Tales after Dusk 02

The wind roars through the barren trees, the cold as sharp as an executioner's ax. Though she cannot feel her fingers, Mother clutches her threadbare cloak tighter to her boney body. Sinking lower to the horse below her, she tries to leech warmth from the poor beast as his ice matted legs break through the thick fallen snow. Neither of them has much strength nor will left to continue, both merely relying on their primal instinct to stay alive. It has almost been a week past since Mother set out from home in her desperate search for a cure, after discovering her youngest son sick in bed with the Fever. Their small town of Bethel is caught between a morbid struggle of which will claim the most lives, the brutal winter or the Fever, both taking victims left and right. Those that are rich enough fare better in regards to staying warm but even having enough money to buy the herbs from the pharmacist doesn't guarantee a cure from the Fever; however, without them, death is as sure as the sun will set in the evening.

She tried fervently to acquire the herbs in town. Mother offered everything of value that she had—including her simple wedding ring, the only remaining token of her late husband—but the pharmacist refused. She offered her house, offered to work it off but he still refused her. After avoiding his lusty gaze for days while trying to come up with another alternative she resigned herself to the fact that she had no other option; willing to do whatever was necessary to save her youngest son, Mother swallowed her pride and offered her body. The pharmacist greedily accepted her trade; he consumed her and was neither kind nor gentle about it. But after their brief encounter, while Mother was shamefully righting her attire with shaking hands, the two were happened upon by his wife. Mother was hastily shoved out into the street and despite her payment she was given no medicine.

The past decade has been harsh on everyone but the poor even more so. The winter brings freezing temperatures, blizzards of snow and very little sunlight; the oncoming spring threatens to flood the world, while the summer burns so hot that it dries up all the water and kills the crops. Food is scarce and many nights Mother has gone without, to insure that her three sons have enough to eat. When they discovered her thinning waist they refused food unless they saw her eat it too. Having to make food for one stretch to feed four mouths has caused all of them an aching pain.

Her oldest son, Jacques, joined the militia; thankfully, he brought in enough money to feed them. Though they were not rolling in luxury they were able to eat enough to at least halt their pants from falling off. However since then, his demeanor has changed for the worse; he has become short and angry with his brothers for no reason and impatient with his Mother. From the beginning of his service, he has nearly doubled in strength and when his anger gets the better of him he is a frightening creature to be around. Though he is well past old enough to live on his own, he remains at home with his two brothers and Mother, since his income is almost their sole source of necessities.

Her middle son, Sevan, found a job as a clerk at the local general store. He gets paid next to nothing for the menial work. Sevan is more of an intellect than his brothers and though he tried to join the militia he didn't have the stomach for it. However every Friday night the general store owner has the habit of blowing off the accounting for a brandy with his friends. Sevan picks up the extra slack and his boss always rewards him for it. Some rewards are better than others, like the time when he got to bring home a half of a roast, but anything is better than nothing. With Sevan being in the main thoroughfare of town he has drawn the attention of many of the upper class ladies. On a daily basis they visit him so that they can flirt but Sevan has confessed to Mother that none of them catch his eye. He wants to find a woman who will be his match, his equal in intellect and wit and not simply marry one because she has money. Jacques tells him he is an idiot and that he should snatch up the richest one before they all starve to death but Mother tells him to follow his heart.

Her youngest son, Thomas, has not yet completed secondary school. He is fortunate enough to have both the brawn of Jacques with the affluence of Sevan. Some day he will become a force to be reckoned with but only if Mother can get his fever to break and the sickness to dissipate.

She can feel the cold sinking into her bones, her body beginning to give in to the eternal sleep that calls her. After the fiasco with the pharmacist, she set out for Waterford. It is a long ride, through the deep forests to the distant town on the river but it was her only choice if she were to get medicine for her son. Being on the water, it has a bustling trade industry so those that are willing to make the journey will find whatever they need at a modest price. It has been years since she has even heard of someone attempting the trip—herself having never been. It wasn't until she finally got to the location of the town that she began to wonder if it was just in fact a myth. There were a few skeletons of buildings remaining but for the most part anything resembling a town had long since disappeared, along with any living soul that had occupied it. Now, on her journey back, she is empty handed, broken hearted and worried that she will arrive home to only two remaining sons.

The snow beats down so hard on her face, she is forced to pull her hood completely shut; it hardly makes a difference, because she cannot see through the thick flurries and the growing darkness. She can feel the beast beneath her struggle, almost seeming to convey a sense of loss and hopelessness with each lift of his leg. Time passes slowly as the pair fight off death, clinging to the tiny bit of life left within them. Though she worries for Thomas, she worries more that she won't get the chance to see any of them again because she can feel life slipping through her fingers like water.

All of a sudden, the horse stops. There is no more wind, no more beating snow. The temperature is warmer, causing her body sudden pain from being defrosted. Her half frozen hands struggle to open her cloak. When she peers out to the view in front of her, she knows she must be dead.

The sun has set. In the distance she sees a dark, slightly dilapidated mansion. Its largeness is amplified by two towers on either side standing out against the night like horns on a demon. Between her and the house, is grass. Green grass. The horse below her thankfully munches away. Slowly, painfully, Mother dismounts. Looking behind her she sees a large iron entrance that breaks the continuous metal spiked fence circling further than she can see. On the other side of the entrance she sees snow, a fierce blowing blizzard, a contrast that she struggles to grasp—as if she is looking out of a window, yet she is not in a building. She looks up to the night sky faintly seeing the stars through the falling snow but as if she is in a large glass dome, at a certain point the snow turns into a warm summer drizzle.

Mother can feel the ominous, seemly dark magic surrounding her. Looking from the house to the snow beyond the gate again, she considers her choices. If she leaves she will most likely die in the blizzard. If she stays she will most likely die at the hand of whatever devil lives here. Grabbing the reins of her horse she turns to once more bear the snow when something catches her eye; a distance away, still within the ambient safety of the magical dome, grows a beautiful and luscious garden. Cautiously, she creeps towards it, peering over the low wooden fence. Rows and rows of perfect tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, beans, peas and dozens of other plants she doesn't even recognize grow in neatly manicured lines like soldiers. In one patch close to her, she spots the most diverse collection of herbs that she has ever seen growing—the only thing close to the variety of it is the collection of dried ones in bottles in the pharmacy.

Despite the hardships and desperateness of being poor, Mother has never stolen a thing in her life. However now that she is presented with the only opportunity to save her youngest son from death, she swallows her morals and steps over the wooden fence. Cautiously looking around for anyone, she quickly picks the dozen or so herbs she knows she will need to cure his fever. Having the astonishing luck of finding all of the herbs fresh will undoubtedly insure his survival. Quickly, she gathers the last of the plants when she hears something behind her—a footstep. She turns just in time to see something descending upon her—when she lays eyes on her assailant she drops the herbs, her body colder than even death could make it. She screams, fearing for her very soul.

...

Jacques watches two women, Dana and Clare, from the shadows of the cobbler's porch. They laugh and giggle excitedly, thick expensive furs clutched tight around their delicate bodies. Dana stands almost a foot shorter than Clare, her thick torso is hard to distinguish from her bosom and with mousy brown hair and plain brown eyes, Clare's beauty washes her out easily. Clare, who is tall and slender, picks her way through the snow covered walkway like a doe. Though her hood covers her long blonde locks, tiny wisps peek out to frame her face, making her bright blue eyes appear like puddles of water in the sand. Jacques has had a fondness for her ever since he was little and though she was the apple of every boy's eye then, she is the apple of every man's eye now. From his pocket he produces a flask and takes a long swig to fuel his courage. He pulls his uniform coat straight, smoothing back his mousy brown hair before he trots across the snowy road to meet them.

"Hello Clare, Dana," he says, friendly. He normally isn't a sociable kind of person but the liquid courage in his veins is enough to allow him to pretend.

The girls jump; caught up in their own conversation they didn't see him until he spoke. "Oh, hello Jacques," Dana says somewhat mockingly. Clare offers a tight smile before they continue walking.

Falling into step next to them he uninvitingly joins them, "Say Clare, are you going to the Governor's party tonight?" She gives him a somewhat befuddled look out of the corner of her eye—before she can say anything he coughs awkwardly and continues, "I mean, I know you're going, since the Governor is your father and all—I guess, I was just wondering, if you are going with anyone to the party tonight?"

The girls stop in front of the general store; Dana opens the door and walks inside, abandoning her friend to the cold and her awkward companion. Jacques waits, hopeful, for an answer.

Clare shoots Dana a dirty look through the window. She tries to walk around Jacques but he stands in her way, waiting. Still, she attempts to find a polite way to put it, "Jacques, I don't think that—"

"Come on Clare!" Dana says, knocking on the foggy glass window at her friend.

Clare looks around; she offers Jacques a tight smile and curtseys, "Perhaps I will see you at the party tonight. Good bye, Jacques." She quickly scurries past him and into the store.

Jacques runs his hand through his hair, the liquid courage in his veins now turning to fuel for his rage. He can feel his body begin to grow hot, to the point that the cold no longer bothers him. He turns and jumps off of the walk before his brother, inside the store, sees him. He slips around the corner of the building and slowly peeks in the small side window at the girls.

Sevan closes his book, rising from his seat behind the counter, "Good morning, ladies," he says stiffly.

Jacques has always hated his brother. Sevan was blessed with the good looks of their parents—his body is slender and tall, his hair is thick and black and his slim face with high cheek bones and prominent nose accentuate his deep blue eyes. He is able to converse with ease like their father used to but he is overly compassionate and caring like their Mother. While he is mentally fit, he barely has a fraction of the muscle that Jacques has. Watching him stand behind the counter with an easy smile on his face makes Jacques even angrier.

"Good morning Sevan," Clare pours.

Dana leans on the counter, thumbing through his book, "I still can't believe you like these things. There are no pictures."

He smiles, politely taking his book back, "Some people see the pictures in their heads." Though the true meaning of his words mock her, the soft look on his face hides it.

Clare opens her cloak slightly; though she is still cold from the brief walk outside, she makes it a point to show off her cleavage while smiling at him, "So, are you coming to my father's party tonight?"

"I'd love to but Thomas has the fever—I can barely stand being away from him during the day," his voice is strained as if he is trying hard to be nice to the two women. Clare's bosom has no effect on his countenance as he doesn't bother to even glance at it.

"Oh, yes, we heard," Dana says, turning her back to Sevan so that she can face Clare. There is a smile on her lips though her voice is sickly concerned, "Your Mother? She went to Waterford to get medicine? Is she back yet?" The woman rolls her eyes.

"No," he says quietly. He doesn't need to see Dana's face to know that she is being cruel.

"Sevan," Clare gently places her hand on his, leaning forward onto the counter so that a slight gap forms between her breasts, "You look so tired. Are you the only one taking care of him?"

"Well, Jacques...is on duty, so he isn't able to come home much." Sevan pinches the bridge of his nose, using it as an excuse to keep Clare's skin out of his eye sight.

She reaches up, tenderly touching his face; he jumps when she catches him off guard, "Come tonight. Without medicine, there isn't much more that you can do for Thomas; after work, tend to him and then later we will see you at the party." Her voice is kind and gentle but she has ulterior motives.

He smiles curtly, backing away from Clare to turn around and pull something off of the shelf, "Your father asked for this, would you mind taking it to him?"

She reaches for the package, her fingers finding his hand and lingering slightly before he pulls away from her, "Only if you promise you will come tonight." Her voice is thick and husky as she tries harder to gain his affections.

"I'll try," he says uneasily.

The women bid him farewell, exiting the building. Slowly they continue down the walk, none the wiser that Jacques is tailing them.

"I'm beginning to wonder if that one likes women at all," Dana says.

"Oh shut it. I just can't believe that those two are brothers—it's ridiculous. Jacques is so...dull and brawny, while Sevan is gorgeous."

Dana laughs, "I don't know why you are so bothered by that pencil pusher, if it were me I'd take Jacques body over just about anyone else in town. It's funny, really, how much he fawns over you when it is his brother that you want."

Jacques slips into an alley, letting the women continue their journey alone. At first he feels a sharp pain in his chest, almost as if a knife has pierced his heart. He has loved Clare so, almost all his life. He takes another swig from his flask. Yet it is his weak brother that she wants—he can feel his anger begin to rise. Precious Sevan. Everyone adores him, think he's so interesting. As the anger turns over in his empty stomach he feels the urge to break something. His fists clench, rage smoldering inside.

...

Sevan shuts the door behind him, waving good bye to his boss as he locks it from the inside. Normally he would work until just after dark but as the Governor is having a ball late this afternoon, the small town shuts down early so that all of the well-to-dos can get dressed up. Pulling his thin cloak tight around his body, he welcomes the cold as a small distraction from the constant pang of hunger. His Mother had to take all of the money Jacques gave them last week so that she could try to get medicine in Waterford. This week, even though it is just Sevan and Thomas at home and Thomas is so sick he only drinks a little broth, food has been incredibly sparse. He did manage to get some potatoes and carrots the night before but they were mostly rotten things that his boss was throwing out from the cellar. The meal for the past few nights before that consisted of liquid. While it has been enough to sustain Thomas, Sevan can already feel the looseness in the waist of his all ready narrow pants.

He begins the walk home, keeping close to the buildings so that the icy wind doesn't cut through the threadbare fabric of his hand me down coat. He hopes with all that he can that his Mother is there when he arrives. Lost in his own thoughts, he gets a jolt of surprise when he finds Jacques waiting for him at the last building.

"Hello brother," he says somewhat grimly. Even in the cold air, the smell of liquor wafts off of his breath.

Sevan offers a smile, genuinely glad to see him even though Jacques hasn't quite been the same since he joined the militia. He is unsure why his brother is so disappointed to see him, "Hello Jacques—are you coming home for supper tonight?"

The pair continues to walk together down the snow covered road leading out of town. "No, I just wanted to check in on Thomas and see how he is doing; I have some money for you. It isn't much but it should get you through the week without me eating at home."

"Oh, I see," he says. Sevan knows that Jacques has been spending a great deal of time at the tavern, drinking away a good share of his earnings. He has wanted to say something to him but with Jacques' short fuse, he hasn't quite figured out how to bring it up. He wonders what demons his brother is fighting—if he is drinking away the depression of Thomas' sickness, the absence of their Mother, or of the general sorry state of their lives.

"I'm going to the party tonight," he adds as they turn down a beat-up side road that leads to their farm.

"Is that so?" He covers his irritation well. He feels a pang of jealousy, wishing it was easy for him to neglect his duties too.

"Yes, my sergeant is more or less making me. Apparently he can be quite the ass when he drinks, so I am supposed to get him out of there if he starts making a fool out of himself. Will you be going?" Though he inquires politely, deep down he doesn't want Sevan anywhere near the party, or Clare.

Their house sits alone just off of the side road, tucked in amongst a few barren trees and dead shrubs. The bleak, arid, rocky field stretches out behind the building, having not produced a hearty enough crop to sell in many a year, let alone one large enough to sustain them through the winter. The structure itself can only loosely be called a house for at one time it was a barn that was roughly converted into a livable structure by Sevan's grandparents. The wide gaping doors in the center, framed by two crooked windows in the old hayloft give the building a sorrowful human resemblance.

Sevan opens the gate, shutting it behind his brother, "I don't know. I haven't been out of the house other than for work in forever it seems but I can't bear the thought that something might happen to Thomas while I'm gone."

Both of them walk quickly down the compressed snow path to the rough wooden barn door. Once they are inside, Jacques shuts tightly behind him. While Sevan immediately puts a few more logs onto the fire to take the chill off of the ever encroaching cold, Jacques manages to restrain a smile of relief that his brother will stay home. Ever since he joined the militia, he thought for sure it would be enough to separate him from his family, so that he could win over Clare's affections. But after that fiasco with the pharmacist, gossip about their family has run rampant through the town. Jacques could have died from embarrassment when he overheard a few of the other soldiers laughing about trading some dead flowers for sex from Mother. He was relieved when she left town to go to Waterford—it would be better for him if she never returned. In the past few years his family has become nothing more than a burden, both on his social status and his earnings. His only regret is that it was Thomas who got sick and not Sevan.