Chapter Nine: She Who Swallowed the Moon

Content Warnings

Hints of death, loss of loved ones, mentions of slavers

Their journey back to camp was quiet save for her labored breathing. It was nearly impossible to use her injured leg now and she was forced to lean more into Alateraz halfway through the trek. Her eyes were burning but not from the pain. Her tribe was further away from her and she was surrounded by strangers, possibly Devian slavers.

She cursed herself. Perhaps they weren’t slavers. But every story that involved the Dev always ended with death and bloodshed. Ris-Loresa once told a story about a hungry Dev in the shape of a crow who would whisper into kings’ ears to tempt them into war. The crow would feast on all those who died, collecting their souls to satisfy his immortal thirst.

Sarlen used to wake up crying in the middle of the night. He swore the crow was haunting him in his dreams but as he grew older the nightmares stopped. Anytime Ris-Loresa told the story, though, Sarlen was noticeably absent.

Atisha raced towards them once they reached what was left of the camp. The tents were all but gone. The fire pits were buried under dirt, the faint wisps of smoke seeping out of them.

Atisha’s lips were screwed into a hard frown. “You told me I could heal you in the morning.” Her tone reminded her of Ris-Asala, the same hard, concerned lecture.

Zahirana opened her mouth to speak but her answer felt flat.

“She is frightened of us,” the wolf added gingerly.

“Frightened?” Her head snapped back at the mere idea of it. “Set her down, Alateraz. I have much work to do.”

Alateraz stepped behind Zahirana, the cold of his armor pressing into her spine. It was a sharp contrast from the heat of the wilds. “Lean back,” he told her, voice low but somehow softer.

She leaned against him and when he lowered her to the ground, her legs trembled with a mixture of exhaustion and agony. Her muscles were flimsy as vines now after the unusual morning she had. But with Alateraz sitting behind her, his knees on either side of her waist, she felt her body sigh against him. It was a small moment of relief.

Her hands hovered across the bandages. “Your leg is even worse.” She pressed fingertips between her brows and massaged the tension there. “You should think before you act, next time.”

Zahirana chuckled. At first, it was an ironic joke, humorous to hear the words of her mentor spoken by a Dev. Medila ar’thum, Ris-Asala would curse under her breath. You have to think. But then the chuckle turned into sobbing hiccups. She pressed her hand over her pained smile. Tears, fat and hot, spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop herself, not anymore. She pressed her grief down for so long that it was forced to make her acknowledge it.

“Sweet child,” whispered Atisha.

The healer set to work. Her hands went from thigh bone to knee cap then back again, piecing together bones through flesh and mending severed tendons. It took time and concentration and when she couldn’t heal anymore, the wolf-hooded Dev stepped forward. He began to heal the rest of her wound.

Dev, she considered, healing her. They couldn’t be slavers, she told herself. They couldn’t be evil, monsters, either. After all the trouble Zahirana caused them, their kindness was entirely shocking.

“It’s solid now,” the wolf told her with a nod of his head.

“Thank you.” She bowed her head. “I do not know your name.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Jehmas.” He tilted his head so that he might look at her better from beneath his hood.

She swallowed her pulse, feeling like a deer in a wolf’s line of sight. “Thank you.” She looked at Atisha who was still scowling. “Thank you to both of you.”

The healer forced a smile and nodded her head a few times. “If you’ll excuse me. We have more wounded to heal.”

Alateraz stood up and helped Zahirana do the same. His tone was dark, back to its usual bitterness, “You have never thanked me and yet you’ll thank this beast?”

Her brows shot up in surprise.

“My people are nothing compared to yours,” Jehmas corrected.

“We’re all the same people now.”

Zahirana glanced at Jehmas then back to Alateraz. “Thank you, Alateraz. Even though you didn’t want to feed me or give me a tent last night. Thank you.” She hobbled away, nervous to put pressure on her leg again.

Chander approached them with a playful smile. “Here. You left your staff in the tent.” He held out the wooden staff and waited for her to take it.

Zahirana rolled her attention to Alateraz then said somewhat loudly, “Thank you, Chander, for returning this to me.” She took it in hand and leaned her weight into it.

“Jehmas,” he grouched. “Have the tribe head north. We will continue to Ravenskeep after that.”

He bowed his head and strode over to Chander. His arm fell around the youth’s neck and dragged him away. “You’re supposed to be preparing the scouts, aren’t you?”

“I was!”

Zahirana watched their playfulness and it reminded her of Sarlen.

Alateraz pulled up his hood until the shadow fell over half of his face.

“What’s in Ravenskeep?” She looked up at him, curious if he would answer. She didn’t know of any places called Ravenskeep so whatever answer he gave might not have made much sense to her.

“Allies.” He turned until he faced her, his mouth thinning into a scowl. “You ran away.”

“Yes.” She threw up her hand. “Wouldn’t you?”

He heaved down a deep breath and then sighed. “You cried earlier. While Atisha was healing you. Why?”

Her face twisted. She could feel her mouth turning thin with a snide grimace. She half-expected him to ignore her actions and pretend they didn’t happen. Now he was reminding her of it.

She retorted sharply, “Tell me what you’re doing here in the wilds.”

“We are searching for allies,” he stated matter-of-factually. “Now explain what happened earlier.”

She clicked her tongue and nodded her head. “Medlia ar’thum. You have to think. It’s something my chief often said to me.” Her mouth was turning sour. “It’s my fault. My tribe is in danger because I came to this temple and…” She looked over at the massive scar in the earth. “I released the undead.”

He looked at the crevasse as well. His words were softer than she expected, “How did you cause this?”

She used the staff as she turned towards the temple. “In there. Something woke up.” She stared into the mouth of the temple where a thick darkness chased back the sunlight. In the darkness, she feared the monster that attacked her might have returned to its slumbering place.

Alateraz stepped past her. He moved to the temple’s entrance without an ounce of hesitation.

“Wait!” She jumped after him. Her leg felt slightly numb from the magic spell so she nearly fell as she snatched hold of his arm. “It could be dangerous.”

He scoffed. “We once worshipped the same gods, quickling. I do not cower away like a human.”

“The same gods?” The strength in her grasp weakened. “What do you mean? How could the Dev and the elves share gods?”

He marched ahead. His armor glinted from the open canopy, red sparking before returning to green, a near mirror reflection of the world around it. He stepped into the temple’s shadows, swallowed by them.

Zahirana hurried after him. It wasn’t until she was in the temple that her body felt electrified by her fear. Her spine was so stiff that she could barely step any further into the main hall. She felt as if any moment something sharp might spear itself between her shoulder blades.

Alateraz turned and looked at her in mild confusion.

Her chin lowered. She didn’t know why she was confessing her sins to him or why she was leading him to the mural. But she wanted someone else to see it. She needed another person to look at the strange painting and tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

She nudged her head in the direction of the tunnel Sarlen and her had explored earlier.

His feet swept forward, a cautious beast sizing up its prey before the first attack. He rounded the tunnel’s entrance then stepped down the slope into the darkness.

She dropped the staff when she lost sight of him. “Alateraz!”

A spark of red. She thought it was the demon’s eyes, the monster that tried to kill her. But then saw it was a spark of fire that he had summoned to light the way. He trailed deeper, metal boots sweeping across the stone floor in a slow and methodical way.

“There was a monster,” she hissed in hopes he would be more serious about the situation. “It attacked me and there was a golden light.” Zahirana felt her shoulders hunch as she saw the mural again.

“This golden light?” He held the fire closer to the paintings. “You saw it?”

She nodded.

He looked sideways at her.

When he kept staring, she finally added, “The monster attacked me with it.”

His gaze dropped. She saw his lips part as he tilted his head downwards.

“What? What is it?”

The fire died, throwing the darkness back around them. Zahirana screamed. She snatched hold of his arm, clinging to him as moved to the tunnel’s entrance. She kept her grip on his armor until they were back in the dim light of the temple.

She growled through clenched teeth. “Keepers of Fate damn you.”

He stopped short and spun back around to face her.

“What is that mural? What curse did I unleash?”

Alateraz lifted his hands and settled them onto her shoulders. She felt small standing before him. She felt thin and fragile as if he could break her bones with his fingers. “Do not ask me questions when you are not ready to hear the answers.” His touch fell away and he sauntered through the temple’s hall for the courtyard.

“Please! I lost my tribe. I lost people that I love.”

“You are not the only one who has tasted sorrow, little elf.”

She watched him walk away, her fear replaced with loneliness. Her arms began to wrap around her torso as she dropped to her knees. She hugged herself harder, squeezing to keep from falling even further into the floor.

Her mind was whirling with all the information she was being assaulted with. The Dev once worshipped elven gods. Did they call them by different names? Did they worship them the same way as her tribe?

Strangely of all, the Dev were not the monsters she thought they were.

Alateraz, despite his harshness, was no more a monster than the wolf roaming the wilds.

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