Chapter 20 - The rat's bargain

The town had taken them in, but it felt less like safety and more like a cage. The walls loomed, the gates stayed shut, and every night the sound of claws dragged faintly against Eirian’s skull. She could still see the threads if she really tried—the creatures outside hadn’t left. They were waiting.

The council questioned them in their Lantern Hall, when they made sure how their group didn’t represent a danger for the town’s residents, they gave them a single room in a narrow, draft-ridden inn. Three cots, one table, one crooked window. It was better than the road, but every creak of the beams overhead made Eirian flinch.

That night, exhaustion took her fast. But when she woke, it was to the smell of iron.

Her pillow was sticky.

She turned her head slowly. Blood stained the linen in dark half-circles. Her hands were curled into claws so tight the nails had broken skin along her palms. She tried to open her fingers—nothing. They were locked. Her joints screamed when she pulled, tendons tight as iron bands.

Panic welled. She bit her lip until she tasted more blood, willing her fingers to uncurl. They wouldn’t.

Her chest heaved. Somewhere beneath her ribs, Askariel’s laughter purred, low and satisfied.

*You sleep, and I wake. What does that tell you, girl?*

She pressed her fists against the mattress, breath shaking. “Shut up.”

*You asked me to.* His voice was soft, intimate. *When the green ones came. You begged, even if you didn’t say the words. And every time you pull their threads, I pull yours.*

The door creaked.

Sera stepped in, hair unbound, eyes bleary from too little rest. The sight of the pillow froze her mid-step. “Eiri?”

Eirian turned her hands over. Blood ran down her wrists from the punctures of her own nails. “I… can’t open them.”

Sera was at her side instantly, kneeling. “Breathe. It’s muscle lock. Here—look at me.” She dug through her pouch, pulling free a wrapped bundle of dried leaves. Her fingers crushed them with practiced speed, the smell sharp and bitter. “Chew this. It will ease the clenching.”

Eirian obeyed. The taste was foul, but slowly—painfully—her hands began to loosen. Fingers unfurled one at a time, stiff and trembling. The marks in her palms stung like burns.

By the time Orlen entered, she was sitting on the edge of the cot, pale as ash, hands wrapped in cloth. He looked from her face to the pillow, then back. No questions—just a grim nod, jaw set.

They ate breakfast together at the crooked table, silence thick. The bread was coarse, the broth thin, but Eirian couldn’t swallow more than a mouthful. Her stomach twisted with every breath.

It happened between one blink and the next.

Her vision narrowed, the world tipping sideways. The spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering into the bowl.

And her mouth moved without her.

“Your parents smell of fear,” Askariel’s voice said, rich and smooth. His words slithered into the room, and the temperature seemed to drop. “You think you can hide me in this little box of wood and stone? I’ve been in deeper prisons than this girl’s skin.”

Sera froze mid-reach, her knuckles white around her cup. Orlen’s eyes went flat, the way they did when he’d already decided on violence.

Eirian’s body leaned forward, her lips curling in a smile she didn’t make. “It’s amusing, isn’t it? You run from monsters in the woods only to sit across the table from one. Eat your bread, little mortals. You’ll need the strength.”

“No.” Eirian forced the word out, shoving back against the voice clawing through her. Her throat burned. She slammed her palm against the table, trying to anchor herself in the pain. “Stop it!”

The smile vanished. Her body jerked, shoulders hunching as though dragged by unseen strings. She gagged, coughed, slammed back into herself with a gasp.

Her parents were both on their feet.

Sera reached for her, but Orlen caught her wrist, holding her back. His voice was calm in a way that made the air heavier. “We have to get him out. Before he takes her for good.”

Eirian’s breath came in ragged gulps. Her hands shook around the cloth strips. She wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t that bad yet—but the copper taste on her tongue and the laughter still echoing in her skull told her it was already worse.

*You can’t cage me forever,* Askariel murmured, faint but smug. *But by all means—try.*

***

The air in the little room felt heavier than stone. The broth on the table had gone cold, and Eirian couldn’t look at it anymore without tasting bile.

Her parents spoke in low tones while she sat hunched on the cot, wrapping and unwrapping the cloth around her palms as if that motion alone could keep her steady.

Every time her thoughts brushed the edges of silence, Askariel’s voice pressed in—sometimes faint, sometimes a hiss so sharp it made her teeth ache.

*They think they’re clever. Whispering while you sit in the room. Do you know what they’re really planning?*

“I don’t want to hear you.”

*You never do, but it changes nothing. You and I are one skin. Every word you hear, I drink with you.*

She squeezed her hands tighter. The cloth dug into her palms, grounding her. She tried to focus on her parents’ voices, but Orlen’s tone was clipped, Sera’s quiet, and they spoke almost like they were arguing in code.

“…her strength won’t hold much longer.”

“I know.”

“Then we can’t wait.”

“There has to be something safer.”

“Safe? With him inside her?”

A ripple of laughter ran through her bones. Askariel fed on their words, curling them into her ears. *Ah, see? He knows. He knows I’m patient, and you’re not. You’ll break before I do.*

Eirian clenched her jaw. “Why don’t you just leave if you’re so strong?”

*We made a deal and you have not fulfilled what we have agreed upon, if you don’t find me a new body soon, maybe I stay with this one, it fits too well after all. The threads hum in your blood. Every time you use them, I get closer. You’ve already noticed, haven’t you? The way your fingers curl at night. That wasn’t me forcing them—it was you, opening the door.* The answer slid through her with teeth.

She pressed her palms to her ears, as if that could shut him out.

Her parents’ voices cut sharper. Orlen stood, pacing once before the window. “If we do nothing, we’ll lose her.”

Sera’s reply was low, urgent. “Then we wait until she’s stronger. Until she can—”

“She can’t hold him that long. You saw it.”

The words hit like a strike. She curled forward, clutching her knees. “Stop talking like I’m not here.”

Silence fell.

For a long moment, she could hear only the muted chatter from the hall below, the hiss of wind against the shutters.

Then Sera crossed the room, crouching in front of her. “Eiri.” Her hands cupped her daughter’s, careful not to press the raw palms. Her eyes were tired but steady. “We are not giving up on you. Do you hear me?”

Eirian nodded, though it was weak, uncertain.

Askariel chuckled. *Pretty lies. But you see the fear in her eyes, don’t you? She loves you. Love is weak. Love makes bargains it cannot keep.*

Her throat closed. She wanted to scream at him, at them, at the walls closing in. Instead she whispered, “If you’re afraid of him, then you should be afraid of me too. Because he’s inside me.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Sera’s breath caught, but she didn’t let go. “We’re afraid for you. Not of you.”

Orlen stopped pacing. His face was shadowed, unreadable. “Then it’s settled.”

Eirian lifted her head. “What is?”

But neither of them answered her directly.

Sera stroked her hair back, gentle, as if soothing a fever. “You need rest. Let us carry the weight tonight.”

*Listen to the edges of their words,* Askariel whispered. *There’s something they’re not saying. Something they’re keeping from you because they know I’ll hear.*

Her stomach twisted. He was right—she could feel it, like a locked door in their conversation. Every pause, every half-spoken phrase cut to silence before it reached her.

They were planning something.

***

The inn’s room felt smaller after that. The walls pressed in with every breath, the warped window letting in drafts that smelled of smoke and horse dung. Eirian sat on her cot with her knees pulled up, watching the green threads pulse faintly in the corners where the torchlight didn’t reach.

Sera busied herself with her satchel, fingers moving over dried herbs and little charms. She kept glancing at Eirian as though afraid her daughter might shatter if she looked away too long.

Orlen leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded. His silence weighed heavier than stone. When the innkeeper knocked to collect bowls, Orlen stepped outside with him, voices dropping too low to hear.

*Plotting,* Askariel murmured, a ripple of dark satisfaction in her chest. *I could tell you every word if you ask. You’d only need to let me in a little deeper. A sliver more thread, and their secrets are yours.*

Eirian hugged her knees tighter. “No.”

*No to me? Or no to them?*

Her jaw tightened.

The door opened again. Orlen entered, expression unreadable, and nodded once to Sera. She nodded back, almost imperceptible.

Something passed between them.

Something Eirian wasn’t allowed to touch.

Her nails dug into the cloth around her palms. “What did you say?”

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Orlen’s gaze flicked toward her, steady but cold. “Nothing you need to hear right now.”

*See?* Askariel’s voice slid through her bones like oil. *They’re keeping it from you. Whatever little scheme they have, it cuts through you.*

“Stop talking,” she hissed, though she couldn’t tell anymore if she meant Askariel or her father.

Sera crossed to sit beside her, the cot dipping. She handed Eirian a steaming cup—something bitter, sharp in the nose. “Drink this. It will calm your blood.”

Eirian sniffed it, hesitating.

*Poison,* Askariel crooned. *They want you docile. Easy to carve. It’s what I’d do in their place.*

She almost dropped the cup, but Sera’s eyes—tired, soft, fierce—held her still. “Please. Trust me.”

Her throat worked. Slowly, she drank.

The warmth spread quick, loosening the tension in her muscles, but it dulled her edges too, like wrapping her thoughts in cotton. She hated it.

The candlelight blurred, shadows pooling thicker in the corners. The threads seemed brighter now, their glow pulsing with her heartbeat.

Askariel shifted. She felt him, closer than ever, pacing just behind her ribs. *Yes. This is better. You can feel it, can’t you? Your defenses softened, the skin thin. Push, and I can step through.*

Her breath hitched.

She clutched the blanket, grounding herself in the coarse weave. “You won’t.”

*Won’t?* He laughed, the sound vibrating in her teeth. *Girl, I already am.*

Her body twitched—her hand jerking without her permission, fingers spasming into claws again. The cup slipped from her lap, spilling across the floor.

Sera was instantly kneeling, grabbing her hand, trying to straighten her fingers. “Eiri, stay with me.”

Her vision swam. She saw the threads all around them—the pale strands of her mother’s soul, taut and trembling, and her father’s thicker, steadier cord across the room. But beneath them pulsed Askariel’s coil, black-green and slick, threading through her like roots in rotted wood.

He tugged. Her body lurched forward, almost spilling off the cot.

*Let go,* he whispered, rich with hunger. *You’ll find it easier that way. You’re tired. I can hold the weight for you.*

“No!” The word tore her throat raw.

Orlen was suddenly at her side, pressing her shoulders back against the wall. His grip was iron. “Breathe. Look at me. Don’t let him in.”

Her eyes burned. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t that simple—that every pull of thread felt like dragging herself open wider.

But then she saw it.

A shadow of movement near Orlen’s boot. A small cage, half-wrapped in cloth, the faint squeak of something alive inside.

Her stomach flipped.

She didn’t dare ask.

Because whatever answer came, Askariel would hear it too.

***

Eirian sat stiff-backed on the cot, her mother’s hand still wrapped around hers. Her fingers twitched, half-bent into claws no matter how hard she fought to keep them straight. Sweat beaded along her brow despite the chill creeping in from the crooked window.

The room was too quiet.

Orlen had pulled the table to the center, scattering its bowls and cups to the floor. A faint chalk smell stung her nose as he crouched, scratching lines across the floorboards. She couldn’t see the whole shape from where she sat, only the arcs and angles of white sweeping into patterns.

Her chest tightened.

“What are you doing?”

No answer.

Sera’s grip on her hand tightened—not cruel, but unyielding. “Stay with me, Eiri.”

*Ahhh,* Askariel crooned, his voice winding up her spine. *So this is their secret. A circle. A gate. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?*

Eirian’s breath hitched.

She tried to pull free, but Sera held fast. “Don’t fight me. Please.”

Orlen’s chalk scraped. His voice was low, steady.

Askariel laughed. *Amateurs. Do you think chalk and borrowed words will bind me? I was carved into obsidian long before your bloodline learned to hold a sword.*

Her head throbbed and her vision flickering. The threads in the air were taut now, vibrating like plucked strings. She could feel them wrapping around her wrists, her throat, each pulse synchronized with her hammering heart.

Orlen straightened. The circle was done—five points, marked with small bundles of dried herbs and a single wooden amulet laid in the center. The amulet was carved crudely, its edges rough, but Eirian felt its weight in her chest the moment she looked at it.

Her stomach twisted.

“No.” Her voice came out cracked. “What are you—what is this?”

Sera pulled her closer, trying to hush her. But Askariel surged, filling her lungs with words that weren’t hers.

“You would dare?” His voice rattled through her chest, deeper than her own. “A prison in wood? A circle scratched like a child’s game? You think to chain me?”

Eirian’s body lurched forward. Orlen was there in an instant, pressing her back against the wall. His jaw was tight, eyes hard as flint.

“You leave my daughter tonight,” he said, plain and final.

Askariel’s laughter spilled from her throat, jagged and too loud. “And if she breaks before I go? What then, father?”

The word dripped like venom. Orlen’s grip only tightened.

The cage scraped against the floor as he kicked it forward, into the circle’s center. Cloth pulled back, revealing iron bars—and inside, a rat, its fur matted, one leg dragging uselessly. Its eyes were black pinpricks of fury, teeth gnashing against the metal.

Eirian’s breath stopped.

The truth slammed into her chest: this was the vessel. This was what her parents had chosen.

Askariel went still. The silence that followed was worse than his laughter.

Then he screamed.

Her body convulsed, back arching against the wall. His voice tore through her lungs in a sound not meant for human throats, words tangled with rage and disbelief. *A vermin? You would give me this?*

The rat shrieked, slamming itself against the bars, as if answering him.

Sera grabbed the amulet, pressing it into Eirian’s trembling hands. “Eiri, listen to me. Just touch his thread—only his. You know what you need to do, you have told me before, you had done this before in your previous life—”

“No!” Eirian shook her head wildly, tears burning her eyes. “You can’t—he’ll kill me—”

“He’ll kill you if we don’t.”

“I only do it once, the rest of the information was only in books.”

“That’s all right, Eiri,” Sera told her. “You can do it.”

Her vision blurred. The threads were everywhere now, glowing green and sickly, twisting into her veins. The rat’s thread pulsed weakly from the cage, thin and frayed, but it was enough to anchor Askariel’s fury.

*I will not be chained to rot and fur,* he hissed inside her skull. *Better to tear this body apart than suffer such insult.*

Her fingers locked around the amulet. She couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. Her knees hit the floor as Sera guided her into the circle.

“Say it,” Sera urged, voice sharp with fear. “Say the words.”

The chant spilled from her lips halting, each syllable scraped raw by Askariel’s resistance. The circle’s lines glowed faintly, the herbs smoldering into acrid smoke. The amulet burned hot against her skin, forcing her to clutch tighter.

The rat writhed, its squeals piercing. Its thread pulsed, pulling at her chest, with her will she connected the threads of Askariel with the ones from the rat, at first there was resistance but with the help of Orlen’s symbols, she pushed her limit and beyond.

And then she felt it—Askariel tearing free.

The sensation ripped through her like claws down her ribs, her breath exploding out in a scream. Something hot and wet gushed from her nose and ears, but the black-green coil was unspooling, dragged from her chest toward the circle’s heart.

The rat convulsed, its body ballooning with something too large for it. Its eyes rolled white, then flared luminous green. The air reeked of burning hair and ozone.

Eirian collapsed forward, chest heaving, vision red at the edges.

The rat stood, trembling, its broken leg suddenly straight, its jaws gaping too wide. A voice, distorted and furious, bellowed from its throat.

“You will pay for this insult.”

The rat slammed against the bars of the cage, bending them outward.

The cage burst apart with a shriek of bending iron. Bars clattered across the floor, one spinning into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood.

The rat—no, the thing inside it—stood on hind legs, its body stretched too long for its frame. Fur smoked, teeth had grown into needle points, and its eyes burned sickly green. Black vapor poured from its pores, writhing like worms in the air.

Eirian staggered back on hands and knees, chest heaving. The coil that had lived in her ribs was gone, but its echo throbbed through her body like phantom pain. She wanted to curl into herself and never move again, but the thing in the circle was already climbing free.

Sera yanked her upright, dragging her behind Orlen.

The rat’s mouth gaped wide enough to split its skull. “You dare chain me into this filth? I am Askariel the Unbroken! You think wood and chalk will cage me?”

Its voice rattled the shutters, a resonance that made the lantern glass quiver.

Orlen’s sword was already in his hand, steel gleaming in the lantern-light. He didn’t flinch. “Stay behind me.”

The rat lunged.

Orlen swung low, the blade flashing. The cut was perfect, bisecting the creature clean through the chest. For an instant, the halves fell apart.

Then the black vapor stitched them together again.

Eirian gagged, bile burning her throat. The threads writhed around the beast—green, black, pulsing with more life than its tiny body should ever hold.

Askariel’s laughter came through its jagged teeth. “Strike again, little man. I’ll drink the steel and spit it back.”

It darted, faster than a rat had any right to move. Orlen twisted, catching it with the flat of his blade, but the force knocked him into the wall. Wood cracked, dust raining from the ceiling.

“Father!”

Sera thrust Eirian toward the corner. “Stay there!” Then she was moving, flinging the contents of her satchel. Herbs scattered, smoke rising in thin, bitter plumes. She slammed a bundle of dried roots into the creature’s path.

It recoiled, screeching, smoke sizzling where the roots brushed its fur. “Witch,” it spat, voice boiling with fury.

“Herbs only dull it!” Orlen gritted, pushing himself upright, blade lifted. His knuckles were white. “It won’t hold.”

The creature whipped its head toward Eirian, green eyes blazing. “You. You put me here. You tore me free. I will flay your threads first.”

Her breath froze. The threads glowed so bright she couldn’t not see them—every one of Askariel’s coils lashing outward like whips. They writhed toward her, pulsing with hunger.

“No—” Her back hit the wall.

*Touch them,* Askariel whispered inside her head, still there, still connected. *Touch them and I’ll forgive this insult. Give me the way back in.*

She shook her head violently, but her hand rose anyway, fingers twitching toward the glowing coils. Her own body was betraying her.

“Eiri!” Sera’s voice snapped like a whip.

Her mother threw herself between them, clutching another bundle of herbs, but the creature slammed her aside with unnatural strength. Sera hit the wall hard, gasping as air left her lungs.

Rage surged in Eirian’s chest, burning hot, burning bright.

She saw the green coils reaching for her—and reached back.

Her hand closed around one.

The effect was instant. The rat-thing shrieked, its body convulsing. Every thread thrummed under her grip, vibrating with its stolen life.

Eirian’s nose burst with blood. Her vision whited out, but she held on, tightening her fist around the thread.

The creature clawed at its throat, choking, gagging. Its limbs flailed wildly, slamming against the walls, gouging splinters from the floor. The black vapor thickened, choking the room, burning her lungs.

“Now!” Eirian screamed, her voice tearing raw.

Orlen didn’t hesitate. He drove his sword straight through the creature’s body, pinning it to the floorboards.

The rat’s eyes flared brighter, then burst, spraying black ichor across the circle. Its scream curdled into a gurgle as the body twisted, split, and collapsed into twitching ruin.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then the black vapor poured upward, streaming out of the ruined corpse. It coiled against the ceiling like smoke, twisting into a shape that wasn’t quite human and wasn’t quite beast. The structure of the inn was barely holding with the attack.

“I am not ended,” it hissed, voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “This shell is dust, but my thread runs deeper. You cannot cut what does not end.”

The vapor shot upward, seeping through the cracks in the ceiling and out into the night.

The ruined rat twitched once more, then went still. The stench of burnt fur and bile filled the room.

Eirian collapsed to her knees, blood dripping from her nose, tears burning her cheeks. Her chest was hollow, as if part of her had been ripped out along with him.

Sera crawled to her side, clutching her tightly. “It’s done, Eiri. It’s done.”

But Orlen’s face said otherwise. His sword dripped black ichor onto the floorboards, his eyes fixed on the rising smoke stains along the ceiling beams.

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not. He’ll be back.”

And Eirian knew, with the hollow ache inside her, that he was right.