The Death of All Things

by Faith Hunter

“That, ultimately, is irrelevant,” said the crow. He swooped down onto the porch and pointed his wing towards the dark house. “This is where she belongs. This is where she’ll be happy. You know this.”

  “Do I?”

  The crow nodded. “You only don’t know you do. You would if you knew her name.”

  “Do you?”

  “I know all names.”

  I cocked my head at that. “Do you know mine?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ha. You don’t even know I don’t have one.”

  I thought I read a grin in the way the crow’s beak parted. “You think yourself clever, my friend, but every creature has a name. Come to Charnel House and I will tell you. You may then enter as well, should you wish to follow her.”

  I awoke then, startled by the crow’s horrid offer. The dream faded as I blinked in light and shuddered away its memory.

  “Good morning,” said Blue Girl. She had propped her head against a restored arm and scratched the nape of my neck. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “I dreamt of Charnel House.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Neither, I think.”

  She moved to scratching behind my ear when I fell into silent thoughts. “Is something the matter?”

  I let her pet me for a moment. “Blue Girl,” I said, pausing when she found the good spot. She hummed to spur me on. “If you go inside Charnel House, you will die.”

  She smiled. “I think you’ve mentioned that, yes.”

  “I won’t come with you.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “I need you to know that.”

  Her brow furled, though she still smiled. “What on earth has come over you, silly?”

  “I don’t want you to go inside alone.”

  “Everyone goes to death alone, fox.”

  “But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have to go at all.”

  “Oh, fox,” she said, sighing as she stood. “Not this again. Won’t you come find Huntress instead? With that, at least, you can help me.”

  “Is she not back yet?” I said with surprise. It was unusual for the wolf to stay away for this long.

  “She left just before you awoke,” Blue Girl said. “She found a way up, but that was a while ago. We should catch up.”

  Blue Girl and I jolted when a howl reached us. She faced me with fright. “That must’ve been her. Come! She may need us.”

  We hurried down the ravine, Huntress’ howls growing more panicked as Blue Girl started running out of breath. The bottom turned muddier and muddier until we found the wolf—neck deep in it. The wall had crumbled; rocks formed a path gradually submerging as it reached her.

  “Help me,” she whimpered. “I tried to climb up, but the wall couldn’t carry my weight. A stone pushed me in and my foot is stuck beneath it.”

  I dashed for her, but stopped when she cried, “Be careful! There’s a pit. My feet reach the bottom, but it’s too deep for you.”

  “Can’t you push the rock aside?”

  “I’m not strong enough.”

  “You’re too far for us to reach,” Blue Girl said, face twisted with worry. She picked up a stick, poked the ground until she found a way around the pit and held the stick out for the wolf. “Here. Maybe I can pull you out with—”

  The stick crunched and broke when Huntress bit for hold. Blue Girl raised the splintered end and frowned before tossing it away. She hemmed, felt the mud with her foot, then reached out her arm. “Bite down. I have a good foothold here.”

  “You’ll break like the twig.”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  Huntress hesitated. I had no wisdom to offer save for, “It’ll grow back.”

  The wolf said, “It is one thing to hurt you to live, but I don’t want to do so for nothing.”

  “Do you think you’ll never sink?” replied the girl.

  Huntress gave a whimper before parting her jaws. Blue Girl cried out when they closed on her forearm, groaned as she gritted her teeth and leaned back. She held herself up with her free arm as her feet sought the hold hidden under mud. Blood spurted onto Huntress’ nose, but the girl persevered. Her wail rose into a scream until Huntress let go and Blue Girl tumbled backwards.

  “Why did you—?” she shrieked, cutting herself off when Huntress climbed up and shook mud off her fur. She limped to Blue Girl, rear leg twisted, and licked the row of puncture wounds on the girl’s arm

  “Thank you,” said the wolf.

  Blue Girl smiled through tears. The smile wilted when she faced me, and I realized horror must’ve shown on my features. “What’s wrong, fox?”

  “You’ve said nothing when you let us eat. I thought you were used to the pain.”

  She pressed her lips together, averted her eyes, and shook her head.

  Huntress looked away from her, at me. “How far to Charnel House?”

  “Three days.”

  “I can go without eating for three days.”

  “You don’t have to,” Blue Girl said. “It’s fine, really—”

  “I will do you no more harm, girl,” growled Huntress, “and I’ve half a mind to turn around, carry you to the mountains, and raise you as my own, away from this awful place.”

  “And what would that solve?” I said. I did my best not to cower when she swung towards me. “You’d leave one wasteland for another, and sooner or later you’d hunger again. All you’d do would be to prolong her suffering, making a home above the valley of cinders where you keep the last living creature as your pet and prey.”

  Her growl deepened. “Are you saying you accept her resignation now?”

  “It’s not our place to decide her fate, Huntress.”

  “No,” she admitted, after a long, long spell of consideration. “But it is my choice not to eat her. I will not be used for penance any longer.”

  “Nor will I,” I said, and faced Blue Girl. “And I stand by what I said before. You’ve a good heart.”

  Blue Girl bowed her head, placed her healthy hand on the side of Huntress’ neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  We were able to climb up over the pile of rocks Huntress’ fall had made. Her injury did nothing to our pace. She’d already had to slow down for us to keep up—now she merely had to do so a little less.

  * * *

  The wasteland turned from an even plain into an uphill climb. On the plateaus we found more skeletons, human instead of animal, as though a necropolis had been unearthed. The ground was soft, once fertile, perhaps, and I wondered if they’d been field hands who’d worked the lands around Charnel House.

  Every time we passed such boneyards, Blue Girl kept her gaze fixed on the overcast and allowed Huntress to carry her. The wolf never complained for the added weight on her leg wound, just as Blue Girl tried to hide the wounds on her heart from us.

  On the third morning, we found the first signs of life since our journey began. Grass grew thick on the slopes, wet with dew.

  “Don’t touch it,” I said, when Blue Girl fell behind to inspect the pearls of milk gathering on the leaves. “It’ll take away the pain in your arm, but also everything else. We’re almost there.”

  Charnel House waited atop the final climb, where the land leveled and the grass grew taller. The cooling evening raised the milk into mist, making even Huntress complain of feeling lightheaded. It was cold here; the chill of death wafted from the house like exhalations from the netherworld.

  “Girl, I don’t want you going nearer,” Huntress growled. Her fur bristled. “You don’t belong here. Turn away.”

  “Please,” I tried. The mist numbed my thoughts, making my feet pad on by their own accord. “She’s right. I’ve made a grave mistake. I never should’ve brought you here.”

  “But I see it now,” Blue Girl said, voice drowsy. “It’s beautiful.”

  I saw it too, the shimmery gloss appearing on the house’s surface, how it seemed to radiate in the glow of a waning sun. E
ven I felt an attraction to the place, so much greater than before. The gentle hold in my bones hummed a gentler invitation, asking me to cross the threshold.

  “Please don’t go,” I whimpered. “You are a kind creature, sorely needed in this world. If you went, there might be no one else left but Huntress and I. Neither of us have half the heart you do.”

  “But, fox,” said Blue Girl. “I made the world this way. I don’t deserve to dwell in it. Don’t want to—”

  “You cannot have!” I snapped, steeling my mind to dash to her and step in her way. “My dear girl, why do you say these things? Why do you not see how sweet you are? We are beasts—had we been alone, I would have abandoned Huntress to drown in the mud. And she? If we had stayed together this long by the two of us, nothing I could’ve said would’ve deterred her from eating me. Is this not true?”

  “It is,” Huntress said. “You have tamed us, girl, made us caring by caring for us. If you wish to step inside, it is your right, but I will not bid a fond farewell. I will grieve for a life thrown to waste.”

  “You don’t understand,” Blue Girl said, with chilling patience. “This is my share. Remember me as a fool if you must, but move out of my way.”

  “A fool is the last thing I’ll remember,” I said.

  The girl did not reply, only stepped past.

  “Ah, hello,” said the crow sitting atop the open door. “How good to see you, at long last. Come in.”

  “Thank you,” said Blue Girl. She turned, folding her hands over her front. Warmth pulsed in my breast and I feared her smile had cut so deep if I spat the grass would turn red. “Fond or not, I bid goodbye, my friends—”

  “Not you, silly chit,” said the crow. He swooped down and hobbled past her to Huntress. “Come, come. It’s time to go.”

  Dumbfounded, Huntress stared the crow down. “I’m going nowhere. It’s the girl you want.”

  “She?” The crow darted a look at Blue Girl. “She couldn’t come in if she wanted. She’s alive.”

  “So am I.”

  “How could you be, when the forest burned around you?”

  “I survived.”

  “How?”

  “I…” Horror flashed on her face, then fury settled in. In a snarl, she said, “Step back, crow. I will not be tricked. I must find my cubs.”

  “You did, Nastasha. You found them in your den, where their charred bones rest with yours.”

  A pang boiled the blood Blue Girl’s smile had freed. My chest was afire, as was Huntress’—afire and worse, by her look. She turned to me with an expression of desperation, and I met it with some of my own. “Her name is Huntress,” I said, words rolling off an unfeeling tongue.

  “‘Huntress’ is no name. It is a title.”

  The wolf whispered, “Nastasha.”

  I whispered, “Nastasha.”

  “That is her name,” said the crow, “and now she remembers.”

  Nastasha took in a deep breath she released as a long, wailing howl. Her fur seemed to give off mist. To my shock, I realized it was smoke.

  “My friends,” she said, voice frail and ethereal. “I do remember. I must go. I don’t belong here.” She came to us, gave Blue Girl’s face a lick. “My cubs were gone—but they hadn’t moved. I found them slain when I brought them food. When the fire came, I could not bring myself to leave them.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Blue Girl said, scratching the wolf’s jaw.

  Nastasha came to me, prodded my nose with hers. “You guided me here.”

  The crow studied us with an amused twinkle in its eye. It hadn’t spoken of Blue Girl in my dream. That blasted fiend had told me I was leading the wolf to her doom, and I’d been too much of a fool to understand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She looked long at me, until I thought a smile appeared in her lupine features. “I forgive you.”

  “It’s time to go,” said the crow. Nastasha nodded and padded towards the open door, stopping at the porch to face us for the last time. Her fur had burned off by then, skin melting, bone showing. She did not make it all the way inside; a gust of wind blew her ashes into the darkness.

  When she was gone, the murmur within my marrow calmed. The pull, however, forced my legs into motion, and it took effort to force them rigid and keep myself standing in place. Blue Girl still regarded the empty space Nastasha had left, but the crow noticed my struggle and said, “Your duty is done. You can go as well.”

  This drew a gasp from Blue Girl and made her wheel about. “Not you, too?” she sniffled.

  “Dear girl, no one loves being alive as much as I,” I said, with a scolding look at the crow.

  “You remember why you had to guide her, yes?” said the crow.

  “That does not mean I belong here.”

  “No,” the crow admitted with a nod, “but—”

  “Stop.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Are you about to tell me my name?”

  The crow nodded again, and I went to the weeping Blue Girl. She knelt to rub my ear, brushed her nose with the side of her palm.

  “Would you like to guess first?” I said.

  “Is it…” Her voice came out creaky. She cleared her throat and furled her brow. “Huntress’ name was Nastasha.”

  “It was.”

  “Then yours might be something closer to mine than one from a fairytale, too.”

  “It might.”

  “Is it… Phillip?”

  “It is not.”

  “Is it Henry?”

  “One more try.”

  She sucked on her lip, brows knitted, inspecting me as though trying to see it hidden somewhere on my face. “Is it Ichabod?”

  The tiniest grunt fled a chest gone perfectly rigid. I was flushed with memories, how I had tried to plead the wolf to spare me—because, with a full stomach, I was unable to escape her.

  I forced on a smile, straining muscles that weren’t meant to move in such a way. “See? I knew you’d guess it eventually.”

  “Ichabod,” she whispered, wiping her eye. “Ichabod, Ichabod, Ichabod.”

  I licked her fingers before facing the crow. “Do I have to go? She would be all alone.”

  “You’ve atoned,” he said. “It’s your choice, but you know you don’t belong here.”

  “Atoned?” said Blue Girl.

  “We are beasts,” I answered, “and beasts are cruel to one another.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

  “Why are you so quick to believe the best of us, when you don’t see the good in yourself?”

  She licked her lower lip, straightened herself. “Crow,” she said. “When I named him in my thoughts, I could hear him speak. When I learned his true name, I saw the bite marks on his throat. If he knew mine, could he see me as I do?”

  The crow nodded. Unease tickled my neck, as though a wraith petted me where Blue Girl had a minute ago.

  “Dear Ichabod,” she said, sitting on her knees. “My name is not Blue Girl. It is Evelyn.”

  Between blinks, Blue Girl grew from a sweet little creature into a woman so beautiful I thought her radiance might blind me. I gasped for breath, unable to move my gaze from this sun with a hand resting on my ear. Her voice had deepened, each phrase flowing like a song.

  “Charnel House was my home,” Evelyn said, “before we befouled it, my family and I, with our desire to become everlasting. We ate the shine of the sun and it turned into a pale remembrance of itself. We drained the earth of verve to enhance our own. We stole the lives of creatures to stretch mortality into eternity. And I, I am the worst of us all.”

  “Why?” I said, though I didn’t want to hear the answer. I wanted to hear her voice again, heart aching from being deprived of it for only a pause.

  “I am a kinslayer,” she said, calmly, as though stating any mundane fact. “My family became the death of a planet, but I became the Death of Deaths and took from them their shine and verve and long lives
to reach true immortality. When I left to enjoy my newfound godhood, I learned its price. In my desperation to find something still alive, I wandered so far I could no longer find my way home.” She closed her eyes, shuddered a sigh. “I lost my way for countless lifetimes, but wherever I went, I found nothing but ruin. Sometimes, I came across animals who had survived—though I now suspect they all were like you and Nastasha, tied too closely to this world for me to devour. After I had let them eat, I woke up alone. None of them were as devoted to living for the sake of living as you, I reckon.”

  She trailed off into a hum, scratching the good spot. Her touch sent shivers through my body. “I thought I’d have to live alone until I met you,” she went on, quieter. “I’m glad we did meet, though neither of us got what we wanted. It seems that, in the end, I stole what was dearest even from you.”

  “I don’t believe you. You are my friend. If you had the powers you claim, you would have used them for good.”

  “If you were a cruel beast,” she said, and her smile eviscerated me in a way it hadn’t come close to before, “why do you cling onto the good in me?”

  “I couldn’t go to my demise knowing you, too, were a wicked creature.”

  Her hum turned inquisitive. “Ichabod, I’ve confessed to you because I want you to go to your demise without burdens.”

  I pricked my ears at that.

  “I sought to die here because I was weak and lonely, and afraid you’d leave me like all the rest,” she went on. “Now that I know I cannot do that, I have something else in mind. I will walk the earth and return everything I took. I will give away my shine so that stars may glow at night. I will let rivers run wild and unrestrained. And,” she tapped my nose, “I will make sure every forest I raise has a fox as its little prince.”

  “You can do that?” I said with surprise. “Do you promise?”

  She hugged me tight. “It will be difficult, but I swear it on this good heart of mine.”

  “Then,” I said once she let go, “I think it is time I left.”

  “Goodbye, Ichabod. I won’t forget you.”

  “Goodbye, Evelyn. I’ll try not to forget you.”

  I padded towards the house, no longer frightened. At the porch, a ghost of uncertainty crossed my thoughts, and I paused for one last look at her. “Please turn away. I don’t want you to see me change.”