Jackal Among Snakes

Anneliese entered into a shabby old hut by the oceanside. As the door shut behind her, memories that she had long ago forgotten came rushing back. She and her mother had lived here, for a time. The little Anneliese walked to the center of the room, carrying the fish. She hung it up on a rack, where various implements for cleaning fish rested just beside. And there, back in the corner of the room on the bed, was Anneliese’s mother. She was unmoving, deep in sleep.

The door shutting behind Anneliese jolted her back to awareness. The little Anneliese, meanwhile, walked to some logs. They were nearly as large as she was, but the little girl crouched down, gripping them with her tiny hands that already bore some calluses. She dragged them across the ground quietly, looking toward her sleeping mother again and again to be sure she was not roused. When they were in the fireplace, she gathered some kindling, and then a flint and steel. She struck the flint, again and again, both implements larger than her hand. Feeble sparks barely dyed the dry grass black, but the kindling never caught aflame.

Anneliese walked over and lit the fire with a simple spell. She saw the small version of herself widen her eyes, and open her mouth as though it was the coolest thing imaginable. She didn’t forget to look back and whisper, “Thank you very much.”

Anneliese crouched down beside her past self. The little girl kept her white bangs over her eyes, and a forgotten memory flooded back—Anneliese had kept her bangs like this to hide her eyes from her mother, Kressa. Hiding her eyes helped her avoid inspiring a foul mood.

Anneliese knew there was a puzzle she was intended to solve here, but her own curiosity drove her forward. “Why are you doing this?”

Little Anneliese looked back to her mother, and then to the fire. “I light the fire to warm mommy, and to get cook ready. Then, I gotta gut the fish, and unscale… no, descale it. Then, I gotta make a soup.” She counted on her fingers as she ran down the list. “Mommy eats the soup—I eat later. And then, I gotta get the wet laundry from outside, and put it by the fire. But if I put it too close, the clothes go black. Mommy hated that last time.” Her fingers traced a bruise on her arm—obvious hand marks. “After that, I gotta—”

“Why is your mom making you do all this?” Anneliese asked.

“Shhh,” little Anneliese held her finger to her mouth. “You’re angry. You can’t wake up mommy.”

That the little her could read her emotions better than she realized surprised Anneliese, and she looked over to the sleeping figure once more. How old had she been at this time? Five, perhaps, maybe a little older? Veidimen children grew larger than humans, so that sounded about right.

“Is your mother sick?” Anneliese questioned, whispering this time. The little Anneliese shook her head, white hair whipping about quickly. “Then why are you doing all of this alone?”

Little Anneliese blinked innocently, eyes barely visible behind her bangs. “I’m supposed to.”

“Why?” Anneliese pressed, the fire crackling in the silence that came after.

“Mommy told me,” little Anneliese said. “And everybody else says… I should listen to my parents.”

A memory came back, unbidden. She was a child again, looking up at her mother who seemed tired from carrying wood. Kressa cast a few logs down, then looked to Anneliese bitterly. You do it, she’d said, utter resentment on her tongue. You can do me some good. Not that it’ll make up for your birth.

Anneliese blinked, feeling nauseous. “What else do you do?” she asked quietly.

Little Anneliese raised her hands, counting again. “I wash the clothes, the underwear, the blankets, I go fish with the old misters, or help carry things for the farm men. Oh! I also—”

about things for yourself—things you want to do?”

like me. I knew already, but she told me a few times. And sometimes she loves me. She holds me tight, and she cries, and she says she’s sorry. I like those

hard?” Anneliese swallowed, her throat feeling like it

bit her tongue. “She says that pitying yourself is useless. She said that, no matter what she does, I can’t

left words unspoken, but they came rushing back as memories. You don’t deserve to pity yourself,

had been so proud of this creed of hers—proud enough she’d boldly shared it with Argrave. She’d told him that self-pity does nothing for no one. She thought it a strength she’d found—a power that she’d clung

of justifying her beatings, her reckless neglect. And the others in this village… they all knew. But just as they

her mother didn’t like their color. She saw a girl with a mother who utterly resented her, yet gave small and infrequent drops of

Anneliese saw a broken girl who

longing to be saved, and the utter lack of any reprieve no matter where she went. When returning to Veiden, things had become better by a small margin, and so it was

the old her, once again. She tried to keep the sadness from her voice as she said, “You know, your mommy doesn’t need you to

knew she was lying, could see it in her face… but the girl so

outside? I could teach you how to read. I

her eyes. After a few moments, she looked up, like all the

back. And I’m

The little girl looked around with wonder at this shack, like she’d never been carried before. She looked so happy, so excited, as

whiteness

her.

the opposite of hers, dropping by his shoulders. Unblemished white skin. Gray eyes as steady as stone. He had a smile on his face as soon as he saw her, and in those eyes…

#####

drifted back to his responsibilities, and the things that he needed to be doing in

faces—the hulking giant, about as large as Orion, with half a dozen weapons hanging from his body and a huge red mane of hair was Sataistador, the god of war, chaos, and ruthless destruction. He wore barbaric armor that exposed much of his ridiculously toned

third off to the side wasn’t familiar. Tall, and skinny enough for his skin to draw tight against his bones, he struck an imposing figure nonetheless… but further scrutiny

those two, but… who’re you?” Durran inquired

“I am Gaunt.”

looked further, he realized the man standing there wasn’t a man at all—he

sought a connection

heist against Erlebnis. We intend to steal from him, and war against the Ebon Cult. I am a pivotal part of the organization that would do this, and I come on their behalf to secure alliance. I would

then turned and walked away. Durran was flustered at this, and stared after the red-headed man. Durran had seen many killers, but none quite like that man—it was in his green eyes, his soul. There was chaos there, so intense it projected outward enough for ordinary people to perceive. Perceive, and fear. And that was only

with him already, Durran looked to Gaunt