Sephtis

45. Taken.

Oh, how splendid the song is! It flies me to another world, inflames me, transfigures me. And I think that one day, I too shall be a bard, a singer-poet, and give others this marvelous gift he gives me. I am filled with longing to sing as he sings, with that passion, with that ecstasy. My body is humming, pulled tight as the notes rise and I can feel my skin tearing, my wings unfurling as I close my eyes and listen. The drink has done something to me, and it is as if I am not just in my body, but above it.

Eleutheros runs his hands along my shoulders, and along the strong membranes of my wings. His touch leaving a trail of hot, tingling fire. He is caressing my wings with his hands, whispering words of love into my ears and the whole village is watching, holding their breath. The old ones are smiling at us, and Ayra...Ayra's eyes are brimming with unshed tears as she watches. A new longing sweeps through me. I close my eyes, lost in the beauty of the songs, and in the warmth of Eleutheros' touch, which is causing white hot fire to race in my veins.

Then comes the pain, as a knife blade flashes in the firelight. I gasp, opening my eyes to see Kavah, standing between me and the fire. He is silver-drenched in moonlight. Have I really been away that long? Is it nightfall again? How blue and cool he is against the flames, and his eyes shine and are filled with kinship and love. I cry out as the blade flashes again, and warmth pools down my back. I reach out, leaning forward to caress his milky chin; but he is gone, vanished. I look at the floor, there is nothing there but boot prints, and the edge of Eleutheros' cloak, and a swelling pool of red, tainting the earth.

Eleutheros' hands move from my skin, and the loss of his touch sends another wave of pain through me.

"What is wrong?" He asks, "the drink should have numbed you, yet you called out?"

The meaning of his words is lost on me as I point to the fire, "Kavah was here."

My head is swimming, my body not my own. At that moment there is a howl from far in the forest. It is a warning howl. Telling of hunters and peril.

"I must go!" I cry. I inturrupt Balta's song. The people look at me, their faces bewildered and alarmed. Eleutheros' father's face is thunderous. I try to stand but Eleutheros restrains me, gently, forcefully.

"You were dreaming. Sit down."

I do, but I am uneasy, for I have glimpsed, through a crack in the window boards, the round, full moon. It is Kavah's moon, and I must be with him.

"All is well," Eleutheros says, stroking my cheek. In the firelight his hands are sparkling wickedly, red with crimson substance. I feel so tired, so very tired.

My nerves are jangled, and I have no peace. The songs no longer enchant me. Eleutheros' hand steals down the back of my tunic and I pull away from him.

"Something is wrong. I must go to Kavah." I say

"Hush, Sephtis, you disturb the songs that are being sung for us." He is irritated, his eyes flashing in warning.

In that moment I hear another howl. A long, high howl, a cry of fear and agony. It hangs in the night lingering, and is suddenly cut short. Pain tears through me again and I scream, and claw at my back. My hands are covered in blood. There is blood everywhere and darkness, and pain, the howls are terrible-

"Sephtis!" It is Eleutheros, bloodied knife in hand, standing and shouting at me. All the village watches us, and the children have backed away, fearful.

"Sephtis, what is wrong with you? Sephtis!"

Pain, an awful pain that tears through me, from my left shoulder blade to my right, is combined with a pain that tears through my ribs, like a knife in the bowels. I scream and stagger, and Eleutheros grabs my arms, forcing me to look at him.

But it is not Eleutheros I see, it is Merikh, his red hair blazing, and he is slashing at me with a sword; again, and again, until I am bowed down in agony and cannot breath. My throat is cut: blood pours over my tongue. Someone holds me, binds me, and I howl and lash at him. I smell flesh and fur burning. There is a shout, and something strikes me across the face, hard. I am stunned. I fall back, and arms catch me, it is Ayra, covered in blood. Eleutheros is staring at me, his face bleeding where it is scratched. I am horrified: who has done this thing to him?

I hear the wolves in the forest whining and baying their agony. The noise fills the room, and I think Kavah has come back in a fury, and I cannot understand why the people do not flee in terror, nor, why they cower and stare at me as if I am demented. I see Eleutheros' face again, distorted by pain, tears mingling with the blood. He is shaking his head, and backing away from me, the knife falling from his hands to rest, bloodied on the floor.

Anguish tears me apart. "Kavah!" I scream. I scratch and bite and fight until I am let go, then I flee from the fire warmed house, and the company of people. I run so fast, that it is as if Kavah himself runs with me, urging me on. The cold night rushes past, grasses and low branches slashing at me, the forest flashing by like a dark, wild dream from which I must awaken, or my soul will be destroyed.

On and on I run, till breathing is torture and I know that I must fly. My skin boils, and I stumble, crying out in pain as I try to release my wings again, and again, only to be doubled over by a hellish pain that laces up my spine and bursts in my head. With trembling hands I reach for my shoulders, touching rigid, tender stumps, and sticky warmth that trickles down my arms as I pull them away, only to double over again, my hands pressing to my head, my body shaking, screaming with agony, disbelief, and betrayl.

Eleutheros has taken my wings.