Fearless

by Jolene Dawe

They say that Sabitha was fearless. She and her band of warrior demons would ride into whatever village was on their list of places to terrorize, take whatever and whomever they wanted, destroy all the rest, mount onto their hell-beasts, and move on to the next town.

They say she was half-dead and half-alive, daughter of some dark goddess and an unfortunate man. They say that her band was made up of demons, that she ate babies for breakfast, stewed in poison and filth, that she bathed in blood, that she could kill with just a touch, that she devoured souls, that she made women, animals, and land barren with the merest glance. They say a good many things about Sabitha.

Almost all of it is true. She is terrible and powerful and bloodthirsty and bent on destruction. She is half-demon, a demi-goddess, a horror to flee before.

She's also terrified of humans.

That's right. You know that saying about bees: they're more afraid of us than we are of them? Well, it also applies to Sabitha. That doesn't make her harmless, though. You put fear of something into a killer demi-goddess, and you end up with a lot of bloodshed.

We were never meant to know of her fear.

I was out in the wilds when her host came to my village. When I came home, I found smoldering ruins overrun with scavengers on wing and on foot, hunting for an easy meal. Other people raided to gain food. She raided to destroy--the spoils were simply perks.

I made my way to my modest home (or what was left of it) and ducked through the ruined door. Inside it was dark with lingering smoke, so I didn't see her before I bumped into her. Because it was dark, she also didn't see me. In the split-second as I stumbled back, I thought I had run into a corpse. When I landed, I crawled forward, found the neck, and searched for a pulse. The skin was freezing to the touch, but there was a feeble heartbeat at the base of the throat. I reached under the arms, maneuvered myself to my feet, and dragged the body out of my hut.

I didn't recognize her, which meant she wasn't from the village. She was wrapped in tattered clothing, bloodstained, and very pale. Though I wasn't much of a healer, I knew enough to know that if there were any deep wounds, they would have to be staunched. Pale color was a sign of lost blood. It was with this in mind that I began to remove her clothing.

I removed her top, examined her torso thoroughly and then moved on to her lower body. It wasn't until I had her belt undone and her pants halfway down her legs that I realized my mistake.

Her flesh was withered and dead, blue and revolting. All manner of things crawled and lived, hidden from daylight, fleeing as they became exposed. My stomach flopped over. I screamed and stumbled away, falling back onto my elbows. I screamed so loudly the birds in the village exploded into flight. I screamed so loudly it rang in my ears. I screamed so loudly I heard double.

Once I ran out of wind I discovered I really was hearing double. Shaking, trying desperately to not throw up, I forced my eyes open and found her posture mirroring mine. She was up on her elbows, but otherwise as I had left her, her wide, death-blue eyes on me as if I were the very thing of nightmares.

Her screaming went on long and loud, until I had to cover my ears with my hands to lessen the sound. When she stopped she was left gasping. I know now that I could have used the time to get away, that she would not have chased me, that she was as helpless as she's ever likely to be. At the time, I was sure she could kill me with a glance, so I stayed put, waiting to see how my life would end.

When, after far too long, she neither moved nor said anything, I asked, "You're her, aren't you?"

She flinched when I spoke. I think we came to the same conclusion at the same time. We were both alone out here, without allies. I don't know why her host abandoned her. Perhaps they hadn't meant to. Perhaps they would be back. For now, it was just she and I, in my wasted village.

"You a healer?" Her voice was harsh, as if her vocal cords had been damaged long ago. It made her appear less helpless. We might both be without allies here, but she was half goddess. I was only human. The scales were not balanced.

I swallowed around my hysteria. "Not really." I tried to not cry. "Are you hurt?"

She nodded. "My foot." I noticed she wasn't quite looking at me. She wiggled her foot and I saw what she meant; someone had managed to almost sever her right foot from her ankle.

Bile rose in my throat. "I didn't notice any blood."

"You wouldn't; it doesn't bleed."

"Oh." I kept swallowing, hoping I wouldn't be sick. "I have some... I had some thread that might be able to help."

"The sinew in your body would be just as good," she told me.

For the first time our gazes met, and I realized why she had been screaming. Her words were threatening, but there was fear in her eyes that went beyond reason. She was terrified.

Of me.

I didn't move.

"Go fetch the thread."

I ran into my smoldering hut. It was impossible to see, but that didn't stop me from searching. Amazingly I found my needles and thread on the floor, sheltered from the fire by the cast iron pot that had fallen over them. The needles were still hot. They burned my finger, but I clutched them all up in my hand and went back into the daylight.

Sabitha had her pants back up around her waist and her belt fastened. She sat cross-legged on the ground, watching as I approached. "Give it to me."

I dropped my supplies into her hand and scooted away. She shuddered when I almost touched her, pursed her lips, and threaded the needle.

I realized too late that her foot was in her other hand. It was too much. I fell over.

She was just finishing reattaching her foot when I came to. It was blue-black, hairless, lacking toenails, and it stank of death. I thought I saw something wriggle in it, but I closed my eyes, forced myself to breathe, and then brought my gaze to her eyes. I could see my death in them, but that was better than. . . than. . . that.

She either didn't notice or didn't care. Sabitha admired her own handiwork with a pleased smile on her face. Silence encased us for a while, as the sun began to creep closer to the horizon.

"Are you hurt?"

Her question was so unexpected after such a long silence that at first I couldn't understand her. "No," I said slowly. "I wasn't here when..." my voice faltered. "Is... is anyone going to come back for you?"

"Tonight, I'd imagine. If you're not hurt, you may want to get a head-start."

"A head--oh." Night was coming on fast. How far could I get? Where did I have to go? How far could she get? I tried to think, and couldn't. "Why did they leave you?"

I knew there were more important things to do than sit here and chat with Sabitha--namely fleeing for my very life--but I couldn't seem to muster the energy to get up.

That was when I learned she couldn't truly kill with a glance. I would have been dead then, otherwise. The severity of her glare made me jump, which, in turn, made her jump. She looked spooked, as if I were the dangerous one and she the victim.

"They thought I was with them," she said, but she didn't sound sure. "When they make it back to camp, they'll realize I'm missing and come back for me"

I wasn't going to press the matter. "And the other bodies?"

"Bodies?"

I gestured to the ruins around me.

"Oh. They're not all bodies yet, but they will be. And if you don't want to join them, you'd best get going. You have not won your life merely by helping me, I assure you. Only a fool would linger here longer."

Despite my behavior, I knew I was no fool. I wasn't looking forward to death at her hands. I stood, took one last look around me, and then made off in the direction I had come. By the time full dark was on us I was miles from the village, holed up in an old bear cave I had claimed years ago as my home away from home. I stayed in there for four days, returned to the village, found what food I could, and set out across country to the nearest town. It was a two-week hike, and I arrived to find it untouched by Sabitha and her horde.

As the years past, her attacks grew less frequent. She targeted smaller settlements, preferring single homesteads high up in the mountains. Stories spread of her killing off her horde of warriors. She lost some of her fearsome edge, and her reputation slowly turned from one that inspired terror to one that inspired ridicule. Only in the mountains did she retain her merciless reign.

I saw her eyes every night, glowing with the light of death. I saw her shuddering at my touch, heard her screams. I never told her secret, I never explained why she sought smaller populations to raid, and she never came after me. No one had ever survived one of her raids, as far as anyone knew, and I never saw fit to correct them.

Maybe I'll see her again before I die. Maybe when the cold seeps into my bones and my body begs to rest, I'll venture up into the mountains to see if I can find that terrible demi-goddess. For now, I'm content to sit here, snug in this well-populated valley, and hold her secret.