The Devil Has a Narrative

“Do you hear it?” Alexandria asked the new acolyte, a young woman named Danica. The other woman cocked her head as if she were trying to hear something on the wind, but nothing arrived—at least to her ears. Then Alexandria smiled in the way of cats who had just found a new spot of milk. “That’s his call. We must heed it.”

Being new, Danica followed Alexandria through the woods under the sheer moonlight that painted everything in silver hues. It was quiet that night, as quiet as a slip of dagger between silk, and Danica knew that being a handmaiden to the devil had its downsides—probably being a short lifespan and the inability to complete tasks in a timely manner. But she was willing to pay the toll, as it were, because she had been unlucky all her life: what was a little more misfortune to add to the mix?

When Alexandria reached a clearing in the middle of the forest, she stopped abruptly—and Danica nearly rammed into her. But she peeked over the other woman’s shoulder and saw a burning pyre in the center of the clearing, the tang of smoke meeting her nostrils.

“Is that a—a body?” Danica asked, wrinkling her nose as she took in the sight of the form on the burning planks of wood.

“Yes,” Alexandria whispered. “Our last elder. The last one who could see. He was a great man.”

Out from the woods stepped other women in cloaks, seemingly joining in the gathering as they took in the sight of the pyre. Some sang in chants; others were quiet, keeping their sorrow to themselves.

Danica watched with fascination even as something like unease stirred in her belly. What am I doing here? she asked herself. Maybe I should be back in bed where it’s safe.

But the monsters had called to her for so long that it was a wonder she had any thought left in her head for herself. They crept in and out of her brain, at ease with each other even as they danced chaotically within her. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of any intrusions, but it was difficult because the women were there are they were singing and—

“Hush,” Alexandria whispered, pressing a hand to Danica’s temple, and the young woman realized she had been exhaling in a soft keening noise that might have rattled more than a few animals in the vicinity. “You’ll be all right. Our father never leaves us waiting. Our father always provides. Our father says where there is a will, there is a way.”

Danica knew distantly that the Alexandria spoke of him, the Horned One, but she was numb right then. Her insides felt so hollow, so very hollow, as if someone had scraped her heart right out of her chest and left the cavity weeping blood.

“Hush,” the other woman said, and Danica realized she was making noise again. “You have to trust the process. Do you understand?”

Danica nodded, but that didn’t stop the pain—or the fact that she felt as if she were being watched by a thousand eyes right then, all trained on her, all waiting for her to make one wrong move.

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