The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

If he flies, you won’t be able to keep up.

  He’s doing it for your sake.

  Possessed by the conviction that she was supposed to follow, Miya ambled after the hopping raven, forgetting all prior resolve to keep track of landmarks and stay close to the cabin. But she was content to be lost if it would untangle some of the knots inside her. Bereft of reason, she wandered after her whim, spurred by a sudden revelation.

  Fables unveiled something truly magical at work in the world, persuading Miya she didn’t have to despair that life appeared as a series of milestones along a pre-determined path—high school, university, job, marriage, family, retirement. She hadn’t achieved many of those milestones, but she had stepped into another realm, been touched by spirits, and come face-to-face with a monster. She’d seen first-hand how those spirits and monsters had a footing in a world supposedly ruled by irrefutable laws. Miya finally understood that fables were not merely stories inscribed on the pages of reality. They were a storm that ripped those pages from their binding and re-wrote the world from scratch.

  32

  Kai

  The only thing worse than a bad hangover was a follow-up visit from hell’s most deranged spirit.

  Fuck this shit.

  Kai stomped through the woods, kicking dead branches as he went.

  Fuck everything.

  He looked up to see a squirrel in a tree, ignoring his presence as it nibbled contently on an acorn.

  And fuck that squirrel in particular.

  Kai was annoyed the rodent didn’t seem to notice him—or at least didn’t care that he was nearby. He felt out of control—disoriented not just by the haunting, but by the presence of others around him when it happened. Her presence, specifically.

  She saved you.

  He could barely admit it to himself, barely register that he was angry about it. And he was angry that he was angry about it. What’s so bad about being saved, he kept asking himself, trying to beat away the shame he felt for needing help.

  The wolf saved by the lamb. What a joke.

  Kai never needed saving. After Alice, he took the only thing she’d left him—her surname—and ran away to Black Hollow. He was only sixteen, but that was old enough to get by without help. He didn’t have to hide who he truly was any longer. Not that Alice would have ever found out; his ability to change had been repressed since he was ten years old—since that night in the woods when Alice first found him, starving and covered in blood that wasn’t his. But the trauma of losing her—well, that seemed to kick things in reverse. All the anger and pain he’d shoved down after she died erupted in one bone-shattering transition that hurt worse than a rusty pole up the ass. It brought him back, forcing him to reconnect with the animal. And since then, he’d been bursting like Old Faithful.

  Kai clenched his teeth and growled menacingly at the unsuspecting squirrel. He felt a tingle in his fingertips, moving up his arms and into his back. By the time it reached his neck, it had deepened into a slow burn that crawled over his scalp. He knew it was coming; it always started like this.

  He slackened his jaw, aware that it would involuntarily tense a moment later. His canines elongated as his joints locked, throwing him off balance. Every vertebra in his spine broke, muscles seizing and tendons stretching beyond their natural range. His body fought to maintain its human shape—but that didn’t last long. Kai clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t scream and bit into his gums, the iron-taste of blood washing over his tongue. His lower back bulged outward then snapped, forcing him to the ground where his knees broke. They were trying to become ankles for his hind legs.

  Every inch of him burned and itched as coarse, black fur sprouted from his flesh. He tried digging his fingers into the dirt to grab hold of something—anything—but his body wouldn’t permit even small mercies. His fingers curled in on themselves and fused into stubs. His nails narrowed, thickened, and curved into blunt claws. When the pain became too much, he finally gave in—the wretched cry of a man twisting into a helpless whine.

  Sometimes his jaw didn’t morph as quickly as his tongue, leaving him choking as it expanded into the back of his throat. His tailbone was always the last to go. It grew pointy, prodding him from the inside before the bones pushed their way out of his body. Several agonizing minutes passed before the flesh grew back and the fur colonized his skin.

  Kai lay on the forest floor until breathing grew easier. When he felt steady, he rolled onto his stomach and sat up on his haunches. Whenever he turned into a wolf, the first thing he felt after the vertigo subsided was a deep, ravenous hunger. He wanted to hunt, and he wanted to eat. His every fibre twitched with predatory instinct as sounds and smells invaded him. The squirrel on the tree was no longer of interest, nor was the hare hiding in the bushes several yards to his left. No, he wanted something bigger. He wanted a challenge.

  For that, he’d have to go deeper into the woods. Standing on all fours and shaking out his tail, Kai began to stalk, his lips pulling back and his tongue flopping lazily against his jaw. He heard the hare scurry away when he got close but ignored the urge to chase it.

  He could smell something far more enticing over the slope ahead.

  33

  When Kai came to, he was face down in the earth, naked and covered in grime. Nothing felt weirder than mud stuck between the cockles of his balls and cold wind scraping against his ass. As he rolled over and opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were the nimble branches of the towering willow, swaying gently above him. It did little to put him at ease. His whole body felt like it had been mauled by a truck—twice.

  Sitting up, he looked himself over, the blood on his arms reminding him he’d been roaming the woods hunting. To the right was a brown mass—a small deer—freshly killed with a grisly trail of blood and entrails tying Kai to the crime scene.

  The morning air was colder than usual against his flesh, and, as always, he had no idea where the fuck his clothes were. Feeling like a thousand pounds of lead, he slowly stood to his feet and grimaced. The shame was as stubborn as the bloodstains.

  “Get a grip,” he growled. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let the balm of the forest wash over him. He caught the trickle of a familiar scent followed closely by a shrill cry. His stomach twisted.

  “No, no, no,” he muttered through clenched teeth, stepping around a shrub and making a sharp turn towards the intruder.

  Crouching in the leaves was the damn sheep, with the raven creeping from the branches above. No doubt he’d led her to him; she wouldn’t have wandered this deep into the woods otherwise. She’d gathered his clothes after following them like a trail of breadcrumbs. His pants and shirt hung over her arm while she held his hunting knife in hand. When she finally noticed him, the colour rose to her cheeks as she tried keeping her gaze above his waistline. Neither of them spoke as they glared at one another in poorly-veiled hostility.

  His eyes travelled to the hunting knife, then back to her face. “That’s mine.”

  She stood up and whipped the clothes at him. He made no attempt to catch them, ignoring the heap as it flopped to the ground.

  “You’re an asshole,” she hissed, still holding his knife hostage.

  He raised an eyebrow, then bent over to retrieve his clothes. He’d been called far worse for far less.

  “Stop that,” she ordered.

  He glanced up, dusting his pants off. “Stop what?”

  “Stop dismissing me.”

  He snorted. “I don’t care if you feel dismissed.”

  Kai could feel the tension in her body as she marched up to him and shoved him with all her strength. “I care!” she yelled. “You have no idea what kind of hell I just went through—your hell!”

  He stumbled back, surprised by how strong she was—and angry. But like an animal under attack, his eyes flashed, and he took a step forward, throwing the clothes to the ground as he roared in her face. “I don’t want you in my head!”

  For a moment, she recoiled. Good, he though
t. She should have been more afraid—but his relief was short-lived.

  “Don’t want me in your head?” she echoed incredulously, gathering her wits. “I was in your head because you needed help!”

  Fuck her rational thinking. “I didn’t ask for your help, so stay out,” he seethed, then pointed towards the carcass. “Or is that what you want?” He threw his hands up for her to see the bloodstains.

  She glanced over at the deer, paling at the sight of it. He heard her stomach flip, her throat tightening as she forced down nausea and scanned his bloodied figure.

  “Quit chasing me,” he warned. “Even if this was a fairy tale, you know exactly what I’d be.”

  “But you came back for me, you dimwit!” she retorted. “You pulled me into the woods with you!”

  He silenced her by closing the gap between them in one menacing stride. Her heart seized in her chest as he glowered down at her. She clenched her jaw, trying defiantly to hide her fear, but the predator in him could smell the urge to flee rising in her chest like a bird fighting to break free from a cage. Lifting his hand slowly enough so she wouldn’t flinch, he stroked his thumb across her cheek, smearing the blood from his fingertips over her skin. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear, whispering darkly, “I’m a wolf in sheep’s skin, Miya, and you’ve mistaken me for part of your flock.”

  She tried to snatch the air back into her lungs with a sharp gasp. Feeling smug, he was ready to let her run away sobbing—until he realized that she was neither running nor sobbing. To his horror, her shell was cracking, hatching a teething, newborn lioness with a bad temper.

  “So what?” she bit back, touching her nose to his. He snarled, baring his teeth, though it failed to deter her. “You wanna be the Big Bad Wolf? Fine!” Drawing his hunting knife, she pressed the tip of the blade to his jaw. “Just don’t be surprised if the lamb shish-kebobs the wolf in this fairy tale.”

  Shoving the hilt of the knife against his chest and whipping the sheath at his foot, she spun on her heels and stomped off, leaving him to boil like a potato in the stew of his own rage. “And put some damn clothes on. We’ve got to get back, and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “Who’s wearing the fucking sheep’s skin here?” he cursed under his breath, hopping after her as he pulled his pants on and threw the shirt over his shoulder.

  But the wind howled in protest, and the willow rustled as though calling after them. Kai glanced over his shoulder, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Noticing the tree for the first time, Miya too turned and stared up in awe.

  “Wait—isn’t that—”

  Her words were drowned out by a deafening gale. The air felt heavy, the whistling breeze a call to something long forgotten. Kai’s gaze remained fixed, his body fraught. He was overcome with a sudden, inexplicable fear of dying, right there beneath that damn willow. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t understand it. All he knew was that his terror ran bone-deep and that he wanted to run straight to the woman he’d been trying to chase away.

  Slowly, he turned to Miya and offered her his hand.

  34

  Miya

  Miya wasn’t sure if this was the past, the present, or the future. It was like being suspended in time—locked in a liminal space. It might have been a premonition or a memory, a dream, or reality.

  She stared at Kai’s hand, wondering if he’d pull her towards the tree. The willow’s wispy canopy seemed like shelter, gathering her up in its embrace and telling her not to be afraid.

  She reached out and took Kai’s hand. It was warm, his grip firm as he curled his fingers around hers. Without a word, he tugged her from the glade.

  They ran back hand-in-hand, Kai stopping every few paces to look around like he was scouting for danger. Exhausted after their sparring match, Miya didn’t protest as he led the way.

  Ama was waiting inside the cabin when they returned, drumming her fingers against the table she was seated at. She raised both her eyebrows as they dragged themselves in.

  “Have you two made up?”

  “Piss off,” barked Kai, dropping Miya’s hand.

  Miya couldn’t remember when she last ate or slept, and she still didn’t know how much time had passed. It was unsettling—being unaware of her own bodily needs.

  “Are we going to talk about what happened, or am I no longer needed here?” Ama asked while Miya stared after Kai. He moved towards the table and placed his hands on the backrest of the chair opposite Ama.

  “Lambchop?” His eyes were still fixed on Ama as he spoke. Knowing he was inviting her into their circle, Miya shuffled over and sat down. His fingertips brushed her shoulders.

  “Tell me what you saw,” said Ama.

  Miya swallowed, willing herself back—to the desert, the corpses, and finally—

  “A shadow.” It was the first thing out of her mouth. “He was standing on top of a hill, covered in blood. I remember when he turned, he had yellow eyes,” she directed the statement at Ama, “but not like yours. They were different. Colder.”

  Ama laughed, the sound sweet and light like the chime of a beckoning bell. “Did you think it was me?”

  Miya shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t you. Eventually, it changed form. It looked human.” She hesitated, repainting the face in her mind. “The eyes stayed the same, but—”

  “Did he look like me?” Kai’s voice dipped, quiet and guilt-ridden. He squeezed her shoulder, drawing her attention to him.

  She leaned her head back and gazed up at him. “How’d you know that?”

  “I’ve seen him before,” he admitted.

  “Maybe he’s messing with you?” Miya reached up and poked his jaw when his eyes began to wander. “He can obviously shape-shift.”

  “But he’s been consistent with his appearance,” Ama interrupted. “A shadow, and a man who looks like Kai. Both with the same eyes.”

  Kai squinted suspiciously at Ama. “I never saw a shadow. Where else did you get that from?”

  She looked between Kai and Miya. “You two aren’t the only ones who’ve encountered this entity. But that’s not important right now. Was there anything else?”

  Miya was irked by her evasions, but she wracked her brain nevertheless. “He knows me,” she trailed off, rubbing her face. The memories were already fading. “He told me that we’ve met before. And he seemed to want to hurt me.”

  “How can he know you?” Kai let go of the chair and paced the room. He looked an eye-twitch away from murder, stalking back and forth at a dizzying pace. “He’s been with me since I was a kid. He can’t know you.”

  “He called himself my king of spades,” Miya recalled. “Not too long ago, that card fell out of my playing deck. I saw it again at the diner. Maybe it’s no coincidence. Maybe he does know me.”

  “Perhaps not from this life,” Ama said, her eyes downcast as she traced a circular pattern on the surface of the table. “What you’re dealing with is no ordinary spirit, from what I can tell. This Abaddon—I don’t think he’s just some ghost who’s lingering because he has a few petty regrets. Besides,” she quirked an eyebrow at Kai, “you may be a menace, but you’re still young. I doubt you’ve done anything bad enough to deserve this. At least not in this lifetime.”

  Kai growled as she scrutinized him. “Why do you keep talking about lifetimes? I’ve only been here for one—”

  “Wait!” Miya slammed her hand down on the table, jolting them both. “He calls himself Abaddon, right? That’s the name of a biblical demon. So that can’t be his real name—” she stopped midsentence, eyes widening as fragments of the journey flitted back to her. “But I already knew that. I called him out, and it weakened him, I think.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t have a single name,” Ama suggested, her finger halting on the table.

  Kai too paused, then resumed pacing. “Who cares what he calls himself?”

  Ama sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ve studied spirits for a long time. Ghosts usually aren’t intellig
ent enough to give themselves names. If a spirit is intelligent, it’s because it belongs to an old soul—one that’s lived many lives. I wonder if Abaddon goes by a biblical name because he is ancient. What if he’s more than just the malicious remnant of one unhappy life, but the amalgamation of countless unhappy lives—all lived by the same spirit?”

  “Amalga—” Kai whirled around. “A what.”

  “A collection,” explained Miya, “a spirit that’s lived a bunch of crappy lives, right?”

  Ama nodded. “And these lives must have ended in tragedy. Despite the constant effort to right past wrongs, this spirit likely repeated the same heartbreaking cycles over and over again throughout his many lives, until he became a monster.”

  “But if there is such a thing as reincarnation, why wasn’t he reborn?” Miya challenged. “How does a spirit just stop the cycle?”

  “Something fuelled only by the desire to destroy inevitably loses its desire to live,” she explained. “If wilful enough, a spirit can become a force capable of resisting reincarnation. It sustains itself by haunting the person it blames most for its misery.” She peered up at Kai, her amber eyes glowing as a shadow passed over from outside. “You.”

  Kai halted his patrol, the words percolating between his ears as his face twisted through an entire range of emotions. Shifting his weight, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “So...he’s a cocktail of shit?”

  Ama chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

  “And here I thought I’d pissed off enough people in this lifetime.” Kai dropped his arms, looking skyward like he was mentally combing through a list of people he’d wronged.

  “Whatever this grudge is, it runs deep,” Ama told him. “It’s probably something that’s been repeating for several lifetimes, if not more.”

  Kai squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “All right, fuck all of this for now.” He spun around and headed to the bathroom. “I need a shower.”