"Four and a half decades ago, the whole island shook and parted in the middle. A deep gash formed in our land, and this we called the Parting.
Some say the Gods emerged from the dark abyss of that crevasse on the earth, that they had lay dormant beneath our feet until the moment they were awoken by the earthquake. Others insist that the Parting only presented a way out for them, and they had been trapped down below since the conception of our world, awaiting an opportunity to free themselves and claim command of their rightful subjects.
I personally always believed they'd been ravenous for a long time, rattling our land with their quakes like a caged animal thrashing against the walls of its confinement until that one lucky hit unleashed them all upon the sorry lot of us."
Mantis's stomach gurgled and her face contorted in disgust. Don't think about it.
She glanced at the wildberry tart in front of her on the table. Picking at it with her fork had done nothing to make it more likely that she would eat it. The berries glistened with moisture and the sugar coating gave them a lumpy texture. It looked like charred skin, the purplish red juices seeping from the bottom of the crust reminiscent of old, coagulating blood. Eat it.
It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to consume something she found revolting.
The berries burst in her mouth and released their nauseating juices. Her molars ground the crust and produced a welcome crunch that resonated in her ears, distracting her from the smooth texture of the fruit skins sliding down her throat. The flavor was pleasant. Sweet.
The rest of the tart went down with a little more ease. Mantis didn't look at the liquids collected at the bottom of the tray when the food was gone, and hastily pushed the small metal container away. Hopefully someone would collect that soon and remove it from her peripheral vision. The lingering fruity taste in her mouth could only distract her from the bloody colors for so long.
There was a cheerful air in the tavern she currently patronized. A modest number of locals had gathered at the cozy little family-owned business for an afternoon meal or drink; their comfortable countenance spoke of neighborly acquaintance with the place. To her left, an old minstrel sang a song about love and bravery to a group of giggling girls, his harp complementing it with a lulling melody to accompany his raspy, trained voice.
The tale was well known. Three young warriors who'd been passing by a burning cottage in the woods on their way to camp had heard feminine screams coming from inside, and jumped at a chance to implement their new-found physical abilities to bring good to the world, rather than death, for the very first time.
The first such gentleman to take action showed great strength and moved a wooden beam that had fallen across the doorframe, blocking the exit. Once the obstacle was out of the way, his companion displayed great bravery and entered the burning building with no regard for his own wellbeing to guide the three trapped damsels outside, coughing and panting. The third fellow used his quick wits and agile hands, and collected a few big leaves from a nearby plant to fan the women with to allow fresh air to pump into their lungs, clearing the smoke that was making them choke.
The tavern girls laughed and whispered to each other as the minstrel went on with his song. The three men, gentlemen as they were, allowed the young women three nights and three days to heal in the woods. They set up a sleeping area for them using twigs and fallen leaves to cushion their bodies, and hunted squirrels and hares to feed them so they would grow strong and healthy. On the third such day, the gentlemen decided enough time had passed, and took their recovered brides home to wed.
Mantis frowned and squeezed the mug of ale she held in between her hands. She wouldn't drink it. She knew it would probably taste like old piss. But it was good to have something to hold, something to channel her pent-up energy into to stop herself from crying or screaming or strangling the old bastard and cracking his harp over his skull.
A cold trembling assailed Mantis's body all of a sudden and she let a wild curse escape under her breath. No. Please no. She begged internally and pushed her eyelids closed as if that would stop her from seeing something she didn't need eyesight to perceive. Not again, so soon. Please!
With relentless disregard for her begging, her body focused on him. Her senses pricked and her head turned to the right, every muscle and nerve standing at attention and following the target that had appeared. It was a strong one. His aura pushed against her senses even from a distance. She could not see his physical form yet, but his stinking soul called to her like a hatchling calling for its mother. He walked up the street steadily, quickly approaching the tavern where she'd decided to sit down to compose herself after her latest hunt.
Tears started to well up in Mantis's eyes with the injustice of it. She'd done her duty, just today! Her belly was still swollen and aching, her consciousness still bruised and oozing with despair. And despite it all, her whole body started to shake with anticipation and rage. Her eyes locking in on the silvery, shining aura coming her way. In a few minutes, he would walk straight into the room where he would meet his end. It thrilled her, and that made her gag.
When the handsome sea captain opened the tavern door and unknowingly presented himself for the taking, she was ready to receive him.
His hair was blond, streaked with a lighter golden shade that framed the front of his face. His skin was a healthy, warm canvas of scars and freckles. A fighter. A privateer. His immaculate uniform revealed just how cherished his position was, and how proud of himself he was for having made it in a world that he'd had a part in ruining.
"I'll just ask her if she needs anything else. She hasn't had a sip of the ale I brought her," Teela insisted through her teeth, trying to shake free of her brother's grip on her upper arm.
"Just leave her alone! What is wrong with you?" His brusque whisper near her ear made her squirm.
She wasn't sure what was wrong with her. Or if there was anything wrong at all. All she knew was that she had been unable to keep her eyes off the strange hooded woman sitting a few paces away since she'd come into their tavern and taken a seat in a secluded corner. Now the stranger gripped her mug of beer like she was trying to squeeze a secret out of it, and focused her attention almost obsessively on a blond gentleman that had come in and taken a seat at the bar.
Teela knew she was being a little foolish, but she just wanted to talk to her. She wanted to make sure everything was all right.
"Ma'am?" she ventured and, finally releasing herself from Leroh's hold, neared her table.
The hooded woman was much smaller up close than Teela would have thought. Her slender frame was covered head to toe in black and dark gray garments the likes of which Teela had never seen. The fabric was thick and probably very good at keeping the cold and rain away, though it looked weathered and slightly dirty. A large draping hood covered her head and most of her face, revealing only her jaw and the tip of her nose. Her mouth was painted with some cosmetic that enhanced the reddish tint of her lips. The color was deep but, strangely enough, it looked almost like a natural shade on her.
When the stranger continued her almost hypnotized staring without so much as a twitch of acknowledgement at her approach, Teela frowned and lowered her head to match her seated height and tried to peer into the opening of her hood.
What she found terrified her frozen. She'd never seen eyes like that. Something was wrong with her, and now Teela was certain of it. The hooded woman's pupils were so dilated that almost no color showed around the black circles. A hair-fine ring of brown so reddish it was almost orange was all she could see of her eye color. But what unsettled her most about the face she peered into was its unnatural stillness and expression. A look of utter intent and hunger so pure Teela suddenly understood why the woman hadn't responded at all to her. She probably wouldn't have flinched if the ceiling had fallen on her head.
"Apologies, ma'am. We'll be sure to leave you to your business." Two strong hands gripped Teela's shoulders and pulled her back abruptly, and she let herself be carried away. "Go help Mother in the kitchen now or I swear I'll give you a lashing myself. Stupid girl," her brother whispered in her ear in a low growl.
The man in uniform who commanded the stranger's undivided attention drank from his mug and looked straight ahead as if deep in thought, completely unaware of the bizarre behavior of the person behind him.
"Privateer," the hooded woman spoke. "Come."
Teela planted her feet on the ground and watched.
Her voice had not been loud, but there was a melodic lilt to her words that immediately caught the man's attention. When he turned around and looked at her, the afternoon crowd at the tavern went completely silent.
A man to her left had taken one look at the scene and, to Teela's utter astonishment, begun to pray. Hands crossed over his chest and palms flat on his collarbone stretching up to cup his neck, the man lowered his head, closed his eyes firmly, and spoke in soft, pleading words under his breath. Another followed his example and positioned himself in a similar fashion, whispering softly in short, rhythmic bursts of rhyme. The girls who had been listening attentively to the minstrel's song but a few minutes before looked all around similarly to how Teela herself gawked in confusion at the folk in the room. Not all seemed to have an active reaction to the situation, but not a word was spoken by anyone present.
It could only mean divine intervention.
Teela started shaking with fear and, admittedly, expectation. She was young enough to not know the ways of the world, which had always been explained to her as a blessing. Her mother and older brother had always resolutely shielded her from the uglier sides of life, despite her insistence to be taught. She wanted to understand why people were so afraid. What could be so bad? What could make someone pray, go against all reason and common sense to take such a risk? Why couldn't she pray, or at least learn what there was to know of such an act? What would happen?
It occurred to her that she might just find out. Right now. The two men to her left were definitely deep in prayer. To which God they offered themselves, she couldn't know. But she understood that if there were to be immediate consequences, she'd be there to witness them.
"Teela, we must leave." Leroh spoke in a barely audible breath behind her, still gripping her shoulders. "Come. Now." He tried pulling her toward him again, his hands trembling slightly. She did not balk.
He fled.
Teela followed him with her eyes, baffled. Her brother walked hastily back to the kitchen and disappeared behind the swinging doors. The sound of the heavy wood banging closed echoing after him.
The hooded woman was looking at her.
It had probably been her brother's movement toward the door in the adjacent corner of the room that had drawn her attention. When she turned around to look at the space he'd left empty behind her, Teela realized, with a small breath of relief, that the stranger had not truly focused her attention on her at all. The target of her scrutiny seemed to be the two praying men. They sat side by side at a table near the kitchen door Leroh had entered, hands still firmly positioned around their necks and eyes loosely closed. A twitching of their eyelids caught her attention and Teela frowned in consternation. They looked entranced.
Her mother had always uncompromisingly silenced her whenever she'd dared to ask about the deities. She could not comprehend any of the ritualistic customs of religion and had never, before that very moment, witnessed prayer. She had only learned of the existence of the act from an overheard conversation among the children much younger than herself. She could not even name a single existing God in the whole kingdom of Yriaa. No matter how persistently she asked, her mother and brother would not share with her the secrets she so greatly desired; and the other town children knew little better than gossip and speculation, so they weren't a reliable enough source of information to depend on in a situation as dire as she seemed to find herself in.
She understood no more and no less than the certainty of danger in the air. It was an entirely unfamiliar sensation, from which she could only deduce the Gods' involvement.
A feeling of anticipation and an urge to flee overtook her. She wouldn't dream of escaping the revelation of the answers she wanted and the manifestation of magic she'd always dared to hope for. But that didn't mean she wasn't aware of her own stupidity.
The older men continued their praying in short breathy releases of almost musical sentences, none audible or clear enough for Teela to pick up on. They remained seated but, oddly enough, a large number of the patrons in the tavern had quietly stood up from their seats and gravitated toward the mumbling men. They remained the only two people in the room who dared to speak at all, but now a veritable crowd of onlookers lingered around and behind them, opposite the hooded woman, whose eyes had gone back to the blond fellow.
To Teela's complete shock, the man was approaching her table as she'd commanded. His heavy leather boots dragged loudly on the wooden planks of the floor, producing a rhythmic sound that interwove with the men's praying and filled the room with a strangely melodic beat. His eyes were fixed on the stranger, face neutral if not slightly angered.
When the man reached her and stood in front of her hesitantly, mouth open as if ready to speak, the hooded woman sprung up from the bench where she'd sat in a single gracious, fluid movement. She stood significantly lower in height and looked up at the sea-man. Then, in a quick motion Teela was barely able to keep up with, she snatched out her arm from under her heavy cloak, hooked her forearm behind his neck to draw him down toward her, and placed her pigmented mouth softly over his. From between the red tinted flesh of her plump lips, Teela thought she caught sight of something resembling a… tube? The dark cylindrical protuberance, no thicker than the tail of a rat, shot out of her mouth and into his slightly ajar lips, and then receded as quickly as it had appeared.
The blond man collapsed backward as if all his muscles had turned into mush, limbs and core giving out and crashing toward the ground. He remained completely immobile when the hooded woman crouched down beside him, drew her face toward his, and raised her beautiful mouth to his right eye. Her lips were slightly pursed and her throat muscles visibly moved in slow contractions. All was silent except for her quiet swallowing.
Perplexed and in a state of disbelieving confusion, Teela lowered her own face slightly to try to get a better look of the scene taking place before her. In her indulgent staring, she missed a different sequence of events that occurred behind her back. The praying had stopped.
A sudden sound came from the area of the room where the crowd had gathered, like wood against wood, and then steps rapidly approaching.
Before Teela had even had a chance to turn around and witness the two men who had been deep in prayer but a few moments before forcefully making their way toward the woman crouching in front of her, two long, black and smooth threads emerged from the hooded stranger's extended index and middle fingers and quickly retreated, sucked back into the flesh of her hand. It had been so fast, so uncanny that Teela could not comprehend what had happened. One moment, the mysterious woman had had her face on the blond man, not even looking in their direction. The next, her hand had been extended pointedly toward the praying men. And the black, gleaming, impossibly long strands had come out of her body. Like the tongue of a lizard catching a fly, they had emerged out of her fingertips from the space under her fingernails and been pulled back in.
Teela looked back and saw one of the men kneeling on the ground behind and almost beside her. His face was locked in an expression of despair and shock. One of his hands clutched his chest, and the other held a short dagger. Teela spun her head to the other side but the second man was not there. When she turned around fully, she found him right behind her, almost at her heels. Had he been trying to use her as a shield? Yes.
But it hadn't worked. The projecting black cord had gone right through her heart before finding his as well.
Teela fell to her knees and then flat on her face on the old, slightly rotted floorboards she'd known since she was a child. They smelled of smoke from the perpetually lit hearth in the far wall of the tavern. Her eyes fluttered closed and, as her consciousness dissipated and blackness flooded her mind, Teela drew her last breath.