Page 82 of Into the Heartless Wood
I release him,
and he falls
into the mud.
The rain is driving, cold. The wood drinks it up, roots stretching down into damp earth.
Owen convulses on the ground.
He weeps.
I crouch beside him
but there is nothing I can do.
He is broken
and I
am the one
who has broken him.
I should never
have brought him here.
Should never
have told him his mother was alive.
And now—
“Owen.”
He roars: “GET AWAY FROM ME!”
I jerk back.
Somewhere close by my sister is waiting, watching to see what I will do.
It is all a game to her, his soul like any other.
But it is not.
It
is
not.
I say: “She was already dead. She was just a shell. My mother took her soul long ago, and when your mother plucked out her own heart, there was nothing left to bind the husk of her together. So she faded. But she was already dead.”
He wheels on me. His eyes flash. “You would know, wouldn’t you?You’rethe one who killed her!”
“Owen, come with me. Let me take you home to your father and sister. Let me get you warm. Please.”
Rain runs in rivulets down my cheeks; my bark soaks it in.
