Authors: Chris Jags
Parasite Soul
PARASITE SOUL
By Chris Jags
Text Copyright © 2015
Chris Jags
“Little princess,” Merequio said softly. “Pass me that rock.”
“Why not use your knife?” Tiera asked breathlessly, wide-eyed.
Her brother shrugged. A smile, alternately cruel and playful,
danced across his thin lips. “Such a pitiful beast doesn’t deserve the
touch of my grandfather’s knife.”
Tiera’s eyes were drawn to the hare, which lay wheezing in a furrow
of its own making. Merequio’s arrow had passed through its hindquarters.
Blood spattered the churned snow where it lay. It seemed to understand
that its life was over, anticipating the end without struggle. The sight
of the wounded creature brought tears to her eyes but she blinked them away
furiously. It wouldn’t do for her brother to see her weakness; Merequio’s
approval meant everything to Tiera.
“Why not break its neck, like father would?” she persisted, her
small hand trembling as her fingers closed around the snow-dusted stone which
he’d indicated.
Merequio shrugged. “This will be more fun.”
Swallowing, Tiera held out the rock.
“You want to do it?” Merequio asked. She shook her head,
earning herself a smile of contempt. “Sissy.”
“I’m not a sissy.”
Merequio chuckled. “Nah,” he appeared to agree. “You’ll
make a wonderful princess one day.”
Tiera didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. She
struggled not to flinch as the stone came down on the hare’s head, once, twice,
an unnecessary third time. The crunching was sickening. Something
irreplaceably vital seemed to wither away inside of her as she watched the
animal’s undignified death throes. Fidgeting with her dress, she wished
she were back at the palace, where it was warm, her bed was soft and
comforting, and rabbits only appeared in stews.
“You’re teasing,” she said uncertainly. “About the princess
thing. You think I’m weak.”
Merequio ruffled her hair. “Nah. You’re a princess
through and through, little sis. Which is probably why you feel so out of
place here.” He swept his arm out expansively. The snow-smothered
pine forest which obscured Tiera’s view of the distant mountains seemed to lean
toward her, as though intent upon smothering her. Her brother was
right: she hated this forest, and the wilds in general.
“I don’t,” she said. “I wanted to come hunting.”
“You didn’t.” Merequio hung the dripping hare from his belt.
“I did.” Tiera could be an obstinate liar, so much so that she
occasionally believed herself.
“Fine. Tell me what you enjoy about it.”
“I…” Tiera’s mind went blank. Merequio laughed.
“Let me tell you, then,” he said, beckoning for her to follow.
With relief, Tiera saw that he was retracing their footsteps back toward
camp. “You just wanted to watch your magnificent brother, mighty hunter
that he is, as he mastered the beasts of the woodland.”
“Well…” That much was true, Tiera supposed.
“And you also came to gawp at Aphridion.”
“I… I most certainly did
not
!”
Her brother chuckled again. “It’s okay to wish you were back
home, little princess.”
“I don’t.” Tiera thrust out her lower lip stubbornly. “I just
thought… I thought the beasts would be bigger, is all.”
Merequio patted the hare. “Often they are. Deer.
Wild boars. Jaggermunds. We just didn’t get that lucky today.”
Good,
Tiera thought. Watching
animals die made her queasy. “I’d hate to meet a Jaggermund,” she said
aloud.
“I’d protect you, little princess,” Merequio said jovially.
“I’ll
always
protect you.”
Tiera smiled. She liked the sound of that.
“Even when I grow up and have to marry?” she asked. This
thought had been preying on her mind ever since her maid, Old Grentha, had
brought it up the previous week.
Act like a princess
, Grentha had
admonished, having caught Tiera playing with the grooms in the palace
stableyard.
Will your future husband be pleased to know that his bride
whiled away her youth hobnobbing with commoners and riff-raff
?
“
Especially
then,” Merequio told her. She struggled to
match his long strides. “If your husband hurts you in any way, then
bam
!”
He jiggled the limp hare violently. “He’ll have much in common with our
friend, here.”
Tiera felt a sudden wave of anxiety. “My husband wouldn’t
hurt
me, though, would he?” she asked.
Merequio wound his way listlessly through the trees, his eyes
distracted. “The world is a difficult place to understand at time, little
princess,” he said at length.
“What do you mean?” Tiera was hardly comforted by the
non-answer. Fairy tales promised wonderful husbands:
princess-rescuing, dragonslaying champions and so, she imagined, hers must be.
“What do you remember of our mother’s death?”
Tiera blinked. Her brother knew she didn’t like to think of
that, and frankly it was mean of him to bring it up. “I… was only nine,”
she began hesitantly.
“Don’t take on airs like it was the distant past. You’re only
twelve now.”
“I’m not taking on airs.”
“Tell me what you remember,” Merequio repeated, and there was an
edge to his voice now that she didn’t like. She said nothing.
“I’ll tell you what you saw,” her brother began in clipped, hard
tones, and she began to tremble. Just then, a horn blew, and to her
relief it distracted Merequio.
“Camp’s closer than I thought,” he said, surprised. “That
little fellow must have led us a merry little zig-zagging roundabout. Well,
come on, won’t you?” he shot over his shoulder as Tiera stood shivering in her
too-big, fur-lined overcoat. “Beat me to camp and I’ll let you skin the
hare.”
Tiera didn’t want that, but Merequio seemed to think it was a
reward, so she hurried along gamely after him, kicking up snow in her
wake. How she longed for her comfortable palace slippers: all this
endless walking and running in oversized boots was giving her blisters.
She had no chance of overtaking her brother. His feet seemed to dance
across the snow, while hers bogged down. His effeminately long, golden
locks streamed out behind him as he ran. If it wasn’t for his silly
little crooked beard, Tiera thought, he might have more closely resembled a
woman than a man.
As she ran, she imagined the poor hare, huddled out here in the cold
harshness of the winter forest, no warm palace to return to, always on alert
and barely scraping by. Perhaps it had been done a favor, she thought
hopefully, although the image of the creature’s brains leaking into the snow
was sure to haunt her sleep for nights to come. Somehow, if hares had
spirits –
did they?
– she couldn’t imagine it was thankful.
Her father’s small hunting camp nestled in a clearing next to a
terrifyingly cold stream. Drinking directly from its waters would
flash-freeze your innards, or at least that’s what Tiera imagined had happened
when she’d dared to dip her cup in it and sip a mouthful. Both her father
and Merequio had chuckled at her discomfort.
Five tents housed the hunters and servants who’d accompanied the
party, while a miniature lodge had been constructed for King Minus and his
family. Huntsmaster Aphridion sat laughing and drinking with his men
around a small campfire, exchanging the usual lewd jokes which Tiera rarely, if
ever, understood. A deer carcass had been strung up nearby; the creature
had died recently, its dripping blood steaming in the freezing air. One
man was fishing in the stream, without luck if the empty basket beside him told
the story.
Tiera felt her cheeks warming as she studied Huntsmaster Aphridion,
grateful that they were already red from the cold. With a tousled nest of
golden hair framing a merry, chiseled face, Aphridion was a source of
fascination for Tiera. As her brother had guessed, the jovial young
Huntsmaster was one of her strongest reasons for braving the cold inconvenience
of the forest to join her family on this trip. Rarely though she laid
eyes on the man, his infrequent appearances in court were always exciting.
Aphridion paid the princess scant attention, and had never addressed her
directly, yet his dancing blue gaze seemed to warm the air as it swept past
her.
I will marry a man like Aphridion
, Tiera
decided.
Tall and strong, like a woodland prince, with curly blond
hair and blue eyes. He will provide for me and protect me. He and
Merequio will be the best of friends. Our palace will be just outside
Vingate, so that I can enjoy the comforts of the city, but fringing on the
forest so that my husband and my brother can hunt
.
Lost in this fantasy, Tiera scarcely registered the appearance of
her father as he ducked out of the makeshift lodge and swept imperiously toward
them, flanked by two manservants. Folding enormous arms across an
armor-padded chest, he glared at Tiera and her brother from beneath hawklike
brows which had suffered at the hands of many an anonymous underground caricaturist.
“Merequio!” he snapped, voice brittle. “I expressly instructed
you
not
to take Tiera into the forest.”
Tiera hung her head guiltily. She’d been the one who’d
pressured her brother to take her hunting, under the pretense that she was
eager to learn his art. She hoped her brother would take the blame,
though. It wasn’t fun being in her father’s bad books.
“We didn’t go far, father,” Merequio answered. A touch of
resentment colored his voice. “She was never in any danger. I was
teaching her to hunt.” He indicated the mutilated hare.
“You believe your sister’s destiny is to be a
hunter
?” King
Minus was incredulous; his eyebrows soared. “Tiera is a
princess
,
and her future…”
“It’s a useful skill,” Merequio interrupted stubbornly. Tiera
could scarcely believe that he continued to challenge their father, whose heavy
hand where it came to punishment was legendary; but then, her brother had
always been obstinate, afraid of little. That was why she loved
him. “There’s no reason she shouldn’t learn a thing or two.”
“If Tiera were to learn to hunt,” the King snapped, as though his
daughter wasn’t even present, “It would be at my choosing, and her training
would be entrusted to a trained huntsman, not some rank amateur.”
“But father, it was Tiera who killed this hare…”
No!
Tiera squirmed inwardly.
No,
I didn’t, don’t bring me into it, I know you’re trying to help me, brother, but
don’t!
“Enough!” King Minus barked, sweeping his fur cloak grandly about
his person. “This is not a discussion. You know as well as I that
Tiera should not be exposed to such things. This trip, as far as you are
concerned, is over. You and your sister will temporarily return to
Seveston where you can both think over the consequences that your disobedience
will bring you when we return to the capital.”
“Which are
what
, exactly?” Merequio asked cockily.
Tiera tugged at his arm in fear. “I mean, it will be difficult to stew in
our terror without
knowing
what these consequences might be.”
The king’s face purpled. He drew back a mailed hand to strike
his son. Tiera, who had watched him horsewhip Merequio halfway to death
some years ago, squealed in terror. Her brother, however, held his
ground, his gaze steady. Even their father wavered before that withering
challenge.
“We shall have a
long
discussion,” he said, his voice ice and
gravel.
“I can’t wait,” Merequio said tautly. “Father. Come,
sister. Let us pack for our journey.”
Tiera clung to her brother as they retreated, taking care to stay
out of the King’s reach. She needn’t have worried, as it turned
out: their father stared past them as though they were strangers – or
worse, peasants. It was going to be a bad punishment indeed.
Was that a sympathetic glance which Aphridion tossed in her
direction? Tiera dared to hope that the handsome young huntsmaster had
indeed risked his liege’s wrath to favor her with an understanding smile.
The very idea bolstered her courage. Perhaps he would even plead for
clemency from whatever punishment the king might concoct. For the
umpteenth time, Tiera pictured the handsome youth as he might appear as her
spouse, bedecked in a velvet doublet and dress trousers, with fine buckled
shoes of the type that noblemen wore. He looked so fine in her
imagination. She would be the envy of every girl in Cannevish.
Hanging her head in an attempt to look sufficiently contrite, Tiera
followed her defiant brother to the lodge.
“Seveston,” Merequio was muttering. “Banishing us to that
horrible little backwater! The women in Seveston look like pigs!
Smell like them, too.”
Tiera pictured pigs walking upright in dresses with real pigtails
sprouting from behind each ear and nearly giggled.
“Well of course,” she said. “They’re peasants.”
Her brother said nothing, but Tiera took his silence for
consent. Merequio would never sully his royal hands on a peasant
woman. The idea was preposterous.