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.


17. Tricks

Chene rose to watch the swallows on Gomez’s cheeks fly once more.  Noom glowed gently in her sleep, radiating and frizzing the elf’s long black hair.  His baby hairs were caught in the drift of the heatwaves blowing them over his eyes, his nose twitching with each soft graze.

    He smiled at the two, their relaxed, dreamless faces, their bodies sprawled across the armchair like loose drapes, only moving with each tame breath.  They seemed so calm, so deeply asleep.

    Chene flicked a drop of water onto Noom’s head, the dragon waking in a panic and scampering up Gomez’s chest to safety.  He grumbled, and struggled to keep the creature in place, finally deciding on just pinning her down against the top of his head.

    “Morning,” Gomez yawned, Noom squealing like a pig in his grasp.

    “Ready to go?”

    He looked down at himself, at his body limp with fatigue, the burn holes in the blanket a symbol of the warm state he had been in before now, “A few more minutes?”

    “We need to get moving before the house owners wake to see us in their living room, wash your face, grab the wine and let’s get ready.”

    “What about baths?”

    “There’s a tap at the back of the house, scrub your eyes out with that,”

    “And for breakfast?”

    Chene chucked the jar at him.

    Gomez sighed and looked into the abyss of red liquor under the jam jar lid, “Right.”

    “I’ll come back for you in five, be ready, okay?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Don’t call me that.”

    Five minutes later Chene returned to find Gomez still passed out, Noom now up and licking the jar clean.

    Gomez sat up straight, feeling the flick to his forehead and the plate shoved into his hand, “I’m up, I’m awake.”

    “There’s breakfast.”

    Gomez looked down, his nose scrunched.  He tilted the plate, and watched his food nearly roll from the edge, but stick like putty to the stonewear.  Chene took a break from shoveling down his portion to answer him.

“It may not be what they make at the castles, but it’s what my magic could stir together.  Go on, if you eat it quick it tastes like eggs.”

The plasma was hot pink and smelled of oxygenated blood.  Gomez pressed it into Noom’s face, who shoved it back with her beak, and squawked.

“I’m okay with wine, thank you.  But you help yourself, and wake me whenever.  Ten minutes more, maybe?” he said, turning in towards the cushions.

“Funny,” Chene, who had already finished off his fill and Gomez’s, stood up and brought the plates through to the kitchen, “Come on, we have to leave now, it’s getting late.”

“Are the birds singing yet?”

“Yes, why?”

“Really?” he said, pulling his pillow under his chin, “I can’t hear them.”

“It’s daybreak, of course they’re singing, Gomez.”

His voice was muffled, his laughter unknowable to Chene, “Are you sure?  Can you hear them now?”

“Yes, obviously,” Chene paused, “Not now, but outside I could.”


Chene, as patient as he usually was, sighed and walked to the main door, swinging it open and stepping into the mild early morning air.

Sure enough, the birds were singing loud enough for both boys to hear, “See?”

Gomez, without turning around, pointed to the door and clicked his fingers.  Noom took the meaning up immediately, and bounded to Chene and hit the door closed, jumping just high enough to lock it.

“God bless,” Gomez mumbled.

He heard a soft knocking on the door, the other cautious of the sleeping residents, but he could feel the annoyance and embarrassment drip through every word, “Come on, Gomez.”

“Wha’s the password?”

“Gomez.” he snapped.

He laughed, facing the window.  Chene’s face sat behind the pane, watching with a sour expression as Gomez pulled the covers around him higher, “I’m sorry, dear, but if we’re going to travel together you’ll need to learn two things.”

Chene’s sigh steamed up the glass, “Which are?”

“No, three things.”

“Go on?”

“One, there’s no use rushing things that can’t be helped, so no use waking up at dawn.  Two, I value my sleep - as does Noom.  I will be cranky for a day, and she will bite you.”

“Understood, and I hope you know that when I get in there I am going to grab both of you by the scruffs of your necks and throw you into a neck high river.”

“There’s one more thing,” he said, rolling around to face Chene, watching him like a screen, “Don’t underestimate those who trick you, namely me, okay?  For your safety’s sake, not mine.”

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