Black Heart

overture

Step out of the woods, sweet children, lest the demon comes and spirit you away. Step away from the shadows waiting to capture you with its smoky grip. Come, sweet children, away from danger, and let me tell you the story of a doomed child that should not have lived. Come and hear the tale of the child who bears the demon's heart.

DURING THE COLD, WINTRY NIGHT IN IZARRA, a child was born. The snow was said to envelop the city in its bitter embrace when the child took its first breath. However, that brief moment of life wouldn't last very long.

          Rooftops groaned against the storm that besieged the city, the window panes shuddered so terribly that it threatened to break. Families huddled in the blazing hearth to keep warm and many prayers were said that night. The thunderous howl of the wind and the merciless blizzard that swept across the city should be a premonition of the child's ill-fated existence.

          The mother was sickly—in turn, she gave birth to a weak child who would not survive.

          The place where the child was born was known for their superstitious beliefs. They told the tales that no longer rang true to others, the stories of great beings that have become faded memories, and prayed to lost deities that no one remembered.

          The mother must have loved her child dearly for her to turn her back to the deities she prayed to, and instead called on the demon for help. It only took a day after the child was born when it ceased to breathe and its heart could beat no longer. The mother snuck out of her house with her child wrapped in a quilt and braved the cold, cold night with nothing to protect her from the spirits of evil.

          The snow did not feel cold to her bare feet. Perhaps the extremity of the weather had rendered her numb—the ice must've imbedded itself so close to her person that it stopped provoking any sensation that would otherwise hamper her journey. Or perhaps the deities bequeathed divine grace to the woman they loved dearly. It does not matter which version of the story you hear. The conclusion remained the same.

          She paid no heed at the sting of pain all over her body, the way the branches cut her skin, or how the chilly air seemed to slice at her cheeks. But the tempest wasn't the most perilous experience that must be feared, rather the monstrosities that the dark invited was deadlier than any icy blizzard.

          The dwelling of the Izarri demon was in a mountainous terrain, and you would not reach it if the woods did not grant you safe passage. No soul ventured the demon's woods and made it out alive—but perhaps the old beasts that would have eaten her flesh understood her desperation.

          Her thin nightgown was hardly a protection against the bitter cold and yet she trudged forward—on and on with unmovable strength and determination, a gift one could only receive in times of grief.

          Do you know of a creature stronger than a mother? I know of none.

          Some say it was good luck, others consider it as a miracle. The mother stood before the mountain of the Izarri demon, calling him out and demanding his presence, rousing him from his centuries-old slumber. To do such a foolish and daring feat meant that you consider your life forfeit—but perhaps when you've come to love someone, you cease to fear the devil.

          Many tales told that those who witnessed the face of the Izarri demon would disintegrate into nothingness, or that they would succumb to madness. None of those conditions became the outcome of the mother's fate. No one believed it but it happened. The child's existence was the testament that the mother could do the impossible.

          "What do you want to ask, child of light?" the demon said. "Answer quickly before I let my brothers devour your flesh."

         "Give my child a new life, great demon. She does not deserve death."

          "Many do not deserve death. But they die all the same."

          "This child must live. You must fulfill my wish," the mother pleaded, her hair billowing against the harsh wind.

          The demon took a look at the mother's grief-stricken pale face and relished at the suffering that seized her body, for creatures like him loved to see agony. However, the demon did not quite like the courage in her eyes that shined like crystal.

          "Such a great request you ask. A great request entails a great price."

          "I'll pay it," the mother declared without the slightest hesitation. What a dangerous thread she walked on.

          "Tell me, child of light, why must I listen to your shameless request?" the demon challenged, deciding that if she did not answer well, the demon would feed her to the monsters that crept into the shadows, maddened with hunger.

          The mother looked up to him, eyes blazing with fiery spirit. "This child will breathe life into your empty heart."

          The demon laughed and laughed for he had no need for something silly. Regardless, he decided to indulge the foolish mother in her whims so she would understand clearly what it meant to owe a favor to a demon.

          He stood, great and mighty, and used his hands that transformed into claws akin to a beast's and carved out his chest. For the child to live, the child must have a new heart—and a new heart was given. The demon's own.

          It was not clear how the demon resurrected the dead child but two things were certain: the borrowed heart will be returned to its owner and when that time comes, the child must die a second time. Before the child's death, a great price will be paid, a price none shall ever have the means to pay. 

          "Here is my bargain, child of light. When your daughter comes of age, she must bring me the sun. If she succeeds,  I will not reclaim my heart. If she fails, she will follow me to the darkest depths of hell."

          No one knew where the demon went after that memorable encounter—some say that he returned to his sleep and would soon awake to retrieve his heart, others say that he went to his own kind to reside quietly—but there will be those who will whisper to you that you should never trust your own shadow, for the Izarri demon has decided to live among us, hidden and anonymous.