But even as Alphonse saw this, she could also see through the creature. It wasn’t corporeal. Wasn’t whole.
A memory?
The creature seemed to realize this at the same time Alphonse did, for that smile turned to a snarl, and the glorious, beautiful, ghastly being turned towards Etienne.
“Eet tein karak Enyo ahoint?”
The voice that came out of that memory was even worse than its appearance. Alphonse clapped her hands, one still bleeding, to her ears to try and drown it out. To no avail.
Sharper, again, the creature repeated itself, stepping towards Etienne in a demanding manner.
“Eet tein karak Enyo AHOINT?!”
That voice was the crashing of an avalanche and the screaming of wind through treetops in a storm. It was the slither of scales against stones and the cry of an eagle.
“Who— what are you?” Etienne stammered. “Tell us of the Old Gods, of your origins!”
Alphonse actually moaned in terror as the creature snarled at the boy’s demands. Glowing from that fire within, it stalked over to Etienne. It was nearly as tall as he, and it peered into his face with unblinking, cold eyes. It scanned each and every inch of his face, neck, shoulders, torso, pelvis, and legs. It snorted.
“Monan.” It seemed an insult, and the creature cruelly laid a burning hand upon Etienne’s chest, above his heart, in dismissal.
Alphonse could see that shadow hand and could see Etienne through it, and yet steam and smoke were rising from its touch. The smell of cooking flesh.
The healer gagged.
The creature turned from Etienne, careless that it had just marred his skin, and those terrible, pitiless eyes landed on her. Alphonse gasped and jerked back.
“Etienne!” she cried, unable to escape the circle as the creature stalked closer. It was giving her the same careful studying it had given Etienne. Would it burn her too, in retribution for disturbing its slumber? They never should have tried this ritual.
Whatever it saw in Alphonse, it nodded, reaching out that same fiery hand.
“No,” Alphonse gasped, even as those phantom fingers stroked her cheek. Alphonse closed her eyes, waiting for the searing pain to strike. Instead, all she felt was pressure and a warm caress.
A blinding flash of light, even visible through her shut eyes, burst through the room. And then all was quiet. All was dark. Each and every candle had been burned down to the very base, melted and disfigured.
The blood, their blood, was gone. The creature had disappeared, taking the smoke along with it.
Alphonse let out a trembling sob, crumpling to her knees.
Stumbling steps echoed against the stone floors as Etienne rushed to her side. Alphonse felt his hands brushing carefully against her face, his fingers trembling as he pushed aside her veiled hair, checking to make sure she was alright. Only she was not alright. Not at all. His breaths were rapid and irregular as Etienne cradled her to his shoulder. She heard his shaking voice above her head.
“I’m sorry, Alphonse. I’m so, so sorry.”
All Alphonse could do was weep against him, her entire body shaking with uncontrolled sobs. When she was finally able to pull away, the healer held her own cupped hands over his horribly burnt chest, thefleshblackened and revealing layers of fat and muscle below.
Tears continued making their way down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor between them as green, soft, light radiated from her hands over Etienne. She knit the skin together carefully, repairing the nerves and muscle until he was whole.
Sniffling, she removed her hands to reveal a scar, the mark of that hand over his chest, bright red against his normally alabaster skin. Even if Alphonse had wanted to erase the disfigurement, she couldn’t. Whatever magic the creature possessed insisted, fought her every which way of the healing…
He’d be marked forever.
In truth, perhaps it was best that Etienne have a reminder of the cost of ambition and curiosity.
Swallowing, Alphonse found her voice to be weak and hoarse, barely able to speak. “I’m going to bed,” she croaked, lifting her amber eyes to Etienne’s face for one breath before darting away. Tears still slipped out of her eyes without her bidding.
Chapter II
Fourth Moon, Waning Crescent: Thloegr
On a cliff above the valley where she had spent her entire life, Delyth watched the sun rise. The world around her was hushed, in that quiet breath of time when the animals of the night retired to their dens, but before the day’s creatures began to stir. There was a bustling town waking far below her, visible as a square scar cut into the green and white patchwork of the valley, but she couldn’t hear it from here.
Here she was absolutely alone. Free of the stares of villagers and priests alike. Free to let the cold wind of a mountain spring send her dark braids streaming behind her. Free to stretch her arms high and her wings out to either side just as far as they would go. Here, it didn’t matter how much space Delyth took up.
But it couldn’t last.
In the town on the valley floor, there stood a temple, stone-walled and ancient. It was by far the tallest building, and from its center, there rose a tower, blunt as an old tooth. It looked down upon everything around it from slits in its uppermost room, a room that held an old, wide-mouthed bell.
When the great bell tower rang out that morning, Delyth heard its peals even from her distant perch.
She had heard the great bell only a few times in her life. Twice, it had rung for the old seer, Cerys, and visions of a rapidly approaching future marked by gods not seen in hundreds of years. Once, it had rung out of desperation, a call for aid when the village was attacked by raiders.
Either reason was enough to send Delyth leaping from the cliff face, her dark wings cupping air with the snap of tightening leather. She did not love the people of
