“What’ll it be?” bellowed a hulk of a man turned away from me, made more of muscle than anything else. His shoulder blades swivelled as he wiped a glass clean.
What’ll it be? What are these even supposed to be? Glass bottles with all sorts of rancid concoctions in poisonous shades—no, beverages—lined the shelves in front of me, glowing warmly under the tavern lamps. I had never seen so much liquid in one place before. Is this what people drink for sustenance now? Or for pleasure?
“Uh…”
“First time? Just turned of age, did you? No, you’re hardly a lad from the look of you. Then again, I was about your size when I had my first pint—and I puked my guts out, I did. Wahahaha!”
His booming voice rattled my skull. We were not alone—raucous customers laughed and drank around me. People are a lot… bigger than I recall. How? Is it because of what they drink? Perhaps I should learn to brew these. I looked over at the table next to me, where a pair clinked their glasses and gulped them down without hesitation—one nearly twice the size of the other, but only horizontally. Seems like the effects vary.
“That’s a tiefdraught. Not what I’d propose a toast to, but with where they’re going tomorrow, I can hardly blame ‘em. Want to try one?”
“Ah… sure. Sorry, you’re right—this is my first time.”
“Wahahaha! Written clear as day across your face—anyone could tell! Ah, what I’d give to be in your shoes. Even the harshest brews lose their kick eventually. Well, consider this on the house; after all, it’d be an honour to serve you your first pint. I still remember the first glass my dad poured for me—bless his soul, wherever he is—and nothing’s come close since. A tiefdraught, though… well, no better way than to jump into the deep end, hm?”
Perhaps this isn’t a great idea. “What’s a tiefdraught?”
“Delve on the rocks with a dash of Marine Blue, with a hefty mix of pure alcohol. Not the hardest drink to whip up, nor the most expensive, but it packs a punch. Look, we’ve almost run dry.”
He turned towards me. With two barrels for arms, he deftly poured out a blue reagent into an indigo glass. The blue filtered into the indigo, turning the concoction dark as the ocean floor.
I looked around, and noticed the sheer number of people toasting to tiefdraughts. “Is this really that good?”
“No, it tastes awful if you ask me.”
“So why’s it so popular? Surely you have other things on the menu.”
His eyes narrowed. “You from across the ocean, lad?”
“What?”
“Hm. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Most of who you see here tonight won’t live to see the sun rise.”
Huh? What, is this poison?
“They’re soldiers, to be sortied a few hours from now. Wouldn’t expect you to know that, since clearly you’re not military—but surely you know we’re at war?”
“Um… sorry, you’re right. I’m not from around here.”
“I’m surprised they let you right through the gates. I suppose someone like you doesn’t look like they’d so much as dare raise a hand against a fly. Then again, some of the gatesmen are in here drinking too, so it’s more than likely they’re beyond caring. Either way, it’s a fact that almost every battalion we send out gets massacred. It’s a bloodbath out there. It’s not like the enemy’s having an easy time of it—we take two along for every one of us that falls—but it’s not a pretty sight. Tomorrow’s said to be the biggest operation there’s been yet, perhaps one that might end the war, but who knows what’s true nowadays?
“Tiefdraught isn’t something you drink alone. It tastes like a rotting carcass. It’s something you can only stomach with a friend, a buddy, someone you trust. Think of it this way—if your pal’s not even willing to chug a pint with you, d’you think they’d spare a glance for you on the battlefield? Surely not. Anyway, that’s a bit of lore for you. Y’know, after saying all that, I can’t let you drink this alone, can I? Let me brew another for myself, and we’ll toast.”
How stupid. Humans haven’t changed a bit. How does anyone here see meaning in senseless murder? Is this supposed to be fun? Do they not stop to wonder why this loudmouth gets to sit here yapping without ever having to lift a sword—while they rush to their deaths?
Of course, I knew better than to say that out loud. “Right… sorry, what’s a toast?”
“What? C’mon, does nobody drink where you’re from? It’s when you clink your glasses together before taking a swig. Here, hold your glass out.”
He picked up a tiefdraught of his own and held it out expectantly, a grin across his face. I grasped the handle of my jug—and only then did its weight strike me. So heavy! I squirmed as I lifted the glass with both hands towards his, shaking unsteadily all the while. In comparison, his glass hung still as a rock.
“Wahahaha! Sorry, maybe I should have poured you half a pint instead. Anyhow, here we go—Cheers! To your arrival, child from o’er the walls!”
I perched the glass against my lips before hesitating. Vapour stung my eyes and filtered into my nose. I suppose this is something you chug rather than sip. The bartender had already begun gulping his drink down. Not wanting to be left behind, I closed my eyes, counted to three and tipped the tiefdraught into my mouth almost vertically, letting my hood fall as I did so.
The foam that crested the surface coagulated near my mouth as the draught slowly spread down my throat. It tasted like death: ice-cold and bitter, made of alien waters murky and sterile amidst tall, snowy mountains that stretched into the night; a taste that burned and rose to a searing crescendo, yielding only once I began to choke, my eyes watering. The boiling depths parted, making way for a haunting aftertaste: earthy but deathly still, missing the heat that had threatened to scorch my tongue into glass just moments earlier. The taste left my mouth numb and slid into my throat, staying there like a pocket of phlegm.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
People pay to drink this? I would sooner drink my own piss than another cup of this bile.
I opened my eyes to a world swimming in my tears. I set the cup down on what seemed like the counter and blinked hard. As the counter slowly came into focus, I realised something had changed. What? I probed my senses; nothing had appeared that was not already there. Rather, it was the absence of something.
The noise. It’s gone. The ruckus of the bar, the voices, the clinking of glass… everything’s fallen silent.
The bartender’s face finally defined itself in front of me. His face lay twisted into one of awe. He stood in front of me slack-jawed, muzzled by shock. I felt a little uncomfortable at his silence; a feeling that doubled into full-blown fear as I looked around the bar. Not a soul moved. Their cups all sat on their tables; some lay shattered against the floor. Their eyes were trained on me, their faces in abject shock just as the bartender’s was.
What? Did something happen? What was in that drink? Cold tendrils wrapped around my heart, threatened to choke and crush it whole. I snapped my head back towards the cup. It looked just as it did before I drank it, just one sip emptier.
“You are… Her, are you not?” Trembling in a way that infected me with his fear, the bartender finally broke the silence.
“Her?”
“Far be it from me to toss my lot in with the likes of angels, but even someone like me had an inkling of who you were the moment you stepped in. Her of eternal life, descended upon her iron chariot… I’ve seen the stained glass window in the chapel. The one that’s been there for centuries. That’s you… surely!”
Murmurs spread throughout the bar. I could not have stood out more if I tried—they were twice my size, with hair cropped and different shades of gold (some streaked with silver) and brown globes for eyes relative to mine. Their scrutiny made my skin crawl. I should not have come here.
“Her? In those rags?”
“Surely…”
“But she’s the spittin’ image of Her on high!”
“You’d think She’d shy away from even a drop of liquor. But even I can’t deny there’s a resemblance…”
“It is… it is Her! I won’t believe otherwise!”
“They say it’ll be a massacre tomorrow, but if She’s here to… see us off?”
“That’s it! That must be it! She’s—She has returned! To grant us succour and shield!”
Gasps of realisation filled the room as confusion and fear turned to affirmation and excitement. Their faces warmed and smiles crept over their faces. But beneath the skin that wrapped over their skulls I sensed festering, ravenous hunger. It was a face I knew well no matter how many masks it may wear. They wanted something from me. It was not me they were interested in, but what I could do. These men, sentenced to death, were now handed a sprig of hope. Their eyes had latched on to me and would stop at nothing for the salvation they presumed I could offer: that which I had no real power to.
One chair fell over with a crash, and its occupant leaped towards me. Stay away! My eyes shut tight; but for some reason instinct did not raise my hands against him. I was terrified.
“Hear my plea, o God!” His frail voice croaked not from his diaphragm but his throat, somewhere below me. I opened my eyes a crack and saw him on his knees, his forehead pressed against the floor and his palms in front of him. It was a gesture of utmost deference.
“I… I cannot die tomorrow… Please! I swore the oaths, took the pledges, but… even if this country stands tomorrow, who will take care of my sister? She can hardly walk, let alone feed herself. Please… I cannot desert, but I beg of you: with even a sliver of your power, please bless my sister… If you could keep watch over her, I will die tomorrow with my head held high. Please! I beg!”
I could not speak. I can’t do that, you fool! I… I have no power! All this about eternal life… that is a curse even I don’t understand, not power! I could not escape the hundreds of eyes that bored into me. They would not permit an escape. After having shown my face, they would not simply allow me to walk out. What would happen if I did? I did not want to consider the thought.
And so I did as they wished. “I… cannot promise you anything. However, I will keep an eye on your scales, and those of your sister, and ensure that they are weighed justly. I can only pray they may tip in your favour.” He burst into tears at my words, and wailed as only a dying man could. Before he could finish, a line had formed, and I was made to offer a similar blessing to each and every one of them. Grown men, trained for battle, were reduced to nothing at my words, their hearts thawed by a chance at life.
I knew I was peddling lies, but I had no choice. Besides, these men will likely die tomorrow. I don’t think they expect to be invulnerable. If I’m lucky, a few more will survive than expected, and the survivors will come home happy. Isn’t that what prayer is? A way to bolster your odds rather than a guarantee. Or at least, that’s how they see it. In truth, only they can weigh their scales with their own two hands. Their fates were sealed when they chose war. I was still terrified, but as long as I prayed for them, they would not lay a finger on me. So I did as I was told until I had blessed everyone in the tavern.
“How are you doing?” The bartender smiled weakly, having overcome his initial shock, his face no longer pale. “I’ve had all sorts of patrons over the years, but you’re the first deity that’s walked through those doors.”
“I’m… nevermind. I’m tired. How long has it been?”
“An hour and a half? Maybe two. Give or take. You did a good thing.”
The impromptu ceremony had finally come to an end, and everyone had returned to their tables, fervently discussing the supposed euphoric effects they had experienced upon my words.
“The room brightened when she spoke.”
“I felt my body lighten, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.”
“My bones straightened out in an instant; my back doesn’t hurt anymore!”
“I saw the gates of heaven behind her—white and pearly! She’s a true goddess!”
Their drinks sat untouched. Perhaps they felt a little embarrassed to ramble drunkenly in the presence of a so-called goddess, despite the fact that I too had taken a little sip.
“Sorry about the tiefdraught. Had I known, I wouldn’t have pushed one onto you,” the bartender said, wiping a glass clean.
“No… it was, uh, delicious. Thank you.”
“Wahahaha! For a deity, you sure have a sense of humour. That was just a little prank—a rite of passage of sorts for those kids that like to swagger in and order a pint, acting tough as nails. You on the other hand—you’ve seen more than any of us could ever dream of imagining. Thank you for visiting—no, gracing us with your presence. I’ll be honest, all of this is still a bit too much for me… I’ve never really been the religious type, and I hope you won’t damn me for it. But I’m sure your power is true.”
I said nothing.
“Ah… anyway, ya have a place to stay the night?”
“No… is there an inn nearby?”
“Yup, it’s above us. Part of the bar, actually. Of course, we’ve set a room aside for you, if you’d like. Normally it’s a tad noisy, what with people puking in their sleep and such, but I suspect tonight might be quieter.”
“I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
I was too exhausted to think. A short while later, I was lying face-first on a silken pillow, my body wrapped in blankets against a soft featherbed. The room was dark and cosy, slight murmurs and the clinking of someone washing dishes filtering in from beneath the door.
What a lovely bed. I never thought sleep could be so inviting.
My body gave out, and I slept dreamlessly; the deepest I had ever slept since I first drew breath.