Two taps to plunge the ax.
Two taps to crush the weak.
Two taps to meet The Father.
One tap to make them scream.
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⚠️ Content warning: This article contains gore and attempts of sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
As Jonah hews each log, his palms sting with every ax swing, with bits of skin shorn from his hands. Much like his body, his fingers tremble as he is not nearly as strong as he once was. The late November breeze grows more uncomfortable with each passing day. Some trees are a dull red, while others have lost them entirely. As if they have thin, bony claws reaching out to the sky and out toward the sun.
He feels the noon's rosy burn caress his back. Oh, the sun! Its warmth's kiss eases his days.
His daughter, Edith, approaches him, bearing a bowl of milk and honey in hand. She sits him down as she lends him the bowl. “Good morning.” She kisses her father's cheek and then grabs the pommel. He quickly lay his hand on her wrist before she can wrench it away from him.
“I am not done, child,” he says to her.
She frowns. "You need rest, Father, please."
"I rest when we are provisioned for winter. Not before."
Her forehead wrinkles with tight-lipped defiance. "As you will," she says.
She lets him take the pommel from her, but her eyes linger on him, pondering why he insists on breaking himself. Already at nineteen years old, Jonah can see her late mother in Edith. Her eyes are as deep blue as the ocean, and her headscarf covers her black webbed hair with the many red spots on her cheeks.
“I can ask Eric to come by if you need any aid?” She says.
Eric, Father Philips' apprentice for their church and soon-to-be husband for Edith. Jonah remembers the day Eric approached him for his daughter's hand in marriage and how eager Jonah had been to give him his blessing. Not only is he ordained, but Eric has always been good to his daughter since they were both children. The Phillips' are good friends to the Godwinsons', the first to welcome them off the settlers' boat.
He shakes his head in response.
Edith turns away, making a sound between a sigh and a grunt. “Then I will take my leave," she says, walking towards the dirt path.
Tap. Tap.
Edith stops moving and lets out a cry.
Him.
There looms the Red Angel. Clad in soaked red robes, hands clasped as in prayer, and long fingers with clawed tips. Its bloody wings stretch like a vulture and has the head of a wolf’s skull. It has seven eye sockets but with horns protruding through each hole. When it speaks, its voice is as low as thunder, which would have had Jonah on his knees if he were standing.
"Take the ax."
“Begone Satan!” Jonah hisses. “I tire of you.”
The Red Angel says nothing.
How dare he mock our Lord? After some time, The Red Angel finally advances to him. Jonah grips the pommel to hoist himself and pry the axe from the stump. He readies for a swing, but in a blink, there is Eric in front of him.
“Mr. Godwinson!” He pleads, putting his arms up to shield himself from the attack.
“I could have had your head, boy!” Jonah shouts and sits back down.
“My apologies, sir.” Eric bows.
“What do you need?”
"I was wondering where Edith might be?"
"You just missed her," pointing him to the path that led to the river, "you have e better chance at reaching her than I do."
"Ah! Thank you, Mr. Godwinson. God-willing, I hope you can make it to the wedding."
"I'm not that old. Besides. You have The Lord's grace. I'm sure you'll do right for her."
"I swear that I will."
Jonah waves his hand. “And please. Call me Jonah.”
"Jonah. Thank you, again."
They bid their farewells and he watches him follow the path to Edith. As he walks, Jonah plunges the ax down his skull. He pulls it out and the crack erupts blood like a broken dam.
Jonah seizes these thoughts and buries them deep in his soul, with Eric finally passing the tree line. He turns to see The Red Angel again. Standing over him, watching and judging through that terrible helm.
Lord, grant me strength.
Edith knows that her father is not well.
He is stubborn, but he is a bad liar. She passes through the settlement to catch up with the other girls in front of her. But she also hears rapid crunching closing in behind her. Eric's voice calls her name and she pictures his short brown hair, round face, and green eyes. All those things have her chest warm up.
Half of her wants to keep him in the pursuit, but she eventually relents and spins her body to him.
“Good morning, Edith.” He says.
“Good morning, my beloved." Her lungs are getting heavier. She craves to hold him, but she restrains herself until the wedding night comes. She wants it to be special for both of them. "How are things with Father Phillip?” she asks.
“Ah, the same. Though, I must say he has been obsessing over Revelations. I fear that his search for prophecy will drive him away from us and God. But never mind me, how are you?”
“It was cold, but the sun finally showed itself.” She says, swaying her body in glee.
Eric giggles while following her movements. Though he slows himself, and he somewhat drops his smile.
“And your father? I spoke to him early today, and he seemed… troubled.”
That is what they all say about him, troubled, as if a beast stalks him. “I will speak with him soon,” she assures him.
“Edith…Should anything happen, you are always welcome to take sanctuary within the church. You can stay there for as long as you like.”
His eyes were soft yet uneasy. She hopes that Eric won't hate her father down the future, but he is kind and gentle, and surely it won't happen. Surely, he and Jonah will be accepted into The Kingdom of Heaven.
“Thank you, Eric. I will keep that in mind. But I promise you, he will be fine. As will I.”
"I understand. I worry for you, is all."
"Walk with me if you worry," she returns to her path with her betrothed at her side.
They tread down the trail, listening to the pebbles crunching beneath their shoes. Despite the cold creeping up on them and the trees losing their red leaves, the bright blue skies warms the pair.
Edith recalls Jonah telling her that God was with them when they sailed across the seas to these strange lands. He assured her that so long as she submitted herself to the will of the Lord, she would be safe.
With that in mind, Edith offers a silent prayer to heal Jonah of his illness.
They go to the river and follow it downstream to where the lake is where the water looks black and still. They approach the lake and the other women bow and smile at Eric when they arrive.
Before Edith takes another step, Eric pulls her close to pepper her cheek with four kisses. Edith hides her face from the cooing from the women. He's already long fled before she could say or do anything.
Hazy with the rush of that moment, it feels like she's floating towards the lake, and she can scarcely concentrate on the dirty sheets and clothes she's there to wash.
With the autumn chill and these waters, her fingers numb after twisting the fourth sheet. She despises the cold. The dismal chill brings brown and ruins to the land she calls home.
Looking up, Edith spots a black spider that could be half the size of her palms on the girl in front of her. Its thin legs gently creep from her shoulder down to her back.
"Sarah," Edith whispers, "your shoulder…"
She sees the woman tense and swell as if to scream, so she lays her hand on the woman's shoulder.
It is an instinct she's familiar with, to lay hands on flesh to smother its wild energy. It is a command. Be still. An animal sort of dominance, though Edith does not know whence this strength comes from. In seconds, Sarah's panic is gone, and even her shaking stops.
"Good Edith." The woman swallows, her voice controlled if not calm. "Please…from my shoulder…" She cannot even refer to the spider by name.
Edith stretches her other hand until it tickles the arachnid's legs. It starts to move, but the spider climbs on her fingers. It, too, crawls onto Edith's outstretched palm and awaits Edith's attention.
Upon closer inspection, the spider has a missing leg. Edith's heart swells a little at how much pain it must be in. She stands and walks to a nearby branch to make it its new home, but it seems that it's settling with her fingers. Crawling from one tip to another, it leaves behind its web as it crosses from her middle finger to the wrist as if it could stroll through the air.
Tap. Tap.
With a clamp from her hands, it dies. How simple it is for a giant such as her. Ruler of the world, old and new. To have all as small as this be on her hand.
No.
The spider is still on her outstretched palm, still waiting. She brings her little subject to its new home.
Edith dreams about another life, where the little one could have been hers. She returns to her work, washing hers and her fathers' vestments as the sun continues its movement across the sky. The motion built a comfortable heat in her body. Lost in the repetition of her work, she gazes herself in the black water.
The clothes drop from her shock-stilled hands into the water. She pulls her clothes out and lets the water settle so she can confirm the strangeness in her reflection.
Her deep-set blue eyes have a scarlet glow, like beholding a bonfire through a misty window.
As she stares into them, her fingers softly melt to life again. She brushes them on her cheeks, which meet with a gentle warmth that begins to fade. She picks up her shirt and squeezes it, wringing it dry with all her strength. The warmth blossoms in her face and chest, and it feels like the cold will never again trouble Edith Godwinson.
All the other girls prepare to return to the settlement. Edith makes an excuse that she has one more left. She reaches down to the reflection and sweeps her hands on the water. Gently, she swirls her fingers on the reflection. The water is warm too. The cold she loathed is a distant memory.
Then, the face staring at her with those scarlet eyes twists into something bitter and raw—her gritted teeth, narrowed eyes, and that scarlet glow. It's a horrible thing—so much so that she pulls her hand from the water. She takes her basket and retreats away from the water while she stares at it.
Take it.
Those words echo in her mind, ringing ever so loudly. By the time she returns to the settlement, the ringing stops. Edith thanks God for silencing the devil. The answer is in scripture, and she must meditate on the Savior's love, the only refuge from the enemy with her face and scarlet eyes.
Her walk feels much too long. The warmth at the lake is gone, and dusk's chill returns to trouble her bones. When she arrives at their farm, she is glad to see her father again. He swings his ax much more vigorously than this morning. The logs give way beneath his strikes like paper.
“Father,” She calls out. He does not turn away from the stump. She taps him with the basket, and he looks at her. His hair is wet from his sweat, long and unkempt, with strands of gray making their way to the rest of his scalp.
“Are you all right?” She asks.
“I am.” He continues his work.
“Eric said to me that I may take sanctuary at the church. Father, what did you do to make him say that?”
He grunts while continuing to chop his wood. Her patience makes it clear that she expects an answer. “He startled me. I almost took his head. Will you be going then?” He turns his head when he asks.
“Will you cook and clean on your own?” She tilts her head to him. He doesn't answer her and she feels comfortable letting the silence between them linger. She fills her ears with rustling branches, soft breeze, and chirping crickets.
“I am a burden, Edith. I'm sorry."
“I did not say that.”
He pauses, then huffs.
"I'm happy for you. Eric is a good man. Young, Strong. A man of God. You don't have to trouble yourself with me."
“I may trouble you for as long as I wish.” His daughter rushes forward and embraces him. He presses her close to him with his free arm. Something about her weight and momentum causes his nerves to scream and his limbs to buckle. His legs give way from under him but Edith supports him with her strength and she helps him the rest of the way to the house. He uses his ax to balance himself as they go up the porch.
“Edith," he calls.
“Yes, father?”
“Thank you. You saved my life. You save my life.”
Edith isn't sure what to say, so she lets him speak.
"Your mother would be so proud of you."
Her throat gets tighter, but she pushes that feeling down. “Let us be inside before it gets dark,” Edith says.
With his ax in his other hand, they walk into their home. She fixes him dinner and puts him to bed, too lost in thought to do much else but watch him try to sleep.
It is a miracle how he can still hold that ax of his, let alone swing it. She kisses his forehead goodnight and retreats to her own bed to slumber.
Except she doesn't.
It is a stationary agony, where minutes feel like hours. Her head. It's like something is puncturing her skull, digging and digging, and never stopping. She grips and tears her covers, writhing, driven mad.
She wants the pain to stop. And the pain tells her it will if she digs her claws into the flesh of her fellow.
She crawls out of bed and scrambles to the door, desperate for a reprieve. The burning in her skull abates as she approaches the door like the waxy moonlight is dousing the fire. Edith laughs despite herself, sheer relief turning to euphoria. She gently opens the door and creeps outside.
She has to bite her hand to kill a new scream of pain. The fire in her head rages greater than before. She tumbles backward into the relative cool of her house, the door slams shut behind her and the pain recedes again.
Through her fevered gasps and blood-red thoughts, she realizes the pain and its relief are leading her toward her father's room.
With light taps of her toes, she uses her ears to listen to where the boards creak. Even through the closed door, she can hear his loud snores. Bit by bit she crawls, giving thanks every step that her father is a heavy sleeper. Thanks to whom? She wonders for the first time who to blame for the fire or bless with its relief. Could the bible explain this? Was this a new understanding of God, or the discovery of His peer? Opening the door made the whole house rumble, but Jonah's slumber-breathing bellows undisturbed.
The pain leads her to Jonah's bed and then commands her to kneel, and under Jonah's bed her hands reach into the darkness—grabs onto something solid, something that feels right. Carefully, she withdraws a box. There's a strong-looking lock on it.
Just as she felt the weight of the box in her arms, her anguish stops completely.
Take the ax.
The scarlet haze turns her attention to her father's pommel, but her ravenous curiosity compels her to seize it. Where did these scarlet thoughts come from? Why does she hunger for her neighbors' blood? It burns more than the pain ever did.
She grabs the pommel and reminds herself her father is resting. She opens the door and, with haste and silence, escapes the house. She goes as far as she may, but not too far to be lost. Edith notices the moon does not seem blue tonight.
Edith tosses the wooden thing down and hoists the heavy tool up. The red moon shining downward at her and the glimmering metal lock. She makes a guttural sound that reminds her of a dog's growl. She swings—she feels so much strength in the blow. The lock breaks and the box snaps open. She feels at peace.
She drops Jonah's ax onto the dirt. There's a book. She examines it by the lunar light. On the black cover gleams silver words: "A Chronicle of the Daevas."
After replacing the ax and pushing the box back under Jonah's bed, Edith sneaks back to her room and cracks open the tome, reading by the light of four candles.
How long has he hid this from me? Why? She notices the candle flames dance to an unseen wind.
So many questions spiral within her. She reads one page, and the one turns to many—
Disgust would not describe the ache in her stomach. These 'Daeva' were enemies of God. Monsters. Demons. Edith struggles to find the words to properly describe them. Those brutal appetites Edith keeps at bay, the 'Daevites' fed freely with wanton bloodshed. She wonders how life had become so cheap to them.
And yet…she wants to know even more. She reads and reads all night, and it does not feel nearly enough to grasp, but she hears the singing of morning birds. Jonah would soon stir. She closes the book and hides it under her pillow, then blows out her candles to drift at long last to her bed.
.
.
.
Edith opens her eyes and the sky bore crimson with only seven bright stars circling each other. She sees something dangling from the high branches. Its long legs creep down onto the surface, and once it makes its way to the dirt, it crawls to her with its seven legs. The monster looks like Edith. Its body wore wet red robes, and a mouth that bore fangs reaching to the ears. It has seven large unblinking eyes that gaze through her like blades puncturing cloth.
"Come." Its voice is deeper than any man or beast. Edith drops to her knees with face kissing the ground and hoping it does not torment her any further. She prays that God shall free her from this nightmare. The creature turns its body halfway to her and just stares, waiting for her to come forth. With no other choice, she follows the demon down the path. The same path where the women go to wash their clothes.
Once they see the lake, the seven stars descend and float right where the trees peak. The demon takes Edith's hand and walks her to the lake. Before its legs could reach the water, Edith stops. It turns to her and lays out an arm, gesturing for her to enter the water.
“What do you want from me?” She asks the monster, to which it does not reply. It stares at her with those horrid eyes. But her arms, legs, everything is so cold. She walks to the demon and takes its warm hand. It leads her into the lake and walks just above the surface of the water, while Edith's steps sinks further down. It releases her hand, allowing her to swim. The lake is like the summer sun. Holding her while she floats and awes at the circling spheres.
“Are you Satan?” She asks it, though she wishes she had not. It shakes its head.
"Lata Kakaht." Its voice sounds familiar to Edith. She's less frightened of not just the face and body, but its presence. As if it could split this world into two, and Edith will still breathe.
“And what are you, Lata Kahaht?” She asks. It points at Edith.
“What do you mean?”
“You will know soon enough.”
“You… Are you why my father is fearful?” Like Jonah, it remains silent. “Are you?!”
“His torment is his own doing. What do you know of your family?”
“All of my family are in London. I don’t know much about them.”
“Further.”
“Why do you wish to know?”
"So. He has told you nothing. Shame."
The world rumbles around them. The seven stars become more jagged and erratic. Lata Kahaht looks up and observes the falling domain.
“Speak the word, “Ravatah”, for it will save you."
“I don’t understand!”
“You will. You are my child, after all.”
A hand grabs Edith's hair and pulls her into the depths. She screams out from her bed. Jonah barges through the door and searches the room with no seeming intruders or creatures. He takes her in his arms with a mother's reassurance. The window is raining with white flakes and with howling winds.
“Father?”
“Yes, Edith?”
“What are The Daeva?”
He is silent for a time. He release his embrace, but his arms were still grasping her shoulders.
“Who told you that name?” He shutters.
“I- I do not know. I had this dream, yet, I don't-” she tries to recollect it. But akin to this storm, she cannot see or comprehend it. It is simply gone, except for that question and the curiosity of the knowledge that her father keeps from her. “Can you please tell me about them? Did grandfather and grandmother know?”
“Edith, Speak no more of this.” He demands.
“But father-” He shakes her body.
“I said stop!” He shouts. They sat there, eyes unblinking. Father’s face softens, realizing what he had done. He hangs his head low and loosens the grip he has on her. “Edith… I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me.” He whimpers on her thighs. Edith holds his head and shoulders close with this foreign responsibility. Since her mother's passing, she has never seen him cry like this.
“Father?” Edith tilts her head.
“My blood. My damned blood! I am a curse to this family!” He shouts.
“Don’t say such things. The Lord shall cleanse you of all sin and evils.”
“You don’t understand. He cannot-” He chokes on those words as if the next thoughts that expel from his mouth would be a sure way to be under retribution for speaking blasphemy against God.
“I swore that I could end it. After what I saw with my mother and father. I just could not let it take me. Good God, your mother. She was an angel. You, Lucy, and our Lord were all I needed. I thought coming here would have us start again. But it has followed us.” He stops for a moment, wrapping his arms around her waist. “No. No, I will stop it. I will protect you for as long as I draw breath.”
She chose not to ask any more of the Daeva. She doesn't wish to see her father like this anymore. Helpless, afraid, hurt. Her father is none of these things. She has faith that he will do everything he said he would to keep them safe. So long that it shall keep him away from despair.
Tonight is Edith's night. Jonah's arm wraps around his daughter as they walk down the aisle with Eric awaiting his bride. Eric and Edith meet, Eric gives a nod to Jonah, which he reciprocates. Father and daughter kiss each other's cheek, then he goes to take his seat.
Father Philips proceeds with the ceremony. Jonah considers himself blessed, even with all that has happened to him, God is good. His faith and discipline were rewarded with his daughter in that simple yet beautiful white dress. Perhaps he can rest, knowing Edith is in good hands.
But then Father Philips went back to his old habits.
“In Proverbs, Chapter Six, verses seventeen to nineteen show us what the Lord despises. ‘Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies, and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.’ Now how do we find such things? We are often distracted by forces that require our attention. No time to weed out those who may consider any of these actions. That is why we must recognize that God is Truth, absolute. Whatever secrets you hold. Whatever lies you speak of. God is aware of it. So I must ask you, why does one persist? Why would one continue these evil acts, despite knowing that God is watching? Could it be shame? Such as when children break frail things and never admit it to their fathers and mothers. Much like when Adam and Eve chose not to admit that they ate the forbidden fruit. And if it is shame, why hold onto it? Is shame greater than faith in our Lord? It does not have to be for there is hope for all of us. I see two paths: One where you will be truthful to yourself, your people, and God. The other is God ripping the truth out from you. Regardless, it will be bare and all will see. I hope that all of you will live honestly so that the shame of sin shall not conduct you. Lest that you hold onto them and be given righteous justice.”
The silence was uneasy. Philips resumes with the ceremony like nothing happened. Though, something about his preaching spoke to Jonah this time.
“The pastor speaks the truth.” The Red Angel whispers. He peers from his left to see it walking towards Father Phillips. Jonah's throat fills with thorny branches. He could not warn him or anyone for that matter. The Angel walks through Phillips like a man passing by an ant. The Red Angel faces Christ. As Philips continues his rambles, The Red Angel takes its right hand and signs the cross on itself and onto him.
At first, Jonah thought it was mocking Jesus. But the devil would never acknowledge him as God at all. But this monstrosity did. Jonah doesn't know what to make of it.
The Red Angel turns to face the crowd, gazing his grotesque head onto them, to Jonah. Philip's voice is nothing, not like its mighty presence. A monumental sovereign who reigned over the first men with the will of steel, fire, and blood. To attest creation that its people have a right to live. With its left hand, it reaches behind the back of its skull.
Tap. Tap.
There is a sharp stab through Jonah's mind. He covers the back of his head in hopes of stopping the bleeding but when he checks his palm, there is nothing. The blade, wherever it comes from, still stabs him relentlessly.
“This is your doing.” Bellowing through the church, Jonah would have believed that the very foundation would sink and that it would crush them all.
Why can nobody witness this?! I am not mad, I am not mad, I am not mad, I am not mad! O, my dear Lord, save me! I beg of you!
“Deny me, and this will be your life. Suffering and madness until death. Edith will be alone. That is when I shall take her.”
“You will do no such thing!” He stands. “I will have your damn head before you lay a finger on her!”
That evil head grew strands of muscle, wrapping and gripping the base of the red bone. It simply smiles. It is a smile that stretches across all that is known. Painting the walls, the floors, the lights, and the air in its color. “There he is.”
In a rage, Jonah's body shoots forward at The Red Angel and strikes with a hardened fist. He brings it down on its back and the surge of excitement overpowers his body. He blinks and sees Father Philips on the floor in The Angel's place. Someone tackles Jonah to the floor and then holds his arms to his back while pressing his face onto the wood. So many voices echo through with faces of shock and judgment.
“The Devil was here,” he utters. “He was here! He walks amongst us, day in and day out! He-”
“Be quiet!” Jonah's subduer cuts him off. “How is Father Philips?”
“Mr. Godwinson!” Philips groans, and his subduer allows him to turn his head to face the pastor. He holds his nose which leaks red as they stain his robes. With assistance, Philips rises to his feet, “never step foot in the settlement until Christ has healed you from your madness.”
“But Father Philips, please!”
“You are done, Jonah! Leave!”
There is nothing else that Jonah could have said. They all are firm in their perception of him. The subduer finally releases Jonah and forces him to stand. While walking out, he did not expect Edith to follow. He just ruined her wedding night.
Lost in his thoughts, he misses a step and trips, yet Edith clings to her arm and holds him up. Jonah stays silent while they make their way back home.
She must despise me. She should. As should God.
Winter is being especially cruel with the howling winds enveloping the settlement. Despite this, Jonah's face and body grow warm, though not for his benefit. He would attempt to leave his bed and insist that he must chop his wood. He could build a whole new settlement for the people overseas if given the chance. Instead, he would lie on the wood, as Edith picks him up and rolls back his covers.
After that night in the church, he has been met with shuns and accusations of being possessed by The Devil. That God has forsaken him. Edith tried to defend him but then they accused her of witchcraft and bewitching Eric soon after.
In his slumber, he mutters profanities about the woes of his youth. He would call his late wife, Lucy, as his final refuge. Atoning of taking her as his bride.
This self-deprecating, impulsive, and stubborn man is all Edith has left.
I am not ready to let you go. So, I beg of you, my Lord. Do not take my father away yet. For if you do, I will destroy you.
Edith feels a needle piercing through her head. Burrowing and gnawing like a ground worm.
Forgive me. I do not know what came over me.
She knows she needs help to heal her father. One for this curse, and one for his fever. Eric’s name rings through her mind while she wraps herself in thick coverings. The moment she pulls the door, snow sticks onto the floors.
With a final glance at her father, she shuts the door behind me. Everything is pure white, although the trees made their darkness visible. She marches to the snow-covered path and the rest of the settlement. Everyone is inside, though she expects them looking through their windows, judging and cursing her. They don't matter to her now. Only Eric and his knowledge of healing could save them. She hopes, she prays that he still offers sanctuary.
She knocks on the deep brown doors for Lord knows how long until Eric finally answers.
“Edith?” He takes her inside and closes the doors. “What are you doing here?”
“Was I not offered sanctuary?” She retorts.
“You were. But-”
“I need your help.” She removes one layer off and sits on a pew. She slides herself over for Eric.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Do you still have any herbs or anything for the fever?”
“We do,” his head hangs low, “but some have already taken much of it. We don’t have much left.”
Edith snatches his hands, they are warm and soft, as always. “I beg you, then, give me what’s left.”
“You are not allowed here anymore,” he says, shifting his eyes, and then facing away from her.
“Please, Eric!” She tightens her grip so much that she could be crushing his hands. “At least ask our Lord to show mercy.”
His eyes frequently dart around the church, checking if he is being watched by Phillips. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he is not. Edith doesn't care.
“With your help, you can save him from this foul wickedness that consumes him. If you help me, I shall devout myself wholeheartedly to our Lord.”
She rests her hand on his thigh, his head perks up. “And perhaps, to you. If you wish to have me again.” Edith lightly scratches his knee. She can see his teeth clench to hold in his heart for her.
“The Lord watches us.” He whispers.
“He is.” She rubs her cheek with his. “He knows that I make no lie to you.” She eases her fingers higher on his leg and near his waist. “You will have nothing but my love.”
He stands and gazes at her, “I will go get them for you,” he whispers and makes his way to another room. She turns to look at Christ, perched on the wall with his thorny crown.
The closer she looks, Edith does not see a face of judgment or sternness like Philips. He looks sad. Tired, even. A passing thought that He does not deserve them, nor do they deserve Him. Guilt weighs her lungs. For how dare she think of destroying such a soul as kind and merciful as His? He died to save us from sin. And she repays him by proving the people right.
Have mercy on us. She gives her last plea if he listens.
Eric returns with the herbs and he hands them to Edith.
“Spare as much as you can.” He tells her.
“Thank you, Eric.” She steals a kiss from him and wraps herself again before exiting the church. She takes one last look at him. He's like a statue, with his mouth agape. He shakes his head and speaks, "I would. I don't know how. But I would have you again. Somehow, someway."
"Thank you, my love." She closes the door behind her.
Edith rushes back with cold flakes smacking her face with the last bit of hope she carries. She returns home with her chest getting heavier by the breath. There is a crowd of thirty on the front. Jonah is outside, holding onto his tree stump. One man pushes him off and has his face buried in the snow. Edith dashes to them to defend her father once more.
“Get off him!”
Two other men grab a hold of her. They were around her age, giggling like children.
“Can you see The Devil too?” One of them taunts.
“She’s a witch!” The other gasps and laughs.
“What do you want from us?” She asks them.
“We want to know what Satan looks like since he says he saw him!” One of them replied
“Or maybe he lies. The Lord despises liars,” says Christoph. He is a golden-haired young man with brown eyes and a narrow face. Cristoph grabs Jonah's back and hoists him up to sit him on the stump. He grabs his shoulders to steady him.
“Come now, old man. Try not to lie to us,” he mocks.
“Edith," Jonah groans and holds the Cristoph's wrists, "let her go.”
“Not before you tell us what you saw.” He towers Jonah, pressing his head down on his.
“Don’t be ridiculous, just leave us be!” Edith cries, shaking off the hold but to no avail. One of them snatches the herbs out of her hands.
Edith desperately reaches to get them back, but Cristophs friends hold her arms on her back.
“Look here!” He calls out. Cristoph approaches and looks at them. “Didn’t Eric hand you those for your fever?” He asks one of his friends.
“He did! And he said I was graced by the Lord as that was all that was left.”
“Liars and sinners are everywhere now, friends!” he extends his arms and spins with glee.
“But how did you get a hold of these, Edith?” He gasps, “Mr. Godwinson! How very shameful of your daughter. But I suppose that's how you raise a witch, no?”
“I didn't do anything! I asked and he gave it to me.” Edith barks.
Christoph walks up to her and strikes her mouth. She spits and oozes blood, marking the perfect white ground. He grabs a hold of her head and shoves it down, the frost cuts and burns her face and he yanks it back up. Father yells for Edith she grabs her attacker's arm in hopes of prying it off. He has her facing Jonah, with another young man holding his ax like a toy.
The one holding his ax swings it down near Jonah's head, almost taking it. Edith tries to crawl to him but she couldn’t get any closer. One of them plants his foot on Jonah's head, and she feels Cristoph's hands clawing at her body. Cristoph lays on top of Edith and she screams.
“Why are you doing this?!” Jonah musters the strength to ask.
“Because we can.” Cristoph shoves his hand down the back of her head. “Who is going to miss a madman and his whore daughter?”
“Edith! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He weeps.
I don't want it to end like this. My father did what he thought was best. He was scared, that was all. He never wanted any of this for us, I know he didn't. I want to hug him one last time.
All she can do is join him in his weeping.
“I have seen enough.” The voice booms through both their skulls. The snow seems so much slower than before. There stood the creature red-stained robes and long spider legs. And the other beside it, an Angel with a head of a beast. “Make them scream, my children.” They speak in unison. Edith remembers the dream. The word that embodies great power. Jonah and Edith gaze at each other’s shining red eyes.
Tap.
For Jonah, he is the Horned Titan: Ranka Dūgra.
For Edith, she is the Dancing Hunter: Masso Vakamū.
Cristoph wraps his arm under Edith to feel her skin. Then legs from her back tear through his chest and split him into several pieces.
Everything burns.
Her eyes see all that is around her as they push through the skull. Fangs puncture out from her mouth, and her screech is worse than any pig. Jonah bit a young man's foot off and takes his body as a weapon, slamming him to his friends while he grows larger with seven horns sprouting from his head.
He grabs onto his ax and pours his soul into it, making it larger, more fit for war as his wings sprout from his back. Jonah flurries his axe onto the crowd, while some try to flee.
Edith hops through the trees and snatches them up. Stabbing them with her sharp appendages or gnawing their heads from their necks. Their blood is sweet yet bitter. Her hunger could not be filled with such small prey but it suffices. Over and over again, she tears them until there is none left.
Once she finishes, she leaps from tree to tree, meeting her father who is still dealing with his prey. He swings his ax down on one of the intruder's shoulder, splitting him in two. He slices another man's legs and then finishes him off by slamming the blade through him.
One manages to slip past him for a time until Father flies high up and throws his ax at him.
The runner splatters on the tree bark as the ax splits him and brings down a few more trees with it. Jonah extends his hand and the ax flies back to its wielder's grip. He lands, and Edith jumps near him. Her new appendages gave way and turn to dust, as did her fangs and eyes. A red cloud envelops Jonah until he collapses on the snow. She rushes to help but he bounces back on his feet. Amazed, he gazes at his arms and wiggles his legs. Doing little hops and finding the perfect balance.
“Feeling well, Jonah?” They both glance at where the voice came from. In front of them are The Red Angel and The Seven-Legged Spider. Lata Kahaht.
“What did you do to us?!” he shouts at them.
“I gave you the chance to bring justice to those who wronged you. To be your true selves. Look around.”
Patches of red and white surround us with chunks of meat scattered across. The minced bodies leaking little rivers of red.
“This is good for you. For none shall ever harm you.”
“You… You did this!”
Jonah hastily approaches him, but Edith shouts:
“Father, look!” She points to the small glows of yellow and orange approaching them with hints of chatter. “We must leave now while we still can.”
“Or you may fend them off.”
Jonah looks at the approaching settlement and then at his daughter. He rushes inside and throws Edith new clothes for both of them, a sack of dry food, and his ax. “Come, Edith.”
“You have much to learn, my children.” Lata Kahaht grins at them while they run past their apparitions.
The snow is starting to pick up more winds, but not enough to cover the tracks they leave behind.
From the distance, Edith hears their wailing for the settlement's dead brothers, sons, and nephews. Tonight, they will give chase for as long as they can. Tomorrow, they will use hounds to sniff them out and follow wherever they may be.
Edith's thoughts drift to Eric. She would understand he considers her and her father monsters.
She wishes that wasn't true. She wishes that she had not lied to him, especially in the presence of Christ. She wishes her father would tell her something, anything about what they are.
If Lata Kahaht speaks the truth, then they were foolish to think that they could ever be servants to God.
At least, that's what she believes.
All she knows is that they are Daeva. They follow one law if they wish to survive. To be stronger. She does not doubt that they're the first or last of our kind.
As they dash through the cold, there are glimpses of what Lata Kahaht is trying to rebuild. A mighty Empire.
Edith glances at her father. For a moment, she thinks there’s a smile on his face.