The Bloody Moon
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Orán
Eridessa’s bedroom has, in a way, become its own sanctuary.
White linens, clean and soft, gather in gentle folds around her body. Pillows are arranged to cradle, not confine, and though her quilt couldn’t be saved, I found another one equally as soft to lay over her.
The window is left ajar so the room fills with the scents and sounds of thriving life beyond it. Dozens of wildflowers rest at her bedside, a promise waiting for her upon waking that all is not as it was.
And still… she sleeps.
For days, I have guarded her rest. Each night, I gather her close. Whatever comforts I can provide, I do so, whether that be in a book I read aloud or speaking to her as if she were awake, so that she may know she’s not alone.
I have even gone as far as to sing her an old Irish lullaby my mother used to coax us to sleep with when we were children, with the quiet hope that it might draw her back instead.
Today, there’s a remarkable change. Only not in the way I had hoped for.
She surfaces from sleep to stir restlessly. At times, her small fists clench in the sheets as she thrashes. Pain tightens her features, and though I try to soothe her—heal her, even—little I do seems to help.
Still, her distress undoes me.
Then, an hour ago, at the periphery of the forest surrounding the homestead, something shifted.
Not a sound. Not movement. A pressure testing the edges of what I had woven into this place, drawn, perhaps, to the power that lingers here.
Subtle at first, then stronger.
I stilled.
Met it, and yet it did not retreat.
Instead, it pressed closer, moving through her woods with quiet intent toward us.
I linger by Eridessa’s side as long as I can, my gaze fixed on her, torn between staying… and protecting her from whatever draws nearer by the minute.
In the end, the entity gives me no choice.
I leave her with the hope that whatever terrors haunt my Eliora do not continue to do so in my absence—and that I survive whatever awaits me.
After walking the perimeter of the homestead, I remain outside, turning slowly in place, my senses stretched thin as I scour the treeline and the sky beyond it.
Some stars still burn above, but all that once marked the graveyards of the old gods are gone.
More troubling still is that the sun has not risen since the day the gods fell. A blood-filled moon hangs heavy over the world, casting an eerie glow over all it touches, turning Eridessa’s beloved, majestic woodlands into a forest that glows… and bleeds crimson.
A pale comparison to what it was before the Starfall.
Still, it’s better than the darkness of day, when the moon disappears, and all natural light leaves the world.
Yet another sign that the end is upon us and coming sooner than expected.
As if they hadn’t already faced insurmountable tragedy and barely lived through it. As if cataclysmic events preceding this weren’t enough to bring this world to its knees. Now, we must enact Judgment, and humanity has even less time to prove where their rightful place in the hereafter will be.
And this… this entity—he, she, whoever it is—is just one more thing I must contend with.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself, so that optimism and resolve do not give way to despair.
Eridessa and I will make it through this.
I reach outward again.
Careful at first, then with more intent, letting what remains of my power brush against the presence deep in the forest, seeking it out… testing its nearness.
It answers.
Not with force.
With resistance.
A presence that does not yield or recoil. It meets mine as if it knows what I am—or what I have become.
I latch onto the possibility that one of the old gods survived the fall. That it is he or she approaching, perhaps drawn here by the power I wielded to remake this place.
There’s no way to know. Only that whatever it is unsettles the forest, its presence so foreboding, the world around me seems to hold its breath.
Which is why I stand vigilantly outside Eridessa’s home.
She is in no shape to face any threat, and I won’t allow anything to endanger her fragile state further.
Except…
My power has been largely expended, and what little has returned to me I’ve used to heal or comfort Eridessa. I can draw from the magic here if I must, but I would rather not unless there is no other option.
Even now, power hums beneath the ground. The forest is alive in a way it never has been. Magic glints in every limb, branch, and trunk, coating the reborn growth pushing up from the forest floor.
And that… may be exactly what the entity has come for.
I believe with more time, I’ll fully recover. I feel myself growing stronger as the hours stretch forward. But as it stands, that won’t come soon enough to do me much good.
Then—
A sound from the house.
A broken cry that turns into a whimper.
Eridessa.
Relief hits me first, sharp and dizzying. Any sound from her is better than the stillness that came before. But it twists immediately into alarm as she shouts, and her voice is fractured with pain.
“Orán!”
She calls out to me, more breath than word. It rips through me all the same, sending fear spiraling cold and fast down my spine.
I’m moving before thought catches up.
I stride into the house and down the hallway to her room.
She’s where I laid her, but the blankets have been kicked away, twisted around her legs as they scissor restlessly across the sheets.
Her head rolls from side to side, hair damp with sweat, her mouth parting on broken moans as her body fights something I cannot see.
Her hands claw weakly at the mattress, as though trying to anchor herself to the waking world.
Her skin burns beneath my touch when I press my hand to her cheek—unnaturally fevered. The power I poured into her is still settling, still colliding with mortal limits. I feel it beneath her skin—wild, untempered, roiling, and trying to stabilize.
And outside, the presence creeps closer.
For a moment, I force it from my mind as I pull Eridessa against me, bracing as her body arches again in uncontained anguish. Her fingers clutch at her nightgown, dragging it up over her waist. She claws at the fabric as if it’s suffocating her, attempting to tear it free.
I catch her wrists.
Her head jerks to the side with a strangled sound. She wrenches her hands from mine and turns on herself, nails raking across her skin, leaving angry welts in their wake.
“Eridessa—”
She whimpers in her sleep, her voice thin and unsteady. “Ah—God—no… no…” A gasp. “Orán—” My name splinters on her tongue. “Make it—make it stop. I c-can’t—can’t—”
“Eri, what’s wrong? What is it?”
Her eyes roll beneath her lids. Her body slackens for half a second before another tremor takes her. A hoarse, shaking plea slips free. “Help… help m-me…”
“Tell me how.”
Her hand drifts to her inner thigh, fingers pressing in, kneading her flesh as her legs draw together, shifting against each other. Then her nails dig deeper—hard enough to break skin.
I catch her wrist and pull it away.
She fights me.
“Ple—please…” The word drags out of her. “I can’t—” She sobs, twisting, curling onto her side as much as she’s able, only to move her hand back between her legs again.
“Eri.”
“I’m sorry…” She tosses her head to the side. “I don’t… want to… but it hurts, Orán.”
The rope crosses my mind—binding her hands to stop her from harming herself—but the thought turns just as quickly. She wouldn’t understand, not like this. Waking restrained… it could do more damage than good.
So I try again.
I catch both her wrists in one hand and steady her face with the other, trying to hold her still. When she continues to struggle, I lift her, pulling her into my arms and cradling her against me.
Her eyes occasionally flutter open, but they are glazed, and her pupils are blown wide in a way that disturbs me greatly.
Her fingers suddenly grab my shirt and yank, ripping the seams. Her face presses to my chest, then drags upward to the crook of my neck, and I freeze in place. Her hand follows, splaying over my heart.
For a few seconds, she calms.
However, her touch, her nearness, does the opposite to me.
“Need this. Need you. Need to feel your skin.” Her heavy breaths pant over my neck, sending a sharp reaction through my body.
She knows not what she does. I hold to that, forcing the thought to steady my mind before it strays where it shouldn’t.
“Shh… It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Yet my body tightens, heat coiling low despite myself—worsening when her hands roam over my skin.
“It’s okay, Eliora. I’m here. Keep talking to me. Tell me what’s happening. What’s wrong?”
“Orán.”
“Yes,” I murmur, tightening my hold. “I’m here, Eliora.”
“Ah—” A strained breath. “It burns… hurts.”
“Tell me where. What hurts?”
“Everything. Everywhere. I need—”
The words cut off.
A surge of power—both familiar and not—presses hard against my own.
My head snaps toward the window.
It’s here.
Moving through the woods.
Coming toward the house.
“Heaven’s damn gate…”
I brush her hair back from her face. She draws her legs up, curling in on herself, holding them tight.
Something catches my eye.
I shift her slightly in my arms and look closer, studying the glow beneath the collar of her nightgown—between the curve of her breast.
One of her sigils.
It burns bright. Red. Pulsing with a lustrous, living light. Not just the glow of the heavy red moon pouring through the curtains. This is magic at work, and the skin around it is hot to the touch as if it’s working magic over her and heating her from the inside out.
“What is this marking, Eliora? What does it do?”
She doesn’t answer.
I ask again.
Reaching beside the bed, I grab the cloth I soaked earlier and press the cool fabric to her forehead, trying to draw her back, to ground her.
“Eridessa… the red mark. What does it mean?”
Her lashes flutter. Her head shifts, lifting just enough to brush her lips against my neck as she whispers, her voice faint.
“Red X… wrong… not sup— not supposed to do this…”
“Red X?”
“Yes.”
“The book?”
She nods.
“Can you tell me?”