Skandra Tyullis (roll_the_bones) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-11-26 12:10:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | aeotha easaahae, singularity, skandra tyullis |
a door between here and there (aeotha)
From the abandoned house to the second scaffold was not far. Skandra did not worry that his limbs were going to give out on him. They were close enough now to Gershul, to the gateway that had started all of this madness, and Skandra was not going to turn his back now. One of them was going to die here today. Skandra was going to be sure of that in the only way that he could. If it meant that Skandra died, too, it was a price worth paying. He thought of that as he peered into the darkness, waiting to arrive wherever this scaffold was going to take them. Even a few years ago, if you'd asked him, he would have said that he wouldn't give his life for anything except... because no matter how awful things seemed, it was never so bad as it first appeared. There was always something else worth living for.
Today, he couldn't see it.
Aeotha could bleat all she wanted to about being powerless, being useless, but she was still here - hanging tough. She didn't understand that it wasn't the goddess who made her strong. It was the goddess who gave her tools, but those tools didn't matter. Bleating. Like a sheep. In a way his anger toward her was based wholly around the fact that she - like most other religious persons - put blame and credit in the same place, on a being she would never meet, in pursuit of a goal that she clearly did not understand. That was at least one thing she had in common with Gershul. Skandra's lip turned up in a sneer. She had it in common with Skandra, as well, though maybe not as much as anyone would pretend were he to bring it up.
"Here they come," a voice said from above, and then, "Well done, Gerva!"
Gerva. Sounded like a a little boy. Skandra tugged on the brim of his hat as a salute; the other hand was steady on the crank, drawing them closer to those voices.
The creaking, grinding sounds of the pulley as their weight was dragged upward couldn't be easily ignored. Yet above all of that, Skandra heard whispered words. A sort of fiery and frantic exchanged. It hit him quite suddenly, then. They knew Gerva was dead. They were lying about thinking he was their brother. To try and lull him into a false sense of security. There were no torches up top, and no lanterns or pitfires, either. His lip twisted further into a sneer. They thought they were going to out-lie the greatest liar the world had ever seen? It wasn't as nice as being the greatest swordsman the world had ever seen - Leironuoth was too pretty for women to truly like him, anyway - but it would do.
For now.
"Stay here," Skandra ordered. "Turn this crank as fast as you can. I'm going to use you as bait."
Then he began his own, faster ascent.
The robe should have burned through his gloves by now. They were fine quality, meant for working, and articulated enough for the finer work of knives and swordplay. They kept rope burn at bay, as well. If he ever saw that tanner again he might kiss the son of a bitch. Provided that son of a bitch had not kissed his wife in a while. She had a snaggletooth, and a sore on her lip that bled sometimes, but love was love. You had to be careful you didn't get stuck with her mug accidentally. They said it was just a sickness that ran in her family, but that was only if her entire family was full of whores. He passed right in front of the two men waiting for their arrival. Right in front of them, but without firelight or other, they couldn't see a damned thing. They heard Skandra's passage but assumed it was the sound of the platform.
Not ten feet away was their death, climbing steadily and freely up a rope.
The two bastards were waiting on the edge of a wooden platform that had been built into the side of a stately manor. Why the manor was less sideways than its colleague remained to be seen, Everything was in the correct orientation - that meant one of the four walls of the manor was stuck to the side of this spire, while the bottom of the thing - foundation of stone and all - hung out over the abyss. Attached to this wooden platform was an L-shaped arch. It was to this arch that the scaffold had hooked itself. Pulling yourself up with the hand crank was only marginally less exhausting than climbing, but probably much safer, since you could take turns. He hoped Aeotha's arms didn't give out on her. Skandra reached the top of the L-arch and pulled himself onto it. Only six or seven feet off the ground.
"You think that's really him?" one asked.
"Father said..."
He could hear them talking, but he couldn't make out their faces. The voice, this close, said so much more than a face could. Or needed to. They were children. Probably not two decades yet, if they were any decades at all. Gershul was using children. Yet they were children with knives. Knives that were meant for his ribs. There had been a moment, a long time ago, when he'd tried to save someone who'd attached themselves to Gershul. It hadn't worked. His games were not easy to break free of. especially not when you had a future as bright as any ahead of you. The only past you knew was one of darkness and fear. Never mind if he'd arranged it that way. You started to believe that no one but Gershul could help you.
It was an ugly thing.
"Father says a lot of things," the first voice shot back. "I would have liked to meet him, not stab him as soon as he shows his face."
"He tried to kill Olas. Several times."
Cold wind was sweeping across Skandra's shoulders. From somewhere, a call rang out. Like a bird, but... harsh. A raucous, echoing thing. Rasping against the shadows. There was a predatory note in the call, and the two men shifted to look up at the night sky. Skandra's breath caught. Surely they weren't going to see him. Luck held. A moment of scanning the skies put them at ease. Their eyes were back on the rope, and the scaffold that was bringing Aeotha closer to them all the time. Skandra thought he could have had fun cataloging the life that could be found here. Then again, he'd traveled through hell to come this far, and he'd watched someone die because they were not in control of their own mind.
"I wouldn't have wept," first voice spoke again after a long pause. "Olas ain't right in the head."
Now it was time to wait. Aeotha was going to arrive soon enough. Wood creaked and groaned around him despite itself, despite his good intentions. Probably the damned thing was going to snap if he stayed here much longer, but he wanted their attention to be on Aeotha. His harsh breath was expelled against his shoulder for fear of the noise it would bring, and the questions that would follow. Arms and legs burned like fire. His face was surely red. Doing this again in the near future was a decision he wasn't going to make. Then again, he was in no shape to fight anyway, so it was probably for the best that he was hiding.
Hopefully, Aeotha wouldn't think too much of it.
Hopefully, she wouldn't panic.