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Skin Dancing
Some history:
Skin Dancing
That first day we walked quickly, putting as much distance
between Afial’s large, bad-tempered father and
ourselves as humanly possible. The sun shone brightly overhead for it
was a clear spring day, the sort of day that bards like me so enjoy. I
hummed as we walked. “Thank you Kyp! This is so
exciting.” Afial said, tossing her arms up in the
air as she spun around abruptly, stopping in front of me, her
face inches from mine. Her green cotton dress fluttered in front of me
like a cloud of songbirds. Her smell reminded me of green fields and
racing brooks. I pulled her towards me. “As it should be,” I gently reminded her. “After
all, not every girl gets to share the company of Kyp
the Kaller, the bard of bards. You should be
so happy.” She pursed her lips tightly together as if I had said
something inappropriate, but she did not disengage herself from my
arms. I considered carrying her into the bush for a few minutes
excitement, but the thought of her father following us convinced me to
release my hold of her. She kissed me and we continued walking again. “I am happy,” she said to herself. I did not comment
this time, busy as I was, working out the details of my latest
masterpiece. It was a love story, a tale of a warrior gone to fight
against the Empress who leaves his girl behind. He fights many glorious
battles, and finally returns many years later to find her married to
another. He kills both lovers and the song ends. I had a lot more
work to do on it, so I only half listened as Afial
rambled on about silly topics, things that shouldn’t worry pretty young
girls; she talked about the government, and her deep belief that the Church
of the Lady was indeed thoroughly corrupt (a notion I shared but didn't care
to discuss), and how she longed to see some of the great sights of the
Kingdoms. Even then I had the feeling we were being followed. The next day gloomy clouds covered the sky, souring my
mood, and making me snap at Afial irritably as we trudged
through the road's shallow mud. By midday, we were soaked and both of
us miserable, our clothing grew tight on our bodies and our boots were caked
with mud. That was when two men stepped out from the thick oak trees
that grew along the highway. That was when everything changed. They were foresters, tall and solid men, carrying all their
possessions on their backs. Upon spying Afial
and I, broad grins spread across their faces, which I took as happiness at
seeing a bard. “Good afternoon wanderers,” I said politely, not noticing
that Afial had stepped back a few steps. “Good day bard,” the man said, his eyes darting to my lute
for a moment and then snapping back on Afial.
“Is this your woman?” I shrugged and said, “Yes, her name is Afial.
We are traveling on to Hanlon’s Hope, I hope to find
some work there.” “We’d pay you well for the use of her.” The first man
said. Thinking of her annoying babble, I considered the idea, but
looking at her tightly drawn face I decided against it. Besides there
were still over two weeks of traveling left, and I rather liked having a
woman in my blankets at night. “No, I’m going to have decline.” The first man hit me across the face with the back of his
hand so powerfully that my nose broke and blood sprayed from my injury.
I abandoned any thought of going for my dagger as I covered my shattered nose
with my hand, falling to my knees. I heard Afial
shout and I looked up, just as she drew a long dagger from her belt.
She aggressively threatened the men with it. “Put the knife down girl.” The second forester
suggested. She didn’t, instead she lunged quickly and cut the man
across the upper arm. He cursed as she stepped back out of his
reach. A heavy boot connected with my stomach and face, and I doubled
over, as the first forester started shit-kicking me. Afial cried, “Leave him alone!” “If you put the knife down.” I shouted at Afial, telling her
to listen to them. I dreaded to think of what my bruised face might
look like, and the risk of damaging my hands in the altercation frightened
me. The man quit kicking, and I looked through blood-hazed eyes to see
that Afial had dropped the knife and lay on the
ground, her green dress lifted over her waist and torn from her chest.
I studied her fear as she watched me. A bellow of rage erupted from the forest, and a tall, thin
man burst through the woods, brandishing a thick club. He raced to
where Afial lay prone and clobbered her attacker
across the back of the head. The man went down with a heavy thud, and
the other forester swore and ran into the opposite woods. The rescuer
kicked his first victim from Afial and helped her
to her feet, while she modestly fixed her dress as best she could. I
looked him over as I rose to my wobbly feet. He dressed much as the forester’s had: with tunic,
trousers, and a thick cloak--maybe a bear’s hide. Deep blue eyes peered
from the massive tangle of beard that covered his face. He cast a
disapproving glance at me, as he extended a thick paw, which I took
hesitantly, the fox shaking with the bear. “Shaypard.”
He growled as he spoke. “Thank you, so much,” Afial
said, shivering like a tree in the wind. Doing the nice thing, I put my
arm around her, also thanking Shaypard. He
nodded. “It’s not safe for two young people traveling alone across
the Highway. You must have a good reason.” I took a deep breath and puffed out my chest, “I am Kyp the bard.” He gave me a blank look. “Kyp the Kaller?
You haven’t heard of me?” “No, but I have been in the woods for a very long
time. But being a bard doesn’t make you safe from bandits. Many
would ignore the infraction of assaulting a merryman
if given a chance to take a fair girl like yours.” “Yes,” I agreed, “those men certainly disregarded all
niceties when they attacked Afial and myself.
I could have had my fingers broken in that scuffle.” “Nah,” Shaypard said darkly,
“you would have had to fight back to risk that.” I nodded in agreement,
ignoring the sarcasm and the three of us began walking down the Highway to
the South, leaving the unconscious man behind. “So, where are you headed?” I asked. “Just past Hanlon’s Hope. My hometown, Goldspew. You’ve probably never heard of it.” I smiled. Having a strong companion like Shaypard would be great protection, and no doubt, this
strange man might have some interesting stories to tell. “Well,
we are traveling to Hanlon’s Hope, if you would like to travel with us that
far.” “We’d feel much safer,” Afial
added. He considered this, closing his eyes as if deeply
evaluating my suggestion. His eyes opened, and he smiled, nodding his
head. “Sure, it would be good to have some company on such a long
journey.” “Great,” I said enthusiastically, and we walked in a total
absence of silence for the rest of the day. I learned that he had
wandered for many years to find himself - a reason I could hardly sympathize
with, having always known who and what I am. He promised to tell me of
all the adventures he’d been in, during the days to come. We told him
of ourselves too, and he seemed happy to listen to our little stories; mine
about growing up under the masterful tutelage of Flindo,
the Master Bard; and Afial’s about growing up a
farm girl. For a reason unfathomable to me at the time, Shaypard seemed more interested in Afial’s
stories, than my own. Maybe, Shaypard had a little bit
of a fancy for my girl, I remember thinking. * * * Night came quickly, and we sheltered by the side of the road,
under an immense overhang of towering ash trees. After dinner, I opted
for the first watch, my throbbing nose bothering me too much for sleep to be
an option. I kissed Afial, and sat with my
back against a sturdy tree, watching the nightsun’s
subdued yellow orb float in the sky above me. The sounds of nocturnal
animals echoed through the nighttime forest, but I heard nothing
threatening. I began working on some of my music, scribbling in the
bright nightsun’s light upon a well-used piece of
parchment, covered with my inscriptions. My work took so much of my attention that I didn’t hear Shaypard until he sat beside me with a grunt. I’d
forgotten to wake him for his turn at watch. I looked at him and
nodded, putting my papers in my pack. “Figure it’s my turn to take the watch,” Shaypard’s eyes glowed cat-like and his gaze wavered to
my pack. “What were you doing?” I brushed my soft hair back from my eyes and smiled, “A
ballad. A beautiful ballad.” I briefly explained my song to
him. My anger rose when he laughed scornfully. “That’s foolishness. That’s not what love is
about. When you love a woman, you don’t want to kill her. You’d
do anything to keep her alive.” “On the contrary. My Tragic Hero does love his woman
greatly. So great is his love that he has to kill her. That’s
true love.” Shaypard shook his head.
“No, my bard friend. True love is when you would die for her.” “What a waste of life. What would be the point of
dying for *her*? Once you died, there would be no love anymore.” “You don’t think the dead can love?” Shaypard asked. “Of course not,” I said, but catching his angry gaze I
added, “I suppose the idea would make a good song, though. It’s not
typical of what Flindo would have played, but it
could be popular.” “Yes, a nice song,” Shaypard
murmured. “Are you in love with Afial?” “Of course,” I responded as quickly as I could. Shaypard smiled, “Really in
love? So much in love that nothing else matters to you?” I shook my head. “No, I suppose it’s not that
deep. We enjoy each other’s company. I was actually thinking
about parting ways with her once we arrived in Hanlon’s Hope.” I spoke
the last sentence quietly, in case Afial happened
to hear. Shaypard’s eyes darkened, as he asked,
“Even after she was willing to let the men have her, just to save you from
getting hurt? How can you not love her for that? She loves you
greatly; you can see it in her eyes. It would be cruel of you to just
toss her aside. Many men would die to cherish the love she holds for
you.” I shrugged. I’d been thinking a little about what
happened that afternoon, and I found Afial’s
sacrifice heartwarming, but I hadn’t really *thought* about it. Afial did love me, to her I was her one and only. I
wish I could reciprocate her feelings, but I couldn’t. I rose, bid good
night to Shaypard, and curled up beside Afial, feeling her warmth, wondering why Shaypard worried so much about Afial’s
feelings. I dreamed. In the dream, a sharp raspy song rang out and I
woke, watching Shaypard sit up also. The
music seemed more kin to a chant than a bard's sweet lyrics and I could not
understand the words. In my dream, I fell back into my covers and
waited for a while. When I looked up again, Shaypard's
bedroll was empty, and he was nowhere to be seen. Rising, I stoked up
the fire, and out of curiosity, I tried to locate the source of the
music. It was unlike any composition I’d played, or even heard before. As I moved through the wet forest, I could hear the source
of the music drifting closer to me, or I should say that I was getting closer
to the source. I entered a field. Large bushes grew all about, some as
high as my waist. It was like walking through one of the numerous wheat
fields on my father's land, in the days before he apprenticed me to Flindo. When I heard a noise coming towards me, I
instinctively ducked down, concealing myself. The nightsun hung behind the
figure, filling half the night sky with its size. This effect managed
to shadow the figure, concealing his features. Whoever he was, and I
must admit that even then I thought it was Shaypard,
he was tall and lanky. And he sang in my dream. From his mouth
came the jagged chant, a chorus repeated dozens of times in alternating tempos
and rhythms. And he danced in my dream. He would leap, stick one
leg out; fall and leap again, sticking the other leg out. It was all
very comical save for I felt an immense shiver of fear. He would follow his insane lyrics with a raspy ‘tic-tic’
laugh. Eventually two figures rose from the grass behind him. I
put my hand over my mouth for fear of gasping. They joined the figure
in his black dance. I could smell the foul stink of liquor, and
something else. Like the smell that clung to my mother's mother when
she lay dead in a stone-wrought coffin in our parlor-room. The dance
continued for a long time until finally it just stopped. I became doubly conscious of every move I made lest I
welcome their strange attentions towards me. The wind rustled the
bushes as the tall man advanced to the smaller of the two newcomers. I
realized now that these were the two foresters who’d attacked Afial and me. Shaypard hugged the forester in
a massive bear hug and I heard a gruesome cracking noise, like a chicken's
neck being broken, but much louder. There were several other cracking
noises and in the odd light, I saw dark rivers of blood spill out onto the
bushes. The man didn't scream, nor did his companion move as the
murderer tugged and pulled at the forester. I heard sounds I never
could describe in that odd dream, as the stranger peeled the flesh from the
forester. After a long moment the noises ended and the figure stood
there with the man's skin hanging limply in his arms. After undressing himself, he pulled the fresh skin over
his body, slipping his arms into the dead man's arm flaps. It was
gruesome, terrible, violent, and horrifying. Yet, I could not run from
there. I sat, transfixed, like a spectator watching a gruesome
gladiator bout -- the blood and the death mesmerized me. The other man screamed as if now aware of what had just
happened. He turned to run but a sharp voice filled the air: “Running...Little prey...I'm singing... Of another day” And then his voice dissolved into the foreign language
again, and the original song resumed full kilt. I realized that the air
not only smelled of whiskey, but also the fell fragrances of blood and waste. And then the figure looked straight at me. His eyes
were an off-orange color and I wet myself. For this skin wearing,
demon-singing jackal was staring me full in the face. It was Shaypard. I woke the next morning to the aroma of bacon and wild
turkey eggs as Shaypard cooked both of them on a
small fry pan. The dream seemed like some repressed memory, buried deep
in the back of my mind. But it was only a dream, I assured myself --
after all, I've always had an active imagination. Taking a quick moment
to make sure that Afial hadn’t woken, I rose to
change my trousers. * * * The days passed quickly, with no more dreams to plague
me. We traveled hard and fast, and as often as not we fell into a deep
slumber at the end of the day’s traveling. Each night I would take
first watch, and then speak with Shaypard a
little. Each day I would sing different songs, and watch with amusement
as Shaypard would dance, sometimes grabbing Afial and dancing with her until she giggled loudly. Something stranger even than the dream happened, as the
three of us traveled together. I began to look at Afial
a little differently; I saw how capable she was at simple things, such as
foraging for food or mending a torn trouser knee. She spoke practically
of many things too, and during mid-afternoon rest stops, she would practice
dagger sparring with Shaypard. During the
night, when we were not too tired, we would make mind-blowing, intense love,
as we became accustomed to each other and our bodies. I had never been
with the same woman more than a few times, and I started to like Afial considerably more. Shaypard noticed my growing
interest in Afial, and sometimes I would see him
looking at me, a broad smile plastered on his face. Hanlon’s Hope, my
original destination finally came close to us. Two more days and we
would be there, but I found myself not really wanting the journey to
end. I liked the quietness, the peacefulness, the bond the three of us
had forged. I wished we never took the side-trail to enter Hanlon’s
Hope. I wish we had stayed on the Empress’ Highway. But we
didn’t. * * * The rank smell, of course, had been noticeable for a few
days now. With weeks of traveling and infrequent washing behind us,
none of us smelled like roses, but this new smell was dreadful. I knew
it wasn’t Afial, and she said that I didn’t smell
quite that bad, so we determined that Shaypard was
the culprit. It wasn’t just a sweat smell. It was a rotting
smell, like the dead road-kill we came across, victims of the few
horse-carriages that rode on the Highway. Shaypard’s
face looked discolored and bruised, and he started to walk with a slight
limp. When I asked him about it, he simply shrugged it off as
age. When we entered Hanlon’s Hope, Shaypard
took his leave of us, while I played some of my music for a small crowd in
the Twisted Thorn; a pub connected to our rooming lodge. I played my
heart out for the pub patrons, intent on getting the attention of the
customers and the innkeeper. I wanted to live in Hanlon’s Hope for some
time and to do so I would require money. Good playing translated into
good money. If I could finish writing the Saga of the Tragic Hero soon,
I was certain that I would be guaranteed a stage to perform on. I finished playing a little early, so that Afial and I might spend some time together in our private
room. However, an older man came up to me, at the foot of the staircase
leading upwards into our rooms and asked: “You want to hear a story, bard?” Afial, her hand gripping my own,
shook her head, but the short, wrinkled old troll of a man caught my
eye. An eye-patch, scarred face and a rotting mouth all made him a
curiosity, whose purpose needed to be determined. Drunken breath washed
over me in waves of foulness, but mystery ignores all discomforts, so I led
him to a table, bought him a drink, and proceeded to listen to a remarkable
tale. “You ever hear of a Skindancer?
The man who dances in the moonlight, wearing the skin of the slain knight?” “No.” I said, fascinated by this old man. His
dull gray eye seemed like a cup of knowledge to me then. Afial protested. “Come on Kyp. I want to
spend some time alone with you,” she whispered into my ear. I shooed
her away, and leaned over the table, to hear the man’s words better. “The Skindancer wears the skin of
humans, but inside he is naught but a demon. He rips and shreds, tears
and clips. A mad tailor, he makes his garments with tooth and claw,
chisel and saw. With his newly made dress, he dances in the fields,
beneath the moon, jigging to his own ghastly tune. And like a shepherd,
with sheep, he gathers to him, those who weep. With a dress frayed, a
companion he has made. Then there are two Skindancers.”
Another drink bought, and I listened more deeply. I could already
imagine my Tragic Hero, becoming possessed by the Skindancer,
a companion to a greater monster. The Tragic Hero escapes his creator,
and rushes home to find his woman in the arms of another lover. A fight
will ensue, the lover dies, the woman cries -- for she is now a Skindancer too. I smile, thank the man and rise to
leave. For two copper, a story had been cheaply bought, and a ballad
ready to weave. “Be wary young bard. Not all stories are fantasy.” Afial, half-asleep during the
drunk’s recital, practically leapt out of her chair and lead me upstairs,
where she taught me a different sort of magic. * * * “Wakey, wakey!”
Shaypard bellowed, pulling me out of Afial’s warm slumbering embrace. “We have to get a
move on.” I protested, still asleep, and tried to find my comfortable
niche again, but Shaypard would have none of
it. He shook me awake. The moment my senses returned to me in earnest, I noticed
that Shaypard’s smell was gone. Good, I
thought. The man had needed a bath dreadfully. “What do you mean?” I asked, as I woke Afial. “I want you to come with me on a little side-trip. I
need the company.” “We just got here,” Afial
protested. “It’ll only take a day,” Shaypard
explained. “Remember me telling you that I grew up near here?
Well, I would like to go there -- to Goldspew.
It’s a good town. You could be back here by tomorrow evening.” Well, I thought, Shaypard had
been good company on the trip up here to Hanlon’s Hope, so we did owe him a
favor. I shrugged, and looked over to Afial.
She nodded her head. “Sure,” she said. “If it will only take a
day. I can’t handle too much more walking.” Shaypard smiled. After Afial and I dressed, we went downstairs. Half a
dozen town guards were busy talking to the innkeeper. Shaypard grabbed my arm and led Afial
and me down a back hallway and outside into an alley. “What are you doing?” I asked. Shaypard gave a broad
grin. “A gambling man I met, accused me of cheating him in a game of
cards. He must have called the bullies on me. It's not a big
deal.” “We don’t want to get in trouble over this. Kyp wants to play in this town, you know.” Afial said, in our defense. Shaypard’s
eyes darkened like storm clouds obscuring a clear, blue-sky day. “If we hurry, they won’t see you with me, and it won’t be
a problem.” We followed him down a series of small avenues, and along a
dirt path, that looked unused for decades, leading into the forest. I
exchanged nervous glances with Afial -- something
did not feel right. We would walk until nightfall without finding Goldspew. * * * “Let’s get out of here, Kyp.
He’s starting to annoy me. Who does he think he is that he can boss you
around? He’s acting, so weird.” Afial
whispered, as we watched Shaypard’s chest rise and
fall in sleep. I was past the point of arguing with her, because she
was correct. Something wasn’t right with Shaypard,
and I didn’t want to put my life or Afial’s in
danger. I murmured agreement, and we rose from our blankets. It
only took moments for the two of us to be on our way. The nightsun above us roared
with cool black light, making traveling through the forest much like dunking
one’s head in a bucket of molasses. The night stuck to us, no matter
which way we turned our heads, there was pitch-blackness all around.
About half an hour down the road, my heart started to settle. I
released some of the strength with which I gripped Afial’s
hand. “Thanks,” she whispered into the still night. “I
though you were going to break my fingers.” “Sorry,” I murmured. “I guess I was just a little
nervous.” “Me too.” “Uhm, Afial,”
I said. “Yes?” “I’m sorry.” We stopped on the road, and through the darkness, I could
see her emerald eyes sparkle. “Whatever for?” “The way I’ve treated you, the way I’ve been treating
you.” I couldn’t believe that there I was, apologizing to another human
being, but it was as if I didn’t have any choice. Something about Afial made me do it. Love. That four-letter
word always spells doom to the heroes of my stories. She stretched upwards and kissed me. Silence evaporated our words, and we walked the dark road
as mutes. The next time I would speak would be when I screamed. A
shifty, rambling form, with glowing blue eyes trotted out in front of
us. I gave my scream of terror, and Afial
withdrew her dagger. “Tsk. Tsk.
Such poor company.” Shaypard? Afial rushed at him, but he
easily knocked the knife from her clutch, and threw her aside. Seeing Afial swallowed up by the darkness angered me, and I
leapt at Shaypard myself. He hit me with his
fist, and I joined the swelling darkness of night. * * * This time, when I woke, thick ropes coiled around my
wrists and ankles; Afial was similarly restrained,
lying in a bundle beside me. The side of my head throbbed horribly as I
examined our surroundings. The building we sat in looked to be over a
hundred years old, with bright sunlight spilling in from a gaping hole in the
roof. Instead of windows, thick chunks of wood were hammered over the
openings in the walls. Insects scuttled over and around me. Afial sat across from me, her
eyes open. Her face was scratched, and her clothing torn. “Are you okay?” I asked. “He didn’t...” Afial gave me a reassuring
smile. “No, he didn’t. I guess I put up a bit of a fight though,
when he tried to tie me up. I don’t like rope, unless it’s special
occasion.” I returned her smile. “What do you think he wants
with us?” I asked. “I don’t know, he didn’t say anything while he tied me up,
other than that we were poor companions. I think he’s brought us to his
town though.” “Goldspew? How did he
manage that, with both of us, I mean?” “He carried me, and drug you. Not the most
comfortable way to travel, but at least I rested my legs.” Her humor obviously came from an attempt to ignore the
relative bleakness of our situation. “Where is he now?” She shrugged, “He said something about getting ready for
the big day.” There was a screech as copper hinges protested their
use. Shaypard stepped into the room. “It is the big day,” he said with a maniacal grin on his
face. “A very big day. Tonight, I will bring back an old
friend. And you will help me.” Shaypard
rummaged in the corner, and drew out a long shovel. “How? What do you want with us?” “Tonight, you will find out. A long road has taken
me back to this place. A very long one. I used to mine here, many
years ago. My wife and I lived in this very building, and we planned to
raise a family, on the secret gold vein I found in the hills. Others
heard of my prosperity, and were jealous. To make a long story short,
the other miners and I had an altercation. They were winning, so in anger,
I blew up the vein, and the whole side of the mountain crashed down, burying
my wife. “I left Goldspew, and wandered
for several weeks into the woods. My only wish was to die. My
jealous possession of gold had caused my wife’s death, and I regretted my
actions. I wanted to die. It’s been a long time, but now I’ve
come back, to ask my wife’s forgiveness.” “You can’t do that if she’s dead.” I said. Shaypard started towards the
door, but just before leaving, he fixed me with a silly grin. “But, so
am I. So am I. I’ll be back by nightfall. You’ll understand
then, what I mean.” Shaypard left, dragging
the shovel behind him. “We have to get out of here,” Afial
said. We both struggled with our ropes, twisting our wrists, trying to
squeeze out of the well-tied knots. I would’ve quit, given the degree
of expertise with which the rope had been tied, but the rope itself was not
of the same good quality as the knot. Years of exposure to bad weather
had slowly rotted the rope fibers. Still, it wasn’t until near dark that Afial
managed to free first one wrist, and then another. With her hands free,
she made short work of the ankle restraints, and then she hastened over to
help me. We spoke no words, but when I was free, she kissed me again. I winced as I opened the door, the squeal surely audible
for kilometers, but we raced through, onward and into the night again.
We made it as far as a crumbled courtyard, with headless statues, and debris
filled fountains before I heard the mad song of my dreams again. * * * The jagged, ragged, rough music poured from the lungs of Shaypard as he danced into the courtyard, carrying a
lumpish sack. Although the music filled me with intense loathing, I
could do nothing, for my limbs froze -- rooted to the spot where I
stood. Afial suffered the same as I. Shaypard approached us, singing in his loud voice. “How are you, my friends? I come to bring us a new
companion. Meet Zchul, my dearly departed,
and soon to be returned wife.” He took the sack, and dumped its
contents onto the shattered, cobble plaza. Bones scattered across the
ground, beneath the hideous light of the nightsun. “Pretty, isn’t she?” I stifled a moan, choosing instead to scream, “What do you
want!” Shaypard ignored me and walked
to Afial, now humming his twisted tune. Still
the power of it froze me to where I stood. He touched her cheek with a
hand. “Yes, dear. You will do fine. You will make a lovely
skin for my wife. Hard working and attractive, just like Zchul.” Skin? Skindancer.
The old man’s words came back to me, his tale of the Skindancer.
A warning, it'd been, not a drunken man’s story! “No,” Afial whispered
dryly. Shaypard removed a large skinning
knife from his belt. His humming intensified. “Watch boy!” He sang out loudly, “Watch your lady
die, just like in your simple ballads. Are you the Tragic Hero, dear
boy?” The blade cut into Afial’s cheek just
enough to puncture the skin. “No!” I cried, my voice rising above the Skindancer’s song. “Don’t do this to her; please I
beg you.” “And why not, Kyp the Kaller?” “Because.” I could not find any way to deny what I
felt. “I love her.” Shaypard laughed, breaking the
magic of the moment. Afial fell to the
ground, and Shaypard lunged at me, pinning me
against the bulk of a shattered fountainhead. “And how else would you
have me bring back my wife. I need a skin. Any skin will
do.” His breath stank foully, his mouth just centimeters from my
own. I could feel his spat saliva on my cheek. The words came to my mouth, from a part of me, that I
never knew existed. “Then take mine. Let Afial
live. Please.” “A choice! A choice, like the one denied me.
You seek to barter with the Skindancer who walks in
the moonlight, and hunts by the song! I love it. You are mine,
boy. Afial!” Afial looked up, shock on her
face, and a tiny line of blood on her cheek. “You live girl, for Kyp the Kaller loves you so. Remember it, remember his
songs, for they die tonight!” The knife began to cut me, and I screamed for ages.
The pain stopped only after Shaypard finished
removing my skin, my skinless body quivering and overcome by the pain.
The knife sliced through my neck with incredible speed. It was my last
feeling of being alive, and I still cherish that pain that I can no longer
feel. The song and dance began one more time. What more
can be said? Shaypard kept his word: he
didn't harm Afial. He did something worse
than killing me, however. He skinned me, but even the power of my pain
could not bring his long-dead wife back to life. In a gesture of
incredible anger and cruelty, Shaypard returned my
skin to me. Remember, back when Shaypard and
I wondered whether the dead could love? We do. ©1997 · Brent Knowles |