Gown of Shadow and Flame

by A. E. Marling

  Her clothes seemed to glow, and undyed patches of blinding white moved across the blue of her sleeves. Only, the material was not cotton, not flax or hemp. He knew that, though he did not have time to think why.

  The goddess reached downward, and a gust blew from her gloved fingers, chilling him. Every muscle in his chest and stomach tightened anew, and he had a sudden worry that she meant to punish him. She would drag him up to the sky and hurl him against the jagged obsidian slopes of the holy mountain.

  Her arms stretched wide, cape spreading between them in the same color of midday sky as her dress, and the white fluffy patches on the fabric even reminded him of clouds. His hair ruffled with the frigid winds of high places. He felt he lay at the edge of a cliff, a breath away from falling to his death.

  Jerani thought of his brother and sister. He thought of the cows under their care. He hoped his father would remember himself and protect them.

  The goddess' arms sliced downward for a sweeping grab.

  Celaise seized the Headless beast. The folds of her dress engulfed it and whisked the monster away. Her magic surged into the predator, worming into its massive chest and finding its concealed brain between its guts and spine, grasping its mind, twisting into its slimy hindmost bulge. She sensed the beast had eyes after all. The brownish-red crystals speckling the plates above its shoulders worked together to make sight.

  Celaise commanded the beast to see itself high in the sky. With only air below.

  The Headless plummeted among the clouds, falling faster and faster. Its four legs paddled in the emptiness.

  Tentacles of her magic hunted down the pebbles that served as its inner ears, jangling them to further make the thing believe it was falling end over end. It would see nothing but the ground rushing up to crush it. Would feel nothing but wind rushing over its body.

  Celaise braced herself, waiting for the surge of pleasure from the creature's fear, from the knowledge it would have only seconds left to live.

  Nothing came.

  Her teeth snapped together in frustration. The Headless did not seem frightened of falling, did not even appear to understand its bones were about to be powdered.

  The beast relaxed, paddling occasionally to change its view. It could even be enjoying this, the panorama of terraced mountains and incoming farmland, all summer green and growing. Majestic clouds billowed by in its mind like castles of snow.

  She muttered. “Brainless brute!”

  Celaise accelerated the vision, intending to slam the creature into the ground and let it see itself splattered. She gripped its spinal chord, wondering if she had the strength of magic to wring its nerves, to shatter its sanity with pain. Her hunger made her woozy.

  Pain was the universal language. The Headless would understand it, would begin to fear her. Then she could Feast and gain enough magic to defeat all the predators attacking the village.

  With the claws of her power in the beast and ready to tear, Celaise held back. She was afraid. Of all the sensations her magic could cause, pain drained her the most. Only a well-fed Feaster should attempt it, not a famished wanderer such as herself.

  The Headless slipped from her grasp, staggering out of the day sky and back into the nighttime at the base of the volcano, within sight of the village. Its torso bobbed up and down, unable to balance itself after she had battered around its inner ears.

  She had not even frightened her prey. That had never happened. Panic ran Celaise through, a lance stabbing into her and twisting. Her future would be worse if she failed at her task. Uncertainty and horror scoured her insides at the thought of the Headless multiplying and overrunning the savanna, and here she was, unable to kill even a single beast.

  I'll risk it, she thought. Gathering her power to its last drop, she struck. Her True Dress dissolved to wisps as she sacrificed everything to hurl barbs at the beast. Her magic burrowed to nerves and rammed them, but not hard enough. The Headless felt pressure, not pain, and ignored her.

  Night stars vanished. The village darkened. Beast and man both softened then were stolen from her sight. Celaise slumped. She could not even feel when she hit the ground. She had spent all of her power, and with it had gone her senses.

  A blackness flooded her, filling her mouth and eyes and ears with a desperate nothing. The world dribbled away, leaving her alone.

  Celaise knew where she was. She once had met another Feaster who had fallen into the Void, had been shown him as a warning. He had gone blind, his irises constricting his pupils to death and leaving his green eyes as solid circles of color. The boy had drooled and soiled himself. He had not even moved when his brother and sister Feasters had poked him with knives and dragged him to the gutter. By morning, frost had coated those green eyes.

  She might escape the Void, but she wondered if she should. This way she would die senseless. Wriggling back to the world, well, that would drop her into a worse sort of doom.

  To Jerani's amazement, the Rock-Back vanished into the goddess' gown. He could see now that she did not wear cotton the hue of the sky. She wore a piece of the sky itself, and he expected to see the blue air fill with fire, to burst with the Angry Mother's lava.

  He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, not wishing to be burned, but instead of feeling the heat of her wrath, the monster reappeared. It staggered from the goddess, butting into an acacia tree, spluttering and growling.

  Why, he wondered, did the goddess not burn it to cinders? She had to understand the Rock-Backs wanted to eat her cows and her people.

  The goddess glared after the monster and then faded away like a vision. Jerani heard a thump somewhere near, a small sound compared to the battle cries and frantic moos coming from the village.

  So she's gone as quick as she came, Jerani thought. He accepted the blessing for what it was and snatched the family spear from the ground. The weapon's shaft spanned five feet of heartwood with a bull's horn bound to its end in a curving spike.

  The Rock-Back grunted as he approached. In its rush to face him, the beast leaned too far and flopped onto its side. Its rib cage expanded, and the immense mouth opened down its chest, a gaping darkness ringed by a hundred pointed teeth.

  The spear drove into the opening, slicing through the roof of its mouth. Jerani hoped Tall Tachamwa had not been joking about their hearts being inches from their mouths.

  All four of its legs dropped, claws scraping the dirt and twitching. It looked dead.

  Jolted with relief to the point of giddiness, Jerani turned to his brother. The boy was crawling with his arms, half in shadows now. Jerani thought he saw something gripping his neck.

  A squishing sound came from the fallen Rock-Back, and a man's familiar voice shouted, “The Skin-Back! It's slipping out. Spear it!”

  A pouch opened on the monster's lower belly, and a pink thing oozed out and scuttled toward the darkness. What looked like a piece of guts with four legs was fleeing the corpse, and Jerani's own insides squirmed at the sight of it.

  “Don't just stand there!” The voice was Tall Tachamwa's. Warrior marks notched the man's ears. He jogged down a slope of flaking rock to Jerani. He motioned encouragement to stab the escaping creature but made no move to do so himself.

  The hand-sized creature squeaked when Jerani speared it. He crinkled his nose and gagged as it sprayed greasy jelly onto his sandaled feet. Now he understood why Tachamwa had kept his distance.

  “They don't all have Skin-Backs inside them,” Jerani asked, “do they?

  Tachamwa glanced up past the tree to the village. He seemed not to have heard.

  Jerani said, “The goddess saved me. The Angry Mother.”

  The older warrior patted down Jerani's head, running his hands through his braids. “Don't feel any cracks. Good. We'll need you. Already lost too many cows tonight.”

  Jerani pulled back as Tachamwa urged him toward the huts. “Wait! My brother.” He knelt in the shadows, finding the boy wriggling away. Jerani worried and wondered why he would not stand up
. “Wedan? You hurt?” Jerani touched him, searching for blood.

  Something on his brother's neck twitched and squirmed, and prickly anguish raked Jerani's insides, followed by cold helplessness. After what had happened to his mother, he had vowed to protect the rest of his family, and a Skin-Back had latched onto his brother. Jerani's warrior marks itched as he struggled to control himself. A warrior showed no pain.

  Tall Tachamwa gripped his shoulder. “He's caught a Skin-Back. Best leave him.”

  “What? No!” Jerani forced himself to touch the Skin-Back and tug. It squelched and stretched.

  His brother jerked and screamed, a high girlish sound.

  Shocked, Jerani let go of the Skin-Back. It had felt embedded, though he could not see exactly how in the gloom. He unbelted his knife.

  “No use, Jerani. Can't peel off the Skin-Back without killing him.” Tall Tachamwa picked up the calf. She had spent the last minutes shivering on the ground. One arm under tailed rump, the other under furry chin, Tachamwa blew out his cheeks at her weight then trudged uphill toward the sounds of lowing cows and yells. “There's others needing you.”

  “Can't leave him out here.” Jerani's hands trembled, and he gripped his knife and spear tighter. “The Rock-Backs, they'll—”

  “Won't touch him. He's one of theirs now. Jerani, hurry! The Greathearts are dying.”

  Wedan continued to crawl mindlessly into the shadows. Gazing down at him, Jerani felt hollow and brittle. Jerani had even begun teaching Wedan how to swing a weapon, the spear. Father's spear.

  Feeling numb, Jerani bowed his head. He knew he had to move. He had other responsibilities, to the herd, to his tribe.

  To his sister.

  He lifted his knife. One obsidian facet flashed white. Jerani glanced down to his twitching brother. Might be the most merciful way. His arm trembled, and he was not sure he could do it.

  The Void had not blotted out all her sensations. Celaise wished it had.

  Hunger still wracked her. The relentless appetite ground her like the spinning rough edge of a millstone scraping out her insides. When she had looked on the green-eyed Feaster caught in the Void, his slack-jawed expression had hid all the food lust aching inside him.

  Celaise had one advantage over the blank-faced boy, or perhaps a cruel disadvantage. The worries and terrors of the nearby tribesmen leaked into her Void, and she smelled their fears as potatoes baked in their colorful skins of purple, red, and yellow, dripping with oil, salted and seasoned with peppers and oregano. Custard apples tantalized her with their creamy flesh, the fruits split open and their seeds replaced with dollops of honey. Corn cakes piled beside steaming chili and crispy meat.

  She could see the banquet spread before her. This is new. In the world she could smell fears, and taste them, relish them, but never before had she seen. Celaise knew she had only to Feast, to consume everything on the table, and she would regain consciousness. Wake with power, use it, and Feast again. Only one thing stopped her.

  This food was forbidden.

  She wanted to cry but could not in the Void. The Lord of the Feast had forced her to promise to eat only the fear of beasts. He prided himself in his lack of mercy. So much as a mouthful of human fear would condemn her to his legendary fangs, until the torment stopped her heart.

  I just wait, then? 'Til a Headless finds my body and chomps down?

  The Lord of the Feast frightened her more than dying, but with no sensation left to her than hunger, she felt her willpower slipping. Maize cobs heaped on a platter. Dark kernels glistened and tempted her more than sapphires, all harvested from the field moments before being cooked to perfection then ladled with coconut oil.

  Celaise plucked a single purple kernel, and she could feel her fingers again. They trembled. Placing the morsel in her mouth spread the sensation of delight through her tongue. The corn melted with a ripple of warmth and sweetness.

  Wakefulness returned with a gasp. Her chest shuddered, her breaths gulping quicker and quicker. Ravens of fear screeched within Celaise's mind. I'm done. I'm worse than dead. She had disobeyed her lord.

  She tried to sit up. She collapsed, her vision fogging with fright. Her panting drowned out a nearby conversation. Two men were speaking. Their words were meaningless.

  She could not believe she had Feasted on human fear. That cursed kernel! Should've died the easy way. Her consciousness flickered.

  Power trickled through her again, enough to summon back her True Dress. She did so out of habit, knowing it would not protect her from him.

  The Lord of the Feast would scent her fear, come galloping for her on his eight-legged basilisk. Soon he'll be here. He could ride faster than the onrushing dusk. As she spiraled toward a faint, she imagined she felt the ground trembling with his approach.

  Celaise opened her eyes, and shadowy reflections of herself stared back from thousands of black mirror surfaces on onyx cliffs. Her blue sky gloves covered her mouth, her gaze twitching and skittish, attention leaping up one side of the onyx chasm to the other.

  A strip of warty clouds greased by overhead, yellowish-grey globs that bulged downward from the sky like a bubbling cauldron.

  She knew where she was. I have been here before.

  A sickening vibration ground her bones against each other. Each breath felt raw, as if she inhaled the air from other people's screams.

  This was a prison. He left me here. He made me promise.

  Above, slithering and booming sounds echoed off the onyx cliffs. Something crawled closer. Soon it would reach the edge of the chasm, peer down, and see her. Have to flee, run, hide—never be caught. Never!

  Celaise could not push herself upright with her hands, not while wearing her True Dress, but she willed herself to her feet. The cliffs loomed about her on all sides, glittering and smooth as glass. Even with real hands she could never climb out.

  Craning her chin up to the yellow sky, she tried to wish herself to freedom, to fly, to soar. Once, she had flown in her dreams. Sweat ran down her brow, but she lifted not one inch.

  The ground shook with a crashing and a scraping, and three shadows reared between her and the yellow clouds. Celaise twisted into a crouch by reflex, shielding her eyes with her hands. She focused on the day skyscape within her, but now the clouds seemed painted by a child, the blues in her gown faded and false.

  “My dear heart.” The words were playful, but also deep and layered, multiple voices speaking at the same time—and none entirely human. “My Celaise, your mind is full of failure.”

  “They…the Headless aren't afraid of me.” Speaking scared her, but staying silent and displeasing him frightened her more. “I can't stop all of them.”

  “But you must, my little delicacy. The Headless may outgrow the savanna and start attacking towns. They multiply faster than the illiterate.”

  Celaise felt as if three poisoned blades pressed against her back, from three sets of staring eyes.

  “Each of the beasts can prey on two people a night. Think of that, my dainty. My sweetness, think of all those lost to your brother and sister Feasters.” The voices in the chorus were too deep to be human. One hissed in undertone while another slurred and spluttered, each word wet. “Beautiful and elegant creatures, the Headless. But they are simply too much like our kind, and thus we must wipe them out without hesitation.”

  “Will you come to the savanna? Will you send help?”

  “No, my plum pudding. We have far too high a regard for our intact hide. Our refined blends of Black Wine…”

  A pulse of hunger ran through Celaise. Black Wine was the name Feasters gave to their magic.

  “…were brewed for human appetites, not animals. Against the Headless, we would fare no better than you. Perhaps worse. You are young, and nothing grants more confidence than inexperience.”

  She wanted to look up then, to see the Lord of the Feast, but she kept her hands clamped on her face. He talks like he fears them, Celaise thought. How could someone so strong be afraid o
f a few dumb beasts?

  “Your more seasoned brothers and sisters grow too comfortable with themselves. Youth grants you flexibility. Find what the Headless fear. Pattern your dress after it.” The voices had separated, two still high above her but the wet and gurgling one closer and to her left. “Look into their minds.”

  Celaise had enough trouble reading people's fears. Spying into the beasts' primitive minds only bewildered her. She felt unprepared for this trial, thought he should have given it to one of the elder Feasters, despite what he claimed.

  With no one to help her figure out what the Headless feared, she worried he had given her this trial to kill her. He knows it's impossible. What did I do to anger him? She had obeyed all the rules. Up to eating that kernel.

  “We do not often condone a binge,” he said. “But if you complete this trial, my deadly darling, my heroine of heights, you may dine on a village.”

  “A whole village?” She hated to think of the cows without anyone to look after them, but saliva had already flooded her mouth.

  “Leave one alive, to spread word of the slaughter. You must always think of your reputation.”

  An image of the scar-faced man flashed through her mind, though she could not decide if she would prefer him to live, or if she wanted to dine on him first. His unselfish fears would make for a well-seasoned meal.

  The lord said, “You promised us something, did you not?”

  “Not to Feast on man, woman, or child.” She spoke fast, the words tearing from her throat. “Until my trial is done.”

  Celaise swallowed to clear her mouth of the imagined taste of spiced meats. So far the Lord of the Feast had not mentioned the forbidden kernel, but she feared he would. And he smells all fear.

  “Yes, we know you've been naughty.” The voices answered her thoughts, one directly behind her now. Breath gusted over her with a hair-withering sea stench of rotting fish. “One kernel is hardly a Feast. But neither can we overlook it.”

  Gagging, she fell on her side. Celaise tried to push herself up and away, but her arms slipped into the rock, touching nothing. Her eyes flicked upward.