Kinslayer

[ysabara]

Just a short excerpt from something I am working on...very slowly.


The next time the King called for him, Blackbird was singing again and he was able to keep his body in check. It annoyed the King. “You’re a stubborn little bastard, aren’t you?” he said to him one night, when he had asked again for the King to grant his father’s request. “Show me that you find my company…….pleasant and perhaps I’ll do what your father wants me to. I begin to tire of your attitude. Perhaps a word with your father would sweeten your disposition.”
That was the second time he cried, after his father had returned from speaking with the King, his face dark with anger. He hadn’t cried when his father hit him, knocking him to the floor, almost spitting with fury. It was only after he had begged his father to let him stop. To finish this small thing, this little thing that seemed to have grown so large it encompassed his entire life. He had cried then, nursing his bruised face in his hands. Cried because he realised that it didn’t matter what he did, the look in his father’s eyes would never be one of pride or of love.
That night he was called again to the King’s room. The King had been drinking heavily, his eyes unfocussed, his gait unsteady. When he saw the marks of his father’s beating the King had stroked his face, but there was no pity in his eyes. He pushed him to the bed, fumbling with his clothes. Blackbird hummed softly. The King grunted, thrusting against him and Blackbird’s song deepened. Cursing the King rolled away. A few minutes later he was asleep, snoring noisily. He had risen from the bed and walked over to the sword. Blackbird’s song scraped inside his skull, like some tiny clawed animal. He reached up and Blackbird leapt into his hand. The sword, which had seemed so large when hanging on the wall, now measured itself to his grip, as though made for him.
With the sword’s music in his head and the sword’s hilt cold in his hand he ended this small thing, this little thing. He killed the King with one quick thrust to the heart Blood flowed across the sword, disappearing into the black blade.
He had to kill the guard outside the King’s door. He hadn’t wanted to but Blackbird insisted, its music throbbing discordantly. Then he had let the sword lead him back to where his family slept. With the sword directing him he moved through the rooms, leaving death behind him. He was clinical in his dispatch. No bloody hacking or rending. Blackbird slipped in and out of the bodies like a silken thread through the finest cloth. His father and stepmother died as they slept. He had no wish to look into his father’s eyes again. His brother had woken and crawled across his bed, screeching in terror. A more messy death that one, with his brother grabbing at the blade, trying to push the sword away, cutting his hands to the bone. In the end Blackbird slid into his belly and he died, but more slowly than the others.
Finally he stood, the sword trembling in his grip. Blackbird still hummed, a sharp angry buzz that made his ears ring. A scuffling sound came from one of the rooms, a stifled cry. A child’s laugh. Pushing open the door he entered the room. His sister stood in her crib, smiling at him. Her nursemaid crouched in a corner mewling with fear but Blackbird didn’t care about her. The child extended her arms toward him wanting to be picked up. He smiled back at her. Blackbird sang and the hilt bit at his palm but he ignored its sting. He let the blade fall from his hand and walked to the crib. He touched his sister’s fair head gently, wrapping a blonde curl around his fingers and she laughed again. Then placing his hands around her throat he wrenched her head savagely to one side, breaking her neck…


“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t….. That’s not what happened.” Darrien Santorro flung himself abruptly into wakefulness. He was trembling, as much from cold as from the after effects of the dream. Beside him, his bedmate for the night sat up amidst the mounds of bedclothes mumbling sleepily.
“Wassa matter?”
Grey dawn light filtered into the room through the window above the bed. He gazed at the woman beside him with distaste. What had seemed fresh and rosy last night looked stale and frowsy this morning. No wonder he was cold. She had pulled all the coverings over her, leaving him with only a sheet. Leaning over he grasped the blankets and yanked them back onto his side of the bed. “Get out,” he said flatly, turning his back on her. Thankfully she did, muttering something at him under her breath. He thought it translated to Northern ******** but his knowledge of some of the Southern dialects was shaky. Once she had slammed the door behind her he rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and forcing memory to heel. This is what happened…


The child extended her arms toward him wanting to be picked up. He smiled back at her. Blackbird sang and the hilt bit at his palm but he ignored its sting. He let the blade fall from his hand and walked to the crib. He touched his sister’s fair head gently, wrapping a blonde curl around his fingers and she laughed again. With his other hand he touched her face, leaving a streak of blood on her round dimpled cheek. Then he had bent and picked up Blackbird and turned away, leaving her laughing and cooing behind him.
Hours later he had dismounted from the horse he had stolen from the stables. He had ridden hard and fast and the animal was lathered with sweat, blowing fiercely. He let the reins drop and knelt by the side of the road, drawing the sword from the scabbard that was slung across his back.
Blackbird was gone. The sword was his now, his to name and so he did, running his fingers along the blade. The steel pulsed against his hand like black desire.
"Kinslayer."

[svalbard]

Hi ysabara.

Great to see some more of your material on the boards. Some nice touches here especially when you switch from the character dreaming to waking up and then back again to his memories. I am unsure here. Did he kill his sister? or is he forcing himself to re-imagine his past?

The whole excerpt is extremely dark and I was hooked immediately. It felt strange reading it without your normal and uniquely humorous style. Is this part of a larger project? I hope it is.

[Pravuil]

Yeah, this was enjoyable in a melancholy way. Nice read, but there is a major issue with this scene as a whole. Even if the majority of this excerpt takes place in a dream, it was too fast paced. You should try drawing this out and milk it for all it's worth, I am sure the end product would be so much more admirable with just that much more gloss and polish while still retaining the undertones of cholor.

[timelord4]

A great read, D.

Dark materials? I'd like to know why the son behaved as he did and where he went? What happened to the sister and how many years later did his dream/memoir take place? But then again, I guess I'll never know and have to go figure myself, right? LOL.

LUDMD!