“Are you alright?”
Lyssa sits on the pew next to Bruq, her arm around his shoulders. She can feel him shake and hears his teeth chattering. If this was his biggest fear, then this must have been the worst nightmare he’s ever had. She found that tree to be horrifying, she couldn't imagine what impact it must have had on him.
“I am fine”, he says and turns his head to hers. “At least, I am now. Thanks. That was fucking horrible. I’m already sorry for what you’re about to experience.”
He leaves her staring into the distance. The hunter welters to Daemion, still weak in the knees. He holds the rail of the pew to keep himself on top of his hooves.
“Did I receive the blessing? Can you see anything?”
The souldrinker gives him a quick glance and nods.
“Can you describe what you see?”
The demon looks again, this time with some more attention.
“Same as mine”, he answers. “A see-through purple set of antlers float in front of your forehead, same shape as the horns of the high priest. It isn’t very extravagant, but you don’t need that. This does the trick.”
He taps him on the shoulder as he passes him by.
“Well done, hunter, and welcome.”
Daemion takes a sip of another bottle. He closes his eyes and nods.
“This one is more juicy”, he explains. “It’s very fruit-driven, all exotic and immensely sweet. The subtle pulp drifting in it isn’t even off-putting. It has a full body, just as I expected, and it tingles my tongue. I think it’s because of some spice that’s in it. The finish is very peppery and covers the sugary taste from before really well.”
His expression changes. His eyes have an empty gaze and his lower lip trembles. He turns his head towards to floor.
“Now comes the final taste. It’s incredibly salty. Not like the sea, but like when you lick a tear running down your cheek. The balance is way off. This ruins all the pleasantries I just tasted. It feels like it’s been bottled too long, but that can’t be the case. It’s just a few hours old.”
He spits into the corner of the room and rubs his hand rapidly across his lips.
“Can you come towards the altar, please? It’s obviously you.”
They all turn to Lyssa, who sighs deeply to shake off her nerves. She stands up and walks towards him. She evades eye contact and just stares at his naked body, curious and afraid what marking will appear.
Daemion looks down at his stomach. Just above the black cloth that covers his manhood his skin changes. The shape of kissing lips appear, but shortly after a couple of sharp pins or needles appear as well, piercing the lips and shutting them.
“Poor child”, he says.
Just as was the case with Bruq, the mouth of the statues starts to breathe more black smoke. The fihyr moves back into the darkness and disappears.
“Above all the things you fear, you fear something that you hope will never happen again, but the chances are so high you’ll do. Abuse… just humiliating, female unfriendly, emotional and sexual abuse.”
He stops talking and steps to the side, leaving the siren alone with the rising smoke in front of her.
After all these years, after making sure he could never harm a woman again, never harm a child again, she’s going to see him again.
The slithering sound the fihyr made just a moment ago disappears. Now, a faint sound of an instrument rises, becoming louder and louder. Recognising it is nothing more than a reflex: it’s an accordion.
It takes her back to her what was supposed to be her youth, when she came on land at Port Lorain and never returned again to her beloved sea.
A raw voice sings in the mist.
“Well, why don’t you come down to the Wailing Wench
and let a wailing wench come down on you.
Pay a coin and to naught she’ll strip.
Pay one more and she’s yours to rip.
Dock your salty ship in her harbour tight,
Just spank her if she doesn’t treat your right.
Why don’t you come down to the Wailing Wench
and let a wench moan and wail.”
Heavy steps accompany the sharp tunes of the accordion. The ominous sound closes in on the siren and then suddenly stops.
The darkness subsides to reveal a middle-aged man. Chunks of food rest in the grey nest he calls a beard and his chipped and yellowed teeth hold a smoking pipe between them. He stops playing, takes the pipe out of his mouth and blows her a kiss.
“Good to see you again, sugar tits”, he says while licking his upper lip. “Come here and give your uncle a kiss.”
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