Black Halo

A frigid silence consumed him.

‘Do not grow smug.’

‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘Do not grow confident. Do not grow comfortable. Do not let anything stewing in the tepid mush boiling in your skull convince you that you are in control.’

‘What do you-?’

‘I saved you from your suicidal madness. I saved you from the demons. I continue to preserve your life in the name of our duty.’

‘But what is it? What is our duty?’

‘That you do not know is only further proof that you do not deserve the legs you are allowed to walk with. I save you only that we may fulfil our duties. What I preserve, I can destroy.’

‘That would seem a little contradictory, wouldn’t it? Destroy me and you die, too … don’t you?’

‘I did not say,’ a gentle breeze caressed his mind, ‘that I would destroy you.’

‘What does that mean?’

The wind died.

‘What does that mean?’

Warmth returned.

‘What are you?’

‘I’m here,’ said another voice. ‘I’m right here.’

‘What? Where?’

‘Here, Lenk. I’m right here.’

A swift, erratic beat of a drum: certain of nothing.

It reached her as she pressed her ear against his chest, rising up from some deep place inside him. It had come to her before in fleeting whispers, murmurs, the occasional frantic scream. Now his heart hummed softly, sighing inside his body.

And though she knew she should try to resist it, her smile grew with each beat.

‘He’s alive,’ she whispered. She let her head rest upon his chest, felt it rise and fall with each breath. Her eyes closed. ‘Damn.’

It would have been easier if he had died, if he had stayed dead. She could have shed a tear, said a few words of memory, and called herself a shict again. She looked to the bandages covering his wounds, smelled the aroma of their salve. She could rip those off right now, she thought, and he would be dead and her problems would be solved. It was another opportunity, another chance to prove herself. And again, she couldn’t kill him.

You couldn’t even watch him die, she scolded herself. You couldn’t even have just sat back and let him die. Why couldn’t you do at least that?

Kataria sighed in time with his heartbeat; it was never that easy.

Her ears twitched as his muscles spasmed under his skin. Bones moaned, blood began to flow unhindered; he was waking up. She pulled back, heard his eyelids flutter open and held her breath as they peeled back fully. He groaned, turned his head and stared at her.

Two blue eyes, brilliant with the moisture that flooded them, looked up. Two blue eyes, she released her breath in a relieved exhale, with pupils in them. It was Lenk looking up at her, and not whoever else dwelt inside him. It was Lenk’s eyes blinking, Lenk’s lips twitching.

Lenk’s trembling hand, reaching up to touch her.

You could go now, you know, she told herself. You could run away and he would tell himself it was all a dream. You could find another way off the island and never see him again. Then, at least, you could say you didn’t sit there and let him touch you. It would be easy.

She saw the bleariness clear from his eyes, tears drying in the sun seeping through the thatched roof. She felt his fingers on her cheek, felt her shame straining to be heard as she pressed her face into his palm. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, growing faster, and sighed.

It was never that easy.

‘You …’ he whispered, his voice choked.

‘Me,’ she replied. She saw her canines reflected in his eyes. She saw her own smile. ‘Damn.’

He didn’t seem to hear her, barely even seemed to see her. His sole sense was touch, and he explored her with it. She felt the ridges of his fingers, the calluses of his palm on a skin of sweat as his hand traced her face. His fingers creased under her nose, traced the ridges of her lips. She could feel her breath break upon his fingertips, feel its heat.

He’s just mindlessly probing, she told herself. Groping like a monkey. He is a monkey, remember? He probably thinks he’s still asleep … or dead. You can still run, or you can push him away. When she felt herself leaning into his touch again, she all but screamed at herself. For Riffid’s sake, at least bite him or something!

‘You’re real,’ he whispered.

His hand slid farther up, plunging into her hair. She felt the sweat of her scalp under it mingle with his skin, felt his hand gentle upon her.

It’s not gentle, she reminded herself. Remember how many people he’s killed. Remember how easily he killed them. He’s not gentle. Stop thinking he is.

A sensation cold and hot at once, like a chill breeze on sweat-kissed skin, lanced through her body, causing it to shudder. She drew in a sharp breath as his fingers found the notches in her right ear, tracing them carefully.

Oh, you can’t be serious, she all but shrieked. Those are your ears! Shict ears, stupid! He can’t touch those! They’re … they’re sacred! They’re precious … they’re … he …

‘You’re alive,’ he whispered. His smile was easy, bereft of the malice and confusion she had seen in him before. ‘You’re alive … you’re …’ She felt his hand stop suddenly, something brushing against his hand. ‘Your feathers.’ He blinked, as if remembering. ‘You never leave your feathers behind.’

‘Not usually, no,’ she replied. It felt easy to tell him now, the words spilling from her lips. ‘But this time I-’

She felt his fingers wrap around her locks, pull hard. She felt the sudden stab of pain as the shriek escaped her lips.

It was easy to punch him after that as she brought her fist against his jaw and sent his head snapping to the side.

‘You stupid little kou’ru,’ she snarled, baring fangs. ‘What the hell was that for?’

And when he brought his face back, rubbing his jaw with the hand that was still slick with her sweat, it was easy to return the broad, stupid grin he gave to her.

‘I had to know,’ he said, his laughter harsh and parched.

‘You couldn’t have just asked?’

‘If you were a hallucination, you’d have said “yes”.’ He looked thoughtful, his grin growing broader. ‘Then again, if you were a hallucination you’d probably be …’ His eyes drifted lower, widening. ‘Um … nude.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat. ‘So, ah … not that I don’t have more impressive things to say, but I feel I must ask.’ He levelled a finger at her chest. ‘Why are you wearing that?’

She followed his finger to the scanty garment of brown fur wrapped about her breasts. From there, she followed his eyes down to her naked midriff and to the loincloth hanging off her sand-covered, pale thighs.

‘For the same reason,’ she said, prodding his bare, wiry chest, ‘you’re wearing that.’

Up until that point, she never thought that humans were capable of leaping nearly so high or turning such a shade of red. He slapped at his body, naked but for a similar garment tied about his hips, as if wondering if his