The Succling and Her Dues

Chapter Three: Act Five

[Persian District, 1730 (Continued)]

Strawberry cream clouds painted the red sky, rolling as if to say, “Good morning.” A slight breeze crossed over Syifus, waking him.

He stretched and yawned, and his curls tussled with a few blades of tall grass.

The Aegean blue babbling creek stretched parallel to him and Anara, teeming with an array of pike, carp, and zander. The goats—those who survived the fire—grazed along the edges. A cinnamon-splotched nanny, however, limped about; bleating profusely with a bloody snout.

Syifus bolted toward the injured she-goat and snapped her neck. “Perhaps our little flower is hungry.” He glanced behind.

Anara contorted her limbs, twisting at the waist, with tears spilling from her scrunched eyes. And her lips parted like a tide. No sound ever escaped.

Jaw ticking, Syifus’ feet commanded him forward. Blood dripped in a line and embellished the grass with carmine droplets. He paused several feet away from Anara, relief washing over him as her features softened.

Cauva appeared next to Syifus, tilting her head while leaning against his shoulder. Her eyebrows knitted together, and her lips soured into a frown.

“Did the old god refuse a favor?” he asked, drollfully, masking any signs of disquietude.

She smacked his arm, gritting her teeth. “The crown he promised lies with this harlot. Something changed…”

“How so?”

“Do you recall the day we encountered Anara in the southern field?”

Syifus perked a brow, his eyes steady on Anara. “I recall the mortals, but I am afraid you will have to entertain me with your encounters thereafter…”

☽☀☾

[Persian District, 1730 (Six Days Earlier)]

It seemed that two were not enough to suppress her hunger but plenty more to snap her meal's bones and form them into a pentagram. She placed the skull of Ayaz at the southernmost point, his jaw dislocated and placed on top of his coronal suture, whereas Bugra’s skull faced north between the two-pointed crowns. Their ribs were crushed into thin powder and sprinkled around the pentagram, forming a circle.

The woman then collected the golden petals of the rose Anara damaged and deposited them within the empty spaces of the inverted star. With her nail, she slit the palm of her hand, watching as the metallic purple liquid dripped in the center of the sigil.

Flames burst, cinching the petals and remaining bones to ash. Blood seeped from the eye sockets of the skulls, trickling upwards toward the sky until it formed a body.

“Is it necessary to summon me in this way?” Death smirked, stepping toward the woman. Smoke surrounded him, cloaking his form in fine winter silk.

“How else could I beckon you, Thańatos?” she gritted.

True, she had other means to summon him. However, she rather enjoyed desecrating what was left of her meals. Having lost her clan during the Thousand-Year War to mere gods of the mortal world, she sought vengeance upon humans. What’s more, as princess and heir to the throne, she was promised to rule over the kingdom of the hellish underworld of Tavers.

“I’m only a whisper away, Cauva,” he continued. Venom in the way he said her name. “Where is the girl?” He scanned the parameters, sighing as he noticed the trail of hooves leading into the woods.

“She commanded Syifus to take her back. I would have kept her here—”

“Why have you summoned me, if not for the girl?”

His words cut through Cauva. She bit her lip, holding her tongue. She could tell him, but she gathered Death already knew.

Years ago, during the war, the summoning of clans within her realm had faltered. So, she sought help from the third realm, Hêsteurœ. Being an untouchable fortress that protected eldritch beasts and wandering ghouls from the gods of Land and Sea, Cauva created a summoning circle.

The sigil brought forth Death and his wife, Anasaría. Though Cauva was wary of the Hêsteurœn Queen Mother’s presence, she could not deny the raw power emanating from the feminine beauty.

Taking pity on Cauva, Anasaría accepted the request and fought valiantly. She destroyed many gods and goddesses in her wake of fiery destruction but was later vanquished by the God of Wisdom, Trellis. Having lost his fated love, Death took her body back, allowing Trellis to conquer what was left of Tavers and Hell.

The defeat left Cauva broken. Scornful. Zealously vengeful. Her clan withered soon after, leaving just herself and her life partner, Syifus, to trek the Persian Deserts.

“I have delivered on my promise,” Cauva hissed. “I desire it.”

It? He snickered, whisping away into a thin veil of glittering lace before reappearing behind Cauva. His lips brushed against her heated earlobe, proclaiming, “Your desire for greater things will always come with even greater sacrifices.” His fingernails dug into her upper arms, barely breaking the skin.

Cauva winced but kept her composure. Her breath latched to the silence before his voice trailed back into her eardrum.

“Patience. Permission. It is all you need. When? Well, time is not a command for either of us to wield. Only one can give it… willingly.”

“That was not what we acceded to!” She spun around, glaring at him while ignoring the nasty gashes his nails inflicted on her nightly complexion. “We agreed—”

“Oh, how you twist our rather unique arrangement, poor succubus,” he jested. “‘I, Cauva, submit myself unto you. Use me, for my hunger will last for as long as you command me.’ Was it not your tongue that spoke just?”

Cauva stepped back, chuckling. Her head tilted back, exposing her slender neck. Specks and trails of crimson glistened against the falling sun. If a mere human were to see her from the edge of the woods, they would have been drawn in by the eclipsing pink glow encasing her curved build.

“It appears that you have not heard me,” she retorted.

“Blood oaths are fickle beasts.” Death strode forth, his snow-white robe treading through the granules of soot and dirt. “My contracts are finite; thus, they can never be broken.”

“How could you be so sure?” Cuava smirked.

Truly, contracts with Death resulted in the tearing of one’s soul until they became specks of stardust in the velvet sky. No one, however, dared ask why that was so. Cuava was determined to weed out the extent of their deal by any means.

She stepped toward him, brushing her fingers up his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. “What life have you lived that you can not bear to make exceptions?” Her body pressed against his, her eyes a lustful mix between sunflower and rose gold.

He sneered as her lips breached his, shoving her to the ground. “Do not test me, succubus; for it could be your last.”

Cauva sat up on her elbows, panting heavily. Bewildered that he thwarted her advance.

“Remember why you are here. Otherwise, you would have wandered aimlessly until you, too, succumbed to the torturous desert.”

Luna moths fluttered about, forming a ring between Death and the woods behind him. Before he entered, he glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharp. “The girl is all that matters.”

She watched him enter, the portal closing from the scattering of moths. Gritting her teeth, she trudged toward the wall of trees, wondering what he meant when he said, ‘Only one can give it… willingly.’

☽☀☾

[Persian District, 1730 (Present)]

Cauva glared at Anara, envisioning the maiden’s flesh engulfed in flames while shrieking to the heavens.

Anara rolled to her side away from them, screaming, “Qa lecklê kara siýencí!” Panting, Anara jolted up. She jerked her head around, then released her breath when her eyes fell on Syifus.

“Another nightmare?” he asked.

She nodded. “Their screams. It haunts me, still.” A frown appeared when she spotted the dangling goat beside him. “Azita was not made for eating…”

Cauva rolled her eyes, then plastered a tight-lipped smile. “You have not eaten for days.”

“She was the oldest of the she-goats. She helps—” Anara gulped, her throat stinging from the bubbling of tears threatening to expel, “she helped with herding the little ones.”

Syifus rested the dead creature beside him, then wiped a stray tear from Anara’s cheek. “She was injured, you see. I could not let her suffer anymore—”

“Never kill another. If they are sick, I will heal them. If they bleed, I will mend them.”

“Forgive me.” Syifus reached out, grasped her hand, then pressed his lips into her knuckles.

Disgust raged within Cauva, her eyes flickering between sunflower and rose gold. Kicking the goat to the side, Cauva meandered, passed them, and collected firewood that Syifus gathered the night before. She then wandered toward a divot of ash and threw the wood in the center.

With a snap of her fingers, an emerald droplet appeared at the tip of her index finger. Cauva admired the little dancing flame before swishing her hand in a circular motion. It shot across from her finger to a random stick, engulfing the pile in a bright peridot haze.

She turned around, finding a smile gracing Anara’s lips with the snapped goat in tow of her delicate hand. This wench! Cauva’s hands balled, her nails digging into her palms. Satisfied already, despite her fusing over a cloven beast? “Will you eat this time?” Cuava sneered.

“Yes, Cauva,” Anara murmured. “I wish to mourn a little longer, though protesting a meal you both are so graciously offering would be the greatest offense.”

Anara passed Azita’s corpse to Syifus, then stumbled toward the embankment. She lifted her sift and crouched over the running water to relieve herself.

“Hurry back,” Syifus cried. “I have never skinned an animal before!”

Anara chuckled as she made her way back to the fire which had shifted to a smoky mixture of scarlet honey. “If you are to skin it, we need something sharp,” she chimed.

“Will this do?” Cauva plucked a bundle of curls from her hair. They sizzled and combusted, sulfuric sparks rapidly increasing as the form shaped into a symmetrical obsidian spear.

“Indeed.” The tool fell into Anara’s hand.

Making her way to a lengthy sandstone slab beside the fire, Syifus lay the she-goat on its side. She worked the tip into the ankles, creating tiny incisions which aided in separating the skin from the muscles and avoiding the anus in the process. After removing the hide, Anara’s blade made it to the paunch belly, puncturing the muscle.

“You wailed in a language of yore shortly before waking. I cannot place it,” Syifus confessed as the muscle split open to reveal a fatty transparent sac.

“Periochían. Mama would sing to me in her native tongue.” Placing the knife down, Anara looked around and found a sharp stone with jagged edges. “In my dream, there was a man whose flesh melted from his bones. Spores of ember oozed from his eye sockets and where his s*x would have been.”

She stood up and brushed off bits of dirt on the stone. “His words were vile. I have no need to recite his slander. The last thing I remember was commanding, ‘Your tongue shall be silenced…’ Then I rose from my slumber.”

Syifus nodded, his posture relaxing as Anara paced toward the river to clean the rock.

Cauva trailed behind her, arms crossed and eyes narrowed on the bouncing of chocolate curls. “Is it true that you healed a hound?”

“Yes.” Anara knelt at the bank. She plunged the rock in there and waved it for a moment.

“But the man in the field—you seemed to pity that murderer—what of him?”

Anara froze. Her secrets of healing were hers, alone. Not even Nanektah was aware of this feat.

It happened on her seventh birth year when a hare crossed paths with a jackal. Something compelled her to draw a branch and thwack the four-legged carnivore until it left. The hare’s neck was snapped, with blood covering its butterscotch fur. She scooped up the poor creature, kissed its head, and stroked its back. The neck realigned instantaneously and the puncture wounds from the jackal’s bite vanished. Then, the hare leaped from her arms as though death was not looming near, never to be seen again.

“I am in the dark.” Anara turned to Cauva, drying the solidified mineral with her sift. “I cannot tell you, but his eyes spoke to me. It was his time. Animals are nothing but tools for us humans. The mutt had much to live for.”

Cauva stood there, stunned. She was indeed like Death’s deceased love. No matter their similarities, Cauva thought, she is not suited for the most powerful god.