Chapter Ten: She Who Swallowed the Moon

Content Warnings

A lot of death and violence in this chapter. There are also depictions of fire and arson. If you're not prepared to read something dark, please hold off on reading this chapter.

The Golden Wilds were thick with humidity. It laced her skin with a sheen of sweat. She used the cloth around her neck to wipe some of it from her face but it returned in beads then rivulets. She coiled her thick hair onto the crown of her head and pinned it with an ornate bone clip.

By the time evening rolled in, their march through the wilds began to slow to a crawl. Then, with greater efficiency than even her tribe could dream, they stopped and set up camp as if they had been thriving there for centuries. They were an army, she concluded while helping Atisha unpack her medical supplies.

Zahirana kept close to the healer. After all, she owed the woman a great debt. She would try to repay her while she had time among their tribe. She would make herself useful. She would make up for her past mistakes one way or another.

Keepers of Fate, could she make up for her sin?

She moved to the edge of the healer’s tent and looked out across camp. The area was familiar to her. They were near the Bone River’s bend, a series of rocky rapids where animal carcasses often gathered after heavy rains. It was a prime spot for gathering bones and hide. It had its dangers, as well. So long as they steered clear, they wouldn’t run into any bears.

It was near the next rendezvous point for her tribe, though. It was an old tower, human-made, back when the Amitran lords tried to tame the Wilds and rid the area of ‘savage’ elves.

She was still a little weak from her wounds. She wouldn’t be able to fight with a bow but if she could just reach her tribe…

Her gaze bobbed between tents and across unfamiliar hooded faces. Wolf pelts and deer pelts covered some, a bear pelt hood covered another. Finally, among a bustling group, she found Alateraz giving orders. He had to be their leader, she decided. He was reorganizing camp and sending others off on scouting trips.

“He’s easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Atisha’s soft voice cooed in her ears.

Zahirana huffed. “Sure. Easy on the eyes and hard on the ears.”

She chuckled and the sound was lighthearted and sweet. “But you do agree that he’s attractive.”

Zahirana nodded slightly, shrugging her shoulders. He was attractive. There was no denying that. When she looked over at Atisha’s smug grin, she shook her head. “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I think I know what you meant.”

“I have better things to worry about than grouchy, bitter, smug—”

Her laugh was as gentle as a chime ringing in the wind. “Is that why you were staring then?”

“Staring?” Her brows jolted in surprise. “You misunderstood. I was thinking about how to talk to him about something, that’s all.”

“Certainly,” she mused but her tone hinted at disbelief. “Thinking about many things, I’m sure.”

She added quickly to clear up Atisha’s woeful confusion, “I should probably talk to him before I leave to find my tribe.”

Her steps slowed.

“Last time I tried leaving, he hunted me down like I was some rabbit for his stew.”

She turned around and nodded her head a few times. “So long as you come back. Find them. Bring them here.” She looked her in the eyes, voice firm, “We can help your tribe.”

“I don’t think Alateraz would be too keen on that.”

Her lips curled at the edges. “You obviously haven’t been paying attention. You’re still here, are you not?”

Zahirana scoffed. “I’m only here and alive because of your help.”

She quietly confessed, “He led us to you.”

Her brows furrowed at the strange remark.

“Come back soon,” she added, patting a hand on her patient’s arm. She turned and shuffled through camp without another word.

Zahirana moved through camp deciding she wouldn’t tell Alateraz. He probably would grouch in annoyance at her interruption. She made her way towards the place where the old tower would be. She spent her whole life in the wilds. It was her home. The wilds were a part of her. Her tribe always trekked from one forest to the next, moving like ghosts among the trees and hills. It was good to be moving again, feeling the moss beneath her toes and the trees under her palms as she climbed over fallen debris and through the underbrush.

She heard the soft rustle of branches and leaves. It wasn’t the wind. Something was behind her. She stilled, ears straining to hear the noise more acutely. It was larger than most animals, larger than a ram yet smaller than a bear.

She turned around and surveyed the forest.

Alateraz walked into view, steps far more graceful than they had been at camp. He was like a stag, head raised high and steps precisely placed. He passed through the foliage and for a moment she forgot that he wasn’t elven. He looked more at home than perhaps even the animals.

Zahirana tried to stand taller as she lifted her chin. “Alateraz?”

“You left the camp.”

“I told Atisha where I was going.”

His expression remained the same apathetic emptiness as usual. “You told Atisha. You did not tell me.”

Zahirana opened her mouth to retort but pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. It was the second time he had followed her into the forest. Her mind shouted that he must indeed be a slaver and that he was following her to enslave her tribe. But the far more logical side of her considered his presence as mere kindness. Perhaps, despite his hard exterior, he was concerned about her. Perhaps Atisha was right and there was something more to him.

“The meeting point for my tribe is nearby,” she stated. “I wanted to see if they were still there waiting for me.”

He walked past her, further ahead, almost pretending to ignore her.

“What are you even doing out here?”

“Scouting.”

She smirked and pressed her fingertips into her temples. “That’s what scouts are for.”

“Everyone is a scout for my ‘tribe’.”

She followed after him, easily keeping with his slow, leisurely stroll. “Strange because since I’ve been with your tribe, the same people have scouted. You weren’t one of them.”

“Shall we find your tribe or debate about mine?”

Her lips pulled wide in a smile. She turned her head away to hide it from his proud gaze. She wouldn’t want to embarrass the man.

They moved deeper into the wilds. Only the sounds of tropical birds singing and chattering filled the air. Somewhere in the distance an elk was snorting and huffing, calling out to a rival male. Then the wilds fell silent and a chill skipped down her spine.

Her nostrils flared. She caught a whiff of something unfamiliar.

“Smoke,” he told her.

She sniffed and breathed deeper. “Smells like something’s burning. Maybe a campfire.” She peered through the hips of trees, eagerly seeking a glimpse of her people. “White smoke. That means whatever it was stopped burning. They might have left recently.” She couldn’t wait anymore. She had to see them.

“Careful, Zahirana. Wait!”

She took off, her feet having a mind of their own. She had to see them. Maybe they didn’t get far. Maybe they were still in the area. She had to know.

She could see the decrepit stone tower between tree branches. She raced quicker, harder, her legs feeling as if any moment they might snap out from under her. She jumped through the clearing’s wood line. Her feet slowed to a halt, the dry grass crunching underfoot.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. A campfire? No, it was too large. Black soot, ashes piled atop charred items, and there was something else. There was something that looked like bones. Her brows pinched. It was the bones and ashes of her people, her family, piled together like rubbish.

She gasped. The air in her lungs felt thin. She breathed deeper, sucking down air more and more. She couldn’t breathe out long enough to steady herself. She couldn’t stop gulping down mouthfuls of air. She was choking for oxygen, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around herself, walking closer to it, then dropping to her knees. Their ashes were hot even through the leather of her armor. It burned her skin and stung her eyes. She coughed as the ash in the air drifted into her throat.

She saw the smooth cloth doll, freckled and dusted with black, burned on its edges. She lifted the limp toy, running her thumb along its face like a mother to her child. Anise. This was hers. It was sewn by hand by Ris-Loresa.

Alateraz kneeled beside her. His hand was firm yet gentle on her shoulder.

Her voice was quiet, broken, “I did this to them.” She didn’t cry. She wasn’t sure she had any more tears left. But her face crumpled, a hard-pressed frown and concave brows deepening the longer she stared at the doll.

His grip on her shoulder squeezed. “We should leave this area. It isn’t safe.”

“I let this happen because I was stupid. I was stupid and failed at my duty. I chose to run off. I convinced Sarlen to run off with me. I did this. The whole tribe. The whole tribe is dead. I did this to them.” Her voice was rising, louder and higher. “I did this!”

He gripped her shoulder tighter now. “You are not to blame. Blame those who actually killed them.”

She looked at him. She stared into the orange glint of his eyes. He was right. She did blame them, whoever they were, she blamed them and she’d find them. She would hunt them down like the mindless beasts that they were.

Her sorrow twisted into anger. She gripped the doll hard, her nails sinking into the soft plush. She stood up and dropped the doll into the ashes. Her muscles tightened as she marched forward, collecting energy from all around her, all that nature could offer. She pulled it from every inch of earth and tree.

Avenge your people, she ordered the wilds. Avenge your children.

Alateraz followed after her, his voice rough, “Control yourself. This is dangerous.”

She let the power writhe within her flesh, burrow itself into her bones. Her hatred twisted it into something altogether unnatural and dark. She summoned her spell, one she had done over a dozen times, but this time was different.

“Do not do this. Your magic could consume you.” His steps picked up behind her, right on her heels.

“Let it. It can have me.” She didn’t falter, didn’t waver. “Ma asa’raezun.”

Black fur shredded itself over her, ripping through skin and clothes. She snapped her jaws, bones creaking as they grew and teeth sharpening as a growl rolled through them. She became filled with an animalistic hunger, wrapped in the spirit of the wolf. She dug her claws into the earth and sniffed out the scent of her prey. Their scent mingled with the blood of her people. The very people they killed and desecrated by burning their corpses.

A howl ruptured through her as she took off into the wilds, paws pounding out the rhythm of a battle song. She could hear Alateraz running behind her, his steps just as quick and precise as if he too were a wolf.

She found them, their pathetic attempt at a stronghold. They had taken the trees of the wilds and used them to make walls. The gate was wide open, manned by two archers who looked weak beneath their leathers. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t halt or think about what she would do. She simply lunged, her teeth finding the soft flesh of his throat and biting down until bones crunched. She didn’t bother with the other guard. She leaped inside, sliding across the dusty earth where they had uprooted the soft grasses and left behind a barren wasteland.

She fought each one who charged at her, fangs and claws against soft skin. She bit through leather armor and dodged their spears. Her jaws clamped down around skulls and her claws sunk between ribs.

Alateraz guarded her back, taking out any archers who took to the roofs. His magic was old, ancient, and harmonized with nature. It was as much a part of him as breathing. He commanded the earth, summoning nature to fight back against the invaders who had caused such turmoil to the land.

They fought together seamlessly, their magic somehow synchronizing, pulling, and tugging without overpowering.

She searched the area around her but there was no one left to charge at. Their corpses surrounded her. The sour stench of death stained her throat and lungs. She could taste their blood on her tongue.

She snarled as the heavy weight of anger lifted from her. The vengeance that had fueled her let go, leaving her body drained and exhausted. Even through her fur and the heat of the forest, she felt cold and empty.

Alateraz walked forward, his armor splattered with blood. “Are you done, quickling?”

Her lips pulled back, barring her bloody canines. She was weak. But she wasn’t dead.

He kneeled, unabashed, unphased. “You had your revenge.” He lifted his hand to her cheek, pressing fingers through her blood-soaked fur. “You are finished here.”

Her growls subsided. She leaned into the soothing touch of his hand. She trembled. The magic that had sustained her slithered away until she was trembling and hollow. The fur fell off, vanishing into dust. She dropped to her knees and sank against the ground. She sat before him as a hapless child, naked and shivering.

She looked down at her bloodied hands. She gladly killed them. She was a monster but so were they. They deserved it. Didn’t they deserve it?

Alateraz stood up. He searched about the fort, grabbing whatever items he could find. He stuffed them into a bag he grabbed. He carried a large pelt, thin like something used for decoration. He draped it over her shoulders.

She clutched the fur. Bear, she thought, but a younger one. Easy prey for a group of cowardly bandits.

He helped her to her feet. Without a word, he led the way out of the stronghold.

She avoided the pools of blood, not that it would have made much difference. She was already covered in it.

It was dusk, the sun gleaming pink and orange across the edge of the horizon. Sunlight spilled into slanted beams, dust motes drifting lazily.

Your people were avenged, she tells the wilds.