Chapter 51, Too Soon To Tell

Chapter 51, Too Soon To Tell

What Kreig held in his hand at that moment was not the crushed ball of car-metal, but the half-destroyed helmet of a man hed slain. It could have been any man from anywhere, but in Kreigs trembling hand, it was just a helmet.

He brought death everywhere he went. The bleeding sky loomed upon him. He seemed to move, but he felt nothing.

Everything was so quiet. Like the wind wasnt roaring and the bones hiding beneath the mud werent chattering and creaking and cracking under the weight of a thousand sins. Soldiers and civilians. Believers and faithless.

Kreig, is everything alright? George asked.

What was he, that man in the mud, doing there? Who was he? The only living man in a field of eternal massacre, his body half-submerged in the mud, looking up at him with no great malice and no great fear. Not young, not old. Barely a man. Was he an enemy? Soldiers were usually younger. Then, a mud-mover? Impossible, the man had a face.

Kreig raised his arm, placing the edge of his sword at the level of the mans throat. Speak your name.

The man reacted peculiarly, glaring at Kreigs hand rather than the blade. Kreig, what are you doing? It was off. It was all off. He was alone, alone and there and he shouldnt still be there, why was he there? Im trying to drive, Kreig, please put your arm away. Although Kreig thirsted for answers, he had no mind to put up with the mocking words of someone already in the mud. With a flick of the wrist, he forced the blade through the mans throat.

But the mans head didnt slip off. He simply glanced at Kreig, confusion and mild discontent evident. Your eyes are are you here, Kreig?...

Here? Why, of course he was-,

Kreig looked down at his hands. Thick, calloused, old. I hear and obey. Words he had spoken more times than he could remember, words all men above him had demanded.

Dont say it like-, yeah. Okay, lets go, George said, pulling the car out onto the road, back to their primal mission. There was only one family left, one letter to deliver. A letter that weighed heavy in Kreigs hands. A terrible tale of a good man. A tragedy to witness, a comedy to experience. Yes, Peter had always laughed about it, never expressing any wish to go home. He didnt hate his family, he just didnt care for them.

The notion of living a new life always appealed more to him than the former life they all rapidly forgot.

By this way of thinking, Kreig couldnt imagine that Peters family could possibly miss them, since he barely gave them a thought himself. Despite his doubts, Kreig had put his all into the letter. Every detail he could recall, every part of Peters person. Every flaw and virtue.

...But as Kreigs thoughts drifted, he couldnt but feel how they kept returning to what happened just minutes ago. What had happened.

Theres something wrong with his mind. Something that made him see things that didnt exist and feel like he wasnt even where he was, supposed to be, and he didnt know what was doing this. But George did. George had been there, and George had looked him in the eye and said he knew a bit about it. But not enough. Something was wrong with his mind, but Kreig didnt know why.

He wasnt dead. Wasnt that good enough? Why did it have to be more than that? He knew healing spells of all kinds, he even used them regularly, so why was his mind damaged?

He was fine. He was okay.

The car slid to a close. Were here.

And they were now at the Willowgrove residence.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))