Faebreaker

6: Hate

Isla had decided to become the hunter, rather than the hunted.

It was broad daylight, and galloping across highlands around Hillford, she tried to spot any signs of human activity. Swirling towers of smoke, the scent of fire, tracks in the dried up mud, anything. If she found the thief, there would be a solid chance the boy's horse would be with him. If not, she could only assume that he'd already been sold. I wonder what his horse might have to say on the matter.

She needed not confine herself to lakes or rivers, lying in wait like a snake in the underbrush. No, she'd hunt like the wolves did, out and about for prey. Ideas about what she might do with the robber buzzed around in her head. Maybe she'd strip him naked and force him to drown himself in the cold water. Bite his head off perhaps. Disembowel him. All those sounded a fitting enough fate for one who would strip someone of all their possessions.

Oh, how Isla fed on human misery. But no, human misery alone wasn't enough. It took the misery of those who inflicted pain. Of those truly deserving of their suffering. I'd eat the whole world's worth of wretched souls of I could. And she meant it. Every last word. Until dear mother's soul is the last one left for eating. Dear mother, the one who'd siphoned her father's soul for use with her terrible magic.

While Isla didn't eat souls in the slightest, it seemed poetic enough in her mind to keep pressing onwards. She'd merely devour this man's corpse in the end, but for the rush that would give afterwards.

So...worth it!

Searching on every hilltop, she only caught sight of the typical Westerland guard patrolling the main road once in awhile. She wouldn't go anywhere near them, of course, but out in the highlands, she was as safe as she could possibly be during the day.

Hungry. Her stomach rumbled. But not for flesh...but for...for something else.

The bite of an apple. The taste of brother's pastries. When was the last time she'd eaten something besides the meat off something's bones? Those thoughts did not mix well with the vicious spirit living inside her. To shift, one needed to bond with the spirit of an animal whose life had long since past, or be born with the spirit already inside them.

But this thing living inside her. Whenever Isla wanted to eat, it answered her with its form. And whenever it didn't like its meal, it took control, going on a rampage until it found something to satisfy its hunger.

She'd learned that the hard way, once, dragging a child to his death after she'd been taken in by a kindhearted family.

Turning human, she rested on the grass, staring at the palms of her hands. How much blood, she wondered, was truly on them? And for how much longer could she go on before the beast took full control of her. She felt its hunger everyday, and no matter how many times she satisfied it, it always came back for more. She'd justify every atrocious act as justice for as long as she could.

If her father gave her this spirit knowing full well the consequences of what would follow, then why, she wondered. Why send me away with a curse? A curse that would eat her from the inside out no less.

And then suddenly, there it was, the thing inside her.

It was hungry again.

"OH ISLA, ARE WE NOT KINDRED SPIRITS?

"FIND ME A PLACE TO STAY SO WE MIGHT PREY ON THE WEAK OF HEART."

Her eyes widened, the beast's whispers coming through. "We will hunt instead," she said aloud. "I will find us something." She wanted to believe she was imagining things, but she felt it, like a gnawing at the side of her brain. She wasn't. She never had been. She wouldn't try to reason it away anymore.