the Heart of a Beast

Chapter 9. Anya.

The sun had not yet risen fully, but the brisk morning saw Anya performing a series of low-sweeping kicks and thrusts with her dagger as sweat beaded on her forehead. She exhaled softly, trying to steady her racing heart, adjusting her grip on the handle slightly, facing her 'opponent'.

She'd tied a strip of cloth to the branch of one of the citrus trees, ducking and swerving to avoid its swinging length.

Shadow-fighting.

Lina had laughed at her once when she'd told her the name of the exercise. And then Siri had heard and teased her for it for two moons straight. Even they had always thought her a little strange, so it had given her sisters immense pleasure to tease her about fighting shadows, telling her she was seeing things. Saying she was moon-cursed.

She shifted her footing slightly, her stance on the soft grass sure. She swung the dagger in another circle, twirling it with ease despite the protest of her muscles and with a groan she realised she should have stretched out more. She waited for her imaginary opponent, her balance perfect on the balls of her feet, ready to move at a movement notice.

The cloth danced in the wind.

Bringing the dagger closer to her face and then slashing outwards, Anya exhaled heavily, watching the silver-tip blade slice through the slip of cloth, watching as it fluttered to the ground softly. Her opponent had fallen.

It had taken everything within her not to tackle Siri to the ground at their teasing, for her fury had risen quickly, fanned by their laughter and fuelled by the taunts. But their father had quickly silenced them, gathering his youngest daughter in his arms as he scolded the elder. Such words were dangerous, he had said, especially in the north where the threat of the wolf-creatures was so much more prevalent.

Where they knew the people who had been taken, it was no longer just whispers in alleyways and taverns.

She twirled the blade. Front to back. Back to front. She tossed it, watching the light dance across the blade as it spun.

She was strange, perhaps, that she would readily admit to. With her penchant for both books and sharp, shiny weapons, and fighting. But she was not cursed by the Moon Goddess with any affliction of the mind. That, she was quite certain of.

Her mind was her own.

As a single ray of light crept through the cloud's she sheathed her dagger at her waist and turned her face upwards, basking for a moment in its warm glow.

Her father had always stood up for her, always indulged in her whims. He’d not protested when she’d wanted to continue training with a blade, he’d smiled indulgently when she’d first asked if she could accompany him to been with a potential partner.

She did not let her thoughts show on her face, not as she thought of her father and the lies she had seen in his eyes. She was certain that their wealth had not returned, not in the way he had told them. For those cloths, those jewels and the furs that had filled those chests were unlike anything they had owned before. Siri had not been wrong when she had said the quality was fit for a king.

Not for a merchant.

Had he been so desperate to give them a better life that he had borrowed wealth? Was that why he had to return?

“Anya!” it was Lina's call that cut through the morning air and with a sigh Anya cracked an eyelid to see her sister at the door of the farmhouse, dusting her hands on her apron. “Come for breakfast.”

She blinked, startled from her thoughts.

Even with the riches their father had procured, where did they think they would spend them? Rarely did they eat breakfast each morning, they did not always have enough to. The merchants had gone for the winter; they would not be back until the birds of spring sang.

She thought of the nightrose, tucked up in the pouch under her bed.

She would go into Rhaerynn that day. Healer Eamon would buy what she offered, or perhaps trade.

And she needed to figure out what in the Angels’ t**s was going on.

"Anya!"

"Coming!"

She picked up the strip of cloth, untying the other half from the branch, wrapping them around her knuckles. She might get another half hour or so of practice in before the sun rose fully, for she'd awoken early even for her and had already tended to their animals. A soft whinny caught her attention and she turned slightly.

The two horses which her father returned with were beautiful creatures, with long necks and sleek hindquarters. Perfectly groomed, they seemed to know how stunning they were as proud as if they had been bred from the mares of New Porthbrynn. And they seemed to be watching her, with those too-dark eyes following her each moment.

Uncanny.

Almost wolf-like.

She shook her head. They were horses. They were not moon-cursed creatures of the night.

“ANYA!”

She turned from them and jogged to the longhouse. She wasn't quite sure why Lina rushed her; Siri had probably not gotten out of bed yet.

But to her surprise, her sister was sitting up in bed when she entered, wiping off her boots. Siri curled her nose up at her, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, her hair a dishevelled mess of auburn curls which she’d not yet braided. Disapproving of her attire once again. "Is there anything better for breakfast?" Blue eyes fixed on Lina.

Had Siri taken leave of her senses?

Coins and fine cloth did not just make things appear.

She glanced quickly at Lina, who was smiling at their father as poured the broth into his bowl, but even her bright smile could not hide the shadows beneath her eyes. Dark shadows which told of the sleepless nights that she had lay awake, telling them in the morning she was fine. Anya only had very dim memories of Lina not being able to sleep properly as a child before their mother had passed on. Eamon, perhaps, could supply her with a sleeping draught to help Lina.

Something that would give her a dreamless sleep.

"I'll trade with Healer Eamon today for more supplies," Anya said as she sat down, breaking her bread into smaller pieces. "He'll give us what we need to make it through the winter. I'll trade him the nightrose." He had no need for jewels or fine cloth, nor would he want them. But the nightrose…

"I thought I told you not to go into the forests." Her father's tone was cutting, brisk. He was furious.

At her.

She frowned as Lina dished out the thin broth into chipped bowls. Had her rabbit traps worked there would have been at least some meat to flavour it. Lina's eyes were downcast, not meeting her own. Where did her sisters think she went in the middle of the day if not into the forests? Where did they think the extra coin came from for their baubles? They knew where she went. It had never been a problem before.

They had simply turned a blind eye.

But something rose within her as her father's ire increased.

He hadn't been there.

He wasn’t the one who fretted day in and day out if they would have enough food for the winter. He wasn’t the one that bartered for goods.

She slammed her palms on the table, standing. “And if I hadn't? What then?”

Three pairs of eyes stared at her.

But the ones she looked back at were the ones the same colour as her own. “If I hadn't we would have starved. No one needs f*****g jams and fruits for winter. We needed the coin, so I got it.” She tossed a curl over her shoulder, trembling.

"Anya!" Lina's gasp was startled, and Anya could imagine the shock in her emerald eyes. But Anya did not look at her sister; her eyes were fixed on their father’s dark eyes.

Adresyn stood. His handles trembled, his eyes darted. "Never again. You are never to go into the forests again." He tossed a few golden coins onto the table. Buy what we need with that. “Don't ever put yourself in danger again. Do not ever go into the forests.”

It was wrong.

Her fingers curled around the coins.

She'd always done what she could to help them survive. Always. Even when her sisters had complained, even when he had not been able to rise from bed in the mornings. She had tended to the orchards, she had pruned and picked the fruits. Rain or shine she had risen early to feed the animals and clean the muck. She did what they would not to survive. And never had she complained.

She said nothing as she left the table, leaving the bread and the untouched broth. She pulled her cloak over her vest and closed the door behind herself without a word. She inhaled deeply, her hands curled into fists, her nails making small crescents in her palms.

She stared down at the gold coins, her back pressing against the wooden door to their home.

Similar to ones they had traded within the city, but the shape was wrong.

What was going on?

She inhaled the sharp air once more. Her father was terrified. It was fear that caused his hands to tremble. But to take it out on her? She was trying to help.

Her gaze turned to the two horses that frolicked playfully, moving swiftly, her feet moving before even a coherent thought had formed.

It was those horses she approached after gathering the bridle and saddle, rather than their old mare. They were beautiful; she knew that those who traded in horses would pay hefty sums for such fine specimens. Their hides were like glossy silk, one an almost-white and the other the colour of warm sunlight on sand, with a mane and tail like starlight.

She took another step, the low wall still separating them.

The rune-spelled wall that protected their house and those within.

Haunches quivered as the white mare rocked forward with a toss of its head – dark eyes watching her.

“Easy now,” she whispered. Calming herself or the horse? She hoisted herself up onto the damp stones, the moss slick beneath her fingertips.

The hills dotted with trees were lit by the feeble rays that struggled to shine through the broken layer of cloud. The air was cold enough that she pulled her hood up to warm the tips of her ears, but still it did not rain as she rode to Rhaerynn.

She'd had to wrestle the almost-white mare to go the direction she'd wanted, though it had not flinched at the bridle she'd slipped over its head. It had pranced beneath her when she'd turned it away from the forests and towards the road.

What had she said wrong? What had she done wrong? Did her family not understand all she did was for them?

The hills stretched before her like a quilt of golden, brown, and pale green squares, rising and falling like giant waves on a gentle ocean. Occasionally there was a wood that separated the fields or a farmhouse, surrounded by a low, circular rune-spelled wall. Anyone who lived in Rhaerynn could see their lives mapped out over those hills and fields.

It was those hills and the easy gait of the mare that calmed her unsteady mind, as she replayed the conversation over and over in her mind. The familiarity eased the anger that made her hands tremble on the reins.

All she needed to do was push back her hood and the gates were opened for her, revealing the town within the towering wall. Rhaerynn was quiet, though no longer was it the early hours of the morning. The mare trotted merrily, oblivious to the stares cast its way.

She would not pull her hood back up. Instead, she straightened her back and made her way towards the healers' practice. She had no reason to hide. She had no reason to feel ashamed of herself.

She passed the smith, from which dark clouds billowed. She would visit Larsyn if she had time before the sun began to sink. And Elias.

The healer was not dressed for the cold outside and so quickly pulled her into his abode when she rapped upon his door after tethering the mare. He cast his eye quickly about the street, perhaps to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied, he closed the door with a soft thud.

She had told him she would collect more nightrose for him in exchange for one of his books on healing. For Lina, who could not travel to Rhaerynn each day to learn from him properly. She would apologize to Lina later, but she was sure her sister would prefer the food she would purchase instead.

"Here to pick up the book already?" His voice was gruff as he pulled off his apron, the words music to her ears. Traders-talk. The Old Language of Albaa. Very few within the village spoke it, other than the Priest and the wolf-hunter. She supposed their Lord did as well, but she had no reason to speak to him, and avoided the other two whenever she could.

He led her through his living quarters into the back room, where he practiced his art. She let herself smile as the familiar smell enveloped her like an embrace. Tiny green leaves strung up upon the rafters, drying, aromatic leaves of thyme, rosemary. Too many that she did not recognize; though Lina could have named them she was sure.

No matter how many times she visited the healer, no matter how many times she brought him herbs from the forest, she never grew accustomed to the darkness he liked to live in.

Small candles lit the workspace, showing only slightly the books that lined the shelves. Books for learning, for herbs, for wounds, for magik. He let very few glimpse what lay within those pages. Rows upon rows of dustless jars, labelled in a neat script, each label facing outwards. On closer inspection Anya knew that they were organized by name; she had made the mistake of picking one up and putting it in the wrong place but once.

Thick oak chopping boards sat upon the table in the centre of the room, small knives lined up by size.

Quite different to any healers practice within the Floating City, she knew.

“I wanted to ask a favour,” she said, slipping the gold coins out of her belt-pouch, replying in the same language that he had used. One she had learnt at a young age when she had begun shadowing her father in his work.

Eamon raised a bristly brow at her. “Favours can be dangerous things.”

She nodded. What she was to ask for was dangerous. For rune-spells that were not sanctioned by the Order were sometimes perilous things, old magik. But as Eamon had always told her, it was not the magik that was dark, but the use. A tool could not be inherently bad. “I need to know where these came from,” she placed the three coins on the table before her, upon one of the chopping boards.

Eamon brought one of the candles closer, for despite the light outside, it did not reach his window-less workroom. He did not touch them, as if they contained some sort of poison.

Instead the healer left her for a moment, and she heard the distinct click of the lock falling into place.

His face was clouded when he returned. "You know what you are asking for?"

A terse nod. "I need to know where these came from. And how my father came by them."

She placed the nightrose on the table. More than she'd ever given him before, and but two days old.

No words pass between them as he begins placing things upon the table. A crystal. Herbs. Ink. Mortar and pestle.

Then he pricked her finger with one of his knives, dropping it into the mixture he had made. A single drop of her blood. Her father's blood. And she felt a light shiver run through her.

Blood magik.

Forbidden magik.

Powerful magik.

She did not know the rune-spell he drew on her arm, from her wrist to the inside of her elbow, directing the magik. Rows of tiny runes drawn with the mixture. A few she recognised. Truth. Reveal. Hidden.

It felt like hours as her skin prickled.

She needed to know.

"Take the coins, Lavanya," the healer breathed, sitting backwards, regarding her with weary eyes. The nightrose, for him, was worth the energy the rune-spell drew from him.

Darkness enveloped her vision as she gripped the gold coins.

Her stomach fell, a sickening, swooping sensation of falling, like thinking there was another stair and then missing it. She was no longer in the barely-lit healer’s house.

In her minds-eye she saw the great gates of ivory marble, rising from the snow-covered ground. Towers reaching towards the sky. A vicious storm circled overhead.

It sung with magik. A magik she'd never encountered before.

It was magnificent.

Like a sirens-song it called to her.

"Please," her father was begging, his voice trembling. "Please do not do this. It was for my daughter."

In his trembling hands he held a rose.

The rose he had given to her.

The rose that Lina had seen and fainted.

He was sobbing.

Quivering.

And then she saw him.

The very air around him crackled.

Taloned hands curled into fists, scarred lips curled upwards in a snarl to reveal the too-sharp teeth. Flashing, burning golden eyes, looking down upon her father with contempt.

A beast.

"My daughters are everything to me," her father whispered, falling to his knees, sinking into the snow at the feet of the wolf-creature.

"Enough, human," the growl reverberated through her and her father froze. "I fed you and I clothed you and in response you steal from me. I should not have expected any different from a human."

Then the beast was gone, and she was falling again. And then she was looking out over the ocean, dark and tumultuous, crashing against the great white cliffs. No ocean she had ever seen before, she knew that with every part of her being.

Scenes flashed through her mind. Too fast for her to make any sense of it.

Her father in the Floating City, in the Guild Hall. Her father being turned away by those he had once sat side by side with. Their Masters-pins sitting on their chests, gleaming.

Her father sleeping in a plush bed. Her father picking a rose.

The Beast.

Fire. Crackling in those taloned hands.

"You have a week. The mares will bring you back."

A great castle upon a cliff.

Another castle with its spires reaching towards the storm clouds.

Ferocious golden eyes.

A loom.

A face that could have been handsome save for the scars and the snarl.

Dread stole through her very being as her eyes snapped open. She started, jerking backwards, the coins falling from her hand. Her breath left her shakily and she opened and closed her mouth, unable to find any words.

A moon-cursed creature had given their father the coins.

And he had traded his life for a rose.

A rose that she had asked for.

"Lavanya?"

The same language that the beast had used. She pressed a hand to her racing heart. She wasn't sure what she had expected.

"I saw–"

"No," his tone was hard, and she flicked her gaze to his, startled. Sweat had beaded upon his forehead. What had he seen? "I do not want to know what you saw. Take the coins."

"Healer Eamon, I –"

"Do not come back here, Lavanya."