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“Edna, I do wish you would let this be,” I pleaded, knowing how useless it was. “Just let Joshua figure this out on his own. I hate the idea of causing so much strife between you.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” she laughed, and I could visualize the lines of her face crinkling as she chuckled. “You should’ve seen us back when my Henry died and he wanted me to move in with him so he could ‘take care’ of me. And he wonders why I spend time with my niece?”

I chuckled at that.

“Anyhow, he’s still waiting on the results of those tests on the hair he found in that letter you sent to great-grandma. I think he was hoping they’d tell him they couldn’t do it, not that I really understand it, but he thinks it’s important…”

Edna went on at length about how Joshua had seen all the police reports and photos from the accident in Denver and admitted to her that he had no explanation for what they said versus what he saw when we met. So every day she called him and acerbically queried him as to when he was going to “pull his head from his hindquarters and admit that he had to accept the truth.” I could only imagine Joshua’s reaction to that kind of pressure, but there was no telling Edna to back down. She was on a mission.

I had to wonder if he might welcome a call from me at this point. I had left after he had approached me with a request to do a DNA test against a lock of hair found in a letter from Elaine McAllister to Catherine Tremblay. Catherine had been the last member of the family I had known before Edna- the letter was written in 1852. I remembered plucking those hairs and curling them up, wrapping them in a blue ribbon as a sort of keepsake for her. How could I have known how important that little gesture might be in the future?

After I had acquiesced only a little fearfully to Joshua’s request—I am still unused to submitting myself to such scrutiny—Edna suggested I return to Ann Arbor.

“Let me deal with my son,” she’d insisted. “You don’t need to be around all this foolishness while you’re recovering. So you go relax and work on your book with that young man in Michigan.”

Still, it had been more than a month, and each day I considered again whether I should call Joshua. At worst he might refuse to speak with me, which in itself would be informative. I had never actually considered confiding in him and if he chose to be intransigent… I knew I could never bring myself to harm him or Edna. If things continued to be difficult, I resolved that I would find a graceful way to extract myself from the situation, although that would break Edna’s heart.

And perhaps my own I confess. Which was part of my trepidation.

Finally I succumbed to my impulse and dialed up his office. The secretary answered and I asked if Joshua was available. She put me on hold and I counted the seconds until…

“Genevieve?” Voices over the phone are usually very hard to read, but his tone was unmistakable and I felt myself relax just a bit.

“Yes, Joshua, I’m wondering what you have discovered.” I strained myself not to sound anxious.

He sighed, then said, “It’s like you said in my office, more questions than answers. At least, more questions than answers I know how to accept.”

“Tell me.”

“The DNA test was an absolute match. I thought I’d have the hair carbon dated, but that… hell, I remember seeing that letter and that hair back when I was a kid, when my mother took over the Historical Society in fifty-three. I’ve checked as much as I can without drawing too much attention. From what I can tell you’re not a wanted criminal and your money is very, very old… investments that go back a century or more…”

“Which is what you would expect, were I telling the truth,” I finished for him. “What now?”

“I don’t know as I need to believe you fully, but I’m still your attorney for what that’s worth.”

“Joshua, that’s worth a great deal to me. More important to me, though, is that you make peace with your mother. I hate the thought of her getting upset over all of this.”

“Upset? My mother? She hasn’t been this happy in ages. Do you have any idea how much she enjoys having the upper hand?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. Do you have time to discuss a few matters? I want to tell you what I am planning for the Foundation. It goes to the heart of why I returned to Pennsylvania.”

For the next hour I went over my plans with him, and it was somewhat of a relief. Joshua was the first truly skilled attorney I had ever confided in and I was somewhat surprised at how desperate I was to hear his opinion on my plans. He listened carefully, asked pointed questions and forced me to go into whatever detail I could.

“I think you need to accept that depending on how your story comes out, you may not be able to reasonably expect your civil rights to be respected. Hell, even under the best of circumstances you have problems. My investigation didn’t turn up any anomalies with your identity, but a criminal probe… how secure is it?”

“Not that secure, I am certain.”

“Okay, so a false identity, lots of money from sources that are not easily rationalized, and a history of frequent traveling. Any decent prosecutor who wanted to could get you locked up without bail, at least for a while. Everything you’re doing here could possibly help you out in the long run, but short term it’s pretty useless. You would be forced to prove in court that you are what you say you are.”

“You have amassed that kind of evidence…?”

“Not enough to satisfy a real court. The chain of evidence is compromised to say the least. We need to stop thinking in terms of Civil Rights. For you it’s not clear to what extent they exist and I’d hate to be the judge on that one. But I’d guess it’s worse if your cover is blown early. You’ll get a fair trial and all, but you’d possibly be charged with identity theft and fraud, maybe land in prison or a mental hospital.”

“I could wait that out if I had to, but…”

“I’d be a lousy attorney if I suggested that,” he laughed, “No, I have an idea how you can prepare to prove what you are and protect yourself at the same time…”

—[End Journal entry]—

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They sat around the flat stone altar in a semicircle, eating and talking companionably, obviously not really expecting an appearance. A small bowl of leaves and herbs burnt on the stones making a sweet smell in the air. Next to it was their main offering, a fat haunch from what was obviously an unusually large buck. I was not particularly hungry, but I had to admit it was generous.

There were seven men, six of them familiar to me. The seventh was a young man, fifteen or sixteen, unusually tall, grinning with the excitement of his first hunt, his hands and face bloody with the celebration of his first kill. That was common enough, but what caught my attention was a piece of jewelry he wore about his right arm: a torc of braided metal, leather and bone. I recognized it instantly, and realized the timing would be right.

With a flash I felt drawn to the recent past. I could clearly remember the young woman who came to my altar some fifteen winters prior, laying out blankets and furs and a fine iron knife, along with some gathered foods and meat. Unlike others who came alone, she did not leave her offerings and depart. She simply remained at the altar, sitting on her calves, nursing a newborn, waiting and quietly singing a little now and then. I lurked nearby, having no intention of meeting her as I had grown tired of people in recent decades. But as nightfall approached it was clear she was not moving. I was a bit surprised as it soon would be dark, but still she did not leave.

Reluctantly I had returned to my cave and donned my most impressive attire: a long cape fashioned from the hides of two wolves, a tunic of fine cloth, soft and glowing, left as an offering by some passing clan, and buckskin boots with fur and feather tassels. I also fetched up every bit of decoration that was easily at hand, festooning my arms and neck with armlets, rings and necklaces.

Dusk was upon us when I returned and I was surprised that she had not started a fire for the sky was beginning to darken with a chill making itself felt. I approached quietly, for it would be unseemly to simply crash out of the woods like some lumbering beast. I was rewarded by a gasp of surprise when she looked up and saw me standing not more than an arm’s length from her.

“Juwunte matar kwi ken ert med tinom bharnoi?” I asked in the old tongue: “Young mother, why are you here with your child?” She was unlikely to fully understand the words, but could not mistake the tone or intent. She looked up at me, fear and hope mingling in her eyes.

“I’ve brought you many fine gifts,” she whispered, “so that I might plead for your blessing on my son.”

Now that was certainly different, and more than a little brave. Most women were too timid to approach my altar, as well they should be. I squatted before her, cradling my bow in my arm, and squinted at her. She lifted the child, extending him to me. I hesitated a moment, then set down the bow and took him from her. He squirmed and made a noise, sensing he had left his mother, but I made quieting sounds to him and stood.

“You presume much, mother,” I said softly, in the newer tongue these young ones used. Then I snarled and bellowed: “I am Tiwaz? the Huntress, and care not for your womanly concerns! You are unwise to disturb me!”

The child squawked in fear as his mother put her face to the ground and begged forgiveness. I growled at them both, but then she looked up at me with pleading in her eyes. “Eidhaz, my husband, died in the hunt last week, and I have only his brother to help care for us.”

I looked at her infant, and moved my fingers to the back of its neck, considering: it would be easy enough to snap, barely a little pressure and a twist. It was tempting, for it would surely avoid a repeat of such foolish requests. I turned my head sideways, and looked down at her with a sadistic smile. She could clearly sense my intent, and tears of fear sprang to her eyes as I glowered mercilessly at her. I raised his head, pinching at his neck while he squirmed. “So this is part of your sacrifice to me? Perhaps I’ll take him.”

“Mercy! Please! His father died in the hunt!” she cried out, and buried her face again in the ground.

“Be still, you little fool,” I hissed, but for some reason I felt myself relenting. I stared at the infant, who was surprisingly quiet, merely making little grunting noises there in the dimming light. Suddenly he looked me in the eye and gave a little smile. I gave him a sour one back. He was not easily impressed, this little one. Finally I looked down at his mother, her face still down, obviously struggling to stay quiet though she kept making annoying little whimpering noises.

“Gather wood for a fire,” I finally snapped at her. “You’ll both be staying the night.”

With a small cry she leapt up and ran to begin her assigned task. I could sense her excitement and relief. I squatted down and leaned back, contemplating the child. It was the first I had seen up close in a very long time. He snuggled contentedly in my arms as his mother busied herself gathering fuel.

As she assembled a pyre of larger pieces and some kindling, I wondered: what would she think were I to tell her she possessed a power I did not? As she produced a flint and a metal knife, I interrupted her. “No. Here, take your son,” I said. With a look of relief, she reached for him, simpering and bowing a bit.

I relinquished the child and regained my feet, then dug in my belt pouch as I approached the gathered wood. From two pouches I gathered the powders of Thonaraz, the mixing of which a long-dead shaman had introduced me to long before either of these humans was born. I mixed them in my hand and poured them into the heart of the kindling, then took my own flint and knife and casually stuck them at the piled wood. It caught with a brilliant flash, and I suppressed a smile as I heard the young mother gasp. I smirked, and imperiously pointed to the ground at my feet near the fire. She scurried to the spot and sat obediently.

Surprisingly, I found myself curious enough to talk to her. Cooking some of the food she had brought to my altar, I even deigned to share it with her. We spent that night together, talking, caring for her child, and sharing company against the darkness. Her life was likely to be a hard one: married into a new clan, no family but her husband’s, and him dead after a wound during a hunt earned him a fever that never broke. She was not well liked by her sisters-in-law. I knew the feeling well.

As night wore on she began to nod off, and I allowed it. As she slept, cradling her son in her arms, I foolishly allowed myself to feel a little kinship with her. As the hours wore on, I heard the howling of a pack of wolves, and in them I heard a voice. Mortals would not understand the words, but I did: show mercy little sister the father-god was saying to me. At his words I found myself softening, and kept my watch silently over them.

When dawn began to break, the baby stirred, and in her sleep she put him to her breast. Watching, I decided to make gesture to her. I chose a torc fashioned of metal, leather and bone, drew it off my arm, and shook her awake. Startled, she looked up at me.

“He is to keep this with him always, so that I will know him when he hunts my woods.” She smiled at me gratefully, and thanked me.

“You are a beautiful and wonderful friend,” she said, reverently.

Annoyed that she should be so presumptuous I snarled at her, and grabbed her by the throat. She squeaked as I squeezed and dug my nails in a little. “You are lucky, little fool, that I did not cut out both your hearts and eat them,” I hissed. “Do you understand me? You earned my blessing once at my brother’s request, but you will tell the other women that had it been another day I’d have built a new altar from your bones.” Her face turned white, and she whimpered and closed her eyes. “Tiwaz? the Huntress is no friend to women and children. She is cruel and quick to anger. Remember this!”

She nodded, then cried out as I savagely drew a scratch across her face and pushed her head against the ground again. “Be gone and never return!” I bellowed, then turned and stalked off angrily, ignoring her mewling apologies. Little fool.

Snapping out of my reverie, I noted that apparently my words had been well heeded. I never saw her again, nor had anyone else attempted such a stunt. Yet he still had my torc, and seemed to have grown into quite a handsome young man. Yes, quite handsome, I thought as I stared silently.

Eventually they all got up to leave, but rather than collecting their sacrifice I took up my bow and set out after them. I knew where they were going for the Darrihard?z tribesmen would almost always camp in the same clearing on their way back from trips to my altar. In short order I was downwind from them, but stayed concealed in the trees, still watching.

It was a welcoming sight, these seven men gathered about a fire to share tales and celebrate the accomplishments of the newest hunter. This was not so common as times past, for these men were farmers first and hunters second, but the ritual rite of passage was older than I, perhaps as old as man himself. I nearly decided to leave them be, for I was still weary of humans and their tiny lives. Still, it had been many years since I had enjoyed the company of a man, and that urge drew me closer. I crept stealthily through the trees and low brush as they drank some concoction and boasted to each other as men so often do.

I made my decision. There was still some time to go before darkness fell, and that was just as well. I stood up and very casually unstrung my bow. One of the men, sitting directly across from where I stood, saw me and simply stopped talking, eyes wide and staring. After a moment his companions noticed and all eyes turned to me, silence falling over them like a blanket.

I regarded them coolly, looking each in the eyes one at a time as with measured steps I moved into their circle. They remained seated and silent, watching as I walked a sinuous path about them. I was pleased to sense no more than mild concern from them, for it had been some time since I had done this and I was not certain they would all remember the rite. But they all seemed excited and remained seated as was proper. All were smiling, and the young man’s gaze was most confident of all, riding high on the thrill of his first successful hunt. I stepped in front of him and reached out to touch his face. He did not flinch, but his deep brown eyes focused on mine as I slid two fingers under his clean-shaven chin and lifted it. I graced him with a smile.

“I know you,” I said, my voice low and quiet, “You are Slodhe, son of Eidhaz.”

“Yes,” he gasped in surprise, his spine straightening. I could hear the others’ reactions as well. I squatted to look him in the eye and slid my fingers down his neck and across his muscular chest, then traced my hand up over his shoulder and down his arm. I squeezed the hard muscles of his arm, feeling a tiny thrill, then fingered the torc there. This close I could smell him, his masculine scent swirling in my head, filling my lungs.

“You bear my talisman,” I whispered, then lifted my fingers to touch his lips, silencing him before he could speak. “Your mother brought you to me as an infant, seeking my blessing upon you.” I stood again and turned to face the others. “Would you agree that he has proven himself a man, and hunted well in my name?”

There were murmurs of agreement, but one was somewhat muted. I turned my attention to that one. Stepping toward him, I spied a mark on his right shoulder, a circle split into three sections by curved lines radiating from the center. I had placed my mark on him many years before, on a day much like this one. I recognized it, and recognized his aging face suddenly. I smiled a bit at the obvious jealousy in his eye.

Bending my lips to his ear I whispered, “Only strong men win my favor, and only once. You know that. But you remember what I gave you, yes?” His chest swelled and he smiled at me, remembering, and laughed a little.

Patting him in a gentle goodbye, I turned and walked back to Slodhe and extended my hand. He glanced at the others, then grinned, taking my hand as he stood. My heart skipped a beat as I realized just how tall he really was. Stepping close I laid my hands upon his shoulders and pulled myself up to press my lips hard upon his. He hesitated just long enough to tell me what I wanted to know.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw a bit of blood, I suddenly let myself drop to the ground and stepped away from him, turning towards the darkening woods. “Try to keep up little man!” I sneered, then sprinted away.

I heard the older one laugh suddenly. “Don’t just stand there, boy!” my previously chosen pretty cried. “Go get her!” I laughed again as I heard Slodhe take after me, the men around the fire bursting into cheers of encouragement.

I tested the boy, crashing ahead at a breakneck pace then fading quietly into the cover of the brush to double back and set off at an angle away from the clearing. He lost me for a moment, but simply began circling until he picked up my trail again. From then on he never faltered. I could have evaded him completely had I so desired, for I knew these paths far too well to let any hunter follow me against my will. But while I certainly did not make it easy, losing him was not my goal. On those occasions where I paused and let him come close enough for me to spy him, I could see that he was unconcerned, concentrating on his task yet aware of his surroundings. That he was enjoying himself immensely was unmistakable and all to the good.

Finally, I led him to one of my favorite spots, where the major stream through the area took a large dip, rushing down a rocky basin to form a deep, clear pool before meandering off towards the lake two days walk further down. I had a shelter there, on the far side of the pool, really nothing more than a lean-to with dry bedding, firewood and some basic tools and supplies. I did not live there, but I often spent time there, and it had everything we would need.

As I heard his approach, I stripped off my clothes and bundled them about my bow and knife, then plunged into the icy pool, holding my belongings high with one hand as I swiftly made my way across. The water was mountain runoff, clear and brisk, a gift from the mother-Goddess Nerth?. When I reached the far side I tossed my bundle upon the bank and sank back into the water, submerging myself fully, rinsing away the accumulated sweat and dust from my romp through the green. I surfaced again there in the shallows, letting my knees settle to the bottom and turning to face him. I felt my breasts harden a bit as they bobbed near the surface, my shoulders above the water line, just as Slodhe emerged from the trees.

“You can swim, yes?” I mocked him, though it seemed a safe bet as his people made their home on the shore of the very lake fed by this stream. He confirmed my suspicions by casually shedding his leggings and boots and plunging in. He crossed the pool swiftly, using an oddly flailing stroke I had never seen before. I stood then, the water up to my hips, waiting for him as he made his way toward me. We were both shivering from the chill water, but the air was warm and the sun had not yet set fully. As he stood in the shallows near me it was clear the cold had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. I grabbed him in an embrace then, thrilling at the feel of his hardness against me as I dug my fingers into his back and bit at his chest.

Suddenly, I sensed awkwardness in him: he did not know exactly what to do, and I was frightening him a little—which I would not mind, except he began to sag, and that I could not have. So I relaxed a little, smiled up at him, and led him to my lean-to, where we pulled out the rolled furs and blankets stored there, spreading them on the grass in the last remaining spot of sunlight. Pushing him down firmly, I told him to relax, and took his manhood in my mouth. I reveled in his pleasure as he gasped and climaxed within moments.

When I looked up he seemed embarrassed, but then I moved my face above his, looking down upon him. “Oh no, my fine young man. This was only the beginning. You are young and strong, and now that we have calmed your fire, we will light it again slowly, and I will teach you about a woman’s body.” He grinned nervously, and I laughed.

And show him I did. Relighting his fire was no challenge at all.

Later we relaxed together in the twilight, our bodies quivering with the energy we had spent. We chatted amiably for a while. He mentioned some odd strangers who had been moving through the area that he was very curious about. This made me curious as well, but other than knowing they were camped to the south, he knew little more. Growing irritated with his tangled locks, I took his head in my lap and began working a comb through his hair. I felt dim memories sparking as I did so, but forced them away. He yelped as I pulled a knot a bit too hard, and I smirked at him. Running one hand idly over his shoulder as I continued teasing his hair, I decided to make more conversation.

“Tell me, boy, has your family chosen a mate for you?” I asked, not sure why I was asking.

“Yes. Her name is Thordiz. She is to be mine when we return from this hunt.”

“Ahh. So many firsts for you.” He pushed himself up from my lap and sat back. I smiled at him, sensing his unease.

“It’s getting dark. We should build a fire,” he said. He was glorious, his thick black mane spilling over his broad shoulders, framing his wide brown eyes in the dimming light. I reached out, taking his arm and sliding my other hand into his lap.

“Later,” I said. Then my mouth was on his, hard, and I felt his need rise again, delightfully.

He slept soundly as the fire began to gutter and die, but sleep eluded me. I sat up and moved carefully so as not to wake him, sliding over to the fire to add a few more sticks, sufficient to keep it going until dawn. Slodhe rolled away from the light, and I idly fingered the scratches on his back, amused at how he twitched a bit in his sleep as I did so. Gazing on him I was taken with an urge to wake him, to shake him from his dreams and tell him to go, that we were done here. Instead I rose and walked to the pool where the rushing of the stream covered the sound as I dove in.

The moon was up and quite bright, but I had to exercise some care as I climbed the rocky face of the hill, picking and choosing my way until I reached a large, flat stone I often used as a perch. It was cold, the warmth of the sun having long since been drawn away by the spray from the stream, so I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin upon my knees.

Below me a small campfire glowed next to the sleeping man. He was really no more than a boy, despite his growth. Perhaps he knew enough to be a man. Perhaps he was strong enough. One thing was certain: come morning he would be going back to his people and taking up the mantle of manhood whether he was ready or not. Perhaps my having blessed him a second time would serve him well in the coming years.

I could keep him with me; it would be so simple to do. I could go back down there and wake him, talk to him, tell him I needed him. I could tell him I loved him for that would only be half a lie, and he would believe me. He would toss aside family and the certainty of a life he knew in favor of a red-haired demon-lover. We would flee into the wild, my man and I, and make a place for ourselves in this lush and bountiful forest. We would share our time and our pleasures and I would teach him so many things he could not have even dreamed. Or I could return with him to his people, make of him a god-man, a leader of wisdom and certainty whose counsel would be sought after by all who knew him. We could rule the many clans and villages that made these lands their home. He would be shaman-chief, and I his totem and his trophy and the source of his power.

And he would grow old.

The day would come when he would look back and realize he had no sons, no daughters, and no grandchildren to delight in. Would wisdom and power be enough? Would he be able to forgive me all I had stolen from him? Would my love be enough? Would he come to resent me for what I had taken from him?

In the burble and splash of the water, I heard the taunting of the demon Loghaz: He is nothing. They are as dust, and worth nothing.

“Be gone, trickster,” I told him angrily. But I found myself wondering: Why had I gone to that camp, taunted those men, drawn the boy here? Simply because my own hunger was so strong I had been unable to resist? Here we were, this boy, sleeping soundly by the fire, his day and night complete with accomplishments that filled him with excitement and joy; and I, curled upon my stone, suddenly feeling tears, taunted by the Gods. I hid my face in my knees, and listened to Loghaz’ mocking voice burbling from the water, doing my best to ignore him as he urged me to kill the boy, to think how I would enjoy hearing his screams as I used my knife to….

I shook myself. “Quiet, demon, I cannot hear your lies!” I repeated it over and over, rocking back and forth until finally, finally, I heard only the water.

But when I looked up again, looked back at the boy, it was with different eyes, cold and hard. What right would he have to resent me? Such arrogance! That he might look upon all I might give him and call it poor recompense… but what else could he do, poor, miserable, short-lived creature that he was? How could I expect him to understand me when his view of the world was a narrow stretch of land, a lake, and a girl named Thordiz who waited at home to be his wife? He had no grand vision, no way to grasp what I was beyond offering some pitiful sacrifice on an altar, in hope that I might at least decline to cause mischief among his people. It would all be gone in a moment, just a brief interlude of struggle with perhaps some joy and a generous share of fear and uncertainty, all inserted in the miniscule space between that time before he lived, and that time after. Were I inclined to mercy I might indeed do him the favor of quietly cutting his throat tonight. I could spare him all the fear and pain the future held, and let his life end on a night of pleasure and happiness.

And would that be any more or less cruel than loving him?

Angrily, I leapt back into the water and swam to shore, returning to where he slept. As I walked back toward him, the fire shifted, launching a cloud of orange sparks skyward. I followed them as they ascended, my spirit dancing among them and laughing cruelly as I watched them slowly winking out, their energy spent. My spirit returned and my gaze fell to his sleeping form. The fire was warm on my backside as I knelt near him, and found my knife.

I began sharpening it with the whetstone from my belt, moving the stone along the blade with slow, deliberate strokes as I contemplated his face, feeling the fire some more. The fire gave something to those who sat about it, even if it was no more than some light to hold back the darkness, and a circle of warmth against the chill. What had I to offer that the fire did not? What had I been given in return for being forever outside that circle? Fire warmed, and changed, and emboldened, and sometimes destroyed. I was nothing compared to the fire, merely starlight, cold, unblinking, and changeless, perhaps lovely to behold, but beyond that… useless. Except perhaps to destroy.

Lost in these thoughts I barely noticed as the sky grayed with the coming dawn. The demon-God Loghaz’ voice began taunting me again from the burbling water, and finally, angrily, I leapt upon the boy’s sleeping form. He cried out as I let the weight of my knees slam into his arms. He struggled but for a moment, then froze as I showed him my knife. I pressed it into his neck, and then made my choice.

He at least did himself proud enough not to whimper as I removed the knife from his neck, turned the point toward his breast, and cut a circle and made my mark in his flesh.

“Remember me and remember this night and what I have taught you, mortal,” I said. “It is a gift you shall receive but once.”

I then kissed his body a few more times, tasting his blood as it oozed from my mark gouged in his chest. Finally I caressed his cheek gingerly, and stood looking upon him one last time. Then, ignoring the demon’s taunting and the boy’s parting words, I left without another sound.

My appetite was sated for now. Slodhe had mentioned that there were strangers camped to the south, and I intended to find out more about them.

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As spring wore on into summer, things began to come apart. The women in the clan were busy trying to place either themselves or their daughters at Manniz’s side. The men were maneuvering to replace him altogether, particularly his eldest son. And while all this was going on the day-to-day rhythms of clan life were slowly but surely eroded to the point where little was being done to prepare for the next winter. As the factionalism grew fiercer, the rivalries more bitter, Oskuz began to campaign against me, blaming me for all that had gone wrong since Saennuz’s death. That she had success with this was simply more indication of how badly things were deteriorating.

Manniz retained his place as chief by taking Saennuz’s youngest sister as his mate, but by then it was too late. The clan was in disarray and his mate was not half the power broker her sister had been. Instead of attempting to bring parties together to try to prepare for winter she instead joined with Oskuz against me. Manniz was not inclined to hear their plotting, but as winter bore down and famine loomed very large in the future he finally began to yield.

One morning the old Shaman bitch came for me, and took me to see Manniz. They both led me out into the wild as the skies were growing an ugly slate gray. None of us had eaten since the day before, and the air was cold and smelled of a coming storm. I had been expecting this turn of events and had done what I could to prepare against need, but I could sense something in the two of them that made me uneasy. I was prepared to run, but I was uncertain there was any real danger; it was merely Oskuz’s unconcealed glee at her victory that had me on edge. At least, that was what I told myself.

“Far enough,” Oskuz said, and I looked to Manniz, then gasped as Oskuz’s wiry arms seized my own, drawing them up and back behind me, “It’s time to be done with you and your ill luck!” she cackled in my ear.

“I don’t understand!” I cried, but then I saw the blade. I looked into Manniz’s eyes; saw his unhappiness, his determination as he reached for me, pulling open my cloak and my tunic to expose my chest.

I gasped slightly, then smiled at him. “Yes, it’s better this way,” I whispered. “Strike true.”

He paused a moment, and I could see his confusion, so I nodded a little and looked to the sky. I could almost feel Oskuz’s disappointment, for she wanted to hear me beg for my life. Instead I merely trembled a little in fear and excitement. An intensely sexual thrill coursed through my body as I lifted my head, arching my spine to offer a clear target. I could feel the conflict rising in him, but Oskuz broke the spell.

“Do you expect me to hold her forever? Do it!”

“Slekanam!” he cried, and his fist lunged forward, plunging the blade into my chest, the edge perpendicular to my breastbone, entering inside the curve of my left breast, seeking and finding my heart in an expert stroke. It did not even hurt; rather it drove the breath from me, my chest collapsing inward from the force of the blow. Breath would not come and my knees buckled as Oskuz released me, letting me drop to my knees as Manniz stepped back, drawing the knife from my chest. Vision wavered as I saw crimson stained snow, then I could support myself no longer, falling forward into the cold and darkness, a throbbing, pulsating roar filling my ears as their voices receded. I embraced the darkness, welcomed it, invited it to envelope and consume me, erase me, make an end to this, to everything…

And it was here that I learned the most horrid truth of all about myself.

Cold and pain and aching pressure in my chest dragged me from the embrace of the nothingness I craved. My body shook and I could feel the thin stream of air torturously drawn into my lungs, slowly filling me with breath, then a wracking, agonizing coughing exhalation; thick, vile goo spitting from my throat, fouling my mouth, forcing me to full awareness. Hands sought purchase, trembling arms lifted me and another breath entered me, much easier now that the clotted blood and mucus had been expelled, then made its exodus in a despairing sob. On my knees, I probed at my chest with numb fingers; the wound was barely perceptible.

Had I simply been fooling myself? I had been injured before in frightening ways. A fall once from a tree. A time when everyone who had eaten from a certain animal had sickened and died but me. A blow to the head with a hammer. But never once an injury so dramatic, something so obviously beyond surviving: a knife straight to the heart.

The wound was healing as I watched.

Still on my knees, I leaned backward, and a scream of rage tore from my lips. I hurled my fury at the gray, uncaring sky, my body shaking as I ached to destroy the Gods who had cursed me, for now I knew the full truth: It was not just that I did not age, it was not just that illness rarely touched me.

Truly, I could not die.

Cold, starving, and betrayed I tried to stand, but slipped and fell back, landing across a frozen hump in the snow. Rolling over I struggled to my knees, feeling fur under my bare hands. Uncomprehending I swept aside the snow to reveal… Oskuz? She was on her back, but her head was twisted, her neck quite emphatically broken, shock frozen on her face. In my state I was unable to appreciate the irony of it all. I began tearing at her clothing, stripping the furs from her frozen body, wrapping myself in a desperate attempt to shelter myself from the biting cold. And through it all the gnawing ache in my belly grew stronger, more insistent, a scent touching my nostrils through the dry, frosty air: tantalizing, intoxicating. Raw meat.

“I don’t think so!” I shrieked into the coming darkness.

Forcing myself to my feet I sought my bearings and set out west… but stopped after only three steps. I could not think, could not force my feet to move, my body trembling violently as the hunger became like fire within me, warming me even as it sapped my strength further. I felt under my garments for the knife I had secreted there what felt like an age ago. I drew it out and turned.

I stared at Oskuz’s body as it lay stretched out in the snow. It was not that cannibalism was new to me: it happened, on occasion. With this weather the chances of finding food on my own were slight. But Oskuz, and uncooked?

But after all, what difference did it make? He had left us to be food for beasts. I sank to my knees beside the body. Once the decision was made I wasted no time. The knife bit into the frozen meat of the thigh, cutting, tearing at the tough flesh until a strip came free. The first mouthful was the hardest. The meat was grainy and tough, and so cold it was tasteless, at least at first. After that it did not matter what it tasted like: I fed like a starved animal…

After I calmed, as darkness surrounded me, a small cave came to mind. It would be easy to seal off from the wind, if not terribly roomy, and far enough from the village to avoid being detected. I dragged Oskuz’s carcass behind me, my mind fixed solely upon my destination. I finally reached it in moonlit darkness, the sky clearing enough to make the last leg of the trek possible, though the temperature plummeted.

The cave was southward facing, really just a depression in the hillside, but I had spied it during the summer and as was my habit by now I had marked it, as well as a few other random places, as a bolt hole. Any time I had had a chance I had done my best to prepare it against need: there was wood and flint and soon there was a fire.

Oskuz’s frozen, colorless eyes regarded me from the edge of the circle of firelight.

“You don’t know how lucky you are, old woman,” I told her. “And how did you wind up dead, anyhow? Did you gloat too much?”

I started going through what I had: Manniz hadn’t bothered to strip either of us and Oskuz had been carrying a very nice bronze knife as well as her medicine pouch. As I went through her things I could feel the glazed, sunken orbs of her eyes upon me.

“Don’t be jealous, you certainly have no need for these things… and winter is just beginning. Strange, isn’t it? Here you had it all figured out, but you didn’t see this coming, did you?”

The fire shifted as I poked at it before adding another good-sized log.

“I didn’t see it either, and I’ve got no excuses. I’ll bet you just laughed a little too loud, and now there you are and here I am. Hardly seems fair, does it?”

In my cave I had enough long straight pieces to set up a roasting spit, so I got that together then took the bronze knife and started working it with the sharpening stone I’d found tucked in her pouch. I would have to butcher as much of the carcass as I could easily manage, then drag the rest far from my camp. Being alone I could not afford to be attracting any predators. Once the knife was honed to perfection I moved over to the body and dragged it closer to the fire where the light was better.

“You know, if I could give you back your life and take your place, I’d do it. But since I can’t… if it’s any consolation, you taste terrible.”

The fire snapped and muttered at me, only just blunting the bitterness of the winter night. I was alone in a way I had never truly allowed myself to understand before. When Manniz had produced that knife I was so certain that finally, finally this would end. Oh, there had been other times, other injuries, but this time, this way… I should have finally had peace. Instead here I was, with only flames and the dead for company.

I set to work with a will.

Chapter 19

Ann Arbor, February 2005 CE

“I’m not sure I could do something like that,” I said. She looked at me and then graced me with that all-knowing smile of hers.

“That’s your oh-so-civilized conditioning talking. Cannibalism for survival is not viable as a wide-scale strategy, but in smaller scale, and amongst people whose lives are nearly hand-to-mouth, it is sometimes unavoidable. Trust me, if you were faced with it you would likely choose to set aside your qualms. Dying due to squeamishness is likely the most foolish thing one can do.”

“I don’t think I could do it.”

“It is rather comforting to believe that, I am sure.”

She said it in a matter-of-fact tone that might have been a jab, but I didn’t see any point in arguing over it. If I ever had to consider roast leg-of-Larry for dinner I’d deal with it then.

“Yeah, anyhow… it sounds like you were kind of weirded out by that whole experience?”

“Hmm, and you accused me of avoiding uncomfortable subjects? Yes, well, I spent a pretty miserable winter in that cave, though I was able to improve things a bit here and there. By the time spring arrived I was ready to move on. I had to, actually, because I was still well within the territory of my old clan.”

“You found another clan to live with?”

“No… not right away. Really, for the first time I chose to remain on my own for a prolonged period. I’d had my fill of people. The murder… and its aftermath…. they soured me on being with others.”

“How long were you alone?”

“Oh, fifteen years or so. It was appealing because I had no charade to maintain. Even after I joined up with people again it really was only temporary. As time went on I spent less and less time attached to any family or village. Eventually I was alone for very long stretches.”

“You preferred solitude? Yet here you are now…”

“Solitude is… seductive. It allowed me to explore who and what I believed I might be without the distraction of mundane interaction.”

“You didn’t get lonely?”

I wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but suddenly she reached for her purse and pulled out a new pack of cigarettes. She’d been smoking much less since coming back from Pennsylvania, despite her ongoing worries about whatever was going on there. But now she tapped an unfiltered Camel into an ivory cigarette holder and snapped her Zippo to life.

“Not exactly, no. Enough solitude, and it becomes easy to slide out of any truly rational relationship with reality.”

“You became irrational?” I asked, prodding for more information.

“You could say that, yes,” she sighed, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling. “It was not sudden. I spent a couple of centuries in and out of villages and families, mostly hanging on to the shaman or the smith, if they had one, but eventually I cut myself loose completely. After that I was on my own for more than six hundred years.”

“Six hundred…?” I couldn’t even imagine.

“You can’t even imagine, can you?” she said, grinning faintly. “But yes. I wanted no more to do with people. It was during that time that things became rather… unsettled.”

“How so?”

“Oh, everyone carries on some sort of internal dialogue as they go though the day. One also often has little delusions that can turn into bigger ones when no one else is around to bring you back to reality. So when you are alone for prolonged periods of time, and perhaps somewhat driven by grief, doubt and anger…”

She stopped then and just sat, quietly smoking her cigarette as I tried to imagine being isolated for decades or centuries. She finished, tapping out the remnants of her cigarette into the ashtray, then fixed me with her eyes, waiting for me to ask her the obvious question.

“How bad did it get?”

“Very bad,” she replied. Then she reached for another cigarette.

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Chapter 17

Ann Arbor, February 2005 CE

She’d switched to a new hotel when she came back in January. “To avoid attracting too much attention,” she said. I didn’t think much about it, but I did notice that we had some trouble working together. The first few days, whenever I’d ask her a direct question, she seemed agitated, and she’d find a way to change the subject whenever we got to anything that seemed important. She acted like she wanted to talk about anything but herself. She’d chat about the weather, or the hotel staff, or business, or the technical issues in writing and organizing a book, or philosophy, or even about me. Her insights on politics and philosophy were especially interesting to me, and she was very seductive that way. More than once I went home after a day of very pleasant and entertaining conversation only to realize we really hadn’t gotten any work done.

At first I figured she was paying, so we’d talk about whatever she wanted. But finally I decided I’d better ask her about it. When hinting a few times didn’t work I just asked her flat out: “We really aren’t getting anywhere on the project. Is there a reason?”

She looked at me blankly for a moment, started to speak, then stopped. “You’re right,” she finally said. “I’ve been having conflicts with my family in Pennsylvania, and I’ve wanted to distract myself from stressful conversations. Talking about myself doesn’t come naturally to me, and it’s especially difficult in these circumstances.”

“Well, we don’t have to…” I started, but she gestured gently with her hand. We both knew she didn’t have to do this if she didn’t want to.

“I suppose you should know that I have been telling you things I have very rarely told anyone. In some cases things I’ve never told anyone, not even… well, not anyone.”

“Well, okay,” I said. “Is that why you get combative with me sometimes?”

She surprised me by blushing a little, looking embarrassed. “Dwelling on the past has long been something I’ve viewed as a bad habit. It would be so easy to simply wish for what has been to be again.” She stopped, and shook her head. “My memories are very personal, very private things, and many of them are like treasures I bring out only now and then, to be handled carefully. They sometimes become faded and worn if I touch them too much, and there were times when I was younger when I would pine for them so much that…” She paused again. There was only a trace of sadness in her face, but her eyes were distant. Then she focused on me again. “I nearly chose not to return to this project. I cannot begin to express how painful this is, both the recollection and the telling.”

Her voice was steady, her jaw set, but I finally started to feel like I understood her. “I guess I can relate,” I said. “I love dogs, but…. I still get choked up about one I had as a kid. He died a long time ago, and I’ve lost a few since then.” I said.

Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at me for a minute. “Yes, and then you say things like that,” she said evenly. “Is that how you suppose I see people?” she asked, an edge creeping into her voice. Anger suddenly glistened in the corners of her eyes.

I stammered a bit. “Hey, Princess, I didn’t mean…” I started.

She suddenly gave a loud sigh, made a show of rubbing her face and stretching, and then smiled. “I understand,” she said. Then she stood up. “It’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning and I promise we’ll get back to work first thing,” she said. “But I’m tired now, if you don’t mind.”

Her change of expression was kind of startling, but I got up. “Sure thing,” I said. “Hey I really didn’t mean to…”

”I know,” she said softly. “I’m just having my period and it has me edgy. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Wait, you’re on your…?”

She chuckled, and patted my arm gently. “Yes, I have them, but quite rarely. In any case… tomorrow, please?”

“Uh, okay. Good night.”

The next morning started off on an even odder foot. She answered the door slowly, talking on her cell phone. She was usually formal enough under those circumstances to at least put the phone down, but today she just opened the door with a small headset clipped to her ear, nodded at me, then turned and went back to the suite’s large sofa to sit. As she kept talking, she picked up her revolver, absently loading and unloading it. I noticed she was using her left hand now, which was almost skeletal looking, but obviously working. She barely looked at me as she talked.

“And you told her what? Yes… All right…. So then she…? Yes. Do you know anyone at her paper? I see.” She went on like this for some time, mostly talking in monosyllables. She glanced over at me a couple of times, but mostly stared at the wall as she talked. Finally, she said she’d call back later, and hung up. Then she just sat staring downward, fiddling with her gun.

“Getting ready to shoot someone?” I asked, laughing a little.

She looked up at me blankly, and then down at her pistol. She slowly put it in the holster behind her back, and flipped the tail of her blouse over it. “No,” she said. “That would probably just complicate things.” She said it flatly, with a distant look in her eyes. “Besides, I’ve rather come to like you people,” she added, cryptically.

“What the heck happened?” I laughed, a little nervously.

She was almost staring through me as she responded. “A reporter has been calling my law offices, asking questions,” she said, her voice still flat. “About my hospital stay, and the man whose daughter struck my car. We had to tell her we had no comment, but apparently she’s been asking questions around the hospital as well.” She stopped a moment, and then focused on me again. “That was Dennis… Professor Novak. She called him as well.”

“Well, I thought you were kind of figuring on something like this, what with all the attention you drew to yourself.”

Suddenly she came alive and looked annoyed. “All the attention I…? I was doing everything in my power to bury this!”

“Well yeah, but in a pretty loud way.”

She made a disgusted noise. “Well Dennis won’t talk to her, and my people stonewalled her, but if she keeps calling I may have to deal with her more forcefully. In any case I suppose you’re right. This just emphasizes that if I’m not to flee, I must do my best to tell my tale in my own way, yes? I just….”

Her voice trailed off, and she covered her forehead with her hand. “I know I said we’d work today, but it is hard for me not to feel distracted. What with the calls from Edna every day, and the fighting with Joshua, and now Dennis being harassed by this reporter… I don’t know how much I can concentrate right now.”

“Who’s Edna and Joshua?” I asked.

“Edna… Edna is my niece.”

“Your…?”

“Well, after a fashion.” She smiled, and relaxed a little into a fond look. “Some time ago, I adopted her great-grandmother. I don’t usually do that, I don’t like to have children think of me as a relative, but this was different.” She paused. “Well in any case it feels silly to call her my great-great-granddaughter, so as a sort of a joke between us she sometimes calls herself my niece. I don’t mind.” She paused, and smiled a little wider. “No, I don’t mind a bit.” She almost whispered that last.

“So you’re fighting with her?”

“No, she’s fighting with her son Joshua. Over me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Her son is an attorney. The family owns a trust, which I now have partial control over. He also acts as my attorney, or has been. But because of this reporter… she’s been calling for three weeks…. Joshua started asking questions, and, well, I was forced to confide in him. Up until now only Edna has known. He wants to resign as my attorney and wrest control of the family trust from me, but Edna won’t let him. Now he’s having genetic tests run on me, but otherwise thinks I’m a lunatic. Edna and he are having epic battles over it. That’s partly why I’m back here: Edna urged me to make myself scarce while she deals with her son.” She paused, and sighed again. “It’s good to have allies, though I wonder if I’m not simply hurting these people, mucking about in lives I shouldn’t be, all just so I can face my fear of mankind.” She stared at the floor, looking both guilty and sad.

“Hey, I don’t think you need to be as afraid as you are, Zsallia,” I said.

“I think…” she trailed off, then looked up at me. “You’re getting that look again,” she said suddenly. Oddly enough, she still looked guilty.

“What look?”

“You’re feeling sorry for me. I’ve been letting you get away with that for too long. You need to know what you’re dealing with in me.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” I said.

“No.” She sighed. “No. I’ve indulged my self-pity too much in talking to you. You think you know me but you don’t.”

“Okay. What don’t I know?”

She sighed again. “Where to begin?” She looked tense and uncomfortable. “I’m just not sure.”

“Well, how about we take a walk and stretch that leg of yours and you can think about it? How’s it doing anyway?”

“It’s aching. A walk would be nice. Do you know some place with trees? Not a lot of people?”

“Grab your jacket,” I said.

A standing joke in Michigan is that if you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes and it’ll change. Snow in April isn’t unusual, but neither are warm days in February. Today was a beautiful Spring-like day, barely sweater weather. There wasn’t even much snow on the ground, although a snowstorm was predicted for the weekend. Like I said, Michigan’s funny.

I’ve walked the Barton Park trails a few times. We weren’t the only people out that day, but it was the middle of a workday so it was still pretty deserted. Even though she still had her cane, she wasn’t much using it, and she set a brisk pace. I found myself constantly falling behind, which was funny since I’m a good bit taller than her. It was like she had all this pent up energy and needed to burn it off before she could slow down. When she finally slacked off I noticed that there wasn’t anyone else in sight. I figured that was maybe what she wanted, because she finally relaxed. All the nervous energy in her seemed to evaporate. Then she was smiling and strolling, taking the scenery in.

“In the city too long?” I asked

“Yes. I’m not really fond of urban living, even in a city as beautiful as Ann Arbor. I resign myself to it out of convenience, but nothing can force me to truly enjoy it.”

“Well, a little walk in the park is good, then.”

“Absolutely. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“Well I haven’t had a real stretch in a while either, what with all the writing and traveling. Besides, it beats the hell out of sitting in that hotel pretending to work. And if you’re going to go for a walk it’s better not to be out here all alone.”

She grinned at me then, her right hand patting her backside. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I just nodded. Not that I’m afraid of guns, but she was very casual about carrying it, and the Ann Arbor PD would probably be a mite peeved if they caught her with it. But these were her choices.

“You worry too much,” she quipped, “and I’m not an easy one to intimidate, so most muggers and rapists would give me a pass.”

“Yeah, I believe it. But you’re not all armor-plated. I’ve seen you scared.”

“Really?”

I squinted up at the midday sun, “Well, you looked it a little on the phone today.”

She gave an incredulous look: raised eyebrow, expressionless face.

I laughed a little, shaking my head. “It’s kind of what we were talking about before: we’ve talked a lot about your past, your life. What was good, what was hard. You’ve never said anything about what scares you though. You keep hinting at all this darkness and badness, but you never talk about it. Whenever I see you getting close to anything like that you just bring the conversation to an end. And then, I get just a glimpse of it today and…”

“Yes, well, that is what I wanted to talk to you about.” She was quiet for a little bit, but I just waited. “You feel sorry for me, don’t you?” She was keeping her voice even, but it had an odd edge to it. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure how to respond. She stopped in the middle of the trail and just looked at me, then smiled ruefully and said, “Can you smell the river? I’m pretty sure this trail will take us to it.”

Without another word she turned off the main trail, following a thinly worn track to the west. It obviously wasn’t maintained by the Parks Department. I shrugged and followed her. The little path drove through some trees and snaked through some underbrush. It was a little rough since there hadn’t been a lot of people down here, but it wasn’t too tough to follow. It opened out on the riverbank.

Water swept past some large granite boulders that jutted out into the riverbed, making a nice rushing noise. She stood there for a bit, shaking her head at a collection of empty beer cans and bottles on the ground, but something else was going on inside her. Then she looked up at me and gestured towards some big rocks. Together we scrambled up the one closest to the bank. She settled down on top of a flat rock, with her arms wrapped around her legs, chin on her knees, staring out across the river.

“It’s not really fear,” she finally offered. “It’s more akin to shame. It’s also been self-indulgence, as I’ve been letting you try to sympathize with me. That’s a nice feeling. And, you may not realize it, but I do care what you think of me. It’s not something that I worry over, but… in truth I’m no saint my friend, and no innocent.”

“You think I’ll stop liking you?” I asked, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. After the past two months it seemed pretty juvenile, especially coming from her.

“Not quite,” she replied, turning her head to one side to look at me. It was almost pretty, except for the cold seriousness in her eyes. “What I am afraid of is that you’ll come to see me as dangerous. Wicked even. I don’t like that. But perhaps you should, and I don’t like that either. You might even come to fear me.”

“Fear you? I already do, at least a little. You’re something way beyond my experience. You’re rich and maybe even a little capricious. And,” I grinned, “you pack a wallop.”

She smiled faintly at that, but her eyes didn’t smile with her lips. For a second, I wondered if she’d had more than one reason for bringing that pistol with her today. But as I thought it, she stiffened.

“You know you’re in no danger here, today. If you don’t know that, then… then we have little more to talk of now. Or ever.”

“It would help if you’d just tell me what’s on your mind. Why would I fear you?” As I said it I reached into my pocket and produced the recorder, deliberately turning it on.

She looked at it, then back at me, before turning her gaze out across the river again.

“I am a murderer,” she said, her voice expressionless.

“You’ve killed people. I can’t imagine living as long as you without being forced to do that at some point.”

“I’ve killed people out of convenience. I’ve killed… I’ve murdered because it felt good to kill, because I didn’t see any reason not to. I’ve killed men mostly, but also women… sometimes people whose only mistake was to encounter me when I just didn’t care…”

I didn’t say a word, just waited. Eventually she spoke again.

“The first time… the first time was in a place much like this.

“Her name was Saennuz. She was the mate of the patriarch of the clan and as is often the case in such things she was the real power in the group. Her man enforced the rules and kept order, but in the dark hours of the night he took her counsel and marked it well. She was very intelligent, beautiful by the standards of the time, and quite ruthless. She despised me.

“I suppose it may surprise you but in the years after finding a new tribe for Attuz, I slowly learned that life was still easiest for me as a slave. I was wise enough to leave him behind before he aged, as painful as that was for the both of us. As I could not allow myself to fall in love again, life as a valued, skilled property was generally easiest. Particularly if I were to stay among humans, and for the longest time I still did.

“So it was many years later that I found myself among Saennuz’s people. Seannuz’s man bought me from a village in a valley near his own. He knew I was barren and in the simple calculus of power politics he thought I would make for a welcome diversion in a clan that was somewhat bereft of women. I had been in the previous clan for several years, keeping time with the old shaman. I’d learned all I ever would from him, so I welcomed the chance to move on.

“Of course, he failed to consult with Saennuz on this. Mind you, she had nothing to fear from me. I couldn’t have babies and everyone knew it, but I was young, and healthy, and pretty, and strong. Jealousy overrode her common sense.

“I did everything I could think of to mollify her. I deferred to her in all things. I took every nasty, filthy task she could hand out and acted grateful to have the work. But nothing satisfied her.

“It came to a head that first summer, after there had been a gathering with some of the neighboring clans. A few matches were made and Saennuz concluded it was time to get rid of me.

“Her man would have sent me away if she’d told him to. He hated all the friction, but she never suggested it. Instead, after the gathering she became even more unbearable. She was pregnant again, her sixth child, and it made her insufferable in general. Perhaps that is why I failed to understand what she had in mind.”

Zsallia paused, and stared out at the water. Her voice had been almost a monotone, though there was a tiny waver to it that might have been from the chill. Finally she went on.

“Saennuz told me one morning to follow her to the river. She’d been having good luck with a fish trap she’d set up near the bank and wanted me to spend the day there. It was light duty even if it would be all day—and we would be alone. We arrived at the trap and I saw she’d set it up just after the bend of the river. Some trees offered shade, which made it easier to see the fish when they came up against the barrier of rocks. It was a nice piece of work, but it was also a bit treacherous. The current picked up a quite bit there, and the bank fell off into deep water if you stepped out too far.

“She asked me if I knew how to swim. I had my back to her, watching the fish trap, but something in her voice made me decide to lie so I told her ‘no’.

“She must have used a rock because the next thing I knew I was floating downstream, choking on river water. My head was throbbing with pain.

“I managed to fight the current and make my way to the bank and once I caught my breath I realized I was not too far downstream. Strangely enough I wasn’t even angry. I considered leaving. I could let her have her little victory, move on down the river, and find a new place, but something about that idea left me cold. I liked this clan.

“I made my way up the river. It wasn’t far. I found Saennuz calmly working the fish trap and I stopped to watch her. She was just spearing fish and tossing them on the bank, humming a happy little tune, utterly unconcerned. Somehow that sight disturbed me far more than the idea that she had tried to kill me. I was over five hundred years old at that point, so she wasn’t the first to try that. But the idea that she would do it and then just go about her business… it annoyed me.

“I fetched up a good sized stone and waited for her to crouch over the trap, knowing she would be quite still for several seconds, then I let fly. My aim was true, but she flinched. Perhaps she heard me as I threw, but in any case it just grazed the right side of her head. She cried out and spun around, then froze as she saw me.

“She smiled. Laughed, actually. ‘You’re tougher than I thought,’ she said, ‘now get back to work.’

“I walked towards her and her expression narrowed. She must have seen my intent. I’ll give her credit: she didn’t back down, but charged at me instead. The water slowed her, but as I struck out she shifted and threw her shoulder into me, forcing me to fall backwards as she scrambled up the bank. I reached out and caught her by her tunic, pulling myself up towards her. She lashed out with her foot and connected with my collar bone, and I felt it crack. My left arm went numb. She kicked again, aiming for my throat, but I grabbed her foot and slipped it to one side, and she slid down a bit. Her other foot caught my hip, and she shoved me back down the bank.

“She regained her feet and ran for the trees. I recovered and set after her. It wasn’t too hard, as she only had a couple of steps on me, and I was taller. I tackled her just inside the trees. She hit hard and I felt her breath escape in a rush as she curled up in pain, her arms encircling her midsection, and she was still struggling as I forced her on to her back with my good hand and straddled her chest. Her eyes met mine, and for the first time I could remember, I saw fear in her.

“My left arm was still numb, but I laid my left palm across her throat. She was trapped beneath me, my knees pinning her arms to the ground. My right hand settled on a rock, and seized it up as she finally drew a breath.

“Wait…’ was all she managed to say before I brought the rock down on her head.”

Zsallia stopped talking. She was kneading the palms of her hands, and staring down at the river. I started to talk, but she just shook her head and gave me a quiet gesture with her hand. No, she seemed to say without words. I’m not done. Her voice when she spoke again was still dull, and flat.

“The rock…. it made a sound. A solid, sickening ‘thok!’ Then a high, thin squeal came out of her, like a whispered scream. But that stopped as I struck her again. And again. And again. And again…”

She stopped again, drawing a deep, ragged breath that whistled as she exhaled. Her eyes were moist, but otherwise dead as she stared at the water.

“I would hit her… and her body would jerk underneath me, like spasms, or convulsions… there were pieces of bone… and so much blood…” she paused and her eyes turned towards me, almost pleading. But before I could react she shook herself, turned back to look out across the river, and went on.

“I kept hitting her until I felt all the breath go out of her, then I stopped, staring down at the bloody ruin of her face and head. I was fascinated by what I had done. I’d never simply killed anyone before. I’d seen death countless times, killed once in self-defense in a way that was almost a blur. But this….

“I was trembling as I crawled off her, my left arm and shoulder on fire, my right weak from exertion. I knelt by her body, my arms clutched together across my breasts as I shook and rocked, my belly churning with revulsion. She would twitch, a movement of an arm or a leg, and I would stop and stare, unsure if I could make myself strike her again should she resume breathing. But finally, I knew it was over.”

Zsallia was still not looking at me, almost like she was afraid to. She just hugged her knees and rocked a little. I couldn’t think what to say or do, so I just waited again until she went on.

“I reached out and laid… laid my hand on the swelling of her belly. She had always had others, the women and the men, touch her like that, but she had never permitted me. I rested my right hand on it, and I felt it move.

“It was if my heart stopped and turned to ash in my chest.

“I wanted to scream then, but I could not breathe, I could not move. I held my hand there, feeling Saennuz’s baby move less and less until, inevitably, it stopped.

“A tiny, precious piece of myself died there, under those trees, by that riverside.”

The light breeze whispered in my ears as we sat. I listened to it, and the gurgle and rush of the river, she staring at the water, me staring at her. Unmoving. Finally she sighed again.

“So then I did the only thing I could think to do: I dragged her back to the river and pushed her body in, forcing it out into the swift current. I followed it downstream a ways to make sure it didn’t come ashore or fetch up on anything. After that, I washed up as best I could and returned to the village. I told them Saennuz and I had fought and she slipped in the water. That she’d struck her head and been swept away.”

She stopped again, still refusing to meet my eyes. I watched her, trying to gauge what she was feeling, but her face was like stone. I had no idea what to say. Could you try someone for a murder three thousand years ago, in a country that probably didn’t exist anymore? What kind of verdict could you bring to that? What court could judge it? What jury would know what to do with it?

“So they believed you?” I finally asked.

“Of course they did. By then I was an excellent liar. For that matter, how much of a lie was it, really?”

“She was pregnant.”

“Yes. The baby would have come in the late fall…” she turned her face away, craning her neck so I couldn’t see, and seemed to shrink in on herself. Then her shoulders shook, just once. “It probably would have died over the winter anyhow. At least that’s what I told myself.”

I found my voice. “She tried to kill you,” I offered.

“I could have walked away. I could have gone down river and found a new home. There were people a few days away; they knew me from the clan gatherings. I could have told them what happened.” She turned and looked at me finally. Her eyes were hollow, but whatever tears might have been there were gone. “I didn’t have to kill her. I wish I hadn’t.”

“You feel guilty? Even today?”

“Of course I do. I don’t lie awake at night agonizing over it, but…”

“What did they do to you?”

“To me? Nothing. At least, not right away. But it was not long after that that I learned….” She stopped. “I learned…” She stopped again. “I’d like to stop talking for a bit if you don’t mind,” she finally said, staring at the water. So we just sat and listened to the stream for a while. Then she asked me to take her back to her hotel.

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