattling its way to freedom. Aisha watched it go. Even cans had a way to escape. She trudged away from the curb in front of her school. There was no point in waiting; she’d just missed the bus.
“Hey, girl! You got a man?”
She glanced over her shoulder: dreadlocks and sagging jeans. She was so tired of raggedy looking d-boys trying to get her ass. “Yes. I got a man. And I’m faithful, so don’t even ask!” she called. It was a lie—she didn’t have a man. It was the only way to refuse them without pissing them off. She waved them off, ignoring their hooting calls as she walked away.
She walked for a long while, shoulders hunched, scanning around occasionally. She hated anyone walking behind her. Getting to the park took about fifteen minutes. She stopped at its green edge. It was the only green area for miles. Behind her lay concrete. Trash was spread up and down each block like defiled confetti. The park, though, was a haven. It was fresh and clean, mostly. At least it was in the areas where the hobos didn’t sleep.
She hesitated. People had disappeared from there lately. No one important. Not important enough to make the news anyway, but well-known in the hood. Her mother, after hearing the news from their neighbor, had muttered about rapes, shootings, and the government not giving a damn about anyone dying in the hood.
Was it true? She didn’t know. It must be true though, because nothing was getting better. She shuddered, crossing her arms over her chest. Lately, things had only gotten worse. Her best friend, Tiana, was dead. She’d been shot while walking home.
She sucked in a breath; her chest felt too tight. It was time for a change, but she didn’t know how to make it happen. There was no change in the hood. She and Tiana had planned to go to college together. They’d been like sisters. Now, Tiana was gone. And Aisha couldn’t remember why she wanted to go anymore.
She let out her breath and took a step. The grass bent under her weight and suddenly she felt lighter. She took another step, and another. When trees surrounded her, blocking her view of the street, she stopped.
“Hello, little one.”
She turned around, facing the person behind her. Slanted eyes obscured by long silver hair met hers.
She swallowed. “Hi.”
He smiled, his teeth perfect pearls of white. “You’re all alone here. And you’ve called me.”
“Called you?” She didn’t understand.
“Yes.” His voice was amused, indulgent. “I can only come when a mortal calls.”
She nodded. It made sense. Everything else seemed so far away.
“Will you come?” He bent towards her, holding out his hand. She stared up at him. Somewhere, in the park, she could hear the sound of gunshots: Someone else was dying.
She glanced at his hand, it was pale white. She looked at his face, his slanted eyes…the pointed tips of his long ears through the silver strands of his hair.
“Yes.”
His hand, when he closed it on hers, was soft. “I will tell you what I tell all mortals who choose my realm. You will stay as long as you please. And when you do not, you may return.”
She barely felt herself shaking her head. She thought of the can rolling its way to freedom past the refuse on the cluttered street. And decided, as the view of the park disappeared and the sound of someone’s dying screams faded into her past.
She would escape.
12
Wraith (Part II)
Lena lost the faint feel of her magic too many times to count. Each time, it felt like dying a little: The sun was edging downward in the sky and time was not on her side. She stopped, weariness and fear mixing together into a churning tension. She looked around. The edge of the forest lay so far behind, she could no longer see the low slopes and hills edging their home.
She trudged backwards, questing for some hint of the trail she’d been certain was there. Her heart beat heavy with each passing minute as she searched, her stomach sinking as those minutes stretched, eating away time.
She pressed her lips together, grim. Fear was not a strange emotion to her. She had lived in fear nearly all her life. She’d lived with it throughout her childhood, not understanding, at first, the looks her parents gave her when she would make the crops grow. Hadn’t it been a good thing she was doing? Making it easier for all of them to survive? Her little sister, Ava, had laughed and clapped her hands to see the shafts of golden wheat swaying in the fields.
Not her parents. Eventually, they sent her away, apprenticing her to a wood-witch in a village far from their own. She’d been all of twelve years of age. But before she left, she laid a charm on her little sister. If death ever threatened her, Lena would know and come.
She’d been powerful even then.
Her heart leaped in her chest as she finally felt the faint thread of magic, wavering and dark. She looked up at the darkening sky. She would have to stop soon and make what camp she could. There were creatures in the forest only fire would discourage.
She pressed her lips together grimly and pushed on. There was only another hour of sunlight left.
Only another hour before her daughter could lose her life.
Shudders racked Wraith’s body as he pushed himself up against a corner in the cellar. Pain seared his feet and back as he pressed against the monastery walls, but the hunger didn’t abate. It was a dark, growing cavern in the pit of his stomach. Not even the holiness of the place lessened the pain. He shouldn’t have stayed so long to speak to the girl, Anne. He could nearly smell her through the walls. He should have hunted when he had the chance. He wasn’t sure he would be able to resist the hunger for much longer. The sun was setting, the earth cooler, the air more dank—he could feel it. Soon, the cellar would not hold him.
It was almost dark.
Anne woke suddenly, jerking her head up from her arms where she dozed, lulled by the slight warmth of the sun falling through the high window. The air blew cool; the sun had almost finished setting. Goosebumps rose along her arms at a dusky breeze which wafted through the room.
She shivered, holding still, straining to hear… What had woken her? Was Wraith coming back? Would this be the night she died? Her breathing was too loud to hear anything else. She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and rocking back and forth, trying to stop the shakes shuddering through her body.
She squeezed her eyes tight, then forced them back open. She would not face him with her eyes closed. She sucked in a breath and looked up at the window; she could just barely see the sky. The last sliver of sunset had disappeared and the dark blue of the sky was
deepening into black. Wraith would come soon.
A stab of resentment ran through her. Why hadn’t her mother ever told her about Wraith? Anne had been dragged through village after village, never understanding what was truly going on. They had lived in constant poverty, only taking with them what they could carry, never staying in a place long enough to save what they needed to survive.
How many times had she been teased by village girl after village girl for the dresses which were too worn, too short, and too dingy? How many times had she wished they could just stop and live somewhere long enough to call the place home? And whenever she had asked her mother why…Lena pressed her lips together, grim, and said nothing. And now Anne knew why.
The anger grew until it was a slow burn in her chest and she clenched her hands against it. It might have been her mother’s fault they had run from village to village, but there was no one to blame but herself for being where she was now.
She swallowed and closed her eyes. How many times had she stolen and kept back from her mother, intent on buying some small bauble for herself? How many times had she done this, knowing those pennies would have been better used the next time they needed to flee? Too many times.
She sat shivering, arms clenched around herself for a long while, her chest heavy with guilt. Tears gathered pressure behind her eyes and she rubbed them hard, missing the sound of keys clicking in the lock.
The door whined open, slow and loud, and her head snapped up. The hallway beyond the door was—all she could see was a large shadow. She froze, her heart pounding with fear. “Wraith?” she whispered.
The shadow moved forward, silent.
“Wraith?” Her voice cracked. She pushed herself sideways on the cot, backing away as he moved into the room.
The shadow stopped all of a sudden and lifted its head.
Her heart stopped. She opened her mouth to scream, as he sprang on her, smothering her into silence. She struggled against him as he pressed his face to hers. She felt herself begin to go faint as he inhaled, sucking air from her lungs. She almost went limp until she felt it: Threads of herself leaving in wisps as he inhaled again, sucking in her soul. She struggled again, beating her hands against him, whimpering as she felt herself grow weaker. Her vision went gray and then black, one thought brushing by as she felt him try to breath in the threads of her spirit. I will never get to tell her good-bye. Never be able to tell her I’m sorry I wasn’t a better daughter…
All of a sudden she felt herself thrown, flying across the room to smash against the opposite wall. Pain slammed through her and she could not breathe for a minute. When she finally lifted her head, the room was empty, and the door closed.
She was alone.
Wraith threw himself down the length of the corridor, the pain from the pit of his stomach obliterating the pain he should have felt stumbling into walls. The cold night air hit his skin as he staggered through the monastery doors. He barely felt it. The hunger blotted out everything but this: the scent, sudden and sharp, of prey nearby.
He froze, catching its scent. In the dark of the woods, not far from the rusted gates ahead, something living wandered. He moved, quick and soundless, seeking the death of the creature which would save Anne this night, the death that would save them both.
It was a buck; he sprang on its back and broke its neck, inhaling the sustenance of its life from its dying breath. He’d once believed such creatures were soulless. He knew better now.
Heaviness sank over him and he pulled away. The dull eyes of the buck stared blankly at the moonless sky. Lifting a hand, he brushed its smooth pelt. A terrible ache of loss settled on him, an unexpected side-effect of the witch’s curse. It was ironic that only by forcing them to embrace death, had the witch been able to teach them remorse for loss of life.
After a moment he stood, glancing at the lifeless creature on the forest floor. No one came near the monastery anymore, but if they had they would have seen a buck dead without injury or mark.
The hunger, appeased, relinquished its hold and the frigid night air bit his flesh. He pulled in air, breathing without pain for the first time since before… Anne.
He had attacked Anne.
Fear stabbed him. What had happened? Had he wounded her? He remembered the haze of pain and hunger, the pristine taste of her soul... and a sensation of terror. Held in the grip of the curse, somehow, his terror had saved them both.
He moved through the forest, stomach clenched. He had thrown her, she must be injured. Heaven forbid she be…No. Too much blood already covered his hands.
He pushed himself faster, a dark blur lost among the shadows of night.
Anne pressed a palm to the stone floor and pain stabbed through her ribs. She sucked in her breath as dizziness swept over her. Nausea rose up her throat and she stilled, fighting back the acrid taste on the back of her tongue. Something wasn’t right. Something was broken.
She didn’t know how long she lay there—it felt like a long time. The chill from the floor seeped through her clothes and she began to shiver. After awhile, the shivers grew into shudders that sent stabs of pain lancing through her ribs. She swallowed, breathing against the feeling of grating knives. Everything went hazy and surreal.
A long while later came the distant sound of a door being opened. The world tilted. Pain blossomed like red fire through her chest.
From a distance she heard a raspy voice whisper, “I am sorry. Forgive me, Anne.”
Her vision went dark.
Lena tripped over the gnarled roots of a large oak and fell, dropping her pack. She lay for a moment in terror and despair. There was no way she could continue. It was full dark.
She pushed herself up, sweeping her gaze around the dark of the woods. She should have stopped and made camp earlier, but fear for Anne—her child—had pushed her beyond wisdom.
Something snapped. She froze, narrowing her gaze.
There…in the dark, something was moving.
She let out a shaky breath and swept her hands around, searching for her bag. Something else moved through the foliage, glints of light reflecting off pairs of moving eyes. She scrabbled for her bag, heart pounding. The shadows moved closer, padding towards her. She swallowed against the dryness of her throat and reached… The cloth of her pack brushed her fingers. Sucking in her breath, she yanked it into her arms, fumbling it open and pulling out a charm. The shadows picked up their pace, bounding towards her, but she was sure now. She spoke, her voice ringing out in the night.
Enemy of life and breath,
All of you who would give this death,
Take note, take heed, I bid you flee,
That death be not given in turn to thee.
The shadows stilled.
Light and magic flashed through the forest. An answering joy and despair rose within her like a song. Her last charm—the charm she would have used against Wraith to save her daughter—lay lifeless in her hands.
When the bright, pure feel of magic faded from the night, she was alone in the woods.
Everything hurt. Anne moaned and something shifted around her.
“Anne?” Wraith’s voice rasped, stirring her hair.
She froze. He was holding her.
“Anne, I had to check you. I was concerned you were injured. I believe your ribs are broken.” She felt him try to stand. His arms tightened around her and she cried out.
He stopped, seeming uncertain. “Anne, I cannot hold you like this for long. I fed, but the hunger will return. You must not be in my arms when it does.”
She breathed, forcing herself to ignore the pain. “Alright,” she wheezed.
He moved again, slower this time. She gritted her teeth and pressed her face against the rough folds of his cloak as pain ran through her chest. She felt him kneel to lower her to her cot. He jostled her slightly and she lifted a hand to grip his cloak, breathing against the pain. When it subsided, she let her hand fall. He stood, turning away from her, and moved towards the do
or.
Curiosity pricked her sudden and sharp. “Wraith?”
He paused, back towards her, his pale hand holding the door. “Yes?”
She swallowed. “Why did you stop?” He turned, then, and she met his red gaze; it did not terrify her the way it once had.
“I was afraid,” he said.
She stared at him, trying to understand, barely seeing his form in the dark of the room. “Afraid of what?” she asked finally.
“I do not know,” he said. “I only know a terror came over me, but it was not fear for my own life. I was simply…afraid.”
She didn’t know what to say. She should have felt fear, but all she felt was exhaustion. “I see,” she said, weary. “Will terror save me from you again?”
She felt him stiffen; his fear ran like ice down her spine as though it were her own.
“I do not know,” he said at last. He turned, then, and left, neglecting to shut the door completely behind him. She stared at the crack of the open door, her pain falling to the backdrop of her thoughts. Somehow, something had changed.
Wraith did not want her to die.
Nothing was as Wraith had planned. Perhaps he had not planned well enough. He strode to the kitchen, tense and rigid, looking for food. There was nothing Anne could eat. Even if there had been, nothing he could give her would heal the damage he had done.
He stopped and leaned a fist against the stone wall. The wall seared his hand and wrist, burning away the tension. He dropped his face to one hand. She needed food, warmth, and healing. Would her mother arrive in time to save Anne at all? He didn’t know. But perhaps… He cursed. The buck he had killed was still lying on the forest floor.
He turned and left, heading for the monastery doors. Outside, the chill night cooled his skin; the moon was lower in the sky. He found the corpse of the deer, and leaned on one knee to inspect its body. He didn’t notice her presence behind him until she coughed, weak with exhaustion.
He spun around. Anne was leaning against the trunk of a tree, grasping it to keep from falling. He stared at her. She looked at the deer before raising her eyes to his.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He pulled back, hurt. But how could he expect anything else? He almost didn’t hear her next words.
“But I’m used to fear,” she said. “I’ve lived with it all my life.”
He bowed his head. “I know it cannot mean much, Anne, but I regret everything that has come to pass.”
She shook her head, biting her lip against the pain. “No, we all have a part in this. We have all done something to bring us here, to this place.” There was a sudden silence. He raised his head as she crumpled to the forest floor.
“Anne.” He went to her side and cupped her face, his chest tight. Lifting her gently, he walked slowly back to the monastery. She was very pale by the time he entered her room and knelt to lay her on the cot. He stayed there, looking at her face, until the hunger began to burn low in his stomach. He stood abruptly and left the cell, shutting the door carefully behind him.
Outside, the buck still lay stiff on the ground. He retrieved the buck, carrying it to the kitchen. He searched until he found a knife, using it to prepare a small portion for cooking. Finding a pot and a large flask of water took a while longer. He started a fire in the hearth and put the meat and water in the pot to boil. As soon as it started to cook, he left. The night was passing quickly; he would not pass the day in the cellar without hunting again.
Two rabbits had ill-luck that night. He consumed the soul of one and knocked the other out for later. The live rabbit he took down to the cellar, leaving it there in a box for his return. The other he skinned and threw into the pot with the deer meat. An hour later, the broth bubbled, hot. He found a wooden bowl and spoon, filled it with the steaming liquid, and took it to her cell.
She was still sleeping when he entered. She was pale, her breathing ragged in her chest. Tension filled him when he saw this. He carried the bowl to her side, laying it on the floor by the head of her cot. When she woke, it would be there for her to eat.
She’d shifted in her sleep and hair had fallen across her face. He smoothed it back, clearing it from between her parted lips. She didn’t wake so he stayed awhile longer, watching her labored breath. After a moment, the burn of hunger rose again and he stood, glancing up to the window high on her cell wall. The sky was starting to lighten. The sun would rise soon.
He turned and left, shutting the cell door behind him. The pot was bubbling merrily when he entered the kitchen. He kicked out the fire, spreading ashes over the hot coals. The room had warmed with the heat of the pot—and the heat of the rising sun. He turned, then, and headed towards the cellar.
It was dawn of the second day.
Lena picked up her pack wearily and scuffed out the small fire made of twigs and grass. The night she’d passed had been desperate. She would not make the same mistake again.
Her daughter’s life depended on it.
Finding the thread of her magic again took hours. She hadn’t slept at all and exhaustion made it harder to search. Every minute wasted felt like a slow count down to death. Anne was injured—Lena could feel it. She did not know what the injuries were. She no longer had enough power for that, but she knew the injuries must be serious.
And her daughter’s injuries were Lena’s fault. She’d been the one to cast the curse which sent their lives careening out of control. But what else could she have done? Her little sister was dead. Dead because of the greed and cruelty of a lord with too much power.
She felt the dim wavering strand of her magic in the dirt and caught it with relief. She had to find Anne soon; her daughter needed tending.
Lena moved quickly through the forest. If she could just find Anne alive and well, it would be enough. She refused to curse Wraith again and sink deeper into the Dark. She knew why he’d stolen her daughter. He thought he could force her to change him back. He didn’t know almost all her powers had left the day she’d cursed him and his men. She didn’t even know how she would convince him to give up Anne. With the last charm gone, and Lena’s powers nearly non-existent, all she had were some weak healing potions, but she had to keep going.
She couldn’t leave her child to die.
The rabbit had woken out of its stupor and escaped the box, forcing Wraith to hunt it. The scratch and scurry of its paws across the floor as it ran in terror was the only sound in the dark of the cellar. The sound of its fright measured an off-key beat in time with the rising pound of his heart. The smell of the animal was sharp with fear.
He held still, gauging its direction before pouncing. He caught it and broke its neck, breathing in its soul as he ended its terror forever. A pang of sorrow, acrid with despair, lanced through him so sharp he could not breathe until it ebbed. And the hunger was not appeased. The pain of it felt as though he hadn’t consumed the rabbit at all.
If he could have prayed without scalding his own throat on the words, he would have. Anne was getting worse and so was the hunger. If her mother didn’t come soon, it would not end well for any of them.
“Please, hurry. Please.”
Anne floated in and out of consciousness, the pain bringing her out of sleep in waves. After a long while, the sun’s light shone red through her eyelids. The pain knifed hot through her chest and she woke, struggling to breathe against it. Sucking in air was agony.
After a moment, dark spots danced across her vision, blurring and carrying her away into a fathomless black.
