The TwiceBorn

Un-Tethered Insanity

"I do not love men; I love what devours them."--Gide

Once Alora  lit all the candles that had been left in the cellar along with the ones she’d brought down, the light made the small area almost cozy.  If it weren’t for the stinking, rotting corpse.

Alora smiled humorlessly and shook her head. 

You were born in shade Alora.  Never forget that.  Her mother’s words. And they, somehow, gave her strength.  She didn’t like what she had to do; but she would do it all the same.

The deep cut on her hand had only partially healed.  It had struggled against infection and been re-split open more times then Alora could count as she went on about her days with the furrow in her hand being more annoying than painful.  But now she was glad it hadn’t healed.

Standing over Alain’s ruined corpse, she yanked the latest ragged bandage off the wound and studied it.  She’d forgotten to bring her athame downstairs and she knew if she went back up for it, she wouldn’t come back down.  It was as simple as that.

A deep red had colored the sullen flesh and it would be an easy matter to break it open again.  Impatient, Alora worked her hand, opening and closing it, until she felt the tearing and the slow throb of blood.  Positioning herself near Alain’s head she held her hand out over his dry and crusted lips. Blood dripped into his mouth as she began to speak.

Whisper thin, the words weaved their spell.  The body on the table shuddered.  The feet began to drum an aimless tattoo.  Something huge moved beneath the rotted skin and Alain began to swell.  Alora heard a sound like sheets being ripped in half, as the skin split to accomodate the new interloper.

She spoke on, her voice low and strong.  The jittery movement increased, along with the swelling, until the body resembled an overstuffed sausage casing. A sonorous groan rose out of the cracked lips and Alora caught a whiff of something gassy and flyblown. 

The heels of his feet battered against the table like hands knocking on a coffin and still Alora spoke on, the words sharp and guttural at some points and flowing like river water at others.  When she fell silent, the body collapsed into itself and the smell of decay and excrement oozed out of the torn skin like foul swamp gas.

Alora reached out and clasped one of the containers she’d dug out from beneath the table.  Before, it had been a clay urn, small and sticky in her hands.  Now, the sides of the jar pulsed and throbbed as though something unspeakable breathed within its depths.

Before the magic, the urn had held the rotted remains of Alain’s heart but now, as Alora reached into its depths, the tissue pulsed in her grasp.  The thump became more powerful as she held it until she could feel the beat of it in her wrist, then her elbow and, finally,all the way to her shoulder.

This was pure sin.  Grown in darkness and fed by insanity.  Groomed in lies.  Alora took a shaky breath and, for the last time, questioned what she was doing.

Abigor’s hand

Lineless and smooth with a heat of its own

 at the back of her head.

Pressing her forward

as she’d tried to turn her head,

the smell of him dense and thick,

an animal musk

heavy and oily in her nostrils

and his voice

no more than a whisper, “Honor me, open your mouth and honor me…

and she had…

she had…

Her hand had tightened into a death’s grip around the dark vessel she held but the drumming only increased and her legs had begun to shake but she was only dimly aware of her precarious balance.  He had taken from her.  And now…it was her turn to take from him.  Because what she held in her hand had more power than any of them had been aware of. 

Alain’s heart only contained half of his sins; the other half was in the second container.  Both very powerful indeed.  And the part of her that still answered to  the UnderRealms told her if things had been different, she’d of brought this to Abigor.  A gift.  A token.  Because what she held in her hand had the bargaining power to change the hierarchy of the UnderRealms.  Yzebel knew.  But Abigor and the other Old Gentlemen did not.

But he had taken from her.  And now it was her turn to take.  Alora brought the gelatinous flesh to her mouth and forced it between her reluctant lips.

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“You’re playing a dangerous game here, Lauren.  What do you hope to gain from this?” Gunnar asked as he nervously watched the skinny boy with his drunken riding companion head up the stairs.

“That thing out of my cellar will be gone,for one,” Lauren replied. The realization of what he’d done was slowly beginning to sink in.

“Besides, a young girl like that shouldn’t be traveling around with The Twiceborn. She was probably kidnapped and those two are doing her a favor by taking her away.”

The words came out quickly as though Lauren were trying to convince himself of their truth.  Gunnar shook his head and wandered over to the doorway to peer outside.

“Perhaps,” He agreed as he looked up at the steadily darkening sky. “But I wouldn’t want to be the one that tells that demon bitch that she’s gone.”

Lauren quickly shook his head as he cleared away tankards and wiped the bar.

“I’m not saying shit,” He declared.  “I don’t know anything about it.  And neither do you.”

Gunnar simply shook his head as he looked outside. Rain had begun to fall but he saw blacker clouds in the distance.  He knew they were going to be in for a good one.

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The quick tap on the door woke Islinn up.  She sat up and scrubbed a hand across her face.  She had no idea how long she’d napped but the room was cooler then it had been earlier.  She got to her feet and ran a quick hand through her hair. 

She was glad that Darius had finally decided to deliver Alora’s payment. That meant when Alora got back,they could leave immediately.  And it wouldn’t be a moment too soon.  There had been something wrong in Lochedge ever since they’d gotten here.  A taint of some kind long before the feared and dreaded Twiceborn had shown up.

Islinn struggled with the heavy bolt on the door.  Her fingers wrestled with the unwieldy lock and just when she thought she was going to have to call out in an embarrassed voice that she couldn’t get it open, the bolt shot back into its brace.

Just as she started to pull the door open,she was flooded with the  fear that she had just made a horrible mistake but her body,on reflex alone, swung the door wide.

Aubery grinned at her, as  his crazy muddy eyes fell on her and became still.

“Miss me?”