absorb it. But before the last of the shoulders, neck, and head disappeared, it offered one final thought.
“You can help a thing who loves the world destroy it; or you can help a thing who hates it save it.”
And the creature was gone.
Nia was shocked, but what could she do? She couldn’t speak, couldn’t act. Couldn’t warn or advise. She could only wait and reflect.
Something had spoken to her, and something had heard her respond. The creature had even taken credit for her condition. Could it be believed, even if it could not be trusted? If nothing else, Nia came away from the encounter with a fresh feeling she’d all but forgotten.
This really happened. Something caused it. Something knows about it.
And it logically followed that there might be an end in sight after all.
Now, finally—after several years of immobility and a desperate kind of resignation—Nia had something to be afraid of.
It was hard, dragging her consciousness up from the basement where she’d stored it. It was hard, forcing herself to awaken all the way and watch, and listen.
It was terrible, when she was paying attention.
All the awful sensations came back; all the distracting, distressing touches of wind, water, and insects assaulting her stony skin.The sun was blinding and hot, and the shadows were soft and tickling when they brushed back and forth, creeping here and there along her body as the treetops swayed.
She had to strike a balance if she wanted to keep what was left of her sanity. If she withdrew too far, then she slept too much. If she strained too hard to stay alert, then the frustration made her want to scream, all the time, every second.
She tried to train her mind. Sleep some, wake some. Find a cycle.
At first she couldn’t find a good pattern; she missed the things she meant to catch. As she dragged herself up from the comfortable depths of sleep, she’d detect a whiff of smoke, or smell a hint of charred fur or flesh. Down below on the yard before her, there would be fresh spots of burned grass; among the walkway’s paving stones there would be pieces of wax, broken matches, or half a bloody footprint.
When she wasn’t watching, people came and went; small animals were killed and chants were called.
Until finally, she caught them.
It might only have been that their routine changed, and not that she had become more vigilant.
Night had dropped itself onto the island, smothering the sand like a blanket putting out a fire.
A man in black clothes touched Nia’s shoulders. One of his lean hands pressed against her arm while the other hand arranged something light and scratchy on her head.
If she’d been able to jump, she would’ve lurched when she realized how close his eyes were to hers. They stunned her with their immediacy, six inches from her own and staring hard, staring like he believed there was someone inside. And although it had surprised and unnerved her when the crudely shaped beast had spoken, this was somehow worse. It was one thing for a monster toknow her nature; it was another thing for that thin-faced man to gaze at her as if he gathered the worst.
Another flicker of awareness flashed across his face and was gone, and he was gone, too—retreated back into the yard to join six other people who were similarly dressed.
Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he didn’t know after all.
But she’d seen it, for a second. Not perfect knowledge, but an inkling of the truth. She couldn’t decide whether she should cling to it and hope for more, or recoil, because around the edges of the black-clad man’s concentration there was mania, too.
He lifted a hood off his back and draped it over his head. His companions did the same, and together they stood in a half circle, candles in their hands. The tiny orange lights painted their faces with wobbling warmth.
Nia looked closely. She stared as hard as she could, but she could scarcely tell them apart. The first man was quite tall; two others were fairly
“You can help a thing who loves the world destroy it; or you can help a thing who hates it save it.”
And the creature was gone.
Nia was shocked, but what could she do? She couldn’t speak, couldn’t act. Couldn’t warn or advise. She could only wait and reflect.
Something had spoken to her, and something had heard her respond. The creature had even taken credit for her condition. Could it be believed, even if it could not be trusted? If nothing else, Nia came away from the encounter with a fresh feeling she’d all but forgotten.
This really happened. Something caused it. Something knows about it.
And it logically followed that there might be an end in sight after all.
Now, finally—after several years of immobility and a desperate kind of resignation—Nia had something to be afraid of.
It was hard, dragging her consciousness up from the basement where she’d stored it. It was hard, forcing herself to awaken all the way and watch, and listen.
It was terrible, when she was paying attention.
All the awful sensations came back; all the distracting, distressing touches of wind, water, and insects assaulting her stony skin.The sun was blinding and hot, and the shadows were soft and tickling when they brushed back and forth, creeping here and there along her body as the treetops swayed.
She had to strike a balance if she wanted to keep what was left of her sanity. If she withdrew too far, then she slept too much. If she strained too hard to stay alert, then the frustration made her want to scream, all the time, every second.
She tried to train her mind. Sleep some, wake some. Find a cycle.
At first she couldn’t find a good pattern; she missed the things she meant to catch. As she dragged herself up from the comfortable depths of sleep, she’d detect a whiff of smoke, or smell a hint of charred fur or flesh. Down below on the yard before her, there would be fresh spots of burned grass; among the walkway’s paving stones there would be pieces of wax, broken matches, or half a bloody footprint.
When she wasn’t watching, people came and went; small animals were killed and chants were called.
Until finally, she caught them.
It might only have been that their routine changed, and not that she had become more vigilant.
Night had dropped itself onto the island, smothering the sand like a blanket putting out a fire.
A man in black clothes touched Nia’s shoulders. One of his lean hands pressed against her arm while the other hand arranged something light and scratchy on her head.
If she’d been able to jump, she would’ve lurched when she realized how close his eyes were to hers. They stunned her with their immediacy, six inches from her own and staring hard, staring like he believed there was someone inside. And although it had surprised and unnerved her when the crudely shaped beast had spoken, this was somehow worse. It was one thing for a monster toknow her nature; it was another thing for that thin-faced man to gaze at her as if he gathered the worst.
Another flicker of awareness flashed across his face and was gone, and he was gone, too—retreated back into the yard to join six other people who were similarly dressed.
Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he didn’t know after all.
But she’d seen it, for a second. Not perfect knowledge, but an inkling of the truth. She couldn’t decide whether she should cling to it and hope for more, or recoil, because around the edges of the black-clad man’s concentration there was mania, too.
He lifted a hood off his back and draped it over his head. His companions did the same, and together they stood in a half circle, candles in their hands. The tiny orange lights painted their faces with wobbling warmth.
Nia looked closely. She stared as hard as she could, but she could scarcely tell them apart. The first man was quite tall; two others were fairly
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