The TwiceBorn

To Make Things Burn

"What a waste of a wonder you were."--Cashore

Time stopped for Alora.  Yzebel’s laughter thinned until it sounded like a mere echo through a narrow canyon and Abigor’s eyes seemed to peer at her from a great distance.  Everything became silent and still in her mind.  And she thought of Sar and that long-ago night when she’d sat around her fire wrapped in her ragged cloak and told him that Bune’s price was far higher than any coin she could ever ask for.

Because that was what she did.  Offered what appeared to be simple and then the true cost was tallied afterwards.

She’d thought finding a replacement for Alain would be easy.  But she’d forgotten the one rule that had been ingrained on her soul just as deeply and permanently as the mark she bore on her breast. 

If it could be done, Abigor never would have made the offer.

She would leave, and go back to Islinn. And do for Darius what she had been paid to do.  Then Abigor and the rest of the Dark Lords would watch and laugh as she ran about looking for the equal of whatever Alain had become in his final days through the fever of his madness. She could run like a dog runs deer and it would never be enough.  And when Abigor became bored, he would cast…and call out…and Islinn would obey.

She felt hollow inside, as though something of great consequence had already been taken away.  Slowly the space began to fill with anger and she let the heat of it rush over her.  Through her.  Anger at herself for believing for even the slightest of moments that her life was her own.

“Alora.  I said do you understand me?”  Abigor’s voice flowed over her like oil.

“I understand.” 

The words physically hurt her.  To say them and to hear them. Yet her eyes were dry.  She wasn’t worried about being overwhelmed by tears.  Her eyes were as dry as her throat.  Dry and still.

Abigor gave a hearty laugh.

“That’s wonderful, Alora.  I knew I could trust you to not let your emotions get the best of…”

“No.”  She interrupted.

Abigor paused and his eyes took on a darker roll of color as he watched her.  He draped an arm around Yzebel’s shoulder and let his fingers creep inside her robe where they pinched and fondled.  The hag purred and closed her eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.  Alora could sense that Yzebel felt the proper order to everything was about to be restored.

“What do you mean by no?”  Abigor pulled his lips into an exaggerated pout as his eyes settled on her, dark and heavy.  Alora could feel his anger but it came in a very distant second to her own.

“I mean no, don’t trust me.  Don’t ever say you trust me.  Because if the opportunity ever arises for me to betray you, never doubt that I’ll take it.  Because I will.”

Alora took a step towards him and saw Yzebel flinch. Abigor never moved.  The skin on his face rippled and shuddered and for a moment his hesitant grin was off-center, located more towards his right cheek.  But it settled back into place and widened. Alora recognized it as his hearty grin.  His “I’m-Shitting-In-High-Cotton” grin.  The fuck-you grin.  And she knew she’d gotten to him.

The dull satisfaction she felt only spurred her anger on.  She leaned in and stared into the galaxy of his eyes.

“And you think on that.  In still moments.”  She whispered.  In his eyes she could see a whirling mass of restless entities with no purpose other than to hurt and destroy. And she felt him.  His self or essence or whatever it was called radiated heat, a slow drum far beneath the surface burn of his anger.  But he was also…unsure.  Hesitant. And Alora found her recognition of this both magnificent and terrible.