Chapter 46 The Blackheart #2
Something sinister gripped Caramyn’s own heart, a hopeless, broken feeling of dread and foreboding.
The veins were so close to his heart. Mere inches away from completing their dark purpose.
She pressed her lips together, still hung on the weight of Zera’s words.
“How…how many more times can he kill before—”
“One. Maybe two.”
Caramyn stared at her, her lips stammering, and her voice hoarse when it finally came. “Is there any way to stop it?”
“It is a Blackheart—it’s what happens when Shadow magic is used in attempt to heal by someone who has no business using it.
Someone powerful enough to do it, but foolish enough to try.
Someone desperate enough to try pulling someone back from the edge of death.
When a soul is already slipping beyond the reach of Light magic, the Blackheart binds to what remains, keeping the body alive while slowly devouring the soul.
In time, it takes full control, until it permanently manifests as the deepest fears of the host.” Zera lifted her chin, her calloused eyes bleary.
“And there is no way to be rid of it that I know of—except to pass it on to another dying soul, which may very well cost the host the life it was sustaining.”
“He was just a child…” Caramyn whispered, imagining the young Asterious, thrown to the mercy of a ravenous wolf, all for the mere hope of earning his father’s acceptance. Forced to become the very same bloodthirsty beast that sent him to this fate.
“Yes…he was.” The way Zera said the words made Caramyn glance twice at the woman.
“You speak as though you knew him.” Caramyn narrowed her eyes, as if trying to see beyond what was in front of her.
“Because I did know him.” Zera’s voice quaked. “I’m the one who cursed him with the Blackheart. And I’ve regretted it every day…I recognized him the moment I touched his scars. I knew exactly what they were. And I knew I was the one who caused them.”
Caramyn nearly choked on what she’d just heard. The air turned heavy. It took a few breaths too long for the meaning of Zera’s words to land, and when they did, it was like a dagger to the heart.
She thought she might suffocate. She stared at Zera, stunned, horrified, her mind spinning like a broken compass. As she searched for the words to demand an explanation, Zera seemed to already understand that one was owed, and offered up the rest without any prodding.
“I was much younger. I was a skilled healer, but I’d never saved anyone so close to death before.
His mother brought him to me, years before I had to seek refuge in these mountains.
I’ll never forget the pain in her eyes. He was a bloodied, battered mess, and there was barely a heartbeat left to save.
I told her there was nothing I could do, but she begged me with all the fierceness of a mother.
She cried, bargained, pleaded with me to try.
” Zera spoke through broken sobs now, each one stronger than the last. “I…I couldn’t find it in me to turn her away.
To let her watch her son die in her arms at my doorstep.
I…I thought I understood the consequences…
I thought maybe it would be worth it. I warned her.
I knew Shadow magic came with a price. But neither she nor I could have imagined how high a price it would be. ”
“They left, and she thanked me, and the sound of her gratitude haunted me every day after, leaving me to wonder what would become of that poor boy…until now.”
Zera’s words echoed around in Caramyn’s head, snaking their way through her thoughts like vile serpents.
She wasn’t angry with Zera. Her remorse seemed true, her inner turmoil genuine.
But none of that helped Caramyn to see the path forward.
None of that changed the fact that behind her, on the other side of the tent, was a man cursed by a darkness so deep it might destroy them both long before they found a way to outrun it.
And she had been the one to reawaken it.
And then the question plagued her. Did he know? Did he know how close he was? How many kills he had left before he became the beast forever? Did he know that he could never be free of it, without damning someone else to the same fate? “You should tell him.” She finally managed to utter to Zera.
And then the tent doors stirred behind them, and Asterious emerged, the image of a hardened hunter in the midst of the cruelest winter.
He was clad in thick wools and leather boots, and a cloak lined with stone-colored fur drawn closed around his shoulders.
His once regal air now partly eclipsed by the rugged edge of a weathered warrior.
Unshaven dark scruff shadowed his jaw and chin, accentuating sturdy cheekbones beneath that steel-hard gaze.
His hair was a touch longer than when Caramyn had first met him, stray midnight locks falling in sharp waves across his forehead and brows, framing his face.
“No need,” he muttered as he ducked beneath the tent entrance. He pulled a covering over the lower half of his face as the icy wind blew, but it couldn’t hide the brokenness in his eyes. “I heard everything.”