The monster grabs me and hauls me to the edge of the puddle. “You can’t leave the way you arrived.”
His voice rasps over my skin and sends a shudder down my spine, and I force myself to face the truth of where I am. My gaze tracks up, past his hooves and furred legs. He has some kind of loincloth wrapped around his waist, but it does little to hide the weight of what it holds. I swallow hard and force my gaze higher.
Brown wool hangs in tangles from his elbows. His fingers are tipped with black, hard claws. Those are the hands that wrenched me free of the water. I owe him my life.
But I don’t know who he is, only that he is a mash of creatures all bundled into one, with no sign of humanity, until I look at his face. His eyes are blue and all too human. The only part that remains beneath the crown of thick horns that jut at all angles from his skull. His gaze remains locked on mine.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I didn’t. I don’t have that power.” His voice is rough, like it hasn’t been used in too long. Or perhaps his elongated jaw, that forms a short muzzle, makes it hard to talk. Or the sharp teeth hidden by his lips cut his tongue.
Mud seeps into my clothing. Overhead the sky is an unhealthy green, smeared with purple clouds. The landscape is littered with rocky outcrops that claw at the sky as if even the rocks want to escape.
So this is Under.
And that is a monster.
I wish I’d paid more attention to Gran’s research, so I knew more about monsters and Under. My mind scrambles to uncover something useful. Keep him talking is all I come up with.
“Why did you save me?” If I am hoping for kindness, it’s dashed against the rocks with his next words.
“Because I haven’t had fresh meat in a long time.”
4
Horn
Ican’t remember the last time I ate. My stomach has been a hard knot for months. No food doesn’t seem to kill me—at first, I hoped it would. That I don’t need food doesn’t stop the desire to tear her apart. My fingers curl with anticipation.
If I don’t eat her, someone else will.
She won’t survive to become one of us. Most who are pulled through don’t.
Most die in the mud before they have a chance to draw their first breath. Any flesh sticking out of the ground is soon picked clean—that is better than killing, but only the weak are scavengers, and being weak here means death.
She’s weak and scared. Her fear is sour on her skin.
She’s dead, she just hasn’t realized it yet.
I should have let her drown, that would have been kinder. But then, I haven’t been kind since…since…the memory goes before I can grab it. The more my body changes, the more memories I lose.
All I know is that I crawled out of a puddle, and I survived, and this is how I live.
Her mouth drops open. “Meat?”
My nostrils flare. Her fear will draw others; it was only by chance that I was near the puddle when it erupted with an arrival.
Around us are the bones of those who didn’t live as long as I have let her live. My fingers flex, but I can’t step toward her to end it. To feed the hunger burning within me.
“Meat. Do you see anything else to eat here?”
“But…” She stares up at me.
She should fight or scream. Both things I’m used to seeing from new arrivals. I’m sure I did, but I can’t remember. Those that fight—change. So I must have fought hard enough to survive.
She will not.
I take a step forward, not wanting to lose the meal even though I will probably grow extra horns.