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________________short stories
Pyre
That night, the infant sky shone vibrantly. The distant diamond reflections scattered in a film of dust amongst the darkness paled in comparison to the scores of glittering eyes casting up towards them. Though some were exempt-- one of which of familiar figure slouched in his draped doorway, he too present under the onyx carpet of glassy grains. The heavens outshined him tonight, his eyes a reflection of the cloudy melancholy that plagued his soul. Faustus had dwelled awhile to explain his grand design in the private sanctity of his home, only the hallowed walls testament of the potential deed. It having grown late, he left to retire as well, escaping down the flight of spiral staircases from which they came, hooded under the blood red sheen of dusk.
The silks that adorned his torso swelled roughly against his flesh, billowed by the stray clefts of air that traveled high over the canopy. What herald of fate was this? In every fiber of his being he repented. What matter of kindness and mercy would have brought so choice a decision onto him—he, barely a man at the age of seventeen (by those of modern perspective), who was to choose between his own potential death and the preservation of his future spawn. One would have to decide, which outweighed the other? The scales have thus far judged symmetrical.
“God have mercy on my soul.”
A plea whispered into the whipping east-bound winds, sweeping his words away into the vast nothingness. Here he lay for several hours. After all the glittering jewels of the earth had ceased competition with the heavens and retired too behind their lids, so did he. And the rest was silence. The night became dead after a time, but never before had the sky seemed so alive with premonition and foreboding. The morning’s like was anything but bleak. A bath of blood washed gently over the community in a rolling tide as the sun rose over a sea of gold, contrasting in its crimson tint to the otherwise blinding white radiance. A bloody sun followed a bloody death.
A great commotion had arisen in the early hours of the morning watch. Asgald did not wake, for the hum of alarmed and gossiping voices seemed only a distant murmur in his fitful slumber. It was not until the sky’s molten harbinger had shed it’s declaration had he awoke, writhing awake under the boring glare of its rays and the sharp mourning cries in the village far below him was nothing more than a united whisper on the wind.
“Asgald!”
The cry was familiar. Faustus’s heavy terrain moccasins could be heard torrenting up the spiral stair, the steel plate implanted into the thin sole clattering loudly against the stone. “Asgald, why are you still in bed! Haven’t you heard? Get up!” The tree-kin pulled his frame out of the slouching sit he had been stagnant in all morning. It was so early, or so it seemed to him and his biological clock, so naturally he wasn’t one to resist and waste energy. He was indifferent to his agitation though.
“Calm down.. people could hear you screaming for miles around way up here. What is it?—“
“—The chancellor is dead!”
A silence was shared between them. Dead? Who would do such a thing—who would dare to do such a thing? The last people to even be with him before he retired to his chambers were Faustus and he. It was an unfathomable thing. Asgald shot a glance towards the doorway, the shroud wafting in the morning breeze.
“Do they suspect us?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone knew we were there last night. It was late.”
“Wouldn’t the guards have seen us coming and leaving?”
“Yes, but they didn’t discover the body until just this morning. The chancellor would have dismissed them sometime during the night, wouldn’t he?”
“I’d imagine.”
Another awkward silence.
“Well, get dressed. At least let’s make an appearance somewhere so it wouldn’t seem like we were avoiding the crowds.”
Faustus left, almost throwing aside the door scroll in his haste, leaving the other scrambling for day clothes in little restraint. He eventually made his way down to the lower sector of the village, weaving in between nervous and jittery crowds. Finding Faustus, they made their way back into the upper hierarch of the village. The wood grew older again and the constant creaking beneath their feet gave them reason for uneasiness. The general public had been flushed out of the vicinity as the elders and chiefs of guard investigated the scene. The streets were that of a ghost town.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” Asgald’s statement seemed inquiring. It was awkward to Faustus to see him so timid and mouse-like. It may have no seemed so beyond his perspective, but he knew him better. Asgald was wild, and at times, uncivilized. Perhaps the hours away from other civilized beings had led him to that. The incident prior and the rude awakening that morning had perhaps humbled him some.
“No, I think it’s necessary that we do. Look, there’s the house.”
“I know.”
The greenish-brown haired figure gestured up the wood-paved walkway, individualizing a particular house from which they visited the night before. He had entered in high esteem and left feeling belittled—bitter. Perhaps, for the better, it would do the same for his temperament now. From a remote scuffle of people already inspecting the scene inside, a figure emerged—a secondary cleric, followed shortly after by an apprentice who was much too small to even require pushing aside the drapery. They recognized each other instantly.
“Asgald. I pray to God you didn’t have anything to do with this—“
“Are you assuming or accusing, sir?” said in curt response with such tenacity that it near made the young cohort retreat in fright behind his tutor. An obstinate silence was shared between the two parties before a heavy, elderly sigh broke from the old councilman, a withered hand removing his cap and rubbing his bald head. “Neither. I was out of line to even mention it. However, everyone knows about your relationship with the head councilman, and because of that they have a right to suspicion, as misguided as it is. Was Faustus with you last night when this occurred?”
The two looked at each other in nervous uncertainty. Were they to even reveal that information? It may jeopardize their cause, but then again it would give them an alibi. “ .. Yes, he was. We were gambling up until late when we lost track of time. I’m sure others saw us earlier that evening.” The child gazed up into the small encirclet, attempting to comprehend the conversation but unfortunately found it beyond him. He returned to fiddling with the hem of his robes, which were awfully distinct to the one’s the lower chancellor was wearing. The councilman returned his attentions briefly to the boy.
“Well. Thank heavens for that. You were always my favorite, Asgald. Adventurous, rebellious and headstrong—but always my favorite. I’d have fallen dead by now if it weren’t for you keeping all of us on our toes.” The old man chuckled, hinting a bit of sadness, and maybe worry as a few wirey fingers stroked through the small, preoccupied apprentice’s hair. “Anyway, with that in mind, don’t send me to my grave too early by letting something happen to you. I wouldn’t be able to face my testament in good conscience.”
The aged man strode away with the young child in tow, leaving awe stricken Faustus. He had no idea Asgald had that sort of relationship with anyone. He always gave himself off as a loner and enjoyed it that way, save him who was the only exception so he thought. “He’s been the closest thing I’ve had to a father, you know.”
“What did you say?” Faustus was intrigued.
“The old man. He was the one that accompanied my father when he journeyed out into the desert to sacrifice himself to Ragnarok. He’s looked after me ever since my mother died from Lime disease. What I find funny is that he’s already replaced me.”
“We should go find out the cause of death. If it was foul play, we should personally go look for the assassin.”
“Agreed.”
With little reserve for what they may find inside, the two weaved inside, managing to maintain what little pace there could be available due to the large crowd. It took several minutes to clear it, along with various instances of questioning. They had this coming, it seemed. The valiantly furnished corridor and everything throughout it seemed hazed, as if a thick coat of dust had settled overnight without the notice of anyone. The small candles lining it’s walls were suffocated in the miasma. Three officials sat squatted in the middle of the hallway, their voices resonating in all different directions as they bounced off one another.
“Is that what I think it is? Could it possibly be?”
“An asp.”
“But what is it doing here? There are no asps in the tropic mainlands.”
“No, but there are many in the desert. They must be spreading. But how did it get all the way up here? Asps can’t climb trees.”
“Perhaps someone took it here.”
“Well, then why is it dead now? There was nothing else to kill it in the entire building.”
“This is most disturbing indeed.”
A great pyre lashed at his insides like whicker to flame. Those black and brittle ribbons of humanity fell and broke to ashes.
"You're looking good in black and blue."
~Mallory W.
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