Three
I haven’t seen The Stranger since the jungle, so when the pull drags me north to a small hunting village, I find the presence of others unsettling.
I haven’t heard my own voice in weeks, not felt the vibrations of my vocal cords in so long that I worry they might tear if I speak above a whisper.
I have not seen a human face in days save my own reflection in the streams that I refilled my water skins with.
The only breathing creature I’ve had contact with is my horse, but he doesn’t need my words, only my care.
I enjoy his company, though. I wasn’t raised around animals, and seeing him for the first time was like lightning to my chest. I was both in awe of his speed and terrified of his power, but now I prefer him to humans.
He cares little about broken vows or mortal sins.
His daily concerns are simply for the meals he’ll consume, the water I’ll lead him to, and my scratches behind his ears.
He’s all I have besides The Stranger… and the severed body in the trunk.
But I never open that locked box unless it’s to add another bone.
I don’t acknowledge it, either. It’s like knives to the gut knowing that what lies inside cannot speak to me, so I don’t talk to it.
The memory of his voice faded despite my attempts to keep it with me, and I hate offering him mine if I cannot hear his.
I miss the lightning that cracked over my skin at the sound. I miss everything about him.
After I found his hands in Death’s abandoned temple, I woke the next morning to find The Stranger long gone.
I never know what part of the realm to search for him.
His executioners didn’t provide me with a map, but The Stranger’s promise stirred something in my soul.
I walk without plans. I simply begin, and when I end, his scattered bones are waiting for me.
So, with his hands locked away with his torso and leg, I strapped the cart to my horse and left the jungle.
I didn’t know where my wanderings would lead, but I’m both surprised and unnerved by the destination.
This village at the base of snow consumed mountains is nothing more than a hunters’ gathering.
The air is all ice and sharpness, razor winds and painful breaths.
It’s a miserable stretch of earth, but its horrors come from the climate.
No black magic hovers here, only nature.
I hate revealing myself to others, and without the thick oppression of evil that normally surrounds his preserved flesh, I’m confused about why the pull led me here.
This far north, I doubt anyone will recognize me.
I’m no longer the girl the gods declared an outcast and a heretic.
She was soft and smooth, her hair long, her health vibrant.
This Sellah is all muscle and bone, scars and ragged hair.
I look nothing like the woman I used to be.
She died the day he died. Sellah ceased to exist the moment his heart stopped beating, and now I simply endure.
A wanderer. A godless traveler on the path of vengeance.
Still, I’m afraid of others. I witnessed firsthand how cruel mankind can be to their own, and I’ve chosen to spend many nights hungry rather than interact with my kind.
I’m scared that outsiders will see past my dirt-caked skin to the girl who fled the gods’ wrath.
I worry they’ll drag me before her altar and burn me alive for my betrayal, and if I die, then he’s truly gone.
So, I avoid civilization. I steal and hide and fight, and each time I take something that doesn’t belong to me, I thank him for teaching me his knowledge and skills.
My thief trained me in his god’s ways; he tutored me on the darkest of nights to be like him, and it’s because of his god that I’m still alive.
Perhaps not all the gods have abandoned me.
Maybe somewhere deep down, Varas smiles every time I play the thief, every time I honor his fallen acolyte.
But I have no choice now. His pull tugged me into the lands of eternal ice, and I cannot hover on the outskirts of the village.
The cold will steal my breath in the night.
The frost will plunder my animal companion for its hunger, and the unseen thread that stitched my soul to his has stilled.
Its tug no longer guides my heart, but without the evil polluting the air, I don’t know where to search.
All I know is that as I approach, the hunters stare at me with unwelcoming glares.
The North is a land reserved for those who live and die here.
Outsiders aren’t welcome, and only those born in the snow are given respect.
As I cross the village’s threshold, a bloody altar crafted of bones and fur captures my attention. For a split second, I’m back inside Hreinasta’s inner sanctum, his blood pooling on the temple floor, and I clench my eyes shut until I see swirling colors behind my lids.
“Please, no,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and cracked.
“The Hunter demands blood,” The Stranger’s unnerving melody seeps through my brain, and though he tells me what I dread hearing, I’m relieved he hasn’t abandoned me. “It is his way. It is theirs.”
“But it’s not mine.”
“Open your eyes, child.”
I obey, gagging at the sight of the crimson snow. Lovec, God of the Hunt. It’s his altar that graces the village’s entrance.
“All who come grant him an offering,” The Stranger speaks in my mind.
“He’s not picky. He cares little who’s veins spill in his name.
All he demands is a sacrifice of blood. The North is harsh and barren and filled with beasts bred to slaughter.
Humanity’s survival rests on their hunters’ shoulders, their skill at shedding blood the only line between life and death.
Just as they bleed to feed their families, so must they bleed in service to their god.
” He pauses for a moment before continuing.
“Do you see how they look at you? All who enter must bleed. It’s blasphemy to ignore the offering. ”
“I am blasphemy.”
“No, my child. You are a survivor.”
I hate The Stranger. I hate that he’s right. I hate that blood is the last thing I saw before his breathing stopped. Red. Red. Red. It’s a color I never wish to see again.
“I’ll offer him no prayer,” I whisper defiantly.
“He does not need your prayer. Only your blood… or that of your beast.”
I rest my palm on my horse’s neck. “No. He can’t have him. I’ll do it.”
The Stranger chuckles, but I scowl as I storm to the altar.
I slip the blade from my boot and drag it gently over my forearm, where the slice won’t hinder my movements.
Crimson beads on my skin, and I tilt my arm, letting the drops roll onto the stained and frozen furs.
Only three fall, but that’s all I offer Lovec.
I must bleed, and so I do, but he gets nothing more. Red. Red. Red. I hate this color.
* * *
I have no coin to barter with, but currency is useless here.
The North demands blood in all aspects of life, and the only payments those with lodgings and food will accept are that of flesh and bone.
If they cannot eat it, carve it, or wear it, they reject its presence.
I grind my teeth at their demanded price.
It’s much easier to steal gold than it is to hunt a beast. He taught me how to pick both pockets and locks.
He did not teach me how to skin a northern elk.
My horse is my only possession of worth, but he isn’t for sale.
I’ll make no bargains with my only friend; therefore, I have nothing to trade for a warm bed to survive the oncoming night.
I have no food to fill my cramping stomach.
No fire to thaw my stiff fingers. Damn Lovec and his blood demands, I’m no safer within the confines of this village than I was outside.
Villagers survey my beast as we wander in search of shelter, and I scowl at them until they look away in discomfort. Almost a cycle with only a white-eyed Stranger and a horse for company has turned me bitter.
My steps falter. It’s been almost a cycle?
How is that possible? I only knew him for the same length of time we’ve now been apart.
A mere blink of an eye to the universe, yet every second without him is agony.
How have so many seasons passed since I heard his voice?
Saw his dark eyes? Felt the scar on his lip worship my body?
This is why I forgot the deep tenor of his speech.
Hundreds of days separate me from the last moment I listened to it.
When we promised forever, I never realized the end would come so soon.
I say his name. One time. Two times. Ten. Over and over. That I refuse to forget.