And he’d been wearing Kagemori’s skin this entire time.
I was not lucid then. I would’ve wondered when it happened. What had driven him to this? There are stories of it; you spoke of them around the fires we once shared. Minami Shiori was said to have loved a man before she left for her wanderings, only to discover when she returned that he’d given up his body to a demon for the promise of her safe return.
Demons can do many things. We are everywhere. We do not exist as you do, bound to one time and place. We are constantly flowing from here to then, from now to there. And there are few creatures with the temerity to approach a demon.
Yes, it is a thing peasant wives do when their husbands leave for war. If a demon keeps the man safe for a specified time, it’s entitled to possess the wife. It never ends well. Without fail, the demon will kill the husband the second it is free of the bargain.
Nozawa Kagemori sold his body.
But he did not sell it to a very powerful demon. He sold it to a child wearing its father’s britches.
And the trouble with wearing a human body is you’re trapped in the current time and place. If someone kills you …
I lurched in front of you. Gods, how I longed to be near you. The smell of you! You were gold and dawn and warmth. I could not see you, Shizuka, not the way I saw the others. I saw only a silhouette blazing bright.
But I stood before you nonetheless, and I raked my chest and roared at the invader. “Kailon!”
Ripples. In my mind’s eye, the true image of him flickered into Kagemori’s body. Yes, bind him. Bind him to that flesh. If I just reached forward …
He was skittering like a frightened bug.
“Steel-Eye, I’d heard stories, but I didn’t know, I didn’t know—”
I didn’t have to listen to him. I grabbed for him.
No, it jumped, he jumped, where did he go? Deep breaths. There. To the right, no, above, no—
There were feet on my shoulders, hands on my face. It craned over me, a wave of scent and emotion. Fury. Fear. Panic. Was this its only chance, to cling to me like a child clinging to its mother?
Claws raking against my skin; burning trails where its nails had been. Pain. Pain. I stumbled forward, stumbled back, trying to shake him off. He held on, dug his claws in deeper, took a handful of my hair.
No. Stronger. I was stronger. I felt it in my veins, Shizuka, with every beat of my heart.
I reached overhead—grab it, grab him by the neck—
Blinding pain, a dagger rammed into my skull. No—talons. Its filthy talons digging into my eye like a knife into a ripe plum.
My eye. A piece of me gone, forever; a piece of me staining this demon’s hand.
*
DIDN’T MATTER. Just a bit of pain. It wouldn’t stop me. Not right now, at least.
I throttled him with one hand. With the other, I got a good grip on his scalp, a good hold, as fine as any hunter could ask for. And then?
Then I pulled.
*
MUSCLES RESISTED BUT eventually gave in. Skin tore. Its head came off with a wet sound that thrilled me. Hot blood cascading over my body, a waterfall of ink. I threw the head to the ground.
But its face. Its face, Shizuka, staring back up at me!
I couldn’t stop myself. I fell to the ground and I bashed that head in, bashed it as hard as I could, bashed it until its bones were a fine paste and its brains were thin as leaves of seaweed and—
*
“SHEFALI!”
Someone grabbed my back. You.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarled. Blood, I was covered in it, black as pitch. I couldn’t let you come near me in such a state or you’d get sick. Instead, I rolled away from the demon’s head and curled up on my side, like an injured wolf.
You came creeping toward me. Bright, so bright. I covered myself. When I blinked, I could almost see your lovely face.
Darker.
Colder.
Something wet on my face, dragging along my cheekbone. When I touched it, it was …
It was what was left of my eyeball.
And that is the last thing I remember.
IF I COULD, I’D COME TO YOU
When I next opened my eyes—ah, I must switch to “eye,” now—I found you sitting in front of me. I could not make out where we were, but it was not the arena. A great pounding ache in my head dulled what sight remained. As long as I saw you, and you were safe, nothing else mattered.
But as you came into focus, I saw your bandages. One strip ran across the bridge of your nose. A thick patch of cotton covered a gash beneath your eye. And the entire right side of your head was covered, probably to support what was left of your ear.
A sheet of paper distracted you. You scowled at it as hard as you could in spite of all the wrapping on your face.
“Shizuka,” I said, “are you well?”
As soon as you heard my voice, your whole manner changed. In an instant, you went from a scowl to a euphoric smile.
“Shefali!” you said. You squeezed me tight. I felt your heart against my chest, and it was then I realized I wasn’t in my deel. Instead, I was in a set of loose Hokkaran robes. “My love, how are you feeling? How is your head? Have … Have they been troubling you?”
I ached. I licked my cracked lips, pressed my fingers to my temples. Think. Did the demons speak to me during that span, however long it was?
No.
No, they didn’t.
What happened? Think. Go out into the fog of memory with a lantern. Kailon cut you, I tore his head off, and …
Oh. That was right.
Slowly, hesitantly, I reached up and touched my fingers to my left eye. To where it had been.
“Shefali,” you said, wincing, “please. Dear one, you have returned to me; we are together; let us not worry about our injuries.”
“Show me,” I said.
“My love,” you said, “you are still my living poem. Don’t trouble yourself with the mirror.”
I forced myself upright. Dizzy. One hand on the bed, the other on your shoulder. On my left, only darkness; I had to turn my head if I wanted to see. That was the last thing I wanted to do.
There it was. The mirror. Couldn’t see much from this distance, but it hung in the northern corner of the room. I took a deep breath and stepped out of bed. Besides the dizziness and the headache, I felt all right. Well. Not completely all right. I felt as if I’d lost a fight, yes, and as though there was something wet on the left side of my face.
One foot in front of the other. The mirror came closer and closer.
“Shefali—”
“Have to see.”
There. That ashen creature in the mirror, with the pale brown skin, must be me. Once, my hair was the color of fresh wheat. The limp strands against my forehead were as white as Alsha’s mane. The robes I wore had opened as I walked. If I wanted to, I could trace the dark veins now visible on my neck and temples.
But I was more concerned with my eye. Thick white bandages covered it. With my claws, it took little effort to peel it all off.
It was gone.