Huntress

by Malinda Lo

  “Three months ago.” The woman’s eyes darted toward Kaede, who said nothing. “He is healthy,” she insisted.

  “Where is your husband?” Taisin asked.

  Tears filled the woman’s eyes, and she began to rub her left arm nervously, as if it were a lucky stone. “He has gone,” she answered, and her voice broke. “He has gone.”

  “Why?” Taisin asked.

  “He—he believes I have betrayed him.” She rubbed her arm more quickly.

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He says the baby is not his.” As she spoke, the baby opened his mouth and wailed. She knelt down and picked him up, rocking him in her arms until he quieted. “But I never betrayed my husband. I was with him every night. This is our baby.” Tears trickled out of her eyes, leaving shining rivulets on her cheeks.

  Taisin walked to the woman and put her hand on the baby’s blanket. “Let me see him.”

  At first the woman clutched her baby closer, but as Taisin waited calmly, she slowly relaxed and allowed Taisin to pull back the blanket. The child looked perfectly normal: a sleeping baby boy, fine new hair in a black cap over his head, a small nose, a bow of a mouth.

  Kaede approached them, unease rising in her. The mother’s eyes were skipping about the room, looking everywhere but at Taisin or her son. The boy let out a small coo as he awoke, reaching for Taisin’s hand. He wrapped his little fingers around her thumb and tugged. Taisin’s eyes widened; a shudder went through her.

  “What is it?” Kaede asked. This did not feel right.

  “How wondrous,” Taisin breathed. The baby’s eyes were black as coal, without a glint of light in them. They were unnatural.

  “Taisin,” Kaede said warningly. She could see the boy’s eyes now, and a knot of horror clenched in her belly. No human had eyes like that.

  “It’s all right,” Taisin said, but Kaede didn’t know if she was talking to the baby, his mother, or herself. Taisin seemed entranced by him.

  He let go of her thumb and reached up with chubby fists, trying to grab the strands of Taisin’s hair that had come loose from her braids. She leaned closer, and the medallion that Sister Ailan had entrusted her with tumbled out over the collar of her tunic, as if it had been pulled. It was shiny and bright, and the stone was like a magnet to the child’s hands. When he touched it, he and his mother and Taisin shone for an instant as long as one blink—and then Taisin was clutching at the child’s fists, which were firmly clasped around the medallion.

  “Let go,” Taisin hissed, and the child would not obey. There was an eerie smile on his face as if he were mocking her, his black eyes wide and staring.

  “What are you doing to him?” the mother demanded, trying to back away, but he would not let go of the medallion, and it tethered the both of them to Taisin.

  “Let go!”

  “He doesn’t understand you. He’s only a baby!” the mother pleaded.

  “He understands,” Taisin said, and the baby’s mouth yawned open in a soundless cry.

  Kaede wanted to intervene, but she didn’t know what to do. Panic raced through her frozen body.

  Taisin put her hands on the baby’s forehead and said, “Reveal your true spirit—I command you to come forth!” The baby let out a growl, raising the hairs on Kaede’s neck.

  The child strained toward Taisin while his mother tried to pull him back, and it was almost as though he was suspended in the air between the two of them. Kaede wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her, for he seemed to be lengthening. Taisin said again, her voice harsh and deep, “Reveal your true spirit! I command you to come forth.”

  And then the child began to change. His hands were growing, his head was enlarging, and where baby fuzz had once covered a pale new scalp, now long tentacles were emerging. Parts of his body were dissolving into mist and then re-forming into a greater thing: a creature made of scales and feathers both, as if it could not decide exactly what kind of being it should be. Its hands were still pulling on the medallion around Taisin’s neck, and the woman was still trying to hold this creature that had moments before been her baby but was now kicking back at her with clawed feet that tore gashes into her arms. Blood erupted on the woman’s skin, and the creature screamed, fury distorting its face.

  Kaede was rooted to the spot, stunned by what was happening in front of her. She felt useless; her limbs would not obey her. She saw the creature’s taloned hands stretch toward Taisin’s throat. Kaede realized that it was going to rip that medallion from Taisin’s neck, and her neck would come with it. Instinctually, Kaede felt for the dagger that Fin had given her. The touch of the iron hilt seemed to unstick her feet from the floor at last, and she moved through what felt like thick mud toward the monstrous child.

  The woman was clinging to the thing that had erupted from her baby; she was screaming at Taisin; Taisin was still trying to pull the medallion out of the creature’s hands; and Kaede took the last few steps, her muscles straining against unseen weights, and plunged the iron into the monster’s chest.

  After the viscous density of the air, there was little resistance; it was suddenly like carving through fog or mist. But the monster felt it. It turned its horrible black eyes toward her, and for a moment, Kaede lost her breath looking into those bottomless depths. They were as dark as a thousand starless midnights, and she was dragged down with despair; she was sure that she would sink so far into the earth that her body would be crushed at any moment by the mass of the world above it.

  And then she felt something give. Warmth seeped over her skin, and time sped up again with a great whoosh like a blast of winter wind, and the monster shriveled up until there, in the woman’s bloody arms, was a baby with an iron knife protruding from its still belly.

  Along the side of the baby’s face was an iridescent fringe of feathers, grown out of its skin like a strange mane, the only sign that it had ever been anything other than a plump little boy.

  Chapter XII

  The woman collapsed onto the floor, and the lifeless creature rolled out of her arms, leaving a glistening crimson trail down the front of her dress.

  Taisin’s body hummed with a jumble of emotions—awe at witnessing the child’s frightening transformation; terror that it was going to kill her. But Kaede had saved her. She was alive. And then the full force of what had just happened—what she had barely avoided—swept through her.

  She sank to her knees, taking a deep, ragged breath. She was as cold as if she had been submerged in icy water. She wrapped her arms around herself; she was shaking. She became gradually aware of the heart-wrenching sound of the mother’s sobs: She was crying. And Kaede stood as still as stone, her face ashen, her right hand streaked with the creature’s blood.

  Taisin pushed herself up; her knees wobbled. She touched Kaede’s arm. “Kaede, it’s over.”

  Kaede’s dazed eyes flickered to Taisin. As if she were coming awake after a disorienting dream, awareness flooded into her. She saw Taisin’s face, drained of color; her dark, anxious eyes. Taisin could have been killed. Kaede reached for her, cupping Taisin’s face in her hands, pulling her closer as her thumbs pressed into Taisin’s cheeks. “Are you all right?” she asked urgently.

  Taken aback, Taisin said, “Yes.”

  “It didn’t hurt you?”

  “No.”

  Kaede’s face was tight with worry, and Taisin realized that the worry was for her. All at once, she wasn’t cold anymore. She backed away, flustered, and Kaede’s hand left a smear of red on her left cheek.

  They heard a voice behind them: “What’s going on?”

  They spun around to see Con standing in the open doorway.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, taking in the sight of Taisin and Kaede, the queer little body on the floor, the keening mother.

  Taisin swallowed; she tried to gather herself together. The strange pull she had felt before was gone. Had the child been the source of it? Had it called to her? And what was that creature? She had certainly n
ever heard of anything like it at the Academy, and her lack of knowledge frightened her.

  She saw Con still watching her, waiting for an answer. “The child that we have been hearing about—it was not human,” she said. Her voice was steadier than she expected it would be. “We must destroy it.” Saying the words turned the horror into a task, an assignment.

  “Why?” Kaede asked. She still felt a bit muddled, and seeing the iron dagger still protruding from the creature’s belly made her shudder. She went to it and pulled the dagger out. The blood was bright on the blade, and it made her stomach clench. She could have thrown the weapon into the fire, never to see it again, but Taisin came to her side and held out a torn rag.

  “Use this,” Taisin said. Kaede hesitated, but finally took the rag and ran it over the edge of the blade. The blood came off in long dark streaks. Taisin knelt down beside the tiny body. The eyes were still open, reflecting the firelight with an eerie liveliness. She shivered. “We must burn the body.”

  “Can’t we just bury it?” Kaede asked.

  “I don’t know what kind of magic created it. Burial will only allow it to take root and spring up again.”

  Kaede imagined tiny, gnarled fingers reaching up through the soil like a strange new plant. “Fire, then,” she agreed quickly. “Where?”

  They wrapped the body in a canvas cloth that had been discarded in the corner, and Kaede tucked the bloodied rag inside. The mother lay like a broken doll on the floor, paying no attention to them. Con saw Kaede’s worried expression and said, “We won’t leave her alone; I’ll tell the innkeeper about her.”

  Behind the woman’s small house there was a bare dirt yard, and in the light of the lantern that Con held, they found the woodshed. He helped Kaede assemble the funeral pyre, and then they laid the small, wrapped body on top of it. It was light as a feather.

  Kaede had taken flint from inside the house and was about to light the fire when Taisin said, “Wait. Let me bind the body to the earth first.” She went back inside and returned a few minutes later carrying a saltcellar.

  Con saw her fingers tremble as she fumbled with the coarse white grains. “Have you done this before?” he asked, not unkindly.

  She wouldn’t let herself look at him; she didn’t want to see the doubt that must be in his eyes. “I know how it is done,” she said. At the Academy she had learned about the appropriate rituals for a funeral, but only from books. And her knowledge of binding a malevolent being to the earth was entirely theoretical; she had never before encountered such a creature. She began to circle the funeral pyre three times clockwise, trying to quell the apprehension bubbling inside her. She didn’t want to think about what could go wrong if she performed this ritual incorrectly.

  She sprinkled the salt on the earth; she breathed deep into her belly. The night smelled of dampness, mud, and smoke from the small house’s chimney. She halted at the head of the shrouded body, completing her three circles, and set the saltcellar down on the ground at her feet. She folded her hands together just below her breastbone and felt the rapid thrumming of her pulse, her whole body taut with nerves. She tried to slow down her breathing, to calm herself, but her voice still shook a little as she said, “As earth calls to earth, we bind you here: May you rest in peace and disturb us no more.” She repeated it twice, then stepped back and said to Kaede, “You can light the fire.”

  The wood was slightly damp from the rain, and Kaede had to kneel down to blow on the spark until the kindling caught fire. Ever since she was a child, she loved to watch the flames dance; she and her brothers would build giant bonfires on the beach outside Seatown in the summer, adding driftwood until the fire roared like a dragon. But as these flames licked at the shrouded body, it turned her stomach to see it eat away the cloth. When the creature’s skin began to catch fire, she turned away, pressing her hand over her nose to block out the smell. She felt a deep pain within her. Even if that creature had been a monster when she killed it, she had still killed it. The knowledge of it was oppressive; her heart felt like iron.

  It was past midnight before the fire consumed all the remains. Taisin’s eyes stung from the heat, and she felt weak, exhausted—as though something wild had been dragged through her body. “When the ashes have cooled, we’ll have to bury them,” she said.

  “I’ll stay,” Con said. He saw the weariness on Taisin’s face and the dull remains of shock on Kaede’s. “You’re both worn out. You should go back to the hostel and sleep if you can.”

  “Are you sure?” Taisin asked.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.”

  Kaede rubbed at her eyes and asked, “What about the mother?” They hadn’t heard her crying in some time.

  “I’ll bring her back with me if I can,” Con said. “Just go back with Taisin. You look as if—well, you need some rest.”

  Kaede blinked. Her eyelashes felt clogged with smoke. “How did you know where to find us, Con?”

  He seemed surprised by her question. “I noticed when you didn’t come upstairs—I promised your father I’d look out for you. So I asked the innkeeper if he knew where you’d gone, and he told me.”

  Taisin touch Kaede’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Con’s brown eyes reflected the embers of the funeral pyre. He nodded at her gently. “You should go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Kaede and Taisin walked back to the hostel in the dark, having forgotten to bring the lantern with them. Kaede felt confused and tired; she felt guilty. Whenever the dagger at her side brushed against her thigh, it sent a shock through her.

  She was startled when Taisin spoke, her voice only slightly louder than the sound of their footsteps on the dusty road. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” Kaede was overcome by a wave of despondency. If the night were not so black already, she would have closed her eyes to block out any light. The smell of the funeral pyre seemed to be burned into her nostrils.

  “Kaede, you did the right thing—you did the only thing you could.”

  She knew that Taisin was trying to comfort her, but it only made her feel worse. “Let’s just go back. I’m tired.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Kaede could not fall asleep. The bed was hard and cold, and she missed the sound of Shae and Taisin breathing nearby. All she could see, over and over in her mind’s eye, was the hilt of her iron dagger protruding from the still form of that creature. It looked disturbingly like a human baby. She wondered if she would be haunted by that image forever.

  After what seemed like hours, she threw off her blankets and packed up her bedroll, dressing quickly. She went downstairs and out to the stable. It was still dark. She rifled through the wagon until she found Pol’s bow, taking it out to the courtyard. She nocked an arrow and let it fly at the wooden hitching post.

  She missed.

  It made her angry. Her skin flushed at her own incompetence. What good was she? She would never be a sage, and she had no other skills. Why was she even trying to shoot a bow? Did she actually expect to become a guard like Pol or Tali or Shae? Her father would never allow it. And she couldn’t even kill a monster—a monster, she told herself—without feeling like a monster herself.

  She jerked the iron dagger out of its sheath at her waist and threw it savagely at the post, but as soon as it left her hand, she knew it was a bad throw. She heard it clanging to the ground beyond the post. She let out a frustrated groan and stalked across the dirt yard to retrieve it. Her knees shook when she squatted down to pick it up. Her whole body was worn out, but she was too tightly wound to rest. She shoved the dagger into its sheath and went back to the bow.

  When she had shot all the arrows, she went to where they lay and picked them up, stuffing them back into the quiver. Then she returned to where she had been standing at the opposite side of the courtyard and raised the bow again. She couldn’t keep feeling this way. It would drive her mad. She breathed in, trying to loosen the kn
ot of frustration and self-loathing inside herself.

  The arrow’s feathers brushed against her gloved hand as she pulled back on the string. She told herself that the only thing in the world was this arrow. There was no stable yard; there was no village of Ento; there was no Kaede, even. Everything melted away like fog in sunlight. She was riding on the sharp point of the arrowhead itself; she was flying through the predawn stillness.

  The thud as it struck the hitching post surprised her.

  She pulled another arrow, and another, and sent them all, more or less, into the post. Some shivered a bit before tumbling down, not having been sent with enough force. When she saw one fall, she pulled back harder on the next one. She felt emptied of everything; she only existed to hold the bow and to ready the arrow for its task.

  She did this repeatedly until the sky brightened into gray. She did it until her shoulders and arms were aching and her eyes stung from staring so fixedly at the target. She did it until the gate to the stable yard opened behind her and she heard Con’s voice say, “You’re getting pretty good at that.”

  She turned to look at him, and it all came back to her: the woman, the child, the dagger in its belly. “My father asked you to look out for me,” she said.

  He was taken aback by the sharpness in her tone. “Yes. And your mother. And your brothers.”

  “They think I’m incapable of taking care of myself,” she said bitterly. “They must think I’m a child.” Her arms burned from holding the string taut, and the bow that had felt so light moments before now became heavy in her hands.

  He frowned, shaking his head. “That’s not it. They want you to be safe.”

  She looked down at the ground. The numbness inside her was being pushed away by hot emotion: resentment at her father, a sudden ache for her family—she missed them, she realized. There was a sludgy black sadness at the bottom of it all. She yearned for the clarity, the nothingness that had flooded her when she was shooting. She tried to draw some memory of that into her now, to smooth away the rawness. She remembered the creature’s human mother. She asked: “What happened to the mother?”