Page 143 of Born for Silk

The Common girls—Fur Born like me—know the wildest stories. Horrible stories and wonderful ones. Of spirits and devils. Of a man named Jesus who could turn water into wine. I would be beyond endeared by him had he turned water into honey, but it is a fancy story, nonetheless.

Hours pass.

The Missing Moon must be at its topmost perch in the night sky. Most of the girls have returned to the back room, a few others doze on blankets between the benches, close by. Ana is curled on her side, head on my lap, breathing deeply in the pit of sleep.

“I have a story,” a young girl with ashy-blonde hair says, leaning into the huddle, words low and careful. “But Han doesn’t like these ones. You know Endigos like to tell stories.”

The girls nod.

I knew that, too.

The Endigo boy liked hearing mine. As I told him about Odio, his eyes lit up like the lanes of The Estate during a carnival.

She hushes the quiet chatter. “There is an old Endigo legend that the elders tell the young ones. It is about an Endigo boy who ate his baby sister as she was being birthed.”

An older girl shuffles, uncomfortably. “We are in church, Colleen.”

“I know, Susan, so we must whisper,” Colleen says with a wicked, playful grin. “As punishment for feasting on his own, he was lashed back to bones and sent to the Horizon.”

Susan pales. “Stop. You will give us nightmares.”

“Come sit beside me,” the queen offers, tapping the spot beside her. “I will protect you.”

Susan tries to hide her excitement. “Um, okay.” She stands and sits beside Tuscany, her cheeks now full of excitable colourings.

“So,” Colleen begins. “He was sent to the Horizon. The Redwind should have killed him, bled him dry, but because he had no flesh left, he lived. A walking a skeleton.” They gasp. “The elders say that if you dare venture into the Horizon, you will hear his bones rattling in the wind moments before he tries to pull you in. He wants to wear your skin so he can return to The Mainland once again. So, never, ever walk the Horizon. Unless you have no skin.”

Eww.

One of the younger girls curls her nose, cringing. “Why are the stories always about children dying? Why not fully grown men?”

“Because”—Colleen shrugs sad— “We care more for children than fully grown men. We don’t worry about them at all.”

Another girl nods. “Children are more vulnerable and?—

“Fragile,” I agree, subtly holding my belly. I look over at Rome who has fatigue clinging to his strong brow and creeping into his gaze.

Our eyes meet.

At some point, he was a child. It makes me wonder… At what point do boys become men? At what point do we stop caring? Do they feel the shift in their hearts? Their outsides get big, intimidating, and strong, but inside— I sigh as he blinks, fighting the night-time pull to keep his gaze on me. Inside, he is still that young boy.

His eyelids fan his eyes.

Slowly, I watch him lose his battle, the gravity of sleep dragging him under. Asleep and yet, somehow still scowling, still intimidating.

“I know one.”

I am smiling at sleeping Rome when I look back to see a woman approaching from a darkened corner of the church, dressed in dark pants and a dark dress-shirt, red dust on her leather shoes, sweat sparkling on her forehead.

Where has she been?

It’s the depths of night.

I blink at her.

My skin prickles. My bully gauge comes out of retirement, warning me of strange intentions.

“And it is about a half man, half eagle,” she adds. Sitting down on the bench in front, she twists to look back at me. I cannot quite figure it out, but… I don’t feel right. My pulse climbs into my neck; I don’t know why. And I don’t know why she is staring at me. “The tale goes that this man visits the Endigo and asks them to do horrific things… He is a ruler, you see. He gives the Endigo permission to hunt women, allows them to keep the bodies, the flesh, so he can steal their babies.”

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