"You're a Somata."
"And you have eyes, Dauntless."
Her voice is soft, sifting through the gloom, not quite belonging to a woman, not quite belonging to anything living. Her head tilts further, smile breaking wider than any mask of flesh should allow.
She steps forward, pale toes gliding across the pulsing membrane. Each footfall leaves no print, but the air ripples behind her, stained with the faintest scent of riot and violets.
She studies me, not like prey, as one does when a challenger approaches.
"You recognized the face?" Her head cocks the other way. "Did you like it, Dauntless? I was proud of my work. It was so difficult. Crafting a mask from an age, oh so long ago. I barely remember that day. She was my first, you know."
The flames begin to crawl my body, my eyes bright, and I tighten my jaw. Magma rises from my throat, wanting to explode, wanting to transform into wrath.
"Is that supposed to move me?"
"Move you?" The Somata's laugh is delicate and thin. She paces me in circles, her finger trailing along the veined walls. "Oh, I could break you, Dauntless. That's easy. But I wonder what you'd look like if you let yourself feel something for once. Maybe you would burn bright."
She stops midstride, placing one of her fingers on her chin as if she were contemplating. What monster like her has to consider?
"You wear her well," I spit. "But that face doesn't belong to you."
"Oh, you're so right, Dauntless. Nothing belongs to anyone. We all die whether in a day or an eon."
The flames long my arms flicker, warning her. "Say what you will, and let me leave. It's clear you're not here to take my spirit."
The Somata giggles, the sound echoing in the living chamber. "Dauntless, I have no appetite for you. Your spirit is much too old, too lean, and not enough fat. Ever since last night, we have been hungry for more luxurious delights."
I say nothing.
The Somata drifts closer, clasping her hands behind her, the false skin shifting as she grins. Her waist stretches like thick, viscous liquid.
"Why do you do it?" She murmurs. "Why drag a Seer behind you? You know how this ends. When the Inquisition finds out, you'll burn the boy. Like you, Dagda did so many years ago, cutting off his closest allies for the sake of his children. Why defend a Seer who's doomed to die from all planes?"
I meet her gaze. Those false eyes shimmer with that impossible blue, the same shade that she had before she died.
"You wear the face of someone you never knew," I tell her.
"You're changing the subject," the Somata sings.
"You mock what you can't understand."
"Understand?" Her cackle drips, coarse enough to split glass. "I understood her better than you ever did. I remember her screams. How she begged. How she prayed you'd come back."
"Stop."
"She looked just like that when she called your name."
I don't realize I've moved until I feel the flame licking my throat. My sword forms in my hand, fire gathering at the tip, and I raise my sword high.
The chamber springs into action.
Pylons of flesh and sinew shoot like serpents as the blade flings fiery wrath toward the Somata. The flesh smashes into one another, shielding the Somata, squelching as the flames begin to turn it into ash.
"Temper, temper, Dauntless."
"Be quiet."
"Ah, there he is," she whispers. "The Dagda's flame. Tell me, does it tire you to follow the will of an 'IT' that abandons their own?"
I lower my blade.
I need to calm down. This thing wants something from me. It wouldn't go about pushing my rage for no reason. Somata like these, these Matriarchs, are just another glutton.
"Speak," I say.
"Oh, permission," IT sighs. "How generous. I thought I'd have to peel it from your tongue."
The Somata watches the flesh disappear into ash, then into nothingness. It seems disappointed.
"I didn't bring you here to kill you, Dauntless. I came to talk. You of all creatures should appreciate that."
"You have nothing to say that will move me."
"Then listen anyway."
The chamber shifts once more—the flesh cavern convulses, moving like a river under ice, and to my right, there's an opening, where light is entering from.
The exit.
"You and I are old, tired things," it continues. "You hunt, but do you ever wonder why the Somata are still here? That Dagda made you burn us away, yet we still thrive. What does that say about your Dagda?"
"That they're patient."
It scoffs. "I like that answer. Patient. Not merciful, not just, or fair, or caring, only patient. What does that make us?"
"You're a carrion."
"A Carrion that learns," it corrects, pointing toward that face.
"Take it off."
The Somata smiles gently. It brushes her fingers over the stolen face. With its spider-like fingertips, it rips the mask, revealing meat, bone, and cartilage, all quivering as it shapes the Somata's true face, moving like bugs caught in the rain.
It moves closer, its eyes glinting. "You flinch so beautifully, Dauntless. But I'm not here for war, not tonight," it nods toward the exit. "You can go. When the moon rises, you'll find no Somata on your path, no devil in your shadow. Not even a child's whisper in the gutter."
My hands tighten on the hilt. "What are you playing at?"
"Is it so strange? Even monsters can tire of useless bloodshed. We can't kill a Dauntless."
It drops the mask onto the floor —the cavern of flesh —consuming it immediately, absorbing it wholly. "You can leave Bruis. No one will stop you. Humans can't see you."
"And the cost?" I ask. "What bargain do you want?"
"The boy," it says without hesitation. "Leave the Seer, and we won't even touch the other humans. We only want the Seer. Just him. Give us the Seer."
I don't answer. My grip is tight enough to snap a bone, white fire crackling at my wrist. I know what this is. This is a game I'm supposed to lose, something I lost before I stepped into this room.
"You hesitate," the Somata purrs. "Does this surprise you?"
I don't flinch. I refuse.
But something in me remembers the oaths—the bargain the Dagda made. I hate myself for remembering that bargain now. Why did this thing know about that bargain?
"You think I'm cruel," the Somata whispers in a tone so tender. "But tell me, Dauntless, what happens if you keep the Seer at your side? The Inquisition will know. He's not invisible like you. They torch Bruis to the ground in search of a Seer. Will you still protect him then?"
A long tongue escapes from the Somata's mouth, hanging free, licking at the convulsing flesh on its face. "All I want is a good meal. Give us the boy, and I'll let you and Bruis sleep easy. The Inquisition will stop as soon as they find the boy's body. Even your precious Dagda will rest."
My flame hisses at the Dagda's name.
"Why do you even protect him? You owe him nothing. He's a magnet for misery. Your own kind turns in Seers, I know you've turned in Seers. Why break the law of your world for a child whose gift is to see the dead and bring death?"
Her question burns. It burns because I know the answer. Because I don't.
Because I'm tired.
Because when I see the boy's face, I remember my sins.
"Let him go, unburden yourself. Give him to us. Be free."
It would be so easy. Just one less death on my conscience. One more bargain for the greater good. I could be gone before dawn, and the world will keep spinning.
But then I remember that face. If I gave up another child, then I don't deserve to have her in my memory.
I won't give him up.
I turn away, feeling the heat gutter inside me. "You said I could leave?"
It gives me a sincere and honest smile. "You may."
My legs move before my heart. I cross the pulsing threshold, following the streak of dim light out of the breathing, wet chamber.
I glance back once more, flames rising from my body, rising from every pore, surrounding me in a blanket of fire, and stare at the Somata.
"The boy will live."
The Somata stares quietly for a moment. "Then you're a fool."
The cavern behind collapses inward, the flesh turning into stone, and the cave of flesh and the Somata are gone.
I step through the exit, feeling the air cold and sharp. I emerge into a side alley.
And freeze.
The moon is hanging above Bruis, fat and white and cold, glaring down at me.
Night? Already?
I couldn't have been down there for more than fifteen minutes. And then, fog begins to surround me.
And a voice whispers into my ears ever so softly: "You surely are a fool, Ikaris. Now, the hunt has already begun."