First In Line
The girl was never like the others who lived in her village. As a child, she had been walking for a long while before she spoke even one word. By that time it had been decided that she would never speak. Her mother had cried from joy when the child said her first words. Everyone in the village learned of it and the other children all came and danced around her.
She was older now. It was soon after the season when the water dried up and sank into the ground so they had to dig for it. Many from the village had left and now they came back with the rising of the water in the pool. When the water reached the three stones at the edge of the pool and the trees got their new, green leaves, the whole village had a celebration. It was after the feasting and singing was over and everyone fell into a heavy, tired sleep that it happened.
There were stories about things like them. She only half believed them, mostly at night. They had shown up suddenly, killed everyone but her and stayed. Something kept the demons in that place. They were doing something. They took blood from some of the dead. Then they dug a hole and buried something and they chanted.
Wounded, she had crawled away and hidden, not too far. Anger consumed everything inside her. She gathered rocks and sharpened a stick. The sun burned down so brightly that she couldn't see her village clearly from where she hid. She didn't need to see. Her eyes were filled with what she had already seen - her people lying dead, some right where they had slept, others where they had tried to run or fight or protect their children. She prepared to make an attack. But then three men appeared in front of her. They were medicine men and they told her they would make her strong.
She went with them though her wounds hurt when she walked and her mouth tasted like dust. Speech wouldn't come to her. It was for the living and the loved ones. It was no use now. As they got farther and farther from her village, she wanted to turn back. They reminded her of the things that now lived in her village where all her people lay dead, unburied. Her family and friends, all the people she had known - her whole world.
The three men led her to a cave. Again she tried to run when she saw the chains. But they told her that's how she would get her new strength.
She gave them her clothes and they wrapped her in strips of white cloth while they chanted. She was chained. A black mist rose all around her. Then it was gone inside her.
The chains were nothing now. Her wounds no longer hurt. And her anger had a new place to live.
The three shamans had argued, reminding each other how hard and how long it had taken them to capture and distill the demon mist. It took years to collect it and to sift out its evil. Once it was ready, they had done magic to guide them to the one who would receive it. The magic had guided them to a desert village by an oasis fed by a spring that dried up every year. The demons that had taken the village had killed everyone. There was only the girl.
The shamans didn't believe it could be her. The boy that was to receive the power must have died with the others. They were too late. Then they saw an already wounded girl preparing to attack the demons.
That started the arguing. One saying that all she wanted was to join the others, to die. He claimed that her pointless attack was a sign of stupidity, not fitness.
The others said that magic was their way and it pointed to her.
The one argued that they should let her fight the demons and let the outcome decide. But the two outmatched him.
She was taken to the cave. She was wrapped in white cloth and chained so that the mist would recognize her as the offering. By following the familiar ritual, they would trick the demon mist into joining with the chosen one.
They knew it had worked when she broke the chains and they were afraid of her. She seemed wild. All she would say was "kill". They moved out of the way of the opening of the cave and she left. They tried to follow, but they saw that they would be too late to see. She moved too fast for them now.
The distance that had worried her before was nothing. As she reached the village, she didn't stop her run but smashed into the demons' circle sending two of them flying. Their ritual had been under way and the demons were angry. But their blows didn't hurt her like before. She could hit hard and move fast. When she was done they were all dead.
The three shamans found her looking down at her work. They didn't come close. She moved the bodies of her people away from the demons and their blood, arranging them neatly. She unearthed the thing the demons had buried: a jar filled with blood and stones. She smashed it before the three shamans could have a look at it. She buried her people, digging their graves and placing their favorite things in their dead hands.
For the rest of the night, she could hear the three men camped just outside the village. Their whispering was an irritation.
Afterward, they would find her from time to time, and try to talk to her or give her things. But they were no use to her.
The anger was still there. It didn't jab her like before. It had come to rest, made a place. It would grow between kills then go back down. But it never went away like she thought. She could kill anything except for it.
Sometimes she dreamt that the black mist swirled inside her while she slept. Then the hand of her mother would touch her hair and she would be quiet again. Other than that, she didn't dream.
They couldn't teach her. When she ran from them, they could only find her by magic. She would not take their food. And the only word she ever said to them was "kill".
They kept their distance, approaching her only when they thought she might have softened. But she would ignore them and leave as if they hadn't made her.
That couldn't last. She could die and then the mist would be wasted. They needed to ensure that it was passed on. Another magic ritual led the three shamans to him. They found him at his prosperous village by the river, together with his sister. They watched him. He was an ordinary young man who made things with his hands.
They told him he would father a great warrior and that he should come with them, but he refused. He showed them his younger sister who was ill. She had always been sickly since she was a small child. Sometimes she was in a lot of pain. Nothing would make the boy leave her until the medicine men offered to heal her. They gave her herbs and potions and made her well, and the boy went with them.
The medicine men explained things to the slayer, but she would not have the boy even though there was nothing wrong with him.
The boy wanted to give up and leave, but the shamans told him he had to stay and make her his friend. Since they had cured his sister, he did as they asked. He followed her for a while, but she would disappear whenever she chose. She would not speak to him or even look at him. He sang all his best songs to her. He made her gifts. He spoke to her of his village and how beautiful it was there, how lush and how the air smelled sweetly of blossoms and fruit. But she did not want him.
She pushed him aside when demons came near. He stayed back and watched her fight, hardly even able to follow her with his eyes. She chased a demon and he could not catch up to her.
The shamans came and told him that he would not win her with words, that he had to prove himself. They gave him a spear and told him of its enchantment. The next time the girl fought demons, he was to help her, show her his strength.
He had never fought and he was afraid. But he did well against the demons with his enchanted spear. Until it flew out of his hands and he was killed.
After the boy died, the girl felt a familiar sadness and anger rise again. She had not wanted him with her, but she had become used to him. His voice was in her ears even now. She regretted that she had allowed him to be killed. And she resolved from then on never to let anyone be with her.
Some years later, the shamans were only two and they had failed to get the slayer with child. When she died it was all lost, and they despaired. They set out to make more mist but one and then the other died before they could finish their task.
In the village by the river, there was a girl who had been sick but was now as well as the other children and could play with them. She waited for her brother to return. He told her that he might bring a wife with him and she wanted to be the first to see them. So she sat on the highest wall and watched where the sun set, where her brother had gone. But he never returned.
Years later everyone noticed that the girl who had been sickly once was very strong now. They wondered what potions the three medicine men had given her to make her so strong. And when monsters crossed the river and tried to take the children she fought them.
The end