Daughter of the Devil

Prologue

"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

— J. Robert Oppenheimer

Murderer.

The word coursed through my mind, becoming just another sound, akin to the thumping of the horse's hoofs on the still-frozen ground and the pounding of my own heart.

It might not be true, some evil, snake-like part of my mind whispered. At best, I had crippled the man, so that he might never walk again, or, if by some miracle he did, it would be with a limp. Death would be preferable.

It didn't matter, not anymore. I gritted my teeth, shoved the voice away, to some deep part of myself, knowing that it would come out again later, knowing that, right now, the only thing that mattered was my own survival.

I let my instincts kick in, those that I had so long repressed, now taking control over my broken, bleeding body.

My strength slowly ebbed from me, had been for hours now, and there was no real way of knowing when it would give out. Nonetheless, I tightened my thighs around the back of the horse, and she ran faster, the beautiful grace of an animal long caged.

Behind us, the forest settled. It was April, the time of blooming flowers, but this year the winter had been harsh. Frost still coated the ground, trees still bare, a few puddles of mud here and there, and very few flowers. The ones that did, however bravely pop out of the ground were quickly stifled by the howling wind and aching cold.

My forearms seemed to tingle.

I knew, without looking back, that every time a twig broke under the horse's hoof, every time we left a mud track, every time a branch collided painfully with my head, the proof of our existence would repair itself, the mud reshaping, the twig healing, the branch reconnecting with the tree. I didn't dare look, even when I knew what was happening, I didn't look back. I convinced myself that I was imagining it, that there was magic in the air, anything but the truth. I could stop it, I knew, though I had no idea how. Every trace of our trail erased, so that the men behind us, those who, even now, I was sure were only a few hours behind, would have no way of tracking us, so that, for this moment, we were safe.

Safe. The murderer is safe.

The irony seemed to haunt me, the darkness once again snaking down my head.

No. Such a simple word, yet it had saved my life. And now it was the very thing that kept me grounded, the singular syllable that gave me purpose, reason.

No. No. No.

The beat went in time with my heart, my brain, my soul. It went in turn with the horse's galloping, fitting in perfectly with the animal's long strides.

It was this rhythm that kept my eyes focused, my hands steady, my face a mask of rage. It was more than a word, it was an anthem. A battle cry of defiance. I may have failed my family, my creator, my country, but I would not betray myself. I would not resign to my fate, as the others had done. I would not let them destroy me again.

Dimly I let my mind wander back to the foolish, trusting young girl that had gotten me in this situation. I wondered if there was any trace of her left. Hopefully not. I never wanted to see her again, that girl, who, even now, was urging me to go back, to trust people other than myself. Her voice spoke again, gentle and insistent, a ghost from my past come back to haunt me.

She would die. Those cold, unforgiving stone walls had destroyed me, and she was the cause. I would crush her, without mercy or emotion. If I wanted my redemption, my penance, I needed to say goodbye to that gullible, feebleminded little girl that I once so treasured.