Twins of Volengrad, Ch. 5

A/N: Thanks to my kind reviewers and all my readers. You guys are awesome! Also, if anybody here would be able to do a proofread on this entire manuscript before I use my NaNo winnings to make a paperback copy of this--that would be so excellent I would be pretty much forever in your debt. Or, at least, until I give you an equal number of reviews.

In other news, that would also mean you could read the whole thing in one sitting and have a full-length copy, without having to jump from chapter to chapter.

PM me if interested. Otherwise--enjoy Chapter Five.

///

CHAPTER FIVE

Lyarket

The heat was unbearable. That was the first thing he noticed. It was sweltering, hotness clawing at his arms and legs, sending his face and ears flushed red. He shivered, not with cold, of course, but with terror. Something was wrong. Had he fallen asleep, only for the barn to catch fire? He didn’t know. He could hardly see.

The second realization seemed to come too late, but he hardly noticed. He focused on making his eyes big as he stared into the darkness. There was faint light and smoke hanging in the air, motionless. He coughed as an acidic and woodsy taste hit the back of his throat.

He pushed forward, moving down a hallway, and was met with a gruesome sight.

Fire flickered up drapes, curtains, and tapestries. Old paintings burned. Furniture smoked uneasily, sparks like those he’d seen when he touched the monster in the wood jumping at odd times. In the corner, people lay propped like dolls. Lax. Glassy-eyed. Motionless. One of them, a woman, had her mouth parted in shock. None of the others seemed to have expressions. They looked calm. Like they’d been surprised. They’d gotten lucky. He shivered and took in their dress. Men in silvery or black suit-shirts, some emblazoned with the figures of large cats. The woman wore a white, gauzy gown. Blood stained it, collar down, to pool at the woman’s shoes.

He flinched and pointedly looked away.

With her brown eyes following him around as he crept, side brushing the opposite wall, as he tried to find a way out of this place.

A scream stopped him cold, however, and every hair rose on the back of his neck as his mouth went dry. It was so horrid he couldn’t tell whether it was male, or female.

The whole world changed in response--like an oil painting simultaneously doused in water and ripped--and then there was black.

#

He woke to Luke shaking him. He was in cold sweats and his clothes stuck to him; his pale shirt slicked to his side. He let out a small groan, not sure if he could be relieved yet, and flopped away, onto his side.

“Coh? Are you all right?” Luke asked.

Deja vu lit up in his mind. He let out a weak cackle and stared up at Luke. “I dreamt of murder.” He grinned. “It was horrible.”

Luke huffed, frowning, and poked his side. “You don’t have to pretend to be cheer--” His voice choked off and he looked down.

“What?”

“What is that?”

Coh followed his gaze, to where his finger had poked him in the side. His hurt side. He hadn’t felt it. “I don’t see--”

Luke pulled the fabric of Coh’s shirt taut and he did see.

“Razira,” he whispered.

Black lines raced from the old wounds, half visible under the thin layer of wool bandages. He cocked his head and lifted his shirt.

They were clearer and a sinking sensation filled him. He lifted a corner of the bandage and looked under. The wounds were healed, but black as night.

Dark like the mark of the Dakas.

In that moment, his world collapsed on itself, more so than his dreamworld even had. Luke was saying something, probably things to ‘make it better’, but it was all a buzzing to his ears.

It was a comforting buzzing, but something that also made him antsy. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but nothing got through.

A hand on his wrist finally managed. Luke was looking at him earnestly and he opened his mouth to say something. His mind growled, unhappy the noise was about to start again, and he was left confused.

The word whispered this time was lyarket. He knew it was spelled like that. He knew what it would do, as well; but he couldn’t stop it.

Luke jolted away from him. He was a startled dog and he circled, still on his knees, before falling onto the hay. His shirt smoked lightly.

After a moment, Luke rubbed his arm, his shoulder, and where that shoulder met the neck.

“I’m sorry” was all Coh could get out.

Luke’s look of pure terror as he stared absently at him reminded him that no, that wouldn’t be enough.

Not this time.

Luke just nodded and put a hand on Coh’s ankle. Apology accepted, but I’m still going to fear you because you’re wrong now. You’re sick and you hurt me.

Coh’s neck muscles twisted and his head twitched. His eyes closed and he exhaled.

“What was that?” Luke asked quietly a few seconds later. Coh opened his eyes and looked down. Luke was still motionless on the hay, but his eyes watched him close.

“An example of my horrid luck, Luke,” Coh said.

Luke let out a chuckle. “Leave the joking to me.”

#

Coh ended up sitting ramrod straight in a stool, staring down at watery soup. Chunks of turnip and greens floated in it, along with a few stray bits of meat. Bread was set before him. He couldn’t waste it, but when he’d tried to eat it, he hadn’t been able to taste a thing. No, that was wrong. He tasted sawdust. He’d shoved a handful of it in his mouth as a kid, only to spit it out, but he remembered the taste well enough.

He sighed and started to break the bread into small bits, trying to calm himself. He glanced around, hands still working. The others were unusually quiet. His mother was a bit pale, staring into her own bowl like it held something vile, yet something that knew the answers to everything. His father was tired-looking. That one didn’t surprise Coh. It was mid harvest now. Mark kept shooting him confused looks. Luke looked scared.

He felt horrible.

He smiled at Mark and Luke and was happy to see Luke grin back. His eyes were guarded, but he grinned.

Mark just blinked, silent communication lost on him when he looked up.