----------------------------------------

The door to Marat’s room opened slowly. There was no knock, and Val peeked in before entering. He sat on the bed, his pant leg rolled up. When she entered, he went to pull it down hurriedly, but it caught on an exposed and twisted piece of metal.

Val paused in the doorway; she had not fully seen the fake leg before. Nothing about it was curious, but she realized too late that her pause alone had done the damage. He did not meet her eyes as he straightened the pant leg and covered it.

“I wanted to talk.” She said, consciously avoiding addressing his embarrassment as if nothing happened.

“Hm.” Still not looking at her, he turned and grabbed a glass of water off the nightstand. She sat down next to him.

“I…” She hesitated; she had battled with herself for hours as to whether she should tell him. “...I saw Erlan, Marat.”

“Yeah, so did I.” He muttered. As he did, the smell of spirits hit her. It was not water in his glass.

“No.” She shook her head. “I spoke to him.”

This seemed to catch his full attention. He looked at her with a certain intensity, making her regret her words.

“And you didn’t tell me?” His words were tense, and they sent dread washing through her.

“He caught me outside, past the courtyard. I didn’t know where you were. I told him,” Val hurried to explain, “I told him that he had to find you to speak to you.”

“So.” He said, taking a deep drink of the clear liquid. “Then he knew I was there.”

She could see how much those words shattered him.

“Marat…” she looked down at her hands, “I think… I think he thought you didn’t want to see him. The banishment.”

He stared ahead now, not at her, rotating the crystal glass in his hands absentmindedly.

“Oh.”

She inched closer to him; if he noticed, he gave no indication. She felt the urge to put a hand on him, to squeeze him, comfort him. But, it was only a hand that she laid on his leg. He flinched slightly at the touch.

“There was something about him; he was different.” She continued. She wanted to tell him everything, but her impressions from the meeting felt muddled. Her feelings and observations felt… wrong.

“Different, how?”

“He was cold. Not his words, but… he was cruel in his eyes. He said he knew my secret.” She said, not ready for his reaction - whatever it would be. He had mourned and missed his brother, and upon seeing him, he did not need her to recount how much she loathed him. Not now. But she could not help herself. Something felt like it must be said. “Our secret.”

“Isn’t it funny, then?” He grinned, his eyes showing no mirth. “That he had been banished over wanting something I now have.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t like hearing him say that. That was not true.

“Perhaps he has ground to feel resentful of me. Reasons for not wanting to see his brother.” He finished, taking another long sip.

“There was more.”

“Do tell.”

“He said he would come for me. Tonight.” It had not sounded like a promise to Val; it sounded like a threat, and she tried to find the words to convey that to Marat. “But, I do not feel that his intent was… me.”

The images of that meeting, the feelings, the sounds, the smells, it all felt so vivid at that moment. The fear she experienced, looking into those dead eyes. She felt herself breaking and words getting faster and more frantic.

“It was awful, Marat; I am sorry, but I was so scared. He spoke as if he had all the power over me; I could not say anything to shoot it down - I think - even if I had, he would still come. I wanted to run from him, to find you. It was just like the nightmare.” She felt her hands shaking.

She wanted him to know she did not choose to be there.

“What nightmare?” He asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“At the inn, when I was sick. I had a dream that I saw him by the lake. He was… he was not himself, but, like an after of the river.”

“He was dead.” Marat finished for her.

“Yes. He was. And when I saw him today, I just thought - he looked the same. The same coldness I felt. The same eyes. The same smell.”

“What smell…” Marat asked her a little too quickly.

“It was something like dog fennel. I don’t know…” She said sheepishly; the stupid details he was grilling her about were weighing on her already guilty feelings.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

He set his glass down so rapidly that it almost flew off the table. Standing, he faced her.

“You smelled this? You smelled this in the courtyard?” He asked her, turning to his pack before she could answer.

“Yes… it grew back there, I think; it just reminded me of the dream…”

He had the journal in his hands. He tossed it to her, and she stared at it blankly.

“Look for dog fennel.” He instructed, lowering himself back down on the bed and picking up the glass again.

“Why?”

“By the All-Father, just do it - do there always have to be questions?” His tone was annoyed, but she obeyed, side-eyeing him.

She had read the journal almost all the way through, but Val remembered no mention of dog fennel anywhere. Why it was suddenly interesting to him, she didn’t know. But, if he was having her look, there was something wrong. And it may be that Erlan was in danger.

She flipped the pages, quickly scanning for the plant name.

“I need you to remember anything else about the dream. Any detail. Every detail.” He urged her, his tone kinder now. She thought hard, her eyes still combing through the writing.

“It started with Amir… he was dead too.”

“Hm.”

She looked up at him, surprised that he had outright admitted it when, for so long, it was vague as to how he had left the boy.

“When he disappeared, I smelled the smell. I looked - and in the mud by the water was Erlan.” She continued, trying to recall the dream, “He tried to lure me over, saying he was stuck and needed help.”

Marat didn’t say anything, his eyes on the book, so she continued.

“Then, he dragged himself free and spoke to me.”

“What did he say?” Marat asked.

“He was asking me if I knew what it was like to drown.”

“Specifics.”

“What?”

“Specifics, Valeria; what did he specifically say?” Marat momentarily turned away from the journal, Val thought, to hide his irritation --and took a drink. She thought hard, but as dreams are, it felt vague and far away. The only thing she could recall was his strange manner of speech - referring to himself in third person - and the kiss that had filled her mouth and lungs with water.

“He said not to worry because he found his body by the river… and that I’d done it to him.” She answered quietly.

“He found his body by the river…” Marat repeated slowly, looking up blankly. “What else?”

“He called me Owlet.”

“What else.”

“He asked me if I knew what it felt like to drown.” She repeated.

Marat nodded lightly as if to say that the information was enough, or almost enough.

“Did you know I killed Amir?” Marat asked.

“I thought…”

“Did you know?”

“Yes.”

“And did you know what it feels like to drown?” He asked, still looking ahead.

She hated the question, especially on his lips.

“No. I do now.” She answered.

“Did you ever have anything else revealed to you in your dreams?” He continued thoughtfully. “Any knowledge gained?”

“What?”

“Answer.”

“No, all my other dreams were the reliving of old memories, horrible memories, of the Hag, and of the Glade.”

“That’s because a kikimora pulls from your mind and your mind only.” He said, suddenly looking worse for wear. “And that night, she pulled from somewhere else.”

Val looked at him intensely, trying to cross the barrier of understanding. What was a kikimora?

“The dog fennel. He found him by the river.” He repeated her words quietly, his face defeated, tired, and looking older than it had moments ago. “My brother is dead, Val. He has been for a long time.”

“Marat…” She took the hand on his leg and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “He will forgive you, you will see--”

“No.” He shook his head. He tapped the journal with his finger. “He cannot forgive because he is gone. Under ‘B.’”

She flipped through the journal hesitantly, letting go of him.

“Bauk?”

“No.”

“Beis.” She read out loud, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him take a long, long drink out of the glass. That was it.

“The Beis are necrophagous creatures primarily occupying battlefields and the outskirts of dangerous territories like deserts and cliffsides. They seem to feed on both mortal and Nothing-touched creatures indiscriminately. To do so, the Beis occupies and re-animates the corpse…” She stopped reading aloud, now scanning the pages silently. It was all written in Erlan’s hand.

Depending on the level of decomposition, it can restore certain physical properties that have faded away - this is dependent on the age of the Beis and its strength at the time of the possession. The Beis can feed over the course of three days to several years, again, depending on the age of the Beis - the older, the more likely it is to keep the flesh animated and consume the creature’s memories, knowledge, and physical prowess.

Physical Properties (this part had been written in Marat's awful handwriting): The Beis is small; the entirety of the body is around the size of a fat squirrel. Their glands, regardless of occupation of the body, produce a strong grassy odor not unlike that of cut thoroughwort.

Another name for dog fennel, she thought, horrified.

Life Cycle: Upon birth, Beis can possess the body of a cat. At a decade, they can prey on children, and at a century, they can occupy a fully grown adult.

Irregular Instances of Occupation and Survival: Grown woman shows signs of madness after a trip to the river. She is ill for several days before a priest determines she is crazed. She is executed, and the Beis escapes the previously living body unharmed.

Methods of disposal: Although the Beis cannot be killed in their original form without the use of fire or rosemary and sage-dipped steel, when occupying a body, the Beis are vulnerable to anything that may otherwise kill the flesh again. As it spends all of its strength keeping the body alive while simultaneously feeding on it, a killing blow overexerts it and causes the Beis to essentially eat itself.

-Erlan, Insipid Flatlands, the Year of the Bull.

----------------------------------------