by Anna Sanders
After he saw a clump of Isidora’s raven hair on the ground, he decided that he’d better follow it.
ISIDORA HAD GIVEN UP SCREAMING because every time she did Cherufe would tug out a clump of her hair. Her arms were so badly scathed from his flaming touch that she winced with every step. Her back and legs met every obstacle, and soon her blistered skin wasn’t the only thing flaring in pain.
Isidora did her best to recall the expert touch of Cris, but there was no room for that in the depths of her sorrow.
After everything, being soothed and saved and made love to, she was still going to die.
Cherufe took her to a dank cave. A place where even the ground burned. Isidora couldn’t hold back fresh cries and Cherufe did not appreciate them. He lifted her and threw her into a corner. She slammed hard into a wall of the hollow and crumbled to the floor. Cherufe walked away from her for a moment to a pile of skeletons.
She tried speaking to the molten being. “Cherufe, if you are real, do you really require death to stop this scourge? Your sacrifices are to be willing! I am no longer willing!”
If he could answer, he didn’t.
“Please, lord of fire. I have so much life yet to live. It took until now for me to realize this. I cannot give myself over to darkness. I must live!”
Cherufe approached her with a skeleton head. He removed something from around its neck before tossing the bones aside. With his stony grip he reached out to her.
In his grasp was a myriad of ceremony necklaces. So. He had taken many before. And he wanted her to wear their garb.
The message was clear, though he could not speak. The sacrifice is you.
Isidora shook her head. “No!”
Instead of letting the issue go, Cherufe stomped the rest of the way to her corner. He grabbed her in a fierce grip and forcibly drew the decorations over her head. His touch scorched her anew and she screamed in agony.
Apparently the reason the Land Gods required a willing female was because they hated screaming. When Isidora could not stop her shouts, Cherufe caused more of them. He began to beat her with closed fists in an effort to quiet her, but the burning punches did just the opposite. She couldn’t stop and so neither would he.
Every time he hit her flesh it bruised and burned at the same time. Huge welts appeared all over her. She covered her face in an effort to contain the damage to her body, but it did not matter where his blows landed. She was soon growing weak from pain. Tiny dots danced before her eyes, she felt faint. She was no longer sure anymore if the wounds were bleeding or catching on fire.
Picking her up into his arms, Cherufe began to rip what was left of her dress off. Isidora managed to keep her arms over her head and face, but the will to protect herself was waning. She was going to die here.
When her body was dropped to the ground again, she did not think much of it. Part of her welcomed it, able to dimly acknowledge that she was no longer in a hold of hellish discomfort. But for the most part she braced herself in anticipation of something worse.
When stomps and grunts began to echo in the cave, she parted her arms.
Cris had descended to save her.
CRIS HAD ARRIVED TO SOMETHING he would only expect to see in a horror movie. Following the tumultuous footprints had brought him to the lair, and to the abused bandit. And she was at the mercy of what could only be the thing she was supposed to be given to in the first place.
There was no time for him to feel chagrined about his monumental mistake. No. He had to save her before any of that kicked in.
With a surge of speed, he flew directly into the monster. The element of surprise was on his side and the lava demon dropped the battered woman to the ground.
After that, it was a standoff between the two. It only took three or four punches to the face for Cristis to realize that Cherufe was way stronger than he was. Being made of lit stone might have its advantages. But Cris was able to absorb his heat, which drew some of it away from the creature. Not all, but some.
Cris began to evade the swings of the Cherufe instead of absorbing them. He flew just out of reach, doing his best to draw it from its cave. Cherufe thundered toward him with marked determination.
It took a lot of speed and concentration to avoid being hit again. Cris could feel his face swelling from what hits he’d already been exposed to.
He didn’t plan on accepting anymore.
He backed away in a zigzag from the fire lit fists flying his way. This was the only plan that he had so far. Getting the lava god away from Isidora. Beyond that, he had no real idea of what he was doing or how he was going to beat this thing.
Cherufe changed the direction and fury of his strikes. The difference cost Cris a hard punch to the abdomen and he was thrown backwards into a tree. His head spun for a moment.
Fuck. That thing was too strong. The force behind his swings was otherworldly. It plowed through a tree, knocking it aside as if it were a non-sequential blade of grass, still hell bent on destroying him.
The forest was thickening, which made evasion a near miss every time. Cristis wasn’t sure how many more blows he could take before he was knocked out of the game entirely. Cherufe showed no signs of fatigue.
Eventually Cris got caught in a thicket. His long wingspan was useless. Cherufe nabbed his moment of opportunity and picked the demon up furiously. After shaking him a good deal, making his neck fling about, the lava monster brought its fist back and gave Cristis a few well-placed smacks. Then he lifted him over his head and tossed him.
Cris’s impact to the ground would have devastated him if he weren’t already feeling the pressing weakness of losing. He could barely catch his breath being that all of the air had been knocked out of him in sequence. And even the magnitude of heat he was absorbing along with the beating was taking its toll slightly.
Rolling away from the stomps of his adversary was almost impossible. But Cris tucked his wings around his body and made himself manage it. Otherwise he would have been crushed right there on the sandy ground.
Wait… sand? When he felt that he was a good enough distance away Cris looked around. Yes, he was on sand. Cherufe had thrown him into a clearing, one that happened to be a beach leading down to the lake.
Thoughts swarmed his dizzy head. Water. How could he use it to his advantage? Would the thing sink if he got it deep enough?
Cherufe kicked him in the side. It hurt like a son of a bitch, regardless of the fact that they’d be at this for enough time that his adrenaline had kicked in.
When Cherufe would have kicked him again, Cris decided to wing it. He bounded quickly to his feet, as shaking a thing as that was, and walked backwards to the water.
“Come on, let’s make this interesting…”
When his feet hit the first waves he was surprised by the heat coming from them. The lake was boiling. The vapor from the mountain was a current beneath the surface.
Cherufe was not afraid of water. He steamed violently when he crashed in, but was undeterred. Cris was soon waist deep and preparing to plunge. There was a surprising curve from where the shore broke off into deep depths. And once he was sure the creature would still follow him, Cris dove in and began swimming.
Cherufe sunk with ease. But it was a controlled sink. The thing had obviously paddled water before. Cris took the thing deeper and deeper, heading for the lake floor. Soon it became apparent, however, that Cherufe didn’t need to breathe. And Cristis did.
The closer he got to the lake floor the more heat he took in. Soon he could see foam. Dead sea life was floating up to meet him, but he managed to keep his gaze clear as he brought himself closer. When he saw the vents, his heart raced. They were plummeting torrents of blackened water throughout the rocky bottom. The rush of water was what was taking him closer, no longer his flailing limbs. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
Cherufe caught up with him and held him fast. The creature began to swing at him again, but the drag of the water made each strike nothing more than a bu
mp. Cris’s body was desperate for air, which made his struggles mean something. Cherufe was having a hard time hanging onto the demon. The two of them began to swirl in the water dangerously, leading further and further down toward the deadly vent.
Cristis’s lungs protested vehemently but he could do nothing. The light from the shore was becoming dimmer and dimmer. Cherufe squeezed him, which forced him to exhale his remaining air. His eyes widened and he swallowed far too much sooty water.
Farther and farther they fell. Cris raised his hand upward, clenched in airless hopelessness.
ISIDORA CRAWLED FROM THE CAVE with all of the strength that she could manage. Every movement made her feel as if she were going to black out, but staying there wasn’t an option. If Cherufe returned, she would be powerless to fight him off.
Bandits had superior speed. If only she had enough energy to harness it. She would have been able to hoof it away from the place without a backward glance. But even on all fours, she was useless. Each muscle felt strained and she choked on sobs as she did her best to escape.
There were no seismic footfalls returning her way, but there were also no wing beats. Was Cristis dead? She found it hard to believe that he would be able to defeat the stony foe. If she wanted to stay alive, then she had to seize the opportunity that Cristis had sealed for her.
When a shadow passed over her, she cringed and could not stifle her terrified whine. “Please! No more, please!”
Strong hands turned her over. They burned her skin and she wailed in protest. Trying to fight him off she screamed pitifully.
“Isidora! Stop!”
Hearing the familiar voice her eyes flew open. Standing over her was her demon. Cris was soaking wet, piping with heat, and covered in wounds—but it was him.
“It’s me,” he wheezed. “You’re safe.”
Isidora wanted to reach up to him, but she was mindful of the heat. She leaned her head back against the ground and closed her eyes in relief. “Oh…”
“Christ, he got you,” Cris muttered as he stared down at the mostly nude woman. Her skin was charred from where Cherufe had abused her. “We need to get you cleaned up.” He touched her again and she shifted away with a cry. “Oh fuck, sorry. I need to cool off first.”
Cris flew quickly into the air, but returned a few minutes later. The demon lifted her into his arms and flew high above the trees. Isidora didn’t flinch, now knowing what real danger felt like. She was stretched in his arms with weariness but he held her close as he flew high from the mountainside.
JUNE NINETEENTH, AND THE SCALE of the eruption had decreased. The evacuees were allowed to return to their homes and farmlands. The skies were clearing by the hour. The pace of the land went back to normal, with the exception of the natural water supply which would take some time.
Isidora moved her hand along her hair, still not used to her new haircut. She pushed her shades up closer to her eyes and took a deep breath as the line moved forward. She looked around the bustling crowd, smiling slightly when she caught snippets of conversation. Everyone was happy to be back home. She was happy to be leaving it.
Soon it was her turn to get onto the bus. She showed her ticket to the assistant and thanked him when he took her piece of luggage. She declined his offer to take her large woven handbag, preferring to keep the carry-on with her.
Three steps led her to the waiting driver, who gave her a welcoming smile. Isidora waved as she passed him and headed to the nearest window seat. She settled easily, drawing in the train of her dress so that others would know she was not opposed to someone sitting beside her.
The sky was still partly cloudy, but it was no longer dark. The sunbeams warmed her cheeks. Every time a passenger walked up the steps the vehicle would sway. The back and forth motion reminded Isidora of the constant earthquakes she had endured over the past two weeks. She did her best to ignore her still fresh injuries beneath her clothing. Almost every inch was bandaged.
Finally the last rider sat down and the driver closed the doors. He waited about five minutes to be sure that nobody else was about to board, then gave the signal to the assistant to close the bus’s undercarriage. Soon, with a cheery announcement and a roar, the bus was rumbling away from the station.
After they had been on the road for about ten minutes, Isidora waited no longer. She reached into her bag and pulled out the large yellow envelope. Her name was written across the top in a flourish of ink. She popped up the silver staples and pulled out the contents with eager, trembling palms.
A letter sat atop a blown up photo. She brought the print close to her face, reading quickly:
Isidora Reyes,
A passion like ours comes maybe once in a lifetime. Which is why it is not easy to walk away from you right now. I have lived my life with no attachments, always making excuses about what it was I needed or wanted. The truth is, I’m a loner for a reason. But you could change all of that in a heartbeat. It’s not hard to imagine myself sweeping you off of your feet and dragging you around the world with me. The idea is so tempting it makes my mouth water.
But here’s the thing. After everything we have gone through I’ve realized that I do have responsibilities. Some more important than others. I have avoided them for so long that it’s hard to make me care about them at all. No amount of volcanoes or storm chases or pretty little bandits can keep me from not honoring my duty. I’ve grown beyond that person I used to be, and that process started a long time before I was lucky enough to meet you.
Maybe one day I will bring you to America and plant babies galore inside of you. But that time is not now. I would like to leave you as uncomplicated as possible, especially after everything you’ve just been through.
I’ve left you with an address and credentials to Mexico. I have a house there, which you are more than welcome to use should you want to. Either way, as long as you write me, I’ll be in touch. You’ll be in my thoughts, mongrel. Stay safe.
With Love,
Cristis Von Dietrich
The photo showed Cris flying upward with Isidora sprawled out in his arms. Behind them, the sky was on fire with activity. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing the evidence of his having to rescue her again. Her fingers squeezed the edges, crumpling the print just slightly. She closed her eyes against what she thought might be the pinprick of tears.
She knew that she would miss him every day until they saw each other again. Whenever that might be. Whether or not she would go to Mexico was another question. Maybe she would see how close she got before she happened to changed her mind. If she changed her mind.
Leaning her head back against the bus seat, Isidora looked back out of the wide window. The highway was clear as the bus took her out of the city limits. When she looked up at the sky she squinted against the glare of sunlight, thinking she may have caught a glimpse of midnight black wing against the cloudy horizon.
Perhaps if they cared enough about each other, they would one day meet again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anna Sanders is a simple soul originally from southern California. Her interest in writing began at the early age of 12 years old after having an eccentric and exciting English teacher. Her hobbies include hiking, killing zombies in video games, cooking, and obnoxiously singing showtunes. For the past six years, Anna has been an avid participant in the annual NaNoWriMo challenge.
She currently resides in Carson City, Nevada with her husband, their two daughters, and a fluffy behemoth of a dog named Jojo.
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