The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.


60. A Chapter In Which All Is Good - Part One

The tower was enchanted since the word “illness” fell from his doctor’s tongue and planted their future within Samhain’s mind.  Controlling the tower took years, but it now was a second heart that he could beat without help.

    “Samhain, can you open this door, please?” Jinmi said, pulling at a handle.  As he did, it popped off and another grew in its place.  

“What door?”

Jinmi looked at it, and sure enough there was nothing there.

Inside, it changed between a cabin of stone with no doors and windows on each side showing nothing but more but plumes of white cloud and the belly of a dragon stretching into the tower’s neck.  This is where they were now, although there was nothing underneath the trapdoor but miles of empty space.  The room itself held crates and cartons and little else, but one window clad in purple drapes, and as he spoke again, no doors.

“Why do you need a door?” Samhain asked.

“Where would the materials be?”

He looked at the labels on the boxes, reading in a language long dead and lost, shapes and symbols and hands painting out what he read as, “Here, these are fabrics, that one tools, and the small one on the desk is wood and metal and whatever else you need.”

He opened it, no bigger than a breadbox, and saw two cylinders and nothing more.  He pulled the metal, a very light silver, into the air until he felt that he had enough, and the box seemed to reach an end.  He looked back down, another cylinder replenished, and at the pole about three metres high.  The roof hadn’t even been able to make room a moment ago.

“Having fun?” Samhain said, stitching together fine cashmeres and silks with a needle that hardly grazed his skin as it twisted clean stitches.

“How do you live here?  Why bother stay in a place so confusing?”

Samhain dropped his needle, and smiled with eyes barely still opened, “What are you looking for now?”

“A larger room perhaps?”

Samhain pointed behind him, and the blank wall.

Jinmi spun around and back, confused, until he saw how the room was now as round, but huge.  Samhain, once pushed into the corner, tutted from the middle of the floor and resumed sowing.


“My God, if you keep doubting it, you’ll lose everything you’re sure of.” he pointed to his empty hand, where the pole had been.

Jinmi rubbed his pout off with his fist, scratching at his eyes now dry with millennia old dust and fatigue, “But why do you stay here?”

“Where else will I go?”


“And fall asleep in the middle of the courtyards?  The Gods are not as kind as you imagine.”

“I’ve learned that much, but why not… Do you have no one else to go to?”

He saw the pin jab into Samhain’s thumb, but neither said a thing, “No. I don’t.”


The bed Jinmi made was made up of two poles, a mouth, and a tongue of plush duvets and mattresses, sown together in a bed of grey and gold, Jinmi’s black magic giving the room its lighting.  No matter what the God did, there would always be an essence of darkness lapping over the sky above like a coiling dragon, stealing the lights away in its power.  The bed itself was no more than a giant looking over rolling hills, layer after layer of handsewn felts and ruffles that swallowed up any weight in its gently raised body, leaving them suffocating in the finery of abandoning compensation.

“Jinmi, I love it,” Samhain gasped, grabbing at the parts of the down and feather river that rippled in stormy winds, kneeling on the edge that tipped him forward, his tired eyes welcoming the sight of the nearing sleep.

“Huh?” he said, looking up from his work.  He crouched on a stool above the head of the mattress, pulling long curls into the silver with enchanted spindles that were hot to the touch.  They formed the most beautifully intricate flowers, almost realistic to the details on the dewdrops and pollen, although Samhain chose to say little about it.

“I can’t believe that you made this for me,” he said, tracing the vines with his fingers, “But did you ever think that if we doubt its existence it will disappear forever, right?”

Jinmi dropped the spindles, “What?  No, surely not.”

Samhain shook his head as Jinmi lept off the stool and kneeled by the bed, dipping his hands through it  and finding the pillows to return to little more than thread and felt.

“Hey, you’re ruining all my sowing!”

He looked to his flowers, now wilted and returning to solid metals, the black surrounding them now white.


“Hey, stop, you worked so hard on this.”


Samhain pushed Jinmi onto his back, not realising that their fingers were intertwined as he fell next to him, rolling onto his hands and knees to throw the felt in his face.  When it hit Jinmi’s cheek, it felt more like a pillow than anything else.

“You’ll never be used to this, huh?” Samhain said, moving up to lie in the centre of the bed.  Jinmi was right, it would eat you with its duvet teeth if it could.

“Never,” he sighed, the colour returning to his panic-stricken face.

There is a certain pain to holding something on your tongue, as if its burning its way out and its your job to keep it back as long as you can while it bites its way through.  Samhain rolled onto his side, resting his head in his hand, “Jinmi?”

He was tired himself, but grunted.

“Where will you go now?” he knew that he would ask, it was time he did, no matter how much his tongue missed the weight of the question as if bore its way though.

Jinmi looked at him, his eyes clear as day, no wonder or question hidden within him, “I don’t know.  I have left no one in Mavros other than the boys who raised me, and by now they’re men, they aren’t waiting for me.  I thought that… I might just stay a while?  I can help you make a palace of this tower, I’ll help however I can.  I can stay with you while you sleep.”

“You have no one waiting for you?”

“No one.”


“Wait, look!” Jinmi said, pulling Samhain close, his head resting on his inner arm, where his heart was loud and innocent.  The roof moved like the jaws of the dragon, snapping and reforming, dragging them into the pit of his stomach where it fizzed and bubbled into new rooms and halls and windows and door, ladders like shoots, curtains like tails.  The room formed around them, as they thought it should, basking in the black arts Jinmi knew to be home, “It’s amazing.”

Samhain had already slipped into a deep sleep by his side, his unconscious screaming to him, something was still wrong, no matter how they tried to dress it up.

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