Daughter of Darkness: The Darkness in the Midst, #3

By Joy Demers

When the Darkness consumes all, is it really the end?

Cadda ni Caridos is losing control of her body and maybe even her mind. That orange glow in her eyes? Permanent fixture now. That voice in her head, telling her what to do? Always there now. When nothing she does matches her will, Cadda realizes it has happened – she has returned to the Darkness and that other voice in her head has merged with her body in the Midst.

Veromaia the giantess is all too happy to be free of the Darkness and in a new and improved body to boot. The Midst will soon return to Aiia's control, if she can succeed in summoning an army. But the giantess finds resistance to her plans from the Darkness and from the Midst. Perhaps the humans are hardier than she thought.

Matty Larkin is intent on finding a way to free Cadda from her curse, but she has to go north to the Ruromanni for answers. When she does, she finds more than she bargained for. Suddenly, she is confronted with the future of not only her friend, but of her kingdom. Matty has a bigger part to play than she ever imagined and she's not so sure she's up to the task.

Cadda must break free of Veromaia before the giantess destroys everything in her path with no care to who or what she tramples. Matty needs answers in time to stop King Esmond from bringing Ledonia to ruin and civil war. They have to be quick or else there may be nothing left to save.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joy Demers
• Release date: Apr 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201100889

Joy Demers

Joy Demers is a writer from the north, a.k.a. Canada. She is a self-proclaimed geek with a love for fantasy, certain video games, history, and crochet. By day, she works in a finance department, crunching numbers and paying bills. By night, she tries hard to stay awake and write. Joy lives with her cat in a small Canadian town.

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DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS Copyright © 2020 by Joy Demers

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

First Edition: April 2020

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-One

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

30. Chapter Thirty

31. Chapter Thirty-One

32. Chapter Thirty-Two

33. Chapter Thirty-Three

34. Chapter Thirty-Four

35. Chapter Thirty-Five

36. Chapter Thirty-Six

37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

40. Chapter Forty

41. Chapter Forty-One

42. Chapter Forty-Two

43. Chapter Forty-Three

44. Chapter Forty-Four

45. Chapter Forty-Five

About the Author

Books by Joy Demers

Chapter One

The rising of the sun drove me to solitude. For seven days, I met each dawn by bathing in the ice waters of the stream beyond the marauders’ camp. It was to there I crept. The sentries watched me for signs I might run away and speak of their haven. So far, I’d given them no reason to turn on me. But they didn’t trust me.

And they were right, for one day, I would betray them.

Not this day, however, and not because I wanted to. I didn’t want to, not at all.

Limping from an arrow wound that hadn’t yet healed, I reached the stream. In the days past, I’d been able to kick through the ice, to submerge myself fully in the frigid waters. I’d chilled myself to the bone, turned blue, all to get rid of the filth that lay upon me.

It was a futile effort. The blood had long since been scrubbed clean, but the stain on my heart, the ruin in my blood, could never be washed away.

Still, I liked to make her angry. She complained I misused her body, squawked at the wrinkles the cold brought about, at the waste I was letting take over. I ate like a bird, if at all. She was very vain, the voice in my head.

I knelt to the stream. Loose, my hair hung straight to the hollow of my back. The locks were glossy, and contrasted in a stark way around my face, like a shadow over the moon. A natural cowl to hide my shame. I usually braided my hair, to keep it out of my way, but I’d decided it was time for a change.

My reflection stared back at me from the frozen stream, details not clear but for one difference. The irises of my eyes were orange. They hadn’t been blue for days now. A reckoning churned on the tides of fate. My life was promised to Aiia.

Soon.

She cackled in my thoughts. What that meant, who She was, I’d only know for the briefest moment before it happened. I assumed I’d cease to be Cadda after that. My body would live on, but where would my thoughts go? Would my essence linger with my body, or would I enter the Darkness and surrender my body for her use? I shuddered, wondering what she would do with it.

I withdrew the only blade I allowed myself to carry – a kitchen knife, suited more to slicing bread than cutting through skin. It would do for my purpose. It was sharp enough. I gathered a lock of my hair.

No!

My grip on the knife faltered. It clinked against the ice.

My body is yet mine, I said, retrieving the knife. A spasm rocked my hand. She knew what I intended. Our minds were intertwined, like the limbs of lovers basking in the afterglow of a rutting. Whereas She was one with me, however, I knew nothing of her desires. Nothing except what she deigned to tell me.

Incredibly unfair, but that was life, wasn’t it?

I hope you will like the new look, I said in Ruromanni.

Fighting against the spasms, I brought the knife’s edge against my hair and hacked through the locks. She screamed, piercing my mind, so that I winced. But I didn’t stop, even though the sound grew fiercer and louder. I laughed.

When it was done, when much of my hair lay scattered atop the snow like discarded raven feathers, like the remnants of the bird that fought and lost against a lynx, she quieted.

I felt lighter. My hair brushed against my cheeks, tickled even. It hadn’t been that short in all my life. Twenty-one summers had passed since my birth, seven since my death. I doubted I would see another summer, let alone spring.

Sighing, I picked up some of my hair and let it scatter in the wind. An offering to the blessed Ientu.

For Hann. For Iliatos. I closed my eyes. For Ry.

She mocked me with a laugh.

I bit my lip, stymied the string of curses that wanted to let loose.

How I yearn to come out and play. You seek to hurt my vanity by mutilating all that is good about you, but it will not stop me. My aura will be enough to lure.

Enough!

The seventh anniversary of my death and rebirth had come and gone somewhere between the time Hann poisoned Ry and I claimed the king hostage. Ever since then, She had a big mouth. Once I might have thought I was as crazy as Esmond, if Lord Kenric had not warned me about this. If Matron Brogia had not confirmed the pact she made with the queen of the Darkness – Aiia.

I flipped the knife over, the blade stuck to my sleeve. I pulled the sleeve down, revealing my wrist. The Blood of the First Ones flickered orange in my veins.

I have not even begun to mutilate myself, I said, or thought. I could no longer tell what was kept inside or uttered aloud. Lucky I was alone. My reputation among the marauders did not need further sullying.

The blade of the kitchen knife felt cold against my skin.

You would not dare.

I detected a hint of worry in her tone.

Smiling, I poked the tip of the knife into the bottom of my palm. Perhaps if I open my veins and let the Blood empty out, you too shall leave my body. What say you to that?

She laughed.

A bargain struck is a promise kept. It would serve no purpose other than to hasten the inevitable.

I wondered what she meant by that. Perhaps you lie. You do not want to possess a marred body.

Even marred as this skin already is, whatever more you do to it will pale in comparison to what I am in the Darkness.

Are you Aiia?

Nothing.

A giantess, a First one, then?

She gave no answer.

So be it. Remain a mystery if that is what suits you. But know this, if you must have me, you will not have me whole.

I sliced downward, from the end of my palm to the bend of my elbow. Blood trickled out, slow at first, and then in a steadier stream, and crimson colored. The pain was nothing, the physical hurt, at least. With a lump in my throat, I realized the Blood of the First Ones would keep to my veins. The more of my own blood I lost, the less of me there would be, and the more the orange liquid would take over. She would take over. Cutting would bring no relief.

I felt her smugness wrap around me and roared, tossing the knife aside. Then I broke through the ice with my fists and plunged my bloody arm into the frigid depths. There would be no full bath that day, the ice was too thick beyond the shore. Even so, I left my arm in there until it was numb. I would have left it there until it froze off, just to spite her, but She forced it free.

You should thank me. Losing the sword arm would be a disaster.

I will never thank you. With a grunt, I stood and made my way back to the marauders’ sanctuary.

I got you this far. I will go even further.

A flash of memory ran through my mind – Lord Kenric taunting me in the Darkness, telling me I’d only gotten so far thanks to her, whoever that was. I didn’t believe him and I wouldn’t believe her. Had I never died, I would have been skilled. Perhaps, not as strong or quick, but I was my father’s daughter. I was always a good huntress and brave. I had no doubt I would have avenged him even without my curse.

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Go away! I paused, making fists of my hands, desperately wanting to run Niri through her and shut her mouth permanently. But I’d lost Niri and She was in me. The years of silence before now had been a mercy. A grace period, perhaps. If I were as brave as I claimed, I’d end myself, only I thought it would just make things worse.

Smart girl.

I flexed my hands and continued onward, ignoring the suspicious looks the two sentries sent my way. They must have thought I spoke to myself. At least they had no understanding of my language. All in all, I had bigger things to worry about than a couple of distrustful louts. Make that a couple hundred louts. None in that camp trusted me, save Matty and perhaps Wyot.

It was to them I went, my former comrades-in-arms. They sheltered me in their tiny hovel. Matty willingly, Wyot, I wasn’t so sure. He’d saved me from the king’s men, a moment in time he perhaps regretted. I was the king’s she-wolf. Or, I used to be, until the king wanted me dead. The marauders hadn’t known what they walked in on, what they fought against. But the king had been there for the taking, and Esmond had gotten away. He might very well turn his wrath upon the marauders.

Unless they gave me up.

And unless they gave me up, Wyot’s comfortable little world he’d made with Matty would be destroyed. Ground into dust because in one instant, he chose to save the life of an old friend without knowing the consequences. I didn’t blame him for the weary, mournful looks he sent my way. It was the second time I’d caused an upheaval in their lives. This time might not be for the better.

The outside chill followed me into the hovel, where the night fire died out slowly. I poked at it until it grew enough to shed warmth. Matty and Wyot stirred beneath their bedcovers. I seated myself at the table and waited.

Such a domestic sight. We do not belong here.

For once, you are right.

Where shall we go then? Home?

Never home. Not while you live within me. And do not forget you caused me to be banished.

She laughed.

Cadda? Matty tossed the covers away and sat up. She rubbed her eyes of sleep and arranged her hair. Are you talking to yourself again?

No. I mean, yes. I sighed. I must speak to you both, when you are awake.

I’m up, Wyot said, arising from the bed. He was shirtless for a brief time.

That is a fine male specimen. We should bed him. Why have we not bedded him yet?

I looked away. You have asked a dozen times and my answer remains the same.

It means nothing to me if he is attached to the female.

It means something to me.

You are too chaste. I will enjoy possessing you fully. I will have him and perhaps even sample the female.

Still your tongue!

In answer, she ran my tongue over my lips rather obscenely right as Matty took a seat across from me. I jerked my head in the other direction.

What are you babbling about? Matty asked.

I do not babble, I speak Ruromanni.

Aye, sorry.

Matty would not be sorry if she understood my words. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and attempted to regain control of my mind. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes She would go away, at least for a little while. How much longer I could succeed at this, I couldn’t know. I didn’t think much time remained to me.

What did you do to your hair? Matty’s fingers brushed against my cheek as she reached for my shorn locks.

I shrugged. Too many tangles.

I could’ve helped.

It is nothing, I said, leaning away from Matty.

You’re bleeding. Matty reached for my sleeve, which unfortunately was stained from the cut I’d made to myself. Before she could roll it up to see the mess, I pulled away.

An old stain, I lied. She probably didn’t believe me, but it didn’t matter. I’d fix it up myself later.

Wyot joined us, depositing a pitcher of water on the table. He poured some into cups, pressing one in front of me.

Did you go out again? he asked.

Mother Creator, I felt like a nasty child under his gaze. A nasty child who has been caught in the wrong. Yes, I said. They didn’t want me going out. It was dangerous, they said. Many of the marauders were poor excuses for people who wouldn’t hesitate to do me harm. The truth was, I was more dangerous to them. A part of Matty and Wyot knew that, I was certain, but they held back from agreeing with me. My morning jaunts were a compromise. I had to go out. They could no more keep me in the hovel than they could a wolf in a cage. It wouldn’t end well. For anyone.

Wyot leaned forward into his hands and muttered something into his palms before pulling back. I told you—

I know what you said. And you know what I said. I cannot stay here. If I knew your safety would be assured, that there would be no retaliation against you, I would have left the day you brought me here.

You’re still injured, Matty said. If you try to leave they will either drag you back under someone else’s protection or kill you.

Then let them! My fists came down onto the table. I didn’t mean to be so harsh but sometimes that is the only way to get a point across. They will have the right of it.

Matty shook her head. Don’t say that, not after Hann. I’ve lost too much already.

My heart twisted. I have ever been a burden to you. You would do well to be rid of me.

Let me be the judge of that. Matty stood and paced, a flush of anger reddened her cheeks. Wyot reached for her wrist and halted her mad stomp around. She calmed a little under his touch. I averted my gaze, feeling a loss.

Oberon is due to return today, Wyot said. For better or worse, Cadda’s fate will be decided.

I will decide my own fate.

And in so doing, you will decide ours as well.

The warning look on Wyot’s face was enough to chasten me. He was right. Wyot had brought me here. If they let me go, there was no telling what would happen to them. I was a big catch. I couldn’t have their blood on my hands. They were bloody enough.

We could take them with us. They would make good slaves.

No!

Well then, bloody your hands. It is the only way we will be free.

Not with theirs.

You do not have to murder them, only make it look like you fought them to escape.

A part of me liked that idea. And then She cackled.

I will not hurt them. Be quiet, witch.

Matty and Wyot stared at me curiously. They’d been patient with me the past seven days, enduring my odd outbursts. Glad they could not understand my native tongue, I huffed. If they didn’t know my history, surely, they would think I was a madwoman. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I wished to be anything but what I really was – a revenant, a daughter of Aiia.

I inclined my head. I will meet Oberon and hear him out.

But I would not let him decide my fate.

Chapter Two

Oberon returned near the end of the day, when the shadows lengthened and the clouds parted to let the stars shine. The leader of this band of marauders had been gone for some time now. I hadn’t heard much about him. Matty and Wyot became tight lipped as soon as I demanded to know more. Surely, if they had fallen in with him, he couldn’t be such a bad man. Or so I liked to think. She possessed a different opinion, of course.

I followed Matty to the center of the camp, where Wyot awaited. He’d gone ahead to explain who I was and clear up any rumors the others had spread about me. The most threatening one was that I was the mad she-wolf of the king, placed in their midst to conspire their downfall. I would summon the king and his army and let loose a bloodletting for the ages.

Funny, long ago I would have smiled to find my reputation reaching such grand, maniacal heights. But now, it shamed me. And I could feel her glee. It was an odd feeling altogether and I couldn’t brush it off. In the end, I thought it a futile effort for Wyot, but held my tongue. If it would help his cause, then I supposed it could do no harm.

The marauders sat in a circle, torches lined up behind them. They were brave to show so much light in the dark. Nestled safe in a clearing in the woods, however, they would not easily be found by anyone who didn’t know they were there. A few of them parted to let us pass and we stepped into the center.

Is this she? A man, old enough to be my father and wrapped in fur hides like a barbarian, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and squinted at me.

Oberon.

Wyot, to the left of him, nodded.

The leader of the marauders remained quiet while studying me. I stood straight and tall, but something broke in me under that gaze, trapped in the middle of men and women who would have no problem with punishing me for all their grievances. Because once I had been the king’s goon. She panicked too. I felt a pull in the pit of my stomach.

Retrieve a sword and tear a bloody path out of this place. It would not be the first time. And we would be doing the kingdom a favor. A marauder who thinks himself a king should be put in his place.

For once, I agreed. About leaving, anyway. But I resisted her, balling my fists, stabbing my palms with my nails.

Quiet, witch, I whispered.

Matty cleared her throat and lowered her voice. Is she talking again?

I nodded.

Try and focus, Matty said. You’re not doing yourself any favors muttering to yourself in your language.

As if I didn’t know. I hugged her tight. You are not helping yourself standing by my side. Let me speak for myself. Trust me. All will be well.

I want to help you.

I didn’t deserve her help. Letting her go, I pushed her to the side. She glared at me and I returned the look. I stand alone, I said, turning my attention to Oberon.

Why isn’t she in chains? Oberon asked, voice booming. He was a bear of a man, and he stood, revealing his mountainous height, the breadth of his chest, and an intimidating demeanor.

I lifted my chin and held out my wrists. I could not agree more.

No! Fool! Do not let them shackle us!

Sweat broke out on my forehead and trickled down, even in the cold. I fought against her will as She fought against my offered surrender. Two men, followed by a blacksmith, surrounded me and placed me in chains. The iron was cold, the chains rattled as they locked my wrists and ankles together, binding me. At least She could not harm anyone now.

Imbecile.

Satisfied, Oberon paced around, circling me and eying me. He steepled his fingers, deep in thought. Finally, he turned his gaze from me to his followers.

I say again, you shouldn’t have acted without me.

I wondered if Oberon were angry for that reason or because he couldn’t be the one to claim trapping me.

We ran into the king in the woods, what were we supposed to do? someone shouted.

I gave you orders to lay low. They were simple orders but you are too stupid to understand so I guess I should have made them simpler.

The man who’d shouted averted his eyes, cowed, and shrugged. Sorry.

You should all be sorry. Sorry because now we have this savage in our midst. He pointed at me. Calling me savage normally garnered a punch in the face. Lucky for him, he’d chained me. Still, my fists shook, clinking the links of my bindings. Oberon glanced sideways at me, as if he knew how lucky he was.

So what do we do? Trade her back to the king? Oberon asked.

She managed to get a smile out of me.

See? Oberon stepped in my face. This is what she wants. She will betray us.

You can’t do that, Matty said, re-entering the center. I caught Wyot’s look of dismay before my redheaded friend embarked on a haranguing of the marauder leader. You stole her from under the king’s nose. Do you really think he’ll trade with you, or reward you? After you tried to kill him? King Esmond was about to kill her. She is no longer in his favor. She isn’t his favorite guard anymore. Bring her to the king and he will kill her and you and probably the whole sorry lot of us.

And why should I care about her fate? Oberon swerved to meet Matty. What are the alternatives? Let her go and how fast will she give away our whereabouts? How fast will the king’s men hunt us down?

She can stay with us, Matty said. It was never her choice to be his guard. It was never even her choice to be a part of his army.

She’ll turn on us, someone said.

Nay, she won’t, Matty said. I can take responsibility for her.

No, Wyot said. I brought her here, she’s my responsibility.

Oberon raised his voice over the mutterings that broke out. Even if she can be trusted, the king will be searching for her. Kill her, let her go, let her stay, and we risk Esmond’s wrath. He never cared about us before. We had free rein to do as we pleased. Now, he’ll never let us see another day.

Wouldn’t that be nice? If only Matty and Wyot didn’t number among them. And too, I had seen in my short time with the marauders, they weren’t as bloodthirsty as everyone pegged them out to be. I’d killed some of their ilk before, on my first journey south and in the west, but these marauders were different. Most of them were deserters and not simple brigands and there was almost something noble about their cause. Though I had to admit, much of it was a mystery to me. All I knew was they hated King Esmond as much as I did.

We should go to the king. He is securing more of the Blood.

How would you know this? My whispers went unnoticed as the camp broke into debate.

I can see many things from the Darkness.

"Well, how can the king know where the Blood is? I am here, the crew of the Reckless Rose is Mother Creator knows where, their lieutenant may be dead, Ry… too, and Hann is dead. So tell me, smart one, how could the king collect more of the cursed Blood?"

Is he?

Is he what? Is who, what?

She laughed. I sputtered out a few choice curses. Oberon watched me, as intently as he listened to his followers. Let him think whatever he wished of me. She was talking and it was infinitely more important than my fate.

If you can see things, I said, tell me if my mother made it home. Tell me if Ry is alive.

Why should I?

If you want me to go to the king—

I am patient. I can go to the king myself.

Not unless they kill me first.

Matty wore a worried look in my direction.

They will not.

Why not?

Because you will go to the king.

Says you.

I felt more eyes on me.

Your bloody hands are stained enough. You will go, for their sakes.

Glancing at Matty, Wyot, and all those sorry louts, I flexed my hands. The chains rattled.

And because I will summon your father.

What? It was you—

She mocked me with a laugh. I’d met with Kenric before, after he was dead and stuck in the Darkness. He told me I’d summoned him. I didn’t know how. It was her. How much more of what the bastard lord had said was true? Was it all her? Was nothing I ever did since coming back from the dead of my own doing?

Promise me, I said. A talk with my father would be worth seeing the king again. There was a chance, of course, the king would kill me before She could summon my father. But in that case, I’d likely get to see my father again anyways, only I’d finally be truly dead. Last time death had brought nothing but oblivion, yet, I had to have some hope to go on. Hope that there was something more.

Faith. It is faith you are seeking.

Promise me, I repeated, tone a little angrier.

If you give yourself to the king, then I promise I will summon your father.

And to reveal the fate of my mother and Ry?

Certainly. I promise, if you promise.

I do.

I wasn’t sure I could trust her sudden desire to go to the king, but I didn’t very well see any other choice.

Then let us end this charade of a discussion.

The discussion had already trickled down to anxious murmurings. All eyes stared at me. Evidently, I’d been speaking louder than I’d thought. At least they couldn’t understand Ruromanni. I drew myself straighter, taller, and forced my pulse to a crawl. The murmurings ceased and all that could be heard was the flickering of the torches.

I swear on my life, betrayal is not my motive, I said. You may blindfold me and take me to the outskirts of Elderbrooke. And then, I will not lie to you, I will go to the king. But it will not be as his she-wolf, nor as a rebel, nor as whatever others want me to be.

A shudder ran through me, a heavy breath rolled out white in front of me.

"I am Veromaia, daughter of Aiia, she who shall return to the Midst."

Chapter Three

She took my voice. Veromaia. And when she stole it, she ravaged it so that it sounded nothing like me. Nothing even of this world. The marauders did not understand what she said, but they frightened at how it was said and the glowing eyes that accompanied it. I’d never been more scared in my life.

I’d faced down death before, I had even died, but this – this was something else entirely. My body, my being was possessed and there was nothing I could do to stop it. There was no way to know what would happen to me when the process was done. It terrified me.

Loud shouts shot through the night. Marauders broke from the fireside, withdrawing their weapons, standing ready to cut me down. Screams of sorceress slipped from several tongues. A few souls wanted nothing to do with me and skittered off into the night. Matty came my way, stopped short by Wyot.

I gulped a lungful of cold air, closed my eyes and blocked everything out. They could have swung for my head and I’d have been grateful. I fell to my knees, craned my neck out, and dared them to do so. Veromaia didn’t like this, but I forced her away. Whatever she was, I would not unleash her on the world.

Nothing came.

I bared my neck to the night, and nothing came.

Oberon’s voice boomed out over the ruckus and a sense of calm returned to the camp. He dismissed those who’d not already fled and ordered a half dozen men to secure me to a post. Their hands came roughly around my arms. I could feel their racing pulses, nervous to be around me, let alone touch me. Even so, they lifted me up with my chains and shoved me against the post.

I did not resist and neither did Veromaia. For the moment, I’d succeeded in smothering her deep inside of myself.

After a long while, certain I was alone, I opened my eyes. They didn’t need to glow anymore for me to see through the dark. And I saw then, the marauders had abandoned me to the frigid night.

You are never alone.

Spare me your remarks for once and leave me be.

You were always afraid of being alone, but I was always with you. Some gratitude would be nice.

If I could punch myself and be certain she would feel the pain, I would gladly do so. I never asked for you.

You would rather be dead?

Is that not what should be?

What should be and what is are two different things. You should be dead, but you are not. I grow weary of your constant dismissal of me. We will be one, soon, and you will be the happier for it.

I highly doubted that. There was no need for me to even say it, she felt it. For another long while, I said nothing, only thought on the inevitable and she would not answer me. I dug my fists into the snow and rattled my chains, frustrated.

Why torture me so? Why not take me all at once?

It would have been too much for your flesh, then and now.

Emboldened by the fact she’d at last given me some sort of answer, I carried on. What will happen then? Veromaia, who or what are you?

Her silence stretched on.

Do I not deserve to know? Is it not my body you are taking?

It is. Look to the blood in your veins and you will see what I am.

A First One? You laughed when I asked before.

I thought it funny you did not see it sooner. Must I spell everything out for you?

Must you be so cryptic? So insufferable? All the legends I have ever heard of the First Ones has said they are slow and dimwitted giants who fell with Aiia.

I felt her flicker, like I’d insulted her.

If I am slow and dimwitted, what does that make you?

A chuckle escaped me. I suppose you have a point.

Legends are spun by the victors. Yes, we are large and lumbering, and we were banished along with Aiia, but we were not what we were made out to be. There are two sides to every story. You should not be so quick to dismiss me, nor Aiia. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps the stories you were told were not the truth, but simply stories?

It is too cold and too late for philosophical ponderings.

That is the problem with the People. They take everything literally.

I shifted positions. If you seek to convince me that you are doing me a favor by taking over my body, you will never succeed. You are a leech, stealing my life away, and bringing nothing but sorrow and violence in its place. You were banished to the Darkness because that is all that you and Aiia deserve.

Did Aiia deserve her mother’s spite, her sister’s scorn? Was it not the Mother Creator’s fault she is as she is? Do you deserve your mother’s spite? Was it not her mother’s fault that you are what you are?

Do not speak of my family.

You see the truth in my words and that satisfies me.

I did and I could not hide it from Veromaia. Then if you would speak of my family, tell me of my mother’s fate. If it had been summer, I’d have heard nothing but crickets. As it was the start of a long winter, there was absolute silence. I bit my lip, hard, and tasted the blood on my tongue, saw it steaming in the night. As I yet have blood in my body, you will find it difficult to take me.

Veromaia’s smugness wrapped around me. Soon after, I fell into a fitful sleep. It was the only thing I could do.

***

Morning brought with it an array of marauders skirting me widely. I didn’t blame them, really, but if they’d looked a little closer at me, they’d see the frost crystals covering me from head to toe. I didn’t think I had frostbite, but any longer out there and I might have turned blue. At the very least, the sun was strong and beams of it shone onto me. There was nothing about me to be afraid of, for the moment, anyway.

The way Matty crept to my side, like a groom wary of a skittish horse, however, made me think twice.

Veromaia? she asked.

She remains in slumber, for the time being.

That’s her name then?

Apparently, I said. Matty kept her distance. She held a blanket under her arm. I cocked my head to the side. Are you afraid of me?

Wyot thinks I should be.

What do you think?

Afraid of you, nay. Afraid of her, aye.

I chuckled. Finally you see the right of it. You can come closer.

Matty moved to my side, offering me the blanket. I accepted it, chains rattling. My wrists chafed from the manacles and the cold. I assumed I’d have natural red bracelets for some time, if the shackles ever came off. The blanket I fixed crookedly over me. It was still warm and smelt faintly of Matty.

Thank you, I said.

She shrugged and looked to the distance, not meeting my eye. I don’t understand what’s happening to you. If I didn’t know you before, I’d think maybe you’d gone crazy with grief, for all the things that have happened.

I confess I do not understand it either. And I will confess to you and only you, my friend, that I am at my wit’s end with terror.

Matty turned to me and took my hand, flinching briefly at how cold it was. What can I do?

This is not something you can help me with this time around. Nobody can help me.

Nay, I don’t believe that. There has to be a way. Maybe I can fetch a priest of San, one that deals with the afterlife. Maybe he could—

What? Anoint me with holy water and force her out of me? I do not think it is that simple. She opened her mouth to protest but I continued apace. No, let it be. There is only one thing you can do for me.

I know that look, she said. I’m not leaving you. You forced me away once after our flogging. I had no say in that. I will have a say in this.

I winced, thinking of her screams as the lashes whipped down on her, remembering the sight of her bloodied back. My own back held much the same kind of scars, yet somehow, her pain felt more real to me than my own. What difference would that have made had you stayed by my side?

I could have helped you.

You would have become slave to the king, like me, like Hann.

Matty gnawed at her lip, furrowed her brow. "Maybe if I’d been by your side, I could have saved him. He was my brother. I was real