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.
"THEN HURRY," it said forebodingly.
"A PLATE OF FLESH.
"A DRINK OF BLOOD.
"WITH A SIDE OF SCREAMS.
"HURRY."
She could sit idly no longer. This was her life, and for all its savagery, Isla herself had to admit that at some point, she actually had started enjoying it to an extent.
"A plate of flesh, a drink of blood, with a side of screams." She licked her lips. "Oh, hurrying..." Sounded delicious. No time to waste.
On fours, the beast and Isla travelled as one, scouring the day for the man whose screams would be most delightful.
They didn't stop. Not even for rest. Frothing at the mouth, they looked over another hill they'd climbed, the town of Ettinsburgh sitting in the distance. A quaint little place with thatched rooftops and little children running around in the streets, chasing chickens.
"ISLA, THERE! DO YOU SEE?"
She saw. Along the winding dirt road. The boy's horse, and the highwayman beside it, walking at a relaxed pace.
"GO. HE DESERVES IT.
"GO...ISLA...GO...
"GO!"
Waiting no longer, she galloped ahead like a bolt of lightning thundering through the sky. Betraying every bit of surprise she had, she opted to overwhelm the man in a single, lethal charge. Once he was down, she could kill, and at that point his life would be over.
But the beast's recklessness had influenced her to make a poor decision—uncalculated and sloppy. The man, blade drawn, met her charge with the fell swoop of his longsword. Accurate, calm, and precision perfect. He made no error.
It'd been so instant that she'd not even feel the initial cut of the blade, but after a moment, Isla stopped, and so did the beast's spirit. As though it were dead, she felt like herself for a change. She didn't even feel hungry anymore. Rather, she wanted to go to sleep, to go into a dream so that she might escape the hellish reality that was her life. She found herself forced back into her human form. Whatever she'd wanted to do beforehand, it didn't matter. She couldn't even move, an unsettling paralysis overtaking her entire body.
A metal hand picked her up, and then immediately after, a burning sensation she'd felt only once in her life before. Pure iron. A few seconds later, the full agony of it all came on full force as she came to the realization of what had just happened to her, her body hurting as though it were aflame.
"You would have done well to be sneakier," the man said. She brought her to face with the same metal gauntlets, yanking her head up by her hair. "What drove you to leave your pit and come charging at me?"
"Was hungry..."
The man snickered. "You wild folk are so insufferably vain. But seeming as I have you here, let's strike up a chit chat. What on God's Earth gave you the thought that it would be a good idea to attack me?"
A faebreaker? Isla thought. Damn it! Damn it damn it damn it, damn it all!
"The satisfaction—" She coughed up blood, spitting on the ground. "The satisfaction of—of killing you."
"Leave it to another wretched fairy beast to do that then. Or perhaps old age, as I don't plan on dying anytime soon." He shook his head, spitting off to the side. His hair dangled behind him, and his beard, braided, seemed to be in the style of the northern folk, the ones who lived far past her mother's domain. "You have a very special bounty on your head."
Isla blinked.
"I'm not yours to kill, you see." The man smiled. "Do you know a Feena?"
"Feena..."
His smile turned into a scowl. "I shan't injure you too much, but for what you did to that man. I'm going to leave my mark so that when you look at yourself in the mirror of retribution, you'll know that you're nothing but a monster."
Nothing but a monster. The faebreaker, pinning Isla's left cheek down on the grassy floor, smothered the other side of her head with the entire breadth of his gauntleted hand. The pain, not of this realm. The burning, like that of hell. And the screams she made, echoing for miles and into eternity. The touch of the faebreaker's pure iron dulled her mind, dulled her ability to do anything at all but shriek and wail.
And when it was all over, she could feel her skin bubbling up. When she went to touch, that side of her face seemed as though it had been cooked over a fire, the burn so excruciating that not even the cold did anything for it as a fiery note sizzled through the air.
"I'll let Feena do the other side." A wad of spit landed on her cheek. It stung, and Isla imagined that was what spite was supposed to feel like. "You'll not harm another human being ever again."
"Aren't you one to talk, highwayman." She grinned, pausing for effect. "Two-faced wretch..."
Kicked in the ribs, Isla yelped in pain. "Shut it." He didn't even give her the privilege of walking. The faebreaker dragged her. Before long, something tightened around her ankle, and her face rubbed up against the dirt as the faebreaker drew her into town.
Devil made me do it... a saying the humans had.
But in Isla's case, perhaps the devil had done it himself instead.
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