Darcy Maunder

Ylena knew why the seer had chosen her, why it had asked her to… Dispose, of the infant lain before her, nothing but thin blankets and a flimsy wicker basket to shield it from the cold. Her eyes shifted to the dagger sheathed at her waist, her current favourite of the many she kept oiled and sharpened, honed for swift, efficient kills. She’d never thought of herself as a hero; no child hopes that an assassin will come to their aid if they’re in danger, but she knew right from wrong. This was wrong. On such a deep, intrinsic level that the thought made a wave of nausea shudder through her.

“I won’t do it,” she breathed, unable to look at the sleeping child, “there has to be a way around this.”

The creature standing a few metres in front of her cocked its head, its silvery-white eyes wide and unblinking. Ylena had read about seers before, seen illustrations and heard countless stories – some more believable than others – but to see one in person was wholly different. Its feathered wings flared slightly, their tufted peaks level with its pale, pointed ears. Even with the numbing cold, no pinkish tinge stained its angled cheeks, as if it were a living statue crafted from porcelain.

“You have taken lives before, have you not?” the creature asked, its voice lilting and hauntingly inhuman.

The woman nodded, her dark brows twitching together. She had taken many, more than she dared to dwell on, but they had always, always deserved it. Corrupt advisors to rulers, slavers, murderers and predators whose deaths left no mourners, no pain but their own.

“Then, what is the problem?” The question was serious, not carrying a hint of sarcasm or even vague understanding.

Ylena huffed a bitter laugh, “It’s innocent. That’s the problem.”

“She will kill thousands. Bring your world to ruin.”

She. It was she.

“Then you do it.” she hissed and hated herself for it. The creature shook its head, silky ashen hair swaying gently with the movement. It shimmered in the morning sun, like molten starlight, a few shining strands drifting over its eyes. They were huge, those eyes. And pupilless, as if turned inwards. Ylena wondered if they saw at all, in the way she did, or if only prophetic visions made it through their gaze.

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

The seer didn’t answer, only stared at her, as if it was trying to understand her question. It wasn’t cowardice or any moral conflict that kept it from killing, she didn’t think. Perhaps it was simply incapable, bound by whatever rules and restrictions came with its power.

“Could-” she swallowed, inching closer to where the infant’s basket had been placed on the frosted grass, her legs protesting the movement after kneeling for so long, “could her path be changed? If she was led another way?”

The seer glanced upwards, eyes darting from side to side. It shook its head, “No. It has been decided.”

Letting out a steadying breath, Ylena pulled her dagger free, its leather-wrapped handle smooth and cool against her palm. Even as her hands trembled, it was little more than muscle memory to aim it towards her target.

“She will kill thousands.” she muttered, closing the distance between herself and the basket.

“Yes.” that strangely lovely voice agreed, wings shifting slightly as a breeze sighed past them. It drifted over her, a gentle caress against her skin. ‘It’s okay,’ it seemed to whisper, ‘this is right’. She could make it quick. Instant, even. And with the sleeping draught the seer had administered earlier, she wouldn’t feel a thing. It would just be as if she’d never been. Never breathed, saw, heard, tasted or touched. Ylena looked down at the child, reminding herself again, ‘she will kill thousands.’

But she couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see the glimpse of evil she’d hoped would be the evidence that this was necessary. Just an infant, peaceful and defenceless and utterly innocent. And maybe it was cowardice, or the beginnings of onyx hair peeking from beneath the blankets, so like Ylena’s own. Or the fact that she herself had been left like this as once, and it was only chance and charity that had kept her alive. But against her better judgement, against the clinical reasoning that she’d relied upon for most of her life, Ylena flipped the dagger and hurled it straight for those ivory eyes.