Page 34 of Souls We Rip

As a weapon.

“There will be no contact outside the world you will step in,” I said, my voice low. “Unless it is to take the ten souls you owe me.”

She swallowed, and the sound invaded my ears.

“Can I at least go to church?”

This time, I couldn’t contain my laughter anymore. And it was enough of an answer for her. The silence took a few blessed minutes.

“But why not? I can still practice my beliefs, and neither you nor anyone from this world can stop me!” Her usual sweet voice grew darker.

“Oh, please! Do you really think that your fictional god will forgive you if you kill ten people?”

Her retort came quickly. “My God is more understanding than humans. He would see the sacrifice I made for my family.”

I arched a brow because I couldn’t convince her that there was no one up there to stand as judge.

Unfortunately, she would not get to see this, since she was going to be immortal soon. Chuckling, I steered my stallion to the left, making her jump. Her head hit my chin lightly, the contact making my fingers twitch on the reins.

“Keep still, human,” I warned.

Then I realised her will would be stronger than eternity.

Ana

The horse stopped at the top of a hill overlooking two of the villages that bordered mine. A stab crossed my heart at the thought that I should be with my family, enjoying my sister’s engagement and celebrating with them.

Angelica’s wedding would be immense. Gavril was the only son, and his family was pretty wealthy. They were known even in the largest city, where they usually sold their homemade wine and other beverages. His mother was also specialised in making pastries; her cakes and biscuits were sought out in our county.

The wedding would take three days and three nights. The preparations would have to involve both our families. The women would have to cook, and the men would have to deal with the beverages. My father would have to present the dowry for Angelica, but I knew Gavril’s father would not accept anything. He was such a good man, despite the perpetual frown beneath his bushy eyebrows.

Gavril, being the groom, would search for the best lăutari, who would make sure that the dance would be continuous. And Angelica would prepare the small gifts for the guests and the large gifts for their godparents.

On the wedding day, the callers would go from door to door to announce the wedding and call each neighbour to see the Bride’s Hora. After Angelica would get dressed in her best attire, she would have to lead the hora. Whoever wanted to dance with her in the middle of the village would have to give a small amount of money.

Instead of helping them with the preparations, I was strolling with death itself.

Once I slid down from the horse, I offered my hand for it to sniff. As gently as it could, it placed its snout on my hand, breathing in the scent of flowers that smelled similar to my mum’s soap.

The other day, coming back from the meadow, my skin was broken over my legs. But once I stepped foot in the cave, my wounds healed. I thought myself mad when I scrutinised my skin in the bath. But there were no more bleeding cuts; my smooth skin was mended.

Andrei drew me a bath before I left, the hot water mixed with foam stinging my skin. I washed my hair, the fire from the hearth helping to dry it.

As my feet touched the hill, the grass was dried from the summer sun. There was no breeze, and the air was too dry. The scorching heat of Cuptor made it hard to breathe.

My opinci instantly warmed up as I stepped next to the Goat Man, who was gazing at what lay in front of us.

Luckily, Andrei presented me with some lighter options for garments than what I was used to wearing in the summer. I took the long linen shirt that draped over my thighs and placed it under a light skirt. The fota was dark, but the red and green embroidered crosses gave my attire life.

He also brought me wool ivory tights, which were warming my body. Even if I complained about them, he said that his master ordered me to wear them.

Whoever had chosen the clothes seemed to see life through a blend of darkness and simplicity.

Roaming my eyes over the hill, a crowd of stags were lying in the weeds, their antlers pointed to the sky. Dark snouts sniffed the air, their eyes watching us. Watching me.

They were surrounding a half-wall of an old church. The cross resting on the roof passed the test of time and stood overbearingly over the hill. Ivory vines were growing between the bricks, their lush leaves giving life to the ancient walls.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.