Part One: Pain
The forest was deep and dark, a gloomy, eerie wood that the people in the town below didn't dare to enter. It was the evil twin, the Dark Sister, the antithesis of the forest on the other side of the valley where the children played and the men hunted. In this world, beauty was worshiped and ugliness scorned. The Dark Sister was cursed and alone. It suited the boy. The forest was his mother, his self. The forest, deep and dark, hid him from the hating world.
Sekhmet stood in his clearing, surveying the limbs he had stuck in the ground. He straightened one, and then raised his stick in the air. He shouted a challenge and lunged for the limb, slicing sideways. The pieces of wood hit together with a satisfying whack, and the limb toppled over to the ground.
He blocked out the sound of the rushing river close by and attacked the next one, thrusting with his stick. Sekhmet struck at the limb again, but as the branches connected, he lost his grip and his weapon went flying off behind him. He spun around and discovered to his dismay that the stick had landed in the river. He ran over to the bank, hoping to grab it before it floated downstream, but was too late.
"Now I'll have to find another," he mumbled, kicking at a rock. "And that was the perfect sword, too." Sekhmet turned to start his search, but his eye was caught by the reflection in the water. His reflection. He scowled into the water, watching as the reflection frowned back.
He hated it. It was all because of the way he looked, the only reason he was here in the damp. He stared at the green hair, the large, colorless eyes, the face his mother and his clan despised. He was a demon, everyone said so, and this was why. This was why the other children were afraid of him, why everyone made warding symbols as he passed. Sekhmet gritted his teeth and bent, scooping up a handful of rocks. He threw them at his reflection until he couldn't see it anymore, unmindful of the water that splashed all over him. But even as he tossed the last stone, his image reformed, taunting, leering back at him. Sekhmet turned away.
He needed to leave the forest, although it meant going home and enduring the stares and the insults, but it seemed that the Dark Sister wanted to keep him a little while longer. Something in the river flashed, metallic and almost green, and he turned back, his curiosity piqued. He returned to the bank, and it shone again from under the water.
Sekhmet quickly stripped and dived in to the cold, clear water. The currents were strong, but he felt natural in the water and swam against them, kicking his way across, the cold making his skin numb. He reached the spot where the gleam had come from, and went under, hands searching around in the muck of the riverbed, stirring up dirt.
His fingers brushed something hard, heavy, closing around it, and he heaved upward, lugging it back to the shore. He dropped the mud-covered thing to the ground, shivering as the air bit his wet skin. He dried off with his cloak and dressed again, wishing that he didn't always get so cold, and then turned his attention to his prize.
The muck slid off easily, revealing the rusty metal underneath. Sekhmet gasped in awe. It was a sword, a real sword like the clan's warriors had, although it was a bit rusty. He traced the carvings on the blade with a finger, and then grasped the hilt with both hands. It took all of his strength to lift it upward. It was as big as he was, and he was rather large for his seven years. He let it drop and dragged it over to a patch of sandy soil. He crouched down next to the sword and picked up handfuls of the sand, rubbing it on the metal to get the rust off. He worked diligently as the sun began to sink, finishing off the job by polishing it with his much-abused cloak.
When he had finished, Sekhmet lugged the sword upward to look at it critically. It shone in the last rays of the sun, but he could swear that the color it reflected was green, and not the orange-red of the sunset. Sekhmet looked up again in surprise. The sunset! It would be dark soon, and even he wouldn't want to be in the shadowy forest at night. He began to drag the sword after him as he left, but then stopped.
* I can't take it home. Viraz would take it from me. He takes away everything I find. He'll keep my sword for himself.* Sekhmet yanked the cloak from his shoulders and awkwardly wrapped the sword in it before placing it in a little hollow in the earth. He covered it with rocks, eyes on the sun's position, and then hurriedly left the forest.
It was dark by the time he had reached his house, dark and cold. Sekhmet shivered again as he entered his house. He looked at the floor as the servants passed, trying to ignore the gestures they made to protect themselves from his evil. He approached the large fire and sat down near it in a corner, feeling the warmth seep back into his chilled limbs. He felt a little drowsy, and had to blink back the want to sleep. Suddenly, it seemed as if the room was filled with servants. They gave each other meaningful glances, and Sekhmet sat up straighter.
He listened intently, and soon the sound of loud, angry voices and breaking things filled his ears. He stood and carefully followed the noise to the large dining area in the part of the house reserved for the family. As he neared, it got louder and he could distinctly hear the bellows of his stepfather, Viraz, interrupted by the higher-pitched shrieks of his mother. Sekhmet peered cautiously into the room.
Rielvia had futilely ducked behind a low table for protection, desperately tying to evade the blows Viraz threw at her, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her black hair flew out everywhere as she grabbed a vase and flung it at her husband. He sidestepped easily and swung at her, the blow catching her just behind the ear. She was stunned for a moment, and he grabbed her arm, yanked her swiftly across the top of the table and threw her to the ground. She flopped there and lay limply, like a rag doll.
Viraz chuckled, scratching the orange bristles of his beard, and Sekhmet made a muffled squeak of alarm. Viraz turned his coaly eyes on the boy, and his face grew a twisted grin.
"You!" he exclaimed. "You cursed little piece of shit! I should have broken your neck years ago. In fact, that whore should have drowned you the moment you were born." He began to advance on Sekhmet, who backed up against the wall, eyes huge and panicked. "Yes, demon, try casting your spells now. It won't do you any good. You can't control me with those reptile eyes. I will make you pay, you wretched bastard!"
Sekhmet pressed his back against the wall, trying to sink through it. He began to whimper softly, looking for any way to escape. Viraz could run so much faster than him... He shrieked as the man's fist slammed into his jawbone, sending his head back to collide against the wall. His feet slipped out from under him, and he couldn't keep the tears from coming to his eyes.
Viraz picked him up by the front of his shirt and began to shout, punctuating each syllable with a shake. "You will not control me! You will not control me!" He threw Sekhmet against the wall with a roar, and the boy clutched his head in agony.
"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!" he moaned, tasting the blood in his mouth. Viraz began to kick his prone form, yelling unintelligibly until he stopped protesting. Satisfied, Viraz wiped his hands on the front of his vest. Sekhmet watched, uncaring, through one swollen eye as he stumbled over to his mother, mumbling and spitting, and dragged her off into another room. He swallowed, tasting salt and more blood, and then everything went black.
Sekhmet ran his hands through the thatch, picking apart a piece of straw as he watched the gathering below. A group of traveling performers had come to town, and they had been paid for two nights of music. Although performers were looked down upon as being of low rank, people still enjoyed watching them. He sat, observing everyone as they milled around the town commons, waiting for dusk to arrive. Sekhmet pushed at his loose tooth absently with his tongue as he looked down from the roof, observing everything and everyone as they bustled about, full of excitement. He rolled over on his stomach, wincing as he put his head in his hands, poking his bruised jaw with a finger to judge how much it still hurt.
The other children were running around, getting in everyone else's way as the adults tried to light the large fire or set up their instruments. Some of them had also grabbed vantage points on the roofs and were happily throwing straw on the heads of their parents below. The excitement rose as the fire was lit, and soon everyone moved in, trying for the best seats. He looked on as it grew darker, anticipation overtaking everyone. It was not often that musicians, or anyone, for that matter, came to visit the clan, and hearsay had it that this particular group was very good. The troupe of five soon approached and took up their places, and Sekhmet pulled back further into the shadows. Viraz had warned him to stay away from the visitors, and he wasn't about to do anything purposely to get him mad.
Even so, he thought that one of them, a young rust-haired woman, might have seen him. For some reason, she was gazing up at his roof with a strange look on her face. He held his breath until she looked away. They performed the customary opening formalities, and he crept forward again as they began.
The woman who had noticed him earlier was singing as the others played. She had a high, sweet voice that was nice to listen to. Many of the songs were wild and noisy, and later on more than a few were slow love-songs. They almost seemed to captivate everybody, lull them into a trance, calm them and relax them. Raking his eyes over the crowd, Sekhmet noticed Viraz and Rielvia standing together, arms around each other, and shook his head. He couldn't understand it. * How can Mother let him hit her and still love him? What wrong with them, anyway? He must have hurt her head or something, because that's really stupid. * He watched the other families sitting together, smiling drowsily, and sighed. They weren't thinking about him, his curse, and his mother didn't care where he was at all, and somehow, it was better this way. He lowered his head down into the straw and closed his eyes, letting the music put him to sleep.
He gasped and sat upright suddenly, blinking away the drowsiness. It was dark, dark everywhere, and he couldn't see. Sekhmet felt the thatch under his fingers and clutched it reflexively, finally closing his eyes and counting slowly before reopening them. He was able to make vague shapes out now, and looked up at the sky. He was relieved to see that the stars were still the same, the sky still a dark shade of blue. Somehow, he thought that it had changed, that the sky was different and the stars were different, but now it just seemed like part of a dream he couldn't remember.
As he stared at the dark, sleeping town, he saw the distant glow of a fire, near the surrounding wall. That was the place where the wall came up against the Dark Sister, and there the wall was weak, full of holes, creating the perfect entranceway to his forest. * Who would be over there? The musicians? The others would have told them how nasty the forest was. I better go check and make sure. *
Sekhmet climbed over to the edge of the roof and slid off, hanging by his fingers for a moment before dropping and landing, hurting his feet but managing not to fall. He knew the town well, and so was able to navigate easily to the spot where he had seen the fire. Careful not to get too close, he saw the musicians sitting around outside their wagon, talking softly or resting. Apparently, they had decided not to stay at the inn, which was even dirtier than outside and full of bugs anyway.
He hid around the corner, behind an empty house, watching the strangers curiously. They weren't doing much, though, and his eyelids began to droop, his head suddenly becoming too heavy to hold up. Sekhmet forced himself awake once more, and was horrified to see that the singer had definitely saw him. He didn't dare move, lest the others see him too, but froze, wishing he had stayed on the roof.
She stood slowly, murmuring something to the others, and walked over to him. He looked up at her, not afraid of what she might do, but afraid of what Viraz would do if he found out he had been bothering them. She turned the corner and stopped in front of him, staring. He wanted her to do something, make the warding symbols, shriek, run, do anything except just stare, although he was used to that, too. But it felt different coming from this stranger, and as he looked back at her he saw not fear but sadness in her eyes.
The woman smiled at him, and said softly, "Hello." He began to back away slowly, not trusting the unusual reactions she was giving him. She held out her hand. "Wait! I won't hurt you. I promise." He frowned, still mistrustful. She knelt in front of him, eyes large and dark in the moonlight. "I am called Cirian. What is your name, little one?"
He shivered a bit and replied, "Sekhmet." He didn't particularly like his name, either. It was too strange, one more oddness he didn't want or need. Cirian repeated it faintly and then cautiously reached out a hand to touch his hair. His mind yelled at him to jerk away, but he forced himself to stand still. Somehow, he felt that this woman wouldn't harm him.
"You... you are the son of a snake-god?" she asked, her hand still on his head. He shrugged.
"That's what everyone says," he answered. She smiled up at him sadly, and her eyes looked far away, almost right through him. Something was obviously wrong. Sekhmet tapped her shoulder hesitantly. "Cirian?" he began, and her eyes came back into focus.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was just remembering something..." She looked away for a moment. "I had a daughter like you, Sekhmet. I... loved her very much. Her name was Nilaie."
He frowned thoughtfully. "You mean there's other people like me?" Cirian nodded. "Where's your daughter now?" he asked. She closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, she had gone back into the past, concentrating on something he couldn't see. She spoke almost emotionlessly.
"When Nilaie was the born, my father tried to take her away and kill her. I ran away with her, hiding. None of the villages would let us stay long, and we were always running, always looking for somewhere to stay. Finally I met our group, and they took me on as a singer. They didn't mind Nilaie's looks, and she was always beautiful to me... she was three years old when they found us. My father had spread word that I was keeping a demon... they attacked us. I escaped, but Nilaie..."
Cirian shook herself out of her reverie. "She was killed by the people, the ignorant people, who judged my little girl just because of her face. People much like the ones in this town," she added, tracing one of the splotchy bruises on his jaw with a finger. Sekhmet wasn't sure what to say.
"I... Cirian, you're the only person who's ever been nice to me before. I'm... sorry about your daughter."
She smiled at him, thinking for a moment. "Come with me," she finally offered. "Leave this place and come with us. We'll protect you. I know you can't replace my daughter, but at least... you can have my love. You deserve better than this, Sekhmet." He stared at her in surprise. Leave the clan, leave Viraz, leave...
He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'll go! When? Now!" Her face broke into a grin, and he was glad that he'd made her so happy, although it was all still a little overwhelming. Cirian hugged him, and he tensed involuntarily. He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him, but another person's touch felt so strange...
She sighed sadly, looking thoughtfully at him again, and stood up, taking his hand. "I will introduce you to the others now. We will leave early--" She looked up and gasped in surprise. Sekhmet's blood ran cold, his heart wanted to stop... Viraz was standing right there! He quickly tried to hide behind Cirian.
"He's not going anywhere." Viraz announced. "Let go of him now, woman. He obviously has you under a spell."
"He does not." Cirian said angrily. "And why do you care? You obviously don't want him, don't love him. You should be happy."
Viraz snarled at her. "It is none of your affair. Go back to your little performing friends and stay out of what doesn't concern you." Sekhmet felt Viraz's hand close around his wrist, and protested as he was yanked away from Cirian.
He tried to go back to her, reaching for her, but Viraz held him almost effortlessly. "The demon must suffer for the curse his birth has brought upon the clan. If his will is not broken and we cast him out, then his spirit will return to eat our souls. He is staying, singer. How dare you try to bring doom upon our clan!"
Cirian looked like she was about to protest, but Viraz began to advance on her slowly. "Beware, woman," he snarled, yanking a dagger from his belt. Cirian gave Sekhmet an apologetic look, and her lips formed words he couldn't make out. She backed away and then turned and ran. He felt his heart sink with every step she took.
"Oh, yes, you'll pay," Viraz mumbled at her back, and then he looked down at Sekhmet. "You!" Viraz whacked his face hard, hurting his bruises, and he almost fell to the ground, but Viraz yanked him upward and, without another word, dragged him home.
The clan was angry. The people talked about it all through town the next day, at the well, as they walked down the streets, as they tended their fields. The performers had gone. Disappeared, without a trace, and they had taken the money the clan had paid them for the next night's performance. The people were also confused; why had the musicians left? Only Sekhmet and Viraz knew the truth, and they kept that knowledge to themselves. So the clan was forced to wonder, and the general mood of the town was not good.
Of course, Sekhmet didn't stay around. As soon as morning-meal had finished, silent as usual, he left for the forest. He traveled through the trees, following the path he had followed for more than a year, kicking rocks. It was his fault. He had bothered the singers and made Viraz chase them away, made them all angry. He wished he could forget about it, but it hung on to his mind. The guilt was there, as always.
He didn't feel like practicing today, but what else was there to do? Sekhmet decided to keep walking when the path turned abruptly. Perhaps there would be something interesting in the forest that he could explore.
It wasn't long when he saw a long piece of cloth just lying there on the ground. That caught his attention right away; he hadn't put it there, but no one else would come into this forest. He moved forward a little further and saw a heap of cloth among the trees. Suddenly, it moved, an arm appeared, streaked with blood, reaching out for him--
Panic overtook him, crashing through him like waves as his heart pounded in his ears. He shrieked and ran, crashing through the brush until he tripped and fell on a root protruding from the earth. He gasped violently as the wind was knocked out of him, instinctively covering his head with his hands, waiting for the monster to rip him apart...
Nothing happened, and soon his breathing slowed, and he tentatively uncurled. He got up and looked back, calmer now. So far, the thing was not a threat, and so he walked back over towards it, curiosity getting the better of him. Soon, he was able to tell what it was, or, rather, who it was. "Cirian!" he exclaimed, kneeling at her side.
She looked awful, covered in bruises and blood, twisted and torn. But she moved, still breathed, and Sekhmet knew exactly how this had happened. He took the pale hand in his own, watching as she woke up. She cried when she saw him, and he found that he was crying, too.
He helped her sit up, wanted to comfort her somehow, wanted to be comforted as the familiar feeling of guilt rose inside him. So he hugged her, not knowing if it was the right thing to do; the others of the clan had always seemed to like it, however, and the warm feeling of Cirian's arms felt nice as he tried to stop crying. Finally he wiped his face on his sleeve and turned to look at her. "Viraz did this." he stated, and she nodded in reply.
"Yes, he came after me later." she said in a low, hoarse voice. "He... hurt me, left me for dead afterwards..."
"I'm going to kill him." Sekhmet told her. "As soon as I can. I have a sword now, I'll use it and kill him."
She struggled to stand with his help. "Killing helps nothing, little one," she said. He shook his head stubbornly.
"If I don't, he'll just hurt more people. I've got to kill him." He took her hand. "I'll show you to the road from here. Viraz might find you again." Cirian nodded and let him lead her to the edge of the forest. "There's the town wall. The road is off thataway," he said, pointing.
She looked down at him again, squeezing his hand. "Please, leave with me now, Sekhmet." She looked at him searchingly, as if she was trying to see in him something of her daughter. "Leave this place. There's still time..."
"I can't, Cirian." he said plaintively. "I've got to stay now to kill Viraz. I can't just go away when he'll still alive. When he's dead I'll come find you, all right?"
She sighed, perhaps in disappointment, nodded, and hugged him once more before turning away. Her voice came floating back to his ears, and he wanted to go with her, almost ran to her again. But he thought of Viraz, and knew he had to stay. "Be safe, little one... perhaps one day you will return to me." With a half-hearted wave at her retreating back, he turned and ran into the Dark Sister's waiting arms.