Chapter 5
Five
The mortals had moved on.
Vale attempted to track them, to no avail. They had used a smelling salt that masked their scent, which only increased his suspicions that they had done something to Ivy before presenting her as an offering.
He retreated to his void and stepped out of the silver pool, gritting his fangs. The crack in the ground was already deeper, creeping toward the base of a bone-tree.
Vale scraped his foot claws against the crack and growled. “Whether she meant to or not, the mortal has done this to you. To us! And you still waste your time communing with her? She will wither and die within two blooms of a bonetithe plant!”
The void did not answer. Not even a gust of wind curled comfortingly around his antlers.
Vale’s growl turned into a roar. Skeletal birds took flight from trees, and animals scurried through the undergrowth, but Vale could not bring himself to care.
He had cared for this void—his void—his entire existence.
And now it was ignoring him so it could talk to a mere mortal who had been here less than a day.
“Have I displeased you?” he demanded. “She tells me you want me to be joyous. How can I be joyous when there is no time to rest? No time to do anything but tend to you! I used to have assistants! What would you have me do? Rest and let you rot?”
The crack in the ground swelled, horrible and pale in the dark soil.
Vale growled at it again. Even raging, he was still worried about it. His void was all he had ever known. He did not want it harmed. Especially considering how closely he was tied to it. If the wilderness void died, so did he.
“The pollen is only meant to awaken her desires,” Vale continued. “Not awaken her to you. What have you done?”
No response. Even when Vale closed his eyes to listen, the noises that came back were not for him: a root-deer munching; a wooden branch scratching against its bony twin; a shocked, disbelieving giggle.
His eyes snapped open. It was the mortal. And she was not in his nest.
Vale snarled and started toward the noise.
Her laughter grew closer, and he ignored the sweet taste of her still in his mouth.
He made sure the pollen would leave her blood, then she could finally start their work.
It did not matter how soft her thighs were under his claws, or how prettily she flushed.
He burst through the bushes to find Ivy stretching to pull a mess of strangling rib-thickets from a tree trunk.
“What are you doing?” Vale demanded.
Ivy gasped and whirled. Her braid had been unspooled, her blazing red hair arcing out so brightly it made Vale’s claws clench.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy said, twisting a stray rib-bone in her hands. “I— You— The void guided me! It said I could start working like you want me to. I feel better, I promise.”
Vale eyed her suspiciously. She was still sweating, but that could be from her work. He sniffed the air. No trace of that hot, sweet scent that was still tantalizing the back of his throat.
Vale ignored the stirring under his robes and demanded, “What were you laughing at?”
“Just…” Ivy motioned at the ground. For the first time, Vale noticed the shadowy vine curling gently around her foot. The same way it had curled around the light-motes when they were alive. The same way it used to curl around his antlers, back when it still spoke to him.
Vale ground his fangs together, his tail lashing.
He wanted to roar at the mortal, to berate her again for leaving the nest. But deep down, he knew he would not truly be yelling at her.
He would be yelling at the void. This mortal might be clumsy, disobedient, and even infuriating—but she meant well.
Even if she had accidentally poisoned his void. He could not fault her for the other mortal’s doings.
“We should start at the eastern rib-thickets,” Vale gritted, forcing his tail to still. “They are the worst. These can wait.”
Ivy blinked in surprise. “Oh! Okay.”
After a moment of uncertainty, she threw the broken rib into a pile with the other discarded bones she had been prying off the tree trunk. Then she straightened her dress, blushing as her hands brushed over sodden fabric.
“I’ll go wherever you lead me,” she said with a nervous smile.
Vale held his breath. That hot scent was in the air again, no doubt agitated by her swishing her dress about. He could not afford to get distracted.
“Come,” he said, turning toward the eastern rib-thickets. “We have wasted enough time today.”
“Of course,” Ivy said.
A weak gurgle echoed through the trees. At first, Vale could not identify it. Then he realized what it was: the soft noise of a mortal stomach growling.
Vale turned back to find Ivy rushing after him, faltering when she saw him stop.
“What is it?” Ivy asked, tugging at her loose red hair. “What’s wrong?”
“You,” Vale replied, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Did you not eat before you came?”
“Well… yes.” Ivy started braiding her hair, her fingers slipping distractedly on the tangled strands. “But it’s been, um, a tiring day.”
Vale sighed. Ivy startled, and Vale noticed how much his sigh sounded like a growl. Actually, most of the things that came out of his mouth sounded like a growl. He was so used to it that he forgot that it intimidated most creatures.
Vale asked, “How often do mortals eat?”
“Three times a day,” Ivy said reluctantly, as if she were afraid he would disapprove of the answer.
Three times a day? Vale sighed again, not bothering to keep the growl out of it this time. His light-motes never needed to eat. Why could he not have another assistant like that?
“And snacks,” Ivy continued in a whisper.
“And you will need water,” Vale said.
“Yes?” Ivy cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“It is fine,” Vale said grudgingly. “We will find you food and water. You can wash your dress.”
“Oh! Now?” Ivy brushed at her dress again, and Vale’s fangs snapped shut as he stopped himself from breathing in that hot scent.
It was not entirely helpful. Even when he could not smell her, he could still see her flushed cheeks.
Her wild crimson hair. Her thin, white dress stuck to her body with sweat.
Her nipples pricked underneath the flimsy fabric, her body so soft and ripe—
Vale turned away, forcing down a mouthful of saliva.
“Eat first,” he said as he started walking. “Then wash.”
He needed to eat, too. It had been weeks, or perhaps months. Soon his own stomach would rumble, and he did not want to see this puny mortal’s reaction. It had once caused a visiting sprite to faint in fright.
“Of course,” Ivy repeated, her voice small as she hurried after him. “Vale?”
Vale growled, no sigh in it this time. “What?”
She did not reply. Vale whirled and found her standing several feet away, twisting her red hair around her fingers.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said quietly, eyes on the ground. “You’ve been good to me. Better than I deserve. I know I’ve been more trouble than I’m worth.”
Vale wanted to snap at her. But she looked so small and defenseless with her useless, blunt teeth and delicate skin.
Not to mention the sour scent of guilt underneath the leftover lust drifting up from her damp dress, as if she was ashamed he had to go to the trouble to help her.
Vale wondered how they chose her for their “offering.” How disposable was she to those people?
Even her uncle had been willing to give her up.
Vale thought that mortals valued those familial ties.
Maybe they did. But not when it came to the mortal in front of him, her eyes on the ground like she was waiting to be devoured.
Vale thought, for the dozenth time today, of the light-motes. Their cheer and company in between their duties, back when he had time to spare. He used to have visitors in the wilderness void—sprites and nymphs and fellow Skullstalkers. They called him kind, once.
Vale smoothed down his robes, trying to collect himself. “Stay here. I do not care what the void urges you to do. Stay here. I will be back with food shortly.”
“Yes,” Ivy said, flustered. “Thank you, um… Master Skullstalker.”
Vale turned toward his hunting grounds, oddly disappointed. It took him until he was chasing a root-deer to its doom that he realized what the disappointment was: he had been hoping she would say his name.
Vale returned to the spot he had left her in with a dead root-deer slung over his shoulder, its skull-face bumping into his chest with every step.
Ivy stumbled to her feet. A flurry of red flowers fell away from her. Apparently, while he had been gone, she had sat down at the base of a nearby tree, and a layer of unrecognizable flowers had sprouted over her.
“I didn’t do it,” Ivy said, quickly. “It just happened.”
Vale eyed the unfamiliar blooms scattered around her. They smelled rich and sweet, almost sickly. Their red was a near-perfect match to her tangled hair.
“They’re roses,” Ivy whispered, brushing a petal from her locks. “I’m sorry. I asked the void not to, but they kept growing.”
Another “rose” bloomed next to her foot. Ivy nudged it away gently, wincing. Then she pointed at the root-deer draped over his shoulder. He expected her to gasp at its skull-face, but she just smiled.
“Its face is like yours,” she said, strangely charmed. “And the antlers.”
Vale lifted the dead creature’s head. The skull and antlers did indeed match his.
They had not when he was first given the wilderness void.
But they changed, as did so many things in this void.
When he arrived, the root-deer was all roots, and there was no skull to speak of.
Then he was given this void, and both he and the animals’ forms began to shift to match each other.
“I can prepare it,” Ivy continued. “If you’d like.”
Vale huffed. “I do not need to prepare it.”
“Oh,” Ivy said, her eyes widening as she glanced down at his fangs. “That—that makes sense. I can prepare it for myself, then. I won’t be a bother.”
“We will see,” Vale said, perhaps unfairly. He was unusually fatigued after his hunt. He hoped that it was due to how long he had gone without a meal, and not because of the weakening void. Surely it was too early for him to feel those effects.
He hoisted the root-deer further up his shoulder and started into the forest.
“Come,” he said again. “You will need a fire.”
Ivy scrambled after him. Her footfall was strange. When he turned to check on her, she was stepping over suddenly blooming roses, whispering apologies whenever she accidentally trod on them.
The roses thankfully stopped by the time they found a spot clear enough for a fire. Vale ripped into his half of the root-deer, still disdainful of the mortal’s need to cook meat before devouring it. Not to mention Ivy’s clear bafflement with the deer he had presented her.
Vale sat up, wiping his bloody mouth with his robe. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ivy said hurriedly. She tied the torn deer leg to the stick, then held it over the fire. The meat crisped, the edges turning black in a way that seemed to shock her.
“It’s nothing,” Ivy said again when she caught him looking. “It’s just… is this even meat?”
“Of course, it is meat,” said Vale. “What else would it be?”
Ivy’s nose wrinkled. She poked at the root-deer leg, which dripped bright blood into the fire, throwing sparks. “Um. A… plant? The texture feels like fruit, almost. And it looks like fruit. But when I cut into it, it bleeds. And it has bones!”
“Yes. Because it is meat.” Vale ripped another hunk of root-deer off its haunches, only chewing twice before swallowing. “Does this displease you?”
“No,” Ivy assured him. “I’m sure it will taste wonderful. It smells really nice.”
She leaned in, sniffing hopefully. Then she pulled the root-deer leg out of the fire and took a small nibble.
Vale waited. “Well?”
“It’s nice!” Ivy smiled at him, looking absurdly pleased by the fact. “Thank you.”
“You do not have to thank me,” Vale said grumpily. “I live to serve. I just never expected to serve my assistant.”
He wiped his bloody claws on the grass, annoyed. He felt full, but no less tired. A worrying sign.
“You will learn how to live in this void,” Vale said. “I will not have to assist you after that. We have too much work to do.”
Ivy nodded wildly and bit another tiny chunk out of her deer leg. She was watching him curiously, though she tried to hide it.
Vale growled. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ivy insisted. “Just… are you okay? You look different.”
Tired, Vale thought. She means I look tired.
Luckily, he had been tired for centuries. He knew how to weather it.
“I am well,” Vale lied. He ripped another strip of bleeding plant-meat off his deer half, then paused. “And you?”
Ivy blinked in surprise. She was sweating again. Hopefully from the fire. But from the sweet scent wafting faintly off her in a way that had nothing to do with the stains on her dress, Vale doubted it.
However, if Ivy was feeling the pollen’s effects again, she did not show it. She smiled again, her soft cheeks gleaming in the firelight.
“I’m fine,” Ivy said, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”