Rove
Rove's Mind
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By Korpa, Unsplash, Unsplash Licence
Snowflakes drifted down, settling down at his feet. He had to hurry. Being late would spell disaster, as it always incurred Kyra’s wrath. His small feet hurried over the snowdrifts in the courtyard, throwing up little puffs of white into the cold air. He dashed into the kitchen, quickly taking a trolley to the dining room. A room of monstrous proportions to his young mind, with that dreaded symbol engraved on the floor in lavish mosaics. The heart was proudly visible in the centre of it. That dreaded, black, corrupted heart. The same heart that beat in his chest, his father’s innocent blood coursing through it.
In the middle of the room, a huge table stood, made out of solid oak and engraved with branches and leaves. His ‘family’ was already seated. Five people sat around the table, three of whom had parts of their faces obscured by shadow, one of them having his face completely hidden. The remaining figures were entirely illuminated. His mother, stepfather and his siblings. Pushing his cart along with a rattling sound, the table and figures grew in size as he approached until he was nothing more than an ant looking up at a mountain.
“Look who we got there. The runt of the litter.” His mother’s voice echoed through the hall, rasping, cruel and foul. The hairs all across his body shrivelled up at the sound, him recoiling back from the table.
“Mother, leave him be. The maggot is not worth it.”
Prado’s proud voice. A look of disdain from him down at his diminutive visage. But somewhere, somehow, compassion and slyness. He felt Kyra’s monstrous gaze leave him and the pressure focussing elsewhere. Her face was chiselled out of granite, icy blue pools passing for eyes.
“Yes mother,” Another familiar voice spoke, coming from the gargantuan Mira this time. “He just doesn’t know better. I will scold him after dinner is done, as is my duty.”
Hope wormed its way into his heart. Quite literally even, as he saw a strand of glowing light tangled around his chest. That was weird, since when did he wear such a thing? Before his mind could fully comprehend the fact that he was pierced by some kind of light snake, his step-father spoke up, his face all black and invisible. The bathtub of tea he was holding momentarily vanished in the shadows of his face while the giant man took a sip.
“Why are you keeping him around anyway, Kyra dear? You’re better off killing and burying the lad in the garden, right? That way he has the tiniest bit of use. Hahaha.”
His laughter shook the room, sending giant chunks of raisin bread and beef roast sending at his head. His older half-sister, Ira, with the visible part of her face looking like something that was the result of the features of a cow being forced onto a warthog, joined in with the laugh with a retarded mule-like cadence.
Kyra visible eye narrowed and the laughter faded away at once.
“Silence, Tyr,” She snarled at her shadowy husband. “He is my plaything, my slave and thus he shall stay right here! I will do with him as I please. My blood, my property.”
The pool of ice moved to gaze in his direction, and he couldn’t do anything else than cower as her gaze locked him down. “He’s my blood and thus is my property. Forever he shall work in my employ.”
“P-p-please…” Rove, or rather Navene, stammered in the voice of a sixteen-year-old. “I will do as you ask, Ky-...”
“MOTHER KYRA, YOU RUNT!”
The force of the outburst knocked him off his feet and blasted him a good ten meters away from the table.
“Y-yes... Mother Kyra.” He managed to stammer as he scrambled to his feet.
“Better…” The stone tyrant that was supposed to be his mother took a sip of her tea while Ira and Tyr sniggered at his misfortune. Mira and Prado were silent, not taking part in the torture. Mira stared at her food with a look of pure hatred and anger, her plate catching fire as it succumbed to her gaze.
Although Prado had a smile on his face and politely nodded at Navene’s misfortune, it didn’t reach his dark-brown eye. Instead, Navene saw pity in it.
“Mother,” His half-brother said with indignation in his voice. “His pitiful visage abhors me. Can we send him away to his stables? I still have some shoes for him to fix.” Prado’s face looked normal, hidden empathy flickering in his eyes.
Kyra nodded. “Fixing shoes would be a greater calling than he deserves, but very well. Fixing shoes he will do. NAVENE, BEGONE.”
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The last two words send a ferocious gale of wind in his direction. With a grunt, he tried to fight it. But his efforts turned out to be as futile as a feather trying to escape a hurricane. He sent an angry glance towards Kyra before being sent back through those tall doors, rolling through the kitchen with immense speed before grinding to a halt. His body was left battered and bruised. The doors slammed shut, leaving him in total silence while the dust settled around him. Navene managed to crawl up, standing wobbly on his legs. Thinking back on the dining room, he thought about Prado and Mira. For years, he thought his brother just wanted him to suffer. But now, he saw otherwise. The sly acts of mercy, the sending him away. He had managed to avert the worst of his mother’s attention away from him.
“Prado…” He muttered, looking around him to the now normal-sized kitchen. A foreboding rumbling made itself known slowly but surely. Navene grabbed a nearby kitchen top to steady himself. The rumbling came from the dining room and swelled to a crescendo. The doors bulged, a crimson liquid leaking through the cracks. More and more the doors creaked, waves of viscous foul stuff entering the kitchen. Terrified, Navene turned around to run away from his impending doom, but as he tried to run, he found his knees and whole legs were turned around the other way, carrying him towards the doors instead. He screamed, but his throat didn’t produce any sounds. Helplessly, he could only listen as the doors behind him gave way and he was swept away in a torrent of crimson. The taste of blood entered his mouth, making him retch. For what seemed like an eternity, he was tossed around and thrown against the floor, until he had no way of knowing what was up and what was down.
Just as he thought that he would be swept away for eternity, the red scarlet flow subsided, leaving him heaving on the floor. Covered in blood, he looked around. Around him, the walls of a rocky valley stretched out above him, their tops hidden by a pale fog. A shadowy figure lay on the ground before him, unmoving. Coughing, he crawled to it, stretching a hand at it and turning it around. Navene was greeted by the dead body of Prado rolling towards him, the body half decomposed. Prado’s skull was rotten and maggot-ridden, one eye hanging out of its socket on a sinewy strand of muscle and nerve.
Shock and terror took over his mind as he scrambled back as the corpse moved and attempted to stand up. Whimpering, Rove scrawled more and more back until he felt the cold rocky wall of the valley at his back. Trapped. Navene couldn’t do anything but watch as the corpse that was once his brother shambled closer and closer. He froze up and waited for the inevitable. But then, a rifle shot echoed to the valley and Prado’s skull exploded into a thousand tiny fragments, sparkling in the soft light filtering through the mist. The shot was as bright as a falling star, brightening the looming gloom around him. As Prado’s body fell, it fell apart in a shower of glass shards.
Navene just sat there, looking terrified and confused at the pile of shards as a figure approached him. A beautiful silhouette that gained colour and shape as she approached. It was a woman, with flaming red hair and clad in an elegant dress with a deep cut. Soft and beautiful red fur-lined her wrists, with two big ears flanking her face. A pair of graceful bat-like wings were spread wide behind her as her emerald eyes looked at him with compassion and sadness. She approached him, crouching down to his level. At first, he recoiled, but her eyes captured his own and eased his fears instantly.
With a soft smile around those soft lips, she extended her arms to him, taking him into an affectionate embrace. Her wings folded around him, keeping him safe like a cage of warmth and compassion.
“It’ll be alright, Rove.” She said with the most wonderful voice he had ever heard as her form pressed pleasantly against his chest. “I’m here now, it’ll be alright…”
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Rove’s eyes opened wide, his face and body covered with cold sweat. His breath was heavy, but he had to make sure nobody was near first. The Herhor forced himself to sit upright as his eyes scanned around. Fortunately for him, everything was the same as when he had fallen asleep. No hallucinations or anything of the like in sight. With a deep sigh, he crashed down against the rocky wall, wiping the salt out of his eyes. Damn it, that was by far the weirdest dream he had had in years. And the worst too. The damn mist even invaded his dreams. Why couldn’t it leave him the fuck alone? Kicking him when he was already at death’s door was quite below the belt. He already killed his brother before and now it was trying to break him in his sleep too?
With a grunt, Rove grabbed his head. He felt it throbbing, a dull pain pulsating slowly just underneath his skull. At least the bandages were in relatively good order, to that was one less thing to worry about. His fingers and toes were tingling, feeling numb. Fuck, he lost too much blood. His bandages were soaked in crimson, having turned from white into a washed-out brownish-red. A single drop dripped from under the bandage, splattering on the ground. He didn’t even know how long he had been out for. His thought returned to the dream he’d just woken up from. It was the first time he’d gotten a dream about his past that was this vivid. Kyra, Tyr, his siblings, the caricatures that his mind drew up of them. And then there was Prado’s corpse and Ayuen. At the memory, Rove sniggered weakly. The dream hadn’t been all bad.
A couple of meters away, the portal still glimmered, the golden archway casting its light upon the fog-covered rocks.
“Damn it, Ayuen. Hurry up, will you?” He muttered, resting his head against the cold rock again. “I’m not planning on expiring here, but you’ll leave me no bloody choice if you don’t hurry up.”
He didn’t even have something to drink. Although that wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t have water with him. With some effort, Rove managed to get his hip flask out, filled with the last bit of Handport whiskey he’d been carrying. Normally he saved this for special occasions of the joyous kind. But when you might be dying, why not take a good sip of the good stuff before you go? Otherwise, it would just be a waste anyway. With a big gulp, he knocked the entirety of the flask’s contents back, setting down the now-empty vessel beside him. Slowly he let out his breath while the alcohol’s warmth spread through his body, numbing the pain and easing his mind. Maybe he should keep the details of that dream under wraps when Ayuen got back. Or at least the last part of that dream. Probably would be better for him to keep that delightful image to himself for the time being.
But asking her to spend a nice evening with him would be a good idea. If he pulled through, that was.
With a small smile on his face, Rove closed his eyes again. Perhaps a little bit of rest once in a while wasn’t so bad.
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Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story