27 #2
I gulp. Here’s a five-year-old boy, capable of much more than me.
I should’ve been the one to comfort him.
I can’t help but think about where we could be together.
I’ll never take him to Sweden, but I could take him somewhere where he could not only ski but also fly over mountains.
He’d transform; he’d be able to. He’d never be alone.
In the corrupted world Darya created, souls struggling with their own demons are never alone.
It would turn him into a killer. A cruel monster, and he wouldn’t care.
I look worriedly at his drawings. I’m not sure if the blood signifies trouble.
Maybe he just drew what he saw. He lives on the edge of a forest, so what is it should he draw?
Happy schoolchildren he never meets? No.
He doesn’t need to become a demon to be happy.
He can fight this on his own. Filizi would only encourage his unnatural urges.
Here, in this world, he has a chance not to be corrupted.
I hand him Pandora’s drawing.
“She was there for me when no one was. I’ll leave her to take care of you, too.”
The boy raises his eyebrows.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, and as I nod, his almond eyes darken. “Too bad. You’re not like the others.”
Oh, how much I’ve heard that lately!
“I’ll visit,” I say, looking meaningfully at Darya. It’s only now that I notice the Demon King leaning on his thighs, his gaze darkly intense. His face reveals nothing.
I gulp, then add more confidently:
“I will visit.”
The boy nods.
“Meanwhile, I’ll ask Dad to show me on the big map the country where you live.”
The weight of the promise we’ve made to each other settles on us, and dedication shines in both our eyes. I smile. “Ask him to show you the north, around the area of Kittelfj?ll. I think you’ll like it.”
“Will you tell me about it?” he asks with his face lit up, and I oblige.
I tell him everything I know, all my childhood memories.
How Bengt and I rolled in the snow, and how we never really felt cold, no matter how much colder it was than in Luxembourg.
How Mom ordered us home, how Dad was hardly ever there.
He traveled the waters of other countries even then.
We sat by the fireplace, waiting for guests.
Grandma cooked soup for me, Mom fried fish.
She never got used to the big city. She always wanted to go back to her country, but by then we were more attached to Luxembourg.
Even now, I often think of the bleak landscape, the endless snowy blanket covering the plains between the mountains, like a sea.
We don’t remember it like this anymore in our family.
After Bengt’s death, the memories faded away, and our past with my brother went to the grave.
We no longer know where we came from, why we’re still alive, why we continue at all.
We’re stuck. Does my family miss me the way they miss Bengt?
I doubt it. Unlike longing for some familiar security, I don’t think about them much either.
Mathys likes it when I talk about sledding. I tell him about seeing deer and almost colliding with them, about sliding down the mountain. He draws with every word, barely looking up at me anymore. When I run out of memories, I just watch him create.
Hours go by, and I look up at Darya, but find his spot cold.
I didn’t even notice him leave. My throat tightens as I think of him killing Mathys’s parents, but they’re peacefully reading by the living room fireplace when I go out to them.
Outside, I spot the Kraldem and wrap myself in his coat.
The cold immediately seeps into my bones. The snow crunches under my feet.
“Well?” Darya’s gaze drifts into the distance.
I shake my head.
“We’re not taking him away. We’re giving him a chance.”
Darya laughs bitterly.
“A chance? Do you know he could die any moment? And if not, he’ll grow up in a society that ostracizes him. I thought if anyone knew what it feels like, it’d be you.”
“I do,” I say, trying to sound confident, not thinking about how much I’d like Mathys to come with us. With me. “I won’t take his life against his will.”
Darya turns to me.
“You’d give him a better one.”
“With you and your demons? I’ve never received anything good from you. Neither will he, unless you turn him and, by doing that, take away his mind.”
“Transformation is like my blood,” he explains. “It doesn’t really change you. It just reveals your true self.”
“I don’t care what thoughts you’re nurturing, Darya, the boy stays and…”
“Hey!” Mathys’s voice softly spreads over the wintry landscape.
I spin around, and the little boy runs toward me wearing an oversized coat.
“Don’t leave this here!” he says, putting the drawing he made of us into my hands. I gulp.
“Thank you.”
He nods.
“I’ll try to draw Kittelfil next.”
“Kittelfj?ll.” I smile, and he nods back, walking towards the house.
Suddenly, Darya jerks his head up and stares into the distance.
“Last chance, my little champion. Should we take him to Filizi, or leave him here?” The Demon King doesn’t look at me, just scans the landscape.
I laugh.
“Darya, you can’t convince me. You said I can decide. I want him to make the choice when he’s older. Maybe he wants to be with you, but he might end up like me and resist you.”
I cross my arms, and Darya finally turns to me. There’s a slight discomfort crossing his face, almost sadness.
“Maybe he won’t have a chance to decide later,” he warns, and in my disbelief, I slap my thigh.
“I said no! Everyone deserves a chance!”
Darya nods, then looks towards the boy.
“As you wish,” he murmurs to himself, and his wrist bends. Dark smoke surrounds us, obscuring the view of the house. I step beside Darya, but he doesn’t move. I look at him questioningly.
“Just watch”, he says, turning towards the cottage.
Mathys is playing with one of their dogs, then he suddenly becomes aware of something.
He too looks to where Darya had been staring a few moments ago.
The Kraldem wraps his arm around my waist, too tight.
I can’t move, my body grows cold. I feel like something is about to happen.
At first, I don’t see anything, then a silvery light shines close to the clouds.
Two white-winged angels emerge from the swirling gold.
Their bodies are covered in white half-shoulder dresses, their pants gray.
Beautiful warriors, and I know one of them.
Lavian. The angel following him has dark skin, his abdomen shining in the sunlight.
His gaze falls on the boy, then towards us.
I freeze all over. It’s as if he doesn’t see us because he doesn’t look into my eyes, just at the smoke covering us.
Lavian descends next to the boy, his face emotionless, as if the pain inside him is tearing him apart but is something he’s long used to. Are they going to take him? They’re going to…
“No!” I shout, and Darya presses his hand over my mouth. At the sound, the two angels turn their gaze to us, their hands tense on their spears. Fear shoots up my spine; my heart pounds in my throat, and I’m trembling helplessly.
“They’re close,” says the dark-skinned one, looking at Lavian. “Should I do it?”
Lavian shakes his head.
Tears well up in my eyes as Lavian steps in front of Mathys.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and all I can do is pray silently. No, God, please no…
The boy isn’t particularly interested in Lavian.
No, Lavian, please don’t…
“And who are you?” the boy asks casually, in the same manner as when Darya had wanted to sit on his bed. There’s no trace of fear in his apple-green eyes, and it feels like my heart is breaking in two.
Lavian pauses, but then he takes out his knife and presses it against his own skin.
I kick Darya and bite his hand, but he doesn’t let go.
I struggle and cry, and attempt to scream my lungs out.
The cold hand muffles most of the sound, but I manage to muster enough noise to get both angels to look over. They still don’t see me.
The dark-skinned one pushes Lavian. “There’s no time for this.”
Lavian nods, then takes the knife pressed against his arm. Even from this distance, I can see a drop of blood emerge.
He steps towards the boy, who doesn’t even flinch. My whole body tenses, my arm trembles.
“Mathys!” I scream under Darya’s hand, and he turns towards us, his almond-green eyes searching for me. Our gaze connects. He sees me.
“Kittelfj?ll,” he whispers before Lavian’s blade slices his throat.
I want to scream, but I can’t anymore. Not a single sound leaves of my throat.
Blood covers everything. Vivid red. It melts the snow.
The ground steams, and the child’s soul ascends with it.
Mathys’s body lies in front of the house, in his father’s oversized coat.
I can’t see his face anymore. Just one more gaze.
One more face that will haunt my dreams from now on.
Lavian kneels beside the child’s body, two fingers on Mathys’s neck, and brings the blood to his mouth, his eyes closed.
As if he’s praying. Darya doesn’t press anymore.
He doesn’t need to. I’ve turned into a statue.
Lifeless stone. The smoke breaks, and the two angels turn to face us.
I drag my gaze away from Mathys’s body and look at Lavian.
The angel’s eyes widen, his lips part, and he drops the knife from his hand.
I stare blankly at him. At the angel. Who took the life of an innocent child.
His dark-skinned companion reacts faster and flies towards us, but Darya grabs me, and before the spear of the herebia can pierce us, he pulls me into the darkness.