Eight years into the Ruin

*

A SOFT HAND held beneath a warm sun. Brown fingers dancing along curled petals. Forty-four moons had passed since the sky was blue and grass drank the morning dew, and nature blossomed. But Eris and her daughter strolled through a field of wildflowers.

Five paces ahead of them, an insect landed on a daisy the color of the sun. "Mama!" Daya said, squirming free of Eris's hand. "A bug!"

She scampered over, all skinny knees and long arms, her hair frizzing from its braids.

Eris sighed before joining her. She gave a cursory glance at the bug. Stripped yellow and black with wings like frosted glass. It looked like the bees of her world ought to look like. Just like the daisy looked like a daisy, and the field a field. But all of it had been pilfered from Greenworld's coffers, gifted to them by Akul, who would see to it his bride and daughter lived in a thriving world.

"It's a honeybee."

Daya's dark eyes widened as though beholding the bee in a new, fascinating light.

"You can capture it if you're fast enough."

"Really?" Daya's nose scrunched, and it was then, when the smoothness of her youth wrinkled, that Eris saw the angles she had inherited from Akul. A sharp chin, prominent cheekbones. A wide, flat nose. She had Eris's eyes, save for the gold that rimmed her irises, and her skin. Her hair was a combination of them both - long and black like Akul's, temperamental like Eris's. It was not so easily kept in place, and it frizzed when Daya grew too excited, or impatient.

Eris nodded. "Go on. But be gentle."

Daya nodded, dipping her head so she was level with the bee. She blew out her cheeks. The bee flew from one end of the daisy to the other, hovering mid-air, sampling the nectar, finding where it was sweetest. When it stopped to rest, that's when Daya's fingers curled around it.

The gold around her irises thickened, as Daya brought her hand to her ear. "It's buzzing."

She held up her cupped hand for Eris to inspect. Eris leaned forward, soft buzzing hitting her ears, strong and alive.

Daya chuckled. "It tickles."

"I think it's time to set it free, wouldn't you agree?"

The little girl's eyes darted to her enclosed hand before she gave a reluctant nod. "Guess so," she mumbled, shoulders slumping.

Eris ruffled Daya's hair. "You'll see it again. Bees love flowers."

"Like Papa?"

"Yes." Eris pressed a finger to the tip of Daya's nose. "Like Papa."

The frown receded on Daya's face, and she opened her hand. The bee took a few seconds to recognize its freedom, but once it had, it took to the air. It dipped and circled in front of both their faces before flying off toward the horizon. Perhaps it knew it hadn't belonged there. That no matter how green their corner of the world was, no matter how fragrant the air was with flowers, it couldn't mask the death and decay. Beyond Akul's protection, the world was a withered husk, and without sunlight and water and caring hands, it would never grow again.

Eris reached for Daya's hand, craving the warmth of her skin, the strength hidden within those tiny fingers.

"Mama!" Daya moved away, jogging a few paces ahead, the wildflowers a blur of purples, blues and yellows at her waist. "I think there's a rabbit!"

"Daya, don't go too far," Eris chided, her chest squeezing. What lay beyond the hill was sour dirt, dead trees and a valley of corpses.

Daya ignored her, running and giggling, her hair flapping behind her. She was out of sight before Eris could follow.

"Daya!" She whipped her head around, and the glimmer she saw in the field, the haziness of the heat as it rose off the flowers, started to fade. The sun dimmed, the flowers shrunk, the world hemorrhaging its color. She smelled rot.

"Daya!

Eris's hands fisted. If Daya went too far, if she ventured into the Ruin, Eris feared the rot would seep into her skin and travel down her throat and take root in her heart, making it black and shriveled, until Daya became another body she'd have to bury.

"Daya!" Eris's voice was sharp, her pitch high. She raced through the flowers, trampling them underfoot. "Daya, come back!"

A scream came from around the hill. Small, pitiable. "Daya!" Eris's heart sought to tear itself from her chest. "Daya, where are you?"

She could have fallen, cracked her head open on a rock. An animal could have found her.

"Daya!" Eris rounded the hill, the grass beneath her feet giving way to hard, splintered ground. The sky was gray, the sun red. Sweat stung her eyes.

"Daya!"

"Mama!" Daya ran to her, throwing her arms around her waist. Eris fell to her knees, embracing her. She nestled her face into her daughter's hair, made soft and fragrant by the citrus oil Eris had rubbed through it that morning. Daya was intact. Daya was without blood stain. The rot hadn't gotten her.

Eris bit back tears as she forced her hands to stop shaking. "I heard you scream."

Daya buried her head into Eris's chest. "I saw a rabbit." She sniffled and Eris ran a hand down her back. "B-but it wasn't what you said it would look like. Half its face was..."

Eris squeezed. "The rot," she whispered.

Daya gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Come." When Eris finally released Daya her fear had disappeared. She no longer shook and had rubbed hard at her tear-stained cheeks. She stood tall and straight. Daya had seen death and overcome the fear it wrought.

Eris cupped her face. "Let's go back home." She extended her hand, and Daya took it. Relief washed over her as they headed back toward the wildflowers.

*

Eris stirred the pot, simmering chunks of meat and vegetables in a cream broth. She cooked beneath the large oak tree, its leaves burnished copper in the light. When she wasn't stirring, she was resting upon the bench Akul had carved.

It had been three years ago, and Eris remembered it well. Akul shirtless and glowing under the sun, hair unbound, forehead wrinkled in concentration. He scraped the wood with a paring blade no bigger than his forefinger. Back and forth, back and forth, taking breaks only to step away from his work and examine it from different angles. Then, he'd continue, shaving away the layers, coaxing the image in his mind to take shape. The work afforded him peace, the artistry brought him joy. Once it had been finished, the three of them sat and watched the sunset.

"Mama, look!" Daya sprinted from the hut, jumping over the porch steps in leggings and a loose-fitting, petal-pink top. A tattered piece of paper fluttered in her hand.

Eris left the spoon in the pot and stood. "What is it?" She brushed bits of vegetable peel off her thighs.

Daya raised the paper. Her fingertips were stained black, as was a tiny spot on her cheek. Eris's gaze dropped to what she held in her hand.

Daya beamed. "A waterfall! I drew it just like you described."

Charcoal lines depicted a rush of water falling over a cliff. Lighter, thinner lines showed the water frothing as it collided with the surface of an oval lake.

Eris smiled. "It's beautiful."

A blush spread through Daya's cheeks.

Eris ran her fingers over the paper, the coarse texture scratching her skin, the crumpled, blackened edges a bitter reminder of the moons she'd spent alone, and the moons she had shared with her parents. Beneath Daya's picture, the paper retained the faded marks of Eris's handwriting.

More brown than green.

No clouds again. 723 steps taken into the ocean.

856 steps.

940 steps.

1,125.

And below her words, the faintest traces of her mother's elegant script: burnt sap. bonemeal. Ground into fine powder. Wrap. Leaves. four hours. redness.

"Mama?" Daya tilted her head.

Eris gave Daya the paper back, and grinned though it had been hard to call forth. "Why don't you go add that to the others, yeah?"

Daya nodded, before heading back toward the hut. Eris resumed stirring when Daya squealed.

"Papa!"

Eris whirled. Akul walked toward them, framed by retreating sunlight. He carried a basket in each arm, filled with fruits and vegetables from Greenworld. A canteen of fresh water was slung over his back. Daya ran to him as though he were the only thing that mattered and when he saw her, he bent down, dropped the baskets, and awaited her arrival with open arms.

She threw herself at him, knowing he would catch her, knowing he would always catch her. "Little sun," Akul cooed and wrapped his arms around her. He lifted her off the ground, swinging her around. Daya's face cracked open and elated giggles poured forth.

When he finally placed her back down, his eyes met Eris's. "My heart."

She walked over to him and kissed him. At his hip, Daya stopped inspecting the contents of the basket to scrunch her face and stick her tongue out.

Eris ignored her, while Akul chuckled.

"Come on," Eris pointed at the cooking pot, "It's time for dinner."

In the shade of the great oak tree, as the sun turned orange, the three of them ate and smiled and laughed, the familiar sounds making Eris forget how silent her world had once been.

*

When Eris turned over in the morning, fingers reaching for Akul, she found nothing but undisturbed sheets and a cool mattress. She awoke, still groggy from sleep, the gray of early morning slipping through their hut's slatted windows. She glanced at the corner of the room, squinting to make out anything in the darkness. A small bed pushed flush against the opposite wall was also empty. Daya was not asleep, chin deep in blankets, and miles away in wondrous dreams.

The ache in Eris's chest returned. She clenched the sheets between her fingers. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

She should wait. Daya was probably with Akul. She was probably safe. They'd be back soon. The skin on her knuckles felt like it might split and rupture blood from how tightly she gripped the sheets.

Eris bolted out of bed, slipped a pair of boots on her feet, and threw open the door. Cold air rushed in, prickling her arms, and making her teeth chatter. She tore a shawl off the hook and raced down the steps.

"Daya," she called, wrapping the shawl snugly around herself. "Daya!"

She was not on the bench. Or in the oak tree, sprawled out with her sketchbook of used pages. Wildflowers, then. She must have gone to the field, to pick new a new bouquet. Maybe she had wanted to pluck the roots Eris would need for their potion lesson that afternoon. Eris had only just started in the direction of the field when two shadows took shape in the distance.

"Mama!" Daya grinned. She walked beside Akul, a basket carried in her arms. Akul carried two, filled with more fruit and vegetables. Another canteen slapped against his back in time with his steps. "Papa let me go with him to Greenworld."

Eris's breath caught, and suddenly it felt like claws were scratching out her throat, gouging out her eyes and carving out her heart. She tasted blood on her tongue.

Her gaze met Akul's. "You brought Daya to Greenworld?"

He nodded, placing both his baskets at her feet. "Daya wanted to come and help me with supplies."

Daya held an orange in her palm. It was large and bright, drops of water beading down the glistening peel. The scent of citrus had been one of Eris's favorites. "You can have your juice, mama."

"Daya--" Eris glanced down, giving Daya and the fruit a fleeting smile. "Why don't you go inside? Start putting that fruit away. Leave out what you want for breakfast, and I'll make it in a bit."

Daya's gaze darted between her mother and father. She chewed her lip, as that single wrinkle appeared on her forehead. With a simple nod, she moved toward the house, basket in hand.

Once she was gone, Eris rounded on Akul. "You took her to Greenworld?" She was barely capable of squeezing the words through her teeth.

"It is her home, too, Eris," he said, voice weary. "Daya picked you those oranges because she knows they're your favorite."

She threw her arms over her chest. "Don't ever take her to Greenworld again," she hissed.

Anger flashed in Akul's eyes. "It is her birthright." He turned away and started toward their hut.

Eris grabbed his robes, forcing him to stop. "You can't." Her voice broke. "Please."

Akul sighed, his gaze darted skyward. "She wants to see it, Eris. A world that's alive."

"You've shown her," she replied. "Here. The wildflowers, the oak trees. You've returned color to our world."

He dropped his head. "Greenworld is my home, just as it is Daya's." His head moved ever so slightly, his eyes connecting with hers as if silently begging her to understand. "She should know both."

Eris's hand tightened. She glanced at the broken blades of grass beneath her feet and that littered the path she had created in her panic. It was because of Akul, that Daya knew what grass was, and that with it, one could craft a song, or braid jewelry, that it could tickle bare feet, or make for the softest resting place. Akul asked for so little, Eris should be willing to give him this. As his bride, she should be obliging. But...

"Promise me," she whispered, hating the taste of weakness on her tongue. "That you won't take her to Greenworld again." Tears sprung from her eyes, sliding over her cheeks and off her chin. Akul stared, his body rigid. Eris felt all the breath leave her. He had never denied her before, but he would deny her then, and they'd drift apart because of it. Because Eris was too selfish, and Akul would never know the fear that nested inside her heart.

He laid his hand on hers. "I promise."

She blinked, baffled. "Akul-"

He kissed her fingers. "I will not bring Daya to Greenworld. You have a god's promise." His words were honest, his gaze reassuring. "I would do anything for you."

She gave a self-deprecating smile. "You indulge me even at my most selfish."

He brought his hand to her hair, twisting a strand around his finger. He lavished it with slow, reverent kisses. "Come, now." Dropping her hair, he returned his attention to the hut. "Our daughter waits for us, eager to feed her mother slices from an orange she picked herself."

Eris nodded. Akul took one basket, and she the other.

He walked ahead, Eris stained in shadow, the sun just beginning to rise. "Thank you," she said timidly, knowing no matter how quietly she spoke the words, or where she was in the world, Akul would hear them. So was the power of his love for her.

Author's Note: I wrote this like a week ago and was apprehensive about posting it. Something just didn't feel right. And then I realized it was because I wanted to start this chapter with fragments, in order to have the imagery read a bit jarring on purpose. But, because that kind of thing might be frowned upon, I kept rewriting the opening, but it didn't have the feel I wanted it. So finally, I went with my gut, writing it the way I first imagined it and here it is. We're about halfway through the story. :)