Chapter 1 (Revised)

 Chapter 1

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

            The butterfly is perfect now that it has accepted death. If only its heart would stop beating.

            Suspended in the air, it twirls like a ballerina in a music box. I can almost hear the long wistful notes that will end once the box snaps shut. For now, it dangles peacefully, adorned by spider web that shimmers in the setting sun. Even without the web it would be striking. Its wings are pale at the centre but darken to a sombre black at the tip, with spots of purple bursting out of the grey between. They might have startled predators once, but not anymore.

A spider descends down the web, eclipsing what remains of the sun. Its sharp legs claw out, yanking the butterfly towards its fangs. Even as it’s reeled in, the butterfly’s dance is perfect with delicate bobs added to the twirling. Just one agonizing good night kiss and it can finally take its bow.

The box snaps shut.

For a moment the butterfly feels the warmth of her embrace. The hands a of a child too innocent to see the futility in her actions. It settles in that moment like a prisoner in solitary. It’s dark and still, but there is warmth. Enough warmth that it can dance at least in its dreams. Then it is dumped onto the earth, cold and threatening as the shadows creep long.

Dirt, manure and sweat assault me. Despite the stench, I can’t help but smile as she does her usual ritual. The girl forms a circle with her hands around the butterfly and whispers the word “enrichment.” The butterfly stumbles on, wings twitching like broken gears as it tries to escape this much larger threat. I grab an ear of corn that lies abandoned on the ground. She must have dropped it in her excitement to steal the spider’s dinner. As she scrambles after the butterfly, I follow close behind, summoning up the warmth I need for her to hear my voice.

“Hannah,” I ask, causing her to almost leap off the ground. She whips around with a gasp, almost squashing the butterfly she just saved. It takes a deep breath for her to calm herself as recognition sets in, but even then, her eyes narrow before she responds.

“Cú?” I fix a rehearsed smile on my face. “How did– how long have you been there?”

“Just a moment,” I lie, presenting the corn with a flourish. “I see the veggies are doing better.” Hannah beams at the corn, only one eye visible beneath her tangles of dark hair. She tries to wrangle the mess into her bonnet, more spilling out than she manages to get in. Then she blows a puff of air up from her lips, exposing the rest of her face before the hair settles on her brow.

“I’ve been working really hard,” she admits. Her fingers tease at the fabric of her skirt, then she stiffens, grabbing 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 Hannah, kneeling beside the butterfly. She follows me with her whole body the way a baby animal at a petting zoo might. “You were trying to save the butterfly?” I ask. Trying is the key word. The butterfly is limping sideways on the legs it has left, as its wings tatter through the dirt.

“No!” Hannah crumples to the ground. Her hands circle the butterfly once more, this time brushing away the ants biting it. The only ants that retreat are a pair that have a butterfly leg held between them while the rest go right back after the butterfly each time they’re knocked away. “No…” Hannah pleads this time.

She lifts the butterfly to a stalk of corn, but unable to cling with what remains of its mangled legs it plummets to the ground. Its legs spasm uselessly in the air—its wings heaped around it like used tissue. Part of me wants to put it out of its misery, but I’ve been trained to spot teaching moments like this. Again, Hannah scoops it up, gently as if it’s still alive. This time it doesn’t even attempt to grab the plant, sliding off and plodding to the earth. Most of it at least. A smear of purple and black remains on a leaf where it bounced. Hannah reaches out as if to scoop it up a third time, but the hand traps a whimper inside her mouth instead. I can’t watch any more.

I dig a hole in the soil with my fingers, 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 spare Hannah the sight. “Butterfly wings are very fragile,” I explain. “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’m not a child, Cú!” Hannah snaps. “I know all about the circle of life.” With one final sniffle and a wipe of her nose, she brushes the butterfly into the hole herself, patting the soil down. “Now it can become nourishment for the plants and feed us before the winter comes.” Her nostrils flare at me, but the smear of dirt across her face makes it impossible to take her seriously. “—Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help.” Her eyes shoot off to the side, and her voice deflates to a whisper. “A-anyway, thank you for helping with the burial… and for the other day.”

Hannah curtsies, rushing off before she even stands all the way back up. She’s only taken a few steps when she stops, slowly twitching back around. Her eyes don’t leave the ground as she scampers my way. "Could I... have that... back please?" As she points at the corn, her calloused hand caked in dirt trembles. I can barely lift the corn before she rips it out of my hand, scurrying away without a parting word. Despite her size, I couldn’t have held onto the corn even if I tried. The chuckle I’ve been holding in since she covered her face in dirt finally escapes me, but its cut short as Hannah stumbles.

“Are you okay?” I ask, but she’s already waving me off as I rush over.

 “Just a dizzy spell. I haven’t been sleeping much the last few days.” Her eyes waver over me as if slipping away.

“At least let me walk you home,” I say, ready to help if she falls. “It’ll be dark before you get back to the village.”

“I’m not a child!” Hannah grabs a basket full of vegetables she’s already collected as she storms off. She slams the ear of corn into the basket, coming to a stop as she stares at the bruised harvest. “My parents did wanna thank you. No-one’s ever stopped the other kids before…” Hannah’s voice trails off. I try not to laugh again, but even the hushed snort I let out at her admitting she is still a kid is enough to make her face bloom scarlet. “A-anyway, please let us treat you to dinner. The vegetables might not have made it if you hadn’t been there anyway.” A clearer chuckle escapes me at the second ‘anyway.’ Hannah hunches over, burying her face beneath her bonnet and hair. She lets out a huff like a car backfiring as she carves a path through the garden, bounding over pumpkins that even I have to hop over.

Once I catch up, I pry the basket out of her hands, the laughter still in my voice. “Sorry! 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 stifles a laugh of her own behind a hand, but it leaks out once more as she teases me back. “Anyway, you’re more of a child than me even now.”

“—Least I don’t have manure all over my face.”

Hannah huffs again, turning away as she tries to wipe the mess with her sleeve.

The rest of the trip to Hannah’s home is made with the girl in stunned silence. Embers of sunset twinkle in the charcoal sky and we find a more relaxed rhythm than the march she began in. An autumn chill seeps into the air, bringing with it a sweet scent; rotting leaves, fermenting fruit, and the wilting remains of flowers that might grow again another season. Further on, the village teases us with promise of the meal to come. Onions frying in oil, broths boiling with fresh herbs, and various scraps of meat cooking over fire all mingle in the air. The smell would make my mouth water, but something else threatens to overwhelm it: The telltale burn of smoke singes my throat more with each step.

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

“Mum!” Hannah darts forward before I can stop her, the basket of vegetables crashing at my feet.

You’ve taken too long. My own voice admonishes me as Hannah is snatched by a foul man blistered with pox scars. I warned you that there was a time limit. No longer is it in our hands.

I shake my head, body trembling as more men come out of the house, each as stark as the last. The final one—a hulking brute more than twice my size—thrusts a torch towards Hannah. Men rip her away from her mother, slamming her against a pyre. The flames etch depth into the darkness as Hannah struggles to escape.

“Stop…” My voice trickles out as a whisper. The witch hunters don’t even notice as they argue over who gets to light the fire.

It is already done. Let us leave. We can return when it is over.

“No…”

Yes.

 “No!”

Dusk flames erupt from my hip and wrist, consuming me. It’s like plunging into an ice bath—so cold all I feel is the absence of heat. I step out of the flames, the metal of my boots rattling like loose chains. With each step I take the witch hunters flinch back. I grab the weapon that appeared on my hip, clinging to it for strength.

The biggest man howls at the others. “The devil! See, she is a witch! Ready yourselves!”  He grabs Hannah by the hair, knocking her bonnet to the ground. The scream she lets out spurs me forward. I swing at the giant. He crashes to the ground like a pile of bricks, but in seconds rises to tower over me again. I shrink back, shaking the weapon in my hand.

Why isn’t it working!?

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 metal whip to show the men its guard. A cross inlaid with intricate metalwork. Wings that meet at the top with a sharp tip. The gem at its centre burns like a fire of my own as I aim it at each of the witch hunters. 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. I swallow the tremor in my jaw, steadying my voice to match my resolve. “That child’s innocent soul belongs to me! If you want to free her, you’ll have to kill me first!”

I let out a long exhalation of breath that takes with it all the heat from my body. I’m weightless. Floating. My arm swings to the side and the man who tried to grab me is knocked so hard he smashes into the house before hitting the ground. I hadn’t even noticed him. The surprise doesn’t register on my face as I swing the weapon once more. This time a barbed chain slices out of the handle gouging a chunk of flesh from the pox marked man as it arcs through the air. The rest of the witch hunters are loading rifles already. One is ready to shoot! My eyes find Hannah, tears streaming down her face as she tries to drag her mother to her feet. My wrist flicks, the whip letting out a thunderous crack.

The barbed tip at the end of the chain slips between her ribs. I hear a revolting squelch as it pulls tight and feel the vibration all the way up my arm. She doesn’t even get the chance to scream. Black flames spill out of her mouth eclipsing her anguish. As everything else fades away her face remains burned into my vision. The scream she couldn’t get out—an accusation that scrapes away everything else in my mind until I can’t take it anymore and howl right back.

“What did you do!?” I scream. Finally, I have a mouth of my own again. Reality crashes down on me, my hands and knees slamming into metal floor. I raise my head to look up at the man that killed Hannah.

My own eyes, cold and clear as ice look down on me. He dares to sit there as if nothing happened. Arms crossed over his chest, one leg resting on the other—Just like always. The metal whip he just murdered Hannah with hanging from his belt where I had grabbed it moments ago. I push myself off the ground glaring down at him. He doesn’t move an inch, simply following me with his eyes as I might a bug. Bile rises at the back of my throat as I remember Hannah’s dying moment—the vibration of the whip as its tip pierced her heart—the chill as dusk flame engulfed her form—the violet of her eyes wilting. My rage surges over the bile. I scream at the entity that dares wear my face like a mask of indifference.

“Féileacán, what the fuck!?”

Chapter Fan Artwork by Reina Noi

Chapter Fan Artwork by Natzumeko