An Addict's Rendition
Slipping and sliding through alternative eyes, flying out of body to face self-demise. There is no time in this infinite space where visions spiral with self-loathing and hate. The reenactment of every dark and dirty deed emerges in a living nightmare.
rocks back and forth on the gentle tide.
“Is he well?” Danan’s voice is a distant whisper in Jain’s mind.
“Of course not, although I believe the worst is over. Drop withdrawal is a nasty affair. One many cannot bear.” Lord Varesh washes Jain’s brow with cooling, fresh water.
“Look at his scars.” Danan gasps as his eyes wander over Jain’s countless wounds and lacerations.
“His deepest wounds lay within. Once he rouses, I will do my best to remove the taint that remains. Although I fear our friend will carry some burdens for all his days,
“Such mutterings, Lord Varesh. Are these deeds his reality?”
“Some, undoubtedly, master monk. Others may be figments of a fractured mind. There is no doubt Jain has endured some terrible things. He has also made others suffer. That said, he is also special, beyond your knowledge.”
“Forgive me, Lord Varesh. How is he special? I cannot see it. I’ve never comprehended such a state. For man to fall so low.”
“Low? Master Danan. This is nothing. What comes with the shadow of the night is a fate far worse than death. From those depths, there is no return. Jain’s body and mind are cleansing. We can only steer him on the right path.”
Danan nods with a grimace as Jain lies on a narrow wooden cot bed covered in vomit, blood, and black bile. His red, raw wrists and ankles, restrained to the cot bed by thick leather straps.
Jain drifts into the sorry depths of his mind.
“You don’t care for me or anyone else, Jain, unless it benefits you,” Jain's wife accuses.
Jain attempts to justify himself. “Darling, I’m striving to become a better husband. I promise to change.”
“A thief can never truly change.”
“Thief? Please enlighten me.”
“You stole my pride when I was just a girl, seduced by your florid flattery and amorous charms. You’ve gambled away my family’s wealth. I know you roll in the filth, laying with those rancid gutter sluts. The stench of sex clings to your clothes. Had I known the misery I would endure, I would have embraced death myself.”
“Death? If the servants overhear such nonsense, false rumors will spread. Have you no shame?”
“Shame? You felt no shame while I carried our child.”
“What did you say? My love, let us rejoice—a child! Forget this nonsense. I am a changed man, and I give you my word as a father.”
“Do you think I would ever bring your tainted child into this world?”
“My love, what have you done?”
“Do you know how the slums deal with unwanted life? They sliced it out of me, a rich bitch under the butcher’s knife. They cut it from me and discarded it like rotten meat. I only rejoice that the taint is gone.”
“You have deprived me of a child? You have slain our precious creation."
“I have robbed you, as you robbed me.”
“Leave me. Now. I beg of you. Leave this place now or—”
In the darkest depths of Jain’s mind, his nails rake away the skin, tearing through handfuls of bloody flesh. Clumps of blood-soaked hair and scalp hang from his blood-drenched hands. Covered in gore, Jain stares at a bag of butchered skin and flesh. From the pulped mess crawls the body of an unborn child with gleaming white eyes.
The screams that follow haunt the purest essence of life.
Jain collapses, howling and clawing at his anguished face in tormenting grief.
A wicked whisper tells an even darker tale.
“I’ll wager my horse.” Jain offers.
“That ain’t your horse.”
“Fine fellow, I am an Adair, and a man of my word.”
“Your word won’t buy you another hand of Elder Flagget. It’s gold or nowt.”
“Honorable gentlemen, I am out of coin for the night. There’s plenty of gold in the bank. For now, I have only my friend’s horse. What say you to a final hand?”
“A final hand is alright with me, but I’ve got a family to feed, and I won’t be butchering any horses. How about that shiny ring on your finger?”
“The house seal of Adair isn’t on the table.”
“What about the pretty little bracelet?”
“This belonged to my late mother. It’s most precious to me.”
“Then you don’t have a hand to play, Jain. You know the house rules. Since you’re out of coin, it’s the gold ring or the gold bracelet.”
“The bracelet for five hundred gold Drakes?”
“Alright by me, are you sure? Considering it belonged to your dead mother?”
“Good sir, I sense my fortunes have changed. How about an eight-card draw?”
“Six monks.”
“Three cardinals.”
“The royal reaper.”
“Princess Artuah.”
“King Jahad.”
“Master Mage Nirtesh.”
“Olgren, God of Medicine.”
“Azgorath, God of the Thirteen Hells. Sorry, Jain. I win. Again.”
“Fine gentlemen, perhaps you would consider the bracelet as a down payment? A loan?”
“I already took all your coin, and now this little trinket. It’s a fine-looking thing and will make my missis a happy lass.”
“Yes, it’s indeed a fine bracelet and worth more than the slum you call home. You can give me back my bracelet, and I’ll forget this night ever happened.”
“I won it fair and square, by the house rules. Have a drink on me. Goodnight.”
“I don’t need your charity. I am Jain Adair. My lineage goes back to the founding of this city. Your foul lineage stretches as far as your whore mother spreading her legs for some filthy gutter rat.”
“Being a bitter loser doesn’t suit your esteemed name. I hope your bitterness doesn’t run through the veins of your own children."
“What did you say?”
“Forget it.”
“I can never forget.”
Bones crack as Jain’s fists collide with flesh and bone. His knuckles bleed as he pounds into the man’s jaw of shattered teeth. Wild with fury, Jain drives his fingers into the man’s squishy eyes, popping them like grapes.
Jain gazes down at the man, who mocks him with a bloody, toothless grin. He jingles his mother’s golden bracelet from his snapped arm. A cackle of taunting laughter bursts from the dead man’s shattered mouth. His gouged eyes pour rivers of thick blood.
Jain collapses to his knees, begging the man for forgiveness. He envies him, and envy crawls over Jain’s skin, scuttling like spiders, filling his mouth, and burying deep within. Envy spawns a thousand eggs that give birth to a thousand more.
Another cruel tale whispers in the mind.
“You’re a dead man, Jain.”
“Ten against one. How’s that fair?”
“Life ain’t fair. Raping that noble lass wasn’t fair, either.”
“I told you before, I’m no rapist. She’s the king’s cousin, and the saucy little minx has a penchant for whipped cream and—”
“Enough of that! I ain’t here to judge. This is your last fight, so go out well.”
“You know the fight’s rigged?”
“The whole kingdom knows it’s rigged.”
“Come on, help a fellow out. Just a few drops to ease the pain.”
“Alright, quit your scrounging. I don’t want any of the lads to suffer, even a highborn like you.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“Jain, you have no friends.”
Jain revels in the inky tide as his pupils dilate, and black and white collide. Absolute clarity takes hold, masking all pain. His senses heightened; Jain inhales the stench of death. In Thiel’s great fighting pit, wood and stone collide, knock, knock, knock, the bloodthirsty mob clamors for death. Metal sings and dead men cry, his blade sings, slicing through flesh, bone, and foe.
His freedom won, but his life, forever a slave.
A whisper tells another dark tale.
“Two thousand gold Drakes. Final offer.”
“Two thousand gold Drakes plus five vials of drops.”
“You’re a bloody drophead?”
“Good, sir. We all need clarity, and I need it more than most.”
“Settled. Do you wish to know her crime?”
“No. Where will I find her?”
“At the bathing house on Peacock Lane, where she frequents far too often, if you catch my meaning?”
“No, nor do I care. You pay me to kill, and killing comes easy to me.”
To his surprise, she puts up a good fight, and Jain can only admire her relentless struggle to cling to life. Still, Jain is death’s companion, paid to deliver death another prize. His severing blade slices through her neck, sawing deep and cutting through her screaming throat. Her lifeless head slumps forward, and a crimson tide of her life gushes forth.
Jain sinks back into his shattered mind, begging for his own death.
A shrill voice beckons in Jain's mind.
“What a state. Hello, good sir.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I am Cecil, the personal aide to Lord Varesh, Grand Mage of The Elim. You are not a stone’s throw from The Rose & Cock, where my master awaits you.”
“Are you always so nauseatingly polite?”
“Of course, sir. I am Lord Varesh’s man, and manners are a necessity in my duties, however intolerable they may be.”
“What does that damned charlatan want from me?”
“I am not at liberty to say, although I believe the amount in question will be ten thousand Gold Drakes. You may wish to act a little surprised if he offers such a payment, along with other sizable benefits you will receive, my lord. Of these matters, I will divulge no more.”
“Maybe you’re not as daft as you look.”
“Thank you, sir. Time is of the essence. If I can be of assistance."
“Get your hands off me, unless you want them fed back to you.”
The sweet smell of haresh and the hum of drunken conversation mingle with the sickly linger of cheap perfume. The taste of strong ale and a slow inhale. Droplets of inky black fall for the last time, and all the memories and pain dissipate in the charcoal skies.
All becomes clear, and all becomes bright.
Jain steps into the bright, ethereal light.