Chapter 15
The truth sits wedged at the base of my diaphragm, shallowing my breaths, sending waves of sharp pain up my chest. If everything he showed me was true, then the sisters won’t let me leave, not without a fight.
But I can’t follow that thought to its conclusion.
I’m not going to let the sisters keep me here; I will not allow them to give me to him like some virginal sacrifice.
His words echo in my mind: There is a cosmic connection between us, a tether, that grows stronger with every moment that I’m near you.
Only you can make me whole again.
Why should I care about him? Who is he to me?
But I’m lying to myself. I know exactly who he is to me.
My lifelong shadow. My nightmare. Worse, I am all too aware of the way he makes me feel.
The way he consumes me, envelops me, scalds me from within as if I am a sun reborn.
He makes me feel like I was always made for something more.
Born under the right star. The heavens themselves conspired to link us. Should I ignore it?
I realize I’ve stopped in my descent; I’m hesitating.
‘No, Midonia,’ I say aloud. I continue down, my bare feet skidding in the mud, ripped raw against loose gravel and undergrowth. What could they possibly do to stop me from leaving, now that I know I was brought here to feed him? That he requested me, like an item off a menu?
As I near the village, the glow of the bell tower pierces nighttime fog.
The bell itself seems suspended, hung in a cocoon of gold light, the night held at bay on all sides.
I feel as if I’ve stepped through some unseen veil into another world, a quiet nightmare, where soft footsteps and whispered words lead me to unthinkable horrors.
A chill caresses the back of my neck. A pressure; a presence. Something is behind me. I am not alone here. He is coming.
I hurtle down the mountainside, breaths trapped in my throat by a web of terror.
My lungs burn, the skin of my feet breaks open and bleeds.
I feel him shadowing me. Is he chasing me?
Or simply watching to see what I’ll do? There’s no doubt in the stench of my sweat, in the slam of my heart inside me: I am terrified.
But there’s a horrible thrill in my chest, an ache of pleasure in my belly.
That sickening thrill is shameful, a thing I push away, try to ignore, to bury in the furthest reaches of my psyche.
By some miracle I make it into the village without falling and breaking my neck.
Everything is mud-slick and chilled. Soon the ground will be a churn of brown ice, uneven and treacherous.
The cold bites against my feet. I desperately want my clothes back.
My leather boots and jacket, thick and warm and functional, seem like the greatest luxury in contrast with this thin underdress.
For an instant, I consider going to look for them.
Returning to my hut, hoping to find my clothes all washed and folded on the bed, waiting for me.
But I know they won’t be there. I know my clothes are gone for good.
And there is something else I think I know, something I need to confirm with my own eyes.
My ship stands exactly where I landed it, exactly as it should be.
It is steadfast. It’s my home, as much as anywhere can be a home.
I pause a few meters away. The village is quiet.
I see smoke rising from chimneys, light pouring from half-open windows.
They must think I’m already taken by their god, consumed whole.
They have no idea. They believe they’ve done their duty, that all is well, and will remain so forever.
This sickening realization bolsters me. They won’t be looking for me.
Please, I think, closing my eyes tightly for a moment before reaching for my ship’s door control. Please, please, please let me be wrong.
I press the button.
Nothing happens.
Movement out of the corner of my eye. I spin, and I only catch a glimpse; a flicker of darkness, moving from one shadow to another; but it is enough. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
He’s here.
I remember his words: I’LL HAVE WHAT’S MINE, MIDONIA. WHETHER IT’S GIVEN OR TAKEN, I WILL HAVE IT.
I know I don’t have time. Moments, maybe, before he makes the kill. He is on the hunt. I can almost feel him circling me, assessing how best to strike.
I drop to my knees in the freezing mud and crawl under my ship.
My feet snag in my dress as it drags against the mud.
But I manage to twist around until I’ve found it, the one access point to my ship’s internal mechanism that can be opened manually.
I dig my fingernails under the hatch. I’d usually use a screwdriver for this, at the very least, or a crowbar if I had one.
But I don’t. I wince as one of my nails breaks, as I try to gain a proper hold on the metal.
The mud has made me slippery; the cold has made me clumsy.
The gloom around the ship seems to grow thicker. Electricity bites the air. I can almost feel him reaching for me, his claws of solid smoke readying themselves to drag along my skin.
At last, with a strangled cry, I wrench open the hatch.
Something small, a loose screw maybe, tumbles out and onto the ground.
My throat tightens. I don’t leave loose fucking screws lying around inside my ship.
Someone has been here. I can’t see anything but darkness through the hatch, but I would know my way around my ship’s engine blind.
Deftly, gingerly, I feel around with shaking fingers. And …
‘Fuck.’
Where the power coil should be is an empty gap. My finger catches on a jagged edge and I hiss, retracting my hand and putting the finger to my lips. It’s been snapped out of place. The solar flares, as I suspected, were never real.
MIDONIA.
A scream works its way up my throat and I choke it back, desperate not to draw attention to myself. I roll out from under my ship, then get to my knees and scramble to my feet. I feel a fleeting sensation of cold at my cheek, the reaching caress of a long-fingered hand, and I flee.
I am running through the village, mindless like a prey animal, choking on saliva, ignoring the throb in my feet, my freezing muscles, my bleeding finger.
I realize now that I have to get to Irena.
Irena, who no doubt sabotaged my ship, who took the power coil.
It had to be her. Anguish may have asked for me, but she is the architect of my betrayal.
She took my hand and led me to this fate.
And if I have anything to say about it, it will be she who delivers me from it.
I grit my teeth and make a decision: If I have to threaten Irena, I will. If I have to hurt her, I will. She’s smaller than me, older, probably more frail. And I have the psychotic energy of the chased. Adrenaline surges in my veins.
I will get that part from her. And I will …
My steps flag as a flash of reality crosses my mind.
I will … what? Weld the coil back into place?
With what tools? I have what I need in my ship, but I can’t get to them without the power coil installed.
And I can feel Anguish trailing me even now.
I hear his footfalls like a pack of wolves, closing in around me.
I feel his wingbeats above me, churning the night air.
I feel his hot breath against my exposed neck.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MIDONIA?
Away from you. As far away as I can get.
Tears are streaming down my face when I finally make it to Irena’s hut. I hammer on the door with my forearm, hard enough to bruise. When I pull back my arm to knock again, a voice slides into my mind.
MIDONIA. STOP. COME BACK WITH ME. I WON’T BE ABLE TO CONTROL MYSELF IF YOU –
His words break off as the door opens. Irena’s expression is warped by fear, her eyes wide with obvious disbelief. The night is thick with inevitability. ‘Midonia,’ she says, her voice unsteady.
I wonder if she planned for this. If she ever thought the sisters’ machinations might go awry.
I push past her into the hut. My bleeding finger leaves a smear of red on her white dress.
Her eyes are wild, her body stiff with anxiety.
But she doesn’t fight me, nor does she call on the other sisters.
She closes the door behind me, leaning her back against it for a moment as if catching her breath; collecting her thoughts.
Then she moves to face me. Her eyes swim with unshed tears.
I know she is afraid, though of what – me, or Anguish, or something else entirely – I can’t say.
The night outside is quiet. I sense him there, holding his breath, preparing to attack.
‘Irena.’ I speak through gritted teeth. ‘I know you have it.’
Her eyes widen. Her mouth quivers. ‘I have nothing of yours.’
‘My power coil.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You don’t have to know what it is. You ripped it from the guts of my ship.’
Irena’s expression hardens, just a little. But she says nothing.
‘You lied about the solar storm. I’m not your guest here. I’m your prisoner. He told me everything.’
‘He …’
‘Anguish.’
She seems to digest this information, and I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
I was right. She hasn’t planned for this.
She and her sisters could not have begun to fathom that I, their helpless sacrifice, might have tamed the beast just long enough to get away.
Or that the beast might not have been a beast at all, but a trapped creature.
‘Irena, the power coil.’
She sets her jaw. ‘Do you know how long we’ve been looking for someone like you, someone who can satisfy him? Someone who can keep him fed for centuries, instead of just months? Do you know how much work it took to bring you here? The payoff for your boss alone …’
A flash of realization; another gut-wrenching betrayal. My boss. My own fucking boss.
A sudden wind howls outside the hut. It sounds unearthly, a horrible growling wail, and I realize it isn’t the wind at all, but Anguish.
He sweeps past the windows, darker than the night, and heavy with a promise I know he’ll do his best to keep.
He needs me. He needs me, because without me, he’ll die.
I have been here before. I have been on the other side of a door, waiting for him to come for me. I’ve been held helpless by the whims of men. I’ve known deeply in my heart that I will never walk out that door as the same person again.
There are two versions of me. There is the version of me who picked up two passengers. And there is the version who landed my ship with two broken corpses on board.
But I, too, was broken that day. An insidious break, the hairline fracture of a bone that refuses to heal.
Too often I wake in the night, sweating and crying, the sound of Rory unbuckling his belt ringing in my ears.
In those moments his voice is too real, too vivid.
This will be so easy, baby. And in those moments, wracked with impotent fear and rage, I yearn.
I crave sustenance I can’t find, tortured by an impossible ache, this insatiable hunger.
Anguish’s words scrape across my mind.
You and I are the same. We share the same urges.
Outside, a rush of sound: Anguish’s bellow, murderous and far too close.
Then a scream, bloodcurdling in its terror, suddenly cut short.
Then more screams, and shouts. The bell begins to clang.
A warning? An attempt to frighten him away, their god who they unwittingly strengthened with my presence?
Their god, who has finally turned on them?
But he didn’t turn on me. Not yet.
I step toward Irena. ‘Give me the power coil.’ I want her to admit to what she’s done. I want to see the shame written on her face.
She hesitates, then wilts. She hears the chaos of the village; it’s reflected in her eyes, the sheer terror.
The surrender. The despair. Her shoulders slump.
She points to her bed in the corner. I go to it, fishing around under the mattress until my fingers close around cold metal.
There. Even without the right tools, I’m determined to find a way to repair my ship.
I have to. You won’t keep me here like an animal in a cage.
I cradle the ship part to my chest, and turn to face Irena. She won’t stop me. She knows that she stands between me and Anguish. That he and I have a connection, a bond. And whether one or both of us ends up lost in the end, that’s for us to decide. Irena is no longer necessary.
As I go to the door, as I turn the handle and wrench it open to the night, I wonder: What version of Midonia will be left when this is all over?