It was Hylan who found him, though not before the sun had set and the sky had darkened to night. Cor heard her coming up the tree and knew it was her even before she climbed onto the branch he was crouching on, and he did not try to run away. Yes, he was tired, but he was also lonely.
“Your mum and dad are looking for you,” Hylan said.
Cor hugged his knees to his chest. “What about everyone else?”
She shrugged. “Some are still celebrating. Most left early. A few are looking for you too.”
“Do they want to kill me?”
Hylan snorted. “Don’t be silly.”
“Old Shamon didn’t say anything?”
Hylan hesitated. “He said… something. I don’t really remember. It was loud,” she said. “Besides, what does it matter? People are looking for you. You’ve got to come home.”
“Hylan, you’re lying to me.”
“It’s Shyla,” she whispered.
“Hylan, you’re lying to me.”
She went silent. Cor felt a chill run through his body and tried to hug his legs harder.
“It’s true that your parents want you back home,” Hylan said softly. “They love you.”
“What about everyone else?”
“They’re… afraid.”
“What about you?”
“I’m…” Hylan took a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid too.”
“A black mark of darkness, and death thou shalt meet.”
“Do you believe the stories?”
“Do you?” Cor asked and regretted it.
Hylan shifted in the darkness. “I don’t know,” she said. “That’s why I’m afraid.”
A gust of wind caused the branch to sway. Cor put his hands on the branch and steadied himself.
“Here,” Hylan said, handing him a heavy pouch. “I stole it from my mother. It’s water.”
Cor found the opening of the waterskin and drank. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted.
“And this.” Hylan handed him a thick piece of bread. Cor took a bite. It was buttered, and its creamy sweetness brought tears to his eyes. He cried softly as he ate.
When he was done, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took another drink from the waterskin.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “For crying in front of you. I’m not very manly, am I?”
Then he laughed. “I guess I’ll never be a man anyway.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Hylan said. “Your Talent isn’t what makes you a man.”
“That’s what my father says.”
“Well he’s damn right.”
The remark sobered Cor, and he looked up through the branches above him and at the sky. There were whispers of clouds against the clear sky tonight, forming ghostly veils over the stars. It was beautiful.
Hylan took the waterskin from him and drank.
In the distance, the sounds of the village celebrations echoed.
Hylan took his hand. In a bout of terror, Cor tried to jerk his hand away, but she held firm. Nothing happened.
“Come on,” Hylan said. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Back home.”
“But I thought…”
“No one wants to kill you, Cor,” she said. “Not really. They’re just scared, like we were. And it’s dark now. We can get back without anyone noticing.”
Cor looked into her eyes. They were dark and wide and strong, and they were looking at him. He looked away. “Alright, let’s go.”
***
They arrived at Cor’s place. The celebrations had mostly quieted, and though there were people in the little streets, wandering back home, nobody noticed Cor or Hylan.
From the outside, Cor’s home seemed quiet and dark. There was no candlelight in the windows, no murmur of voices through the door.
“I’ll leave you here,” Hylan said.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” Cor said.
“I’m glad I did,” Hylan said. “You would have stayed in that tree all night.”
“I know,” Cor said. “Hylan, can I ask you a question?”
“What is it?”
Cor took a breath, and for a moment, there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from speaking. He took another breath and forced the lump out. “Will you be leaving the village?”
Hylan looked down. “Yes.”
Cor’s heart sank.
Hylan took his hands. “But not for a long time,” she said.
Cor looked up at her. “How long is that?”
“At least a couple years,” she said. “I need to study up first if I want to pass the entrance exams for university. That’s going to take at least two years. Old Shamon told me.” She was smiling.
“Really?”
“Really,” she said. “We’ll still be able to see each other every day.”
“That’s…”
“Wonderful,” they said at the same time.
They laughed.
“Hylan, I…”
“It’s Shyla now,” Hylan said.
Cor nodded. “Sorry, Shyla. It feels so strange to say it,” he said. “But listen, I’m sorry for being so mean to you when you told me you were going away. I was just thinking of what it’d be like without you, and I felt so afraid.”
Hylan shook her head. “I’m sorry for getting angry at you,” she said. “I should have told you earlier that I wouldn’t be leaving right away.”
“Hy–Shyla, I think I love you,” Cor said, and blushed even as he heard himself say it.
“I know,” Hylan said, and kissed him on the mouth. She pulled away and giggled. “Good night.”
Cor was speechless as she skipped away into the night.
***
Cor closed the door behind him softly and froze. There was candlelight from the kitchen, and Mother was sitting at the dining table with her head buried in her arms. For several moments, he waited, but Mother did not stir. Then he tiptoed forward, holding his breath for fear of waking her.
She looked up, startled, and Cor stopped, suddenly terrified.
“Cor?” she asked. Her voice was raw and shaky, and by the flickering candlelight, Cor could see her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks.
“Mother,” Cor said, his own voice trembling.
“Oh, Cor.” Enya got up and rushed forward and embraced him. A sudden warmth flooded into Cor’s heart, and he wrapped his arms around Mother, losing himself in her embrace, and sobbed.
The door burst open, startling the both of them.
It was Father. His face was lined and haggard–perhaps more so because of the dim light–and he sagged with relief when he saw Cor. He joined the embrace, and for a long time, the three of them stood there holding each other tight as though letting go would cause the others to disappear.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
***
Cor did not have a new name; at least not yet. His parents did not tell him, but Cor knew the other people in the village did not believe he should receive a name, and Old Shamon was nowhere to be found. And without Old Shamon, the village did not know what to do.
There were the stories, of course, of the ancient Shael who used to roam the world, killing everything they touched. Theirs was the only touch that made mistleaf apples wither and turn black. The only way to kill them was to tie them to a dead tree and burn them alive. But nobody knew when the last time that had happened, and nobody knew what a true Shael was capable of.
Cor remained in his house for three days, doing chores and taking care of Gimor. He did not kill the things he touched, and he did not turn black and horrid. On the fourth day, Hylan–now Shyla–came to visit.
It was a chilly afternoon (Cor only knew from Mother who had gone out to grab eggs from the chicken pen), and Shyla arrived wearing a thick woolen coat and a red knitted scarf.
“Hey,” she said.
Cor looked up from his place next to Gimor; she was standing in the doorway to Gimor’s bedroom. “Hey,” Cor said. “Gimor’s sick. Can you wait while I finish feeding him?”
“Sure,” she said. She took off her scarf and coat and put it on the unused desk beneath the window. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.
Cor continued to feed Gimor, trying to make sure his brother was really swallowing the porridge and not just dribbling it down his chin, but it was difficult with Shyla standing there right at the edge of Cor’s vision. She had brought with her the scent of apples and autumn leaves–a scent Cor didn’t know he had missed until he smelled it. He wondered if the forest was now turning from bright crimson to a deep blood-red, and if the ground was covered in crisp, heart-shaped leaves.
He had never felt such strong a desire to leap up and run outside, and he had never felt such strong a desire to take Shyla by the hand and bring her with him.
Gimor finally finished the porridge, and Cor hastily wiped his brother’s chin and neck with a wet cloth and turned to Shyla. “I’ll put this away and we can meet in my room,” he said.
“Will your mother be alright with that?”
“Why not?” Cor said, and got up and took the empty bowl and spoon to the kitchen.
Plyan and Mother were at the dining table peeling potatoes, and Mother looked up when he came in. “Your friend just flew through the front door. Did she come up to see you?”
“She did.”
“Did she want to stay for dinner?”
“I won’t be long,” Shyla said from the doorway to the kitchen.
Cor dropped the bowl and spoon in the washbasin. “Are you leaving now?” A little tremor weaseled its way into his voice as he asked.
“Not now,” Shyla said. “Mother, could Cor and I go out for a walk?”
“Can I go too?” Plyan asked.
Enya frowned and put down her peeling knife. She looked deep in thought, as though she were searching for a word at the tip of her tongue, stubbornly refusing to surface.
“The people are afraid of Cor because they haven’t seen him,” Shyla said. “If the two of us are out and about and see us, it’ll all settle down.”
She took Cor’s hand, and the touch was electric. She smiled at him, and Cor found himself looking up at Mother, desperately hoping she’d let him go out with Shyla.
“Why are people scared of Cor?” Plyan asked.
“Keep peeling your potato, dear,” Enya said. “Shyla, I hope you’ll understand when I say I’m worried for my son. Can this wait a few days?”
“Of course,” Shyla said. She let go of Cor’s hand and bowed. “May the Spirit send his blessings upon you.”
“May his servant send you strength, dear,” Enya said.
Shyla gave Cor a little wave and squeezed his arm before turning and heading out of the kitchen, across the little foyer, and out the front door.
“You should have seen her to the door.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to see me,” Cor spat.
“Cor!”
Cor ran to his bedroom and closed the door and put his back against it, heaving. He half expected his mother to come barreling through the door behind him, wielding her wooden spoon, but there was only silence and the sound of knives against a cutting board.
Cor sagged against the door and sat on the ground. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was like there was just a big emptiness inside him, and emptiness that had been growing over the last four days. He was sick of being cooped up indoors, soaking up the acrid pensiveness that seemed to drip from his parents. He wanted to go out. He wanted to breathe the sharp autumn air and feel the wind from the treetops. And he wanted to be with Shyla.
He got up and crossed his room to the window above his bed and pressed his face against the pane. Through the smoky glass, he could see the home across the narrow path–Hunter Anir’s home–and a little ways to either side, but not much more than that. There were no people in view; the village may as well have been deserted. Cor kept his face to the glass a little longer before sinking down onto his bed and crawling under the sheets. He was feeling weak and had the beginnings of a headache; perhaps he was catching whatever Gimor was sick with.
***
Cor awoke to a sharp rapping. It sounded like a bird at the window, but it was dark out. He sat up, shivering at the chill that slithered in underneath his clothes, and put his face to the window. Two eyes stared back at him.
He let out a startled cry and fell back.
“Cor, it’s me,” Shyla’s muffled voice came through the window.
Cor returned to the window and pressed his face against it. “What are you doing here?” he whispered as loudly as he dared.
“Are your parents asleep?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you check?”
Cor went out into the hallway and tiptoed his way to his parent’s room next door. It was silent. He went and checked the kitchen and living room, and they were dark and empty. He returned to the window and made his report.
“Then go for a walk with me,” Shyla said.
“Now? How late is it?”
“It’s to make up for this past afternoon,” Shyla said. “There’s something I wanted to show you.”
Cor’s heart jumped a little in his chest. He had never snuck out in the middle of the night–he would have never dared to–but at this moment, he wanted to, and the desire was terrible. “Can’t you give it to me tomorrow morning?”
“It’s something you can only see at night, and it’s meant to be a secret, just between you and me,” Shyla said.
That was enough. “Give me a minute,” Cor said.
In moments, he changed into a new shirt and a fresh pair of trousers. Then he crept his way down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the foyer. With trembling fingers, he undid the little bolt that kept the door from swinging open in the midnight winds and slowly pulled the door open. Twice the door made a low creak that seemed to boom throughout the entire house like a war trumpet’s blast. But nobody in the house stirred, and soon Cor was out and running around to the side of the house where Shyla was waiting.
The air was chill and crisp and smelled of autumn leaves and apples. And when Shyla embraced him, he smelled spice and lavender and the scent of a woman.
“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered.
“It’s good to see you too.”
She pulled away, and his arms felt cold without her. “Come on,” she said, and took his hand.
She led him to the western side of the village, then past it into the forest. They were following the path to the Garden, and presently the walls of the Garden came into view, tall and menacing in the midnight darkness. It seemed to be a giant beast lying asleep in the forest. A beast that smelled of basil and parsley and thyme.
They went past the Garden and its fragrant aromas and continued down the path for some time before Shyla led them into the thicket.
“Where are we going?” Cor asked.
“You’ll see.”
Cor stumbled after her, tripping on unseen roots and scraping his knees on unseen brambles and branches. The night seemed to grow darker around them as they traveled deeper into the forest, closing in on them like a vise, and Cor began to feel a little nervous. He held tightly onto Shyla’s hand and tried to focus on its strength and its warmth–on the electric tingle that seemed to buzz between his skin and hers.
They came to a stop.
Shyla released his hand and put a hand on his shoulder and the two of them crouched. It took Cor’s eyes some time to register what was in front of them. They had arrived at a small clearing in the forest–no more than a few steps across–and by the faint starlight that filtered through the thin canopy above, Cor could make out the glossy ripple of a pond that filled the clearing.
“Is this it?” he asked.
“Hush,” Shyla said. “Watch.”
She dipped a finger into the water, sending a single ripple rolling across the pond. The ripple hit the end of the pond and rippled back in two smaller ripples that died before they could return to Shyla’s finger. There was an instant where everything was perfectly still; there was not a breath of wind, not a single stirring in the forest. Then the next instant, there was light.
Tiny points of light seemed to rise from the bottom of the pond and break above the surface, drifting away like hundreds of glowing dust motes. As Cor watched, the points of light rising from the pond multiplied until the clearing was as bright as a clear night under a full moon. Thousands upon thousands of tiny specks of light glowed all around them, casting the trees and the pond in an ethereal, magical light.
Shyla lifted her finger from the pond, and though new lights ceased to rise from the pond, the glowing motes already in the air remained there, lighting up their surroundings.
“Did you do that?” Cor asked stupidly.
“They’re light-algae,” she said. “You enchant the water a little and they light up.”
She passed a hand through the air and a few of the specks of light clung to her hand, making it glitter. Cor did the same, collecting light with his hand.
“What do you think?” Shyla asked. She sounded expectant, almost shy.
“It’s beautiful,” Cor breathed. He met her eyes. “Beautiful.”
They held each other’s gaze, a diaphanous veil of light floating between them, and Cor felt as though there could be nobody as angelic as the girl in front of him. He kissed her. It was a brief, almost insubstantial, brush of the lips, but he came away breathless.
Her face was still close, and he could feel her soft breath on his mouth.
“Again,” she said.
He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth, and a hot thrill seemed to pass between them–an electric thrill. She fell back and he fell with her, kissing her, and it was as though a sort of power was surging between their lips. A sort of Life. And that power grew, and it began to flow into him. By then, it was too late.
Cor tried to pull away from Shyla, but something prevented him from moving his mouth away from hers. Something hungry that ravenously pulled power from Shyla’s body. And the power burned like fire through his veins, at first merely hot and turbulent, then scalding and unbearable.
The pain grew in intensity as power continued to rush into him, and he could no longer feel Shyla beneath him, no longer feel anything but agony. It was like that feeling when he had touched the mistleaf apple, but amplified into oblivion. Every fiber of his being screamed in pain as though he was being torn to shreds. There was no respite from it, no moment of rest; nothing existed but that pain, at once focused to a burning point, and dispersed across his entire body. The pain was so absolute that he could not even think of the possibility–or the desire–of dying. It seemed to last forever.
And then, it was over.
***
It was dark and everything hurt. There was a hint of smoke and sweet decay. Cor rolled off the lump beneath him and splashed into a puddle of shock-cold water. He jumped up and hit his back on a tree, which produced a flash of pain that nearly sent him back into the water.
He felt weak, and his skin was tender, like it was when he was running a high fever. He sat down on the ground, wet and confused. Where was he? Why wasn’t he in bed?
Something flitted past him at the edge of his vision. He turned to it, and caught the fleck of light just as it went out. The sky had cleared and starlight shone down into the little clearing, making the pond glow an evanescent white. It was silent, almost too silent, and the only thing Cor could hear was his own throbbing heartbeat. There was something to his left; the thing he had gotten up from. It was close–his left hand was almost on top of it–and it was warm, but it did not move. Cor thought he heard it breathing, but realized after several terrified moments that he was hearing his own breath. He sat for another agonizingly long moment before he decided to look. He held his breath and turned his head, slowly, in case a sudden movement might startle whatever the thing was. The lump slowly came into view; long and slender… Like a human body.
He let out a scream. And the night exploded.