Page 65 of Red Demon

I shivered, realizing what the tallies meant—the names.

Flipping back to the front, on the last lines before the gap of blank white: my name, a tally of four lines, and above it “Days in the cave.” The writing was a mess of Asri cursive; the Red Demon had terrible handwriting. I had to bring the journal close to my face, squinting in the dim light before I was sure of anything.

A burst of motion. In a heartbeat, she was up and beside me, her weapon drawn, the blade angled straight at my throat.

I froze, dropping the notebook onto the table, my heart crashing wild between my bandaged ribs. Her cold steel stung the sensitive flesh of my throat. I met her eyes, planning to look her in her eyes as she killed me.

The blade twitched against me with a tremor that ran through her entire body. “I know you.” Her voice cracked—brittle, faint. She didn’t move the blade as she mumbled again. “I’m sorry.”

The tension bled out of me, replaced by a cold confusion as I kept breathing. I searched her face for my fate. But all I saw were wide eyes as frantic as mine.

“No.” She lowered her weapon with a clatter, the despair in her voice echoing in the stone room. “I know you. J–Jesse.” She clutched her head as if to hold it in place. “Do you know my name?”

I blinked. “What?”

“The journal,” she said, her voice low and feral.

I tried to hand it over, almost losing my balance, holding tight against that table to remain standing. She took my arm, steadying me before grabbing her book.

“You’re hurt. Sit down,” she said in a rush, breathing fast. Her scarred arm gestured to the chair. “You’re real, right? You look the same.”

Not knowing what to say, I let her ease me into a chair until she withdrew her shaking hand.

After studying me to, perhaps, ensure my ass couldn’t fall out of a chair, she turned for the journal, picking it up with reverence. Her breathing calmed as she read the cover. “Faruhar.”

I swallowed, all my thoughts, hatred included, flickered and gutted. This savage murderer, the demon I feared for so long, didn’t remember her own name?

“Faruhar,” I repeated. “You told me that yesterday.”

A minute passed, two, as she flipped pages, wild and fast, the only sound echoing in the room. Her eyes closed wet when she thudded the leather book closed. “What else do you know? You told me to draw my sword; you fought well.” She paused, blinking. “You said I took everything from you. What did I do? I didn’t write that down.”

A choked sound came out of my open mouth.

“Please. Tell me. There’s so much fading under the surface. If you tell me, I can bring it back.” She gripped her head.

“You really don’t remember?”

Faruhar, the Red Demon, the destroyer of Nunbiren: she rocked back and forth, her body shaking with silent sobs.

“No,” she rasped, the word a desperate plea that scraped against the raw grief clinging to me like second skin. “No. No. No… What did I do to you?”

I pictured Galen, swinging his blade at me with all his mighty strength. The sound of her last slash bled into the silence of my mind, tightening the knot in my gut.

“You—you killed a lot of people—my taam.” Voids, I hated the taste of those words.

She nodded, eyes distant. “Where?”

“A town called Nunbiren. All dead.”

“Why did I kill them?”

“I don’t know,” I stuttered out. “A ghost girl warned us about the attack. We were stupid enough to stay. We expected rebels and got you. When you showed up, my friends started killing each other.”

She flinched violently, her shoulders hunching as if under an invisible blow. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut so tight they threatened to disappear altogether.

“I remember Nunbiren. You said your father was Galen. I wrote him down,” she said, the word a hollow whisper. “Who else? Tell me their names.” She pulled out her book.

“You want to write them down?”