6. Seren #2
“This is not your fault,” she whispers. “Our paths are destined by the gods. Sylas’ ended as soon as the black rot wormed its way into his chest. His death may not have been what you wanted, but at least his suffering ended quickly.”
The words settle between us, stagnant and unbelievable. I stare blanky, a stunned silence hollowing me out as my brain scrambles to process the sheer absurdity of her mercy.
“What?” The word comes out as a raw, disbelieving whisper.
She doesn’t reply, her fumbling hands speak the words she can’t.
“It was not the will of the gods,” I say. “The shadows answer to me, and I could have stopped it. But I didn’t. I killed him.”
Yara flinches, her hands freezing mid-fumble as the admission tears a fresh wound in my chest. I’ve said the truth out loud.
The relief I expected doesn’t come; instead, the weight of the confession settles on my shoulders like a shroud.
I stare into my open palms. By claiming responsibility, I’ve cut myself off from the comfort of fate.
I’m alone in this power, and this guilt.
My cheeks flush with warmth as my head dips towards the cup, instantly regretting the harsh honesty I’d just forced upon her.
“I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry Yara, I—I just don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“That’s okay ch—” her words are severed by the sharp cry of the shop chimes. Measured, deliberate steps press into the floorboards, sending tiny tremors through the wood.
My head snaps toward the doorway, my heartbeat surging into a deafening roar. “Someone’s here,” I breathe, the words barely a ghost of a sound.
She’s up before I manage to finish the sentence, her muscles seeming to forget her age as she hurries across the well-beaten path back to the shop.
I bolt upright, catching her arm as she passes.
“Yara, I didn’t tell you…” blood pumps through my veins, drowning out the sound of my own voice.
“Before it all happened…I was being chased by Luminary Guards…” My eyes go wide, and I squeeze her forearm, pouring all my unspoken desperation into the weight of my hand.
“Hello?” a voice calls out in the distance. Yara’s head follows the direction of the sound, as she sniffs the air, then steadily moves back to me.
“Did you see anyone following you?” she whispers.
“No,” I shake my head, hand gripping for dear life on the sleeve of her top, as my shadows stir restlessly at my feet. “I kept to the shadows. I was careful, I made sure of it.” I begin to question whether that was really true.
“Back room,” she murmurs, her head pointing in the direction behind me. “Cupboard. Go.”
The cup thuds as I place it down on the table. I don’t give myself time to consider the noise I’ve just made before I’m hurrying off into the direction Yara instructed.
I slip behind the curtain, into the cramped stock cupboard where more coloured glass vials stare like lidless eyes. Dried things I’ve never seen before dangle from strings as the smell of lavender and smoke fill my head, making me light-headed.
A boot shifts. Leather creaks. I can just make out the mumbling of low voices through the furious beating inside of me. Yara's voice is steady and unbothered, while a man’s voice is clipped.
“...have you seen…patrols scouting area…”
“My sight…limited…shop…for…sick,” Yara says defiantly. “If I had…vision…time to vacate…sadly no…cannot help.”
His voice is lost behind the door, a deep rumble turning his words into an indistinct, dampened sound.
“...very well…report…see anything.”
A scrape of boots scuff the floor, as the bell rings a final, sombre tone. I stay until the cupboard feels too small for breath, and I can hear Yara’s usual shuffling entering the room.
I know it's her, but the click of the latch still sparks a panic that makes me jump.
“He’s gone,” she says. “For now.”
My chin dips, a curt nod of thanks I know she’s unable to see. “Thank you.”
She holds out a hand, her fingers twisted from years of grinding, the callouses scratching my palm as I take it. She hoists me up, her thin arms revealing a hidden, wire-tight strength. My legs barely hold, trembling under the sickening weight of knowing what I must do.
“I need to go back to him.” I say. “It won’t be long before someone reveals who I am. And as soon as they do, they’ll search my home. I can’t leave him there alone, his body at the mercy of them.”
Her cloudy gaze trembles as she focuses on mine, then nods her head and trudges over to a chair where her shawl lays draped over the wood.
“We will tell the patrol it was the rot that took him,” she says, voice as practical as flint. “It won’t be the first time they’ve heard it today.”
“You’ll help?” My voice pitches an octave higher than usual, tight with surprise.
She gives a determined nod, as if I’m silly to question her. I almost sob at the relief of knowing I won’t be alone when I say my final goodbye.
I follow her out to the front of the shop, as she drapes the shawl around her shoulders and removes her apron, dumping it next to her pestle and mortar.
She steps behind the counter and collects a well-worn bag that looks heavy with supplies.
“I’ll take that Yara.” I step forward, closing the distance between us before she can protest.
“It’s okay child, you can take it from me later.”
She hoists the bag over her shoulder, the weight of it causing her to dip to one side, and heads for the door.
The cold night air drifts into the warmth of the shop, as reality hits me like an icy wave.
My shadows slither outside first, sticking tight to the tiny crevices that litter the walls. Yara steps through, her nose raised into the night air, sniffing for danger.
“Let’s go,” she whispers.
As I slide past her, I hear the soft, definitive snick as she secures the lock, closing the comfort behind.
I grab Yara’s arm, hooking my own within hers as we tuck our heads in close, a seemingly innocent mother and daughter walking the streets at night with the exception of shadows leading the way, instead of trailing behind.