Chapter Two
The cuts were already healing, the bruises fading. Atum stared into the warm water he sat in. His blood had stained the suds of soap a pale yellow. He already felt filthy, disgusting. No better than the demons he fought so hard to drive from the universe. How could he hurt Freyja like this? His little sister. That baby that had slid from their mother amidst her screams of childbirth, who he had caught and held in her first moments of life. Who had always broken into a smile to see him, ran to his arms joyfully... Until he had stolen her first child's immortality, consigning her to death...
I still have hold over this world.
The cold voice of Chthon reverberated in his mind. He longed to shut him out, but to do so would result in the death of millions of innocents.
That's right. And if you do not reprimand your sister tonight, their lives are forfeit. Your choice, my son.
What could he do? Atum buried his head in his hands and wept.
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"Well, this dress is completely ruined!" Freyja groused, looking at the vivid bloodstains on the white-and-blue lace. Perhaps the palace alchemists would have some sort of stain remover, although Freyja suspected that they were annoyed with the requests she made of such a nature. It was too late in the day to leave now, anyway; dusk was falling. She would have to go in the morning.
There was a knock on her bedroom door. Freyja pulled on a dressing robe and went to answer it. "Is everything all right?"
Atum had cleaned the blood from his skin, and his injuries were all but gone. His expression, though, was hollower than Freyja had ever seen. He wore only a towel knotted at his waist, but it was not so much less than what he usually wore. Freyja opened the door wider.
"Atum, what's wrong?"
He grabbed her suddenly, one massive arm wrapping around her waist, his other hand grabbing her head. He pulled her against his and pressed his lips against hers. Freyja's eyes widened in shock and her heart raced. She pushed against Atum, turning her head.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, twisting out of Atum's grasp.
His face was emotionless as he tore at her dressing robe, ripping the tie off.
"Stop!" Freyja wrapped the robe tight around her frame, backing away.
Atum grabbed her again, spinning her around, his hand clamping over her mouth as she opened it. Her scream was muffled. She scratched at the hand covering her mouth. His free hand yanked her robe off her shoulders, and then pinned her elbows against her sides when she tried to cover herself. Freyja's eyes were wide, her breathing rapid. She tried to tug her robe back into place, but Atum's hand slid under the fabric, circling her waist. She pushed at his arm. His grip only tightened.
What is happening?
Freyja's eyes filled with tears as she vainly tried to break free. Atum's breathing was rapid in her ear as he propelled her towards her bed.
This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.
He tore off her robe as he threw her onto the bed. "Don't talk."
Freyja knew she was imagining the pleading tone of his voice. She wished she wasn't. How could he do this to her? Why? She attempted to get up but he caught her and threw her back down.
"Close your eyes."
Freyja covered her face with her hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut. This. Is. Not. Real.
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Chthon's voice hissed in delight through Atum's mind. She's enjoying herself, the whore. Tell her! Tell her what a whore she is.
She is not a whore.
You agreed to follow my instructions. You wish this world to die after all?
Atum squeezed his eyes shut, his face buried in the pillows on Freyja's bed. He smelled the fear on her, felt how rigidly she was holding her pose, felt the sobs shaking her body. Enjoying herself? She could no more be "enjoying herself" than Atum was enjoying himself!
And you are enjoying yourself, or this would not be possible.
No! Atum's breath was ragged, hating himself almost as much as he hated Chthon. No, no, I don't want this. I don't want to hurt her-
You are not hurting her, are you? Ask her if you don't believe me. Ask her if you're hurting her.
Atum knew he wouldn't be able to speak. He pressed his face harder into the pillows, letting his body's instinct do what it needed to do in order to sate Chthon's demands.
Tell her what a whore she is.
Please.
Tell her! Tell her she's a dirty little whore! Now!
Atum sensed Chthon's fist clench on that innocent world. He turned his head. Freyja flinched away from him as his nose brushed her ear. "You're a dirty little whore." His voice came out dry and choked.
"I know."
The vacant, hollow sound of Freyja's voice almost broke him right there.
Don't stop. Chthon warned.
You are evil.
Of course I am. That was always my destiny, just as it is yours. You will come to embrace that, in time.
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It was as though Freyja could see them both, looking down from some distance. She was disconnected from her body... And then she realised that she was looking into the mirror above her bed. Tears streamed from her eyes. She felt so dirty! Almost as dirty as she had with Faraldar, dirtier than she had felt with the first Alchemist who promised a cure for Hnossa. Atum was her brother! She didn't want this! A sob ripped through her body the same time Atum's breath became grunts. He stopped.
He lay still on top of her for a moment, and then lifted himself off, laying beside her, exposing her body to the judging mirror. His face was still in the pillows. Freyja stared at herself. This must be a nightmare. It must be.
She was afraid to move, afraid that it would start again if she did, but eventually closed her legs and lay them down. As she feared, Atum stirred. He propped himself up on his elbow. She cringed. If only he would look angry, hateful, something! Anything was better than that blankness in his eyes.
"When are your daughters returning?"
Her heart clenched. She shook her head emphatically. "No, please-"
"I will not touch them."
How could she believe him? But what would he do if she did not answer? If it was true that he was not going to molest them as well, would he change his mind to punish her? "Tomorrow," she whimpered.
Atum closed his eyes and breathed heavily. "Show me how you please your lovers."
Fighting back sobs, Freyja obeyed.
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Dawn. Atum stared numbly at the light creeping in from the window. His arm was around Freyja's waist, his hand flat against her stomach, her back pressed against his chest. She had long since stopped sobbing, but the hollowness of her expression, the way she meekly obeyed every order Chthon forced him to give, was far worse.
"You said you didn't want to hurt me."
"I don't."
"Then why?"
Do not tell her. Or it was all for naught, and this world dies.
Aren't you satisfied yet?
I suppose you can leave now. Chthon laughed. You are so weak.
Atum pulled away from Freyja, standing. He reached for the fallen towel.
"Are you going to kill me?" Freyja's voice was vacant.
Atum paused. "Do you want me to?"
"Yes." Freyja didn't move, staring out the window, her eyes unseeing. "But then who would watch after my daughters?"
Atum felt a lump rising in his throat. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He wanted to weep and wail and die. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and left the room, going back to the guest quarters. He cleaned himself up, dressed, and opened a portal. He didn't care where it went to.
As promised, I will leave this world intact and unharmed. Chthon purred. And when that wench of a woman, your mother, turns away from you, know that there is always a place for you by my side.
I will die first.
Perhaps. Or perhaps you will learn to admit that you enjoy making others suffer.