The TwiceBorn

Handfuls Of Dust And Splinters Of Bones

"...if I had a heart,I would write my hate on ice and wait for the sun to show..."--Marquez

Lightning flickered across the sky and the breeze blew the rain hard against Gre’s hunched over posture. He raised his head and squinted through the gloom.  Through the steady rain, he could just make out a treeline in the distance.  Somewhere beyond that, how far he wasn’t sure, was Naldura. 

He doubted they’d see the town that night though; the rain was coming down in sheets and the grasslands footing was becoming too mucky to travel quicker than a walk.  He’d have to tough it out until they reached the trees, and maybe find a bit of shelter somewhere in there. 

The rice ale was working its magic though, spreading its numbing fingers throughout his bones and quieting down their usual ache.  When he got to Naldura, he’d look up Winnie.  One of her girls and a back massage with some heated pig fat would do him a world of good. 

“So Aubery…”  He had to raise his voice to be heard above the steady rain.  Ale always loosened his tongue and his curiosity.  Aubery’s confident pronouncement had slipped past the usual guards he kept up and was now repeating over and over in his mind, a gleeful little ditty. Gre knew it wouldn‘t stop until he’d poked and prodded the statement to see what it truly consisted of.

“What makes you think you can kill The Twiceborn? You, of all people?”  A burning hiccup escaped his throat and Gre re-tasted his last swallow of ale.  He spat into the mud then leaned his head back, welcoming the cold shock of rain against his face.

 Aubery was good with a blade, Gre would own up to that much.  Savvy, as Behrin would call it.  The boy’s skill came from having the uncanny knack of being able to keep his body close to the ground when fighting.  Aubery was all knees and elbows but when he had a sword in his hand, he hunched over and scuttled about, turning into a tiny target that was too haphazard to track and swing on.

  A lot of men were savvy with a sword though.  No, Aubery’s true weapon was a dagger.  Held delicately between his girlish fingers, it appeared to take on a life of its own but Gre had never been truly impressed.  A dagger was a weasel weapon, something frightened people used when they faced the backs of their enemies.  Aubery’s skill with it hadn’t surprised Gre.  But Aubery’s answer to his question did.

“Because it’s been promised to me.” Aubery replied, his voice firm.

“By who?”  Gre asked.

“I don’t know him by name.  He comes to me at night sometimes, but I don’t see him. I hear him.  He said he walks the dry places and the full moon guides his steps.”

Aubery’s shrill tone deepened and became hushed with reverence. This bothered Gre almost as much as what the boy was saying.

“ And sometimes…sometimes…when I can’t sleep, I hear him and he echoes inside my head and repeats over and over, “You are the one to deliver her to me”. And he'll sing.  His voice is so clear Gre, that I think the very stars can hear him and I know they shudder at the sound.”  Aubery abruptly stopped and gazed off across the grasslands, with eyes that were queerly knowing. 

Gre was dumbfounded.  I’m in way over my head, Hollis. He thought bleakly. This he had not been expecting.  He hadn’t really felt that Aubery was crazy, not the way Hollis or the other men did. Aubery’s craziness stemmed from wanting to fit in.  A lot of kids were that way.

 Gre had known people who were “tetched” as his Da called them, women who had laughed like loons and talked to the air, and men who’d wave their arms about at imaginary flies but this was something completely different.  Something darker, more malevolent.  Whatever this was, it was a hunter.