Death, Honor, & Morals

[kevna]

The early morning before his interaction with Joia at the herdbeast pen:

Tak’ril - Bronze Agureyth

He tossed and turned, falling deeper into the nightmare, the mind connection between the weyrling and the young dragonet pulsing with emotion. Anger, grief, hate, love, all washed through and between the two bridged beings. While one got sucked deeper into the dream, the other came closer to awareness, and a watchfulness seeped into that awareness.

----

Warm salty air nudged him on, off the boat, towards the small rundown cothold. His home when he wasn’t on a ship. Though the summer wind prodded him on, his feet dragged. Nothing was the same at home. Not since Taselin had gotten married to Boregar, the filth of a man. A filth of a family really. Boregar was son to Garnent, the wealthiest fisherman at Tidewalk. Probably because he and his family resorted to pirating rather than focusing on fishing and feeding Tidewalk folk. Garnent’s focused only on themselves.

Taksuril grimaced, just thinking of the Garnent family made him angry. They had no honor. None. A picture of Taselin from two months before popped in his mind. A black eye and purple fingerprints along her jaw and sent him into a frenzy. She had tried to calm him with the fact that they were trying to have children, and she hadn’t yet given him a child. His anger made sense to her. It made sense to her??? Clenching his fists he paused before his shabby looking home, taking deep calming breaths. He had left Taselin for an unexpected fishing expedition as she had practically begged him to understand. But he couldn’t. It just wasn’t right. No man should ever treat a woman that way, no matter the reason.

Now, standing before the door, knowing she would have heard the news of his ship coming into port, he prepared to face her. To see the new markings Boregar had placed upon her… To hear her excuses. He took a steadying breath and opened the door to the entry and dining room. No one was there to meet him. Maybe the women were hard at work in the kitchen? He brushed off his pants and shook off his boots before moving through the small room. He heard the sobbing before he pushed the swinging wooden slab of a door open.

First he saw his mother in the arms of his father, being held from behind, not just to comfort, but to restrain. Her face was swollen with tears.. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her cry. She was normally such a tough-

His hazel eyes saw her next, lying on the kitchen table, her whole body, excluding her face, covered in blanket folds. Taksuril felt his blood turn to ice, sounds muting, vision of all other things blurring away. The tall young man only saw her. He didn’t know how long he stood there before someone noticed him, felt arms enfolding him, felt someone move him to sit next to the cold dead body of Taselin. He knew nothing but her lifeless body before him. He sat there for hours, or had it been days? He held her hand in his, and slowly, so slowly, raised his hand to close her shocked, sparkless eyes.

No tears fell, no thoughts flooded his mind, he just existed to look at her. His once tan sister was pale. His once unusually warm Taselin was cold. Everything else seemed normal about her, her lustrous hair, and perfect face… With the small exception of the dried blood on her temple, and the strange, unnatural, angle of her neck, she was the same precious sister and best friend.

He wasn’t sure how long before he came to, or what caused him to bounce out of the shock that had overtaken his body. But he felt hot. Uncontrollably hot. Like fire burned his skin, and dried his mouth and eyes. Like a man dying of thirst. He stood, he heard sounds, and knew they probably were words, but didn’t bother to discern them. Taksuril turned wordlessly from the cold body and walked out. Hurried footsteps and panicked voices followed him. They followed him to the front door, then out into the street. They followed him through the rundown streets of Tidewalk, and then over a small bridge towards the richer community. They followed him into the tavern where he knew Boregar would be.

Suddenly raucous noises were everywhere, and the footsteps and voices that had followed him so far blended with all the others. Just the everyday drawls of the drunk and the shouts of angry filled the larger Tavern. But soon it changed as men caught sight of the young man in the door, and shouts turned to murmurs, and drawls to whispers. Something about the tall, silent young man at the tavern door brought a foreboding feeling throughout the room. The whole room, that is, except one table.

There sat Boregar, slurring through his words and laughing with two of his brothers. Taksuril heard there jeers and congratulations at getting rid of his ‘problem.’ At getting rid of the useless barren wife. Muscles clenched, and Taksuril gripped his gutting knife at his belt, taking a step forward. Men stood, chairs screeched, and it seemed to finally catch Boregar’s drunken attention.

“Oh ho, Taksuril! I had heard you made it home today! Did you get to say hello to Tasy?” His voice was jubilant, and the twinkle in his eye made him want to strangle the life out of the slime. The tall silent man took another step, half drawing out the knife. A strong hand grappled at his arm and stopped his forward momentum. Taksuril didn’t bother to look and see his little brother there, he knew the calloused, scarred hands. “She wouldn’t want thi-” Roleran whispered desperately, but was cut off by the anger that was overpowering the much taller brother, “Taselin would have wanted to live.” His searing gaze focused on his target.

“And you killed her, Boregar. You murdered her with those slimy, disgusting hands.”

The wealthy older man looked at the two brothers, the humorous twinkle in his brown gaze never wavering. “So what if I did? Tasy was a fruitless herdbeast that had to be put down. And who’s to punish me? Who would dare? No one, not for a barren, poor, fisherman’s daughter.” A low chuckle emitted from the heartless criminal, and his two brothers had taken menacing stance on either side of him. A soundless challenge.

Taksuril bared his teeth, breathing out a growl. “She loved you, you worthless wherry-faced threadspore.” He spat on the wooden floor towards Boregar’s expensive looking leather shoes. The insult hit home, and Boregar took a threatening step forward.

“How dare you speak to me that way. You are just a deadglow fisherman’s son, I am practically a prince. You should be thanking me for ridding this land of your herdbeast of a sister, and begging for forgiveness.”

Boregar’s nostrils flared, his face red with anger as he looked up to meet Taksuril’s eyes. Again Taksuril made movement to attack, and again Roleran firmly denied him the satisfaction of having Boregar’s blood on the tavern floor. “He is not worth it.”

Logically, he knew his younger brother was right, but his bloodlust was more powerful, his hate more seductive than logic. “But he is, don’t you see? Someone has to stop him, and it’s going to be me.” He turned his bold gaze towards the smaller, younger boy, and then back to Boregar. “I challenge you, Boregar, to a duel to the death. If I kill you, you are guilty, and If I die, you are absolved.”

The murmurs of the men surrounding the stand off grew louder, excited, boisterous. Boregar’s anger faltered, his eyes widening and flitting to and fro. He wouldn't dare say no, but the silence seemed unending. Taksuril could hear his mother sobbing, and his father dragging her out of the tavern. A tavern was no place for a woman. Roleran’s hand on his arm tightened, he felt a few men pat him on the back.

“Well aren’t you hidebound… Fine welp, tomorrow, first light, at the docks.” Boregar kept his voice cool, his pose confident. Taksuril didn’t bother to reply, just turned and left. He spent the night sitting by the cold lifeless body on the kitchen table, sightless and deaf to the anger, fear, and love that his family threw at him. He just held her hand.

When dawn hinted at first light, he went, emotionless to the docks. It wasn’t hard to spot Boregar, surrounded as he was by the mob of Garnent family members and friends. Taksuril didn’t say anything, but he did turn to his mother before approaching the older man. He kissed her cheek, and stroked the wet cheek. “Do-don’t you die young man. I can’t lose another child this sevenday.”

A hint of grief warmed him, and he nodded, and then approached the shorter waiting man. Taksuril pulled out his gutting knife, it’s curve gleaming as the first light of the sun kissed it, and repositioned it to mimic the older man’s dagger position. “Ready to join your sister, Taksuril?” The taunt was low, and Boregar bounced from one foot to the other, his legs bent in a seemingly experienced crouch, a long bladed dagger in his hands. Again he felt the same heat he had the night before rush through him, and he stiffly bent his knees.

Boregar gave him a snide smile, and then Taksuril was in motion. His long legs drove him forward and he swiped his knife through the air with as much power as he could muster. The smaller man easily evaded him, dancing to the side, his dagger flying effortlessly. Pain in the younger man’s left arm registered barely, and the grieving man recovered from his clumsy stagger and turned to meet Boregar as he made an advance on him. His turn saved his life, as the older man menacingly stabbed right where Taksuril had been.

The tall eighteen year-old swiped again, but again was easily evaded, and again felt the sharp cold sting of dagger on his left side. It was a small wound, or the adrenaline kept him from the truth of any serious nature from the cut. But Taksuril was learning, Boregar never swiped, he jabbed and danced. The heat of anger and grief was overwhelming though, and he was having a hard time refraining from swiping again at the bouncing criminal. He just wanted to slam him to the ground.

Finally, after much circling, Boregar attacked, jabbing forward with speed and strength from years of training fighting techniques as a pirate. Taksuril stumbled back at the sudden movement, and in his hurry felt his heel clip a rock. It left him in a backwards tumble. With a survivor's instinct, Taksuril tried to twist his torso to roll, and as he did so he felt once again the bite of dagger on flesh. It stopped his roll, in fact, he realized numbly, he had twisted right into the stab. He lay on his back, struggling to breath, Boregar’s stank breath in his face as the man jeered openly.

“Did you really think you could beat me? Survive me? Look at you, pathetic really.” The murderer’s voice was loud, for all to hear, and the sneering face screwed up in more anger as he pushed the long dagger farther into his right chest. Taksuril could feel the dagger come out his back, biting into the ground, and he shuddered at the excruciating pain that followed, a shout escaping his numb lips. Sobbing could be hear at the back of the crowd. He was going to die.

I will be with Taselin. He found the thought somewhat comforting.

“Did you know Tasy begged for her life before I threw her down the stairs? Begged for another chance to be a better wife, to better please me? You can beg, if you wish Taksuril. That, now that would please me.” The smug voice broke through Taksuril’s reverie, and the heat turned to ice in his blood. His left hand shot up, creating a fist that slammed into the neck of the jeering man. The criminal’s smile instantly vanished into shock and fear as he struggled unsuccessfully to breathe.

With the older man off balance, Taksuril leaned into the dagger’s bite, wrapping his arm around the neck of the murderer and drawing him closer to his body. With power that belied the blood pooled around him, he twisted, landing on top of Boregar. His right arm was limp, unheeding the command to finish this, so his left hand snatched the gutting knife, and with a swoop, he did what he was best at. He gutted the man’s bowels with a vicious clean swipe.

“I. Do. Not. Beg.” Why was it so hard to breathe? He felt like he struggled as the man under him did, but his throat had not collapsed, had it? He watched the life slowly leeching out of the threadspore of a man, and Taksuril whispered harshly, “You will never be pleased again-an-and you will-” He took gasping breaths, “You can never hurt another woman again.”

Boregar was staring up at him, unmoving. Dead, he’s dead. The thought swam through his mind with relief, and he staggered up, finding it harder and harder to breathe. He didn’t notice the turmoil that was occurring between Garnent’s men and those who sided against them. But his eyes locked on his mother, who was rushing towards him, Roleran right behind her. Their hands outreached towards him.

He looked down at himself, dazed, blood gushing out of him. His arms, legs, abdomen. There was blood everywhere. He started brushing himself off, blackness clouding the edges of his eyes, and he brushed and brushed fruiltlessly. More blood appeared, no matter what he did. Blood everywhe-

----

Mine! Wake up mine, wake up.

Tak’ril woke with a start, sitting up in a panic, his left hand gripping his right side, his right hand limp. Pain, anger, grief, hate, remorse, they all pulsed through him stronger than ever. As if-as if Taselin had just died, and he had just killed Boregar. His panic caused him to throw the blanket off him, grappling his abdomen and chest, searching for the blood, but there-there really was nothing.

He looked up to meet pulsing orange and red eyes. Mine, I will kill him again for you. I will rip his throat out and kill all of them for you. Tak’ril felt the waves of anger, hate, thirst for blood hitting him one after the other, and he felt vomit threaten him at the overwhelming emotions that choked him. He gripped the blankets around him, his chest heaving, as he tried to separate his feelings from his bonded as the little bronze went on in his heated manner.

“Agureyth, hush, let me think please.” He took even breaths, and his dragon hushed in his psychic speech, but the eyes and the torrent of emotions repudiated any sense of calm. He started building the wall, and moment after moment was able to reclaim which emotions were his, and was able to find calm at his center again. He felt shaken, shame and grief warring for his attention.

"You, no, no we cannot and will not kill. It is wrong."

Wrong? But it felt right... He deserved to die. Agureyth growled... He knew Agureyth was voicing the thoughts he had many times used to justify what he had done. He had done it honorably because it was a duel, he had been right, it had felt right, all these thoughts had been the first response, but in the end, he had gone to the root of the excuses. Tak'ril knew he had been wrong. Killing was never okay. His bonded needed to know and understand that. 

"He was a bad man, but no one deserves to die. No man should have the power to choose who should live and who should die. We must be forgiving, and kind..." 

But you were not forgiving, and you killed a man. I don't understand mine...

"I-I was wrong. I was angry and acted rashly."

You cannot be wrong mine... The confidence in the statement made Tak'ril hurt. Oh yes he could. And he had been. The nightmares were a clear sign of this. 

"Yes I can be, Agureyth. I have always known that killing was wrong. Now you must know that it is wrong, do you understand me? We don't kill."

But I eat meat, we kill beasts for meat, right?

"Uh yes, but herdbeasts aren't humans."

But humans have meat too. They have guts like what I eat. His dragon wasn't trying to be annoying, he could tell. The curiosity was genuine. His dragon was the epitome of naivete, and it was humbling. His bronze was like a baby. He felt overwhelming fatigue rush over him, he rubbed his face, and then rubbed his bare shoulder, feeling the phantom pain. He was so tired. He needed a good nights sleep to really get into this conversation.

"Well, yes. All living things have meat," at least he thought they did, "even dragons hav-"

What?? No I don't I am a dragon. I am not food. 

"Well you thought I was food." Tak'ril felt indignant, and he furrowed his brow at his bonded. 

Yes, but I have sharp teeth and claws, and you and herdbeasts don't.

Takril rolled his eyes and flopped back to lying position, groaning out loud. "I am to tired for this conversation."

Does that mean I am right? Because I am right about that.

"Well, herdbeasts are very different from humans, and you wouldn't eat me would you?"

It was Agureyth's turn to be indignant, No of course not, you are Mine, and mine I would never eat. But I might eat someone like that person that killed Taselin. 

"But don't you understand? He is human too. Like me, that's why it's so important that we not kill. Because he is like me."

He is nothing like mine. You are good.

"But in that moment I wasn't. I was just like him, I took a life like he took Taselin's life, and yes yes it is slightly different, but the root of it is no man or woman should have that power over anyone. Not even me."

But if it is okay to kill a herdbeast, I still don't understand why it's not okay to kill a human threadspore. What is a threadspore anyway?

Tak'ril placed a blanket over his head. He was so tired, and raw. Every nerve was raw from all the emotions that Agureyth had multiplied tenfold. He was so tired. 

"Can I show you later the difference? I'll show you how stupid they are compared to humans. Their difference will be apparent."

Show me? 

Yes, I'll take you to the herdbeasts pen, and you will see, I promise.

He was so tired, and he felt his eyes getting heavier. Yes, an adventure. I would like that mine. Very much. 

Good.

His eyes closed and everything was black.