The TwiceBorn

And Then They Shall Kneel

"I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color but I've seen flowers bloom at midnight"--Andrea Gibson

Now, when he looked back, it had all passed like quicksilver. His fear and his awe of everything he didn't understand, either due to his drinking or the fact that some things were meant to be unknown was nothing but a flash as he tried to focus with his sodden, drowned way of thinking.

Gre tripped and fell, landing hard in the mud. The roads had dried out somewhat since he'd first ridden in, dried enough for him to feel the rocky foundation underneath. He didn't know how much he had drunk since he'd been on his own. He'd drank enough to where his sour sweat smelled like rum. He'd drank enough to where Ryleen appeared to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

But he hadn't drank enough to erase the image of the creaky wooden wagon that had pulled round to the back of The Drowsy Dragon and the robed figure that had thrown Aubery's body in the back like so much cord wood. And he hadn't drunk enough to dismiss the fact that without all his jittery getting-nowhere-fast motion, Aubery looked like just another dirty ragamuffin running the streets.

The Slayer

Gre started laughing. Getting to his feet, he stumbled again, and still laughing, went back down. The up and down motion was too much for his poorly abused stomach and right in the middle of a loud chortle, he threw up, all sour rum and burning air.

He rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, which were thumping merrily along in time with his heartbeat.

Things were brewin, as his mother would say, here in Refuge. All the slavers at the 'Dragon had talked enough and drank enough to make Aubery into a demi-god for killing The Twiceborn and the thought of the boy, who never bathed and was barely able to get his own dick out of his trousers to take a piss, being lauded as a celestial being had caused Gre to laugh so long and loud that Ryleen had wound up slapping him a good one.

Ryleen had stuck herself to him just like a scab on a wound and while all he wanted was to peaceably wait for Behrin to arrive and not think about anything other than his next drink, she had become a non-stop rumormonger, keeping him abreast of all the things she knew and as well as the things she didn't know but guessed.

Fortunately, she was silent while he fucked her and Gre had noticed, with a quiet alarm, that many times he fucked her simply so she would shut up. But he did have his peaceable moments. Like now, stumbling about town and laying in the mud like a common drunkard. It was in these moments, covered in mud and stinking of vomit...that he thought about Brede.

And the beautiful gift Brede had tried to give him. The chance to be a righteous man. The bewildering immensity of the gift had not been lost on him at the time and he should have stepped forward and said what he knew, in his heart, to be true.

Brede had chosen him to deliver the message and when the time rolled around...he had not been able to do it. The message itself was special, something wonderful and amazing that only he knew...but to deliver it, he had to be special, wonderful, and amazing himself. And he was not. When he looked back, everything in his life had been warmly cocooned in drink, bleary, fuzzy images that he recalled with laughter and always with another drink in his hand.