“Leave him go, devil,” the father shouted.
The tip of the spear glinted in the light from the fire, hovering less than a foot away from Mara’s face. “He’ll die, and you’ll be next if you don’t tell me.”
The son started to cry. “Help me, da.”
The point of the spear quivered as the father trembled. “You let him go, and I’ll tell you anything you want.”
“Da,” the son shouted. Blood ran in a thin line beneath the blade.
“Okay, okay.” The father knelt and placed the spear on the ground. “Let’s talk. No need for anyone to get hurt.”
“You’re the one that picked up the spear.” Mara held out his hands, palms up. “I’m just sat here.” He wiggled the arrow. “Do you know how I can get this out?”
The father’s eyes flicked to his son, then back to Mara. “Your type are supposed to be long dead.”
“My type?”
“Don’t play dumb, devil.”
Mara stood and walked to the son. “I ain’t no devil. The devils are hidden away.” He tapped his head with one finger. “They want you dead.”
“Da,” the son whispered.
“Leave him alone. He ain’t done no wrong. We’ll do whatever you say.”
Whatever I say? Mara took the blade from the son’s hand. “Okay.” He picked up the fur coat and pulled it on. “You’re coming with me.”
The father darted to the son. They wrapped their arms around each other, the son sobbing into the father’s shoulder. “Where will you have us go?” the father said.
“Up the mountain.”
“There’s nothing up there, just ice and rock.”
Nothing? “That’s just what I want. Let’s go.”
Mara walked out of the cave into the snow, father and son several steps behind him. He didn’t know what he’d do with the two men, but if he wanted to be alone, he couldn’t let them go back to their village. He had questions for the father about Mara’s… type. For now, they’d just keep on walking. No sense in staying where more people might turn up.
The son lay dead, face a pale blue colour. Less than half a day in the snow without the fur coat had been all it took. The father leant over him, crying. As Mara watched, he wondered if he would ever feel anything for anyone ever again, other than hate.
The father rushed at Mara. “You bastard,” he shouted.
Mara sidestepped and ran his blade along the father’s ribs.
The father clutched at the fur as he collapsed, then pressed red handprints into the snow as he turned to face Mara. “Fucking… devil.”
Mara knelt next to the father. “Ssh.” He placed a hand on the man’s cheek. “I’ve been thinking about how you can help me.”
The father spat in Mara’s face. “Go back to hell, devil.”
Mara passed a warmth through his hand into the father’s cheek.
The man’s eyes went wide as Mara placed his other hand on the opposite cheek, warm becoming hot. He tried to struggle, beads of sweat appearing on his head. “Stop, please.”
“It’s for your own good,” Mara said.
The father screamed, the skin on his cheeks and forehead blistering, while the whites of his eyes turned red.
Eventually, the screams stopped, and Mara stood. The father lay still, mouth open, steam rising from his face. “Get up,” Mara said.