Chapter 17 #2
A glimmer of hope worms into my heart, strengthening my resolve.
We move, with small steps, careful to not unravel the tied off fabric.
“Keep going, Alora!” The Devourer’s words help warm the marrow of my bones offering the encouragement I need.
It finally begins to feel like we’ll make it unscathed out of these woods.
A shifting shadow in my peripheral catches my attention and I snap my head in the direction of the movement.
When my gaze locks on the space where I saw the apparition, there’s nothing. Nothing but fallen trees and boulders.
Convinced my mind is playing tricks on me, I return my gaze to where the tethered men are.
In their place, standing in front of me, is a small form, half my size.
Sandy curls frame a face in a pale halo. Freckles and a toothy grin I’d thought I’d only see again in my dreams.
Hanin.
The boy cocks his head to the side as if I had uttered the name outloud. The toothy grin pulls into a full smile. It’s one I would welcome in any lifetime. His doe eyes blink back at mine, a cerulean blue that mirrors my own.
Falling to my knees, it’s unknown if this is a blessing from the goddess or if I’ve fractured my mind.
If it’s a trick, it’s one that will leave me plunging into the deep end of my wits, but I so badly want to lose myself to the current.
“Hanin?” I croak his name in a broken, shattered sound.
He looks real. Like he’s here.
I stretch my hand out towards him, testing to see if I can feel anything.
My fingers stop on the soft tunic and before I know it I’m wrapping my arms around the young boy.
He smells of pear orchards, sunlight, and lilybells. I pat his head that’s tucked into my shoulder and run my fingers through his curls, the satin texture smooth along my rough tips.
I inhale deeply, the familiar scent of briny air mixed with warm baked scones jolting my memory.
I sit there for a moment, cradling the boy and unwilling to part with him.
He leans back, breaking our embrace.
I release his curls and bring my hands down to my side, unknowing what to do with them.
Looking into his face, I etch the perfect details into my mind, chiseling the last details before settling on his eyes.
Except they’ve changed into something inhuman.
The once bright orbs have been replaced with milky white irises, devoid from any other color or pupil.
I gasp, my lungs suddenly heavy as if they’ve collapsed.
His once soft skin is mottled, kissed in hues of purple and bruising pink. Though he still smiles at me, his lips peel back revealing decaying teeth.
“Alora?” The skin sloughs from his lips as they form my name. The voice sounds the same, too sweet and childlike, it’s eerie now that I consider it.
“You’re not Hanin,” I say as I sink back on my heels.
His mouth closes and his expression changes with his down turned lips.
“You told me it would be okay,” the singsong tone echoes with his words.
Horror sinks its sharp teeth into my soul, latching on and draining me of my will to continue.
Those words have haunted me in nightmares, ones that I haven’t dared share with another person. I had screamed them until my throat was raw as Hanin’s charred body laid on the ground as the fire engulfed my home.
It will be okay, I promise Hanin. It’ll be okay, I’ll find a healer, I’ll find someone…
But it had been too late. He’d been gone for gods knows how long. He was only warm due to the dark licks of the flames that had been on his body.
I scuttle back from the apparition, the cloying scent of smoke and rot lingering now.
He takes a step towards me and repeats his words from before, “You told me it would be okay, lykyng.”
The icy breeze returns, ripping any semblance of warmth from my body. The swirling fog thickens until all I can see is the ghastly spirit in front of me, the skin flaking off like dark grey ash being blown away.
“You’re not him.” A sob tears from my throat.
The bouncy curls toss in the wind, becoming dull and ratted right before my eyes. The figure continues to move closer to me and panic blooms, constricting in my throat.
A whimper escapes, “You’re not him.”
I close my eyes to the sight. It’s too much, too disturbing—it leaves me utterly hopeless and lost.
A ghostly tendril caresses my cheek until nails begin to dig into my cheeks, clawing at my face like razors.
“The spirits only test you, laochra.”
A loud, smokey voice shakes me from my imaginings, “Don’t let them win, little warrior.”
My eyelids fly open and I’m still standing next to Dahla, hands on her reins.
I sob and try to catch my breath between each heartwracking weep.
“Do not consider yourself weak, little warrior.” The deep vibrato reaches my ears and I search for where it comes from.
The Devourer clings to the embankment, only his head and the arm that grasps the makeshift rope, visible.
His eyes look wild, riddled with something I can’t name.
They’re vivid, focused solely on me as he continues to shout, “You may not believe it, but by the gods I do. You are not weak.”
The vein ticks in his forehead as he visibly strains against the weight beneath him.
He’s still holding on despite everything.
He could easily let go of Caym but he doesn’t, instead he chooses to help even though the situation feels impossible.
I force myself to take a slow step backwards, pulling Dahla with me. The Devourer’s forearm steels, the veins popping in his thickly corded arm. Gods he’s stronger than I gave him credit for.
His upper half becomes more visible as he pulls himself upwards, hauling Caym with him.
He’s almost up on the ledge when I hear a tiny ripping sound. Our eyes crash into each other and the color blanches from his face.
I don’t think, I just act.
As the fabric tears I jump with all my might and grab hold of the torn strips.
I land with a thud on my belly, knocking the wind from my lungs.
But I don’t let go.
Not as The Devourer’s severe grasp grips to my arms.
Not as the fog looms directly over head, and not until we haul Caym, soiled and muddied, up over the ledge of the embankment.
Because though I might feel insignificant, I am not weak.