Page 23 of The Maiden and Her Monster

Malka thought of the Maharal.

Tzvidi’s was not the only tale Malka had been told of Kefesh. Nor was the story of the golem. She had been raised on fables of the earth’s magic, of men who cradled it in their palms and whispered commands to shape the world, and the hubris which damned them.

After the golem incident, more had come to light about the Maharal’s use of magic.

The Eskraven merchants said the Maharal had grown careless with the holy magic long before Nimrah was created.

They said he used Kefesh to make the stained-glass windows of the shul Bachta glimmer even when no sun shined through.

That he relied on magic instead of scribes to craft his letters.

So, it should’ve been no surprise when the golem turned on him.

Baba had felt vindicated, long suspicious of the Maharal’s true intentions. Ever dark, corrupted by power.

Now, a breeze curled through the air and tickled Malka’s neck. She suppressed a shiver.

“The sun will set soon.” Nimrah pressed her hand to a strip of bark.

The waral fruit hung dangerously low on the tree’s branches.

Already, Malka had knocked Amnon out of the way of another falling fruit, which split open on the ground and ate through the soil, hissing as it consumed a protruding root.

“Lucky for your head,” Nimrah had said. Amnon had grumbled in response but ran a hand through his hair when he thought no one was looking.

The memory of that first night in Mavetéh enveloped her. Tight, coiling branches, shadows singing her name as a taunt. Václav’s vacant eyes and Aleksi’s decapitation.

Bile threatened to rise in her throat.

Nimrah had saved her from drowning, and tamed what Malka had thought then was the dreaded Rayga. She knew better now. The most dangerous threat stood in front of her, with eyes like spoiled olives and lips as plush as oleander flower.

But looking at the golem now, she appeared more worried than dangerous.

Her taut lips and souring cheeks reminded Malka of Danya’s when the coin Imma had given her could not buy enough fish to feed all five of them, even with the discounted price Amnon had whispered in her ear so his father didn’t hear.

“We should find a place to rest. I’m going to scope out the clearing to see if the water has attracted any… unwanted guests,” Nimrah said. She unsheathed her sword, handing it out to Malka with a smirk curling her lip. “For the sword girl.”

Malka didn’t bother hiding the foul look which crossed her face as she reluctantly accepted the sword. Once Nimrah disappeared through the trees, she frowned. “She’s not what I expected.” Malka didn’t know if she meant to speak it aloud, but Amnon was already shrugging.

“I still don’t trust her.”

“Neither do I, of course,” Malka responded. “I just… keep thinking about how Mavetéh would change our men.”

“Yes,” Amnon said. “The sap holding hallucinogens that drove them mad, they suspected. My abba never was the same after the hunts began. Wouldn’t let me take his place, even though I begged him.”

They had always bonded over this, the need to protect the ones they loved. Malka was the eldest, but Amnon’s older brothers were merchants, and were largely off selling at other markets, leaving him to look out for his younger siblings. Leaving him for his father’s expectations, too.

“Do you notice a difference?” she asked. “In me? In yourself?”

She watched the quick movement of his eyes as he examined her, the increasing furrow of his brow. “No. But we should be wary still.”

She swallowed hard. “Of course.”

Malka’s eyelids were growing heavy, but Nimrah still had not returned. The sky was awash in dusty blue. Soon they would lose the last drop of light.

“We should find her,” Malka said, pausing her pacing. “She’s been gone too long.”

Nimrah would not leave them; Malka was sure of that.

They needed each other. An uneasy feeling coiled in her chest. She had considered Nimrah to be as indomitable as the earth itself.

It had never occurred to her that something could happen to the golem.

That she could be harmed by something in this forest, driving a wedge in their bargain.

They began to search through the brush. Amnon trailed behind her, his footsteps steadily crunching on the old snow until they stopped abruptly.

She did not hear Amnon frantically whispering her name, drowned out by the rush of river water, nor notice his attempts to reach her through the brush.

She was razor focused on a different sound, something in the undertone of the water rush, like the brush of wind, or a grumble—

A hand pressed against her mouth, flattening her back against something broad and hard. Someone broad and hard.

Malka lashed out, but the grip only tightened. Then, another hand moved to jolt her chin back so she could see her attacker’s face.

Nimrah. Her eyes pointed to the place where Malka had almost stepped.

On the edge of the river lazed a giant reptile, scaly with brownish green skin, chest under its fleshy wings rising and falling. A Tannin? It couldn’t be. The water dragon she had once compared to Nimrah, the water dragon of myths.

Malka gasped, but Nimrah’s hand swallowed the sound.

Nimrah raised her eyebrows, willing Malka to remain quiet as she lifted her palm.

The Tannin’s hot breath brushed her skirt against her ankles. It plumed in the air, humid and sticking to the cold so that it lingered far after the dragon had snored again. It was as big as the river was wide, camouflaged to the blue-gray of the water.

It snored again, this time loosening its jaw to reveal its sharp, claw-shaped teeth.

Panic seized her, but she swallowed any movement or sound that could agitate the Tannin’s sleep.

She did not need the golem to tell her what would happen if the creature awoke and fixed its sight on Malka.

She had heard the myths of the water serpent who swallowed people whole, whose presence foretold a much worse ending for those who sighted it.

She held Nimrah’s sword flaccidly. Even if Malka had a semblance of skill with the blade, her chances did not bode well. She could see the toughness of the Tannin’s skin and its flinty scales.

Nimrah motioned, instructing her to follow back through the brush.

Malka began to walk on her toes, each crunch of snow-covered leaves under her feet shooting dread inside of her. When she stepped again and a twig broke under her weight, Malka cursed.

The Tannin shifted in its sleep. Malka held her breath, desperate not to make another sound. When the Tannin’s snores began again, her shoulders sank in relief.

Once the three of them were safely out of the brush, Nimrah poked her finger at Malka’s chest. “What happened to stay here ?”

“You were gone so long!”

“How sweet, you have suddenly started to care for me.”

“I care about keeping you in sight. Alive. We are both invested in this bargain.”

Nimrah huffed a laugh. “You are worried about me surviving? Look at yourself, village girl. What exactly would you have done if that dragon awoke?”

Malka opened her mouth, then closed it. What would she have done? No mortal sword could have pierced those scales, of that she was certain. Greater men had died trying.

“You know that Kefesh has changed the stakes of traveling through this forest. Yet you refuse to do what you must to survive.”

“It’s not worth it,” Malka pushed, though she still shook with fear. It was too easy to picture the water dragon’s teeth still, imprinted behind her eyes. The shape of them like scythe blades.

“You’d not say such a thing if Kefesh were any other tool. You wouldn’t fight against a sword without a shield strong enough to capture the cuts of the blade. Nor would you defend against a cannon blow without a fortress capable of withstanding its force.”

At Malka’s silence, Nimrah rolled her eyes. But it lacked her usual impudence. It was something much worse. Total disappointment. Resignation. “You forget, village girl. If you both die here, there is no bargain left.”

Then, she was gone through the trees.

When Malka met Amnon’s eyes, she was not expecting to see the fear that glossed them, though it should not have surprised her. They had both seen it, the mythic water dragon.

Malka cupped her hand along her side, feeling a twinge between her ribs.

The Tannin’s presence was an inexorable sign of devastation.

In the holy scrolls, the Tannin was described as a primordial force of chaos, appearing in bodies of water to foretell ruinous events.

It had lazed on the long river of the ancient city before the collapse of its temples, waded in the Anaya Sea before the toppling of the Jalgani Empire. Now, it was here.

A revelation sunk deep in her belly:

Destruction was coming.