The killing ritual, chapter 21 ananke and eos electricity towers health risks


Murin collapsed in the mud. Tears blinded her and emotions thrashed inside her, slipped up the strands of her muscles. It smothered her voice like sand on fire. She tried to pull herself up, but the mud was like mortar, entombing. gas prices in texas 2015 She rolled over on her hands and knees. That much she could do. Now face to face with a puddle, she leaned over the glassy surface, looked at her face reflected in the water.

The first shift was subtle, the corners of her eyes slanted upward. Then her brows arched wickedly. The next changes came all at once. The bones of her nose, cheeks and jaw elongated, stretched and distorted until they looked like a snout more than a nose and mouth. At the same time her forehead sloped back. The hair of her brows transformed into spiny protrusions. gas efficient cars 2016 Spikes grew along her new jaw line and her hair became a tangle of quills.

Murin sat up in bed and clutched her chest. The blankets had tangled around her body and her skin was cold with terror. She panted in the darkness of the room. From the deep silence, she could tell morning was far off. Thankfully she was alone in the room. She rearranged the blankets into a semblance of order and smashed her body back into the pallet, as if she could hurl herself into sleep.

After a time, Zaz’s snoring was all she could hear. The sound grew louder the more she tried to ignore it. That and the fact that each time she closed her eyes she saw the monster—as clearly as she had seen her own face in the water just the other week—was enough to make sleep impossible. No creature like that existed on Tarska. Not in myth or reality.

She threw back the blankets and stumbled toward the door. gas 87 89 93 Might as well make some tea instead of fretting over some nonexistent monster. Chamomile would calm her, bring her to peace. Its bright yellow-eyes surrounded by petals of white grew around the house. They used it as a medicinal tea rather than regular everyday tea. Apart from upset stomachs and occasional muscle pains, Murin used it to help her sleep.

“Hell?” His voice grew louder. “That’s what this is for you? And what do you subject me to?” His voice dropped to a tormented whisper. “I thought you were different, Claire. I thought you came wanting nothing. Taking nothing. I watched you limp through the mud into Tolslovel. gas in oil car I made sure you got there when my real duty—my duty to my people as an Initiate of the Svarasa—was to kill you. I thought that maybe, after all those years, I had found a woman fitting enough to be my wife.”

“Tradition? You call treating women as common house slaves tradition? Criminal is what it is, Vapan. And you should know how other people really see us. They are amazed all four children thrive. They’ve escaped diseases that kill every one out of their three children.” Claire sighed. “You are so obsessed with this notion of being persecuted just because I am different. Because Murin is different.”

“No matter what I say, no matter what tradition dictates,” he paused, “no matter how I feel about you.” His voice cracked, like a tree splintering. He drew a ragged breath. “You won’t change.” Something thudded against the wood of the table. Murin imagined it to be his fists. His next words came out haltingly, like the jerking motion of a wagon braking down a hill. “We should. 7 gas station Have dealt with you. The way. The Svarasa deal. With. Your kind.”

“I don’t know how long I was unconscious. The beating revived me. I-I had to save the child. After, I fled from the mountains. How many other people suffered that fate? If I had no magic, if I had been another helpless girl seeking refuge—they would have murdered me. With sticks and rocks. They would have beaten Murin out of me and thrown us into the sea.” She paused again. Her voice was low and dangerous and thick with emotion.