a/n: Um... hey. I realize I suck in epic proportions. But on the bright side, there's an update about YHGTBKM on my profile! :D Mhmm. But please enjoy Nahuel and Huilen. I know I do.
Pire gagged, blood sluicing the corners of her mouth—
"Please, Huilen, please don't tell—"
There was a coil of movement beneath the skin of her mottled stomach, something arching, stretching for freedom—
"He's kind, so kind, Huilen, and so handsome—"
A violent crack, Pire's hoarse scream from a throat filling with blood—
"Oh sister, you'd love him so, my dark angel, my Joham—"
The limp fall of her wrist, snapped spine—
"Don't tell Mother, don't tell Father, please Huilen—"
But if I had, I never would have discovered that life leaves the eyes last of all.
"Auntie, how old are the stars?"
"Very," I said, and then sighed, "Go to sleep."
Nahuel blinked up at me, one season old, in the body of a child much more so. "I'm not tired."
"Of course not," I muttered, wishing, not for the first time, that I could sleep as well. Nahuel lay down obediently, and then continued, "Auntie, what is the sky made of?"
"I don't know."
"Why do birds sing, Auntie?"
"I don't know."
"What if—"
"I. Don't. Know. Sleep!" I snapped, irritation boiling over.
Pire's hand, rubbing her too-swollen belly. "Huilen, what if we cannot find my Joham?"
My words, a deep sigh against her cheek. "I don't know."
Nahuel was half asleep when his voice rose again like smoke. "Auntie?" he asked, yawning. "Why do all the animals go in pairs?"
I tilted my head to the sky; let the words tumble from my mouth. "For safety," I answered, and wished that two always meant protected.
Seven seasons.
Seven seasons since Pire left for the spirit world. Seven seasons since Nahuel entered ours.
The hem of my dress soaked through with water as I sat by the riverside, submerged to the ankles. I waited, as I'd done a thousand times before, for the sting of tears behind my eyes.
They've never come.
The moon spilled its light on the river's surface, illuminating the sand and rocks beneath. When Pire was young, I carried her on my back to the other side, because she cried when the rocks hurt her feet.
Nahuel appeared beside me, smooth and silent in the stifling blue-black darkness. "Auntie?" he asked, kneeling down. I ducked my head, then, on second thought, turned to face him.
He was a man now— seven seasons was all it took. For reasons lost to me, my throat sealed tight.
Seven seasons. Only just.
"I carried Pire," I finally said, and heard Nahuel's heart beat faster. "To the other side of the river, when she was small. When we were small. Because the rocks hurt her feet and she cried."
He was silent for a moment. I turned my head away again, loosened braid swinging. Everything was tinted blue, but for the shining white sphere that rippled over the water.
Seven seasons. Less than half my age.
Nahuel sounded timid when he next spoke. "Thank you, Auntie," he murmured, and, before I could move away, leaned to kiss my temple in the black of the night.
I had never kissed him. Only held him before he could walk, bathed him before he knew how. Showed him how to hunt, as I was learning how myself. Taught him Spanish words to fool the missionaries who wanted to take him to the church, who would have been noticed missing if I took care of them myself, who would have sent a manhunt if they saw my devil eyes.
Nahuel was warm where I was freezing. That had been one thing I never told him, dovetailing my relief at the fact that he could one day, suddenly, walk on his own: the heat had been lovely in my arms, a reassurance; if I could still feel, I must not be a demon.
Both of us stayed still in the aftermath of Nahuel's uncharacteristic display of affection. His body tensed beside mine, fearing a reprimand I knew that I should give.
I let my eyes fall closed. Seven seasons.
"Go to sleep," I sighed, the moonlight glowing dully beyond my lids.
I was allowed one caving in.
"I feel utterly ridiculous."
Nahuel smirked at me. "Don't get too angry, Auntie. You'll destroy your lovely parasol."
"How heartbreaking," I muttered, and tightened the thing against my shoulder with a scowl. Nahuel was a step ahead at all times, leading me through the maze of shops and booths that he had visited so many times before.
Why in the name of Pire was I doing this?
I was about to pose this question to my nephew when I recalled his face from several weeks before, after visiting with his father for only the third time. Not that it upset me, seeing Nahuel saddened, of course— it just made things more difficult for the two of us to go back to our usual routine.
He needed to become… well, he had never been exactly cheerful to begin with… but he needed to become normal again. And the only way to do that was to tip the balance in the direction completely opposite Joham.
Which would be why I had agreed to come with my nephew to this hell.
I said something to that effect out loud, and Nahuel turned to me, bemused. "Auntie, please. It isn't so bad as all that," he said encouragingly, and then reached over to adjust my parasol before it slipped through my gloved fingers.
Utterly. Ridiculous.
Nahuel loved being around the humans. Pire knew why, but he did, even though we were at the market and had no money to spend. But he looked— so relaxed here. Although it was strange seeing him in so much clothing, I must admit, though I suppose he could say the same of me.
At the thought, I immediately tugged at the collar of my dress. It was tight, constricting, but it covered me; so did the parasol, so very popular ever since visitors from the States had begun touring here. It was only available to the wealthy, but I had enough sense not to comment when Nahuel presented it to me after my initial objections at his request to join him at the market.
Damn my ridiculously luminescent skin.
I found myself longing for the days when Pire and I played on the hillside in only our waistcloths and beads. Now here I was with her son, gloves to my elbows and hair tucked in a knot behind my head, a tiny parasol shielding me from the sun and a dress that felt molded to my skin.
How things change.
Nahuel paused to inquire about a collection of fabrics displayed across one long table. I stood beside him, tilting the parasol forward so as to hide the hue of my eyes with its shadow. The things I did for my nephew.
Pire's smile spread wide across her small face. "Ah, Huilen, that's cheating!"
"It isn't cheating if I win!" I shouted back, laughing, and ducked the spray of water she kicked at me. "Naughty little sister."
"I'm not naughty. You're naughty!" Pire proclaimed, as the sun beat down our backs. That day, it stretched on forever.
"Auntie?"
I turned my face up, towards Nahuel, who looked at me with worry. I had been silent for much too long, too deep in thought.
He had killed her. He had killed my Pire.
Why did I think he deserved any of my kindness?
Nahuel's brow furrowed; he tugged at my parasol. "Do you want to go back, now?" he asked quietly, concern lighting his voice for all to hear.
And why, for the love of his mother, did he give so very much to me?
I was bathing when the hunter saw me.
I had been underwater, all of me but my hair; it floated above the surface, dark and obvious. It was only when I finally tired of watching minnows flitting back and forth and lifted myself, not out of breath at all— for I had discovered long ago that I needed no air in my lungs, quite unlike Nahuel —that his presence was discovered by me.
He was not one of our people. His hair was not braided like Nahuel's, and the paint on his face was soot black, streaked across his cheeks. I cursed myself, cursed the water for the dulling the sound of his heartbeat, cursed anything I could think of.
Yet I found myself quite unable to move. The hunter, spear fallen to the ground at his side, was staring. No color made its way to my face, as I knew it could to Nahuel's— I'd stop bathing near my nephew the first time I saw the tint, the ducked head, and the realization that he was growing older and I was a woman.
The hunter had no blush.
I stepped back just as he knelt. "Wait," he said, in Spanish, something I could understand. His voice was low. "Who— who are you?"
How many answered there were to that inquisition. I was the aunt of Nahuel. I was the sister of Pire. I was the desire of Joham. I was the curiosity of my half-nieces. I was…
I was still eighteen. I was lonely. I was freezing, inside and out.
I took one step closer to the riverbank. "I am Huilen," I said, and waited for what would happen next.
The hunter studied me for one long second. I thanked the clouds that ruled the sky today, for hiding the glimmers of my skin. "Huilen," the hunter repeated, and, ignoring his waistcloth, slid into the river. I sucked in a breath. "What a pretty name."
What are you doing?
The voice that screamed within my head was a curious mix of my mother, Pire, and Nahuel. Trying to live, I answered, as the hunter reached out to take me into his arms.
I had been betrothed. To a boy in the village, one whose name I could not recall but who I remembered had always smelled of smoke and berries. I had never kissed him, that much I knew. The most intimate touch I'd ever had from a man was the kiss on the temple Nahuel had given me years ago.
Not anymore.
It was testing my control, being so very close to a human— the scent, the delicious, throat-burning scent. But even more than that, the heat; it burned along my stomach, seeped into the place he held my shoulders with his fingers. The kiss itself was second to the heat it gave, pouring like physical liquid into my open mouth.
The hunter pulled back, panting. Bite, bite, so thirsty, bite— "You're freezing," he whispered, with ragged breath.
"You're warm," I breathed back, and tugged him to me again.
His hands skimmed my sides, spine, hips. Mine found their way around his neck, coiled there; I was careful to keep his tongue from the sharp points of my teeth. If Joham could create others of our kind, then I could as well. I needed to be careful. Haste would bring horror.
The hunter suddenly brought my leg around him, leaving me wishing I was able to blush at the hardness I felt against me. But I was full grown— more than. I was free to do as I pleased. Yes, I thought, tilting my head back as his lips mapped my throat. I can do just as I—
It was the sound of a heartbeat, quick and shocked, that made me gasp. The hunter looked on in puzzlement as my head whirled to the side, to look my nephew in eye.
Nahuel was crouched near a tree, hidden from human gaze. The astonishment on his face would have been comical in almost any other situation, but now… now, it only served to fill me with hot, burning shame. Still twined around the hunter, the man's hand fisted in my hair, one of my legs at his hip— I stared at my nephew, unable to find any sort of words.
Nahuel turned, suddenly, and ran. He was gone in less that a second, the blur of the leaves that had surrounded him the only hint he had ever been present.
I had made the worst kind of mistake.
I pushed myself away from the hunter, chanting in my head a promise not to drain him dry. He watched, confused, and I was quite sure that eventually he would wander to a clearing and fall into a deep sleep; would convince himself the woman he'd met in the river was nothing but a dream.
If only I could do the same.
--
Nahuel had set a fire when I arrived back again. He did not look at me when I sat down beside him on the low tree branch he was using as a bench; but he didn't move away, either.
It was a start.
"Nahuel," I said quietly.
"Yes, Auntie?"
His tone was polite and formal, and, in that instant, so similar to Joham's that it truly frightened me.
Say it. He deserves to hear it.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, feeling my dignity dissipating as I apologized to my sister's killer. To my nephew. To Nahuel.
He finally glanced at me. "Whatever for?"
Oh, I may have to literally kill him one of these days. "For— what you saw," I said, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling the hunter's hands on me all over again. I played with the edge of my dress sleeve, curling one arm across my stomach. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm— sorry."
Nahuel tilted his head to the side, a habit since he was young. "You can wed him if you wish," he said casually, as though he'd been practicing ever since he ran away from the scene I'd presented him with.
"What?"
"If you wish," Nahuel repeated, turning back to the fire. Oh, for the love of Pire—
"I most certainly do not wish to wed him!" I exploded, a scowl erupting over my face.
Was that relief I saw in my nephew's eyes, or a reflection from the firelight?
Nahuel faced me again. "Then why did you—" he began, and paused. "Then why were you—"
I had the urge to wince at his embarrassment at saying it out loud. "Because," I sighed, swinging my hair over my face in a move made up of instinct; Nahuel had rarely seen my hair loose since he was a babe. "I was… feeling strange."
"Strange how?"
But how could I have forgotten my nephew's inability to let anything go until he had run it utterly into the ground… I steeled myself for my admission, letting go of my sleeves in favor of folding both arms over my stomach. "I was lonely."
There was silence but for the crackling fire. Mortification made me go completely still; Nahuel seemed only to be pondering my words.
Finally, he looked at me once more. "Are you still lonely?"
I met his gaze in surprise. "I— I suppose…"
Why I was being honest was something lost on me; he was my nephew— he needn't be knowledgeable about my problems. They weren't any of his concern.
So why was he worrying at all?
Nahuel watched me with eyes much too sad for someone his age. "I wish that you weren't," he said softly, and then reached out to hug me.
I froze in my shock, as I had done when the hunter first saw me. Except this time I was fully clothed; this time it was my nephew holding me to him, larger than me by far although he was younger by so many years.
The sky was grey and dull as I stared up at it, trying to decipher when this had happened. When Nahuel had grown enough to begin offering comfort, instead of only needing to receive it.
He released me after what could have been hours. His voice was still soft when he asked, "Auntie?"
I pulled my hair back over my shoulders, even as the heat that reassured me when he was a babe warmed me farther inside that the hunter's had. "Go to sleep," I murmured, the familiar phrase a balm on my lips.
When I finally found the courage to look up again, Nahuel was grinning. "My favorite words," he teased me gently, before standing up and loping off to find a spot to lie.
Pire let her head rest on my shoulder, yawning. "I'm tired."
"I noticed." I let my hands drift through the silk of her hair, the bronze of her arms. "Goodnight, little sister. Sleep well."
"Inchepoyeneimi," Pire murmured, the sentence sweet in our native tongue.
"I love you too," I answered, without a thought. She clung to my dress the rest of the night, refusing to let me go.
I watched Nahuel's retreated back, and tucked a piece of loose hair behind my ear. "Inchepoyeneimi," I whispered.
He would understand.
Yep, "inchepoyeneimi" is Mapudungun for "I love you." :)