Faces of Feitas, part 2
This section rated strong PG-13 for language and violence.
Catching fish, drying and salting them were the order of the next day. Not that Kyle had enough material for a drying rack, but he had enough to cook and save for days later. Water proved not to be a problem; this far north, brackishness could not take hold.
Carving a bit into the chamber, Kyle made it somewhat more comfortable. Rock detritus got swept out to the porch and fell to the beach below. Idly, while waiting for his fish to cook, he carved the symbols of Water and Flowing into the cliff face.
Not a soul walked near the beach or along the cliff's edge. It would suit his purposes just fine.
The second day ended.
With no other tasks to stall him any longer, Kyle sighed and sat on the beach, the waves licking at his feet. If he were to understand this craziness lingering inside him, he had to figure out where it came from. Swallowing, he drew his sword from his sheath and set it across his thighs.
A tingling sensation ran up his fingertips but nothing else happened. It was as though the sword, instead of cutting into and creating the feeling of chaos merely rested on its surface, like a bug skimming across water's skin.
Is it...waiting? Maybe it's been waiting for me. Waiting for me to understand it?
All right then. Kyle closed his eyes. When he held the sword before, it had showed him clear memories of two times when the unholy glee of killing took hold.
Let me see them then. First, show me when you were born inside me.
“Run, baby, run! Don't look back!”
The door nearly cracked on its hinges as Kyle flung it open and ran into the night. Gasping for air, he shoved the emergency potch and his mother's ring into a pocket and fled blindly into the slums.
His mom was...his mom was...! Gulping his tears, the child scrubbed his eyes with dirty hands. No. It was dark with the lamp destroyed. He couldn't quite see, didn't want to see, didn't want to slip again in the wet...
Frantically he scraped the sole of his shoe against a warehouse. He knew he should run to Cerci's or Madame Flora's House of Pleasure because they all knew his mom and would protect him. Blind animal panic instead forced him to run in an erratic pattern through the alleyways of Lelcar.
The pattern wound him nearly back where he started and before he could change direction, he ran straight into the man with the sword. “'M sorry,” Kyle mumbled and started to pick himself off the ground.
Swordman looked down at him with a grin. “Oho, so the whore had a son, did she?”
“Don't hurt me!” he wailed.
Confusion then. Swordman easily doubled him in height and grabbed him by the throat. “I'll cut you up like I did your whore momma!”
Should have died. Would have died. But wanted to live so strong in that moment. His teeth bit down, crunched flesh to bone in the hand. Howling, Swordman let him go. Let the sword clatter to the alley floor.
Kyle rolled along the ground and grabbed the hilt, but could only the drag the blade. Child brain reasoning if Swordman could cut people with the sword, so could he. Backed into a wall, panting for breath, blood on his lips.
Death looked at him through Swordman's eyes. He ran screaming toward him. “Die!”
Should have died would have died won't die no you can't make me die WANTTO LIVE!
It was hard to say who was more shocked: Kyle finding the manic strength to lift the sword or the murderer, impaled on his own blade. “What...the...fuck...? You know...how many whores I've...and I get done in by a....”
Swordman fell on his back and the sword tumbled free. He groaned and grabbed at his belly, where dark liquid pumped out.
Kyle felt his heartbeat pound in his ears. The fear that dogged his footsteps vanished like mist. Something else had replaced it. Whatever it was, it showed in his face and made the Swordman now look at him in fear.
“You hurt my mommy.” The sword scraped along the ground as Kyle lifted it again, heaving it above his head. “You hurt a lot of mommies.”
Wham!
The flat of the blade cracked the Swordman in the face. He screamed. The sound seemed to trigger the need to keep smacking the man in the face, again and again until his arms could hold the sword no more.
Only the sound of Kyle's breathing could be heard. It certainly wasn't unusual for no one to be around at night. How many times did his mom say never to venture outdoors alone at night? But his mom was...
The Feitas. He'd go to the Feitas. He'd jump in and get all clean. He'd be safe there. His mom always said if anything happened, the river would protect him.
Kyle bolted for the river, leaving the corpse behind.
And the anger that was born laid still.
Kyle came back to himself with tears rolling down his face. Oh yes. He remembered now.
“I'm glad I killed you, you son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Even if I did have no idea what I was doing.”
Gently, he set the sword aside and curled his knees up to his chin in the surf. His hands clenched the sides of his head, threatening to yank out his hair.
So I killed my first man at six. And that's when I felt the crazy...no. I can't call it a crazy. It's just a wall of seething anger, but that's not a good name for it. I'll call you It for now.
Impossible but true as it seemed, he'd avenged his mother's death as a child. And if that man's talk had been true, he'd done the same thing to other women.
Does it mean I protected other people with the It? I don't know what it means.
With time, he released the painful grip on his own hair and laid on his back on the sand. Eyes closed, he felt the waves wash over him.
All water was connected so water here touched the Feitas. Just like long ago, he felt the Feitas wash him clean.
Catching fish, drying and salting them were the order of the next day. Not that Kyle had enough material for a drying rack, but he had enough to cook and save for days later. Water proved not to be a problem; this far north, brackishness could not take hold.
Carving a bit into the chamber, Kyle made it somewhat more comfortable. Rock detritus got swept out to the porch and fell to the beach below. Idly, while waiting for his fish to cook, he carved the symbols of Water and Flowing into the cliff face.
Not a soul walked near the beach or along the cliff's edge. It would suit his purposes just fine.
The second day ended.
With no other tasks to stall him any longer, Kyle sighed and sat on the beach, the waves licking at his feet. If he were to understand this craziness lingering inside him, he had to figure out where it came from. Swallowing, he drew his sword from his sheath and set it across his thighs.
A tingling sensation ran up his fingertips but nothing else happened. It was as though the sword, instead of cutting into and creating the feeling of chaos merely rested on its surface, like a bug skimming across water's skin.
Is it...waiting? Maybe it's been waiting for me. Waiting for me to understand it?
All right then. Kyle closed his eyes. When he held the sword before, it had showed him clear memories of two times when the unholy glee of killing took hold.
Let me see them then. First, show me when you were born inside me.
“Run, baby, run! Don't look back!”
The door nearly cracked on its hinges as Kyle flung it open and ran into the night. Gasping for air, he shoved the emergency potch and his mother's ring into a pocket and fled blindly into the slums.
His mom was...his mom was...! Gulping his tears, the child scrubbed his eyes with dirty hands. No. It was dark with the lamp destroyed. He couldn't quite see, didn't want to see, didn't want to slip again in the wet...
Frantically he scraped the sole of his shoe against a warehouse. He knew he should run to Cerci's or Madame Flora's House of Pleasure because they all knew his mom and would protect him. Blind animal panic instead forced him to run in an erratic pattern through the alleyways of Lelcar.
The pattern wound him nearly back where he started and before he could change direction, he ran straight into the man with the sword. “'M sorry,” Kyle mumbled and started to pick himself off the ground.
Swordman looked down at him with a grin. “Oho, so the whore had a son, did she?”
“Don't hurt me!” he wailed.
Confusion then. Swordman easily doubled him in height and grabbed him by the throat. “I'll cut you up like I did your whore momma!”
Should have died. Would have died. But wanted to live so strong in that moment. His teeth bit down, crunched flesh to bone in the hand. Howling, Swordman let him go. Let the sword clatter to the alley floor.
Kyle rolled along the ground and grabbed the hilt, but could only the drag the blade. Child brain reasoning if Swordman could cut people with the sword, so could he. Backed into a wall, panting for breath, blood on his lips.
Death looked at him through Swordman's eyes. He ran screaming toward him. “Die!”
Should have died would have died won't die no you can't make me die WANTTO LIVE!
It was hard to say who was more shocked: Kyle finding the manic strength to lift the sword or the murderer, impaled on his own blade. “What...the...fuck...? You know...how many whores I've...and I get done in by a....”
Swordman fell on his back and the sword tumbled free. He groaned and grabbed at his belly, where dark liquid pumped out.
Kyle felt his heartbeat pound in his ears. The fear that dogged his footsteps vanished like mist. Something else had replaced it. Whatever it was, it showed in his face and made the Swordman now look at him in fear.
“You hurt my mommy.” The sword scraped along the ground as Kyle lifted it again, heaving it above his head. “You hurt a lot of mommies.”
Wham!
The flat of the blade cracked the Swordman in the face. He screamed. The sound seemed to trigger the need to keep smacking the man in the face, again and again until his arms could hold the sword no more.
Only the sound of Kyle's breathing could be heard. It certainly wasn't unusual for no one to be around at night. How many times did his mom say never to venture outdoors alone at night? But his mom was...
The Feitas. He'd go to the Feitas. He'd jump in and get all clean. He'd be safe there. His mom always said if anything happened, the river would protect him.
Kyle bolted for the river, leaving the corpse behind.
And the anger that was born laid still.
Kyle came back to himself with tears rolling down his face. Oh yes. He remembered now.
“I'm glad I killed you, you son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Even if I did have no idea what I was doing.”
Gently, he set the sword aside and curled his knees up to his chin in the surf. His hands clenched the sides of his head, threatening to yank out his hair.
So I killed my first man at six. And that's when I felt the crazy...no. I can't call it a crazy. It's just a wall of seething anger, but that's not a good name for it. I'll call you It for now.
Impossible but true as it seemed, he'd avenged his mother's death as a child. And if that man's talk had been true, he'd done the same thing to other women.
Does it mean I protected other people with the It? I don't know what it means.
With time, he released the painful grip on his own hair and laid on his back on the sand. Eyes closed, he felt the waves wash over him.
All water was connected so water here touched the Feitas. Just like long ago, he felt the Feitas wash him clean.