Chapter 64 – Gregoire: Because of Pierre
How did Gregoire end up inside this hut, with a mystery pretending to be an elf and two grey creatures pretending to be men? Empty shells, both of them. The only thing solid was tha black bow in the bigger man’s hand. And there sat Gregoire, veiling for all three, day and night, night and day, unable to leave, unable to write. Gregoire would be a great poet some day, but poetry became shy in the presence of ash; foolish in the face of that extinct elf. It was Pierre’s fault. Ever since Pierre went to the Land of the Banished, Gregoire had no peace.
It was at the start of a winter storm that Gregoire tried to hold his brother’s arm. Half-brother. It was the same as trying to stop the snow from falling. Pierre stepped onto the frozen Blood and crossed the river. Gregoire followed him to the margin, but his foot refused to step on ice.
In Carlaje, where they lived, the river was broad and looked more like a lake. The Land of the Banished looked like wet black ink on the other side. Gregoire called his half-brother. In spite of everything, Pierre was his only family. The step-father didn’t count.
The step father only took Gregoire in because he was Pierre’s brother. Half-brother. No one in Carlaje said anything, but Gregoire knew what everybody thought. Pierre was special, not Gregoire. It was Pierre’s father who came from across the Blood, not Gregoire’s. Gregoire’s father died normally, like any human being, in the jaws of a creature of darkness.
The creature of darkness also came from across the Blood, like Pierre’s father. And now Pierre walked toward darkness. Gregoire cried and cried, but Pierre Kept on moving away over the ice, the black ink of the Banished outlining his diminishing shape.
A movement inside the hut brought Gregoire back to the present. On the other side of the fire, the elf illusion vanished and the black, faceless hood was back. The Wraith fell to the floor like a baloon losing wind. Che black cloak began to adjust to the force of gravity and, what a relief!, there was a body underneath it. Was it alive?
A gentle scratching at Gregoire’s back raised all the hairs on his head. One od the grey specters moved. The big, black man studied his own fingers like he was looking at the living specimens of an extinct animal. A little piece of Gregoire found that ironic, since there was an acutal extinct creature laying on the floor. The grey detatched from the black man like a serpent changing skins. The grey skin fell to the ground like sand. Gregoire couldn’t breathe. He didn’t notice the Wraith standing up and was frighened to near death when the black cloak stumbled and fell to the floor with s thud.
The third man remained down and grey, except for a strange, black knot on hos left arm, which he poked now and then, like it itched. The three of them looked like sleepwalkers coming back from a nightmare.
Outside black twigs clacked against the window. Black twigs that hadn’t been there before. It had to be Pierre’s fault. All of it.
