30. Flashes of Color
Flashes of Color
Prism Malefic
My heart froze in my chest at the words of the ancient creature before me. He stood like a shadow, like a mythical killer of old. No light reflected off of him, only faint shadows fleeing his monstrous, inky onyx form. Anything I tried to say died in my throat.
Vore dropped to his knees, and even so, I still had to crane my neck to look up at his pale eyes.
The scar across his form gleamed slightly in the blue light of the setting sun.
“There is much to explain, there is much to learn… both about this place, why you came to be here, and for us to learn about each other,” Vore said lowly.
“I understand there is much you do not know. Know this, though: I will keep you safe. It is my sacred duty, and the only thing I strive for now is your happiness and wellbeing. You are what I worship, Prism.”
“How can you say that?” I murmured, feeling the rise of fluttering warmth in my chest. “You barely know me.”
“It is our way,” he said. “We know our chosen, and, in time, you will come to know me as well.”
“Vore, I?—“
He growled low in his throat, stopping my sentence. “Say that again.”
“Say what?”
“My name. I enjoy hearing my name on my chosen’s tongue.”
I stepped forward, taking hold of his hand. “Vore.”
The wither closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Thank you. Now, shall I accompany you to lock yourself in your house forever, or would you like to join me at the circle with the others?”
“Do I have a choice?” I questioned.
Vore nodded. “You always have the choice.”
Sucking in a breath, I closed my eyes, searching my heart softly. I shouldn’t feel safe in a land of monsters. I shouldn’t have felt a strange desire toward Vore. None of this should have been happening.
But it was. And I did feel safe. I liked Fable, I enjoyed the garden and the thought of tending it, and I wanted to get to know Vore better, as odd as that was to admit.
His steadfast and passionate devotion toward me was something that threatened to set my soul ablaze.
What would that be like? To fall for a monster?
Did I want to find out? Why was I fighting so hard to return to the land of gray and sorrow when this was laid out before me?
Perhaps I could give it a small chance and see what happened.
When I opened my eyes, Vore was smiling slightly.
“What’s that one taste like?” I asked.
Opening his arms, he ushered me in, and I took my spot next to his chest. “Your serenity tastes like sun-warmed berries.”
Birch’s embrace had felt like a means to an end. My no-show fiancé would have taken me off my sister’s plate and put me to work on his farm. Our touches were quick and unsatisfying. The moment I departed his barn at the end of our kissing sessions, he didn’t cross my mind, and the moment was over.
Vore, however, occupied as much space in my soul as he did in his physical presence.
His touch was a furnace of security and words unspoken.
Vore held me like something sacred and precious.
This wither spoke to me with the gentle assurance of devotion beyond comprehension…
and the way my heart spun while he carried me and how his thumb gentle caressed my leg…
it was more than any kiss with Birch ever elicited.
Sun-warmed berries indeed.
The dull roar of conversation mixing with music reached my ears as we neared the community circle in the center of town.
Large figures emerged from the caves that cradled the waterfall basin like the high edges of a large nest around its eggs.
Watching from my perch in Vore’s cradled hold, dozens of withers appeared like apparitions in the night, finding the side of their ladies.
There were far more women milling about the town now that darkness had arrived.
I counted maybe eighteen of them. Though, it would appear, the number of withers outnumbered that of the women, as more and more began appearing from their cave sides.
A woman with long chestnut braids jumped up from her spot by the fire as a gruesome, long-limbed wither stomped from the shadows.
He had the look of a creature who’d weathered many battles, and long fangs that protruded over his jaw.
The sight of which any man would tremble and flee—yet this petite woman beamed as she bounded into his embrace.
He knelt, scooping her up and placing her on his shoulder, a move that looked practiced and ordinary for them.
“Devour, my brother, and his chosen, Locket,” Vore murmured in my ear.
“Cadaver and Fable.” Vore pointed to next.
Cadaver, a long, gray wither, knelt and rubbed Fable’s belly tenderly.
She’d changed out of her daytime wear and into a silky, flowy yellow dress.
The wither lifted her carefully and placed her in his lap, where they both looked on curiously at Vore and me.
Other withers emerged, joining women who were delighted to embrace them, while the solo withers gathered and spoke with them.
Some taller than others, most inky like Vore, a few gray, dark navy, and deep purple.
One wither caught my attention with his deep shade of red and stark black eyes.
As soon as my sight landed on him, his gaze shot up and met mine, assessing Vore and me with what looked like objective scrutiny.
“Who is he?” I whispered.
Vore steeled his shoulders, eyeing down the wither for a long moment until the crimson monster turned his face away, staring back into the flames of the bonfire. “Wraith,” Vore answered. “Second in strength to me.”
“Hi, Prism! Hello, Vore.” Fable smiled from the ground below.
Vore gently lowered me to my feet. “You are looking healthy,” Vore answered. “I trust you have taken Prism under your wing?”
“Sure have,” Fable answered, her wither, Cadaver, joining her at her side. “Prism, come and let me introduce you to the other ladies.” She took my arm in hers. “We’ll be back.”
Our withers seemed none-to-pleased to let us go, but they stayed put, crossing their arms and falling into what looked like a tense discussion from the furrow of Vore’s brow.
Wraith eyed me as I passed him by, and a cold shiver traveled down my spine.
When we were out of earshot, I leaned closer to Fable. “What’s the red guy’s problem?”
Fable looked over her shoulder. “Oh, Wraith? I’d imagine he’s sore seeing you—being that he lost the opponent duel for you.”
“The what ?” I screeched.
Fable patted my hand as if all this was commonplace.
“When it comes blessed time to take a maiden, the two strongest, single withers challenge the other in a fight of strength. Whoever wins receives the honor of the journey to their chosen. Vore won you fair and square. Don’t worry, Wraith will get over it with time. ”
Before I could ask more questions, Fable thrust me into a gathering of women.
A few ladies blew into flutes while others braided flowers together or served various foods.
The aroma of meat seared over the flames as a wither roasted a giant boar on a spear.
I pulled my attention from the monsters and toward the maidens.
Fable introduced me cheerily, “Everyone, meet Prism, Vore’s chosen. ”
“Nice to meet you!” The ladies all beamed and welcomed me.
A woman with light brown hair passed me a buttered roll. “I’m Locket, Devour’s chosen. He’s Vore’s brother.” She smiled. “So, I suppose we are sisters now. Well, we are all like sisters here, really. But oh, I’m so happy for Vore. He’s waited so long.”
I picked at the warm bread. “Thank you for the roll. So, um, you enjoy living here, then?”
Locket giggled. “We love it. You will too.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” I answered skeptically. “How long have you been here?”
“Oh, goodness. Ten or fifteen years now, I suppose. I’ve lost count.”
“This is all so hard to comprehend. The withers, they’re kind to all of you? All the time?”
The women smiled at me as if I were the stupidest little duckling in the whole pond. A woman with her dark hair tied in a pink scarf pulled her flute from her lips. “Have men been kind to you all the time? Have you never feared the human males in your town?”
The question struck me with honest disarray. “I don’t know… I suppose men are always scary. Sometimes you find a nice one, I guess.”
“Sometimes.” She tilted her head. “Yes, the withers are always kind to us. We never fear here. In many ways, they serve us and our highest good.”
“And what do they get in return?” I questioned.
The woman lifted the corner of her lips and shrugged a shoulder. “The pleasure of our beauty and our company. I’m Petrichor, by the way, and my chosen is Omen. He’s the big dark blue guy who caught tonight’s boar.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said weakly.
Fable grinned over my shoulder. “Speaking of the chosen, I don’t believe yours can be without you any longer, Prism.”
Vore’s presence behind me was a relief. When his hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me away from the crowd, I rested my head on his shoulder. “What are you doing?” I asked. The sky had melted from deep orange to electric blue with tiny stars dotting the mountaintops.
“I’d like to show you something. Will you come with me?” he asked, holding me close.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Ladies and withers said goodbye as we passed, and the music kicked up. “Do these gatherings happen every night?”
“Yes,” Vore answered. “It is our time to come together and celebrate as a community.”
“Celebrate what?”
“That we found each other in this realm. A celebration of existence.” Vore looked at me sideways. “There are no similar customs in Willowspire, I assume?”
I shook my head. “Not really. We gather for wedding rites and a yearly feast, but that’s about it. Unless you’re a witch like my sister. They meet every solstice and do their secret, special magic stuff.”