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We all collectively glanced at Rycon, who nodded. Confirming the widowmaker’s words. There was one more page, that Amon held up for the creature to read.
The creature squinted its eyes and paused for a moment. Amon snarled and tightened the shadows at the creature's hesitation until it winced. Looking up at us, it explained;
“This one, is more difficult to translate. It speaks of forcing a change of state. It can move the victim into a previous state or a new state at the will of the musician. It is not clear on what it means by ‘state’. The example it uses here is a buttermoth changing from a caterpillar into a chrysalis. The tune is simple, it is only the second note held for as long as the user wishes to force the change.” Now I felt unsure. This also felt like something we might need. Could The Origin’s current state be compared to a chrysalis?
“Is that all?” Amon snapped. The creature narrowed his eyes at him but nodded. Suddenly, a large dripping smile spread across its skull-like face. I frowned; I didn’t understand why it was smiling. I really hated these things.
“Rycon?” Amon said his name like a question. The shifter nodded. He almost seemed disappointed that he would not have an excuse to light the thing on fire again.
Amon released the fiend from the hold of his shadows, and it immediately scuttled away. The way it jerked and moved made me jump. It crawled quicker than it should have been able to; up the wall to hang from the ceiling again, a black thread blooming from beneath its horrible child-like night gown.
“Surely, I get a reward for being so… compliant.” It sneered from where it hung on its inky thread. Another glob of black fluid dripped from its mouth as it spoke. Amon looked at it, with that mild bored expression he wore so well.
“Your reward is keeping your intestines intact,” he replied coolly, and the creature pouted.
“Give me the chameleon,” It crooned, “Sometimes, I can taste her fear from here. She is always so far away, though, it is only a small snack. If you let me have her, I could feed off of her nightmares for weeks.” It focused its all-black, pupilless eyes on Kasha, head cocking unnaturally to the side, so that its chin ran parallel with its shoulders. “So many atrocities to choose from. So many delicious violations.” It cooed, its child-like voice turning sickly sweet.
I felt Kasha freeze next to me. Before she could slam down her shields, her terror raked over my skin like a shock of freezing water. Rycon snarled, his pupils dilated into slits and his canines elongated before my eyes. I don't think either of them were expecting it to be me, to retaliate.
Since the Quickening, mastering my magick had almost been easy. It was as if the matter that made up the world were simply another limb I had at my disposal. Down here in the dungeon was no different. With a small flick of my wrist, I had the very atoms that made up the space around the widowmaker tear it back down from its thread and flatten it onto the floor.
It screeched in surprise and tried to push itself up from the ground. I forced the very gravity that surrounded it to increase, crushing it back down. Harder and harder I pressed, until its bones began to pop, and its silk sac burst. It tried to scream but I shattered its voice box without a second thought, and relished in the sound of its wet, garbled gasps.
“If you threaten one of my people again,” my voice was deadly soft as I stepped forward. Each step I took toward the cell increased the pressure on the creature. It squirmed like a spider beneath a boot, and I smiled. “I will put your head in a box and leave your body here to rot. I wonder how long it would take you to heal from that?” I asked, and it froze. It was a crushed, black, and bloody mess on the floor. I knew it would recover, but I was satisfied with the amount of damage I had forced it to sustain.
“I suppose, you now have a delicious violation of your own, to feed on,” I snarled. Before turning away from the revolting thing and stalking back the way we came.
71
None of us spoke, on the way back to the common room. Once we were safely back in the East Wing, Kasha left without a word. I frowned, wondering if I should go after her. Before I could make a move, Rycon turned to us, his face taut with rage.
“What was that thing talking about?” He snarled, and I realized, that he had no idea about Kasha’s past. She must have never told him.
“That is Kasha’s story to tell,” Amon said softly, much as he had told me, when I had first asked. I nodded.
“You should ask her yourself, Rycon. Just be gentle about it. You’re not usually the most… subtle.” I said, trying not to wince. He looked back and forth between us briefly, managing to look both concerned and angry at the same time. Finally, he nodded curtly and turned on his heel, heading out the way Kasha had gone, presumably to find her.
“Well,” Dossidian said solemnly once he was gone. “That was enough to give my subconscious nightmare fuel for the next decade.”
I nodded in agreement. The spiders alone made me want to use Frira’s volcano as my own personal bathing chamber. I shuddered.
Drifting over to The Flute, I picked it up to examine it. I noticed it had only three holes. The instructions the widowmaker had given us were crystal clear. However, I was hesitant to test it out here.
It was a weapon. Holding it reminded me of all the times I had gone to the gun range with Jeremy. He had taught me how to shoot, but he had also taught me about how to be a responsible gun owner.
“Guns are tools Raven. Tools that are designed to do one thing. When you hold this, it is very easy to take someone’s life. The gun cannot tell the difference from an enemy and a friend. The gun cannot tell if you are pulling the trigger on purpose or by mistake. It is your responsibility, to use this tool properly. If this gun kills somebody while it is in your possession, it is no one's fault but your own. Even if you are not the person wielding it. Do you understand?”
Holding The Flute now, and feeling its pull, I understood Jeremy’s lesson more than ever.
“Should we call it a night? We still have tomorrow, before Ash Nevra makes her decision. Assuming she stays true to her promise of three days.” Dossidian asked. Amon nodded.
“She will stick to it. She’s playing some sort of game. She’s toying with us. It will take the fun out of it if she ends her game early.” He said this as if he knew her better than most. I supposed after a few centuries of watching someone torture your friends, you would come to understand their sadistic quirks intimately. My blood boiled at the thought. The memory of Kasha’s terror raking against my aura in the dungeon hit me, and I closed my eyes and clenched my fists.
I would avenge her, and all the others that Ash Nevra had tortured.
We said goodbye to Dossidian, as we made our way back to our room for the night. My heart thrilled, at the thought of it being our room. We entered hand in hand, and Amon closed the door softly behind us. I realized, with a start, that the door closing did not trigger the sense of terror in me that it had when I had first come here. Thinking back now, I realized there had been several instances, up until this point, where Amon had closed the door behind us, and I hadn’t even noticed. I felt warm at the thought. I was safe, with him. I was home.
“I need to take a hot bath,” I told him, remembering the spiders again and shuddering. “That creature is disgusting. I still feel like all those spiders are on me.” He nodded, a smile curling on his lips.
