Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 19: As Flies to Wanton Boys

The next morning, I stood on the edge of the pier, staring into the thrashing water. It was midday when we arrived at the Seamless. The sky was heavily blanketed with gray clouds, a cold rain occasionally dribbling out, but never for very long. If I wasn't watching the waves very closely, I wouldn't have even noticed the mist.

I kept my gaze low. In a figurative sense, the Lord High Commander had kissed me awake. The loosening of memories had triggered fault lines, deep and wide, in me. The plates of my identity had shifted into a different configuration. I was still Riverly of the Silts, but, now, I was so much more.

The world felt electric and buzzing with energy. Every little movement hit me like a shockwave to the soul. I could feel the hum of the molecules around me. I felt all things, big and small, with an acute sensitivity. Suddenly, I needed to take to my bed, where I would wait to die from the sensory overload or habituate to it.

Reflexively, my eyes darted to Lord Death, our fearless Lord High Commander. He returned my gaze, fleetingly, before filling his arms with chores. My attention then flitted to the young boys minding our supplies. They stood with lean arms and backs, and they carried our provisions to the coach with little effort. Fresh horses grazed a stone's throw away, occasionally whinnying when the winds picked up.

"Are you ready?" Tolly's breath was in my ear, and I repressed the urge to shiver, as if it was the harshest sensation I had felt.

Miserably, I turned to him. "As I'll ever be."

He squeezed my shoulder, "Well, c'mon." He left my side, and I watched for a long moment before trailing after him.

Unexpectedly, instead of climbing into the coach, he went to a tall, lean brown stallion, fitted his boot into a stirrup, and pulled himself into the saddle with far more grace and ease than I ever had managed.

The lesser lord followed suit, taking to a cinnamon-colored mount.

The Lord High Commander waited beside a pale gray mare, and nodded to me. "Let me help you," he called.

I followed his guidance into the saddle. Straddling the horse, I kicked for the stirrups to find they were too long. Without prompting, he began adjusting their lengths. His hands deftly working the leather and buckles, as if he had done this task a thousand times before. He looked up at me expectantly.

I nodded.

He then handed me the reins. "They say she's a little slow to kick into a canter, but she is steady and calm."

I already knew. I had never seen this horse before, but, somehow, I knew. I had felt it in her. She was old, sore, and the little bit of spirit she had managed to keep through all these years was reserved for someplace, someone, better than this place, better than me.

He nodded his head then left my side to take to his mount, a charcoal gray steed, whose head tucked down to its chest the instant he felt the Lord High Commander take the reins. I could barely see his signals when his horse wheeled around to the trail. "We set a brusque pace," he ordered, eyes lingering on the lesser lord, who seemed less than enthused by this development.

I stared, lost in the sensations hammering me in all directions, all at once. Right then, I had not realized just how harsh and discordant the sounds of man were, just how violent the sensation of speaking felt to hear.

I squeezed my eyes closed. No. This could not be. I was Riverly of the Silts. These things had never bothered me before. Sounds. Light. The sway of air. I was not some feral creature. I was a girl. I was a woman. I was a God. I was all things, all at once, teetering on the edge of infinity.