did not. Her skin was covered with a fur. Smooth and soft as the small things he had eaten: the mice and squirrels, the rat.
His ease grew the deeper he went in the inky tunnels. Her powers were always stronger when he was close.
He felt along the walls as he walked, smelled the scent of rock and water, of the sulfur springs, and of the strange beasts that lived in the bowels of this mountain. When he came to the carving that marked the hole leading to the lower chambers, he climbed down. Then it was up a small slope, over the bridge that spanned the cold waters of the underground river.
He found her in the warm room, surrounded by her light. But now he considered that light as if for the first time. It wasn’t just light. It was—the word was “ribbons”—it was ribbons of light, ribbons flowing around her, circling her limbs. Living ribbons of light wriggling like the snake he’d eaten. And then he saw that her appearance was changed.
She no longer had a muzzle. Nor was she covered in soft fur.
The Mother was human. And beautiful. So stunning it took his breath away.
He wondered and marveled at the change. He looked closer at her. She looked like . . .
She looked like his wife. He was confused. “Lovely?” he asked.
“Come here,” she said.
The ribbons of light reached out to him and circled his arm, caressed his neck, wreathed his head. A continual shimmer.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He only wanted to be here with her. But no, that wasn’t right. Deep in his mind he knew there was something else. And then the nightmare of his family struggled past the feel of her beauty and stared him in the face.
He was going to tell her to free the souls inside, but he knew she must not know they meant anything to him.
“Freedom,” he said.
She laughed.
“You need a servant,” he said. “But you don’t need me. I will find you another, and you will give me this boon: you will dissolve this body and let me go.”
“And the souls inside you?” she asked.
Her face flickered like smoke. Alarm shot through him. He took a step back, but she grabbed him by the arm, and such was the power of her ease that his panic lost its grip. He knew he should run, but could not.
She thrust her other hand into his sodden chest. She reached deep into him with that powerful hand and grasped the part of him that held his family.
He wanted to struggle, but could not.
With a yank she broke them free—his bright daughter, his handsome sons, his admirable wife—and withdrew his monster’s heart.
Hunger fought her ease with all his might and managed to grasp her hand. He felt what she held. It was then he realized she hadn’t grasped his heart, if he even had one.
No, what she’d taken from his chest was a stomach.
It was a weave of willows. He’d been there when she’d made them; he himself had fetched the thin flexible willow branches she used for such weaving. They smelled of her magic. His body was packed with stomachs. Empty stomachs waiting to be filled. But this one was not empty. In this one Hunger could feel the souls of his family caught like moths in a wicker web.
The Mother pushed at him and yanked her hand away. “You stupid thing,” she said. “I will devour them.”
“No,” he begged. “Please.”
“Then help me prepare for the harvest. Bring me the ones that stink, all those that could fight against me. Bring me the young male that would be their leader. This is your duty. And when you have fulfilled that duty you will receive the boon you seek.”
The pull of her dazzling beauty and the desires for his family tugged against each other. He wanted to obey her. But he also knew she was lying. She would not keep her promise to free his loved ones.
Then something she’d just said sparked an idea in his mind. She had spoken of a harvest before, but he had not known then what the word meant. “What do you want to harvest? I am strong. I can serve you as the harvest master and you can let these go.”
Her anger seemed to flow away at this offer and her countenance smiled upon him. “It has been too long since any in my family have handled humans. So facile.”