Twelve years into the Ruin
(Trigger Warning: on-page death of a child)
*
ERIS HEARD NOTHING save for Akul's deep, peaceful breaths. He was slumbering next to her, one arm tucked under her, one around her waist. She felt his heartbeat through his bare chest, calm and strong.
She kissed his forehead, ran a hand along his jaw, pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered, and he awoke. His mouth lifted into a smile when he took her hand in his.
"My heart." Gone was the haze of sleepiness in his eyes. He stared at her knowingly, acutely, his eyes piercing.
She smiled. "Good dreams?"
He kissed the back of her hand. "Good yes. But I prefer being awake more. Dream you pales in comparison to the you before me."
Eris kissed him.
They laid in bed a moment, hair and limbs entangled, exchanging kisses - some meek and tender, others fueled by passions that would have to wait until night to be satisfied. Then Eris rose and glanced at the door to Daya's room. It was askew, a slat of morning light striping the hut's warped floorboards.
She frowned, and, with the bedsheets wrapped around her naked body, stood. Akul's fingers grazed her back, tracing her spine. Eris playfully slapped them away.
"Daya's gone." She shuffled across the floor and took a robe off the hook near the door, exchanging the soft satin of their bedsheets for something more rough-spun and weighted. The robe belonged to Akul, and its length pooled at Eris's feet.
Akul propped himself on an elbow. "To the field, I'm sure."
Eris turned toward him, her eyes then drifting to the workbench at the far corner of the hut. Above it hung one hundred pages of Daya's art - from waterfalls, to fields, to fruit orchards and cattle pulling carts. All of them drawn as Eris had described them in her stories.
Beneath them, she glimpsed the mortar and pestle, the half-empty vials she used for her potions and salves. All the tools she used to keep her mama's memory alive. She had passed that knowledge onto Daya, to keep safe, to add to, so that death was not final. Some things could never die, she had learned. Memories, the most perservering.
"You know she goes beyond the field now." Eris cut Akul a chiding look. "Because you encourage exploration."
Akul got up, strode toward her, embracing her from behind. He kissed the curve of her neck. "You encourage her imagination. She is ten, Eris, and she has been told to never go beyond the field." His eyes glimmered. "And so she goes beyond the field."
Eris rested a hand over his and they laughed. Then Eris moved away, though she was loath to give up Akul's warmth. "And who shall retrieve this wandering daughter of ours?"
Akul's gaze flickered to the floor, then back up. "You're more clothed than me."
She pressed a kiss to her husband's mouth. When she pulled away, she also flicked her gaze down, before returning it to his face. "I can't argue that."
She moved to the corner of the room, where their clothes laid in a heap. Pools of silk and satin, worn-burlap mixed together, eagerly discarded in anticipation. She grabbed her trousers and tossed on a tunic, feeling Akul's gaze on her all the while.
"I'll make my wife and daughter breakfast for when they return," he said.
Eris nodded, shoved her boots on her feet, and went outside.
*
The field was not far from the hut. A short walk through the sparse oak grove and she'd be there, well before the sun rose, and heat streaked backs and blistered necks.
It was exactly as it had been when Akul first brought the Greenworld to them. The flower stalks were strong and straight, the flowers bright, petals wide, as if embracing the sun light. Nothing had died in this place. It only knew life. Daya had only known life.
But she was nowhere to be found once Eris came to the field. The flowers swayed gently, but were undisturbed. There was no puff of brown hair, bent over a flower, fingers digging through soil to locate the roots, split them from the plant, and take the harvest home.
Eris's mood soured. Daya had indeed gone beyond the hill. She tromped through the flowers, releasing sigh after sigh. How many times had she told Daya not to go around the hill? How many sightings of rotting animals did it take for Daya to learn her lesson? Eris had, at one time, believed it a good thing her daughter did not fear death. Now, she knew the danger its absence caused, and what imagination it inspired.
"Daya!" she called, wearily. Her feet felt heavy in her boots. Her stomach too, as though she had a belly full of rocks. "Daya!"
Eris had nearly reached the end of the wildflowers when she made out Daya's face. Rounded still by her youth and grinning. She jogged toward Eris, through the field, the wildflowers reaching her knees.
"Mama!" she said, in her high pitch. The gold around her irises had thickened so much, that was all Eris could see. "A flower!"
Sure enough, when Daya raised her hand, Eris saw. A flower unlike any that grew in the field. One that was black with a thorny stem and a deep red blossom with spindly, almost sickly petals.
"A flower from over the hill!" Daya continued, a bounce in her step. "The land must be healing."
Eris couldn't believe it. A flower taking root in the Ruin? No. The ground was rotten, everywhere, and that rot leeched into the roots, and withered the plant or tree from the inside out.
Nothing could grow beyond their home.
"Daya," she said, tempering her voice as her daughter neared, "where did you find such a flower?"
"Mama, I–"
Daya stumbled. Her smile faltered. The flower in her hand shook, as if caught in a violent storm. And then Daya's eyes bulged, and the gold around her irises thinned. She had Eris's eyes, and they bulged with fear. A trickle of blood ran from her nostril.
"Daya?"
Eris ran, trembling in her legs, her heart thunderous in her chest. She managed to reach Daya just as she collapsed. Her chest heaved. More blood ran from Daya's nose. Saliva bubbled at the corner of her lips.
Eris's gaze ran over her body. She was hot and clammy. Dirt was lodged beneath the fingernails of the hand holding the flower. Eris tore it from her, threw it on the ground, crushed it with her palm. The flower disintegrated, leaving the soil scorched.
Daya coughed, tears filled iher eyes. "Ma-ma?"
Eris brought her head to her chest. "It's okay." She ran her hand over Daya's hair. "It's okay." She held her tighter, so tight she thought Daya might shatter, but she couldn't let her go.
She remembered, it started with the bleeding. From the nose, the mouth. Then the ears. The hacking coughs, the spittle. The uncontrollable shaking. The plague ravaged a body within moments.
Eris had been there. Had seen it happen. One hundred and eight times. And she knew there was no stopping it.
She lifted Daya off the ground, careful as she cradled her in her arms. "Let's get you home," she felt the panic straining her words, but hoped Daya had not heard.
Daya clutched her tunic. It had turned red from all the blood. "Okay," she managed weakly. "Okay, mama."
*
Eris ripped open the door. True to his word, Akul was on the floor, peeling oranges, a pot of oats boiling over the fire pit. He dropped his blade when he saw Daya, pale and crying and half-covered in blood.
"What happened?" He brushed hair from Daya's forehead. "Little sun?" He caressed her cheeks, his eyes darting to Eris.
Eris ran to her workbench. She grabbed vials of bonemeal off the table, along with crushed milkweed and dried sea grass. Shaking, she struggled with their stoppers.
"Eris?"
She slammed a palm on the table, and the vials went scattering. A few shattered on the floor. "The plague," she said, and the world went quiet and her breath stalled.
She glanced at Akul, then at Daya. Her daughter was curled on the ground, Akul behind her, stroking her head, holding her hand.
No.
Eris lunged, ripping his hand out of hers. She knocked over the pot in the process, milky water and soggy oats splashing across the floor. A shock tore through Daya and she whimpered. "Save her," Eris growled.
Akul blinked. He had heard her, Eris knew, but she would say the words again. Over and over again until he listened and obeyed. "Save her."
"Eris–" He flexed his fingers, eyes darting between her and Daya. "I–"
"Do it!" she screamed, her hands cradling Daya's head. She glanced down. "It's alright," she said gently, though her eyes had filled with tears, and a tremble rose in her throat. "Papa will save you."
Akul's face darkened. "Eris, I–"
"You promised." She glared at him, though the tears had started to fall. Daya coughed, her mouth stained red. Blood poured from her ears, thick and blackened. "Remember?" She raised Daya up and hugged her.
He nodded. "I remember."
Eris's hand tangled in Daya's hair. "A god does not break his promise."
Akul looked sullen, his hands limp and useless at his sides. His gaze wavered between Eris and Daya. Then he straightened and stood, and his skin was luminous. The sunlight that streamed through their windows, bent to meet him. "I can't, Eris."
She sobbed, body rocking as she held Daya. Daya's eyes had rolled into the back of her head, and her skin was cooling. Eris squeezed, pressing Daya against her body. If Daya's heart stopped beating, hers would beat enough for the both of them. Eris would not hand another loved one over to Greenworld.
"You have taken too much." She glared up at Akul. "And now you would take her? She is my everything." Her voice filled with rage and anguish. Twelve years of sorrow bubbling to the surface. "You cannot have her!"
Akul's gaze hardened, his jaw twitched. His voice came out soft, comforting. It was meant to soothe but her heart was turning into stone, and it hardened against his kindness. "This is what it means to live a mortal life."
Eris shook her head. Daya had stopped breathing, stopped struggling. She had stilled.
Akul held out his arm.
"No. No." Eris yanked Daya away from him, scooted backwards along the floor until her back slammed into a wall. "You will not take her from me."
"Eris." He glided toward her. "She is already gone. Let me take her to Greenworld."
Eris looked at Daya. With a clean cloth, she could wipe the blood away, and believe her asleep. Dreaming of wildflowers, dipping her toes into the ocean, stalking through forests, and hunting great beasts. Growing old and wrinkled, finding someone as Eris had, loving as Eris had. Having a family with whom to watch the sun set. Dying when she was meant to die, after a life lived.
As Eris stared at her daughter, thinking of things that would never be, Akul kneeled, wiped the hair from out of his daughter's face, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
He took her hand in his, and felt the world crack open as a doorway to Greenworld unlocked behind him.
"I am sorry," he whispered. With her hand in his, he took his little sun, and returned to Greenworld.
Eris was left alone. She toppled over, Daya's body clenched in her arms, and wept.
Author's note: I wrote these last four chapters in a rush on one of my days off just because I wanted to see if I could finish this novella by the end of February. Spoiler: I did it. :) But just because it's written, doesn't mean it's good. I'm hoping to get in some editing done by the 8,000 word deadline, and then have the whole thing edited at some point.