Page 27 of The Thirteenth Child
I made my way into the orchard, watching as lightning skittered overhead, hopping and sizzling but somehow never striking here onland.
The wind raced through the branches above me with a persistent low growl that brought to mind stories Remy would tell around the hearth on winter nights, stories of those who would change with the phases of the moon, becoming more beast than man, animalistic and impossibly hungry—the loup-garou.
“I went out anyway,” I called, raising my voice to be heard over the wind, over the rain. I shouted my rebellion as loudly as I could, wanting to make sure Merrick heard me. “You can’t lock me away in a cottage and forget about me for another twelve years!”
The wind tugged my hair loose from its braids. It whipped across my face, stinging my eyes. My body trembled against the force of it, ransacked with gooseflesh. My teeth chattered; I would undoubtedly come down with pneumonia.
I didn’t care.
“I’m not scared of this,” I continued, screaming now. “Do you hear me, Merrick? I’m not afraid!”
“Oh, little mortal,” the hissing, sly voice said again.
In the cabin I’d convinced myself that it was only my thoughts,but it was not. It was most decidedly not because I suddenly saw a figure whose voice it was.
Here.
With me.
In the orchard.
Lightning flashed and I could make out a face. A broken face of too many gods sharing a single body.
“You should be.”
Chapter 10
My mouth fell open andI instantly plummeted to the ground, kneeling in alarm before the Divided Ones.
Swathed in lengths of gleaming golden linen, they weren’t as tall as Merrick but still made a formidable figure against the mottled grays of the Between. Though only the two most dominant gods, Félicité and Calamité, presented themselves, there were untold hundreds of gods of chance and fortune within the one body. Félicité and Calamité had their own sets of arms and hands, capable of carrying out whatever task they wished, often working in opposition to one another. Their cluster of long limbs reminded me of the giant wolf spiders that loved hiding in fallen trees within the Gravia. But their face was split down the middle, each god getting one even half.
Félicité, the kinder of the pair, reached out for me now, though Calamité tilted their head, studying me with an icy blue eye. Neither of the gods had pupils, and their irises pulsed with an otherworldly flicker as their interest was caught and lost.
“He actually brought her here,” they said, both voices speaking in unison, like leaves pulled atop a swirling current.
“Look at the mess he’s gone and made for her,” said one of them, and I couldn’t explain how I knew, but I was certain it was Calamité.
They shook their head even as Félicité reached up to pluck one of the flowers from Merrick’s trees.
“What a peculiar thing to go and do,” she mused, and I wasn’t sure if she meant the trees or me.
“Do…do you know where Merrick might be?” I asked, looking up from my bow so I could study them better. I pulled one of my knees to my chest, and my fingers dug into my calf as I awaited their answer.
“Merrick?” they echoed, and turned toward the cottage. Their movements were slow and dreamy, as though they were moving at half speed. Their grace was mesmerizing, and I could feel myself tugged along as if in a trance. I didn’t notice my damp clothes or dripping hair, didn’t care about the painfully hard basalt pressing into my legs; I only had eyes for them.
“He told you to call him Merrick?” Félicité wondered aloud.
“And he’s not here?” Calamité asked, nearly on top of his twin. “He’s left you alone? Again?”
I nodded and the gods began to laugh.
“What a life you might have had, little mortal, if your parents had not been so entirely foolish,” Félicité fretted. “Did you know we wanted you first?”
“Not first,” Calamité said, even before Félicité had stopped speaking. “Not exactly.”
It was difficult to follow the conversation, as their words slipped and slid over each other. My ears felt clogged, as though I were underwater, my senses muffled and indistinct.
Félicité’s side of their mouth frowned. “Well, yes. Not first. Not quite. But still.” She twirled the pink flower thoughtfully. “The things I could have given you.”
