Index:
Chapter Seven
To Deal with Devils
There’s a certain truth,
Behind the lie,
Of what I’m said to be
It’s an ugly core,
Masked by façade,
Concealed from even me
If it’s flesh and blood,
And tender skin,
Composing who I am…
Let not scale and bone,
But what’s beneath,
Stay every gentle hand
I’ll never forget your
kindness
1673 A.D.
Valenik,
Russia – Spring
THE TASTE WAS invigorating—iron
and salt, hot against her tongue despite the chill that struck her cheeks. The
initial bite had sent a full-body shudder down her spine, and even now, as she
drank, she felt a twitch in her shoulders, in her toes. Satiation flooded every
nerve, every synapse, as instantaneous in its delivery as an intravenous drug.
Behind her, a scream caught her ears.
Blinking, Anna felt her hands falling away from her mouth. Felt the crushed
bundle of blood, flesh, and feathers leave her fingers and crumple to the
ground. Still. Unmoving.
He little girl’s eyes opened wide.
Red-soaked fingers began to tremble. She drew her sleeve across her lips and
felt a smear.
Her stomach clenched.
Revulsion.
The scream was joined by shouting.
Anger. Fear. Voices were sounding off all around her, a cacophony of outrage
and disbelief.
Anna’s gaze slowly panned toward the
crowd gathering just outside the wooden pen.
Pen? Yes, there were thin wooden slats
all around her. Frightened fowl were flapping helplessly all about, leaping
futilely at the walls confining them. When did she get here?
“Leave my livestock in peace, you
blood-thirsty little monster!”
Anna glanced to her right just as a
large, pale hand jut through the now-open pen door. Her body tipped back,
landing in the scant spring snow. A burly, bearded man was crawling in after
her, gaze thick with rage.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She
felt herself scampering backwards across the frozen earth, toward freedom,
toward escape.
Toward the hole she’d torn in the
wall of the pen. Vague recollection crept in on the fringes of her mind, little
more than sensation. The scent of blood. The glimpse of red on the injured
bird’s wing. The pang of hunger. And then, nothing. Yet she knew, as she
scampered through the torn pen wall, as she fled from the rage of the man
behind, too large to follow—she knew his anger was justified, his intensions
earned.
The pen had been snug between two
small, wooden houses. For the briefest moment, she was safe, but as her feet
carried her away from the pen she could hear the stamping of dozens of feet.
A mob poured around the corners of the homes, familiar faces shouting
for blood. The kind old woman from the bakery. The long-faced tanner, who had
helped cure the leather for the boots she wore. The frumpy tailor that had sewn
them together, mindful of her monstrous feet.
Bone, scale, and claw. They knew. The
man who saved her, the woman who called her “Anika,” they had told her she
could trust these people. Good people, they’d been called. Kind.
Her bloodied hands were grasping a
door handle. The door to home, to safety.
Home? The weight of the word struck
her as she burst inside, her swollen eyes pouring tears. They mixed with the
blood on her cheeks, washing it down her neck, even as she latched the door.
They were home, seated at the table with the
little boy, Jov. Her family. Her sanctity.
When she turned to face them, Jov
began to scream. Her scrambled out of his seat, burying his face in his
mother’s side. “Mommy, she’s all bloody! She killed someone! She KILLED someone!”
Galina and Aleksey visibly recoiled,
exchanging glances that held clear consideration for their son’s conclusion.
Aleksey swallowed hard. Galina took a deep, quivering breath and let it out
slowly.
Anna stood still, frozen, waiting,
certain this new family would turn against her entirely.
Outside, someone was beating on the
door. Livid faces began to fill the window, panning for a glimpse of the
blood-soaked little girl. Shouts of “Bring out the monster!” and “Burn the
demon child!” filled the air.
Aleksey stood quickly, slamming the
window shutters. His face met Anna’s gaze, filled with equal parts worry and
anger. “What did you do?!”
Galina rose slowly from the table,
holding her sobbing child behind her. “Tell us what happened, Anika. Please.
Now.”
Anika.
The young girl began to tremble, her tears growing to harsh sobs. Her hands
balled into fists, her voice cracking as she choked on her answer. “I… I didn’t
mean… I don’t….”
The father’s voice rose panic
settling in as more and more voices joined the crowd, fists striking the walls
outside. “Anna, what did you do?!
Didn’t mean to what?!”
A voice rang out from outside—the
bird’s owner. “She mauled my chicken! Your demon child drank its blood! She’s a
cursed little beast, Aleksey! Bring her out NOW! We end this, as we should have when you brought her here!”
Several dozen voices burst into
cheers. “Burn the demon child!” one screamed again. Another repeated it. More
and more voices joined, until the entire mob was chanting the message in unison.
“Burn the demon child! Burn the demon
child!”
Anna tears grew to sobs. Her knees
began to quiver, only to fail, her body crumpling to the floor as her shoulders
began to quake.
Aleksey and Galina’s eyes met. The mother
gestured toward a small leather bag, nestled away on a high shelf nearby. The
father hesitated. After a moment, he nodded. Grasping the bag, he slowly
reached inside. Quivering fingers withdrew, clutching a small handful of golden
coins. Aleksey glanced first to his wife, then to the door. “I…” he began, only
to choke on the words.
“Burn
the demon child! Burn the demon child!”
The father drew a deep breath. “…Iakov!”
he shouted, his voice nearly muted by those outside. “I will pay for the bird,
as per the Lord’s law!”
The fowl’s owner roared back, fists
beating against the door. “Abandon the little devil, and perhaps we can speak
of the Lord!”
Galina’s hands clenched tight. Eyes
narrowing, she took a step toward the door. “Iakov!” Her voice was nearly a shriek, her mousey tone unfit for
such volume. “Would you so easily trade the life of a bird for a child’s?! Shame on you! Shame on all of you!”
“Tell me, Galina, what kind of child
drinks the blood from—”
“Judge
not, and you shall not be judged! Condemn not, and—”
“The monster has judged hersel—”
“Condemn not, and you shall not be
condemned!” Her voice cracked, shrill and unchecked. “Forgive, and you shall be
forgiven! If you are so ready to take the life of a child, let God judge you in
kind, Iakov!” Galina drew a quivering breath, moisture streaming down her cheeks.
“Did we not move here to escape persecution?! Never in all my years did I
imagine I’d leave Borovsk to move to Gomorrah!”
Outside, the crowd stopped shouting. “I’m…
but she’s…” Iakov began, only to fall quiet.
Aleksey’s gaze slowly fell from his
wife to Anna. Reaching to a nearby shelf, he grasped a handkerchief. Drawing
closer, he dropped to one knee. A withered hand pushed her hair out of her
face. The other drew the handkerchief across her lips, wiping the blood from
her chin.
“I… I wish…” she began, voice choked.
Aleksey shook his head. He tossed the
handkerchief aside. His hand ran up her cheek as a gentle “Shhhh” left his
lips.
Anna’s eyes met his. “I wish… you’d
have just… left me in the snow…”
His reply was a grim smile. He shook
his head again. “…I don’t. Anika.”
The little girl lurched forward,
wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face in his chest. Her sobs
grew louder, every ounce of her being stricken with shame and remorse. Her
insides were twisted in knots, the weight of the crowd’s words outweighed only
by her own disgust for her own body, her own horrible, inexplicable actions.
“Shhhhh, shhhhh,” he whispered.
Her clawed fingers rose to touch him, only
to curl into her own chest. Bloody. They were still bloody.
Iakov’s voice sounded again, softer
this time. “Galina. Aleksey. The town calls for blood, but I… I am… perhaps
wrong to wish to shed it. Yet we cannot remain like this. I will send for
Father Mikhail. Perhaps he can seek some wisdom from our Lord.”
Galina stepped toward the door, Jov
still clutching her middle. Her voice rose once more, anger still hanging from
every syllable. “Do not speak of the Lord, Iakov, for you clearly care little
for his words! You are heathens, each of you! The Lord’s flock does not
sentence children to death, no matter how scarred. Not even the murderer or
rapist is burned alive!”
“Galina…”
“…Fine. Bring our Father. Drag an old
soul through the evening chill and ask him
what he thinks of your actions, this day! But leave my home, lest I threaten your son with such violence next time he
trods on our crops!”
“We will return, then. Clean her. I
bring our Father in the morning’s heat, lest he catch cold.” There was a rush
of whispers outside, hushed voices and considerations. And then, the sound of
foot steps, dozens of them, leading away from the home.
An anguished wail pierced Anna’s
throat, only to crack into a choked cry and a series of throaty coughs. By the
time she was done, she was trembling, but her cries grew silent. Her eyes found
Aleksey’s, then Galina’s. “I’m… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
Galina’s hand gently pried Jov’s face from
her middle. “Jov, please. Your… your sister
needs clean linens.”
The little boy’s eyes widened, still
red from crying. “…Sister?”
“Yes. She is like family, yes?” She
paused, then shook her head. “No, she is
family. This makes her… your sister. And the people outside, they are just
jealous, Jov, that they do not have such a special sister.”
Anna blinked, frozen in place. Sister? Family? But she…
He shook his head, then pointed at
Anna. “But she’s all—”
“She was hungry, Jov.” Galina gave
him a thin smile. “She was hungry, and she made a mess. You make messes too,
no? Now fetch her something clean.”
“…Yes, mother.”
Galina took a deep, steadying breath,
and released it slowly. Stepping toward Anna, she knelt, and brought her thin
fingers to rest on the girl’s head. “Now, Anika… we will get you cleaned up,
and… we will figure this out.”
“You said… sister. You mean…?”
Galina glanced at Aleksey.
He smiled gently and nodded. “Yes,
Anika.”
A worn smile cracked the edges of
Anna’s face. A warmth flooded her chest, and her head begin to spin.
And as her smile grew, she again
began to cry.
* * *
A Memory; A
Dream:
It starts in my toes.
Heat, so
much heat, yet when I open my mouth to scream, I choke on water.
I’m in a
lake. I’m burning up.
I can’t
see the sky above, and all around me is nothing but red.
I taste
salt and iron.
I’m
breathing blood.
I look down and I can
see my monstrous hands,
and the water around
them is darker.
I realize
the blood is washing off of me. So much blood. It’s in my hair and caught under
the scales on my shoulders and back and toes. Those nasty, scale-covered toes.
I feel
sick at the sight of them, and somehow I start to enjoy the pain.
My feet are burning,
the scale peeling away, and I just float there and watch.
I’m
waiting. I need to see.
My skin
is growing crisp.
The heat
is crawling up my legs,
but it
doesn’t even hurt, anymore.
It’s flooding into my
chest.
I just
need to see. Please.
Please.
I reach down, and I sink
my claws into ribs.
I start to peel.
Bone
snaps. My breath stops. A black filth begins to rise from the wound.
I dig
deeper.
I have to
find it.
I
have
to
find
it…
I sink my
fingers between two split ribs, and suddenly, I feel it.
A box, small and
ornate, the kind Mother would have kept her jewelry in,
locked safely away.
I pull it
free, and I turn it over, again and again, trying to find the lock.
My
fingers are burning away and I have to open it
and I have to find it
and I have to see.
I realize
the box has no lock, no key,
no way to
peer inside, and suddenly I’m angry
so angry
angry at
the world
angry at
the people who condemn me
angry at
my mother for making me
angry at
myself for…
for what?
For living.
For not
being stronger.
My claws
sink into wood.
The box
splits, and inside, something dark glistens.
I try to reach inside,
but my fingers refuse to move.
The skin is floating
away, my claws drifting into the lake of blood I’m breathing.
With the
last will left in my body, I force the box into halves,
my
fingertips breaking off with the wood.
My eyes are beginning
to scab over. I fight to catch a glimpse,
and the
thing inside the box drifts into view.
And yet,
I still can’t see it.
A final shudder shakes
me.
I
realize, as the world fades to black,
that the box was empty, all along.
* * *
Anna’s eyes flew open, hands
clenching defensively to her chest as she bolted upright in bed.
The home around her was still.
Her chest was heaving, and she
realized her face was moist. Her eyes burned, and every part of her body hurt.
The room still smelled faintly of
blood.
She looked slowly to her right.
Aleksey, Galina, and Jov lay beside her, piled together in a warm bundle under
the covers. The first traces of morning light were bathing their faces in a
gentle glow.
Her throat grew tight. She felt
herself move closer to Galina, inching her way across the covers.
Galina’s eyes fluttered open, heavy
with sleep. A tired smile found her lips, and she reached over to Anna,
grasping her by the shoulder and pulling her gently closer.
Anna bristled at first, shaking her
head. Her shoulders began to shake. A moment later, she slid closer to Galina.
“Gala…?” she whispered, her voice so low she could scarcely hear it herself.
“Yes?”
“…am I a monster?”
Galina’s head shook gently side to
side. Frail fingers came up to cup Anna’s head, and she ran them through her
hair before finding the underside of her chin. Lifting Anna’s face, she looked
her in the eyes. “Listen to me, Anika. No one is born a monster. It’s a choice
we make, each and every day. Understand?”
Anna began to nod, but the lump in
her throat grew harder. Suddenly, she buried her face in Galina’s chest.
Her shoulders shook, and her fingers
curled into fists, balled against her neck. Yet, as the sun began to rise, Anna
once again found sleep.
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