13 #2
I have to let go of the tree. The silence disappears, replaced by the stillness of the chamber, the weight of which coils around my lungs like a chain, grief almost forcing me to my knees.
I look at Darya, bewildered.
“Nothing can give you absolution and a full life, except yourself. That’s how you’d feel if you gave yourself what you really need. If you still find it difficult, then you’re not ready to achieve it.”
“And what do you feel when you touch the tree?”
“Peace,” says Darya, running his finger along the gray-mahogany tree. I almost laugh.
“So, killing angels and kidnapping humans, that’s a full life for you? And you’re capable of absolving yourself? Congratulations.”
The Demon King’s voice rings mockingly. “I didn’t say it’s not a risky game,” he says, then lies down on a protruding root, stretching his limbs. “Well, now’s the time you can ask anything.”
I sit down too, leaning against a bulging stone slab. I try not to touch the tree.
“Why am I here?”
Darya’s gray gaze pierces deep into mine. “Because I need you.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Why me?”
“Because in your veins flows both demon and angel blood.”
It’s as if the ground is being pulled from under me, and the room filled with roots tilts. My mouth goes dry; I fall silent, just staring into Darya’s eyes. Memories collide in my mind like lightning.
“Lavian,” I start, “the angels…”
“The herebias kidnapped you because they thought you had demon blood. However, a demon-blooded person wouldn’t understand their language, certainly not straight away. Ancient magic prevents us from understanding each other’s language. A demon doesn’t understand the angelic, and vice versa.”
“Not even you?”
“Not even me.”
It all makes sense now. The bored, murderous look when Lavian wanted to slit my throat, then the glint in his bronze eyes at my words.
You have no idea what language you just spoke, do you?
The angel’s voice still echoes in my ear.
I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Or not quite.
Would I have spoken in the angelic language?
I remember how awkward it was to find the words, like my tongue had stumbled over them, but I thought that was just because of the blow to my head.
“So, what am I now? An angel or a demon?”
“Neither. Someone doesn’t become anything just because they have the potential for it, but rather by how dedicated they are to becoming it . You’re the only one I’ve ever known who has the potential for both.”
“So, I can choose to become either a demon or an angel?”
“In theory, yes.”
I gulp hard.
“And in practice?” I whisper, and Darya’s eyes shift from cloud gray to something much darker as he looks at me.
“If you become an angel, we’ll kill you. If you become a demon, the herebias will want to kill you. For now, you are in the wonderful position where both sides want to keep you alive. Until you decide, that is…”
“And what if I never want to choose?”
Darya shrugs.
“You’ll have to within a sunturn . That’s a year for you.”
“Why? What happens when that time is up?”
“Let’s just say that this is the part you’re not ready for yet.
If you don’t decide within a year, you’ll be useless to both sides.
No one will take care of you. Humans can’t live in the Second World.
You’ll return to Earth, where they’ll declare you insane and lock you up.
Of course, you can pretend you’re not crazy, but the nightmares will haunt you again.
If that’s what you want, I understand. Really, what’s a life without nightmares? ” he says cheerfully, winking at me.
I furrow my brow, ready to retort, but the words stick in my throat. I dream of Bengt. I dream of Darya, more often than I’d like to admit. But I don’t dream of monsters anymore.
How did I not notice this before?
They’ve been haunting me since childhood, and yet I don’t notice when they disappear? Why?
I look at Darya, whose evil smile reaches to his ears.
He rests one hand on his stomach, where I see his sculpted abs through the unzipped jacket.
He lies stretched out on the root like a cat.
Every fiber of his being focuses on me. He scrutinizes me like a predator, and as he turns his body towards me, my mouth dries up and nervously I grab my hair.
Before I lower my gaze, I see the silver streak flickering in Darya’s eyes.
I shake my head.
I can become an angel or a demon, and both sides need me in a year.
But what if I’m neither? If I don’t decide and don’t change, I’ll have to go home.
They’ll lock me up. Darya said that if I do what I’m meant to do here, I won’t have to worry about it anymore.
No more psychiatrists. They won’t declare me crazy.
Because I’m not. I’m not crazy.
“What does it mean to be angel-blooded or demon-blooded? How does someone become one or the other?”
Darya laughs.
“If you were to ask the herebias, they’d say those with hope for good, and are committed to it, become angels. Those in whom evil seeds are sown become demons.”
“And what do you say?”
“That it’s better to live life knowing the painful truth than to delude yourself with sweet lies.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Next question.”
“Still, how could anyone become either? An angel or a demon?”
“Both sides have a ritual, but I don’t know the herebias’. In Filizi, the thirty-day ritual begins today, and you’re invited. Don’t look so scared, you won’t transform. We’re not holding the ceremony for you.”
“Then for whom?”
“For broken souls ready for it,” Darya says darkly.
I pull my knees to my chest as if it will protect me from the answer to my next question.
“How do you break someone?”
Darya’s face twists into a cruel, insane smile. The silver streak in his eyes ignites, shining even brighter now.
“Oh,” he says. “This is the best part, and it’s unique to everyone. There’s never the same way to break two souls. It takes centuries of ingenuity to succeed. Not that I’ve ever tasted the bitterness of failure.”
“So, is that your goal for me?” I whisper softly. “You want to break me? That’s why you put me in front of the monster, so I can plead for my life in a half-dead state and want to become a demon?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” the Demon King replies. “I can’t force you, and neither can the herebias. You have to decide for yourself, but often even that’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wanting and truly becoming a demon or an angel are two different things. You can’t lie to either side. To become a demon, you have to lose what makes you human. Currently, if you were to attempt the ritual, you’d only get hurt. After all, you’re not attracted to either side, are you?”
“How do you know that I’m not more attracted to the angels and that I would even consider being with you monsters?”
“Dramatic,” he says.
The Demon King’s dark eyes wander into the distance, before looking back at me.
“One day, you’ll find out what kind of monsters your world worships.”
“I can hardly wait!” I hiss.
Darya laughs insanely, making me shudder. He slaps the root, then gets up suddenly and reaches out to me. I have no intention of accepting. Instead, I push myself back against the rock.
As if pouring oil on fire, his lizard grin immediately springs onto his pale face. He materializes beside me in one step and curls a purple lock around his fingers as he studies the line of my jaw.
“This fierceness!”
He comes even closer, and I try to retreat, but the rock behind me doesn’t yield. Warmth floods my face, and my neck burns from the Kraldem’s gaze.
He takes my chin in his fingers, and his black claws gently scratch my skin. He leans closer to me, whispering in my ear.
“This fierceness is what will get me what I want!”
“And what do you want…?” I recoil from his darkening gaze.
Two black tears flow from the corners of his eyes, and his skin hardens in an instant.
In a moment, he reminds me who he really is.
My chest starts to pound, and blood rushes through my veins.
I lurch out from under his arm, but stumble on the rock slab.
He catches me with merciless speed before I can fall.
The mockery disappears from his gaze, his expression settles into serious lines, and he just scrutinizes my flushed face. With his tight arm holding me close, his dark claw traces along my jawline.
“I don’t usually get surprised, Lotte,” he whispers, “but I never thought the solution would come in such an attractive package.”
My face burns with fire. My body sticks to his like two intertwined branches.
His icy breath dances on my neck, and as he looks at me with his dark eyes, the fear of my desire for him freezes me.
His mouth touches mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.
Instead, he moves toward my neck. I sigh.
His lips creep up, and I tilt my head back, exposing myself to him, letting his icy mouth tease my chin.
One of his hands moves lower, the other higher on my body. His lips slowly find mine, and then… he bites into me.
The taste of iron floods my tongue, and pain scatters in my head like lightning. Somehow, I manage to push Darya away from me, who doesn’t resist, and I press my hand to my pulsating lower lip.
Terrified and angry, I stare at Darya, who seems to be coming back from a drunken state. He coils his neck like a reptile, almost hissing, but when he speaks, it’s clear he wants to return to reality.
“Just in time… Sylla,” the Kraldem whispers.
The black-haired woman stares at me from the end of the room. I know I shouldn’t, but my gaze immediately falls on her golden tiara’s red eye. The woman’s hair turns into snakes, staring straight at me. And then both my body and soul freezes.
The red light of her eyes shatters my consciousness. It tears apart the wounds carefully plastered over the years. My brother’s face appears before me.
It breaks me into tiny pieces. He abandoned me.
He didn’t take care of me. Or himself. Why wasn’t I angry with him until now?
Bengt floats before me with angelic wings.
In the background are my parents, watching only him.
With them is Maya. I scorn her. My sister’s angelic face.
Ridiculous. There is a sublime halo above her head.
I would tear it down. I would shatter it.
Just so everyone could see she’s faking it.
My hatred for my siblings turns into tar, like the black poison cloud created by Darya – the syneffo.
I no longer see the room. I stand in a black bubble with my blessed sister and my brother and their white swan wings.
Hate gnaws and burns inside me. It consumes my skin, peeling the flesh from me, burying me in the soil under hell.
I swim in this cocoon for years, in the darkness. My hatred breaks me apart.
A human lifetime later, I hear a familiar voice in the distance. A demon’s. His voice makes me feel like I’m waking up from a thousand-year-old dream. I open my eyes.
I am in the same room where the tree stands – where Darya bit me just now.
I collapse to the ground and put my hands on my ears.
I rock back and forth as the anger dissipates within me, replaced with guilt.
Nárs said that Sylla can bring out the deepest horrors from the soul, and I’ve experienced the same thing twice already in the form of the anger towards my siblings.
My relationship with Maya has always been complicated, but Bengt…
No! I refuse to believe that I hate my brother. I simply cannot.
“Enough, Sylla.” The Demon King’s determined voice fills the room, devoid of any other particular emotion.
“It’s not me doing it anymore,” the woman’s whispering, melodic voice rings out. “She’s doing it on her own now.”
I don’t really understand what she means. I just rock back and forth, crying inside without tears. Bengt, Bengt, Bengt…
“Lotte…” Darya speaks softly and squats beside me.
“No!” I whisper. “I didn’t…”
I have no idea what I want to say, I just see my brother’s face before me. I no longer see Darya or Sylla. Someone wraps their arms around me. I scream.
“No! It’s not true!”
I struggle. I only see my brother’s face as he smiles at me one last time. Then life leaves him.
Something changes.
A blanket, but not mine. Black, heavy covers. A silver-haired man wraps me. He looks at me with probing eyes. He strokes my shoulder. I almost feel like he cares about me.
The blood in the corner of his mouth sobers me up. At the age of twenty-two, I should learn that a snake can only bite.
“I hate you…” I would scream at the Kraldem, but all I can do is hiss. Just like him.
“You don’t hate me, Lotte,” the Demon King whispers as he gently strokes my face. “You hate yourself.”