The Messenger, part 7
So we feasted on the giant crabs like there was no tomorrow. Given the exertion, we could have eaten the centipedes if it they were deemed safe. The crabs were actually a delicacy, something one surely wouldn’t say about the centipedes.
Somewhere during the feast, we commented on how the insectomancers left us to eat in peace. Someone suggested that we had given them a great blow, as their siege didn’t succeed, and their tunnels were buried. “They are probably busy buggering with their pets!” yelled a portly bearded soldier, proud of his disgusting pun, his beard shining from the grease.
I feel now like my leg is on fire, and that fire is spreading towards my belly, intensifying. I use the memory of the crab meat to calm myself, but in truth the crab meat is asking to come out, and fast. I know that if I stop now to throw up, I will surely collapse.
And probably die.
So I start my lythani again. And again. And again. My head starts hurting from repetition. Or is it from the damn thing tied to my hip? I could just throw it, yes, I can almost feel the sweet relief, the burning abating, and if I’m not burdened by it, then what’s the point in keeping my run? I can just lay down on this well paved road….
I raise my head. I can see the city walls, getting taller. I can even see the guards, If I focus hard, tiny dots by the gate. I wonder when they will notice me, and If they’ll come for me?
I must not give up. Not now, when I’m so close. Not after what everyone went through to get this piece of stone I’m carrying.
We got complacent during the feast. We thought that victory is close now. It proved that what the philosopher Stanislav had been saying all along while this war slowly unfolded. That we are a weak kingdom, weakened by peace and prosperity. Large army, yes, but made of generations of well-fed people, that after only few weeks of rationing rejoiced like children at a small feast. We thought the worst was over.
Now, in my semi-conscious state, I think that maybe that was part of the insectomancer’s plan. Get us fat, complacent, well fed, just as we always were. They had the numbers and strength to defeat us anyway, but why risk fighting a large dedicated army? It’s better to remind us of the good days, and then strike full force.
And strike they did.
It’s hard to describe what happened next. It’s hard to put it in one, coherent story. There was buzzing, there was yelling, there was screaming, there was screathing, scuttling, flapping of wings...They came flying, burrowing, some even jumping on huge grasshoppers. Many were caught in our fence, many were engulfed in flames, but more always came. We fought like mad men, carried by the frenzy, by the adrenaline, by the righteousness generated from the will to defend our land.
Not just our land, but our right to live, to not succumb to these mindless disease carrying pests, to not succumb to the miasma, to the foul secretions. We fought, but they were winning, the insane Insectomancers snickering in our face, mocking us, mounted on their wasps.
“We have to release the pyrocriners!” I remember hearing Jakov yelling. And then, in response to something I didn’t hear: “Fuck it, we’ll die anyway, just release them”.
From all the chaos I remember his words clearly. He must have been close to me. Or maybe it was such a pivotal moment that my mind decided to engrave it firmly in my memory. I could even hear distinctly the opening of the metal containers, and then the maddening yell of the pyrocriners as they received sensory input for the first time in Ascended now how long.
My stomach churned then, and it churns now as I am thinking of the terrible sight the fifty abominations were. Blind, sickeningly scarred and disfigured flesh, small flames coming out of its many openings with each breath, each breath carrying an agonising moan. And the smell… burnt flesh accompanied by the smell of whatever the freak had excreted during his time being locked up. Many from our troups vomited in the wake of the new smell, and the road was covered in fresh vomit as we retreated from the battle at the order of our commander.
I’m making a terrible mistake, but I must stop, the vomit building up is too large to swallow now. My knees hit the ground at almost the same time as the contents of my stomach. When I finally stop, I see it’s not just food and sic I’m throwing up. There is lots of blood. Even parts of flesh.
I’m dying. This is the end, this is where my journey ends, a mile from the city gates. I yell, as hard as my lungs let me, as hard as my throat can take. It hurts. Everything hurts now. I feel my burden, the salvation I carry in my pouch, heating me up, destroying me. I try to stand up, but my legs are water, my muscles burning. Is this how the pyrocriners feel all the time? Is this the agony in their empty eyes? But they cannot die. I can.
I fell in my vomit. Death is always rational. Will I meet the Ascended? Of course not, that’s another religion, the one we were supposed to surpass. But it’s easy to surpass anything while drinking beer and staring at barmaids.
I’ve been in hell the past weeks, and now, hell is visiting me, devouring me. It seems easy to just lie down, in my own blood and sic, and just release myself to whatever the fuck wants me in this state…
Death is rational consequence of life. Everything is a cycle, everything is born, lives, dies. My cycle ends, and I can only hope someone finds me and delivers this thing that killed me.
I raise another howl. No, not here, not now. I raise to my feet, and start running again. But I’m not running. I’m not even on my feet. I’m on my knees, scraping them on the cobblestone, leaving a trail of secretion behind me.
Just like the insects.
They will not win. I have to deliver the package to the King. Finally, I see the guards in front of me. They pick me up. Ask me questions, but their words come to me like from underwater.
“Jakov.... package… King…” I manage to mutter before a fresh gush of blood leaves my mouth. I feel one guard reaching for my pouch. But the burning is still there, and it feels as if my leg had rotten away. My task is done.
It had to be like that.
I fall limp in the arms of the guards carrying me and into the sweet embrace of darkness.
Somewhere during the feast, we commented on how the insectomancers left us to eat in peace. Someone suggested that we had given them a great blow, as their siege didn’t succeed, and their tunnels were buried. “They are probably busy buggering with their pets!” yelled a portly bearded soldier, proud of his disgusting pun, his beard shining from the grease.
I feel now like my leg is on fire, and that fire is spreading towards my belly, intensifying. I use the memory of the crab meat to calm myself, but in truth the crab meat is asking to come out, and fast. I know that if I stop now to throw up, I will surely collapse.
And probably die.
So I start my lythani again. And again. And again. My head starts hurting from repetition. Or is it from the damn thing tied to my hip? I could just throw it, yes, I can almost feel the sweet relief, the burning abating, and if I’m not burdened by it, then what’s the point in keeping my run? I can just lay down on this well paved road….
I raise my head. I can see the city walls, getting taller. I can even see the guards, If I focus hard, tiny dots by the gate. I wonder when they will notice me, and If they’ll come for me?
I must not give up. Not now, when I’m so close. Not after what everyone went through to get this piece of stone I’m carrying.
We got complacent during the feast. We thought that victory is close now. It proved that what the philosopher Stanislav had been saying all along while this war slowly unfolded. That we are a weak kingdom, weakened by peace and prosperity. Large army, yes, but made of generations of well-fed people, that after only few weeks of rationing rejoiced like children at a small feast. We thought the worst was over.
Now, in my semi-conscious state, I think that maybe that was part of the insectomancer’s plan. Get us fat, complacent, well fed, just as we always were. They had the numbers and strength to defeat us anyway, but why risk fighting a large dedicated army? It’s better to remind us of the good days, and then strike full force.
And strike they did.
It’s hard to describe what happened next. It’s hard to put it in one, coherent story. There was buzzing, there was yelling, there was screaming, there was screathing, scuttling, flapping of wings...They came flying, burrowing, some even jumping on huge grasshoppers. Many were caught in our fence, many were engulfed in flames, but more always came. We fought like mad men, carried by the frenzy, by the adrenaline, by the righteousness generated from the will to defend our land.
Not just our land, but our right to live, to not succumb to these mindless disease carrying pests, to not succumb to the miasma, to the foul secretions. We fought, but they were winning, the insane Insectomancers snickering in our face, mocking us, mounted on their wasps.
“We have to release the pyrocriners!” I remember hearing Jakov yelling. And then, in response to something I didn’t hear: “Fuck it, we’ll die anyway, just release them”.
From all the chaos I remember his words clearly. He must have been close to me. Or maybe it was such a pivotal moment that my mind decided to engrave it firmly in my memory. I could even hear distinctly the opening of the metal containers, and then the maddening yell of the pyrocriners as they received sensory input for the first time in Ascended now how long.
My stomach churned then, and it churns now as I am thinking of the terrible sight the fifty abominations were. Blind, sickeningly scarred and disfigured flesh, small flames coming out of its many openings with each breath, each breath carrying an agonising moan. And the smell… burnt flesh accompanied by the smell of whatever the freak had excreted during his time being locked up. Many from our troups vomited in the wake of the new smell, and the road was covered in fresh vomit as we retreated from the battle at the order of our commander.
I’m making a terrible mistake, but I must stop, the vomit building up is too large to swallow now. My knees hit the ground at almost the same time as the contents of my stomach. When I finally stop, I see it’s not just food and sic I’m throwing up. There is lots of blood. Even parts of flesh.
I’m dying. This is the end, this is where my journey ends, a mile from the city gates. I yell, as hard as my lungs let me, as hard as my throat can take. It hurts. Everything hurts now. I feel my burden, the salvation I carry in my pouch, heating me up, destroying me. I try to stand up, but my legs are water, my muscles burning. Is this how the pyrocriners feel all the time? Is this the agony in their empty eyes? But they cannot die. I can.
I fell in my vomit. Death is always rational. Will I meet the Ascended? Of course not, that’s another religion, the one we were supposed to surpass. But it’s easy to surpass anything while drinking beer and staring at barmaids.
I’ve been in hell the past weeks, and now, hell is visiting me, devouring me. It seems easy to just lie down, in my own blood and sic, and just release myself to whatever the fuck wants me in this state…
Death is rational consequence of life. Everything is a cycle, everything is born, lives, dies. My cycle ends, and I can only hope someone finds me and delivers this thing that killed me.
I raise another howl. No, not here, not now. I raise to my feet, and start running again. But I’m not running. I’m not even on my feet. I’m on my knees, scraping them on the cobblestone, leaving a trail of secretion behind me.
Just like the insects.
They will not win. I have to deliver the package to the King. Finally, I see the guards in front of me. They pick me up. Ask me questions, but their words come to me like from underwater.
“Jakov.... package… King…” I manage to mutter before a fresh gush of blood leaves my mouth. I feel one guard reaching for my pouch. But the burning is still there, and it feels as if my leg had rotten away. My task is done.
It had to be like that.
I fall limp in the arms of the guards carrying me and into the sweet embrace of darkness.
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