HWWC:Week Three
Week Three
This week's subject for the HWWC: what the hell did I do last night?
The winner: Redhale, as per the only one that submitted.
Redhale
"Us old beings tend to have a funny relationship with memory. Some of us can't fit events together properly, others change their mind on what happened with each new day and some give up on the concept entirely. Sometimes I think we are cursed by Q'na, as if the ability mortals have to traverse time in our own minds offends her somehow, and so she gets into our heads and muddles things up on purpose. Maybe she does it just for fun, or maybe she's afraid that our capacity for memory encroaches upon her own power. Of course no mortal could hold a flame to the power of a god, but some surely get uncomfortably close. Anyway, if Q'na is the one to blame for faulty memory, then surely she has never been so angered as the night we made our biggest score…"
--
There was shouting to break the quiet of an early morning in Vailkrin, a heated argument between a child and his elder. A small group of thieves dashed away from an older man, but lingered at the corner to witness their friend make his stand with some fattened priest in front of the church. They thought they were had, that this grouchy priest would call down the law and they would be put up in irons, maybe even lose a hand for their troubles. They hissed whispers from the shadows, urging their friend to accept the loss and flee, but he had been quite enamored with his catch and refused to see it taken from him. Just as the priest was setting his holy symbol back around his neck the boy flashed out a blade and struck forth with it, bringing the surprised priest down with a nasty twist of his dagger. Now they were really in it, thought the others. With a murder on their hands they were looking at the noose, and even those among them who were familiar with death made the decision to leave their friend behind. Before they could uproot themselves though, the murderer took back his necklace and placed it around his own neck, promptly disappearing without so much as a sound.
The group raced past streets and through alleyways in fright as the muted rays of the sun began to filter through the sky into Vailkrin, making what discussion as their breath would allow between themselves on the way. "What the hell happened to Honry?" they asked one another, "Why did he need to kill that man? What were we even doing there?" In fact they quickly discovered that no one could say. Had that old man tried to attack them? Had he been a thief himself? Hadn't he followed them for a while, slinging insults or somesuch? And had they not all jumped upon him, taking more trinkets to stuff their pockets before leaving him behind? Something had confused them. As they reached their hideout in an old warehouse cellar a young Redhale piped up and suggested that they weren't confused because the events happened to fast or because of trauma or liquor, he posited that they were confused because the priest had cursed them. The only way they could hope to find out what had happened was to relive the night step by step in hopes that they might come across solid evidence at some point, and the night had started in the same place as it had ended. "We were dividing the loot right here," They all agreed, "And Honry was making a right fuss about who got what…"
"I don't care what you think you found, we divide our takes fairly like every other time," Insisted one of the boys, who stood before a table covered in various coins, gems and other glittering objects, "So put it down with the rest of your stuff and we'll get old Squinty to tell us what it's worth." Honry refused, and held his catch tight enough to turn the knuckles of both hands white, "Then I don't want in on the sharing, I need this one." His determination was peculiar; the others had seen the object which he clutched and to them it didn't seem particularly valuable: A length of rope with a small charm looped onto it in the shape of a cross. Yes, it did appear to be real silver, but not a great amount of it and really quite poorly made. The one arguing with him was convinced Honry must have known something about it the others didn't.
"No wait," Interjected one boy, "He didn't want to give up his share, he wasn't crazy." "That's right," Said another, "He was given it as -part- of his share, fair as everything everyone else got." "I know because it was me who nicked it in the first place!" "No you didn't, he definitely offered it as something of great importance…"
He found it important enough, at least, to make a great fuss about it even after he had been allowed to hold onto it. He seemed finicky as to which way cross had hung from its cord.
"Yeah, he turned the thing upside down for some reason," Suggested Redhale. "Don't be stupid, it was upside down and he was trying to make it hang the right way up, fix it like." "This isn't helping! I thought I couldn't remember what happened, but you guys arguing is just making this worse! We need to go and get something to eat, if we go hungry you guys will only get grumpier."
Thinking on an empty stomach never works out well anyway, so the boys made their way out into the city to find a bite to eat. They ventured out towards the market, careful to take a different path out than they had in, so that they might lift a few loaves of bread. Their breakfast plans were spoiled, though, by a congregation full of murmuring gossip and a sizable team of town guards. "Oh god," Said one boy, "That's what it was, the holy man…" They had already forgotten the murder, but seeing the guards and the mass of people peering forced more memories of contention into their minds, "Killing a holy man is worse by far than petty thieving, we'll lose our heads," Trembled one young voice. "I won't lose my head, it was you guys who jumped him, " Spoke another. "What were we supposed to do, he was going to kill Honry! Or… was that what happened at all…"
The team had gone out drinking after they had decided upon how to cut up the loot. This time it was a celebration for a fine haul, but most other nights it would have been to mute the sting of disappointment in their meagre wealth and wasted lives. Either way the pub was always happy to have them; strangely enough they seemed less likely to rob the place when they were drunk. They were, however, loud and prone to violence, and blurred events or not violence definitely occurred that night. Honry had been in a foul mood before they even got their first round, and as they became merrier he became more agitated. Such behavior wasn't completely unusual for him, but he did surprise all of his friends when, after doing nothing but count the drips falling from the keg tap for about an hour, he abruptly stood and rushed outside.
The boys ignored Honry's strange departure and went on with their drinking until, through the sound of their slurred, shouted and just a little sharp singing they heard Honry's cries from the street outside. A portly priest had him by his shirt front with one hand and was brandishing a sturdy if unimpressive wooden rod above his head with the other. The drunken boys jeered at him, "What are you doing down this end of town? Get back to your church and pray you don't split you open." Honry signaled for them to stay back, but his words were making little progress with the priest, "I just need to hang on to it for a little longer," He pleaded, "After I've done this I hope I never see the thing again, honest!" "Rotten little rat!" Snapped the priest, "You insult the gods with your stubbornness! Do you think you're proving some kind of faith with that symbol? Because you are wearing it all wrong!" Honry made more apologies than most of his friend's had heard in his life, but the priest had no more patience for words. He tore the string from around Honry's neck, shunting the young thief across the ground, and removed the cross from the necklace, flipping it around before threading it on his own chain. Honry scrambled at him to stop but before he could reach at the man's coattails the priest had clasped the chain around his own neck and vanished completely in the still night air.
"He didn't vanish, he died. He died with our daggers sticking out of him. I remember," Said one boy. "He didn't die then, he ran. That's why his body isn't by the pub," Suggested another, "Although I could swear it was by the church that he died, but those guards don't seem a bit interested in the old chapel." Wherever the body had fallen it had been found now, and soon enough the call would be out for the killers, so the group decided they should vanish themselves. They did what they always did when the heat became too much to bear: They headed for the rooftops. A quick shuffle up the fence, a few deft jumps and usually at least one improvised pole-vault and they always felt safe, even if they weren't really. That morning however their feeling of respite was upset by the presence of several broken roof tiles.
They had fled during the night as well. Honry was all out of sorts and attracting all the wrong sorts of attention with his yelling, "It's this one! Everything has gone wrong! We need to hide. I need to vanish!" So they shot up to their usual spot, only to find someone there waiting for them. A figure sat sobbing at the apex of the roof, clutching at his chest and staring down at his hands. Honry's own cries were stifled and replaced with a string of hushed but biting swears, "This is it," He whispered, "I have completely messed it up." The stranger on the roof turned his head towards them and called out, "I'm sorry, guys. I didn't mean to kill him, I just lost it. God, he was a priest. I'm going to suffer for eternity, aren't I?" Somewhere in the city below there was an argument occurring, but the group's attention was drawn back to the stranger who was climbing onto the rooftop with them. Now that he was closer they could make out his face: It was Honry, and the item he clutched to his chest was an upside-down silver cross. "You need to give that to me," The first Honry said, "You don't know, you can't know what it is you have to do." The other Honry's eyes flew wide as he realised who was speaking to him. He had been confused for a while; it should have been dawn by now, but the stars had seemed to hang still in the sky. His dagger should have been in the priest's body, but it was in his belt, and here he was talking to another version of himself. Decisions were made with haste, too much haste. A young mind couldn't be expected to know what to do, they hadn't the wisdom to know what would happen, they were yet to experience the memories that would tell them what to do, so when the boy wearing the necklace drew his knife and lunged at his doppleganger the defending one moved quickly to counter him, neither of them grasping the consequences of their actions and neither having the time to reflect upon them.
One of the bodies began to change. First he was just wearing a different shirt, then he was bandaged and held one arm in a sling. His face became a blurred mass of expressions and his movements became erratic and unpredictable. The other stabbed forth just as he had at the priest, but his strike was parried by the ghostly bur of his twisted twin and he was shunted to one side. There he teetered for a moment, off balance and open for a strike, but the blow never came. The un-necklaced Honry had vanished completely. A flash of triumph briefly passed over the other's eyes before he tipped right over and fell from the roof.
The thieves climbed down into the crowd to find it dispersing. An aisle formed between the onlookers as a succession of men strolled out of the throng. The boys watched the guards go by without getting so much as a stern look, they saw a wide-set priest clear the way for two men with a stretcher, and they saw their friend Honry lying dead and cold, stripped bare to the waist and ready for the hasty interment that befitted all such street rats. Some of the boys followed the procession, some of them poked into the crowd to see if anyone had found a necklace on the boy, but Redhale backed slowly away into obscurity as he noticed something small and cold resting against his chest. He knew what had happened. He remembered shuffling down to the paving to see if their friend was alright. He heard the cries, "Why did he want to kill that guy? What was he even doing here?" "What the hell happened to Honry?"
--
"I snaked the cross right from around his neck and got a good look at it for the first time as I wiped it clean of his blood. I thought it had been plain, but there was a little engraving at the point where the crossing bars met. It was a small Q, and it was hung upside-down. I thought about turning it around but something told me that would lead me to an undesirable fate. That fate may still be waiting for me of course; I'm sure there's another cross just like mine out there somewhere, and I'm sure I'll meet its bearer someday. Until then, I am content to leave it untouched."