Chapter 5
Garrulous Ruina-Rutilo, or better known as the Garru, were the masterpiece of a life committed. Those ancients that contributed to the progression of science and art should shake in the aftermath of what I have created. No, not I, not at the time… Sadly, despite consuming his essence within moments of release, I can't recall his name. I often think about that, and when I funneled the clot of his soul into the reservoir, to my surprise, the process of creating the Garru was one that remained.
The ingenuity of its creation was paramount to our progression. Now, costing little, the burden of so many lives could be unleashed. Sometimes the madness still takes me, but the pain isn't so untenable as it was before. In some cases, I cannot remove the painful bits of Kraken, and those are the parts that remove my clarity. The local wildlife still supports a fair bit of that, but the Garru have an astounding aptitude of containing and even digesting Shade. Whether it be Garru or other predatory species, the recipients are never willing. It's not proper, but I still find myself laughing when I'm done forcing that dark stain upon them.
The changes to the cookery were relatively simple. Instead of soups, stews and soft breads, Dorian now made hard breads, salted and smoked meats, and left the vegetables raw. The supplies would be sent out weekly and would have to keep for seven days at the least. This was the responsibility of the cooks to the scouts, their part in supporting the search for Steelfyre and mapping the ever-changing Wilds.
The scouts, really just the trappers with a new title, would take small groups to the cave sites. They would set up camp there, and spend their days literally tied together. The scout head, and one or two assistants, would explore the cave system, mapping as well as they could as they went. They were looking for signs of Steelfyre, whatever they were, but also ensuring they wouldn't be lost. It also ensured that they had an idea as to where they could start a quarry if they were lucky enough that the cave ran back under the valley. This was preferred, as the valley walls apparently rose over three hundred feet at the base. If the cave didn't double back, they could simply widen the cave entrance, but less underground meant more safety. Cave ins were frequent enough to be a constant concern, as though the ground were a living thing reaching out to cut at you. Dorian found it difficult to believe that there was any danger below, but he decided not to comment on it.
He tried to say as much to Kurt but hadn’t had many chances to until his tenth birthday. It was the middle of autumn, the air was just cool enough to warrant more clothes but still warm enough that they weren’t entirely necessary. The leaves had begun changing colors, some vibrant and entrancing, but there weren't any that had shed their leaves entirely. The wind was more active, however, which was a frequent problem in the fall time. The shape of the valley itself made some of the windstorms unbearable, which dawned the understanding of why everything was made from stone.
His birthday was sometime during the week, but the village had a ritual to celebrate birthdays on the first day of the week. He wasn't really sure why they did this, they just did. There was something to be said about individuality in Metan, there wasn't any. Well, perhaps there was some, but unless you distinguished yourself in your trade, it seemed to Dorian, you were just another wheel in the chain of wheels that kept the village moving forward.
His birthday “day” was fraudulent to him. He had paid attention and knew his lunar cycle. There were four weeks a month, which was exactly the cycle of the first moon, and the cycle of the second moon was the month itself. When he was born, one moon had lapsed in front of the other, casting a shadow on the second moon in a perfect circle. He had seen it but hadn't thought anything of it at the time, he was more concerned with what the word “circumcision” meant. That wasn't a pleasant memory.
For what it was worth, he was always overjoyed by the private occasion. It wasn't that he felt like his birthday should be a holiday, but he did feel that getting a break from the routine was a just reward. Furthermore, he enjoyed his brother's birthday just as much as his own. Typically, they would steal away and terrorize some of the other craft houses or simply get lost exploring the wild woods.
One time, as a cruel prank, Kurt and Dorian broke in to the weavers guild house and laced most of the twines and wood reeds with itch-weed. It wasn't harmful, nor would it leave a rash, but it itched to damnation. When they did this, it was with the patience of a lion. They picked the itchweed carefully, Kurt having gotten some on his arm but had a salve nearby. He was still itchy for nearly three days. After it had been dried, they ground it to a powder and kept that powder in stone jars. When the day came, they knew that one of several weavers would have to set out tomorrow's reeds and twines to dry after a steam treatment followed by a wash.
They acted with a quickness, but not without care. Slinking along the wood line, wearing leather gloves and using some cloth to cover their faces, they were ready. As soon as the Woman went inside the two brothers stalked out like they were the embodiment of stealth. Dorian went to the drying rack and doused the reeds in fistfuls of powder. It took him no less than thirty seconds to empty his jar, at which point he lowered his body and stalked back to the tree line. Shortly thereafter, Kurt joined him, and both of them struggled to keep their laughter to themselves as they trotted the long way back to their home.
When they had gotten out of earshot, they burst out laughing. Nearly toppling over themselves in childish glee, Dorian asked, “What took you so long? I figured you'd be waiting for me, you being nearly six foot tall and all.”
Kurt smiled sheepishly, hardly containing himself he said, “You know how they have those reference baskets? They keep a few scattered about for the novices to use as an egsample.” He was, oddly, still missing a few of his lower teeth, and his pronunciation still suffered for it. All the same, Dorian nodded after thinking about the baskets. He thought it was odd that Kurt knew enough about them, since Dorian was usually the one to notice finer details like that. Kurt grinned his boyish grin, “I stashed a few snakes and geckos between them!” As he spoke, his laughter bubbled out, making the end of his sentence almost unintelligible. When Dorian realized what his brother meant he joined him for another long bout of laughter.
Two days later the shrieking could be heard all the way from the cookery, and Dorian had to hide himself in the storage closet for fear of being figured out by his father, he stifled his laughter with a spare apron and did his best to clear away the tears from his eyes before returning to work. When his father concernedly asked him if he was okay, he only smiled and nodded.
Keeping themselves from bursting into laughter at the communal dinners that week was the hardest thing Dorian, and probably Kurt, had ever done. They had gotten away with it like a bandit raccoon stealing garbage in the middle of the night. The only hitch was that brown eyed girl that had eyed Dorian the last year, she seemed to spend an inordinate time eyeing and scowling at them. Still, if she had figured it out, and Dorian had no idea how, she obviously had no way to prove it. It was a very small hitch in an otherwise perfectly executed plan celebrating his brother's thirteenth birthday.
This, and many other pranks and adventures, were the reasons Dorian loved birthdays. It was time he could spend just being himself, and, as an added bonus, with his only real friend. He played along with some of the other kids but did what he could to avoid them. He knew if he spent too much time with children his own age, they would figure out that he was odd, so he spent his own time in solidarity, reading or exploring the vastness of his backyard, if he wasn't with his brother.
That year they had no large plans, they simply had the day free. Dorian, being only ten, couldn't be left alone during the day, couldn't go with his father because that would defeat the purpose of having the day off, and his mother was too busy organizing the scouts in their cave explorations. So, Kurt got the day off too.
They both slept in late, missing sunrise by an hour or two. The morning was a bit on the windy side, the gusts stirring the autumn leaves off their birthplaces to cover the forest floor, and whipping them about in beautiful cascades of red, orange, and yellow. After having some goat cheese and bread to break their fast, Kurt asked him, “What do you want to do today?”
Dorian shrugged, not having put any real thought to it. Kurt smiled, “Well, since my thirteenth I've been allowed to go farther into the wilds. There's some neat stuff out there, and I can show you some more woodcraft if you like, and there's a really nice pond. It's so clear you can see straight to the bottom on a clear day.”
Dorian was a bit indifferent, part of him craved the excitement of what they had done to the weavers, but another part simply wanted to break routine. Knowing there would be a touch of excitement to going deeper into the Wilds, but not so much that they could get in serious trouble, Dorian acquiesced.
Kurt got a mischievous look in his eye. “Dorian... Do you know how to swim?”
Dorian thought back to when he was just a babe, laying about in the stone bathtub, he wanted to try and float by himself then, but his mother wouldn't take her eyes off him. Coming back to the moment, Dorian shook his head, “No, I don't think I ever had a chance to.”
“Great! Bring a change of under-britches, the linen ones not the leather, the leather will be too heavy and will take the day to dry.” Kurt headed to his room and got out a pack, and grabbing a woven basket. He walked over to Dorian, handing it to him. “Happy birthday little brother.” He smirked down at Dorian.
Half giddy, he opened the basket to reveal a set of thick leather pant covers. They were fashioned like his brothers, something only the trappers were allowed to wear, and had a thin layer of black fur lining the inside. It was incredibly soft on the inside, while still hardened leather on the outside. Dorian was shocked with delight.
“How did you-” Kurt cut him off, gesturing. “Called in a favor from the tanners, I had a lucky catch a few months back and caught a cougar cub. Had them make me this in exchange for the hide, and that,” Kurt rubbed the back of his head, “I didn't report it.” Dorian could tell that his brother felt a little bit guilty for the last part, but was shining with pride otherwise. Dorian smiled, trying it on. The straps weren't long enough to get around the waist. He frowned.
Kurt chuckled, “That's what you get for being a cook. Maybe lay off all that delicious bread you've been making?”
Dorian looked mock offended, “How does a master baker become a master baker without sampling his work? It simply doesn't happen.” He waved a hand at his brother, shooing the argument away. A large part of him wanted to take offense, he had noticed that, compared to his brother's lean build, Dorian was lacking a bit of muscle and made up for it in a layer of fat. Maybe he was being defensive, but the facts were the facts, and he couldn't argue with something that was undeniably true.
His brother smirked at him, and despite that smirk, Dorian knew there was nothing but love and humor behind it. Knowing that there wasn't any condescension behind the look, Dorian felt awful. “I'm sorry big brother, I let you down. It's a great gift, but I don't think we'll get a chance to try it out today.” Kurt stopped grinning, looking quite serious.
“Don't think for a moment you're getting out of this.” Kurt turned, rummaged through his room, until he voiced a victorious, “Ha-ha!” Coming back to the common room, he took Dorian's gift in hand and attached another strap to the waistband, the new extension closing the distance caused from Dorian's girth.
“Ahh, I see. Quite profound. Maybe I'll have a few sets of those made, if I'm heading down the same path as Dad that is.” Dorian, despite himself, thought it was a good idea.
“Yeah,” Kurt said, finishing the process. “You could keep the extras about, and when something doesn't fit right you can hop right out,” Kurt did a little hop, taking the stance of a triumphant leader. Speaking in gusto he said, “I see you haven't the cloth to cover that which is rotund!” He held a finger to the air, chest out he continued. “So, I present to you, the profundity of your rotundity! You may bow to your savior.”
Smiling, Dorian gave a slight bow from the waste, “All hail our savior, may we gorge ourselves on moldy loaves in your glorious honor.” After a moment they burst into laughter at each other.
“Moldy loaves?” Kurt asked.
“Something Da said once but told me not to repeat. Said Mom would've had his hide for it. I don't really get it.” Dorian shrugged.
Kurt looked thoughtful for a moment, frowning and stroking his chin where there might one day be whiskers. “Maybe...” Kurt made a gesture at his chest. Looking quizzical, Dorian said “Idunno, I'm only ten.”
Giving Dorian a frank look, Kurt quarried, “Maybe the loaves get moldy because the oven is cold?”
“Oh, that's not too shabby.” Dorian gestured, “oh that's not too shabby at all. Quite clever, but not as clever as ‘the profundity of your rotundity.’ To be honest, Kurt, that's quite clever. Who did you steal it from?”
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Kurt looked at his brother as they made their way out of the house into the cool autumn wind, his face one of serious offense. “I'll have you know that's a big bro' original.” Dorian harrumphed, inspecting his new brush pants. He found that he had to wear it extra high, nearly to his chest, and on the front of the pants were two separate brands. Curious, Dorian asked, “Despite being too small to get around me, they might be a bit long for me.”
Kurt looked pensive, “Well, I fully intend that we get a lot of use out of those, assuming you won’t stop growing I made a rough guess at how you would grow in to those. Who knows though, you might not grow another inch.” Kurt shrugged.
Dorian, terror filling him at the thought of being four and a half feet tall for the rest of his life, socked his brother in the arm. Kurt punched his little brother back, just once, and with a deftness that left Dorian rubbing his shoulder. “Okay, maybe not the right path to take. Still, that doesn't sound very fun.”
Laughing out loud, Kurt replied “Maybe not for you. I have devious plans for you Dorian... First, we run you ragged, until you're paper thin, then we feed you lots of that Kressian dish you like, you know, the one that gives you bad gas. Then we leave you in the weaver's craft house next to the vents. There will be shrieking women running all the way from Metan to Gwendon.”
Dorian snorted, “No my brother, they will ascend with the Priorius, making the journey that, prior to this incursion, only the divine could make.” Though Dorian was still playing along, Kurt got suddenly quiet. They made their way down the road until Dorian asked, “I can't really see the brands, what are they?”Dorian got a sense of pride from his brother. Not looking back, Kurt said, “One says DC, for Dorian Cook. The other is DH, Dorian Hunt. You might not keep the trade, but no matter what, you'll always be my little brother.”
Dorian, having never been in a fistfight, felt like he'd just been knocked flat on his ass. He choked up for a moment, cleared his throat, and said “Where to next, oh mighty trapper?”
They walked for a time, heading well past the furthest Dorian had ever gone with his brother. As far as he could tell, they were southeast of the town of Metan, if they headed in that direction long enough they would come to the valley's edge before anything else of note would appear. Of course, that would take days, but it let Dorian know that it was all wilds from where they were all the way out, the only way back to civilization would be to go back the way they came.
This did send a bit of fear into Dorian. His senses became heightened, the notion of possible danger at every turn. With those heightened senses, he started noticing vegetation he had never seen before. The trees near the village were composed mostly of birch, maple, pine, and beech. He didn't know what types of trees were around him now, but they looked nothing like what he was used to.
Quiet and instructive, Kurt spoke up. “This is exactly why it gets so dangerous out in the wilds. Theres a reason we must learn for most our lives to travel to these places. The flora and fauna changes rapidly, in less than a day's walk we could go from rubber trees, ipes, xotes, and a whole slew of others, to massive fruit bearing trees that grow pears, apples, and oranges. Some say they've found Gwam growing wild and that their fruit could feed you for weeks. Apparently, not only is the fruit so heavy that you can't move it by hand, but it’s heavily guarded by the wildlife. I even hear that near the north, west of the monastery, they have redwoods so large we could fit our village inside them. The soil isn't like the soil we have in the village, it supports the vegetation growth to a degree that would be unmanageable by human hands. The wildlife is just as expansive, and the further we get from the village the more dangerous it gets. I've even seen some things, Dorian, that would give you nightmares.”
The sincerity and solemnity in his voice wasn't muddled even though he spoke in a whisper. Kurt was haunted by something, Dorian could tell, but there was more. Not one for subtly, Dorian simply asked. “What happened, Kurt?”
Kurt stopped, grimacing and letting his shoulders sag. “I found what was left of two or three people. There wasn't much of anything to be honest, but the Gods only know what kind of horror those people had to live through before the end.” A pause, then Kurtis spoke to himself, “If he saw he'd understand. If he saw how they fought, if he saw the carrier pack for the small child, he might understand. No, this one is for you to carry.”
Dorian furrowed his brows, “Is it on the way? I'm not curious for some sick reason, but I'd like to know, for your sake.”
Kurt looked back and saw the resolve on Dorian's face. It was stern, more adult than anything Kurt could muster, he knew, and grimaced. “I buried the remains already, there's nothing to see now. There was an attack, and it's nothing anyone should have to see.”
Speeding up, Dorian found himself in stride with his older brother, despite their differences in height. Kurt kept lead, directing them through the brush. Every once in a while, Kurt would stop to elaborate about different flora, various herbs that had medical qualities, berries he could eat, berries he couldn't eat, and so on. Eventually they came across a tall sapling that had Kurt nearly leaping for joy.
“It's a line tree!” Kurt exclaimed, pulling Dorian over to inspect it with him. The tree was roughly fifteen feet tall, slender enough that Dorian could almost get a single hand around it. Kurt took his pack off and got out a hatchet. “These make the best... well the best everything really. Great for staves, especially if you're hiking.” He splayed his hand out, implying Dorian should move back, Dorian did so. Kurt continued as he began to chop at the thin tree. “They make great longbows too, the bark can be shaved to make incredibly durable weavers reeds. They're super light, despite being hard as rocks. In fact, I wouldn't be able to harvest it if I hadn't “borrowed” mom's steel hatchet.” He shrugged guiltily. “When it gets wet it becomes easily malleable, so if you carve the ends right it can be shifted from stave to bow in short order. It doesn't burn well, but whatever part of it is burned won't take to the water anymore, so if you put a point to it and fire the tip, it'll be months before you need to run any maintenance on it. Oh yeah, the kicker is you can grow a new stalk from the branches, and each branch will either grow at a ninety or a forty-five degree angle. When they root, they do so with three flat protrusions.” His face took on the expression of a man expecting understanding. He paused for a moment. “Oh come on. Really?”
“What? Three rivulets off the root and I should applaud you or something?”
Kurt sighed. “I suppose you can lead a goat to water.”
“What? I don't get it.” Dorian was feeling peeved, he didn't like not understanding something, especially when it's expected of him to do so.
“If,” Kurt stopped chopping and put a finger up, “You get to the saplings at the right time, each one makes a pretty uniform arrow. All you have to do is wet the ends of the roots before firing, a little spit does the job fine.” He returned to his chopping.
Dorian looked pensive for a moment until he made a thoughtful sound. “Sounds like pretty handy stuff. Why don't we have tons of it?”
Kurt replied, trying to catch his breath, “It doesn't grow well close to town. Every time we try, they don't take, and if they do they take a mortal age to grow. Then the goddamn weavers-” Kurt's eyes shot to Dorian for a moment before resuming. “Few months back, mom was all kinds of pissed about them. Apparently, since the weaver is also the town head, she gets first dibs on the yields, which she of course took for the weaver's craft house, then used it to up-trade for a bunch of higher quality supplies for herself and the rest of the house. Mom said it was” his voice went up an octave, “an utter misuse of power and resources for her own personal gain.” Kurt stood up, then leaned against the tree while he caught his breath. “Which she's not wrong, that was bear shit.” He continued talking after catching his breath for another long moment. “She harvested all of it then, we've been on the lookout for more since-” He was cut off by the tree finally giving way to his weight. Kurt almost fell, almost caught himself, then tipped over just like the felled tree.
After Dorian laughed at his brother for a bit, Kurt got up and started measuring. He hauled up the line tree and brought it next to Dorian. “Let’s see here,” Kurt pulled out a pocket knife and measured about a foot over Dorian. “What'cha doing there, Kurt?”
“Well, the base of it won’t do us any good either way, but it's tall enough to make a stave for each of us. The top has a ring of branches I'll cut up and plant by a landmark. I'll take a few branches with us, should be able to start growing a few back home. It'll be enough to keep everyone else's grubby hands off our rightfully earned treasure.” Kurt looked rather smug for a moment, then said, “Shouldn't take more than a half hour. We should still be able to get to the pool before noon, we might even speed up with some walking sticks. Say, would you mind hacking your piece off while I make a fire? I'd like to get some points on the bottom ends. I should have grabbed a proper spear before we came this far, it just slipped my mind.” Before Dorian had a chance to protest, Kurt was already grabbing some sticks and clearing space for a fire. Damn.
Dorian almost said something about how it was his day, but kept his mouth shut realizing how ungrateful that would seem. He picked up the hatchet that his brother left behind and started hacking. His brother shouted from some twenty yards away, “Make sure to use your body weight when you swing, you've got plenty to spare!” Dorian almost shouted back something profane but decided to take his lumps. He had gained some weight after all.
The hatchet that his brother wielded with one hand was too heavy for him to hold in the same fashion. Bearing the hatchet like it was an ax, Dorian found the mark his brother made, wound up and swung as hard as he was able. He barely left a mark.
Glaring at the wood like it had just insulted him, Dorian swung again. Not even a mark that time. Frustrated, it brought to mind the experience he had with the Gwam. Gripping that frustration with his mind, he nibbled at it. Feeling a pressure like his bones wanted to jump out of his body, Dorian swung with all he had, shutting his eyes and grunting just before the hatchet met the line tree. A loud “chink” sound echoed through the wilds. Opening his eyes, he had sheared straight through the tree and buried the hatchet several inches into the ground underneath it.
He inspected the cut, it was smooth. Feeling quite smug about it, he pulled the hatchet free. Suddenly, it wasn't so unyielding. Taking it in one hand, he put his foot on his part of the tree and cut the bottom end, the one Kurt spent all that time on, into a crude point. For whatever reason he still felt a bit of that frustration. Kurt called out again, “The top part, where the branches are, should still be green. It's pretty soft, like you, cut that off and bring it to me when you're done.”
Mumbling his curses, he went to the top of the tree, found the spot where the green and brown met, and in one deft swing severed it cleanly. He bent to gather the fruits of his labors, when a wave of nausea struck him. Remembering what had happened before, he gripped that frustration tight, then let it go. The world spun for a moment, when it stopped, he found himself flat on his ass.
Shaking his head, as though that would help, he stood and gathered the goods. He made his way over to his brother who was preoccupied coaxing a fire to life. Dorian let go of his burden and promptly plopped down next to his brother.
Kurt gave him an annoyed look. “Done already?”
Dorian, feeling a bit short, curtly replied with a “yep.”
Kurt gave him a disbelieving look. Dorian gestured with his thumb, “Go look for yourself, oh and here.” Dorian handed the hatchet over to his brother. Kurt took it, then cursed. Confused, Dorian made a “Hmmm?” sound.
“What did you do, Dor? This was mom's favorite hatchet.” Kurt fingered the edge of the hatchet, flicking his thumbnail against a crack Dorian hadn't noticed. “I don't know, Kurt.” He looked down, partly out of shame, partly because his head swam less when he wasn't looking up.
Kurt, looking down at his brother, saw the pale complexion of his skin. Concerned, Kurt put a hand on Dorian's shoulder. “It's alright. Here, I've got some jerky in my pack. Eat it, and I'll get our new walking sticks ready to go.”
Kurt rummaged for a bit, proffering the dried foods to Dorian. Dorian ate, feeling slightly better but still not wholly himself. It wasn't just how he had broken the hatchet, or the strange sensation he had when he tugged on that sense. There was something about being out in the wilds, this far away. There was a difference, Dorian felt, though he couldn't put it into words.
Dorian watched Kurt fashion the staves over the small fire. Curious, Dorian asked, “How'd you get the fire started so quickly?”
Kurt chuckled. “I never mentioned that I've seen Gwam before, did I? The trappers are given use of sawdust it makes. It very useful as a fire starter, and” Kurt patted a pouch at his hip, “If we run into anything with longer teeth than ourselves, I can toss this. Its got some saw dust mixed with shavings of flint. If I throw it hard enough, it should ignite. Nothing that will kill, but enough to scare most critters off. Useful stuff.” Kurt finished lining up the points to burn the line sticks, took the top of the tree and headed to a nearby boulder to presumably plant the sticks.
Dorian got up and joined him, assuming that the faster they were done, the faster they could get back to moving. After catching up with his brother, Dorian assisted in stripping the individual branches, taking his brother's advice on the process. While they worked at this, Dorian asked, “You know, sometimes I hear you talking to yourself. I keep wondering if you're going nuts or if you just can't control the volume of your voice.”Kurt gave Dorian an odd look. Dorian, not missing a beat, “I see. At the gentle age of thirteen, you must be slipping into early senility. I'm sure the weaver's husband and you can reminisce about the good old days together. I suppose the upside to a shitty memory is that everything is new and exciting.” Dorian cracked a grin, which didn't seem to penetrate Kurt's iron exterior.
“I'm not talking to myself Dorian. I've noticed it for a while, for a long while really. You, somehow are as oblivious as you look.” Kurt took a stick and lodged it in the ground. Dorian's eyebrows bowed together. He looked at his older brother, his face was stern, mouth making a tight line, when Dorian heard “If you haven't noticed yet.” Kurt's lips never moved.
In shock, Dorian fell back on his rear, eyes splayed as far as they could be. “I noticed the first time you got sick, and I had suspicions before. You always seem to be able to read the moods of a place, of people around you, but with me, you hear me as clear as day.” Kurt smiled, mouth still shut. “I figured I'd let you figure it out on your own, but goddamn Dorian, can't a man have the privacy of his own thoughts?”
A mixture of horror and revelation crashed onto Dorian like a wave. Dorian, not considering beforehand, thought back “Whatever, you won't be majority for another five years.” Kurt looked hurt, and said aloud, “nearly four years, thank you very much.”
Oh. Oh god, no. Dorian thought back to every embarrassing thing he'd thought over the past several years. The horror on Dorian's face must have been quite funny, because Kurt was laughing so hard, he snorted, which only made him laugh harder. “But wait, like always? What about everyone else?”
Kurt straightened himself, as best he could, and replied, “Seems to only torment your big brother. Though, I've worried whether Dad picks up on it sometimes. For me it's clear, I'm guessing for everybody else, it's like when it first started happening. Like the thoughts were my own, just muddled. Though, I must say, that weaver girl, she seems to pick up clearly. You really have to learn how to watch yourself.”
Stumped, stupefied, and horrified, Dorian couldn't think of anything to do but just sit there. He cleared his mind, as best he could. He listened to the settling breeze, the leaves rustling, and the birds chirping in the distance. He searched himself, his emotions, for something pervasive. What did he feel, all the time? What could be ever present that he wouldn't even notice?Paranoia. As he mentally groped the emotion, he realized how subtle it was, how it ingrained itself into his very being. It was engraved into his very soul, he thought, so much so that he grew with the hindrance, never even noticing. He gripped the paranoia, hard, and he felt everything, heard everything, all around him. The small animals looking for food, how hungry they were, their fear of predators, then he felt the predators, then he mentally felt his brother, all smugly self assured. The bastard. He gripped it hard, then let it go. The quiet that seemed to envelop him was so jarring that he felt sick. Unlike what he did with the gwam, however, he didn't want to puke. He had the sudden desire to eat raw vegetables, leeks specifically. Or seaweed. How odd?
Kurt seemed to notice. He looked at Dorian for a moment, then gave a joyous whoop. “Ha! That's great! By the gods, Dorian, I hadn't even realized that was there. I feel uplifted...” his slit his eyes in a glare. “Don't you go invading my thoughts without telling me, I know what to look for now.” He pointed, then muttered, “That's why she called you creeping tubs! Haha! You were creeping and you didn't even know it! You're the most natural creep-” Dorian put a hand up to stop his brother's tirade.
Looking quite serious, Dorian said, “Kurt. I don't know what’s happening to me, but I do know that I can't do this alone. You leaving me high and dry isn't a game. I've seen the look in the priest's eyes, their unsettling. I don't want to be that.”
Looking guilty, Kurt sighed and went back to work on the line trees. Dorian, still serious, said, “I know you didn't mean to, but Kurt,” Dorian took a deep breath. “I'm really scared sometimes; things are happening to me, and I don't know what to make of them.”
Kurt looked down at his brother, sincerity on his face. He sat in front of Dorian, crossed his legs and said, “Well Dorian, it's about time we talk about this.” A smile crept on his face, “When a mommy and a daddy really love each other, like a whole lot, they...”
Dorian, with an odd mixture of fury and humor, shouted “This isn't a fucking joke you dolt! I'm not normal!” He gave a guttural growl of frustration and pounded his fist to the ground. When he did so, he felt something through the earth, a kind of harmony. The notes of that harmony ran through the grass he sat on towards the Line trees they had just planted. On a whim, he matched the notes of that harmony and sped up the tempo. This all happened in the moment between breaths, he exhaled.
Lines waved out through the earth, a blackness that enveloped the ground in front of him, then, in the gaps between the lines, a light. The crescendo of the moment seemed to come, and Dorian did nothing to fight it.
The trees that were just planted lurched upward. Roots spreading, they burst toward the sun, pulling on something inside Dorian in the process. Dorian felt suddenly, overwhelmingly, depressed. The only thing that felt good was the sun making its way through the top of the trees. Not able to pay attention to anything else, Dorian threw his shirt off and let the sunlight beat upon his bared chest. Smiling in relief, he laid back and dozed off in the warm sunlight, it seemed to bake away his woes. He drifted into that warm embrace, the sound of his brother's shouting came from a place far, far away.