“Help!” Amelia said, struggling. It was the first time she sounded really panicked.
The spider crawled up her back and positioned its fangs over the back of her head.
And then…
I stood over the spider’s remains. Five of its legs were torn off, the enormous abdomen had been smashed so that its green-yellow pulp soaked everything, and the fangs trembled as they impotently squeezed out their last drops of venom. The three remaining legs curled up to the body.
I let my sword drop to the ground. My vision was bright red around the edges.
“Holy shit,” Amelia gasped as she extricated herself from the webbing. “I mean…no, I’ll stick with, ‘holy shit.’”
I knew what had happened. A human had been threatened, and my Reaper nature had taken over. Not even this supposed god could withstand that.
I turned toward Amelia. At the sight of her still holding the stick defensively, the fury tried to return. Kill her. She’s a threat. Wipe your face with her blood. Drink her last breath… This was my Demon nature, the thing Adonis, Eldrid, and even Andre were afraid of.
I imagined her shredded by my sword, decapitated, disemboweled, all the horrible things I knew a Demon could do to an impossibly fragile human body. I could almost taste her blood, smell her entrails, see the glassy film over her dead eyes. It would take so little effort and feel so good…
I choked it down and asked, “Are you all right?” My voice still had the low, Demonic growl of battle, and it made Amelia jump.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Good,” I rumbled.
“That was…how did you…where did you learn to do that?”
I smiled. From the look on Amelia’s face, I could tell that only made things worse. “It caught me in a bad mood.”
“Remind me to bring you flowers every day then.” Her voice changed. “Wow, you’re really hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice sounded weird. Not Demon weird but thick and gummy. I put my hand to my face and felt a batch of the spider’s quill-hair protruding from my cheek. There was also a flap of skin where I’d bitten my sword. “It looks worse than it is.”
She tore a strip from her gown. “Here, let me at least bind up that cut.”
She meant the huge slash across my thigh. It was so deep, I could see the muscles where they’d been split. Blood pulsed out with each heartbeat, but the healing itch had already started. There was no way out of explaining it now, so I started to say, “Don’t worry; I’m a Reaper. I heal very quickly.”
I only got as far as “I’m.” The venom, which I’d forgotten about, finally took hold. A searing jolt went through my brain, and I fell to the ground. The last thing I saw was Amelia’s concerned face over me. She’s worried about me. A human, concerned about a Reaper. Just like the boy who…
And then I was out.
#
In a Reaper’s healing trance, our brains don’t entirely shut down. Rather, they go off into a dreamtime uniquely our own. Humans dream of abstract and wondrous things, I’m told. Reapers dream of lessons still unlearned.
I looked up at my mother. I was tiny then, and I adored her the way only a child adores a parent. I would probably have adored her even if we weren’t related though. She had the kind of beautiful, open, kind face that made people adore her. She had red hair, darker than mine, and a high forehead that spoke of intelligence. Her mouth was full and always in motion, even when she wasn’t speaking. She’d shift from smile to frown to ironic crinkle to goofy taunt without pause. It made watching her face the most entertaining thing a child could do.
Her hand, wrapped around my own, was strong. Even with the burns and stains from her potions, it felt like the touch of kindness itself. She would caress my cheek or brush my own bright red hair back from my face or tickle me until I almost peed. I knew that her hands were the touch of unconditional love.
On this day, I held onto her hand as we strode through the woods. I knew the forest around our cottage well, but I’d never been here before. Still, if Mom was with me, I had no fear at all.
And then we came into a clearing, where a man waited for us.
At least, I thought he was a man at the time. He had bright white hair, a bleached-bone-white face, and little ridges above his eyes where people didn’t. He dressed all in black and held a bottle of some red liquid. I had the instinctive fear and mistrust that only a child can feel and clutched my mother’s hand with both of mine.
“Don’t be scared,” my mother said. “Aella, I want you to meet your father.” At five years old, I didn’t even know what a father was.
Ganesh smiled. It was not a true smile but a mimicry of one. A non-human being trying to pass as something human. He failed at it.
And I snapped awake.
#
Amelia looked down at me, concerned. “Wow. You’re alive.”
“Yes,” I croaked. It felt like branding irons pressed against my shoulder, and the pain radiated down to my toes. I couldn’t unclench my jaw, it hurt so much. “But…ow.”
“How?”
“No, ‘ow,’ as in, ‘ow, this hurts like a squirrel.’”
“Does a squirrel hurt?”
“If it’s thrown at you hard enough.”
She slid an arm under me and tried to lift me to my feet. The results were rather comical. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” With her help, I got up, wobbly but mobile.
“Come on, we’ll get you to my village.”
“Do you have a healer?”
“I have a mom. That’s even better. And she owes me big time for letting them try to feed me to a giant spider.”
I was able to walk thanks to the kind of resolve that’s second nature to a Reaper. When necessary, we can fixate on one activity almost until we’re hacked to pieces, like an army ant. I still had to lean on Amelia for support though.
The trail we followed was wide and often used if the bare soil was any indication. It followed the contours of the land the way old paths did. The trees on either side were thick and heavily tangled, forests that were saplings when the world itself was young.
We passed an upright stone slab with carvings on it. Around its base were fresh flowers and a collection of little trinkets. I wobbled to a stop and asked, “What’s this?”
“One of the Pillars of Lurida Lumo,” Amelia said. “This is the pilgrim trail from our village to the cave, and these mark events in the story of Rowena, the first sacrifice.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“To make us remember why we do this. Us being the girls sent to die.”
I remembered some of the overheard conversation. “You weren’t supposed to be the sacrifice.”
“No. Kelinda was; she was excited about it if you can believe that. Weirdo. Unfortunately, a horse kicked her to death yesterday evening, and this morning, the Elders grabbed me out of my bed without even a word of explanation. And my parents did nothing. They just stood there.”
“Sacrifices are…barbarous,” I said. My vision began to blur.
“I won’t argue,” she agreed. Then she grunted as my knees began to wobble and I got a whole lot heavier.
“You know what else?” I said.
“No, what?”
“I don’t think I can walk any farther.” And, as good as my word, I was out cold before my knees hit the ground, followed by the rest of me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I awoke on a low bed. It was much bigger than mine and meant, I realized, for two people. Above me stretched bare, wooden rafters and beyond that a thatched roof. Sunlight came from the side, through a window hung with a simple cloth curtain. I smelled flowers and simmering vegetables.
I didn’t move. No one else was in the room, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a guard nearby. If I was a prisoner, I needed to let them think I was still unconscious. When you are in the enemy’s power, always play weaker than you are.
I heard voices not from the room
, but definitely close. It took a bit of concentration to sort them out, but I quickly discerned a man and a woman if not exactly arguing were at least disagreeing.
“…was I supposed to do, kill her myself?” the woman said.
“No, of course not, but she was spoken for! Linwit said she was chosen to take Kelinda’s place.”
“Linwit has three perfectly acceptable daughters of his own. He didn’t need ours.”
“That’s not the point. You let her go confront the elders on her own.”
“Yes, I did. Because I have to look after the girl that saved her, and I knew that even if you were here, you wouldn’t do it.”
“I’m not a coward, Sela.”
“Yes, you are. When it counts, you are. Like this morning, when you held me back from stopping them from taking her.”
“I was obeying the elders. And Damato was here.”
“So you are afraid of Damato.”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Call it what you will. I saw a man giving up his eldest child to placate a bunch of dried-up old men.”
“You’re a harsh woman, Sela.”
“Yes, I am. I have to be since I’m fasted to you. Now, if you want to make yourself useful, go and at least listen to your daughter, and make sure they don’t try to drag her off again. Do you think you can do that?”
The man muttered something I didn’t catch. Then I heard heavy footsteps followed by a door slamming.
I moved my arms and legs enough to confirm I wasn’t bound to the bed. Then I took a quick mental inventory of my injuries. Leg, healed. Face, healed. Venom damage…not completely healed but enough to spare the energy for consciousness, which is why I was awake. By this time tomorrow, it would be like nothing had happened.
Now, I heard movement outside the room: a woman’s voice humming as she busied herself doing…something. Further away was the murmur of community, a sound I heard every night as I lay alone in my tower. But these weren’t the noises of people going about castle business. The rhythms were slower, and I heard things you’d never hear in a castle: people laughing, children running, happy dogs barking. The bustle in the castle was all business all the time.
Okay, apply logic. I’m in a village. Probably Amelia’s. This is probably Amelia’s house.
I sat up. The spider hairs, pushed from my body by the healing process, lay on the bed around me. Blood from my thigh and shoulder had soaked into the blankets along with the sweat from my recuperation. I blinked, yawned, and then examined the rest of the room. It was simple, rustic, and clean with only a chair and a small table beside the bed for furniture. My sword was propped in the corner, gleaming where it wasn’t coated with dried spider blood. My clothes—
I’m naked.
For the love of all that’s holy, what the hell is it with these humans always trying to take my clothes off? I clutched the sheet, and a rush of shame filled me. The thought of it. The vulnerability. I imagined the disgust as human eyes roamed over my disfigured flesh and protruding bones—the parts Reapers are meant to keep covered. If they’d undressed me, they knew what I was even if they’d never seen one before. No matter how isolated this little village might be, everyone knew about the Reapers and what they looked like. And worse, what they were capable of.
As if Amelia wouldn’t tell them the first chance she got. She had gone to talk to the elders, after all.
On the lone chair lay a neatly-folded girl’s dress. Unless I wanted to parade around for all to see, I’d have to wear that. I hated dresses and not just because they made me think of those god-awful dinners at the castle. They were impractical for fighting. They tangled in your legs and gave your opponent way too many things to grab onto. But when you have no choice, you take what’s in front of you.
I stood, waited for the brief dizziness to pass, then walked over to the dress. As I was about to put it on, an older woman entered. I held it in front of myself.
“No need for modesty, dearie,” she said, wary but kind. She tried to peer around the dress. I held the dress that much tighter. “I undressed you and bathed your wounds although they look almost healed up now.”
“They are,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I’m Sela.”
“Are you Amelia’s mother?”
“I am. I thank you for bringing our daughter back to us alive. And for killing Lurida Lumo.” She began straightening the bed. “Well, these blankets will have to be soaked to get all this blood out.”
“I’m sorry. Be careful with those big hairs. They’ll stick you.”
“Not your fault, dearie.”
As she stripped the bed, I started to pull on the dress, but my bitten shoulder was still sore, and when I tried to raise that arm, I felt the dregs of the poison burning deep in the muscles.
I must’ve gasped aloud because Sela appeared behind me. “Here, dearie, let me help. You don’t want to tear it on your, ahm…pointy bits.”
I felt my face burn red, but I faced away from her so she couldn’t see it. She guided the dress over my head and down my back, pulling it away from my spines.
When it fell into position, I luxuriated in the soft cloth. Reaper clothes were practical, not luxurious, and the gowns I wore to dinner were thin and claustrophobically clingy. This, though…I’d been wrong. A girl could move in this. Maybe not fight, maybe not run, but it made the day-to-day toil of a normal life seem bearable.
Sela turned me to face her. “You look lovely. Well, except for your hair.”
I ran a hand through it. Or rather, I tried. It was tangled and matted from sweat and fighting, and nothing short of a long wash or a shearing would detangle it. “Yeah, no one much likes my hair.”
“Amelia’s hair tangles something fierce too. I’ve got some special lotion that makes it easier to brush. If you’d allow me, I’d be glad to use it on you.”
I narrowed my eyes. I’d been taught that humans weren’t often kind to Reapers without an ulterior motive. The exceptions, like Aaron and Amelia, were rare. Maybe it was just people whose names begin with A. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Sela gave me a look that I imagined she’d given Amelia many times in her life. “Let’s see. You saved my daughter from an awful fate and freed our village from a terrible curse. Seems the least I can do is get some tangles out of your mane.”
I smiled. “Well, since you put it that way…”
“Mommy?” a new voice said.
In the doorway stood two children: a little boy—though it was hard to tell with the long, blond hair that most peasants sport—and a taller girl. The girl was older, with brown curls not unlike Amelia’s, and the blond little boy tightly held her hand while half-hiding behind her full but dirty skirts. She watched me carefully as she said, “The other kids made fun of Hatho. They said he was a baby.”
“He is a baby,” Sela said, not missing a beat with the housework.
“No, I’m a big boy,” Hatho said defiantly although he was still hiding.
Sela put her hands on her hips. “Horva, did you beat up the other kids again?”
“Only that mean old Borsaw. He deserved it.”
“He’s fifteen years old!”
Horva grinned. She had lost two teeth recently. “He cries like he’s Hatho’s age.”
Sela shook her head. “My girls will be the death of me, Aella. You wait and see. Well, Horva, make yourself useful and get the brush and the hair oil.”
Something in my chest felt funny, but it had nothing to do with the injuries. I’d always heard stories of families like this where no matter what the children did, the parents still loved them unconditionally. My admittedly hazy memory of my time with Diah was like that. But now…if I’d done what Horva did, Adonis would’ve had me shoveling manure for a week. Or ordered me whipped. Or publicly shamed me in front of Eldrid, Hildebrande, and the others on the Reaper Council. He would not have simply shaken his head and smiled with the half-pride Sela showed in her offspring.
Sela
pulled the chair into the middle of the room, where the light from the window fell on it, and then brought in a small bottle and a big brush. I sat, and she tilted back my head and poured the oil into my hair. As she worked it in deep, she hummed a tune I almost recognized but couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it relaxed me almost as much as the scalp massage.
I felt eyes on me and saw Horva watching from the door. I smiled and said, “Hello. I’m Aella.”
“You’re a monster, aren’t you?”
“Horva!” Sela snapped. “Aella is our guest, and you will be polite!”
“But she’s got sharp parts like a monster. I saw them. Don’t you?”
She wasn’t afraid or accusing. She just saw me as different, not better or worse. “I’m not a monster,” I said. “I’m a Reaper. Do you know what that is?”
The girl shook her head.
“I fight monsters. Some of the scariest monsters in the world. And because I have to do that, I have to be tougher than regular humans.”
“So that’s why you have spikies? So they can’t swallow you?”
“That’s one reason, yes.”
“Can you make them clack together?”
I laughed. “No, I can’t. But that would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“Can I be a Reaper someday?” Horva asked softly.
“Horva, I’m already at the end of my tether with you. Go pull some extra roots for dinner tonight since we have a guest. And don’t tear your dress!”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, and when Sela looked away, Horva stuck out her tongue. She gave me a conspiratorial little smile then ran off.
“I apologize for all that,” Sela said. “She really knows better, I swear. She just says whatever pops into her mind.”
“I’m the same way,” I said.
Then Sela resumed brushing, and the humming became singing. I went rigid in the chair. It wasn’t from the brushing; the oil made the passage of the bristles as smooth as if through water. But this was a song my own mother sang to me before she sold me for a bottle of Demon blood. She once told me it was written about me and that people far and wide sang it to their daughters to prepare them for a day when the women would stand equal beside the men.
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