“Is that Mother?” Scab whispered.
Silas nodded.
“Is it dead?”
Silas shook his head.
“Did you tie it up?”
Silas guided Scab forwards with a hand on his back.
Mother wheezed as it lay there. Its wrinkled, baggy skin looked like leather close up. Silas held out his blade to Scab.
Scab shook his head and mouthed, “No.”
Silas leant over to Scab, so his lips touched his ear. “This thing has tasted you. It will hunt you unless you do this now,” he whispered.
“But you said.”
“It will kill you.” Silas tapped the handle on Scab’s chest.
Scab took the blade, and Silas moved him toward Mother. The old damp smell filled the air. Silas took his wrist and placed it so that the blade nearly touched its neck, then gestured a stab motion and a slice to the left.
As Scab stared at Mother, the sound of the night bugs stretched out, along with Mother’s wheezing. Its chest took much longer to rise and fall. The Slow had come.
“I can’t,” Scab said.
Mother’s eyes opened. It twisted in its bindings, hissing like a cat and snapping its pointed teeth.
Time was back to normal, and Scab backed away, dropping the blade on the floor.
Mother’s yellow eyes looked into his. “Mara.”
The rasping sound it made when it said the word was horrible.
Silas placed a hand on Scab’s shoulder and placed the blade back into his hand. “Stay calm, boy. We must do this.”
“Mara,” Mother said.
“Can’t we just leave it tied up?” Scab said.
“No, it will break free and come for you.”
“But how will it find me?”
Mother stopped twisting but didn’t look away from Scab’s eyes. “Mara.”
“These things can track anyone, anywhere.” Silas guided Scab forward.
Mother raised its voice as he got closer. “Mara.”
“Why’s it saying that?”
“Pay no attention. Focus only on your task.”
Scab’s hand trembled as he raised the blade back to Mother’s neck. It doesn’t look like it could hunt anything. Each time Mother repeated the word, it got slower.
He pressed the point of the blade against dry skin, not hard enough to pierce it. A warm feeling passed through his body, and the only sound that remained was his heartbeat. He pushed harder, dark blood trickling over the silver. It went in easy, all the way up to the handle. More blood came, wet and warm on his hand.