Page 10 of We Were Eternal Once

Kirra. I know that word. It is the port by which the pilgrims to the temple start. The walk is short, only several hours by foot.

“We will ride with you,” you say, pushing your skirt aside.

“Got coin?” he asks.

I have nothing but a bag of dirt around my neck and the stolen clothes on my body. I look to you, ready to say that I can walk, that I am ready for our journey together, even if by foot.

But your face is unrecognizable.

Your red eyes pulse, gems glistening from a dark pit. They lock on the man, fixed with an intensity that draws me up short. Your lips part and your voice is melodic, cloying, slipping through the air like incense smoke.

“You will take us at no charge,” you say. My skin prickles, the hair on my neck standing on end. My body bows to you, drawn by the power in your voice. It sings through our shared blood, a draw on my will.

“I will take you at no charge,” he echoes. When the horse shies again he doesn’t move to correct her, the reins loose in his hands.

“You will make no mention of seeing us,” you continue.

“I saw no one on my journey to Kirra,” he says.

Your eyes temper as they turn on me. I hold my breath, waiting for the next strike. Will it land on me? Instead, you smile and extend your hand. I take it, following you into the back of the cart.

The man clucks and the horse plods on to Kirra.

“How did you do that?” I ask. You lean against the food in the cart and turn your attention on the road behind us.

“I will teach you many things, things you never dreamed yourself capable of. I will teach you to hunt humans and have them forget they’ve been bitten,” you say.

“Make them forget?” I ask.

You turn to me, pushing a lack of hair behind my ear. “Yes, psiche mou. It is how we stay alive. Come, enjoy the road. We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

A casual use of such a power. The hair on my arms doesn’t lay flat, even as I rest my head on your shoulder. The olive trees disappear behind us.

The First Kill

The world unfurls before me, and I am transfixed.

You’ve jostled me to the front of the cart to sit next to the man, gaze no longer trailed behind, but ahead. Ahead to the plain of olive trees that give way to the sea.

“Does it go forever?” I ask, though I can see peaks in the distance. Does the water skirt it, or simply end? Is this the only body of water in the world? I must know the answers to all of this; I must travel the lengths of the water to test my theories.

“No,” you say. You’re behind me, your body pressed close, your mouth on my ear. You pick up my hand and point. “To the west, the Ionian Sea. To the east,” you move my arm once more, pointing the opposite direction. “The Aegean Sea.”

“And this sea?” I ask.

“The Gulf of Corinth,” you answer.

The man turns the cart down the streets of the city Kirra. There are few people on the street, most of them paying us no mind. I track them all as we move, the slow plod of their hearts singing in my ears. I lick my lips, trying to clear them of the saliva that pools there.

“Soon,” you say, resting a hand on my wrist. I consider the man in the cart next to me, but your grip tightens.

He leaves us before an inn, not saying a word as he trots his mount onward. She’s quick to be rid of us, her hooves kicking up dirt as she dances away.

Inside the inn is quiet, the keeper the only soul. His gaze lingers on your face, your hair, then to mine. You step forward and speak in a way I’ve never heard before. Your accent is that of mine, clipped and precise, as though you’d served at the temple your whole life.

“We’re in need of a private room,” you say.

“They’re reserved,” the man replies, crossing his arms.