Page 213 of Anathema

As Zevander lay convulsing, his length remained stiff against his stomach at full mast. The underside had been crudely pierced with metal bars that ran the exceptional length of it. Scars marred his thighs and groin, as if he’d suffered unimaginable abuse at one time. Skinny white lines that stretched hip to hip, leaving me to imagine he’d taken a whip against his groin. Some carried a deeper scarring, though, as if he’d been cut by a blade.

Elowen ran her finger along one at his thigh. “Poison. Can tell by the thread of violet flesh there,” she said, pointing to the crooked cicatrix where the flesh had sealed together.

Tears wobbled in my eyes, and I turned away, swallowing hard.

“What horrible creature did this?” Elowen shook her head, staring down at him. “Such pain, this young man has suffered.”

“The Solassions did this to him,” I said, teeth clenched to hold back my emotion. The mere sight of his abuse left me wanting to tear every one of them apart. “They enslaved him.” Blinking, I cleared my throat. “Might we offer him some dignity?”

Elowen gave a nod, and I grasped the other side of his trousers, helping her carefully push them back up onto his hips, covering him as before.

She handed me a washcloth, which I dipped into the cold water she’d collected. “Try to cool him down a bit. I’ll see if I’ve a spell somewhere to stop the convulsions,” she said, making her way to the door.

Nodding, I placed the cloth against his skin, and his muscles jerked on contact. With gentle pressure, I dabbed the cloth across his throat and up along his jaw. Another dunk in the water, and I squeezed the excess into the bowl and dabbed the cloth over his cheeks and brow.

Still, he shook beneath me, every muscle seemingly locked tight.

“Zevander,” I whispered. “If you can hear me, please come back.”

I continued to dunk the cloth, adding fresh, cool water to his skin. When I reached his chest, I winced at the rigid state of his muscles, how painful it must’ve been to have them endlessly taut. My own chest ached just looking at him.

“What happened to you?” I dabbed the cloth up by his hairline, careful to avoid his eyes. On closer examination, I couldn’t even see his irises—the entire surface of his eyeball had blackened. I gently placed my hand over his lids to shutter them closed.

Elowen appeared in the doorway. “Gotta grab some herbs from the forest. Shadowroot and foxfell.”

“Should I go with you?”

“No. You stay with him. I shouldn’t be long.”

I turned back to Zevander and continued to dab him, wondering what had hooked its talons inside his mind after I’d fallen asleep.

An hour must have passed, and I ran the cloth for the hundredth time over his body, listening for Elowen. How difficult must it have been to find the herbs and roots she required?

Zevander still convulsed, his muscles still flinching, but I was able to touch his skin without the burn, at least.

I pushed to my feet and huffed, peering through the window. With no sign of Elowen, I exited the room in search of something I could wear out in the cold to look for her. The room across from ours was neat and clean, the bed made, blankets folded, with a small dresser against the wall. The first three drawers held nothing. It wasn’t until I opened the fourth that I found a pair of old trousers with holes and thinning patches. I slipped them on, the waistband double my size, and I wrapped the laces around me twice to tighten them. Beneath the bed, I spied a pair of leather boots. While still bigger than my feet, they fit snugger than Zevander’s had, so I made the switch before grabbing the cloak.

After checking on Zevander one more time, I headed out the door in search of her.

The temperature must have dropped about ten degrees from when I’d first ventured out that morning. Vonkovya had always been known for some pretty harsh winters, but I couldn’t recall one so bitterly cold.

After a long trek through the snow, I found myself standing before the dreaded archway. Strange that, even after having passed through once, I still hesitated to step into those woods.

A mental image sprang to mind, of Zevander on the bed, and I hustled past the barrier, eyes searching for the older woman. The overcast against the snow reflected a bright light that had my vision blurring.

Not daring to call out to her, I trekked deeper, keeping the archway in sight at all times.

In the distance, I sighted a dark figure in the snow. Careful steps brought me closer, and I kept to the trees, just in case. As I drew nearer, I could make out the pudgy form of Elowen lying on the ground, and with a gasp, I rushed toward her. “Elowen?”

She didn’t move, her eyes closed as if sleeping. Beside her on the ground lay a basket of herbs and roots, and the telling red drops of blood scattered across the snow.

I lifted my gaze to the surrounding forest, performing a quick sweep to make sure there were no animals, or creatures, hidden in the trees. On seeing nothing there, I shook her shoulders. “Elowen?”

She didn’t move, nor so much as flinch.

I yanked up her sleeves and tugged down the scarf at her throat in search of the wound that’d bled. Nothing there. Nothing on her face. Her skirt didn’t carry any evidence of blood. Eyes trailing over the fallen drops of blood, I visually followed the path of it to the back of her neck. With a heave, I pushed her just enough to totter her to the side and found a good chunk of her flesh torn away. Realizing they might’ve been bite marks, I scanned the trees again, and when I lowered her back to the ground her eyes shot open.

Shiny black orbs stared back at me, and as I watched in horror, her forehead swelled, bigger and bigger, her bones creaking as they shifted, swallowing her eyes.

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