Page 174 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

The dream that unfurled around us translated my father’s
seething indignation into fire, which poured upward and
spilled across the ceiling. Pent within the raging flames was
visible the shape of my father’s ruined face, filled with fury
and stretched apart by the smile of a horned god.
I found a drifting patch of shadow and called it into
my service, moving the itinerant darkness between myself
and the deadly axe. Locating a surging vein of silence
concentrated by the surrounding discord, I quickly put
myself into its ghostly rhythms, disappearing.
My sisters sugarcoated the scene with wildest laughter
and the squeals of dying monstrosities. My god, how
beautiful the two of them were, free and feral, laughing and
killing and dancing for the love of their dearest brother. They
spun and leapt as they called out to our father. “Unburden
yourself of your secret, Father, and join us! What good are
secrets but to ruin those who keep them? Secrets want to
be told! Look at what fun our sweet brother has given to
us! Look at us, Father! Look at us killing and dancing and
singing! Hurry and join us, before we’ve used them all up
and there’s nothing left for you!”
My father’s burning eyes looked to his deadly daughters,
where they played with death like two cats toying with
wounded rodents. His envy ran thicker than the fire that
poured from his dead flesh. I struck, springing from shadow
and silence, seizing the handle of his axe and tearing it from
his momentarily distracted grip. But it was sent crashing to
the floor when my father’s fist detonated across my skull like
thunder. His strength was monstrous. My own fist answered
his bone-cracking attack by smashing open his dead, flaming
mouth. Despite his hatred at being used as a puppet, I could
see him thrilling at the prospect of a good fistfight.
Tom Hush rudely violated the purity of our contest,
smiling words into my father’s burning, broken mouth.
“What secrets your father could tell you, boy! My goodness,
what a horrible and wonderful thing that mother of yours
The Red Son | 177