Page 92 of Oracle of Ruin

Slowly, I push myself upwards on my elbows. Every muscle in my body feels leaden, my limbs barely supporting my weight as they hang heavy from my sockets.

The mechanic rises from his spot by the fire, the golden glow leaving his face as he follows me into the shadows. He says nothing as he rests his hand on my lower back, helping to ease me into a seated position. Nor does he say anything as I thank him for taking first watch, or when he walks back to sit by the fire alone. His silence is more smothering than that of the forest.

I force myself to rise at least to my knees, then my hands before finally standing shakily to my feet. Derrín sawed off tree branches and wove them together in a form of makeshift cot that he laid me on. The small care saved me from losing any more body heat to the earth during this frigid winter. I try to remember this as I attempt to brush the sticky red sap from my arms and hair. That may never come out.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” I ask softly, my voice harsh with sleep and my tongue stone in my mouth. I run it over my teeth. It tastes like ash.

“No.”

“So you do speak! Here I was, afraid that the Ricor had gotten your tongue.”

“Now is not the time for jokes, Verosa,” Derrín hisses, the most vile sound I’ve heard the man make. His shoulders slump inwards as he curls in on himself, his jaw hard set and mouth in a firm line.

I flex the fingers of my still-burning hand. “No, I suppose it is not.”

Derrín scoffs, and when his face turns to mine, I bite my lip to keep from crying out. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and a hollow rage ravages his features. I’ve seen his twin wear that look before, but never him. Never kind and quiet Derrín.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

My eyes roll so far back into my skull that I fear I may never find them again.

The bitter hiss Derrín makes as he sucks on his teeth tells me he might not have liked that choice of action so much. Not that it was any more achoiceof action than a reaction or reflex. Always what I’ve done. Always the sins I’ve committed.

“Enlighten me,” I purr.

Disgust flashes across his face.

I raise an eyebrow, daring him to question me.

His lips pull back in a sneer. “You’ve killed the light in you,” he whispers. “There’s nothing left. You can’t use your power, your hand has never healed. You took that darkness into your soul and you let it smother you.”

My jaw loosely drops, my breathing coming out in short puffs. Damn him. Damn these twins and their ability to see through the front I put up.

Initially, it may have been Mavis and the overwhelming presence of dark magic that dimmed my powers, but even then, I could feel the faintest spark of it thrumming in my veins, like the whisper of an old friend brushing across my skin, flowing through my blood. Now, my hands feel cold and numb. That once constant warmth has gone from my body, my soul. All that is left is this yawning darkness that seeks for more incessantly, begging and stealing more than I can bear to part with. It has killed the light.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” he says firmly, “you’re not. The curse may kill the light from everyone, sure. But you’re not everyone, Vera. Youarepure light. It is in your blood. Your very creation. You kill that light and…” He trails off, but I get a clear enough picture.

I don’t need him to tell me what I can already see. I am sleeping through the night and finishing my meals without a trip to the bucket. And yet I cannot walk up stairs without heaving for breath. My clothes still fall from my frame, my face gaunt and haunting.

“I will find another way to save everyone,” I murmur, my bruised bones far too weary to pick a fight with my only company. I settle myself beside the fire, my chin resting on my knees as I tuck them to my chest. “The Oracle will know. I’ll do what I must.”

“But who is going to saveyou?” Derrín brushes by me with just a whisper. “Stupid. Stupid…” The mechanic curls up on the sticky bone leaf, not caring for how the red sap sticks to his clothes or his thick hair. He props his arm under his head, tucking himself into his cloak. His eyes pinch shut as if feverish, but he says no more as a disquieted sleep pulls him into dark unconsciousness.

The crackling logs fill the void where his voice used to occupy. The flames dance lowly, a sultry yet somber dance that eats away at the wood until only black ash remains. Embers fly skyward, flickering against the white and crimson canopy like red stars. Grayish filaments fall where the embers rise, stinging my palm slightly when I extend my hand to grasp for them. The slight hurt does nothing to mar my pale skin, nor does it compare to the dull burning within my other hand.

I cradle my injured fist to my chest and grimace. The ground is dry when I allow myself to lay on my back. Small snow flurries fall just outside the Bone Wood, yet none make it through the branches, no matter how sparsely covered some patches may be.

The scent of blood clings to my nose and clothes, consuming my senses entirely until I fight the urge to gag.

The Ricor was always my worst fear as a child. That night, ten years ago, when the fall shattered my leg and the snow hazed the sky away into a dark gray blur, it was not wolves I feared. I was less than a good child. I didn’t listen, I broke into Irene’s study, I deserved every bit of pain, I thought. The Ricor should have come for me. It should have killed me.

I learned afterwards that fictional monsters were not the ones I should fear. I should be wary of those that wear a crown and those painted lips that call me daughter. But the Ricor hadn’t killed me that night, and I banished any thought or fear of it from my mind, convinced of its fictional reality.

Until now.

That beast was certainly not an illusion, nor were the bodies that it left in its wake. The image of its maw snapping shut over that man’s throat, the fur shrouding its muzzle matting and stained red. I shake my head as if that can clear the guilt and horror from my mind.

---