TALLOS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pain stabbed through him as Tallos jolted awake. He rolled once again to his stomach, away from the blades of straw that pierced the open wounds of his back. Though sleep was his only escape from the physical pain, that respite came with its own price. The daggers in his flesh that woke him were often less tortuous than the nightmares that caused his tossing.

He had no reason to open his eyes. There was no light to be seen in his crypt of decay. It had not taken long for him to find a root cellar, and it may have been more merciful had the cellar not contained four barrels of vinegar, as he would have long since died of infection. The dankness of the cellar and the warmth of his body had proved the perfect combination for corruption to take in his festering skin. Twice daily, or so he guessed, he would submerge himself in the leftmost barrel, transforming the throbbing pain to that of combustion. Though Tallos preferred the burning, he did not believe he could remain submerged in the powerful vinegar for long without suffering unhealthy consequences. The fumes alone made him light-headed, and he limited the duration of his treatments, always careful to place the lid back on the barrel when done.

The few potatoes and carrots he’d found in the cellar lasted less than a week. Hunger drove him outside, only at night, where he would crawl, naked on his hands and feet, still refusing to open his eyes, in search of food like some blind demon. The biting cold may have killed him if he had become lost and forced to remain on the surface, but he found it easier than expected to navigate through the snow, and never lost feeling in his bare hands or feet.

The world he once called home felt alien to him without the benefit of sight. The sounds and smells of life that had filled the community were no more. The deafening shrieks of roosting ravens disturbed by his presence filled his ears, making the village that he knew sat under a boundless sky seem more like a town within cave. The smell of rotting flesh, burst entrails, and scorched hair was inescapable when outside his vinegary refuge. In vain, Tallos tried to forget the once-welcoming scents that he’d taken for granted in his former life: the bitter smell of rising dough that came from the baker’s home in the early morning, the scent of bland soap used by the woman who would wash a barrel of dirty clothes for five coppers or five potatoes—he even found himself nostalgic for the odor of dog manure that had come from the kennels.

Regardless of the fetid bouquets and piercing sounds, regardless of feeling something slither under his foot or creep up his arm while he crawled in search of sustenance, his eyes remained tightly shut. He had no desire to be aided by moonlight while he groped around on the ground, trying to find a body not writhing so horribly with frost fly maggots that it would be too difficult to grasp. When he finally came across a suitable corpse, when his hand made contact with cold human skin, free from slime, he would drag it back to the hole from which he came, instinctively and without need for fumbling about. And into one of the other three barrels of vinegar he placed it, until he at last had all three filled with a body or two, depending on their size.

He found that he much preferred the taste and texture of the pickled flesh he had procured to that of the raw potatoes and carrots. As long as he gathered handfuls of the hair and maggots that floated to the surface, flinging them far from his home, he was able to keep his barrels from giving off too much of a stench. Between the food he had gathered and the seep in the corner, he determined he had enough to last through the winter. The temperature outside decreased each day, but he knew that in his hole it would remain at a constant chill, something that did not bother him any. Even after dips in the vinegar, he did not shiver.

There he remained, content with the fact that, for the moment, he was doing all he could to spite his tormentors, the Mighty Three. And, he assured himself, this was only the beginning.