The Dog And The Sister

KIERAN KNOX

Hello, weary wanderer. I see you survived your ordeal at the sea’s hands. Do not look so surprised. I watched from this very beach, as your boat writhed so violently amidst the water. Though I scarcely know how you managed to steer such a pitiful thing. Wood of rotten core, and moth-eaten sails that resemble bare threads.

Though, as all wanderers in strange lands manage, I see you were able to retain grip of your weapon. ‘Tis fine steel, I must say. Metal like that could only come from the Cities, far beyond the horizon. Are you another messenger, an envoy sent to kneel before our Childe King? You must know what happened to the last one. A truly grisly fate.

They say her remains were cast into the water on this very beach. From what I understand, the Childe King has not changed their mind. You must have an incredible speech prepared if you are brave enough to tread those hollow halls.

Not an envoy? Oh well, it would have been fun to play a part in history, minor as it would be. Then you must be a mercenary. Well, there are no wars in these lands. Those kinds of strife passed from memory, long, long ago.

Neither an envoy nor a mercenary? I dare say I have spoken, and assumed, long enough. Who are you, that comes to these gloomy lands?

A scholar? Not unlikely, but certainly not common. Have you come to learn Rites from the Childe Court? No? How very interesting. I apologize again for mischaracterising you. So many who land upon these shores will walk this very beach, and pass by myself with nary a glance or word.

Though I am no proponent of violence, it does give me satisfaction to watch their remains carried on vast litters, and cast into the waters before us. Those people are eaters. If there is one thing you ought to know, it is that here we view the act of eating as a sin. I do not blame you for the need, for you it is a need, but for us, spawn of the Childe, it is an excessive affectation. Should you ever need to quell that parasite you call hunger, do turn away from your host. It will mitigate the insult.

Scholar? Now, such etiquette aside, what you are seeking,

Words? How very interesting. You seek to learn our language? No. Our stories? Now that I can proudly contribute to. For you see, I am a storyteller among my kin. I know, how strange that a storyteller should sit, and wait, upon such a forlorn shore. However, it only makes the telling sweeter, when one such as yourself, follows their craving to me. Which tale do you seek to hear most?

The Hound’s Burden? The one tale that escaped our borders. Oh? You continue to surprise me, stranger. Yes, indeed, the title of Hound’s Burden is a foreign creation. Here, we call it the Twin’s Tragedy, or even more simply, the Dog that ate Death.

‘Tis not long, but listen close to this story of despair.

At the height of summer amidst the golden flax when Our hollowed halls stood full Twins were Born beneath a curse

malformed Merith beautiful Balith two sides of man cursed without grace

Balith, born a mortal gifted with song and touch with kindness unimaginable but a strangeness so profound no touch nor time could understand it

Merith, born a hound, immortal twisted in form possessed of cruellest claws terror to all who saw him but filled by a love too painfully human to ignore

Grown they were known As Merith, Sword of the Spurned and Balith, Last of the Lovely and though she knew no man nor woman for Merith Balith knew compassion and it tore the Hound to emptiest agony

For a world without his sister was no world at all

Thus, Merith set out to eat Death and deny fate its last Bride

But Death is not so easily found nor so easily corralled into a shape that can be killed. Merith wandered for many years seeking his enemy

Dark rituals to summon Death’s avatar led only to melted candles and black winds

Beneath the stones, in caverns great and deep no slumbering God lay for Merith to slay

In charnel pits thousands died in piles of bleeding limbs Merith’s slaughter attracting only crows no grim spectre visible to his beastly eyes

In final action Merith fell upon his black blade stained by the deeds he had committed across the lands but Death would not come in person or for Merith

Unable to die in body or spirit cloaked in failure Merith returned to Balith to find her dead not by age or malady but jealousy.

Raised a Queen by her fellows Balith had not the compassion to rule and in time her kindness was taken as contempt for her subjects in rage, in rebellion, Balith was severed and pinned to the capital gates

When Merith came upon this grisly sight he was greeted by a single mourner clad all in black Death had come

Enraged, Merith bounded forward teeth flashing sword swinging but Death spoke and Merith was stilled

None know what words were shared between the two but when they finished Merith consumed the mourner

As night passed to day Merith lay in agony before his sister’s corpse and when the sun rose once more a thing stood in the Hound’s place

It took Balith’s corpse made her warm again and from her flesh It stitched the line of the Childe King.

An ugly story, no? Such drama, heartbreak, suffering, and to end so limply. Now, not to seem rude, but I must suggest you move on. Your company has been so refreshing, but standing so close, you smell delectable. I would rather not break our cardinal rule. This old corpse can only manage so much.

Hah! A true child of Merith and the Childe King, eh?