foundations of decay; k. brekker

foundations of decay.

Nastya Belova Rasputina never wanted greatness. Fate had simply smiled at her, a grin of knives where teeth ought to be. Hail, Hail; to the girl spun from the metal of fibers and fate, they whispered. And the Unsea smiled as it made another orphan, bound by bullet shells and shadows.

And Death smiled too, for it had found a home in the young girl alongside the shadows that would come to accept her as one of their own. For in the darkness she was made, so of that she became.

Nastya Rasputina was only seven when she stopped a bullet. She was only seven when the righteous Fjerdan druskëlle was told of the tiny half-Shu abomination on the Ravkan border, seeing her fix the village's anvil with a brush of her tiny fingers. The villagers - those who were supposed to help raise the abandoned girl - not one of them seemed to care as her fingers were harshly ripped away from where they were trailing over the split metal, as a master of pottery would smooth over a crack in their sculpture. The druskëlle did not see a terrifying killer.

No, all he saw was the smallest witch he had ever seen, shivering in tattered clothes, small hands raised in a terrified surrender as she stared down the barrel of his gun.

The druskëlle had hesitated while looking at this abomination. How could something so horrible wear the face of an innocent child? Was the abomination actually just a child?

No, he couldn't second guess himself. His training didn't allow it. Djel forgive me, for I have just killed a child, he thought. And then the bullet fired and the very earth began to rumble.

The gunshot and her scream echoed in the ears of the Second Army unit sent to investigate the rumors of a Grisha by the Fjerdan borders. The General himself, accompanied by two Heartrenders and a Healer did not expect to see a girl, not even eight, collapsed on her knees. Around her was a crater — the source of the earthquake, apparently — emanating from her. In front of her stood the druskëlle, the bullet fired from his gun laying in front of her as if it was simply dropped.

His hands were shaking as he began to pull the trigger again. He would never get the chance as the Heartrenders reacted faster than he could fire. He dropped almost instantly, dead.

Kirigan kneeled down in the snow next to the girl in threadbare clothing. He did not speak, simply removing his kefta and placing the garment on her shoulders to help ease the shivering.

It was the girl who spoke first.

"Are you here to kill me like the pale man?"

"No," he said, taking her hand. "We came here to find you."

General Kirigan walked the tiny girl towards the healer, nodding at him. The man began smoothing his fingers against the bruises on her wrist, sadly smiling as he erased the cut on her cheek as her lips quivered.

Kirigan gently turned her to face him, his kefta still wrapped around the girl.

"What's your name, malenchki?" he asked softly.

The girl blinked, lips still quivering. She spoke again, too quiet.

"I'm Nastya. Who are you?"

"My name is Kirigan. The nice man who healed you is Viktor, and the other two men are Pyotr and Ivan. Where are your parents, Nastya?"

Nastya shook her head. "The Unsea ate them and now I'm all alone. That's what the shadows told me. They sing and tell me how to fix metal things, and they help sing me to sleep when the nightmares come. I fixed an anvil before the pale man tried to kill me," her tiny voice rambled.

Viktor made a startled noise. "Did you just say shadows?"

Nastya nodded. Kirigan smiled.

"What's your whole name, malenchki?"