Olexandrya starts up a bonfire out of scrap in the middle of the street.
She has me on a folded blanket nearby where I can watch while she butchers the buck.
I run through the fight with the snake in my head. Especially with the state of my legs. Did I really need to use that first-class spell?
All I accomplished was severing a single hand. That merely stalled its Heaven Ascent for a few moments. Those few moments may have saved our lives. But not being able to walk is still a pain.
It seems like I’m the only one feeling the repercussions of the fight as well. The arm I broke feels weird and my legs won’t work. Does Olexandrya’s arm not feel the same? Or is she just tougher than me?
I find myself fiddling with my mana. I focus it like a small wall against a bit of rubble nearby. The stones move slightly. Is it really such a unique talent?
Olexandrya strings up a few slabs of meat over the fire and looks over.
“What are you doing?” She asks.
I look up, feeling silly. The stones stop moving.
“I’m trying to kill you,” I say with a small smile.
“With rocks?” She scoffs and returns to what she’s doing.
I lean over, nearly toppling in the process, and pick up a small rock. When I was a girl, I had a bow. I remember finding it on the corpse of a man who’d been stabbed in the street.
My memories of that time are hazy. But I know people in the village hated me for taking the bow.
“It’s just a child, there’s no reason to hurt it!”
“It’s a demon, it means to kill someone! Why else would it have a weapon?”
I hold out my hand, keeping the stone flat on my palm. Then I raise my other hand, fingers scrunched as if I were pulling back an invisible bowstring.
How does a bow work? I picture the wood bending and the arrow held taut. How could I recreate the force generated in that snap?
My mana twists around my hands, thickening like water in the air. No, I wouldn’t have to recreate the exact function. Would I?
Olexandrya is looking my way again. She has a strange look on her face.
I splay my fingers, paying her little mind. My mana gathers around the stone, slowly tightening like a coil. The stone rises off my palm, turning slowly. But there’s no pressure. No bow-like snap.
I picture the bow releasing and the wood returning to its straight form. The bow functions by two forces colliding. The force of the draw and the bow’s return to its natural shape.
I visualize my mana like two hands pressing on the stone from both sides. One in front and one behind. For a moment, the one in front overpowers the other, and the stone slides backward. I even it out, and the stone wobbles in place.
Olexandrya drops in front of me. I didn’t even notice her approach.
“What are you actually doing?” She asks.
“Watch.”
I release the pressure at the back. The stone jumps into my chest, hitting me like a punch.
I yelp and fall, landing in a heap on the ground. The stone clatters nearby.
My chest throbs. I pant, staring at the sky. I released the wrong side. I misunderstood what I was doing. What did I think would happen?
Ugh.
“Are you okay?” Olexandrya asks, looking down at me. “That hurt.”
“Please leave me alone,” I grumble.
Olexandrya laughs and takes my place on the blanket.
“Do you eat meat?” She asks.
I roll onto my side, massaging my ribs.
“I don’t know much about demon culture,” she says.
I sense the mana for an instant before it's snuffed out. I lay my head back, ignoring Olexandrya. In the corner of my eye, I see something moving.
It’s like a shadow against the cracked street. A snake. It’s small, barely three feet, and green.
“Olexandrya,” I say her name on a shallow breath and raise a finger. “Look.”
“It’s a snake,” she says. “So what? And don’t call me that, just call me Drya.”
No, it can’t be. It couldn’t have. I sit up.
“Carry me to it,” I demand. “Now.”
Olexandrya narrows her eyes as the snake heads up the street.
“You think it’s that snake from earlier? Rakel killed that thing.”
“Do it!”
Olexandrya hoists me off the ground and carries me in her arms as she trots over to the snake.
“That demon,” I say. “It’s absurdly attuned to the soul. It isn’t that surprising that it’s found a way to survive.”
The snake raises its head as we approach.
“Hey!” I yell. “You!”
The snake’s eyes gleam. I recognize the malice behind them. My theory is confirmed when its mouth moves.
“The fight is over.” Its voice is scratchy. “Hero. The Demon Lord will have your—”
Olexandrya kicks the snake, sending it spinning into the air. It lands limp on the ground. It writhes slowly, a dry groan rising from it.
“You couldn’t have killed it?” I ask. “What was that?”
“It’s not going anywhere,” Olexandrya snaps. “Geez.”
“You’ll cast Heaven Ascent on a buck, but not a demon that nearly killed all of us? What sort of hero are you?”
“It won’t last long,” she says. “Can’t you tell?”
I watch as the snake curls up and straightens.
“It’s dying,” Olexandrya clarifies.
“I didn’t realize it then.” The snake’s head rises slowly. “You are connected to the hero. You possess a fragment of her soul. It’s a shame I didn’t notice sooner. I believed you to be on my side.”
“I am on my master’s side,” I reply, raising my chin.
“Is the Demon Lord the one holding you right now?” Olexandrya asks.
I ignore her and roll myself out of her arms and land hard on the ground.
“For goodness sake,” Olexandrya says through a dry laugh. “What did you do that for?”
I turn onto my stomach, pushing myself up with my hands. I set my sights on the snake, ignoring the throbbing in my side.
“This is your true form, isn't it?” I ask. “You aren't dying. Not yet.”
“You cannot sense my dwindling life?” the snake asks, eyes meeting mine.
“Of course. But it's a farce.” I drag myself across the ground, one hand at a time. “This is how you hunt, this is how you did it. Hiding, taking one soul at a time until you were strong enough to take the village.”
The snake rises further. I feel mana move in the air, drawn tight.
“You think something as pathetic as you could match me?” I lunge, catching the snake's body and slamming it to the ground.
The snake hisses and twists in my grip.
“You have no power. Your only strength came from the humans. Without their souls, you're nothing. A stain in my path.”
“We are fellow demons,” the snake says. “We are kin. Help me. Please. We can share the hero's companions. We'll keep the hero as our slave!”
I have no response to that. The snake can't genuinely expect me to agree.
I am a demon. But I'm no kin to this thing.
I'm not sure why I keep thinking about my life before I met my master. But for some reason, I think about my upbringing.
Before I met my master, I lived in a village at the highest point in the world. 'The land kissed by the stars' is what they called it.
Before my master came upon the village and slaughtered the people, I lived as an orphan there.
I didn't know demons were supposed to eat souls until I was trained. And even then, I never felt the need. My own soul seemed strong enough.
But now, I have to make sure. I don't want this creature to get away.
My intentions must be clear. Because the snake writhes harder.
“I'll kill you,” the snake growls. “I will gather a new collection and I will tear out your throat.”
I shake my head slowly, steeling my mind to do what needs doing.
“No. You won't.”
I grip it's body with both hands and twist hard. I twist and twist until flesh tears and warm blood coats my hands.
Then, before I can reconsider, I stuff the mangled form into my mouth. Instantly, I gag. But I cover my mouth and chew hard.
The blood is rotten and the rough skin tears up the inside of my mouth. My jaw is sore by the time I've finished.
The soul. It's like a light inside my mouth. I feel it come apart, spreading like dust within me.
I throw my head back, groaning. Tears trail down my cheeks, they feel hot on my skin.
My chest heaves and my breaths are ragged. My face is coated with black blood.
I sit up, wiping my mouth. I find my legs are able to move. The wounds on my arms and hands close.
Disgusting.
I push off the ground, slowly rising to my feet. I note that the scab on my chest has healed into a scar. I poke absentmindedly at the scar. Why didn't it heal properly? The question dies in my head when I meet Olexandrya's eyes.
Her face is blank. She just stares at me.
Oh. She'll kill me. The thought strikes like a bolt of lightning across my head. It's immediately followed by a flood of panic.
Rakel didn't know I was a demon. Is Olexandrya the same way? I have horns, how could they be so stupid?
Olexandrya is actively recognizing the true nature of the thing she saved.
She's going to take her soul back, and I will die. What can I do? I can't fight her off. I can run, but I doubt I can outpace her.
My next words. They're the only chance. What can I say? What words will convince her that I deserve to live? I've already done nothing to change her opinion of me. In fact, I've insisted that I'm an enemy to her. I haven't moved an inch. Tears stream down my face. My breath catches and I start to cough, doubling over.
“Wait,” I rasp between coughs. “It's not…”
Olexandrya steps forward. She reaches out, tugging on my blouse and exposing the scar on my chest. The rough skin of her hand is hot against mine.
Cold air rolls through the street, and I find myself shivering. I stare into her eyes, trying not to tremble.
Her eyes don’t move. They’re set on the scar.
“It… It would've gotten away,” I say. “I had to make sure it would stay dead.”
“Why are you afraid?” She asks. Her voice is gruff.
Why am I? Nothing has changed. Olexandrya won’t kill me. No point trying to lie about it. She can feel my emotions. She felt the soreness in my jaw, tasted the rotten blood.
But for some reason, I see that child walking with a bow hanging over her shoulder. Eyes all around, promising violence. Why do I keep thinking about it? I’ve never thought about those days this much before. So I say it out loud, without thinking much of it.
“When I was young, I lived in a church with human children. I was very clearly a demon, but the priestess wanted to raise me for whatever reason.”
Yes. The priestess. Her face is a blur in my memory. But that glass eye sticks out, wobbling like a marble in her head.
“I was… hated,” I say, wiping a bit of blood off my chin. “And everything I did was treated as an excuse to take my head.”
Olexandrya’s brows furrow. She releases my blouse.
“I suppose that’s why. I expected you to be angry with me… because I’ve never acted this way in front of you.” There. It makes a bit more sense now that I’ve sounded the feeling out. I can see how foolish it is now.
Oh. Olexandrya is crying. Why?
“That sounds terrible,” she says almost under her breath.
I narrow my eyes, chewing on my tongue. Ugh. She’s feeling sorry for me. I shouldn’t complain; I’d been sure she was going to kill me a moment ago.
“I suppose I haven’t told you this directly, yet,” I say, adjusting my blouse. “But I don’t want to die.”
Olexandrya’s eyes light up.
“You mean…”
“I don’t know what it means,” I add. “Maybe my master will consider me traitor for it. Maybe not. As it is now, it’s just a fact.”
Ahead, Rakel and Pepper have gathered around Olexandrya's bonfire.
I tug on my blouse, wiping the rest of the blood away as Olexandrya turns and waves at them.
“Hey!” Olexandrya calls. “What took you two so long? How's the meat?”
“You're burning it!” Rakel yells back, turning some of the slabs of meat. “You want us to wear out our jaws on jerky?”
Pepper eyes me as we approach.
Both of them are wearing plain clothes. Plain blouses. Pepper is wearing a skirt that drags around her feet. They look like normal people.
“What happened to you?” Pepper asks as I return to my spot. She scratches at her purple curls.
“She ate a snake,” Olexandrya says. “Couldn’t wait for me to finish cooking, apparently.” She joins Rakel at the fire and helps her turn meat.
“You’re cooking for her?” Rakel snaps.
I raise my chin.
“Don’t mind her too much,” Pepper says. “She’s particular about who she eats with.”
“It’s not…” Rakel trails off, planting both hands on her hips. “I didn’t expect it.”
“I can eat elsewhere if you’d like,” I say. “It’s no matter to me.”
“No. You’re here. May as well eat.” She turns, focusing on her work.
Pepper drops down next to me with a yawn. In plain clothes, it’s easy to see that she’s barely any bigger than I am.
“How much was left?” She asks. “Of that snake?”
“None. Not anymore.”
“Good.”
I stop paying attention while the three of them discuss how long it will take to get all the bodies buried.
That glass eye lingers in my head, even when everything else is clouded. It’s as if my mind is actively trying to obscure the memory of that village. The more I think about it, the harder it is to see.
Why?
When I was impaled on the Soul Carver, I’d seen several memories of Olexandrya’s. I even dreamed of her memories, it seemed like. Was she seeing mine? Could she perhaps know something I don’t?
I stare at the back of her head while she tears open a slab of meat. I can’t just ask her, can I?