The TwiceBorn

The Master Of Ceremonies

"Being alive means living fully extended."--Jarod Kintz

Blixen turned and loped unconcernedly towards Aubery’s mount.  Gre pushed himself to his feet but any plans he had of racing after Blixen  vanished as his legs trembled like saplings in a high wind and dumped him right back on his ass.   All he could do was watch.

“So thin, it’s all so thin isn’t it?”  He thought crazily as he watched Blixen’s obscenely plump rear-end disappear up the chestnut’s nostril.

 Gre knew he could pray and tithe and plant posies along the Church’s far wall, and he could spout the words of Brede and recite all the jargon, or stand in the clearing and be thankful for breath but that didn’t alter the fact that the line between good and evil was thin. As thin as a cunt hair when it came right down to it. 

Or when it came to seeing what he was seeing now.  His hands clutched and tore at the grass as the chestnut’s snorts and squeals filled the air.  Closing his eyes he looked away, his breath harsh and his heart in the back of his throat.

 Again, he stumbled to his feet and made his way over to his grulla gelding. He stared then dropped to his knees. The horse’s eyes were filled with a mindless terror and snot and blood had dried around its torn nostrils. All Gre could  think was, “He was a good horse, he didn’t deserve this.”  One trembling hand reached out and stroked the stiffening flesh.

  The little horse had carried him through thick and now Gre had lost him to the thin.  That sense of loss threatened to engulf him.  He was a man who’d gone through life stoic to the point of being thought of as cold.  It had served him well, running with Behrin. 

Rounding up slaves and listening to the cries of mothers and children had never bothered him simply because he wouldn’t let it.  Because he knew it should bother him. Harangue him on some persistent level until he could no longer eat or sleep.  Or drink.  But things like this…brutal, quick moments…slipped through his defenses and blindsided him. 

Through tear-glazed eyes he looked over at Aubery and saw an expression of benign acceptance on his weaseled face.  Gre shut his eyes and scrubbed a vigorous hand over his own face.  He wanted to wipe it all away, the sounds, the horror, the fact it hadn’t ended yet and the shame-faced knowledge that what he really wanted...was a drink.  The sound of Aubery’s screaming horse filled his head.

      Blixen scampered out of the downed horse’s nasal cavity and was bowled over by a final snort of warm bloodied air as the horse gave a shuddering gasp then stilled.  He chuckled and shook himself like a dog.

“Oh,I never tire of that.”  He remarked.  “It gets better every time I do it.”

His self-admiration was cut short as Aubery’s dagger pierced the earth beside him.  The blade landed close enough to sever his straggly horse’s tail, neatly bobbing it in the process.  Blixen leaped up and whirled around, his muddy red eyes flashing.

“Look what you’ve done, ragamuffin!  Ysebel will not be pleased about this!”

Aubery laughed as he dived for the blade.

“I see you’re not laughing at me now you little bastard.”

Blixen scrambled away and raced for the unmatted grassline.  He stopped at its edge and turned to glower at Aubery.

“If I had not promised the Twiceborn that I wouldn’t harm you, I’d be squeezing myself up your nostril right now,raggedy boy.  It would be a tight fit but in your case I’d make an exception!”

Blixen’s eyes darted between himself and Aubery, measuring the distance.  A wet grin etched its way across his face as he began to prance about.