to the quivering heap that was all that remained of the old man and gestured. The smell of burning flesh filled the cold gray place and a high screaming noise filled Mathieu’s ears. He heard it in his head long after it had stopped in reality. The world was cold and gray; the only color came from Mathieu’s blood and the fire that consumed what was left of Damonn.
Mathieu turned his head and wept.
C hapter Twelve
Marcus woke early, as was his habit. Jenn had always been the slug-a-bed in their relationship, probably due to the differences in their upbringings.
After all, life on a farm was hard. You had to get up early and do your chores, even if you had been up all night studying Kabballah and Geomancy. Rich people didn’t have to milk cows at 4:30 AM.
He gently unwound himself from Jenn’s sleeping form, rubbed a hand through the stubble on his chin and with a silent sigh rolled himself out of the sleeping bag into the cold morning air.
Fully awake now, he quickly unzipped the tent flap and tumbled out into the pre-dawn. Jenn stirred behind him and flipped the edge of the sleeping bag over her face. He smiled and shook his head. She was exhausted and he’d let her sleep as long as possible, even if it wasn’t that much longer in the grand scheme of things.
Stumbling to the edge of the fire pit, he stirred up the coals and put a few pieces of wood on to reignite the fire. While coffee was normally a must in everyday life, at this temperature and altitude it was the nectar of the Gods and probably the only thing that could pry his wife out of those sleeping bags. Maybe. If he was lucky.
He assembled the pot that had been measured and filled the night before and put it on the adjacent camp stove to brew before looking out towards the edge of camp.
Mathieu was in the same place, but he’d gone to his knees sometime in the night and was staring at the ground. Marcus raised an eyebrow and then sighed and walked over despite his better instincts. When he drew closer, the grass under his feet crackled and broke with a sound crossed between dead leaves and broken glass. He hesitated at the sound but then moved closer, watching Mathieu minutely wince with the sound of every step.
In the early light Mathieu looked very young; nothing more than a kid, really. He hugged himself as he looked up at Marcus, eyes wide with despair.
“I can’t do this.” Mathieu’s voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”
Marcus squatted down and instinctively reached out to put a hand on Mathieu’s shoulder and was shocked when Mathieu recoiled violently.
“Don’t touch me. Oh God, don’t touch me.” Mathieu scooted away from Marcus on his knees and wrapped his arms around himself even tighter. The crystalline grass broke under him with a chiming racket. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“I know, I know,” Marcus soothed. “You’d never hurt anyone.”
“Never willingly,” Mathieu answered bitterly as he looked back to the peak where he’d hidden away. He focused sharply back on Marcus. “You’re going to make me stay, aren’t you?”
Marcus carefully weighed his answer. “I can’t make you stay. Only you can.”
“I know this.” Mathieu had seemed to regain some of his equilibrium. Marcus still couldn’t help thinking of him as lost kid, though. “I swore to help.” He sounded as if he was reminding himself of the only reason he had to keep going, the only reason to stay sane.
In the awkward silence between then, Marcus finally spoke. “Do you want some coffee? It’ll help warm you up.”
“Coffee?”
“Coffee.” Marcus said the word firmly. “Without it, everything in life turns into shit.”
“So that’s what I’ve been missing for the past eight hundred years?” Mathieu sighed. It seemed to Marcus that he was physically forcing all the small, shattered pieces of himself back together as he straightened up and then stood. “Why not? It can’t hurt, can it?”
Marcus shook his
Mathieu turned his head and wept.
C hapter Twelve
Marcus woke early, as was his habit. Jenn had always been the slug-a-bed in their relationship, probably due to the differences in their upbringings.
After all, life on a farm was hard. You had to get up early and do your chores, even if you had been up all night studying Kabballah and Geomancy. Rich people didn’t have to milk cows at 4:30 AM.
He gently unwound himself from Jenn’s sleeping form, rubbed a hand through the stubble on his chin and with a silent sigh rolled himself out of the sleeping bag into the cold morning air.
Fully awake now, he quickly unzipped the tent flap and tumbled out into the pre-dawn. Jenn stirred behind him and flipped the edge of the sleeping bag over her face. He smiled and shook his head. She was exhausted and he’d let her sleep as long as possible, even if it wasn’t that much longer in the grand scheme of things.
Stumbling to the edge of the fire pit, he stirred up the coals and put a few pieces of wood on to reignite the fire. While coffee was normally a must in everyday life, at this temperature and altitude it was the nectar of the Gods and probably the only thing that could pry his wife out of those sleeping bags. Maybe. If he was lucky.
He assembled the pot that had been measured and filled the night before and put it on the adjacent camp stove to brew before looking out towards the edge of camp.
Mathieu was in the same place, but he’d gone to his knees sometime in the night and was staring at the ground. Marcus raised an eyebrow and then sighed and walked over despite his better instincts. When he drew closer, the grass under his feet crackled and broke with a sound crossed between dead leaves and broken glass. He hesitated at the sound but then moved closer, watching Mathieu minutely wince with the sound of every step.
In the early light Mathieu looked very young; nothing more than a kid, really. He hugged himself as he looked up at Marcus, eyes wide with despair.
“I can’t do this.” Mathieu’s voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”
Marcus squatted down and instinctively reached out to put a hand on Mathieu’s shoulder and was shocked when Mathieu recoiled violently.
“Don’t touch me. Oh God, don’t touch me.” Mathieu scooted away from Marcus on his knees and wrapped his arms around himself even tighter. The crystalline grass broke under him with a chiming racket. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“I know, I know,” Marcus soothed. “You’d never hurt anyone.”
“Never willingly,” Mathieu answered bitterly as he looked back to the peak where he’d hidden away. He focused sharply back on Marcus. “You’re going to make me stay, aren’t you?”
Marcus carefully weighed his answer. “I can’t make you stay. Only you can.”
“I know this.” Mathieu had seemed to regain some of his equilibrium. Marcus still couldn’t help thinking of him as lost kid, though. “I swore to help.” He sounded as if he was reminding himself of the only reason he had to keep going, the only reason to stay sane.
In the awkward silence between then, Marcus finally spoke. “Do you want some coffee? It’ll help warm you up.”
“Coffee?”
“Coffee.” Marcus said the word firmly. “Without it, everything in life turns into shit.”
“So that’s what I’ve been missing for the past eight hundred years?” Mathieu sighed. It seemed to Marcus that he was physically forcing all the small, shattered pieces of himself back together as he straightened up and then stood. “Why not? It can’t hurt, can it?”
Marcus shook his
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