by Krista Rose
“Where- where is Malachi?” the Crone managed finally.
I glanced at her. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if she didn’t understand. “He’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“H- how?”
“We killed him.” My voice was flat.
She stared at me blankly. “Why?”
“Why? Why?” I took two strides and grabbed the old woman by the neck, forcing her to look at my sister. “Why the hell do you think? You’ve fed him those damn potions for years until there was nothing left! He nearly killed Kryssa tonight, and for what?” I shook her, and shoved her toward the table, disgusted. “If you still want your damn payment, you’re welcome to try to get it from him, but we’ve already paid enough for what you’ve done.”
She stood still for a moment, staring down at Kryssa’s injuries, and then her head bowed in defeat. “You’ll have to cut the shirt from her.”
Lanya knelt, and picked up a long, slim knife from the debris littering the floor, using her skirts to clean it before beginning the task.
The Crone’s expression grew pained as she saw the extent of the damage. “Did Malachi truly do this?”
“Of course he did,” Kylee snapped, speaking for the first time since we had left the farm. She still held Reyce’s kitten, Bandit, in her hands. “Who else but a monster would have done something like this?”
“He’s your father,” she protested weakly. “You shouldn’t speak of him that way.”
“I’ll speak of him however I wish.” Her chin jerked up, defiant. “And he wasn’t our father. He hasn’t been since our mother died.”
“You needed him. You were just children.”
“We haven’t been children since Janis died,” Alyxen corrected her.
Her shoulders slumped, as if weighed down by the hard stares aimed at her. “I was trying to help you. I thought he would at least be able to keep you all fed.”
“You should have just let him die,” Reyce said quietly. “It would have been better.”
I sat in a chair beside the table, listening to the others and trying to bottle my own hatred, watching as Lanya gently cut the shirt from Kryssa’s back. Whatever the Crone had done, I promised myself I would forgive her if she only saved my sister.
KRYSSA
I woke to familiar agony, dim lights, and hushed, angry voices. I thought I almost recognized the shadows surrounding me, and I struggled to turn my head, peering groggily around the room. I was lying on my stomach, and every movement I made sent lances of fire racing down my tortured back.
Cool hands touched my face, gentle but firm; someone spoke calmly in female tones. I couldn’t understand the words, but grasped their meaning: lie still.
I reached out toward my brother. Brannyn?
Here. His brilliant red was muted with exhaustion.
Pain threatened to drown me again at any moment. Where?
The Crone’s. You’re- you’re hurt.
Others?
Fine.
Memory nudged me, something unclear, something I had seen before giving in to the pain. Reyce?
Hesitation. The… episode… seems to be over.
Episode? Confused, I tried again to move, and was held in place. What?
Later. You need to rest.
The question hovered between us, dreadful and daunting, but I forced myself to ask. Father?
Dead. He said it flatly, the implication enough to stun me. I could sense the confused whirl of his emotions for just a brief moment, before he blocked me out. The monster has been slain; our concern now must remain only for the living.
Something touched my back, searing my skin, and I convulsed, screaming, everything else lost from my mind. Lanya’s golden touch surrounded me, trying to shield me. I felt ashamed, knowing I should be the one protecting her, but I couldn’t focus my thoughts enough to even try.
Burning, and I screamed again.
It seemed all my world was agony. I whimpered, helpless, my cries hoarse and pitiful as the pieces of my shirt were pulled from tattered flesh.
Something cool was pressed to my lips; a few drops of heavenly liquid splashed onto my tongue. It tasted of poppies and starlight, warming me, calming me, making me forget my hurt and my heartache. I smiled, the pain receding, and opened my eyes to stare up at Lanya, her hair a golden halo in the firelight. What was that?
The potion the Crone used to give Father. She only gave you a small amount, for the pain.
The potion- Something was wrong, I could feel it, beneath the clouds spinning through my mind. Something I had forgotten, something terrible, the awful price of drinking a potion to forget-
Kryssa? I heard her concern, worried for the strain in my mind as my emotions overflowed into her.
What had I forgotten? It was so important-
Kryssa, it’s alright-
The potion Father took. The Crone’s eyes, guilt-stricken. Will you honor our arrangement, Malachi?
I thrashed, reaching out blindly. Someone spoke sharply, their words incomprehensible, their meaning clear. It did not matter. My hand caught the wrist of the Crone, and, without knowing how I was able, I forced myself inside her mind. She had never trained to shield her thoughts as we had, and so she was unable to prevent my abrupt intrusion into her disturbing secrets.
I found her sadness for the death of Malachi, and Janis, and my mother, and many more, a long list of ghosts she grieved for, cursing the Gods for taking them. Twining through that grief, subtle and treacherous, was her fear: fear of death, of Ca’erlyssa, of Sirius and all that came with the ending of her life. I followed that fear, and found darkness. She had sought out the shades of the fallen Elder Gods, those corrupted, wicked beings whose mere mention was blasphemy, and had offered them worship in acts so profane I thought I would go mad from mere knowledge of them. And, in return, they had offered her what she wanted most, at the cost of her soul: immortality.
Life is fragile, Wild Rose.
Since my mother’s death, I had come to think of my Father as evil; the violence, the hate, the uncontrolled rage were all, in my innocence, a sign of it. But in the Crone’s mind I at last learned the truth. Evil did not wear my father’s face- it wore the Crone’s.
She had murdered our mother.
She had made the choice shortly after the twins were born. She needed them to fulfill the requirements of the Elder Gods: one to serve as a vessel for her spirit, the other to feed it, and thus gain her immortality. She had intended to take Kylee’s body for her own, trapped at the moment it was filled with youth- her sixteenth birthday- and then devour Alyxen to sustain it.
She had known our mother would not be able to resist her vision of a sixth child; a slip of her hand during Reyce’s birth, and our mother had died when she might have lived. It was there, in her mind- the knowledge that Adelie had not been beyond saving, despite what Janis and I had believed.
It had been a simple thing then, to feed Malachi the potions. Cattakasha, she called it, the vile drug which had created both his apathy and his cruelty. She had nurtured his addiction until he could no longer care for us, and gladly traded my brother and sister for its darkness.
I fought through my horror to find my rage, tearing through the Crone’s mind. I cared nothing for her guilt or fear or regret, thinking only of my family. I would rip these memories from her, take her mind from her, and leave her hollow and empty and alone, unable to hurt any of us ever again.
I would destroy her.
LANYA
I could scarcely breathe as the images of horror and atrocity passed through me. I felt the Crone’s overwhelming fear of her mortality, experienced Kryssa’s unfiltered hatred as if it were my own. The idea of my siblings being tortured, murdered, and worse clawed at my sanity.
I couldn’t stand the pain, my sister’s rabid madness filling me with agony. I would do anything to make it end, to be free of the panic and terror that left me weak and frozen.
I had to end Kryssa’s suffering.
KRYSSA
The Crone’s mind was dark and jumbled, and I lashed out at it, wanting viciously to cause her as much pain as she had brought us. I would strip her of even the knowledge of her name; when I was done, death would seem like a blessing.
Her thoughts froze, going suddenly dim, fading, pulling me down toward something final and frightening. I jerked back inside myself, my ears ringing in the abrupt quiet. The hands that had held me were gone, and I twisted, pushing myself up, ignoring my agony.
The Crone gaped at me, blood pouring from her throat. Her hands were coated with it as she tried, desperately and futilely, to hold in her life as her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, her chest rising once, and then falling, to rise no more.
I looked up at Lanya. Her face was bone-white, her eyes and glassy and wild as blood dripped from her hands.
There are times when we truly believe that if we do not speak of something, then we can pretend for a while that it did not happen, and live in the illusion that the harsh, ugly reality is not real, but merely a dream.
Which is why, for a long, long time, we simply sat in that room, staring at the crumpled, lifeless body of the Crone, and listened to the aching silence.
BRANNYN
14 Llares 577A.F.
Kryssa wept.
For years, Kryssa had been our shield, protecting us from our father, willingly shouldering the burdens of raising the rest of us while still a child herself. She had remained in Desperation, living through our nightmare on the farm, though deep down we knew she could have left at any time. She had worked for pennies to provide us with a home, had gone hungry so that we could eat, had taken our beatings and abuse without complaint. I had done my best to follow her example, though my anger seethed beneath my skin, and I couldn’t seem to match her serenity.
She had endured all of our suffering so that we could remain warm and safe and whole, and through it all she had never cried, never let us see her pain- but even she could only take so much. Between our father and the Crone, it is a wonder her mind didn’t simply shatter.
And so Kryssa wept as the rest of us were left reeling, shocked and heartsick by her dark secrets. Her heartbreak pounded against us, wretched and pathetic, for what felt like hours; we could only stare at her tears and silently grieve. Her mind was caught and confused, filled with thoughts not her own, and it troubled me, more so even that the inflamed, vicious wounds of her back, jagged lines that seeped blood and agony. We had never before tried to enter another’s mind, and to intrude upon one so perverse and corrupted had torn something in her, something I feared would never heal.
At last, fear of infection overpowered our paralyzing horror. Lanya and Alyxen began to tend to her wounds, struggling to hold her down when she fought them. I looked away, unable to watch as they carefully wiped blood from her back with damp rags.
Kylee cowered in a corner, her face deathly pale as she curled herself protectively around the kitten. Her mind was so tightly shielded I could not even gain a glimmer of her thoughts, but the rigid lines of her body made it clear that she wanted to be left alone.
My gaze fell on Reyce, who stood stiffly by the window, staring out at the grey dawn. His shoulders were hunched and shaking, and he flinched each time Kryssa screamed.
“Reyce.” My voice sounded rusty, and I cleared my throat. “Reyce.”
He turned, his sapphire eyes dark and haunted, and I knew I must look the same. What had we suffered through, to turn us into living ghosts?
I jerked my head toward the door. He nodded, and we headed outside, into the chill mist that lingers after a night of rain. Even in the early light, I knew the sky would remain grey that day. It was only appropriate. After such a night, sunshine would have been a mockery.
We turned toward the lean-to that acted as the Crone’s stable. Reyce smiled briefly at Teodore’s cheerful welcome, letting the ancient pony nuzzle at him in affection. It was a glimpse of the child he had been only the day before, and I watched with regret as it vanished into the grim purpose his face had held since Kryssa’s first scream.
“Reyce.”
He jerked a shoulder. “I’m fine, Brannyn. Stop worrying over me.”
“No.” I kept my expression calm, though my hands trembled. “We need to talk about what happened.”
“I- I don’t-” He took a deep breath, fear clouding his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You were screaming.” It had been terrifying. “Words, or they sounded like words. I don’t know what they meant.”
He tensed, though his hands remained gentle on Teodore’s neck. “I don’t remember. They didn’t have any meaning.”
My brow rose at the clear contradiction, though I didn’t point it out to him. “You were glowing.”
He gaped at me in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes.” I held his gaze, my insides shaking at the memory of his eyes turning black and inhuman. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
He stared at me, unsure and afraid, and I wanted to pull him into my arms and rock him like I had when he was an infant. Then his face set once more in stubborn lines, and he shook his head. “No.”
I sighed. For those who could share each other’s minds, we had a surfeit of secrets between us. “As you wish then. I’ll send Kylee out to help you hitch the wagon. I want to get as far away from this cursed place as possible.”
He tilted his head, confused by my sudden revulsion. “What will you be doing?”
I swallowed against the urge to retch. “Burying the Crone.”
BRANNYN
14 Llares 577A.F. - 18 Llares 577A.F.
Burying the Crone was perhaps one of the most unpleasant and vile tasks I have ever undertaken, and so I will not dwell on it. It should satisfy the curious to know that I was violently sick several times, and that, when I finally stumbled back to the house from the shallow grave, I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my entire life.
I thought briefly of returning to the farm to bury our father, but even the thought made my stomach revolt. I could not handle another corpse today, certainly not one of my own creation. The house that had been our prison would serve well enough for his grave, and I turned my thoughts back to my siblings.
Kryssa had to be transferred to the wagon. Despite our careful efforts, it was a jarring movement. Thankfully, after one short, shrill scream, she fell unconscious, and we weren’t forced to feel her pain as we tried to make her comfortable. The bandages beneath her shirt were already stained with blood, and I did my best not to look at them as we piled blankets around her.
Provisions were packed, raiding the Crone’s stores for potions and food, packing a heavy trunk with blankets and clothing. We discovered more evidence of her dark magics, grotesque idols made from blood and wax to represent each of the Elder Gods, and grimly set them aside.
I looked up from searching one of her cabinets, a question on my tongue about the nature of a potion labelled King Sever, and found Lanya wavering in the middle of the room, her face pale as she stared at the blood on her hands.
“Lanya?” I stood slowly, the bottle still clutched in my hand. “Are you alright?”
She turned her head toward me, her eyes glassy and unseeing. “So much blood,” she whispered. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her knees buckled. I tossed the potion aside and ran to catch her before her head could hit the ground.
Not knowing what else to do, I laid her on the table, staring at her in worry for long minutes before her eyes fluttered open again. “Brannyn?”
“It’s alright.” I tried to be calm, not wanting her to know how much she’d frightened me. “Just rest a moment.”
She flung herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she burst into tears. I stood, frozen and terrified, unable to think of anything to say as she sobbed. The collar of my shirt grew
damp and uncomfortable.
“I killed her.” Her words were muffled by my shirt, and I strained to understand them. “I saw all of it, all those things she did. She was so scared, and lonely, and I- I just-”
“Hush. It’s alright.” I patted her back awkwardly, wishing Kryssa was in any kind of condition to handle this in my place. “You saved us. The Crone was evil. You did the right thing.”
“No.” Her hands fisted in my shirt, the blood on them almost garish against her pale skin. “I killed her. I couldn’t- I can’t-”
“It’s over, Lanya.” I sighed, wishing my head would stop throbbing. “We have to keep going.”
She looked up at me, her eyes red and tragic, her lips trembling. “I- I can’t-”
“I found a map,” Alyxen announced, walking into the room with a heavy folded piece of parchment. He paused when he saw Lanya’s face. “You alright?”
She sniffled, and let go of my shirt to wipe at her face. “I’m fine.”
He raised a brow in disbelief, but didn’t push her, perhaps sensing her fragility. “I found a map,” he repeated.
We spread it on the table. It was worn, the edges marked with indecipherable writings. But it was a fair rendering of Valory, and enabled us to roughly plot our course. Our mother’s family were healers; they still, as far as we knew, resided in Fallor. We would take Kryssa there, and perhaps gain our footing.
Beyond that, it was impossible to know what would become of us.
Kylee and Reyce were standing near the edge of the trees as we walked out of the house carrying the trunk, and I frowned as I saw my brother’s pained expression.
“We can’t keep Bandit,” he explained, his voice hitching as he held the kitten. “Kylee says it’s not fair to him.”
