For You

Gryphon squinted through the thick fog, muscles tensed at the hungry lapping of the river’s gentle waves against his dingy rowboat. A couple of splinters had already worked themselves into his hands, stinging with each rolling motion of the oars. The cloudy, brown water concealed any sign of the alligators surely lurking beneath the surface.

It’s for the best. For her …

The image of the young woman he had married flashed before him. Ebony hair tied into a low ponytail, she stood in a field of lilies only a shade paler than her skin. Her melodic laughter rang echoed in his ears, driving away the high-pitched whine of mosquitos searching for a landing place on his neck. As she pointed at a pair of doves soaring through the cloudless sky, her pale blue eyes filled with joy.

One bite from a half-starved dog had poisoned that loving gaze, replacing it with hot rage. All of the city’s best doctors had shaken their heads as soon as they saw the white foam bubbling from the corners of her lips; no one survived vitseri, the disease of madness.

She now lay in a rough bed, locked in a coma. Thin tubes protruded from her arms, each delivering a different medication that Gryphon couldn’t name. The dull drone of a speaker’s chants continued endlessly behind her, powering the machines forcing life into her body.

The sharp jolt of the vessel against a muddy shore yanked him out of his memories. Running a sweaty hand through his ginger locks, he took a deep breath. With quivering fingers, he untied the small lantern from the front of his boat and held it over his head. His hazel eyes darted across the tiny patch of grass and dirt. No animal tracks marred the island.

This should do.

The ground squelched beneath his shoes, and bits of flotsam stuck to the bottom of his long, faded-black robe. A sulfuric stench had worked its way into his nostrils, hinting at the rotting weeds just outside of his lantern’s range.

Gryphon turned to face his rowboat—and the gray blanket covering the stern. Muffled cries emanated from beneath it. They had faded since the beginning of the trip into the Haze Swamps’ vile depths.

Heaving a sigh, he lifted a leather-bound book from the floorboard in front of the rower’s seat. Gryphon flipped through the yellowed pages and shuddered as he stared at the patterns displaying the forbidden ritual. After weeks of research, Lividothen, the Book of Life in Death, was in his hands.

His fingers traced over one sentence at the bottom of the page.

“He who calls upon the prince of Life in Death with a proper sacrifice shall have his desires given to him.”

“It’s the only way,” he whispered. “No one else can heal her.”

Gryphon closed the hateful book and stumbled back into the boat. He threw the squirming mass beneath the blanket over his shoulder without uncovering it.

I can’t back out now.

Balancing his new load, he made his way back onto the island. Expressionless, he dropped his burden onto the ground. The bundle wheezed as soon as it hit the soggy mix of grass and mud.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry …”

A muffled scream arose from underneath the blanket at the slicing sound of Gryphon unsheathing a dagger from the small scabbard at his hip.

Closing his eyes, Gryphon began to mumble the blasphemous summons.

For you, my dear. All for you.

If you enjoyed this story, read our other fantasy short story about redemption: “The Face of Duty.”