Ana The sixth soul
Ana
The sixth soul
My Mirror guided me to the east side of my country.
The sand was soft between my feet, the seashells cutting into my skin. And the sea…
The shifting of the waves pulled me to it, their song the most bewitching sound I heard. The murky water of the Black Sea was calling my name, the salt filling the air, clinging to my skin.
At once, I thought about Angelica and our promise. She would have visited the mountains, and I would have enjoyed the sea. Of course, we would both experience each other’s dreams. Sighing, I switched my gaze from the water to the sole house on the beach.
It was painted with a light blue, a colour I haven’t seen being used in our area. The roof was tall, almost reaching the sky. It was covered in hay, just as my grandparents did with my former home. The windows were small, the wooden frame eaten by time.
A child was running around it, spreading sand with his little feet. His mother came from inside, warm bread in one hand and an axe in the other. The smell of the fresh bread reached my nose, but my eyes stayed on the axe.
The mother showed the child the food, and his eyes popped, wetting his lips. Poor child, he knew nothing more than hunger. The Mirror showed me how he was fed scraps of food while his mother indulged in various meals.
As she handed him the bread, the axe fell into the child’s stretched hand.
Instead of the child’s skin, my scythe took the blow. I swung the blade of my weapon and mirrored what the Goat Man had done to my father. The woman's right hand flew from her shoulder.
With one move, I sent the axe into the middle of the sea. I took advantage of her astonishment as she saw my eyes, and I kneeled in front of the child. As soon as I met his gaze, something hit me in my hollow chest.
“Go play far away from here, boy!”
My voice drifted over the sand, showing the child where he should wait for me.
I glared at the woman kneeling in front of me, her eyes watching the sand between her fingers.
“Why?” My voice rang through her head, her eyes moving from her missing arm to me, blood flowing on the sand.
When she noticed my scythe, instead of fear, her face scrunched up from rage.
“He does not deserve to live!” she shouted, her face turning red.
“What gives you the right to decide?” I asked, gripping my scythe tightly.
“I made him. I kill him.” She balled her fists. “I will kill you!” she yelled, rising on her feet.
Remembering that I do not have the skull with me, I darted, trying to slow her movements. Her legs were faster than mine, as if she felt no pain, her remaining hand almost catching me by the hood of my cloak.
“Evil beats in his heart! I will breathe easier when he is gone!” she screamed at me, blood still dripping after her.
“How about not breathing at all?”
I avoided her hand, and this time, my scythe swished on her back, grabbing one of her lungs. I pulled it out with it attached, bile climbing to my neck. The itch that a new soul was taken made itself present.
The sixth swirl in my eye.
Thinking that Tiberius deserved these two last souls, I dispelled the thought of breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I stepped up to the boy who was building something out of sand and water.
I sent the scythe away with a thought, so I wouldn't frighten him.
My pulse quickened, replaying in my mind what life that boy had. He was beaten, secluded, flogged and spat on by his mother, his father having passed away in the last war.
I gathered it wasn’t easy for her. The pain of losing her husband and having to take care of a child alone must have been difficult.
But never treat a child as one would treat dirt.
I sat next to him on the sand. His amber eyes watched the sand fall through his fingers. It settled on the citadel he tried to build with salty water.
“Is she gone?” he whispered in the gentlest voice I ever heard.
If I had a heart, it would be filled with sympathy for him.
“Yes, she is,” I said out loud, my hands fiddling with each other. “Are you alone in the world?”
“Yes, are you?”
His question left me puzzled, my eyebrows raising and falling without a figured answer.
I did not have my family anymore. Even if I checked on them often, disgrace fell on me. On the other hand, I was growing fond of Andrei, even though he was still a reckless young boy.
And for Tiberius, there were more feelings than a mouth can speak.
“I think…yes and no,” I finally answered.
The boy nodded, and I had the idea of inviting him for tea and some food.
And he was not an evil child.
Three days have passed since I took the child with me. Two nights have passed since the Elk promised me that Tiberius would be brought back. I paced around the cave, day and night, waiting. Andrei kept rolling his eyes in his head.
I couldn’t sleep properly or eat anything more than bread, cheese and tomatoes. Anything else would hurt my stomach.
In one moment of awareness, I told the child, Eugen, everything about the Goat Man and his story. How Andrei joined him and how I came to extract six souls. I thought it best not to share the gore, so I wouldn't frighten him. His golden eyes grew every time he found out something new.
And he was the only one who could touch Andrei without getting too squirmy. The boy found everything exhilarating. From the ghost to the Mirrors, from the candles that seemed to never end to the food that became more delicious under my guidance.
Eugen remained with us for longer than the cup of tea. I gathered so many protective feelings for this small child that I convinced Andrei to also join in taking care of him. Both of us stared as the boy described his unhappy life until I took him.
His grandparents, along with his father, had passed away in the war. His mother reflected her pain through beatings over his smooth skin.
Just as my father did.
“What’s this?” asked Eugen, holding a piece of bread smeared in jam.
My eyes travelled to him, but no words were coming out of my mouth. Not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings, I gestured to Andrei.
The ghost cleared his throat. “A scythe. Please do not touch that, it might cut your skin,” he warned, as gently as he could.
A cold breeze touched my legs, and all three of us snapped our heads to the entrance of the cave. The candles flickered as all three of us moved towards the source of the gush. I pushed past the ghost, ignoring the sensation that the touch created on my skin.
Tiberius was delivered to us, carried by a breeze alongside leaves in a large array of autumnal colours, his chest barely rising. I thought I would faint at the sight of him.
He was bruised all over his face, chest and hands as if he had been hit continuously. Andrei sprang into action and laid Tiberius in his chamber. There was blood everywhere, seeping from his stomach.
Eugen had to push me out of the room, just to stay sane. His hands grabbed mine and pulled me into the hallway.
“How many souls do you still have to take?”
His question made me look at him. It was a ploy to keep my attention off the room where the man who stood between death and life was.
“Four,” I whispered back.
“And how many months?”
It was the end of R?pciune.
“Not enough.”
The month of Brum?rel began with Andrei trying to nurse Tiberius back to health. The ghost sent me far away on the first night, because I would cry and pray.
After a few days, Andrei had to lure an old woman from my village to mend Tiberius from the state he was in. She came for two weeks every day, at the same time with the same ointments.
Every time the woman left the cave, Eugen told me that she would sing disenchantments about wounds and the evil eye.
She would start her rituals by extinguishing a match in a glass of water, saying:
Run away, evil eye,
From the eyes,
Because it reaches you, it arrives,
And the heavenly sword of fire,
Divine Providence punishes you bitterly.
Go, disappear, as the mists disappear
When the winds blow,
As the dew disappears in the sun,
As the foam of the sea disappears.
And every time she left, she would turn three times on the thresholds, saying the same chant.
“I don’t believe in this,” Eugen told me one night while we ate eggplant salad with sour cream at the kitchen’s round table.
The scent of vinegar filled the unaired room, provoking sneezes from the child.
In two large pots, water was mixed with vinegar and sugar, close to the boiling point.
Large glass jars occupied half of the floor, and one large barrel the other half.
In the latter, cabbage waited to be mixed with salt, sugar and water.
“Why?” I asked, wiping some crumbles from my mouth.
“Nothing ever happens after the old lady says her incantations,” he replied, grabbing a mug filled to the brim with milk.
“Did you believe in the existence of the Order until you met Andrei and me?” I tilted my head, my eyes on the face he was pulling. His lips pouted, and his nose scrunched.
Eugen frowned, looking like a cat. “I don’t know what to say...” He resigned, pressing his chin to his chest. With his hands, he smothered a doll Andrei made for him out of hay. He eyed the food left on the table.
“My dear boy, you can believe in many things or not. This defines you as a person. It is fine if you do not trust the old woman. But I want to.” My hands touched his smaller one, squeezing once.
“You better.”
My hand stilled on Eugen’s; my mind reeled.
As slowly as I could, holding my breath, I turned my head to him.
And there he was.
The man who instilled fear in others, and still could ignite my mind and body. The man who laid his soul at my feet, refusing himself to act on his feelings, afraid of tainting me.
His body looked better, no more bruises, cuts or broken bones. But his eyes were haunted, a mix between misery and violence.
I stood up, my feet running to him and my arms wrapping around his neck, inhaling his scent. Earth, old books and wax. His hands grabbed my waist tightly, the feelings overbearing.
“Are you husband and wife?” Eugen’s voice ripped the moment.