Chapter 16

"So," the old man said between bites. "What brings you out here?"

"I am not one for casual conversation."

The old man grumbled. "Suit yourself. But I deserve one question answered. Most hybrids are stillborn, how are you alive?”

“You think I should know?” I don’t even know who my parents are. It was that one who found me and kept me alive. That cave…

“To Yon with it, be gone by morning."

Yaro emanated agreeance, a culturally agreed upon combination of happiness, demureness, and embarrassment. He did not respond, so Yaro was unsure if his culture understood it. She decided not to pursue an answer. "I have nothing to pay you with."

He took his time taking another bite and swallow. "There is no need. My wing is feeling better than it has in a decade."

"Don't go breaking it thinking you'll be even healthier."

The old man paused. "I did not expect any humor from one like you." He went back to eating with sloppy bites of his beak, tilting his head back each time to swallow.

She didn't think she had humor either. Things are changing. Why can’t I remmber why? I hate it. this ring on my finger, I’ve worn it since leaving Egra’s. It’s pulling, always lightly pulling. It gives me a bad feeling. I just need to make it all stop.

She stood up, taking the thunderspear from her holder. Pulling her robe tight, she ducked her head as she left the hovel with only a full stomach.

Desert spat on the grassy steppes with cold sand, shrubs, and buildings half buried under dunes. Yaro came down, spying some movement while she rode the thermals. Hunger made itself known, just like always for her entire life. The thing, the small creature, she could sense its presence, alone, somewhere nearby. It tried to hide, but it was dumb, unable to suppress its aura like anything with a modicum of intelligence. There was no way of telling what it was, but meat was meat for her. She found some markings in the ground, some fur caught in a thorn vine, some grass trampled under tiny limbs. To her, it was clear as day, a trail leading right to the panicking creature. During the day, when she could see, hunting was the easiest thing in the world.

She found its burrow, quickly reaching inside and yanking out the jackalope. It exuded panic, bleating and kicking while she held it by the horn. The light between its antlers grew intensely hot, actually managing to sting Yaro's hand with a burn. Instincts let go, the jackalope not hesitating to bound away at an incredibly fast sprint.

Yaro cursed and brought out her whip while throwing her hand. It materialized and stretched, wrapping around its leg via Yaro's will. It tumbled as Yaro reeled it in like a fish, flailing with a heart beating thousands of times a minute. She pulled it up by its head and snapped its neck.

She walked to a nearby outcropping of white stone-like substance; the material’s composition and creation were lost to time, along with many of the other technologies of the ancients. Sitting, she looked around while biting into the warm tasty meat. It was gamy, but in a good way, a warmth to it not similar to anything else she tasted. The light between its antlers had dissipated immediately, of course, the bacteria that produced it no longer held together by the jackalope's life-force. A brief instance of consideration passed on if she should have saved it, using that light to barter or even to help energize her like the pure one she found. It was a kind of bioluminescence, so it was not as strong. Another bite from the leg warmed her. I won’t, it would only be temporary. It’s not the same as actually eating.

The land before her stretched disharmonious. Lines of sand snaked over the surface. Wind blew it into piles, catching on shrubs, stones, or whatever else was moderately higher than the flat steppe. The grasses, where there wasn't sand, thrived like those in a plane. They were vibrantly yellow and thick and strong, something about the landscape being a perfect environment for them.

Yet, no amount of weathering degraded these ancient buildings. No weather could, of course. The ornate white roofs of the buildings edged out of the sand, the ancient’s construction nearly fully consumed by time but never broken. If she cared about aesthetics, she may have wanted to stay for a while.

She climbed and sat on one of the structures. As she ripped another bite, she noticed the moss is in bloom. It seems a bit late in the year for anything to bloom and the flowers were so tiny. She liked flowers, and felt proud to see them persisting even in the face of the dead season’s winter's encroachment. It didn’t seem too big a deal to her, she’d been through worse than a flower in winter.

Moss grew on the stone beneath her, a natural pillow. It felt the urge to slip off, as it was purchased in the dirt covering the structure, not the structure itself. The moss bloomed a battlefield of tiny red flowers staining patches of the landscape and her cousin. The anger directed not to their color,  not for their ability to grow in harsh environments, but for their numbers, their compatriots, their friends. The flowers swayed under the breeze, pollen spreading in one large love. She hated that. How could plants even be happy? How could plants radiate an aura of happiness and companionship when she was alone?

She gritted her teeth, snapping bone into splinters. No, these plants should not be happy, they should not be able to live their life in peace when she lives every day in turmoil. People loved flowers, symbols of beauty and symmetry. Their red was praised while hers was admonished, loathed.

Why, why was she alone? Those flowers, they had so many friends, so many lovers each, so many like them that accepted them. They didn't deserve it, they didn't do anything to deserve it. They should be made to feel alone, to lose their friends. Yaro would burn them away.

Oh, were they laughing at her now? A whip of flames tore their petals from stems and lit a raging torrent that spread from one to another, using that connection between them as a means of sharing Yaro's hatred. She burned them, burned them while they laughed at her, burned them, their friends, and their families. There were still more, still more red flowers jeering at her, taunting her with a crimson beauty she defiled. Their aromas became ash in her nose. They would feel her pain, she would deform them as she was. Their joy would be brought to an end.

The flames licked at her ankles, warming and burning. She did not care, she would watch the change she made in the world. In Natrai's house, she had no such power. Before she had left- before she was unwelcome, she had only the flame from her core. She'd learned to control it by the time she arrived, rarely letting even smoke escape her teeth. Fire was not frightening, how could it be when not only was it a part of her, a representation of her, but that she would suffer no ill from it. The fire within her burned hotter than most, melting stone where some others were but a bonfire. Holding back that fire, that urge to destroy, at the behest of those in the house, was difficult.

One day, when cornered and alone, she let out her flame, a last resort for self preservation. At the time, she felt she had something to live for, to aid the others at the house. How wrong she was. She should have known she was wrong for wanting to belong. The guard’s death was an accident, she only wanted an escape, in adherence to Natrai's lesson. But her flames burned too strong, it brought an end to the guard that invaded the thief's house, leaving a charred corpse. It did not take long for her crime to be discovered by the other house members. Within the span of a day, all eight members were packed and had abandoned their home of years. It took the night to find a new safe house, a new place they could call home. This led to turf wars, more covert operations as Yaro was now wanted for murder, a harder time for everyone. She needed to have more control not control the other's contempt of her but she could control herself.

But she couldn't, she was not able to staunch her flames. Whether it was due to a poor understanding of herself, a lack of proper training, an inability to suppress her desires of destruction, or if her flames truly could not be dampened, it did not matter; the result was the same: she would burn. Everyone radiated that; they hated her.

Change to herself, no, there had to be another way. She had to have control, any kind of control. They would not let her do anything, they no longer even trusted her with cleaning. They trapped her in her room, a punishment without any end in sight. She would not stand for it, so she snuck out while they were on a larger heist. She'd heard from the others of an artist, one who was versed in enchanted tattoos. The zealot had spears on each finger, able to be manifested into sharp tools mostly used for picking locks. Even Natrai had tattoos, one that could generate water from the air around in the shape of a pot, a shadowed face on her that made her look like someone she touched recently, and a few more. Yaro had learned where this artist was and went to them, an idea already in her head.

When she returned, everything was locked. This was not new, they had locked her out before when she failed to return at a designated time. Waiting meandered as it did so many times before, sitting in an alcove while the rain splashed on her knees. No sound, no crying escaped, there was no reason for it. The flame dribbled, playing with it as she waited for the sayk to rise. She had control.

Natrai woke her, kicking her where she slept. She told her to leave, but would not look at her. When Yaro asked why, it was a simple disobeying of orders. She did not look at Yaro. Others mocked from behind, spitting obscenities no child should have been subject to. Yaro was a monster, they should have never let her in. Natrai did not look.

Yaro brought out the ring, feeling the gentle pull in her palm. Why was she doing this? Surely, they would kick her out, they would shun her, hate her. Everyone did. She sat in the charred wreckage, the remains of the jackalope tossed and cooked. Her claws traced the red cracks of her aura, green bubbles escaping. But also from those creaked speared lances of inky violet, white spines breaking through them like skin over a rotting corpse. Whose was this person she chased? What did this aura tell her? That they were coated in darkness, piercing it with a growth of hope? Or was it that they were decaying, their once beautiful sheen sloughing away leaving nothing but bone and memories? It smelled of lilac, felt icy and soft, and had a loathing about it, though not for her.

They were...

What was she doing? She clutched the ring, rearing her arm back. She could not bring herself to throw it away. It slid onto her pinky, the only finger it would fit. She would see this to the end, they were important enough to forget, didn't that count for something?

Natrai appeared in the embers at her feet, her voice raspy and old, "Don't let anger blind you from your task. You must stay level headed and follow the plan, ready for any external unexpected." 

"Why should I listen to you, I hate you."

The face of cinders dripped embers to the sky. Natrai said, her voice becoming more like that of what Yaro remembered, "The world hates the world. Some people are just more than others. I want, if I could have my way, a world where that wasn't the case."

"Then why did you leave me," Yaro cried. "Why did you put me out on the streets after protecting me?”

She was a child again, in the alcove, crying because her hands blistered. "Yaro," Natrai said in her head, "you are not safe here. I need you to go. I need you to live and let the world know why you are so special. Leave, while I still love you."

She wiped her eyes. Love was a luxury only the rich could have, Yaro felt. The embers of her face were no more. She wasn't sure if this was to Natrai, to her missing person, or to the flowers she took the lives of without reason: "I'm sorry."

The weight of her anger and sorrow buckled her. She- she fell to the ground. Then, pain, brilliant pain in her arm. She rolled, shoving a weight off with every ounce of her being. The shadow rolled, trailing blood through the air. Not its blood, her blood. Her arm felt numb; it was bloody and unrecognizable. Standing, the readiness to fight came like breathing, this time  without anger.

"My prey," it said. Before her, blood dripping with drool, was a wolf-like creature. It had antlers, veins, and would have blended in with the moss, were it still alive. All that anger she felt, it had been transferred to this wolf, it bared its teeth, snarling, emanating.

Yaro licked the blood from her arm, metallic. She stared down the wolf, baring her own teeth, spreading her wings wide. "If you're talking a bout the jackalope, its gone. I ate it. Leave now and I won't kill you."

It barked and charged. The air distorted around it, billowing in waves that didn't make sense. She braced herself, ready for whatever that meant for her. Her whips came to her call but too late, she fell to the ground again. The distortion covered her like the entirety of the world landing on her, burying her in an inescapable tomb. Her whips fizzled, her concentration gone with her breath. Nothing could be done as she saw its mouth open wide, ready to kill her.

No, she would not die to the hands of another. Yaro had control of her life now. She would live, if only in spite of the hateful world. With knuckles burning, she shifted, moving enough so the teeth sank into her shoulder. Screams shook her throat, threatening to tear her apart with pain brilliant and shocking. But she was alive and would continue to be alive.

She pulled her good arm around and dug her claws into the beast's side. She raked it, drawing matted fur and gore into the ash and her blood. It yelped, releasing the shoulder of that arm that no longer worked. It did not back far enough that she could be free of that terrible aura, if that's what it was.

It must have been the creature's ability, a perfect tool for hunting. If she were but a jackope or hare, there would be no escape for her. But she wasn't, she was a thief, a monster, and she would show it how terrifying a monster could be. She roared, "I will kill you. I will rip apart your gut and pull out your intestines. I will keep you alive long enough that you will have your snout shoved in your ass. Then, when you are being dragged to Yon, I will laugh."

"You killed my prey," it said, voice shaky in a way she knew she'd gotten to them. "You will be my prey now, I will eat you."

Yaro felt helpless on the ground, nearly immobile. Her strength and adrenaline pushed her arm under, then pushed her up with that enormous weight brought down. Her summon whips hid within the ashes. The wolf approached slowly this time, apprehensive. Yaro growled.

When it was in pouncing distance, it hesitated. "You," it said, "are strong." As if to reassure itself, it continued, "I will take your strength and become just as strong."

It pounced, but Yaro had ample time to prepare herself. He absorbed her whips, the flames, back into herself. Not into the tattoos, but her arms, her chest, her muscles. They raged with strength, the fire bolstering them beyond what her body could allow for. It hurt, tendons pulling free from bone, when she grabbed the wolf. Claws dug into its neck, clamping down back to the ground with the force it itself used. She held it there, arms around its neck, snapping coming from somewhere; she couldn't tell if it was her or it. 

They rolled, the wolf kicking and ripping at her gut. She held on still, using every ounce of strength and consciousness to bind the wolf's neck. It continued to scramble, no sounds escaping it but gnashing teeth. She held on, taut and taut. The writhing slowed, legs no longer digging but pushing. Then, it stopped. It fell limp, dead.

The dangers of the wilderness were well known. Children, from the day they are able to walk, are told to stay away from the woods. Even with weapons, intelligence, and strength, there were terrors lurking just beyond the shadows, things unimaginable and things one could never prepare for. Yaro was one of those hidden monsters, waiting for someone stupid enough to step within her reach.

She feasted first, needing the strength the meat provided before going to lick her wounds. The wolf wasn't as tasty as the jackalope, stringy as any carnivore was. But it had plenty to it, strong hind legs and entrails that would at least fill her stomach later. What could be was puffed into her holder, she would not have to hunt for some time. The same properties that kept her ring from eroding would keep the meat well enough for some time. She packed the things she usually liked, though she’d never eat spiorkalai, a semi-intellignet creature, before. Liver, heart, and leg meat.

While she licked her wounds, her arm with broken bones, shoulder with lacerations, and seeming every muscle in her upper body torn to shreds, she had time to think. The ring had a constant pull, not increasing as she drew closer. She had an indefinite time to reach her destination, but did she have indefinite patience? She had nothing else to do, of course, no other road in the world to travel. The only thing to her name, to her person was that ring. A ring she didn't even know where it came from.

Natrai wanted her to live, seeming the only one to do so. She was harsh, but she gave her the skill she needed to survive. Yaro was strong, she knew this. But without that help, she would have had no chance. Even before Natrai adopted her, living with that one that truly despised her, she was taught. In that cave, where her parents had abandoned her, she was protected and fed. It was awful, the worst experience of her life. But it kept her alive. Her head shook, refusing to let the memories consume.

She would keep herself alive now. She had control of that.