Page 62 of Runes To Rain
After she left, Reem went over to Lent, put his arm around his shoulders, and led him into the dining room, telling him he needed to eat something. I realized I must not be the only one who’s seen how smitten he is. I’m glad Reem is supporting him. Fuck if I’d be able to talk to him about how broken he must feel after seeing her like that.
Fem came over to me and, gods, the amount of concern on his face was hard to see. I still almost wish I hadn’t said anything to him about my past. When he asked if I was ok, I responded that I wasfine. Glad she was out. He told me I needed to eat something, and I told him I would after I got some sleep. I haven’t really slept in days now, and I haven’t been eating well either, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep any food down. I must have been convincing enough because Fem just awkwardly patted me on the shoulder and then followed the other two into the dining room.
I’m supposed to be sleeping now, but I needed to write this down first. Maybe if I get some of the feelings out on paper, I’ll be able to breathe again. I need to get my focus back so my control isn’t so threatened. Sometimes I wish I were just another person, coddled by our government, unaware of how bad things are getting. I lost that innocence so long ago. The day I did, I got my first tattoo, and since then, I’ve been working to hone my craft. Despite the level of skill I’ve built, though, without help, it’s not like I’d be able to do much, certainly not enough. Moments like this make me wonder if I’m strong enough to put that skill to use.
Despite the conviction I feel, I continue to wish that this massive impact we’re planning weren’t needed. I’m a monster for being willing to do this, and I know it. If being a monster is what it takes to save this world, though, I’ll embrace that darkness with a smile on my face.
I’m honestly surprised the food shortages aren’t already worse with what I know about where our food comes from. Information that the population at large isn’t aware of, since it doesn’t suit the narrative of ourgovernment. We need to return the wild spaces to this world to allow for more food to be grown, and that means clearing some land. It also means reducing the population. It is that part of the plan which often keeps me up at night. We’ve all tried to find other options, and I just don’t see another way.
The weight of the work and the darkness of it make all these other emotions about a girl particularly unwelcome. Besides, even if she were interested, what could I give her, violence and a blackened heart?
EXCERPTS FROM MALAM
The following passage is one I have written based on a summary of notes provided to me by Malam. Please indulge me for any inaccuracies, and know they are an artist’s liberties. Malam would want this to be as factual as possible. I would have avoided sharing this entirely, but it provides important context to the story, which I wanted you, dear reader, to have.
The hour is late, and it is dark as I materialize in a small alcove outside the mansion that the band owns. As I regain my footing, I momentarily struggle to maintain my composure. I can feel her pain from here, I’m dizzy with it.
Being around her the day prior was agony. The pain alone would have been bad enough, but I could smell blood and antiseptic so strongly that I’m confident she’s covered in wounds. Of course, the fucking angels believe themselves to be “civilized” and abstained from marking her extremitiesto avoid visible scarring. Currently, it means she can attempt to hide her injuries from the others. That is an action I am trying not to have an opinion about.
It doesn’t even surprise me that the angels beat her on top of whatever other wounds she has. I could taste the lie on her when she said she had been in a fight. The broken nose and fingers were courtesy of the angels. My only comfort is that she was giving them hell if they varied from their tenets, since, with angels, those are the strength of granite.
I rest my forehead against the front door before I enter, taking a moment to breathe and try to compose myself. I need to be at my best for this, or rather, my people need me to be at my best for this.
I finally enter and make my way to the lower level, where the coven is getting set up. They are preparing for my instruction in the practice of group magic. It has been more than a fortnight since we last met, and we need to get back on track.
Reem glances at me as I enter the room and gives me a single nod before going back to his work. He is preparing the magic circle in the middle of the stone floor that is needed for coven work.
Lent is here as well, paging through a book. I suspect he’s looking for the passages we’ve been working through. Now that Chaosta is back, hopefully we will begin to make more progress again. Growling to myself, I think again about how much more progress we could be making if Dio hadn’t sent her away to that treatment center all those months ago.
I wish the answer to all this strife were as easy as my people fighting the angels directly, but because of the unspoken truce, my hands are tied. Of course, as hard as I try to forget it, there’s also the pesky fact that they outnumber us by a significant margin. An extremely significant margin.
As part of my solution to that imbalance, these four men arebeing forged into a weapon I will point not at the angels directly but at their hideous city. This is my first move to end this subversive war of inaction that is killing our planet. A silent, slow war that, without action on my part, will also mean the end of my people. Hopefully, the actions I have set in motion will be enough to save us. I need these men to develop their skill in magic enough and learn ancient, nearly forgotten magic. That esoteric weather magic is the key to the action I have planned.
Chaosta’s creation wasn’t about giving me another weapon to wield. Instead, I created her with the elements I thought necessary to gain a powerful ally. One who will do what is needed to begin to even the balance between demons and angels, dark and light. At first, I wondered if I had made some mistake; she seemed so meek and unassuming. Now, though, I see how her actions, or maybe even just her existence, have already caused the beginning of an avalanche. One, I don’t think any of us truly know the scope of.
Unfortunately, I have also begun to care for her. Likely a side effect of giving her some of my life force. As a demon, it’s not in my nature to care for any but my own kind.
I remain in the shadows as Fem and Dio arrive in this large space.
I watch Dio closely. Where the others have been holding up well as we make progress toward our goal, Dio is rapidly crumbling. I can’t have weak steel in my weapon, especially Dio. His emotions are his weak point, and his control needs work if he is going to survive this.
After seeing his tattoos and discovering what he is capable of as a solo, magic practitioner, he is the card up my sleeve. However, since I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to Chaosta, or that he has believed me to be a liar, I must admit my feelings on his usefulness are now clouded.
As I observe Dio, I note that Fem is approaching me. Imentally prepare for whatever conversation we are about to have.
Sharing as much information about Chaosta as I have with Fem has been a necessary evil. After I got her out of Piquory Center, someone needed to keep an eye on her to ensure she didn’t harm herself again. Fem was the obvious choice with his training in healing.
When I saw how seriously he was taking his role as Chaosta’s protector, I encouraged him to attempt to get closer to Dio, hoping that his support might help. I am not sure if it is working, but that’s neither here nor there.
Before Fem has a chance to begin the conversation the way he wants, I ask him quietly, “Has she allowed you to examine her yet?” My chest tightens as he shakes his head. “But she hasn’t harmed herself, right?” I ask.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, and I feel my muscles tense.
I’m on a razor's edge already, with her pain echoing through me, so it takes a massive amount of strength to pull myself back from the edge and compose myself. “What’s that?” I ask. My voice sounds harsh even to my ears. I see him flinch.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I started to wonder how she would’ve had access to a knife or blade at the center,” he says.
I relax slightly. I have the answer to this. “The notes in her medical record said she got violent, broke a table, and stabbed herself with the broken table leg,” I say, careful to keep my voice low.
