Retort- His Dream- Risen Together
He found her by happenstance as much as his own tracking of her trail and when he drew near, a single judge, and a giant among its peers, stood by her, curious and nonchalant and frightening in the casual glint of its golden eyes as the truest and most embodiment of death and what courage he had stocked within himself by the appearance of the woman evaporated and left him parched and weak. It smelled her, and prodded her; examining her with the maliciousness of a critic.
Leave her be, he croaked, drawing close with his amphistaff stiff and ready. She was promised to me. You can not have her. Be gone. All the years of his training and survival ran from him and down his legs like water.
The judge turned to him and left the woman and drew near. A foul stench, a retched fused evolution of rot and choleric rusted blood. Deep stains in its pelt and the scars of past battles long and pink and warped along its chest and around its eyes. He could not say what this suzerain had seen and known but he feared it nonetheless.
I tell you again, you will not have her. He looked at the woman, still shaking, but something within her made itself known within him. A warmth almost. A hope. I have made an oath. His voice grew. An oracle promised her to me. Stronger still. I was rejected by the Avatar of the true God and I am the last of my race of fools and murderers. And I say to you, you will not have her. You will not. So go from here. Go from here and return anon when she is gone, to judge me and I will accept it.
It sniffed. Deep, deep breaths like the rumblings of the earth in the days of old when all just things were new and boiling and small. When it circled and smelled the pelt about him, it stepped back and with a single grunt of enmity, went down its own ways and paths.
He stood until the white fog encased it entirely and he sunk to his knees and thin layers of water blurred the world to him. Thank you God. Thank you. Though I know naught why mercy is given unto me. He went unto the woman and wrapped her in the cloak and began digging a shelter for the night with his hands yet all the while beseeching the lost and the dead.
His brother spoke to him before the day in the belly of the worldship. Bare chest sculpted by the flickering shadows. Those few scars marked for the advancement of his life. The dragons in the fire flickering, fading, burning. The indiscernible features of his brother's face. Only the glitter of his eyes remained. Solid gold amber, tranquil and relaxed.
Have you found them yet?
No brother, he said. I have not. I searched amidst the texts; I fasted as the intendants directed. I plied the air with my prayers. There was nothing to be found.
So your faith is still…
I cannot say that it is lost for it has never been with me.
I know this. Do you think that I could not understand my twin?
No.
Then let me hear you speak without this condescension.
I think that my eyes are weak. When I look upon all the god's work and gifts to us, I do not see something made by those who are infallible. I see mistakes, errors, unneeded accessories. When I hear the prayers during sacrifices, I hear history and clerical changes made for motivation. Where others charge heresy, I see choices. Alternatives of opinion. For all my efforts, I cannot find the gods. And yet….
Is that what you have named your doubt? Bad eyes? Clogged ears? No. These things you speak of are excuses; aftereffects of what truly drives you.
Then tell me, what truth am I trying to speak?
Your heart is not moved by thoughts above yourself. While others breasts' beat for the calling of our masters, yours yearns to be unshackled. Yours is a child that demands freedom from its parents.
Then there is no cure.
No. There is not. But move your thoughts of this from your mind. You are yet a blessed soul.
Blessed? You sit there in your belief and call me blessed? There is a hallow in me that cannot be filled and you say that I am not cursed?
Yes brother, he insisted. Yours is the blessing of doubt. The gods reward their faithful, that is true. And it is also true that those who fail to uphold their belief are punished at their dimming days. But those who doubt and find faith? They are the precious praetorite of heaven. Theirs is the high place closest to the thrones. The gods reward those who struggle for what they have obtained.
He stared into the burning embers, slowly dimming. Shadows grew large. The light left all to imagination.
Faith, his brother said, cannot be found here by understanding if your mind provides no leniency. Instead, find the cliff of your doubt and jump into the darkness. Courage will be the yorik-et that brings you to the gods. And then tomorrow we can stride into the arena with the comprehension that we shall see each other amidst paradise no matter who falls.
There was no light when he rose and pushed off the ceiling of snow atop his shoulders and none when it crumbled off of him into a small growing pile. Night and the world still yet embraced in union. His breath misted out and fell to his feet, shards of diamond translated a shade of fog black. His skin prismed through crystal and all its distorted reflections as if were capable of being beyond one spectrum and dimensions beyond the one it so inhabited.
His scars; grotesque and beautiful and nothing more then a history of wrongs.
She groaned and unfolded herself in a stupor and came to. He handed her the gourd and said, Drink, and she did.
Eat, he said and she did.
After she had gotten her fill, she spoke to him. I told you not follow me.
I heard.
If I had seen you, I'd have shot you dead.
You see me now.
It's not the same.
I believe it is.
Well it isn't, alright. She squatted and cupped her face. Her face was flushed from the cold and dark circles marked her eyes. So I'll say it again cause you're either half deaf or dumb. Don't. Follow. Me.
She rose and stretched and gathered up her belongings and set the locket back under her shirt. She did so seamlessly and without halting in the same manner as a ritual. Like these actions were not unknown to her. Moving and gathering from each and every place. Accounting for cents in floor cracks and pocketing them.
We are progressing you and I, he said. You did not wish for my death.
Just cause I didn't state it doesn't mean it's still not there.
She turned and walked naught twenty paces before she perceived the crunch of his steps from her own. Pivoting, she looked at him and slowly pulled the weapon from her holster and thumbed off the safety. What are you doing?
I am not leaving you.
I can handle it.
That is what you said before, he did not look at her; instead glancing at the sky, the flat clouds, calibrating his senses and his body for the rigors of the day. And we both understand what that result was. He put up his hand to forestall her. You go to the monument, he said pointing to the mountains. I have been there myself long ago and can lead you through the mazes. Otherwise, death will come to you. To you and your unborn.
She grimaced, shivered. He knew little of their expressions, these humans. But even he could see the conflict in it. A furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Her eyes. I can't trust you, she said.
I gave you my oath.
Words are just words, she said to no one. Alright. With one hand she waved forward, Then lead on oh knowing guide.
And he did.