Chapter 1

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

            

            Even in death, the butterfly is beautiful.

            Suspended in the air on silver thread, it rotates just enough to show off each feature. A final bow before the curtain call. Delicate wings, so thin and pale at the centre that they appear clear as glass. Each gasp of wind which rattles its way through the forest lifts the butterfly, carrying it high in the air. At its zenith its wings catch the light of the setting sun, shining iridescent with all the colours of a rainbow before inevitably crashing down as far as its tethers allow. The tips of its wings are as dark as the night to come, a pale grey forming in the space between body and wing. Moments ago, they had beat with all the ferocity they could muster. All that energy, all the struggle, only served to tangle the butterfly, wings catching on more of the threads which now dangle the body like a noose. Even the purple spots, usually a warning against predators, do nothing to slow the descent of the shadow looming above. With all its fight gone out, the butterfly has grown still, basking in the golden light that will be its last.

Is it appreciating this final gift of beauty, as I do its soon to be corpse? Has it lost itself to despair, blinding itself to what the world has left to offer? Or, like so many of us when we see oblivion on the horizon, has it already given in, allowing light, warmth and sound to dull into a haze hardly decipherable from the oncoming void?

One final sigh of wind lifts the butterfly, tearing it just out of reach of the spider’s fangs. The venom would save it from any more pain. A quick end, preserving this beautiful moment as its last. Instead, the butterfly feels the embrace of darkness, the chill of the unknown as it is swallowed whole into an abyss while it can still feel.

The hands a of a child. A child too innocent to see the futility in her actions.

For a moment, the butterfly would feel the warmth of her embrace. The hands which had reached as far as her body could stretch to save him from death, and then he was dumped onto the earth, cold and threatening as the shadows stretch long.

The scents of fresh soil, manure and sweat assault my nostrils at the girl’s arrival. I can’t help but smile as she does her usual ritual, making a circle with her hands around the butterfly and whispering the word “enrichment.” The word means nothing to the butterfly which flaps its wings uselessly, stumbling over the uneven grass as it tries to escape this much larger threat. In all her excitement to save the bug, the child has dropped the corn she was carrying to the ground. A single ear signalling the upcoming harvest. I retrieve it, stalking along behind her as she scrambles after the butterfly on all fours.

“Hannah,” I ask, causing the girl to almost leap off the ground. She whips around, panic clear on her features as well as in the little gasp she lets out. It only takes a moment for her panic to calm as she takes in my form, but even as recognition sets in there is an air of concern about her.

“Cú?” I fix a rehearsed smile on my face, trying to be as warm and gentle as I can. “How did– how long have you been there?”

“Just a moment,” I lie, holding up the corn with a more playful smile. “I see the garden is going well.” Hannah softens a little, her eyes less narrow as she beams at the corn. Dark hair cascades down her face, spilling out of the bonnet that is trying to keep it contained. At first, only one eye is visible beneath the shroud of hair. A flash of purple meets my gaze for an instant before it falls back to the corn. She pulls the mess of hair to the side, more of it spilling between her eyes which she blows up with a puff from her lips, exposing the rest of her pale face for an instant before it comes back down out of her eyes at least.

“I’ve been working really hard on it,” she says, fingers teasing at the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes fall from the corn to her hands and suddenly she stiffens, grabbing at the filthy cloth with all her strength. “A-and of course, the lord has blessed the harvest. God willing, everyone will be as blessed as–”

“You don’t have to do that with me, kiddo,” I laugh. “You’re the one that did the work.” I step around the girl, kneeling beside the butterfly as her head follows me on a swivel. We’ve only met twice before in this life. She’s understandably cautious. “You were trying to save the butterfly?” I watch it stumble forward. Some of its legs have been damaged from the struggle it put up against the web. It’s leaning to one side, the once beautiful wings already beginning to tear as it drags them through the grass and dirt. When I look back at Hannah, she is still wide-eyed from my previous interruption. Her head nods a little in response, then her focus returns to the butterfly which she collapses next to.

“No!” Her hands once more cup around the butterfly, this time spreading outwards as she pushes back at the ants which have already set in on it. Even as she brushes them away more appear from the earth, each oblivious to the threat of Hannah until she knocks them off course. Only the pair which already carry one of the butterfly’s legs move in the opposite direction. The creatures are too simple to learn their lesson, continuing towards their target once again as Hannah pleads this time, “no!”

She scoops the butterfly up, placing it high on a stalk of corn, but with half its legs mangled and one missing it tumbles down, bouncing a few times before it comes to a rest, wings now stuck to the ground by the web it brought with it. Once more she scoops it up and tries to put it on a lower leaf, but now it won’t even attempt to grab at the plant, simply sliding off and hitting the earth silently. The sound Hannah makes isn’t quite a whimper, but close enough. She squeezes at her dress once more, her other hand lowering towards the butterfly as if to scoop it up again, but it stops short, moving to cover her mouth instead.

“Butterflies wings are very fragile. Once they’re unable to fly, they’re as good as dead. It’s best to just enjoy their beauty from afar while they’re alive and not trouble yourself too much when it’s their time to move on.” I dig a small hole with my fingers in the soil, scooping out more than enough for a butterfly burial. It won’t stop the ants or any other creatures below being fed, but it will at least spare Hannah the sight.

“I’m not a child, Cú. I know all about the circle of life.” With one final sniff to pull in her emotions and a wipe of her nose which leaves dirt smeared on her face, she brushes the butterfly into the hole herself, scooping dirt over it in the reverse motion. “Now it can become nourishment for the plants and feed us before the winter comes.” She stares at the earth for a moment longer, giving it a pat to make it blend in with all the other tilled soil, then she looks up to face me, nostrils flared in defiance, that smear of dirt making it impossible to take her seriously. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help.” Her eyes shoot off to the side once more before she stands back up. Her voice is softer, the small shake of nervousness filling it again when she continues. “Anyway, thank you for helping with the burial, and for the other day.”

She makes a hasty curtsy, rushing off before she even stands all the way back up. She's at the next row of corn before she slides to a halt. Body twitching like a marionette, she slowly turns around, inch by inch, keeping her eyes on the earth as she scampers my way.

"Could I... have that... back?" Her request comes with a finger stabbing at the corn in my hands. The tiny hand trembles, her fingernails caked in dirt and callouses that have formed from the months she spent growing the vegetable. I barely hold it out before she pounces on the ear, scurrying away through the stalks without another word. In contrast to her size, I wouldn't have been able to hold onto the vegetable had I tried.

The chuckle I’ve been holding in since she covered her face in dirt is finally able to escape me. Smothered by the hush of whispers that the corn stalks seem to share with the wind, it goes blissfully unnoticed by the girl. In just a few steps, she stumbles and has to catch herself on some of the larger stalks, taking a moment to breathe deep while hunched over. I’m up instantly, and about to steady her when she holds out a hand telling me to stay away.

“Just a dizzy spell. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“At least let me walk you home,” I say, brushing the dirt from my own knees as I follow. “It’ll be dark before you get back to the village.”

“I’m not a child!” Hannah grabs a basket full of vegetables as she keeps going. Most have been ripped from the earth too early and are bruised, some of the tomatoes have even popped open with seeds spilling out from the rough treatment. She adds the ear of corn, coming to a stop as her eyes linger on the harvest. “My parents did want to thank you. No-one has ever stopped the other kids before…” Hannah’s voice trails off, and I let out a little puff of air that brings with it a genuine smile to my face. Other kids? It takes all my self-control not to tease the slip-up from the self-proclaimed adult, but even the hushed laugh was enough to make her face bloom scarlet. “Anyway, please let us treat you to dinner. The vegetables might not have made it if you hadn’t been there anyway.” I let out another chuckle at the second ‘anyway’ and Hannah hunches over, face almost completely concealed beneath her bonnet and hair. In silence, she pushes on, carving a path through the corn stalks and bounding over pumpkins that even I have to hop over.

“Sorry!” Finally catching up to Hannah, I take the basket from her. “Look, we’re all children to our elders, young lady.” I make sure to sound as old and tired as I can when I continue. “Back in my day I thought I was all grown up. Truth is, I was basically a child until I hit my thirties.” Hannah lets out a laugh herself which she captures behind a hand, but it leaks out once more as she teases back.

“Anyway, you’re more of a child than me even now.”

“At least I don’t have manure all over my face.” Hannah huffs, turning away from me as she tries to wipe away the mess with her sleeve.

The rest of the trip from Hannah’s Garden towards her home is made with the girl in stunned silence. On the way the red of sunset fades to the black of night. Hannah similarly calms, her face cooling from red to its normal shade and we find a more relaxed rhythm than the march she began in. The stench that wafts from fertilized fields lingers still, but with each step we take it is less pronounced. An autumn chill has crept into the air, bringing with it a sweet scent; freshly fallen leaves, fruit not picked in time and left to fall to the earth and ferment, and the wilting remains of flowers that might grow again another season. Each household is preparing a meal of their own, the scents of which tease the nose with hints of onions frying in oil, broths boiling with fresh herbs picked that morning and various scraps of meat all mingling as one. Above all, the smoke takes precedence, its telltale burn singeing the back of the throat and nostrils with each breath.

“Hannah, run!” We can barely see the house that the woman spills out of in the darkness. “Run!” She calls once again before a boot to the stomach takes the air out of her.

“Mum!” Hannah rushes forward, the basket of vegetables slamming into the ground and pulling me back to my senses.

You’ve taken too long. My own voice admonishes me as Hannah is grabbed by the wrist of a man twice her size. I warned you that there was a time limit. No longer is it in our hands.

I shake my head, watching as more men come out of the house, each as stark as the last, clothed in black and white, and carrying a torch which now illuminates the pyre they have built just outside. The man who grabbed Hannah rips her away from her mother as two more men join him to force her towards the pile of dried wood.

“Stop…” my voice comes out as a whisper that the men, boisterous as they are with their accusations, don’t even notice. It is already done. Let us leave. We can return when it is over. “No.” Yes. “No!”

Flames erupt from the ground, bringing a squeal from the gathered men who continue to make exclamations of witchcraft. While their torches light up the night, these flames seem to be one with it, smothering the light and bringing the chill of death which makes the blood run cold. I step out of the flames, the metal of my boots ringing out in the night as the men fall silent and thrust their torches in my direction.

“The devil! See, she is a witch!”  One of the men grab Hannah by the hair, her bonnet falling to the ground as he drags her to the pyre. The scream she lets out makes me tighten the grip on the weapon in my hand, charging forward at an inhuman pace. The witch hunters gasp as I bring back the weapon and swing it at the one holding Hannah. He falls backwards, dragging himself away on the ground, before stumbling up and realizing nothing has happened. I stare at the weapon in my hand, turning it over as the metal glints in the light. Why isn’t it working!? I think to myself, staring at the handle. You don’t have the intent to harm, my own voice answers back. The binding barbs aren’t meant to be played with as you would a toy.

“That’s right, I am Lucifer!” I panic, holding out the weapon to show the men its guard. A cross inlaid with intricate metalwork, wings that meet at the top with a sharp tip. The red gem at its centre gleams in the firelight as I point it at each of the witch hunters in front of me. They freeze as I look their way, but they’ve already got me surrounded in a semi-circle and there’s at least half a dozen each looking to one-another for their next move. There’s no way I can win this fight, I realize. I can’t let them hurt Hannah either. I gulp down air, steadying my voice before I continue. “That child’s innocent soul belongs to me! If you want to free her, you’ll need to kill me first!”

My eyes narrow and I let out a long slow exhalation of breath. It feels as though my body has become completely weightless. My arm swings to the side and the man who tried to grab at me is knocked so hard he hits the house before the ground. I hadn’t even noticed him charge at me. The surprise of the movement doesn’t register on my face as I swing the weapon once more, this time a chain ripping out of the handle and making the witch hunters dodge backwards as it arcs through the air. More men pour out of the house now, drawing their own weapons. Rifles and matchlock pistols which they struggle to load in the panic. Some already have them trained in my direction. My eyes find Hannah, tears streaming down her face as she tries to drag her mother to her feet. I barely register the movement as my wrist flicks and the whip cracks.

The barbed tip at the end of the chain pierces the girl’s chest, plunging into her heart. I feel the chain pull tight as flames darker than night erupt from the handle, making their way to the tip and engulfing Hannah as she lets out her last breath, a scream dying in her throat before it can be heard. The fear and agony on her face as she stares at me in her dying moments is burned into my mind even as the whole world catches fire and fades to black.

“What did you do!?” The weight of reality comes crashing down on me as I fall forward in the darkness. My hands smash against cold metal, and I raise my head to look up at the form I had just been in as the world reappears. 

Eyes as cold and clear as ice meet my own, looking down on me from above. He’s sitting in the train the same way he always does. Arms crossed over his chest, one leg resting on the other. The whip he had just murdered Hannah with hanging from his belt where I had grabbed it moments ago. I push myself off the ground, raising to my full height and glaring down at him. He doesn’t move an inch, simply following me with his eyes as I might a bug. The man and I look exactly alike aside from the clothes we wear and his longer hair, but we couldn’t be more different in our reactions to what just occurred. Bile rises at the back of my throat as I remember the look of pain on Hannah’s face, the feeling of the whip vibrating as the tip pierced her heart, the icy stab as dusk flame engulfed her form and ended her life. I swallow hard, forcing the bile down long enough to shout at the man who wears my own face like a mask of indifference. 

“Féileacán, what the fuck!?”