Fable for the End of the World

by Ava Reid

I’m left holding on to them alone, and the memories are so, so heavy for one pair of hands.

“Don’t you try to make me feel guilty.” Mom’s pitch rises, and color comes into her cheeks. “It’s my right, as your mother. Neither of you would be here without me.” She’ll always have this as her trump card. The debt that every child owes their parent, a levee that never breaks, no matter how hard the water rushes against it.

If you consume enough of their meat, you become something corrupted, too: feral, violent, not quite human.

If she’s not dead already, the Wends will tear her to pieces anyway, when they come across her unconscious body. Maybe, in some way, that still makes Luka and me murderers. But the slight uncertainty, that crucial maybe, transforms it into something I might be able to live with. If I survive, that is.

Strangely enough, this makes me feel better, picturing his terror at the thought of losing me. Maybe enough fear can add up to love.

“Did it hurt?” I ask softly. Another too-probing question. Melinoë stops walking. The wind lifts the long strands of her ponytail and makes her white hair shiver around her face. I stop, too, and just watch her. Beautiful and pale, she’s too bright in this world of muted browns and greens. She’s silent for so long that I give up on her answering, and start to turn around again, but then—her voice. Quietly, without looking over at me, she says, “Yes.”

I just watch her, clutching the gauze, feeling like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. Height pulses in the soles of my feet. At last, slowly, she holds her hands out to me.

I’m sure I was scared, once. But all those memories have been stolen from me, scattered like leaves in the wind.

I tilt my head. “You’re not a very good liar, you know.” Maybe that’s why she doesn’t talk much. When she’s not speaking, she’s excellent at keeping her expression neutral, cold. But speaking, she gives herself away.

Her hands were warmer than I thought they would be. Gentler. She only looks cold from a distance. But up close— I stop that train of thought in its tracks. I’m being sentimental, reckless. Because even a wolf can be gentle if it wants, but you should never forget its teeth.

“I’ve never heard you complain,” Melinoë says quietly. “And I’ve never seen you cry.” I can’t help but give a short laugh, because my eyes are almost watering as we speak. “Maybe you haven’t been paying attention.” Moments drip by, like water through a crack in the wall. Then, in the same low tone, she says, “I’ve been paying attention.”

She looks like a natural part of the environment for the first time: a creature of ice and snow at home in this frost-veiled world. If she were dressed in white instead of black, she would blend in perfectly, like a fox shedding its russet coat for the camouflage of winter.

Do you wish I had left you mired in guilt and misery forever? I’ve given you the gift of oblivion. It’s something many would kill for, or die for.”

“And would you come live in Esopus with me?” Inesa’s tone becomes hesitant. “I suppose,” I say. “I could hunt. You could cook. It would be very domestic.” This time, she laughs. “I’m a terrible cook. I’ll microwave you pasta, but that’s the best you’re going to get.” “Deer meat and microwaved pasta.” I chew my lip. “What a life it would be.” “Yeah,” Inesa says. Her voice is soft. “A life.”

If I were a good little Lamb, I would run. If I were the girl my father always wanted me to be, I would take the knife, drive it into her heart. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and pull down the collar of my dress. I push my hair back and bare the side of my throat, where the tracker is embedded, a tiny lump pressing up from under my skin. Melinoë’s eyes, steady and gleaming dark, stare back at me without blinking. Then, slowly, she raises the knife to my throat. I gritted my teeth, preparing for the pain, but it’s more panic that shoots through me as I feel my blood leap up against the blade.

I’m furious at his arrogance, at his lack of fear. He could never believe that his own creature would turn her gun on him. As much as he wanted me to be strong, he’s always known he was stronger.

At first my life was Mom’s to barter with. Now it’s everyone’s to consume.