The Killing Ritual, Chapter 34

A Demon in the Woods

Shuffling and banging rattled from inside the house.  Zaz peeked through the roof hatch, and caught the flutter of Mother’s dress as she hurried down the stairs. 

Vana wailed, “Don’t leave!”, but Ratri said not a word. 

He dashed back to the edge of the roof.

Mother emerged from the house with a pack strapped to her back.  She investigated the gouges in the earth and followed them without hesitation. 

“Mother?”  He whispered what he meant to yell. 

She walked to the woods purposefully, as if nothing could stop her.  And she didn’t once look back. 

In the barn, Father’s eyes held to the sky and his lips moved in a silent ancient chant.  If he saw her go, he gave no sign of it.  Zaz shook his head in disbelief.

“He doesn’t see.”

Mother was nearly at the tree line already. 

None of this was supposed to be happening.  He laughed.  But it was.  Mother’s words were bright in his mind.  So were Anagata’s and Father’s.  It couldn’t end like this.  It couldn’t end at all.  They were family, and the only strength gained in life was from the people in it. 

The path was clear.

“You’re leaving, too?  Are you mad?” Ratri glared at him.  Her arms were cinched around Vana, and even though her body shook her eyes were like a bundle of knives.

“Demons are out there,” Vana whispered.

“You’ll be safe here,” Zaz said, tried to keep his voice from rattling. “I’m going to follow Mother, and find Murin.  I am going to bring them both back, and then everything will be normal.  It’ll be okay.” 

The girls gaped at him as if he had just grown blond hair right there in front of them.

“At least, I’m going to try.  Listen to Father.  If—talk to Bhas if you need something.  He’ll help.”

The forest had swallowed Mother in the time it had taken him to throw the things he thought he would need into a pack.  A bow and arrow.  A hunting knife.  A bit of food and some clothing.  A few of the old blankets Murin liked to bring for hunting excursions.  The last thing he grabbed was the amulet given to him by Anagata at his birth.  It was supposed to protect him from the evil spirits that plagued Tarska.

The marks in the ground screamed.  Some were scrapes; others were clear imprints of feet.  Zaz breathed deep, and traced the mark of protection on his forehead. Just before he stepped over that boundary between cultivated land and the wilds, he turned and looked at his home.  The fields stood empty now.  It was easier to make out the gentle slopes of the land.  The barn, newer than the house, stood strong and upright.  The garden plot had a few late vegetables growing, though they too would soon be picked, and the ground churned and left fallow for the winter.  The stone of the house crumbled in some spots, and the roof pitch had softened since the last winter season.  But it was a good home.  He was going to fix it, restore it and make it as new when he returned with Mother and Murin.  He turned away, and stepped among the trees.

Even in the dark close space he could follow the tracks easily.  They led to a place he knew. An eerie whistle whispered through the trees.  Zaz’s breath caught.  He swiveled and crouched to face the source of the sound.  A flurry of grey and brown swooped from a bough and filled his sight.  A cry stuck in his throat as he struggled to move. 

When the shape swept past him, he saw it for what it was.  Just an owl.  He laughed uneasily, and pushed further into the woods.

The only tracks he could detect here were the ones left by Murin’s body; there was no trace of Mother.  He peered through the rows of trees, around their trunks of smooth and rough bark, for a glimpse of her figure, but nothing was there, only more trees.

“She disappeared,” Zaz whispered.  Dread crept into his belly and extended its claws.  Maybe they were both lost.

The slender trunks gradually gave way to thicker ones as he pushed further into the forest.  He picked his path over the rubble and the gnarled roots.  Some of the roots stood as high as he did.  Leaves gathered like snowdrifts in the crevices.

Zaz froze when he heard a branch snap.  Holding his breath, he scanned the area.  A woman with long dark hair that hung like snakes about her shoulders appeared at the outskirts of the ruins. It wore his mother’s clothes and the pack his mother had scurried off with was strapped across the stranger’s shoulders.  But Mother did not have dark hair.

He ducked behind a tumble of stones and watched her.

The woman paused at the edge of the ruined structure.  She scanned the trees as much as the mossy remnants. 

Zaz nearly gasped when he finally put together what it was. A demon.  It was the only possible answer.  What else could have taken Mother’s things, her likeness?  Demons were real, and this was the proof. 

He slunk through the underbrush, mimicked the movements he had seen Murin perform hundreds of times.  She had made them look graceful, though.  Natural.  He tried to swallow the tightness in his throat.  Murin wouldn’t have been afraid.  She would have disappeared into the landscape, she would have watched.  When the time was perfect, she would have acted. 

He stayed motionless and watched the demon, watched it follow the trail made by Murin’s body.  Maybe it would lead him to Murin and Mother.  And then there was this morbid curiosity.  He wanted to see the face of a demon before he sent it back to the hells.  He crept over the roots that gripped the stones of a wide courtyard and positioned himself to see the thing’s face.  He quivered.  What was a demon?  It was different than the image he’d seen of that strange man.  In the alley just a couple of nights ago.  Maybe instead of hovering in the air and talking a person to boredom, real demons possessed people.  But how exactly did that work?  Did the demon take the body and suck out the soul?  Maybe it controlled the victim. His real question was this: could she be brought back?  If he wounded it, would it leave her body?  Or maybe it just made a perfect image of Mother, and hid the real her some place else.  Yes, that had to be it.  He’d kill the demon.  Mother might be grateful for once.  Father would be proud.

He shook his head.  Best not to reason with a demon.  Best to kill it.

He drew an arrow with a shaking hand.  Can an arrow even kill a demon? he thought before he fitted it.  The memory of the buck came back to him, the frantic beating of its heart, the darkness of its dying vision and a glimpse of what waited after.  He shuddered.  What would killing a demon be like?

The woman-demon turned her face toward him.  Their gazes met.

The question slipped out on its own.  “Mother?”  Idiot!  He clamped a hand over his mouth and hid behind the tree root.  Its devilish footsteps crushed brittle leaves as it moved closer to his hiding place.

“Zaz?” 

Without seeing its source, he would have sworn it was his mother.  But no way was that demon his mother.  He only had to look at her hair to know the truth of it.

“Zaz, is that you?” 

Spinning around, Zaz’s mouth went dry at the sight of slate eyes staring at him, mere inches from his face. 

The demon scowled. “Zaz, what are you doing here?  You should be at home.”

A demon was telling him he should be at home.  Now that was something.  “You’re not my mother,” he said as bravely as he could with his whole body shaking.

“Don’t be stupid, Zaz.  Of course it’s me.”

“My mother has blond hair.  You’re the demon who’s replicated her and trapped her real body in one of the hells!”

The demon stepped back and touched its wet hair.  It laughed harshly.  “My hair was blonde until I used a powder to mask its color not five minutes ago.  Come.  Look at my hands.”  She held them out.  They looked as if she had washed them in ink.  Zaz frowned and reexamined her face.  Peering more closely, he saw tiny black dots starting at her hairline and going back into her hair.

“How is it possible?” 

She sighed, and took out a bag of powder. Fine particles of black still filled it half-way.  “It was popular in Sena and Seduma,” she said.

“Where?” 

Mother’s lips pursed at the question.  “The places of old Philan’s tales.”

“They’re made up.” But realization was tingling in his belly.  His mind flashed to the place Anagata had taken the boys, to the stories he had told. 

She stood back and picked at color embedded under her fingernails.  “No.  They are not made up,” she said flatly, still concentrating on her nails.

“How do you know?”

Mother sighed.  “Because I do.  What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged.

“Answer me!” 

She could be so pushy sometimes.  Not caring a lick about what other people thought. “I wanted to find you and Murin.”  He snapped back at her. 

“Why?”

“To bring you home, of course.”

Mother stiffened.  She shook her head and looked away from him, as if she was hiding something in her eyes.  “Go back, Zaz.”

His lower lip trembled.  The bow suddenly felt heavy in his hands, more of a burden than a tool.  He felt—he didn’t know what he felt, almost like a stupid boy who always did what he was told, without questioning why.  He felt that way because he was that stupid little boy, the one who always wanted to be his big sister and couldn’t be, no matter what he did.  Zaz the inept.  Then a song came to him.  The one from the dream.

This casting but a thin thread

which I take and weave

into the strength of me.

Gritting his teeth, he whispered, “No.”

Mother’s eyebrows rose.  “Excuse me?”

He faltered only slightly. “I said no.” 

“Zaz, I don’t have time for this.  You’ll only get in the way.”

“What?”

Mother jerked.  Birds erupted from the trees. 

“You think you’re the only one who loves Murin?  You think you’re the only one who can save her?  Ha!  You don’t even know how much she hates you.”  He felt better. For a second.

Mother turned a shade paler, but that was the only sign of any emotion she revealed.

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“Zaz!” Mother raised her voice in a threatening tone.

“I’ll just follow if you try to send me away.  I mean to do this.”

Mother stared at him.  “From where did this sudden defiance come?”

This casting but a thin thread

which I take and weave

into the strength of me.

“For Murin. For our family.”

“Fine,” Mother said aloud. 

Zaz thought he also heard her mumble For now, but he couldn’t be sure.  He hadn’t been watching her face.  He put away the arrow and slung the bow over his shoulder the way Murin had taught him.

“Just look for your sister.”

As they scrutinized the ground for signs of her, which had mysteriously disappeared once they reached this place, something buzzed in his ears.  Sena.  Seduma.  Though he was sure Anagata had mentioned neither place, Seduma felt familiar to him.  “How do you know those other lands exist?”

She remained silent a moment longer, but finally relented and faced him.  “I know because I have not always been on Tarska.” 

Oh Vizva.  His mouth dropped open.  This was not helping.

Mother pursed her lips.  “Surely this is not a total surprise.  You can’t be that naïve.” 

He stared up at her.  “I am not naïve.”  Anagata couldn’t be right.  He couldn’t. 

She stepped back.  “Now Zaz—”

“Mother, I don’t know you.”

“Of course you know me.  Don’t be so dramatic.”

His eyes filled with tears.  Great, he thought.  First he’d cried in front of Murin, then Father.  Of course Mother had to be the next one to see his spineless blubbering.

Mother sighed.  “We are not who we were, we are who we become.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some things are better left in the past,” she said.

“Like what?”

Mother murmured something softly. 

Peace settle in Zaz’s bones.  He was soft and cozy and forgetful.  His mouth was open.  He must have been about to say something. The secret place in the forest rose up around him.  But this wasn’t where he was supposed to be.  He also wasn’t sure how he knew the dark-haired woman in front of him was his mother.  But he was there and she was Mother.

“Now, why don’t you go home Zaz.  Vapan will need you,” she said quietly, her voice heavy and melodic, like the mother-voice of his dreams. 

He stayed still, not saying a word but looking at her, taking her in.  His body swayed a little, like a reed in a riverbed. 

This casting but a thin thread

which I take and weave

into the strength of me.

He shook away the sudden sleepiness, the sense of comfort.  Everything returned.  His eyes grew liquid.  “You really don’t love me.”

Irritation flashed across her face, and then something else, an emotion he’d never seen there.  A mixture of confusion and surprise.  “Zaz, that sort of emotional manipulation is beneath you.” Her gaze scanned his hair and his eyes.  “You don’t even know what I intend.”

“You mean to save Murin.”

“I mean to find her and leave Tarska.” 

He stepped backward, and stumbled over a loose rock.  “Why?” His voice filled with tears again.  “You can’t.”

Mother’s shoulders slumped and her mouth set in a grim line.  “Zaz—” She breathed deeply.  “Your sister is different.  She’s special.”

“I’m special, too.”

Mother shook her head.  “It’s not the same.  She is changing.”  She paused, must have seen something in his face.  “You’ve noticed, too, haven’t you?  The changes are becoming too obvious.  She isn’t safe here anymore.”

“How different can she be?”

“Murin,” she said, plucking and articulating just the right words.  “Murin is going to be seen as Parakya.  You know what that means.” 

There was danger there; the conversation between the Augur and the Regent revealed as much, but it wasn’t hopeless.  They could be accepted.  He just needed the right evidence.  And Mother was overreacting, like she always did wherever Murin was concerned.  She just needed to see that Murin was okay.  Plain old Murin.  Then everything would be okay, and they could prove Anagata wrong.  He smiled.  “I want to go with you.”

“Zaz.”

“Away from Tarska.”

“Boy, you need to return home.”

“But I can help.”

“I can manage on my own.”

“Maybe it’s not for you.  Have you thought of that?  Maybe I want to see my sister again. Besides, I can return home anytime. It doesn’t need to be now.”

Mother sighed, and looked around.  “Well, she’s not here.”

“Maybe she’s trying to leave on her own?”  His glorious, all-powerful mother hadn’t thought of that!

“If she was trying to leave, she wouldn’t know where to go,” Mother said. 

“She’d either go through the woods heading north, or maybe—” Zaz’s eyes widened, then he frowned and shook his head. “No.  That’s dumb.”

“Probably.”

“I was thinking she might try to get Philan to take her through the mountains.”

Mother looked at him for long time without saying a single thing.