He was there when she woke up, standing casually in her space as if welcomed. He was investigating her collection of herbs and flowers, sniffing at the concoction she had pounded last night to use a poultice for a stubborn wound. Spellbound sighed and his head instantly turned to her, gaze moving across her body like a physical touch.
“Good morning,” he said, voice pleasant and warm.
She hated it.
At least her mother had had the decency to sound like a wicked old crone.
“How are you?” He asked, like an old friend.
“What do you want?” Spellbound sighed again, standing up, always sore, everything was sore, as if her core had been eaten away and she was trying to stand on hollow legs. It was always an effort.
Thank you, mother.
His head tilted, smile a little tight.
“How is your brother?”
The smiling threat, uttered with such care.
Spellbound met his gaze, thought of all the poisons she was so intimate with, that she had ingested as a youngster, that had made her writhe in pain. She thought of them and she wondered what he would look like when he swallowed them down.
Then she quickly squashed that thought.
That was not right for a healer.
“How can I help you?” She tried again, added some cheer that she didn’t feel.
He responded with a pleased nod. “No Mercy has had an accident again.” He winced, chagrined, as if he was so sorry to be bothering her, his dear hulking violent father-figure just getting into trouble again.
Got hurt doing your dirty work, she wanted to say but she kept the thought to herself.
“Just a moment,” she said and didn’t sigh again, although she wanted to. She gathered the herbs she might need, the poultices, carried them in a nest of swinging vines that she could carry.
Chosen One watched, her always watched her, and he smiled.
---
Spellbound wasn’t sure how she felt about No Mercy.
He had killed her mother.
He was violent and angry and horrid.
But his mind was clearly a broken thing, infantile. When he wasn’t trying to kill things, he reacted to stimuli like a whiny foal. He was desperate for reassurance and purpose, and had clearly found it in Chosen One. Watching the younger buck feed it to the older, it was almost an art.
“Hush now,” the red buck was saying. “It really isn’t so bad.”
No Mercy’s head flopped back against the ground. “It hurts.”
“Of course it does, but you did so well, so very well. I’m so proud of you. You’ve done this not just for me but for the Swamp. The MotherFather is smiling at you.”
No Mercy almost looked like he was blushing from the praise.
Spellbound continued her work, mindful as she smeared the mashed herbs across the gash. The buck had tried to bite her once. He’d threatened her plenty of times but Chosen One was always there to calm him back from the edge. She wasn’t afraid but she was still wary.
No, she couldn’t seem to hate No Mercy.
Not how she hated Chosen One.
---
Another day, another morning.
A gift this time, rare plants from across the swamp.
Spellbound looked down at the dark green leaves and the pretty little white flowers and wanted to smash them into the soil. “Thank you,” she said instead.
Chosen One have another one of his pleased nods.
She’d chosen the right response.
“It would be better for you,” he began, and she knew what he would say before he said it, had heard it so many times, “if you lived with the tribe. We can look after you there, protect you. You and Bloodhound.”
“We’re fine,” she told him, smiling, smiling, smiling.
And Chosen One nodded again, accepting.
At least he gave her that, let her and her brother live freely, despite his demands. As long as she was there to patch of his troupe of bloodletters, she was untouchable.
“Bloodhound is out.”
“Yes,” she responded shortly, so very glad he was. “Hunting.”
“Ah, very good.”
She waited, and he waited, they both stood in silence until: “Perhaps we can talk for a while,” it wasn’t really a question.
“Of course,” she said, and hated how charming he could be.
---
“I can’t- I can’t help with this,” she stammered out, looking at the wreckage, of what was kin and not-kin, barely alive, shouldn’t be alive.
“A pity,” Chosen One said, nonchalant.
Crunch.
Spellbound ran.
He found her later, leaning against a tree, tears in her eyes, shaking like a leaf.
“I hate you,” she spat, when he came too close.
He tilted his head, looked at her with a strange look in his eyes as if he really couldn’t understand why. “I set you free,” he said simply as if that explained everything, as if that made it okay, if everything was okay, as if she’d asked for all of this.
In a way, he had set her free. For barely a second, as she stood bravely above her brother, ready to fight for him with her entire being.
But Chosen One had led her from one cage directly into another. And she wasn't sure if she could escape this one.
She’d grown up around her mother, had come to understand her particular brand of cruelty. She’d always had her brother there, with his complicated love. That was a world she understood.
Chosen One’s world was all smoke and shadow.
A smiling devil.
The believer who preached for death and destruction while utterly convinced it was the right path. It was that unbreakable belief that made others follow him, charmed completely and utterly by a handsome buck who could twist his words just the right way, who smiled and promised a better future.
Spellbound wondered if the MotherFather would judge her harshly one day, for allowing this, for taking part, for turning a blind eye so that she could live as best she could and protect her brother, for loving where she shouldn't.
“Come,” Chosen One said, softly and sweetly, so very understanding. “You should rest. It was too much. I’m sorry. I forgot not all of us are meant to witness the cleansing. You, you are pure and sweet. My healer. I will be more careful next time.”
But he won’t.
There will always be more blood and more death.
“Come away,” he urged -- and she followed, tears drying on her cheeks.
Chosen One turned back to her, always smiling.
She didn't really hate him.
She only hated that she loved him.