Book One – Chapter 18

Her left hand lowered the empty needle from her chest to her lap. With her right, she traced the air above another symbol. It was a lattice of grey lines, though all of them were frayed and dim.

“See this one fade. The burning was interrupted, or perhaps never truly kindled. Completed sevrants endure, even when the skin withers with age. But this one,” her finger lingered in the broken weave, “it unravels like a wound losing its memory.”

The shaman told him to see, and she traced the symbol for him, but Yu followed only for a breath before he averted his eyes. He looked from her right hand to her left, to the needle resting in her lap. He fought to keep the storm of rustling calm at bay, forcing the pain and stinging into thoughts. What are you making him lose? What are you taking? What are you hiding?

The whispering stopped.

“Unworthy recipients suffer,” the shaman continued, soft words formed from splintered syllables. “Those not of true blood may die, or twist into lasting seizures, their bodies forever breaking and their spirits scattering. But this one … This one is true blood. Unlike you.”

Yu’s gaze darted from the needle to her mask, and then to her collarbone. He stared at the seam that was not a seam. At the maw that had long since eaten, but still lay bare. At the scales on her shoulders, that had still not shifted back.

“Nonetheless, you are a Transcender wizard,” the shaman rose. The needle was still in her left hand.

Yu could not move. He could not speak.

“It is most intriguing. And of all days, you came here today.”

She spoke in civil words. The maw spoke with everything else. The seam remained closed, yet Yu herd it; the breath that was no breath, the shifts beneath the skin that resonated nothing but pleasure, unrestrained and unashamed, a craving so raw it sickened him. The kind that takes, and takes, and takes. The soothing rustle of the scales had masked it, but now, there was no disguise, no distortion, nothing to distract from it. There was only the sealed scream of greed swelling in his ears, rising from the painful sting into a ravenous roar.

In his mind, Yu screamed back. I am a bastard! But at least I show myself! At least I face myself! What are you? What do you want from me?
And the maw screamed  .
And Yu screamed. What is underneath? What were you before?

The body turned toward him. Not the mask. Not the maw. The body. Every inner shift, everything it was and everything it contained, turned to face Yu. It presented itself. It beckoned. It dared him to cross the last boundary between them, to reach for what could not be grasped, to unravel what could not be endured.