Page 19 of Souls We Rip

Ten souls were… not impossible. Not if she was a fast learner.

I left the master’s den and rode my horse into the night. The moon was bright, illuminating the graveyard that surrounded the Elk's lair, the sky starless. The graves were filled with soldiers who died in the last war that took place in Romania, their spirits still lingering between the cave walls.

Nothing good had come from the war. At least not for mortals.

For me, the battlefield had been a feast. Souls everywhere, ripe for the taking, each one adding to my years.

My horse galloped faster through the haunting forest that surrounded the cemetery. Aside from its hooves pounding the ground, my ears perked at the songs of owls and the flapping of the bats’ wings, the crisp scent of wood lingering on my cloak.

I was riding for my freedom.

And I had faith that I would succeed. That once again, I will be human.

Until my wrinkled, dying breath.

Her body thrashed in her sleep, her feet kicking at the cold air. From the corner of my eye, I saw the fire subdued to dying embers, the cave’s icy breath swallowing every trace of warmth.

The peasant’s face scrunched with every muscle at once. Her dark lashes fluttered, brushing against her cheeks in restless motion. Soon, she would be awake.

I took my leave, her tormented face imprinting itself on my mind.

Returning to my room, curiosity tugged at me. I wanted to know what she was dreaming. Barefoot, I walked to the Souls’ Mirror, where everyone’s mind resided. Tapping once, I was transported to a world of innocence, where a younger Ana and her sister were watching fish swim.

“Ana, do you think Father will forgive me for neglecting to sell the cheese at the market today?” the girl with blonde hair asked. Her sister, Angelica.

The peasant I took watched her sister, her sky-blue eyes warming.

“It is not your fault, Angi. He should have been the one to wake you up.”

Her sister sighed, her darker eyes moving over the rivers.

Their clothes were dirty and stained, their grey aprons discarded near the edge of the river, washed and rinsed. Their opinci lay recklessly on the water’s edge. Sunlight danced on the drops of water clinging to the girls’ skin.

“How come you are so righteous?” her sister asked, the look in her eyes filled with pride and admiration.

The younger version of the woman sleeping in my spare room turned to her sister.

“It would come in hand, from time to time, to listen to Father Neagu’s sermons.”

“But they are so tedious!” the youngest whined.

“Angi, love is not tedious. And love for the Highest of beings is enough to carry on,” the human explained gently.

“Why?”

“Because when there’s no one left to turn to, He will listen.”

“Does He do miracles?” her younger sister asked, her brows knitted.

“Only if you want Him to,” the peasant smiled. Something in my stomach twitched. “When you are in bad health, do you know to whom mum prays?”

“God,” the child mumbled, dangling her feet over the edge.

“Indeed. After turning to the doctor and the midwife from the village, after oiling your body with every salve she could get her hands on, she turned to God.”

“I only remember her putting a batik soaked in țuică and stuffed with potatoes on me. I don’t remember any prayers…”

“They were there. For days, those were the only words she could speak.”