The TwiceBorn

Not All Is What It Seems

The high moments, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die."--Sylvia Plath

The murky yellow quality of Aubery's eyes stared into his own, and Gre, try as he might, couldn't look away.

Like the Fens...

And then he was sick, everything coming up in one hot gasp and Aubery quickly stood up and moved a step back.

"For fuck sakes,Gray."

Gre didn't hear him. He was shaking, his mouth harsh and sour. He hadn't thought of the Fens in a long time, not even when drunk. But he remembered now. Oh, how he remembered. There were things he kept locked away. He'd discovered ale was a pretty good hasp when it came to keeping things out of mind but all it took was a certain moment to unlock those doors and Brede help him,this was one.

Behrin had wanted to sack Guelder. Rumor was, all the girls were beautiful and all the men were built like bulls. Which meant slaves that could work all day and fuck all night which was guaranteed coin in pocket. But Behrin had wanted to cut through the Fens instead of riding around. It would take a good day off of riding time and Gre remembered agreeing heartily with the plan.

Because...it was difficult to take a town when you had been drunk in the saddle for several days and hungover to boot. Being a little fresher meant being a little faster with the sword.

And it had happened so quickly. Gre closed his eyes, hoping to escape the thought but sickly realized that the whole scene was now going to play out on the backs of his eyelids instead.

"You assholes stay in a line behind me...don't ride ahead, you won't make it."

He would never forget Behrin's words, though, at the time, they'd sounded innocent enough. He'd never been in the Fens, and neither had any of the men. But Behrin...with his eggshell skin and ghost eyes...knew every dark and dank shortcut there was to take. So...Gre had settled deep into his saddle, pulled out a skin to swill, and let his gruella pick out the way.

Ryland had been running his mouth. Complaining about the slow pace and what appeared to be endless marsh and water and thousands of little snap flies, tiny no-see-ums that buzzed and bit, mainly around the ears and eyes. Gre knew he should be miserable, but truth of the matter was, the slow pace suited him, he didn't spill any ale, and he'd drank so much, he wasn't feeling much of anything other than the usual warm glow of drunkenness. Behrin had donned some odd tunic covering with holes cut out for his eyes and continued to placidly ride along.

"What in the fuck, Behrin, going this slow ain't cutting no time off of nothin! These fuckin snappers are everywhere, these things make me swell up, let's at least trot, for fuck sakes..."

"Shut up Ryland, the only thing swelling up is your dick and you know it! We'll get there when we get there!" Somebody yelled from down the row.

Gre didn't remember who, but he'd laughed along with everyone else. Because it was true. Ryland didn't think about much else other than his dick and the next available hole. Gre remembered he'd been sniffing around Islinn but Behrin hadn't been in the mood to teach her a lesson so Ryland had been without for a while.

Gre had just settled deeper into his saddle and was fascinated by Behrin's head covering and wondering if he should make his own when Ryland's horse slammed into his gruella, knocking him off the path. Gre almost dropped his skin and remembered yelling, "Fucking shit!" as a few drops had hit the wet ground. He hadn't been the only one. Yells and curses erupted all up and down the line as Ryland kicked his horse into a gallop and blazed on ahead.