Doublesight

by Terry Persun

  “Hold there,” he heard from behind. When he turned seven other guards advanced on him from the rear. Lankor took a few more steps toward Zimp and saw a young boy, obviously the stable boy, standing between two guards off to Zimp's left. The stable had been occupied when they arrived.

  Zimp reached out for Lankor as he got closer, and he helped her to stand. One of the guards grabbed his staff. There were too many of them and Zimp would be too easy to harm had Lankor tried to fight back. He said a silent prayer that Brok had found Therin and escaped.

  Marched out of the stables and down the main street toward the castle, Lankor and Zimp were stared at. Vendors and their families, shop owners, other guards lined the road. “What's wrong here?” Zimp asked Lankor in an almost inaudible voice.

  “They are nearly silent. Like today,” he said. A rumbling of voices and nothing more rose around them. The people whispered and pointed. They held their children close.

  “They feel sorry for us. If they hated us they'd throw things, they'd yell insults.” Zimp stumbled and one of the guards reached out to help her. She had a tear in her eye as she looked at Lankor again. “They are not afraid of us. They feel pity as though we have been cursed rather than blessed.”

  “Haven't we?” Lankor said. “In many ways we are the outcasts.”

  “Is that your deepest sense?”

  He turned toward her. “It has been my life. Only now, when The Few need us, am I even allowed to travel outside The Lost. Even now, I am feared but useful against a greater fear, a dragon who kills, a dragon who is angry. A dragon, my dear crow-woman, who is not a dragon at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “These people believe that the old doublesight that are coming alive are from Memory Tower. The burial grounds of the grotesque. The mass graves of gargoyles and demons that encircle the tower. The most feared doublesight, they believe, lives in the castle.”

  “They fear retribution if they torment us. It is hatred they feel. They are afraid to show it,” Zimp said.

  “Yes. If they show their true feelings, they might be the next to die. If there is any sadness in their eyes it is not directed toward us but toward themselves and their misfortunate lot to be here at all. But there is nothing they can do. This is their life, their livelihood,” Lankor said as they approached the castle doors.

  “What lives here?”

  Lankor leaned close to Zimp. “A gryphon.”

  Zimp closed her eyes. Lankor felt pain enter his heart. She didn't have to speak. He knew what she feared. It was the identical fear that Raik had, a fear that The Great Land had tricked them all, had turned back time. She feared that all the beasts of old were returning. The doublesight had not only been cursed once, but twice. She didn't need to say that the gryphon posed a threat to doublesight and humans alike. Fear fueled the fire of hatred, and hatred could be turned in any direction once it appeared in full strength.

  At the castle, guards lined the halls. Lankor and Zimp were lead to a thin set of stairs that wound upward. One guard peeled off, drew his dagger, and held onto Zimp's arm as she mounted the first stone step. Her shoulders drooped and her head hung down.

  Lankor sensed a similar invisible weight. The guard behind him had his sword unsheathed and at the ready. The only chance they had would be if they were left alone. That wasn't likely to happen. And even a dragon of his size couldn't pound his way through the stone walls around him.

  At the top of the stairs, Zimp's guard dragged her through a hallway. She stumbled and shook her head. “No,” she said.

  Lankor noticed that the doors were wooden. He heard scuffling sounds behind some of them. The guard next to him said, “She's crazy like them all.”

  Another guard warned that guard to stand down. “Or you'll be gone by morning,” he said.

  Lankor's guard shivered and moaned. “Horrible creatures,” he muttered.

  The friend shook his head in concern.

  Two doors opened ahead of them into a central chamber. At the far end of the room sat two throne-like chairs decorated in bright colors and swirling designs. A cushion of red cloth garnished each, and on the cushions sat two men, obviously father and son, their resemblances many.

  As the guards with Zimp and Lankor flanked the doublesight, Lankor whispered, “Who are they?”

  Zimp glanced at him, a blank look in her eyes. She didn't even hear his words.

  The guards stopped about twenty feet from the thrones. One must have been King Belford, the older of the two. He looked worn. Tired. Depleted of strength. His clothes hung loosely on his body from weight loss. Bags drooped under eyes surrounded by wrinkles. The other, the son, sat strong and healthy next to the father. Lankor didn't need to guess who had control over the castle, or who had their subjects fearful and wary.

  The young man on the left sat forward in his chair. “Doublesight,” he said in disgust. He held his position there, leaning toward his captors. “Your grotesque appetites and needs will no longer be tolerated in The Great Land.”

  “We are harmless and peaceful,” Lankor said.

  The guard poked his sword into Lankor's side until it hurt. “Silence.”

  The young man laughed and sat back in his throne. He brought one hand to his chin, and placed a single finger across his lips. “What nasty beast are you?”

  Lankor remained silent.

  “And your crow-friend,” he said.

  Lankor pulled away from the sword but another guard placed a sword near his neck.

  “Oh, did I guess correctly?” The younger man stood. A long red cape fell around him. “She does have good taste for color,” he said referencing Zimp's red cloak. “But it is rather torn and dirty. What was I to expect?”

  He stepped down to floor level, about ten feet in front of Lankor. “And you? Are you the thylacine or the dragon?” He paced back and forth in front of Lankor and Zimp.

  She lifted her head and Lankor knew what she was doing. It didn't take long either. Her connection to the other realm had been strong since before they arrived. “The gryphon,” she said, confirming what Lankor had guessed, but also feared. The king's son was the threat. But why? As the King's son, he already had anything he wanted. And as a doublesight, why would he wish to wipe them out?

  “It was only a matter of how long it would take for you to notice my etheric body, my friend, Zimp.”

  “Raik,” Lankor said.

  “How perceptive.” The man snapped his fingers and three guards brought Raik from a side door. His hands were tied behind him.

  Raik flowed across the floor next to the guards. His head cocked to one side and his narrowed eyes warned of contempt.

  Lankor knew Raik's next image was that of the copperhead. “He brought us to you,” Lankor said. “You repay him like this?”

  “If he betrayed you, he'd betray me. You see, there are some doublesight that have hungers you can't imagine. Needs you would never understand.” The man gritted his teeth and leaned with narrowed eyes at Lankor. Enunciating each word, the man said, “He. Can't. Help. Himself.” He swung his arm toward Raik, pointing at him. “He's a demon, a gargoyle. I don't care what you think he is. He should not be alive. Pure doublesight do not have two images. Even he knows that. Ask him.”

  Raik took a step forward and said, “It's over.” He began his shift. His head and body began to shrink. His ropes slipped from his wrists and he fell to his knees.

  The king's son made a quick slice across the air and one of Raik's guards leaned back, slid a sword from its sheath, and sliced the sword easily through Raik's shifting neck. As his head and body fell forward they returned to their human image.

  “His children,” Zimp said in a semiconscious state.

  “Stupid man.” The son turned back to Lankor and Zimp. “His children are cursed too. You all are. Especially you,” he pointed at Lankor.

  “And you?” Lankor said.

  “I will be the last. When I die, The Great Land will finally be rid of us all. N
o one will need to suffer any longer.”

  “In peace we do not suffer,” Zimp said.

  “Enough, Draklan,” said King Belford. “Put them into the dungeon. Kill them. But stop this.” He stood to go.

  Draklan snapped his fingers again and several men dressed in robes came from behind the thrones to help the king depart.

  “I believe his disgust of us came early today,” Draklan said. He turned back to Zimp. “My dear beauty, you are the last of the peaceful, as you say, doublesight. You might recall that the doublesight have fought in wars before. They have killed before. You have killed as well.”

  “In self-defense,” she said.

  He hesitated as though he were going to stop talking. “Killing is killing. In self-defense. In hatred. In fear.” His body lifted to full height and his shoulders tensed under some invisible strain. “In hunger for flesh? You have no idea what is being born, or what has been born to this land.” He turned and his cape floated behind him as he walked away. “You might think I'm a horrible sight, but you haven't seen the truth of what the doublesight has brought upon us.” He walked through a back door out of the chamber. Just before the door closed, he yelled out, “Show them!”

  “To the holiness of the Gods,” Zimp said. “Oronice has died.”

  Lankor noticed that her eyes were clear and her stance strong and upright. What had happened? And what did her words indicate? Before he could consider what she had said, three young women entered the room and stood before them. The three were dressed alike in thin robes of gray cloth. They appeared to be freshly bathed, their blonde hair light and soft. They were in their bare feet. One was noticeably pregnant. Possibly a second was also pregnant by a few months.

  “He's good-looking,” one of them said about Lankor. Her eyes were a stark and penetrating hazel color.

  “Even the guards,” another said.

  The guard who stood nearest Lankor turned his head when she looked at him.

  “But that's not why we are here,” the first one said. “Draklan would like a small show before we eat.”

  With those words, the three sisters opened their robes slowly. Their naked bodies were smooth and white, their breasts round and firm. The only hair on their bodies was under their arms and between their legs where a puff of flesh and light colored fur stood out. Even as Lankor stared, he sensed they were about to shift.

  37

  BROK KEPT MOVING ALONG THE STREETS and alleys as though nothing was wrong, a vendor out for a stroll. He slunk through the streets in a great loop around the inn. Few others walked that evening, an occasional couple hurrying home as though the darkness would harm them, yet a small crowd had grown on the main street.

  Hiding in a door well, Brok watched as Zimp and Lankor were escorted towards the castle. Thank the Gods Therin had not been left at the stables, or he may have been killed.

  A light glow lay over the ridge of the mountain range to the west, the trees black against the evening sky. Brok imagined the sun, still visible in Brendern Forest, casting a sidelong glow through the underbrush. Breel came to mind and he prayed that she was well, that there were no more attacks on the council.

  Shadows darkened the doorways and corners of the alleys as he glided over the dirt roadway. He heard voices from time to time, a couple speaking in low tones as though hiding their conversation. The king's son is what they discussed. What little conversation he heard from the people at the inn was enough for him to realize that one of them had to get back to the council and The Few with word of the gryphon. The Few would know that something terrible had gone wrong in The Great Land. They would know what to do.

  He placed his back against an outside wall and leaned for a moment as a man rushed by. Brok acted as though he were waiting for someone. While there he recalled the last weeks. His family had been slaughtered by angry and fearful humans. His brother had remained in his beast image because of the horror of attack. Brok gritted his teeth. He thought of Therin before the shock forced him into permanent beast image. Therin had always been the baby of the family, frightened of being in the forest alone, crying whenever something didn't go his way. Was it Brok's duty to go back to get Therin or to warn The Few? He had been sworn to the council. But it wasn't him they wanted, it was Fremlin, his father. Brok was only a substitute for a real hero, subjugated to the position of follower under a woman's command.

  Brok closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it escape through pursed lips. He felt alone and scared. He leaned over and glanced down the alley in both directions. His mind recalled the beams holding up the balcony at the inn. Less than an hour and darkness would be secured. He could climb to the balcony and rescue Therin, but was there time for that? Would the innkeeper have already rushed upstairs to kill him while he slept, knowing that Therin traveled with doublesight? He needed a clear head to make the right decision.

  Brok tapped his forehead and rubbed his hands along his sides. He thought of his father. Fremlin would find a way to do both, to save Therin and warn the council. Therin was his brother. He had to return, and there was no time to waste.

  Brok jogged on his toes and could feel the thylacine waiting to escape the human image. Prancing down the street like an animal searching for a way out of a maze, Brok made calculated turn after calculated turn until he saw the inn. He stopped and began to walk slowly. No one stood outside or in the alley so he hurried to the beam that angled upward, and wrapped his arms easily around it. In very little time, he placed a hand over the top of the balcony wall and heard Therin growl. He must have been sleeping. Brok whispered, “It's me,” and felt a wetness touch his fingers as Therin's tongue licked them. Just as Brok swung up, Therin jumped and placed his front paws onto the banister.

  “I'll carry you down,” Brok said.

  Therin jumped back to the floor and turned to go out the door.

  “You can't. They'll attack you down there.”

  Therin's head cocked.

  Brok heard someone outside the door. When it opened, Therin yipped and growled and the innkeeper fell backwards trying to get out of the thylacine's way.

  Therin dashed for the stairs and Brok heard all sorts of noise as people screamed and avoided the wild beast that was his brother.

  The innkeeper sat on the floor and looked directly at Brok. “He's on the balcony,” he said to someone behind him.

  Brok had never swung his leg over, so he just lowered himself back to the beam and slid toward ground. Just as he hit dirt, Therin burst out the front of the inn. Brok snapped his fingers to get his brother's attention, and they both ran down the alley and turned toward the stables. He hoped it would be safe to go there now. He needed a horse. The yelling rose in volume as people from the inn ran into the alleyway. Therin's ears perked up at the sound. They were already around the corner with Therin in the lead.

  Brok followed him around a second turn, then straight toward the stables. His brother stopped short of the door and sniffed. Brok sniffed the air as well, but could only smell the horses and the hay.

  The hair along Therin's back stood straight up. He leaped into the doorway and landed with his legs spread and crouched in a ready position for attack.

  A squeal rang out and a stable boy swung a poker toward Therin's head, catching him in the ear and knocking him to the side. The boy lifted the poker again. Before he could swing it, Therin leaped for his throat and tore it out. The boy fell backward. Therin stood on his body. A gurgling came from the boy as his body jerked and blood spit out of the opening in his neck. Blood fell from Therin's ear. He shook his head.

  “You all right?” Brok said to his brother.

  Therin lowered his head and ran over to nuzzle Brok's leg.

  Brok dashed to one of the stalls and opened the door. He threw a bridle over the horse's head, looked at the saddle lying across a log at the other end of the barn, and decided against it. Back to Therin, he asked, “Can you run?”

  Therin ran, but slowly, toward the front of the stable
.

  Brok gripped the hair at the horse's withers and swung his leg over its back. “You'll have to try. We have to warn The Few.” Brok rode the horse to the front of the stable beside Therin. The sun's glow had dimmed to an ember. A few minutes more and darkness would help hide them as they left the castle grounds. He had no idea how he'd make it through the gate he'd chosen to exit.

  Therin sniffed at the air and his ears twisted to listen for voices. He must have heard something by the alarmed look on his face and his sudden dash for the street.

  Brok followed even though he would have rather waited the extra minutes he thought would be helpful.

  Therin jogged in small bouncy steps toward the front gate. Several guards noticed them coming and began to yell. Therin didn't stop.

  Brok saw the men pull their swords, but Therin slipped under a cart that had been closed up for the evening.

  “Where'd he go?” One guard ran behind the row of carts that stood near the gate.

  Two other guards stepped forward to stop Brok. He rode up slowly.

  “Halt there. No one leaves the castle grounds after dark unless they have…” The man turned his head when he heard the other guard yell out that it wasn't a dog but a thylacine. Surprise and understanding gripped the guard's face as he began to reach for his sword.

  Brok slid his weapon from its sheath and came down on the man's head before the guard could lift his sword into the air. The other guard's sword had been drawn as well, so Brok slid off the opposite side of the horse.

  Therin growled and Brok heard him attack. Something in the growl worried Brok though. Therin wasn't well.

  From behind him, his attacker swung his sword at Brok's neck, yelling, “Doublesight!” as he did so.

  Brok blocked the attack and kicked at the guard's chest. The man fell backwards a few steps, long enough for Brok to crouch down and bring his sword up under the man's arm, nearly slicing it off. The man screamed in agony. Five more men ran from a nearby guard shack. They had not been ready for trouble and three were not fully dressed. But all five carried swords. Brok lifted the bolt from the gate and shoved, leading the horse through by its bridle.