Chapter 4
My heart stops in my chest.
Surely I did not hear her right. But just as I try to convince myself it is my faulty hearing, she continues.
“You know as well as I do. This will not stop unless Nykander dies. If anything, it might get worse.”
“I don’t know Inaria. He is our son,” my father says in a ragged voice. “I cannot kill my own son.”
“He is not our son, Hanth. He is a harbinger of death, just like his birth prophesied. And this is not just my fanciful notion. Why do you think the Lord Supreme asked that all babies born on the night of the eclipse be put on a registry? Why did he forbid them from cultivating their spiritual energy? He even went as far as to put out a death warrant for anyone who dares to train them. Why do you think he went to such lengths if he did not believe in the curse? If he did not fear for what might become of our realm—again?”
A bitter taste floods my mouth as I struggle to comprehend what I am hearing. Anguish grips at every fiber of my being, twisting and contorting until it makes me physically ill. I wobble on my feet, dizzy and confused.
Everything was a…lie?
My parents always told me I was born with defective spiritual energy that prevented me from cultivating as others of our kind did. For that reason, I have been enrolled in theoretical studies since I learned how to read.
But that was not the case, was it?
I was not born with defective spiritual energy.
I was born cursed.
A lump forms in my throat.
I have read about the so-called curse of the eclipse—that many historical Sons of Tenebreis who were born during the peak of the eclipse almost ruined Tartareia. Their names are synonymous with catastrophe.
I know the history well enough to realize the enormity of my mother’s words.
But how… Why was I not told any of this?
More painful than my parents’ betrayal is the fact that my curse means I did kill those people. How, I do not know. But something within me must have done so. Something wicked and insidious.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart is beating irregularly in my chest, and once more, I sway on my feet, barely keeping myself together.
Yet my parents do not realize I am here. Despite their superior hearing, they do not react to any of the noises that are deafening to me.
Now it makes sense why my mother always treated me with coldness and contempt; or why my father always looked upon me with pity in his gaze. I finally see what they saw.
Danger.
For close to one thousand and two hundred years, they have had to live with a harbinger of death—sleep, eat and exist alongside an abomination. And with every mysterious death that happened around me, their belief that the curse is real must have been solidified.
While I was wallowing in confusion, they were becoming more and more certain of my fate.
Yet they never once told me. They let me live in my ignorance, which in itself is both a blessing and a curse. For how am I to go on now that I know the truth?
My lips tremble with frustration.
In the matter of seconds, I have been stripped away of everything—my past, my present and my future.
But there is still one question that lingers.
Why am I still alive? If I am to bring death upon everyone around me, then why was I allowed to live?
Almost as if hearing my thoughts, my father speaks.
“If the Lord Supreme was so concerned, why did he not delay the births himself? He had the power to do so? And why did he not kill the newborns?”
“You know as well as I do why. Because that would go beyond his role as Lord Supreme, and the houses would have rioted. It was a precarious time for his reign, and I assume he did not want to jeopardize that,” my mother murmurs with a sigh.
“He did the only thing he could, Hanth. He bound his spiritual energy so he cannot cultivate or channel. Yet death still follows him. He has no spiritual energy—at last none that you and I can detect—but he still causes destruction. What alternative do we have?”
My world crumbles, together with all the theories I may have had about the strange deaths that happened around me.
In my ignorance, or perhaps, my singular focus to find an explanation, I resolved that despite having defective spiritual energy, those deaths could have been caused by an outburst I could not control.
It had happened before. To hear that I do not possess one bit of spiritual energy—that the Lord Supreme himself bound it—shatters all of my previously held beliefs.
If errant energy was not the cause of those deaths… Then there is only one conclusion.
I must concede that I am, indeed cursed. And perhaps I do deserve to die before I harm anyone else.
“So I ask you again, Inaria. What do you want me to do?” My father asks as he lowers his head.
“Kill him,” my mother states coldly.
His eyes snap to hers.
“Me? Why me?”
Her lips flatten. Walking to the other side of the room, she pours herself a glass of alcohol. Swirling the liquid in her glass, she takes her time to answer.
“He trusts you. More than me.”
“Inaria…”
“We cannot do it here, or it will draw attention. But you can take him somewhere else and…”
“And kill him in cold blood? Is that your solution? He is my son,” he whispers wearily.
“He is my son, too. But he is also something else. Something neither you nor I understand.”
She walks over to his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“This is not easy for me, either.” She sighs.
“You know how much I wanted another child after…” she trails off.
“I wanted to love him, Hanth. I truly wanted to love him from the bottom of my heart. But I cannot. There is something unlovable about him. You see it, too, do you not? Sometimes, when he looks at me, it’s like there’s nothing there. Like he’s just…hollow.”
“No, I do not. He is a child, for fuck’s sake.”
“He is closer to being an adult than he is to a child.” She shakes her head. “It is better to remove a rotten fruit before it poisons our entire realm.”
I cannot hear more of this. Staggering back, I dazedly make my way to my room. Upsila greets me when I enter, and I absentmindedly pour some water into her bowl. Yet as I take a step back, my parents’ words echo in my brain.
Why did I have to go get water? Why did I have to listen to their conversation?
Everything would have been so much better if I had continued as before; if my ignorance had remained the status quo.
How am I to erase this new information from my mind?
“It seems I did kill those people, Upsila,” I muse aloud. “I had hoped I did not, that I was not capable of it. But it appears that I do not need spiritual energy to commit crimes. I am, therefore I kill. I kill because I am.”
She slurps her water, barely acknowledging my words. But since she has always been my only companion, I have gotten used to speaking to her only to be regaled with her silence in return.
The silence is good.
It’s innocent; non accusing.
The silence is always better than the reverse.
“I wish I had not heard them, Upsi,” I whisper. “But at the same time, I am glad I did. Now I know that I am, indeed, defective—that I did kill. The question is how do I stop it.”
She suddenly looks up at me, her big, black eyes staring straight into my soul.
“I want to learn how to stop it,” I tell her. “That way I don’t have to die.” I bite my lip. “I don’t want to die.”
She comes closer to me, sniffing my hands before following the scent trail to the tray of food I’d placed on the table.
She swallows hard, her gaze coveting as she tries to reach it.
A small smile pulls at my lips.
I grab the tray and place it on the floor. Taking a seat, I invite her next to me.
“Here,” I say, handing her half of my bread loaf. She takes it in her mouth, circling around me before she lays down and starts munching on it.
I stare at her for a few moments, the warmth in my chest I previously thought dead suddenly reigniting.
“I have you, Upsi. That is enough for me,” I murmur and scratch her head.
She continues to eat, and as my stomach grumbles with hunger, I do the same.
The stew is tasty. At one point, I would have relished this immensely since it is my favorite. But my parents’ words still echo in my head, giving the food a nauseating bitterness.
I force myself to swallow. Tears prick at my eyelids, and a lump forms in my throat, but I continue to swallow.
I eat every bit of food on that tray and drink even the last sip of juice. Who knows, it might be my last…
I don’t want to die.
There is so much of the world I have yet to discover—so much I have yet to do. There are so many stories out there to hear, so many things to learn.
I may have lived for over a thousand years, which in itself is a privilege when thinking of those mortals with their limited lifespans, but it is still not enough.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have gone outside the Kyr palace walls.
The interactions with other people aside from my family have been nonexistent.
Although I cannot blame my parents for limiting my exposure to the outside world due to my unfortunate circumstances, I still yearn for a different life.
I place the empty tray on the table and climb into my bed, beckoning Upsila to join me. She jumps up, settling next to me and infusing me with her warmth.
Although deeply troubled, I resolve to be optimistic as I sink into sleep.
That optimism, though, is quickly dashed the following day when my father comes to my room and announces we will go on a hunting trip.
He is dressed in his hunting equipment, a pair of gray linen trousers and a tunic shirt reaching his knees, with a thick brown belt tied around his midriff to carry his weapons.
“A hunting trip?” I ask weakly.
He forces a smile.
“Remember how many times you asked me to take you on one? It’s the season of the caspri, the perfect time for us to go.”