Friday, March 29, 2013

Anika - Chapter Seven



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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