07-06-2021, 12:26 PM
GRAVITAS
Already he has grown weary of rebirth, but this is something else altogether.
Once, he had blinked and found himself changed.
Now he blinks and finds everything else changed.
He opens his eyes now and there are no traces left of his home, his sisters, though he himself has remained unchanged. This is not baptism by fire but something else entirely. He has not woken himself from a nightmare but backslid into one.
When the light finds him now, it brings with it a creature unlike anything he has ever seen before. A thing with a voice that speaks in a language he has never heard before. And it touches him, as if he belongs to it and diamonds ripple across his shoulder. A man. The man laughs in surprise, says something that Gravitas cannot understand.
(What the man says is this: “you’ll do fine, won’t you? Yes, you’ll do just fine, indeed.”)
It is when he opens his mouth to protest that he is finally shaken from the fog of his absolute, bone-deep confusion and notices for the first time the pressure on his face, the thing in his mouth. He is immediately seized by panic, rearing back his great head, red eyes rolling. But the man snatches at whatever it is that has him snared by the face, muttering something out of the side of what Gravitas assumes must be his mouth, touches his forehead, which is hard now with diamonds.
(“Settle, beast,” the man says in a soothing tone.)
And then another man emerges from the crowd, much the same as this one. Brothers, he thinks, they must be. They speak and Gravitas does not strain to understand them. Instead, he casts his wild gaze around at the other horses, each of them bound the same way he is, searching desperately for something familiar. But there is no one. Absent are his sisters, the fae, the Mother and the Father. Gone are any traces of Beqanna. He is alone, trembling in a way that makes the diamonds on his skin glisten. (How this delights the men! What a fine specimen he is!)
The thing the brothers do not know about Gravitas is that he is a coward. He has always been a coward. He had not killed the Mother when he’d had the chance. He does not know what these men want from him, but he suspects they will not find it here. Can they not see that the diamonds’ presence means that he cannot stifle his panic? If he could open his mouth he would tell them, he would make them understand.
(The brothers prepare to part. Castor lays a hand on Pollux’s shoulder, looks him in the eye and says, “be safe and swift out there, brother.” It is a meaningful look they exchange but the horse standing beside them is oblivious to the gravity of it. Pollux nods, swallows, but is unable to return the sentiment.)
And then Gravitas is left alone with Pollux, who turns back to the horse and says something quiet, unintelligible.
(There is no translation.)
He collects the reins and swings up into the saddle and Gravitas is not out of fight, it is simply that he does not know what he would do should he free himself from the man. There is nothing else for him here in this strange land, is there? He has no reason to trust the man, but he has no reason not to either. So, when Pollux gives the rein an experimental tug, Gravitas does his best to obey. When Pollux kicks him in the ribs, Gravits leaps forward, nostrils flared, eyes rolling. This is the only time they have for understanding one another before they are plunged into battle.
Battle?
That must be what this is, although it is unlike any battle Gravitas has ever known.
These creatures, men, they bleed just as the horses bleed. Bright red, feverish. Their pain is every bit as real, it makes them every bit as manic. They scream with it. Down there beside the sea, they fight and they bleed and the volume of it is unreal. (It is the volume that feeds his panic.) And they fight with weapons, not with their bodies and their teeth, which might have seemed strange if he’d had any time at all to stop and think about it. But Pollux alternates between kicking him wildly into motion and wrenching desperately at his mouth, yelling, unhinged, and brandishing his own weapon.
Gravitas cannot tell the enemy from ally here by the sea. He cannot hear himself think. He balks and spooks, allowing Pollux to direct him because he is not built for this. He is not meant for this specific form of fighting, this vicious kind of battle. His eyes roll madly as men and horses alike fall around him, felled by swords, bleeding into the sea. But he does not mourn them, they are not like him.
And then Pollux pulls him up short and he stands, trembling on the beach. Still, hundreds of horses and men fight there on the beach. Pollux shouts to someone nearby and Gravitas watches as the man from earlier turns his head sharply in their direction.
(“Brother!” Pollux shouts and Castor looks, recognizing his brother’s voice over the din of battle. “A band of fighters has broken off and disappeared over that ridge!” Pollux points up over a nearby cliff face. “We have to catch them before they can call upon more fighters!” Castor immediately kicks his mount into action and the two brothers gallop down the beach and up the ridge alone.)
Gravitas is breathing heavily, dripping sweat by the time they reach the top of the ridge. His vision strobes at the edges as Pollux eases him down into a trot. He recognizes the brother’s expression as confusion when he glances over his shoulder and sees that they have slowed.
(“Brother?” Castor calls back but Pollux does not reply. Castor pulls up his mount and circles back. “Is your horse all right?” he asks. Pollux shakes his head, still doesn’t speak, just stops his horses and draws out his sword. He examines the blade thoughtfully.
Castor’s confusion slowly begins to dissolve around realization. There was never any rogue band of fighters.
“Pollux…”
But Pollux does not look up from his blade. Several long seconds pass before he begins to speak.
“All I have ever wanted was for mother and father to be proud of me. Me, the eldest son,” he pauses then and shakes his head, “but they have only ever had eyes for you. Castor, the golden boy. Castor, who could do no wrong.” The bitterness in his voice pools in the air between them. “Castor, who took everything from me.”
Castor tries to object but Pollux does not give him the opportunity.)
It is because Gravitas is a coward that he does not resist when Pollux urges him forward. It is because he does not understand their language that he leaps into motion when Pollux kicks him swiftly in the ribs. But he leaps sideways when the blade sinks into the brother’s chest and his face collapses around grief and then horror and then nothing at all. His mouth opens like he might say something but no sound comes out as he slumps forward and then sideways and his own mount skitters out of the way, pauses, and then, realizing its sudden freedom, turns and gallops off. Gravitas longs to follow it, his own heart pounding frantically in his temples.
(“Give my regards to the Gods, brother,” Pollux says, sheaths his blade, and then steers his horse back toward the battle still raging on the beach.)
He resists now, as Pollux kicks him back toward the fighting. He tosses his head, chewing savagely at the bit, bucking as they race down the beach.
He no longer trusts the man on his back, understanding exactly what he has done.
Once, he had blinked and found himself changed.
Now he blinks and finds everything else changed.
He opens his eyes now and there are no traces left of his home, his sisters, though he himself has remained unchanged. This is not baptism by fire but something else entirely. He has not woken himself from a nightmare but backslid into one.
When the light finds him now, it brings with it a creature unlike anything he has ever seen before. A thing with a voice that speaks in a language he has never heard before. And it touches him, as if he belongs to it and diamonds ripple across his shoulder. A man. The man laughs in surprise, says something that Gravitas cannot understand.
(What the man says is this: “you’ll do fine, won’t you? Yes, you’ll do just fine, indeed.”)
It is when he opens his mouth to protest that he is finally shaken from the fog of his absolute, bone-deep confusion and notices for the first time the pressure on his face, the thing in his mouth. He is immediately seized by panic, rearing back his great head, red eyes rolling. But the man snatches at whatever it is that has him snared by the face, muttering something out of the side of what Gravitas assumes must be his mouth, touches his forehead, which is hard now with diamonds.
(“Settle, beast,” the man says in a soothing tone.)
And then another man emerges from the crowd, much the same as this one. Brothers, he thinks, they must be. They speak and Gravitas does not strain to understand them. Instead, he casts his wild gaze around at the other horses, each of them bound the same way he is, searching desperately for something familiar. But there is no one. Absent are his sisters, the fae, the Mother and the Father. Gone are any traces of Beqanna. He is alone, trembling in a way that makes the diamonds on his skin glisten. (How this delights the men! What a fine specimen he is!)
The thing the brothers do not know about Gravitas is that he is a coward. He has always been a coward. He had not killed the Mother when he’d had the chance. He does not know what these men want from him, but he suspects they will not find it here. Can they not see that the diamonds’ presence means that he cannot stifle his panic? If he could open his mouth he would tell them, he would make them understand.
(The brothers prepare to part. Castor lays a hand on Pollux’s shoulder, looks him in the eye and says, “be safe and swift out there, brother.” It is a meaningful look they exchange but the horse standing beside them is oblivious to the gravity of it. Pollux nods, swallows, but is unable to return the sentiment.)
And then Gravitas is left alone with Pollux, who turns back to the horse and says something quiet, unintelligible.
(There is no translation.)
He collects the reins and swings up into the saddle and Gravitas is not out of fight, it is simply that he does not know what he would do should he free himself from the man. There is nothing else for him here in this strange land, is there? He has no reason to trust the man, but he has no reason not to either. So, when Pollux gives the rein an experimental tug, Gravitas does his best to obey. When Pollux kicks him in the ribs, Gravits leaps forward, nostrils flared, eyes rolling. This is the only time they have for understanding one another before they are plunged into battle.
Battle?
That must be what this is, although it is unlike any battle Gravitas has ever known.
These creatures, men, they bleed just as the horses bleed. Bright red, feverish. Their pain is every bit as real, it makes them every bit as manic. They scream with it. Down there beside the sea, they fight and they bleed and the volume of it is unreal. (It is the volume that feeds his panic.) And they fight with weapons, not with their bodies and their teeth, which might have seemed strange if he’d had any time at all to stop and think about it. But Pollux alternates between kicking him wildly into motion and wrenching desperately at his mouth, yelling, unhinged, and brandishing his own weapon.
Gravitas cannot tell the enemy from ally here by the sea. He cannot hear himself think. He balks and spooks, allowing Pollux to direct him because he is not built for this. He is not meant for this specific form of fighting, this vicious kind of battle. His eyes roll madly as men and horses alike fall around him, felled by swords, bleeding into the sea. But he does not mourn them, they are not like him.
And then Pollux pulls him up short and he stands, trembling on the beach. Still, hundreds of horses and men fight there on the beach. Pollux shouts to someone nearby and Gravitas watches as the man from earlier turns his head sharply in their direction.
(“Brother!” Pollux shouts and Castor looks, recognizing his brother’s voice over the din of battle. “A band of fighters has broken off and disappeared over that ridge!” Pollux points up over a nearby cliff face. “We have to catch them before they can call upon more fighters!” Castor immediately kicks his mount into action and the two brothers gallop down the beach and up the ridge alone.)
Gravitas is breathing heavily, dripping sweat by the time they reach the top of the ridge. His vision strobes at the edges as Pollux eases him down into a trot. He recognizes the brother’s expression as confusion when he glances over his shoulder and sees that they have slowed.
(“Brother?” Castor calls back but Pollux does not reply. Castor pulls up his mount and circles back. “Is your horse all right?” he asks. Pollux shakes his head, still doesn’t speak, just stops his horses and draws out his sword. He examines the blade thoughtfully.
Castor’s confusion slowly begins to dissolve around realization. There was never any rogue band of fighters.
“Pollux…”
But Pollux does not look up from his blade. Several long seconds pass before he begins to speak.
“All I have ever wanted was for mother and father to be proud of me. Me, the eldest son,” he pauses then and shakes his head, “but they have only ever had eyes for you. Castor, the golden boy. Castor, who could do no wrong.” The bitterness in his voice pools in the air between them. “Castor, who took everything from me.”
Castor tries to object but Pollux does not give him the opportunity.)
It is because Gravitas is a coward that he does not resist when Pollux urges him forward. It is because he does not understand their language that he leaps into motion when Pollux kicks him swiftly in the ribs. But he leaps sideways when the blade sinks into the brother’s chest and his face collapses around grief and then horror and then nothing at all. His mouth opens like he might say something but no sound comes out as he slumps forward and then sideways and his own mount skitters out of the way, pauses, and then, realizing its sudden freedom, turns and gallops off. Gravitas longs to follow it, his own heart pounding frantically in his temples.
(“Give my regards to the Gods, brother,” Pollux says, sheaths his blade, and then steers his horse back toward the battle still raging on the beach.)
He resists now, as Pollux kicks him back toward the fighting. He tosses his head, chewing savagely at the bit, bucking as they race down the beach.
He no longer trusts the man on his back, understanding exactly what he has done.
