Things would get better. He could fix this. Everything would come together.
7
Return of the Spectral Woman
The darkness enveloped Amelia, holding her fast, relentless in its grip. Her skin crawled. A horrible itching moved along the back of her mind, maddening if she dared give it any notice. Vaguely she heard the swishing scraping of the tapestries that held her memories. But there was something else, someone else in the darkness.
She reached out, her breath trembling and her chest aching. A strange pain coiled in her heel and up the back of her leg into her spine. Not enough to cause her to cry out, but enough to notice. It radiated through all of her limbs and left behind an ache.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice clear despite her terror. "Have you not tormented me enough?"
A dark figure, feminine in form, appeared to her left, somehow darker than the blackness that encompassed her in this place. "How clever are you, child?"
Amelia stepped back, the chill shuddering through her. It felt as if she were ankle-deep in cold water. "Go."
The woman drew closer, increasing in size until she towered over her. "You think yourself very clever indeed. Look at you. You have escaped being taken over by the creature. Though how much longer till one of you gives in, and then what? Will you vanish? Or will you become something else entirely?" She twisted her head, cracked her neck, then reached out, her fingers lengthening as she stretched for Amelia. "Do you understand what lurks within you, paper child? Do you think that because you escaped being taken over once that you can do it again and again?"
She lunged forward, her icy hands seizing Amelia's throat. Amelia's body refused to respond, the terror rooting her in place.
"I hate you so much," the spectral woman whispered in her ear, crushing her fingers deep. "Even if you escape all that comes for you, I will remain. I will endure. And if you succeed against all that, one day you will sleep and never wake again. But that doesn't mean your mind will die. No. It will feel like it though. For one like you, there are so many ways you can die. And the best part is that you are wed to one who will drag you back from death again and again and again if your body tries to release your mind. At least if his will doesn't crush you like the ugly brittle pot you are. And if he does not kill you, I'll kill you a thousand ways. The pressure which makes a diamond shatters porcelain. You can't withstand us both."
"What do you want?" She choked, barely able to form the words. It felt as if the woman was squeezing her throat from the inside. She couldn't break free. The strength fled from her. Her arms hung useless at her sides as if bound by invisible ropes.
"Your destruction. Completely. Utterly. Entirely. In the dying embers of the fire that consumes you, I will arise. From the last breath you take, I will rip my cords free. And in your suffering, I will delight."
Amelia flung her arms out again, barely tearing herself free. The woman seized her by the throat again. Her grip was stronger this time. "There is no escape from me. Whatever else you might elude, you will never escape me."
A sharp blow popped against her cheek.
Amelia opened her eyes, bright light streaking over the darkness. She struggled to focus, briefly recognizing AaQar. She clutched at his robe. Her fingers dug against his chest.
Something splashed near her. The air was sharp and clear. It filled her lungs, sharpened her mind, and burned her eyes. Warm liquid splashed on her face. Then her eyes slid shut once again, and she was falling once more into the darkness. It gulped her down into an inky abyss. She dropped to the damp floor as the tapestries continued to shift and move in their perpetual dance.
The spectral woman stood at the edge of her line of sight, hands folded before herself.
She kept her gaze fastened on the spectral woman. The waters moved along her feet, sometimes feeling as if they were only up to her ankles and other times as high as her neck. But she remained rooted in place, one hand protectively over her throat, the other clenched at her side.
She could feel the strange being's gaze boring into her, cutting, mocking. The ball of cold calm was nowhere to be found. "What will it take to make you leave me alone?"
"You think you are not alone, and that that will protect you. But I am patient, and you are finite. Guard yourself, paper girl. You'll be so easy to set ablaze. But when you think you can no longer bear the flames, I'll drag you back here and choke you, drown you, murder you forever. You'll run and flee, perhaps escape for a time or three. But one day you will find that there is no escape. This is your future. This place. Nothing you do matters."
"One day," she repeated. "Maybe." She paced farther around the circle. "But not today." She steadied herself, her blood pounding in her ears. "Now go. You are not welcome here. And I will not be destroyed until my purpose finishes."
The spectral woman hissed. "For now," she conceded. "But I give you a warning, paper girl. It is as the Machat said. You will be destroyed. It's only a question of how. If before the eight weeks pass, you rut with that animal, you will be overcome and lost, your mind dissolved, your identity…gone. You will break like eggshells, aged and dried. But if you do not give in to his lust, then I will destroy you in a thousand ways, each more terrible than the first. It is your choice. Die as his or as yourself. But die you shall. All that you think you are. All that you wanted to be. All that you hoped to achieve. And what a horrible destruction it shall be. I cannot wait. No matter what, the fear will weaken you. It already devours."
She disappeared.
Amelia sank to her knees. "Elonumato," she said softly. "What am I supposed to do? Do you see this? What am I supposed to do?"
The darkness deepened, and all remained silent. A god of all creation was almost certainly busy. Perhaps there was no answer to be given. Perhaps what she had been told was still true and was not to be changed. Perhaps. Or perhaps she was simply alone.
She curled up on her side, resting her head on her hands and staring into the darkness. Two choices, no proof for either beyond what she already knew. For now, she'd believe that what she had been told was true and that nothing new needed to be added. But… she swallowed hard.
How was one to know if a god had moved on? And why did he have to be so quiet?
* * *
Sleep claimed Naatos before he could finish resolving matters. But he woke from a deep and dreamless sleep. Three hours later if he judged the sun's placement and the shadow lengths right.
QueQoa and WroOth argued beneath the chiron oak about something involving the placement of the branches and whether an obscene symbol had been naturally formed or one of them had done it.
Knowing them, both had probably done something and not realized that they were talking about something separate as they tried to keep the other distracted.
Both had led armies into battle, organized great campaigns, participated in tense diplomatic endeavors, and resolved countless crises. And yet they could still fool one another with the same tricks they'd used when they were children.
Mercifully, they had their backs to him.
The large collapsible pot hung over the fire, steam rising from it. A second firepit had been built and now held spits and racks with more raw meat impaled on the chiron oak branches. The scent from the makeshift grill was far better. WroOth did not make good soup. When it came to roasting however, few could mess that up. Unless they grilled it for too long. Which… he scowled at the blackened meat.
So much for not burning it.
Silently, he removed the meat from the rack, put it on the massive waxy leaves from the roca tree, and laid fresh meat out. More salt from the dried gourd Hatet had given them on a journey centuries ago ensured the meat would have at least some flavor. His hands healed almost immediately from handling the burning meal. Another good sign.
"Wait," QueQoa said, cocking his head. "Which one are you talking about?"
"What do you mean which one?" WroOth demanded. "There's only one. The one with the hooked L." They bo
th stared at one another, suspicion growing in their faces.
Naatos wiped the grease from his hands. "You two, pay attention to the fires and the food. And, WroOth, not everything goes in the soup."
WroOth spread his arms wide. "If it fits in the pot, it belongs."
Naatos shook his head as QueQoa regarded WroOth with something akin to horror. There really was a reason Mara had done most of the cooking. "Let's remember Amelia is going to be eating this too. I'd rather the soup not be looking back at her."
"You don't know she wouldn't enjoy eyes or entrails. We'd wash them first of course. Some people like the texture. And bark could add fiber." WroOth stuck the large stick he was using to stir the soup back in the pot and gave it a stir as if to prove his point.
"You really don't mean everything," QueQoa said slowly. "We've been over this."
"QueQoa, make sure he doesn't put everything in. And get one of the spoons out of the pack. We aren't animals."
"Animals don't cook their food at all," WroOth called after him. "And they don't wear clothes or use salt. Unless they're deer. And then they just lick it."
"Deer aren't the only ones who like salt," QueQoa said.
"Do any of them cook with salt?" WroOth asked coolly.
Naatos shook his head. As long as they were squabbling like that, things were fine. He started up the hill. His spear collapsed at his side, he made his way over the coarse path to the suphrite stream. The incline flattened over the hilltop and then led down to the suphrite pool.
This natural healing pool was a little smaller than most, but the depth of the turquoise suggested that it was much stronger. The high cliffs reminded him of their childhood home, a memory which was both troubling and thought-provoking at once.
In those days he had been new in his power, weak in everything but will, and nearly destroyed by his own father. What had kept him moving forward was his brothers. And his baby sister. But she… she had not survived more than a few days. An old pang of sorrow stabbed through his chest, accompanied by more memories he did not want.
The wilderness was a relentless place, merciless against any not strong enough to endure its trials. The only reward for continuing on was survival, a reward which it would gladly rescind if one failed at any point.
This was not the same place of course. The air itself tasted different, the terrain more closed among the mountains and trees. But it took him back nonetheless. For most of his life, he had loved Ecekom for its wildness, its utter defiance in the face of any attempts to tame it. The races who made their home in this place were the apex, but just barely. Their cities and communities had rested on the ridge of a relentless, wrathful world.
Now it felt empty.
AaQar stood in the center of the suphrite pool, the water lapping against the center of his chest and back. He had Amelia's head firmly in one hand while the other supported her shoulders and back, as if he was either preparing to dip her into the water or had just lifted her from it. Suphrite water dried swiftly, meaning that even a woman with hair as thick and long as Amelia's would be completely dry within thirty seconds at most. But the liquid glistened on her face and shone in her hair. She had just been immersed. What had happened?
His stomach clenched. She looked dead. The scars—scars he had not been able to heal her from even when he was at full strength—were dark and livid, twisting along her arms and torso like red-black and purple-black veins, visible beneath the light material of her gown and peeking out along the edges.
"What's going on?" Naatos asked.
"She's been thrashing a little." AaQar spoke with grave contemplation. "She needs the rest though. She's sleeping deeply."
Yes, Naatos knew that that was how suphrite was supposed to react. It calmed and healed. For someone with venom in their wounds, it helped to draw it out. It allowed the healing to progress more rapidly. But he didn't like Amelia sleeping this way though. She truly looked dead. Dead and prepared for a water burial.
A water burial wasn't fitting for her, no more than death. That awareness hung over him like a specter, clinging to his every breath.
"How much longer does she really need to remain in there?"
"Her back is healing well enough. But she needs to remain until she rouses and stays awake."
Naatos dipped his hands into the suphrite. They stung and itched as the healing waters did their work. He couldn't even fully heal himself as he once had. At least not as swiftly. The lack of consummation was weakening him. Healing and focus could restore his shifting and vitality to a certain degree, but with each day, even that would lessen. He had failed in the temple, and that was part of the reason they were here now. Huanna or no huanna, he had been headed to this place ever since he had failed to convince Amelia to join him in his bed.
It was the reason why it was not wise for a Vawtrian to lock with someone who was not yet ready. It was why his brother had warned him against kissing her. So many reasons. So many mistakes.
And yet… he loved her intensely. He needed her almost as much.
Other Vawtrians had used similar needs, both the ache and the loss of shifting, to excuse great horrors against their beloveds. Horrors that branded them and forever marred whatever future they held. That would never be him.
Of course he had almost committed more horrors before they were united. If they hadn't locked when they did, he might have destroyed her or maimed her beyond recognition.
He drew his hand over his face.
As badly as he had handled every moment with her since her arrival at Valne's Peak, it would have been worse if they had not locked then. A single kiss wasn't supposed to lock a Vawtrian.
She was alluring even then though. Something had drawn him. But he hadn't put it together.
Why would he? She had been five when he'd seen her the day before. The Tue-Rah and Elonumato had both played a foul trick in whisking her off to age in what seemed to him a day and what was decades for her.
Now here she was. His beloved. His veskaro.
He should have seen her and known who she was. "Let me hold her now," he said. "She's my wife."
AaQar glanced at him, almost amused. "You need to finish replenishing your own strength. It's unlikely we will be attacked since we have the rels, but in the event we are or something changes, you don't need me to tell you how bad it would be if you were here with her when you are close to collapse yourself."
He scoffed, but he lacked the energy to argue more. Especially since AaQar was right. He let his head drop to his hand, massaging his temples. How had he come so close to destroying everything?
She didn't look the way he had expected. She hadn't acted the way he'd expected either. And he did not mind being wrong on either point.
For a Neyeb, she was built powerfully and had a far bigger and more aggressive air than most of her kind possessed, most likely from exposure to the Awdawms. Humans had been so influential in her life. She was more than a head shorter than him, but carried herself as if she were tall. Her shoulders and hips were even in width and sculpted with muscle. Over the years, she had trained herself as best she could to be a warrior, though she had not known how to actually prepare for the fate laid out for her. In a fight, she was a good match for an Awdawm warrior. But she hadn't been sent to fight an Awdawm. She had been sent to defeat him. And she had not flinched from that. She'd driven her shoulder into his chest and fought to set him off-balance, but her brazen efforts had not accomplished that.
No. He had set himself off-balance by falling in love with her before convincing her to join him.
He bathed his face in the suphrite waters. The stinging itch of the healing discomfited him. He could only imagine how uncomfortable it was for AaQar, but if there was one advantage to be had now, it was that AaQar was healing along with Amelia. That was one good thing, and he needed to count every good thing possible if he was to avoid losing his mind.
The breath hissed out of him.
WroOth said he had distracted himself.
What distractions could he lose himself to so that he didn't claw his own skin off or rip out his hair? Even being near her was torture. But so was letting her out of his sight.
"It truly doesn't make sense."
Naatos rested his arms on his knees, still crouched by the water. "What doesn't make sense?"
AaQar pressed Amelia's hair from her face. "I never understood why Sinara believed you. Sometimes I think she did not. But she hated the alternative more, I suspect. I'm still not sure I believe it." His expression remained contemplative, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Sinara repaired Amelia's mind. She is not what they feared," Naatos responded, his voice tighter. He clenched his fist. The fact that that silver-haired old woman could even have considered murdering a helpless infant simply because she might be corrupted or evil unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. Sinara had been one of the two heads of the council, and up until that day, he would have sworn she was both merciful and compassionate to a fault. Even more so than her co-leader. Someone who saw the best in people. She'd advocated for the rehabilitation of more than a dozen Bealorn murderers who had taken delight in tormenting their victims and their animal companions and shown little remorse. But when she'd looked at Amelia, she had seen nothing but the importance of a swift execution. "Amelia did not deserve to die then. Or now."
"No." AaQar smiled sadly. "I do not understand Salanca's plan nor why Osero never came to retrieve her. That is not like him at all. To be the father of a new race would have appealed to him. That aside, I know you well enough to know that killing her is now impossible for you. Promise or no promise. And if not you, who? It was never possible for WroOth. It is not wise to leave it to QueQoa. And…" He laughed softly, his tone now rueful. "It does not feel like chance that has brought us to this place. Perhaps Elonumato has had mercy on us. Strange though it may be."
Naatos did not like where this conversation was going. "If you call this mercy."
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