The Leech

Lightning crashed blue-white across the mountain, whips of wind howled through the sky’s gray skin and beat the acrid smell of ozone into the roar of the avalanches. The hail sliced the air like knives. The falls spat their fury and the rivers gushed in response.

Mila pulled herself up the icy slope with her standard, sliding across the sleek river stones to avoid the torrents. A mountain goat had once tried to cross the stream here but had taken a false step. In the darkness of the storm’s clouds, she couldn’t see the base of the fall.

“Greatstorm,” she yelled from the mountain top, “Greatstorm, listen!”

The storm drowned her calls.

“Greatstorm, I am Mila, daughter of Ethan. Greatstorm, I know you can hear me.”

“Leave,” it howled, cleaving towards her wool hat and tossing her black hair to the white frost.

“You were our guardian. But now our village is buried in the snow you sent; our people drowned in the lake you flooded. Your monstrosity is finally bare for all to see. Face me, Demon. Face the damage you have done.”

The giant’s visage beat through the fabric of the storm: two eyes which shone like the veiled moon, encircled by charcoal clouds; a nose which sharpened; her hair, oozing from the roiling sky like black magma, silhouetted by the crackle of lightning. It imposed over Mila at the peak. “Is this a case of my monstrosity,” she asked, “or is it your greed,” and her eyes bored into Mila’s.

“An evil has taken you, and to destroy it I must destroy you as well,” she said, leveling her wind-torn standard at the storm. “You can’t harm me, Ana; I carry the emblem of Ereume.”

“I have respected your people’s emblem for centuries, but the peace it purports is in truth a command for obedience. The wind does not submit to your voice. Neither will I.”

“Obedience?” Mila felt the hairs on her arm rise in tandem with her indignation. “We have only ever taken what you offered freely.” The giant roared its anger, and Mila released her standard to fling herself to the slope. The bolt burst with the instantaneous heat of the sun, crisping the banner. Her feet scrambled for a foothold as she slid down the trench her footsteps had carved while climbing the peak.

“You,” the giant rumbled, circling, “have stolen my time and my land. Your inhabitation of my mountain has obliged me to protect your village for centuries. My protection has ended.”

Another bolt cracked against the boulders as Mila leapt back across the river.

“And now you inflict your unjust anger on us without warning,” said Mila, “You send violence down from above to force us from the land you gifted us. You kill my friends, my father, the last of my family.”

“I have not shepherded the snow for weeks. Your father died knowing that the avalanche was coming. No more. No more ceaseless subservience to ungrateful invaders. I welcomed you on this mountain as a temporary refuge. You are no longer welcome here. Leave.” The lightning resounded with the command as Mila ducked under the shelter of a cave.

“Have we done anything to harm you? Is there even a single way to show respect that we haven’t already tried? How dare you treat us this way.”

“You refuse to leave. That which I do is done in self-defense.”

“You cannot attack harmless people and claim ‘self-defense.’”

“Harmless is not the word I’d use,” she replied, one of her moon-like eyes wide against the cave’s entrance, “You threaten me with destruction. You plunder my halls. You don’t bother to question yourselves.”

“I don’t question myself because you have taken the lives of my family.”

“As you’ve taken mine over the last five hundred years,” said the storm, the hail melting in the Giant’s silver eyes. “I have wasted away. Because of my obligation to you, I will never see the great mountains of the north.” 

A wind pushed at Mila’s heavy furs, rippling from the cuffs of her boots to her hair. “You will never see those things,” she said quietly. And louder: “You will never see those things,” unsheathing the dagger at her waist, “because you will die,” Mila said, lunging. She took a false step.

She fell to all fours, scrambling through the snow as it liquified from the walls and pushed her away from the marble eye at the cave’s entrance. The Giant’s voice followed her down: “I will bring unto you that which you have tried to bring to me. I will do what I should have done long ago. It is time I visited your town.” The eye withdrew, sending a wave of cold darkness rippling through the tunnel and confusing Mila’s sense of direction as she spiraled down, free of any desire but to survive.

—

She landed on something soft and roughly textured like a hand-woven carpet. It shifted, uncoiled, and blinked two slitted red eyes up from the floor at her.

“My name is Ira,” it said.

“Ahh-ahh.”

“Oh, you’re hurt. You poor, unfortunate thing. I see Ana left quite the impact, what an unseemly temper with that one. There is surely medicine in one of the chambers, and potions for healing, and bandages, and all sorts of lovely things that she kept while she lived here.”

“Who are you?”

“I said, I am Ira. I have lived here for quite some time; nearly as long as you humans have. I don’t remember the early days very well, though I could swear that you gifted me to her in exchange for the lands she gave you. She’s been tending me ever since. Here, let me show you the way.”

The thing exhaled thin flames from its nostrils, dappling auburn across its velvet shadow. It had a long, crocodile snout whose hanging flabs gave it a self-satisfied smirk. Its body stretched and coiled up and down the walls in the tunnel. The wyrm had four malformed legs which left its only means of movement a slow wriggle and slide.

“Come,” it said as darkness fell once more, “it isn’t far.”

“My village is in danger. I have to go–”

“Tut-ta-ta, you can’t go anywhere far on that leg. Surely, you’d like to heal first. I can help. I have helped Ana a lot while she still lived here. She liked to hear my voice as she worked, and she found it therapeutic. But she didn’t like to see me, though, so she made these tunnels through the walls of her home so I could pass unseen. I’ve heard I’m an ugly creature.”

“I’m sorry that she hid you like that, that is no way–”

“Ahh, but I’m causing us to dwell on the past, it’s an unhealthy past-time of mine. I have a lot of time to spare, seeing as I’m in here. It’s hard to find something good to spend it on, especially when moving forward on these useless legs is so hard. Still, it is likely for the best. After all this time in the darkness, I imagine I would burn easily in the sun.”

“It’s cruel that she’s kept you in here,” she said, drawing herself up against the well-worn side of the tunnel, “where did she get the food to feed you?”

“She had a lot of things to feed me with – the snows she shepherded each morning, her desire to leave the mountain, her fear of the end she had read in the stars and winds–”

“The end? So, she has foreseen her death, then? How does it happen?” Mila stumbled on her good leg as the wall disappeared.  The sickly smell of fermented brew hit her.

“–She would feed me things so that she would not have to deal with them,” Ira continued, “A mutually beneficial relationship, if you ask me; we got along well, her and I.”

“You didn’t answer my question, how does she die?” 

“Your question is ridiculous,” it snorted, “she is already dead. Look.” The flames licked at Ana’s great form. The corpse was still fresh, eyes closed, hair soaked in the spilled contents of an enormous tankard of ale. The flames gave the bags under her eyes a tired flush.

“She felt sad that she would never get to do the things she wanted to do, so she fed me her despair. Poor, unfortunate Ana. She asked me for my poison, and I gave it to her. It is one of the only things strong enough to intoxicate a Giant to the point of forgetfulness. But she should have known not to drink that deeply. She was kind enough to release me as she passed.”

“So that isn’t really her, then, is it?”

“It is her and it is not her. It is an echo of her. What you would call her soul. It's all the emotions she had in life, embodied and released in her death. Walk carefully now,” it slithered, “the poison is much more deadly for mortals.”

“She is more wicked than I thought, compelled by such anger to attack us from beyond the grave.”

“Ah, we’re almost there, little one. There is a potion you can take that will return you to your former strength... But frankly, I don’t know if that will be enough,” and the wyrm snorted flame once more.

“That it won’t be enough?” she said, the round glass bottles warping her reflection into something sinister, “as a priestess, an exorcism is much easier than battling the might of a fully incorporated giant.”

“You are a priestess then, well, congratulations… Exorcism is a fitting process, yes, a final release of her soul. It is very kind. But it will probably be too late to save your village."

“You could help me get there; your body is ideal for sliding down the snow.”

“Maybe I could come with you… though maybe – well,” it slid behind her.

“What?”

“I just worry for you. She hurt you so badly,” the wyrm said, slits fastened on her face, “she attacked you and threw you down the tunnels, that much I can gather. She insulted you and your people and took you for granted – oh I’ve seen it all before. Maybe something more extreme is necessary to deal with this case… Here, this one is your medicine.” The wyrm’s undulating body uncorked the massive bottle, lowering to its side, and retreating away from the shimmering liquid to watch, two red eyes and sparking nostrils.

“You raise a good point,” and she took a drink from the draught. “You have been very helpful. However, I think an exorcism will be more than enough.”

“You truly think so?”

“The darkness has given me time to think. I’ve thought back to the words she said–”

“That you were abusive, ungrateful invaders? Of course, she said those things from a state of anger and irrationality, but her anger and irrationality are all that's left.”

“Yes, she did say that. How–”

“She is an angry person– old habits die hard,” it said, “everything she said to you has been building pressure inside the rock chambers she thought she could contain it in. Eventually, she was bound to blow her top.”

“Yes, her anger has frustrated me. But I did climb to the peak with vengeance in my heart.”

“Though I doubt someone as calm and reasonable as you would attack without significant provocation,” Ira said quickly, “some things – murder and robbery feature prominently in my mind – are simply beyond forgiveness.”

“Well, what is the point of keeping them so close? When I climbed the mountain, I saw Ana as a monster. Monsters cannot be redeemed; they seek only to destroy. But now she appears more like an animal who has let a small wound fester for too long. Ereume teaches that our forgiveness and love should be unconditional, that violence should only be used in self-defense.”

“Those are lofty standards,” the wyrm said, raising its head to tower over Mila, “we know that it is much harder to follow than to write.”

“You’ve lived with Ana, and you loved her. I am surprised you don’t see it.”

“I still do love her, and I tell you now that she has become the monster you saw as you climbed the mountain.”

“If you love her, why do you wish me to hold the hurt she has caused me so close?”

The wyrm was silent.

“I have made up my mind; I will forgive.”

“No,” Ira bellowed, its breath blistering like the heat of the sun, crisping the bottles’ labels and bursting their glass with their contents’ sudden boiling. “She wants you to hurt for what you have done to her.”

Mila ran under the shower of shattered glass and broiling concoctions.

“She wants you to feel every ounce of resentment that she has hid behind welcoming smiles and generous arms.”

“She is angry, but there are less destructive ways to release it,” said Mila.

“No, I will not allow her. You will not leave this place.” Her boots sizzled as she slid across the spilled drink, struggling to keep her footing. The thick smell of alcohol drenched her senses. Its red eyes were behind her.

“Do you truly think you can burn me? Ana tried and failed,” she coaxed, unfastening one of her furs.

The wyrm let out a burst of fire. Mila caught the flame in the cloak. Jumping backwards, she threw it in the alcohol mixture. Ira writhed in agony as the fire took to its weak scales. The skin it left behind as its flesh immolated was black like tar.

—

Mila rode, the husk undulating down the mountain. The lightning burst through the structures, encircling the giant’s obsidian silhouette with accents of blue and white.

“Greatstorm,” she yelled.

“You survived,” she said, eyes flickering as she turned in her cage of lightning. “I have struck the buildings down. I have forced your village to flee. There is nothing left for you here. Will you try to kill me?”

“No, Ana. You can have your land back.”

“What?”

“You feel angry and resentful because we have lived on your land longer than you expected, forcing you to protect us instead of living your life, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can have it back.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, bewildered. The lightning stopped.

“We can rebuild somewhere else.”

“Then my plan worked,” said the giant’s echo, the voice weakened without its thunderous accompaniment.

“Yes.”

“It feels different than I imagined it would. I still feel – empty.”

“I spoke to Ira when I fell through the tunnels. It told me you feel sad that you never got to go north.”

“Yes,” the giant whispered through the downpour, “yes.”

“Is that why you are still here?”

“I am not ready to leave.”

“We will leave this land, but maybe you should leave it, too.”

“If this is a ploy to–”

“It is not a trick,” she promised through the curtains of water running down her face. “Circle the world, come back to check that we are not here if it suits you. But let your joy and grief feed on the sights you see on your journey. Experience the beauty of the world. Then, let it go.”

“I would like that. If I am not here, then maybe you needn’t leave,” she said, misting upwards, “I am sorry I haven’t been more reasonable.”

“I am sorry we did not talk to you before.”

“Thank you.”

The winds gathered the stray folds of cloud and blew the rainstorm to the north. All that was left was a steady drizzle.