The Succling and Her Dues

Chapter Three: Act 4

[Persian District, 1730 (Continued)]

Endless howls from a singular hound trailed behind Anara as she sprinted through the thicket. Her now tattered robe stuck to her skin like glue, sweat drenching down her back.

She dared not look back, fearing the four-legged beast would pin her the moment their eyes connected. How long she had run, she knew not. It seemed ages ago that she had last seen her mother and those terrible monsters.

Lightening rapidly increased, with one striking down a lush acacia tree, flames bursting from its sudden impact. The ground shook, causing Anara to lose balance and crash into wormwood.

Unaware of a burly figure creeping her way, she crawled over the bush, tears streaming down her face. Branches scraped against her exposed skin, leaving marks and tiny cuts in their wake. Just as she planted her knees on the soft soil, the mutt’s muzzle pressed on the nape of her neck, leaving her stunned. The vibrations from the dog’s growl made her skin prickle, her eyes closing on instinct. Anticipating the moment the hairy beast would clench its jaws around her.

“Nowhere for you to run, girl,” Bèhræm sneered, withdrawing his curved, dull blade and pinning the tip under Anara’s chin. “If what they say is true, then your time in this world has come to pass. Only then will His Majesty know rest.”

Widening her eyes, Anara gulped. Having just lost her only protector and mother figure, Nanktah, her heart was filled with worry, regret, and fear. She scrunched her eyes and began whispering prayers, caving to the ground and sobbing.

“Praying to your Devil, witch?” he cackled. “The Witch Killer asked that I bring you alive. I, on the other hand, deem you no good for the sultan while breath still courses within your—”

Syifus hurtled over a small berry bush nearby, with a small dagger in hand, surprising Bèhræm. He made quick work slitting the man's throat. Blood spewed everywhere, leaving Bèhræm gurgling and choking on his mortal ichor.

The gaunt hound yapped and whined, foam dribbling from the corners of its lips. It lunged forward and bore its teeth. Suddenly, it released a curdling whimper as Syifus kicked its side. Then, the mutt’s bones snapped under the crushing weight of Syifus’ thong.

It was silent for several moments before chirping bugs filled the new void. The fire from the tree vanished, too, amidst the tears spilling from the clouds above.

Anara shivered as she stood, treading lightly toward the poor four-legged creature. He panted, eyes glossing over. His middle was caved in with blood pooled in the center. The creature's coat of prunes and sand reflected heavily from the random flashes of light. If this beast were not a huntsman’s eyes, he would make a wonderful prey-hunting whelp, Anara thought to herself. She knelt beside him, brushing her fingers through his silky, blood-soaked fur. As her fingers danced along his crushed ribs, he whined. “Hush, little one,” she cooed. “All will be well.” Her hands pressed firmly on the wounds, then she brushed toward his hind legs.

The bones cracked and reshaped themselves, ballooning to their original positions and fusing like he was never hurt. The lanky dog licked her face, his feathery ears flopping about, before racing off and disappearing into the night.

Amazed by this, Syifus approached her. “It could have killed you,” he claimed. “Why heal a savage beast?”

She looked up and tilted her head, smiling. “It was but a pup. Much like me, bred to follow orders.” Tears swelled in her pretty caramel eyes. “As for the man, I am grateful for his death. He fulfilled his debt over my mother's untimely demise. May Death see to it that his soul never recovers.”

Her eyes crackled with embers glowing as bright as a blood moon. Soon, they simmered to a toffee hue, one that sent Syifus’ heartbeat into a fleeting rhythm and his skin as pale as the scar stretched across his chest. And the tips of her smile waned. “She could have survived. Was her life not worth protecting? Was my prayer but a speck of dust that vexes your eye?”

So many questions were hurled Syifus’ way, yet his only response was the moistening of lips and the shreds of sweat rolling from the crinkled rolls of his forehead.

She melted to the ground, curling her legs into her chest, belting her cries into the space between her chest and thighs. Breaking free from his trance, he draped himself around her. Embracing her as though she were his own. “Your prayers were heard, little flower,” he finally responded, his tone raspy and full of sorrow. “I bear no ill will to your heart’s desires. It was her wish that I protect you until your debt is satisfied.”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, boring into those emerald irises of his. If she stared long enough, she could unlock the uncertainty that glazed over his dilating pupils.

If her fierce expression was from any other, Syifus would not dare entertain their perceived notion of domineering tactics. He, however, felt a pull on her soft aura. The helplessness that cast forth from her hollowed eyes. Perhaps, the tug of his chest was partly due to his charge of her, or maybe her actions, alone, were breaking his preconceptions of human nature.

“It matters not, little flower—”

“Tê klaré.” Anara’s eyes softened, realizing that she would not get the answer she desired from him.

“Permit me,” Syifus’ lips perked a bit. “Is something the matter?”

“No. She called me that. I wish to be addressed with such titles of endearment.”

“Whatever does it mean?”

“...My Love.”

In the distance, a bright fire caught their attention, with a moving line trailing behind. Villagers from the inner bands of the palace pranced and cheered and cried out to the heavens, “The witch is gone. We are free! May the gods beseech us and bless us until our final days!” And they repeated this. Over. And over. And over again.

Anara cupped her ears, her eyes consumed with embers and two little dots of coal in the middle. Syifus stepped back, frightened. How much of you is human? he wondered.

She marched through the thicket, mud splattering her exposed calves. Carmine dribbled from the open cuts on her cheeks—ones made from the pointy branches that scratched at her through the maze of trees and brush. Standing at the edge of the wall of bark, she looked down at the crowd that gathered around her hut.

Her hands curled into fists. “I wish they would cease,” she muttered. “A witch is nothing more than a vessel for Death. But she… she was my mother.”

Within moments, the cheers and chants churned into blood-curdling screams and scurrying feet. The torches lay waste to the stalks of wheat and grass, and bleating goats scattered in a frenzy, with several dropping instantaneously on their sides, being consumed by the flames.

Syifus glanced at the fiery display before him, eyes wide and filled with questions. Do they fear a mere child so much, that they are willing to desecrate the home of a dead enchantress? He turned next to him, finding nothing beside him.

“How could you let her wander?” Cuava sneered, her invisible presence blanketing Syifus.

“Hush, now. She is near. But where? I—” His eyes darted toward the engulfed hut. He gulped and said nothing more as his feet carried him over to the dwindling walls and missing roof.

Unphased by the heat and glowing fire, Anara shuffled through the rubble and broken clay vases, carefully maneuvering around the burning rugs. Rancid keratin and leather permeated the plumes of smoke, leading to two charred figures on the ground. She knelt beside the first, exerting much of her energy to roll it over. She snarled at the sight. Blisters covered half the frame of a man, whose eyes remained open. The rest of his body, what little there was, exposed most of his bones and muscles.

Disgusted, she stood and kicked at his side before making her way over to the second, much smaller figure. Tears bubbled at the edge of her lids as she fell to the ground and dragged her mother’s remains onto her lap. Her fingers combed through the few strands that extended from Nanektah’s melted skull, rocking back and forth and humming her lullaby.

Syifus stood where the front entrance would have been, looking down on her with pitiful eyes. “She will be missed. Truly,” was all he managed to say.

She nodded and closed her eyes, letting the tears stream down. “Where shall I go from here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

When she opened her eyes, it was not a man before her, but a bulky creature with cloven hooves and a white patch on its chest. Syifus’ golden bell jingled as his head bent down. “The palace, I suppose.” He licked the tears from her face, causing her to giggle.

“They do not welcome commoners,” she pointed out matter-of-factly, then gently placed her mother’s body on the ground before climbing onto Syifus’ back.

“They will,” he retorted, “if you are to be presented as a gift to His Majesty.”