HINDSIGHT:

Two Eyed Tommy was an Omen

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Two-Eyed-Tommy was running. Running as fast as his little legs could take him. He went down down down, it was the only way to go, the only way he knew. His heart felt it that morning. The end. Humidity clung heavily onto the windows of his empty and quiet room. The castle was never quiet. They were never quiet, especially not for Two-Eyed-Tommy.

He reached the last light. The single glowing scone before the plunge into darkness. Behind him, so many voices, displaced: “Faster faster faster! He went down. Quick before the little freak gets into the belly!”

He leapt. Feet bouncing across crooked steps. The light stretched as far as five strides. Black met him but he dove further. He may have had two eyes but the boy was not blind. He knew his way around. Especially down here, in the dark, under everybody he could consider family. Deep lunges between ever-streaming thoughts.

Two-Eyed-Tommy was an omen. He came out of his Momsa first, not crying, just staring, surveying, bewildered in both eyes. And not alone. His twin brother’s body came out next. Smaller, flatter, limp. Rumors echoed of how it came to be, always a bad thing, directly or indirectly. Never definitively. Ideas of evil stuck to him like honey and bees. He was an entire hive. Put together and buzzing with dark words. But the boy grew nonetheless. They allowed him that. Yet, they still looked over him, through him, and eventually—

Momsa and Dadsa didn’t come looking for Two-Eyed-Tommy any longer. They let him wander and wander further he went. Down into the belly. Among the forgotten, lost, and broken things…

The last step, his warm body wafted the cold away in the expanse of the stone surrounding him. Two-Eyed-Tommy looked back. His pursuers blocked then unblocked the orange lit entrance. As keen as their two bulbous heads and four eyes were, they couldn’t cut through the kind of darkness that shrouded Two-Eyed-Tommy. He couldn’t help but smirk. But for how long could he stay hidden?

“Go and grab torches now. Tell Commander Humma to set up a perimeter around the castle—HURRY.” The vile voice whistled down the stairwell. It echoed down to Two-Eyed-Tommy and a shiver ran down his spine. He shook his head, and kept running through the dark. It was all he could think of doing.

He traced the path to the castle’s outer walls, the path he knew best, until he reached the last fork. Two-Eyed-Tommy needed to hide. Abide his time for the perimeter to go down—if it ever did… Not all hope was lost—he could try and sneak up for food, he knew the path there, but not now—well—not ever…He couldn’t pose as any common boy anymore, they were gone now. All of the ones like Two-Eyed-Tommy. Every single one.

His eyes began stinging, hot. Snot bubbled out of his nostrils, small whimpers. It was all gone. He balled up his fists and seethed. Tears streamed down his creased cheeks. Why why why? He knew, deep down. Two-Eyed-Tommy was an omen. He wiped his tears with his silk sleeve and looked down the path he had never explored. If he didn’t know where he was going, how could they?

Wet claps when his boots slammed against the lightly flooded hallways. Arched up to a singular point that made everything triangular. He could feel it in the way the bricks stacked themselves in diamonds. A hiss, behind him—he spun—nothing. Emptiness. No one was coming, yet. A wave relief washed over him as he kept forward enough to see a spark in the dark. An unseen hole perhaps? A way out of this mess? Alive?

He sprinted.

The hallway opened up and became a new room. Large. Looming pillars sustained its might. From above was a round channel piercing into the heavens, carved out unevenly. Roots began to grow through the bricks that fell in pieces at Two-Eyed-Tommy’s feet. He can see the sky if he squinted enough. Still blue, still bright, like he hadn’t just braved a storm of his own. The light hit his cheek and it was the first piece of warmth he had felt all day. He sighed.

Images clicked back into place, flashing; blank stone, empty halls, everything bigger, so many faces, so many eyes, staring at him, snarled, scowling, all of their heads, the rush, the bodies he had to run over, tripped over, the blood, the garden grass was red the garden grass was all red. So red. Saved by his only friend. Sire Brightface, two swords slashing back, “Go! Go!” He grunted and pushed against Two-Eyed-Tommy’s aggressors. The boy whimpered, small. The sounds came back to him; screaming, howling, stabbing, curses. Writhing faces. They speak with two tongues at once: “FREAK!”

Two-Eyed-Tommy’s stomach flipped and he opened his eyes. The cold met him once again. A soft drip emanating from the soil above. It fell slow, splat loud. His vision adjusted to the black, making the shadows stretch away. The warmth, the light, it had moved. Forward, it landed squarely on a bit of cloth. Tattered but still intact. Pebbles sprinkled onto his curly hair. Voices from above him, faint, but distinct enough: “Curfew in effect IMMEDIATELY. Bar yourselves in. The Omen walks among you! Stay outside and be fraught with doom. YOU! I said get inside before I heave wallops against your behind…it is not safe!”

More tears. Slicing through his dust-frosted-cheeks. They burn again. The light grew, sparkling in between the boy’s blurry vision. Darkness lifted. Gold seams smolder when the light positioned itself onto a tapestry. He gasped in between his silent sobbing and wiped away the tears with his sleeves, soaking his silk some more.

The entire tapestry radiated like it was threaded with the sky itself. Two-Eyed-Tommy could see every detail, highlighted. From beginning to end, he saw a story. History, unbeknownst to many, except for the now luminous Two-Eyed-Boy. His eyes became saucers and he inched closer, afraid any disturbance might spoil the perfect brilliance. But it shined even brighter. Not even the tapestries Momsa and Dadsa had were as awesome as this one was, even after gods knows how many years it’s been tucked away. It still glimmered. He got closer. Another gasp.

All of the men, women, and children: they’re like him. Two eyes, not four. One head, not two plastered on one neck. He scanned back to the top to make sense of it all. Shocked, fascinated, and terrified.

Three scenes, depicting acts within a story. As with most tapestries, it all linked together. Beginning with a single drop of red in the left corner. Children of all kinds; small, tall, dwarfed, but all marked by golden hair. He squinted but could not gather any detail on their faces. They ran, they played, he could see their smiles. Knights shined in their silver armor. Women dance, some of them are depicted singing. There’s even a large religious procession marching through a district that looked all too distinct. Two-Eyed-Tommy put his hand over his heart. He could feel the love. He could imagine it all. Everyone together. Laced, tight-knit amongst the bordered gray stone. A community united. Until his eyes moved further along—the blood drop grew and grew into what resembled a bloody sun. Positioned above the entire kingdom. Directly below is a couple and a babe. Their aura was of a brilliantly splashed yellow. It highlights the baby’s darkness amidst the shining light. No details yet. Only a blackened spot. He averted his eyes onward. The bloody sun got larger, eventually swallowing the entire horizon. Inside of its circumference were more spots. The kingdom was not shining anymore. It was overshadowed. In the walls, he could see preparations. Much like he had seen before; men running back and forth with weapons, water, and armor. Horses are out and coated in steel too. Their eyes are wild, looking in all directions. He could hear them huffing and puffing, then stomping into the soft earth. Men shouting across galleys and alleys, finding anybody worth a fight. Chaos before the bloody sun split into fours. In the middle of the kingdom is the blackened babe. Grown, a little below his father’s height, but brutish, square, strong. He faces the sun, but Two-Eyed-Tommy can see his second pair of eyes, staring back. They are blood red, and beneath his scalp of blonde hair, the outline of a smile. Two faces on one neck. Red takes up the entire background. A battle. Red leaks down the cloth. Soaking the gold up, making everyone’s heads look like rosebuds. His inhale is sharp. It’s them. Two-headed—four-eyed warriors, raiding the entire tapestry. Washing over the gold in a wave of crimson. The antagonists look like Commander Humma. Like Captain Duonas. Like his cousins. His uncle. Momsa and Dadsa.

Two-Eyed-Tommy recoiled. He stumbled but balanced himself quickly. Tears again. He squeezed them out and they plopped onto the floor. He willed himself to continue. The four eyes consumed everything. Taken over. The last panel depicted the blackened boy from before. Fully grown now. All four eyes ablaze with fortune set on the kingdom pitched below him. A new celestial body rises, four pale circles, four moons. One full, a half, waning, and a crescent cut by an abyssal black.

His heart rattled in its ribcage. The boy was transported.

Tommy imagined himself overseeing it all instead: razed stone coated in gore. Pieces everywhere. It needed organizing. Thoughts came flooding: provide a new dawn, rewrite things, rewrite endings. The sun rose ahead. Everyone is gold again. Sunlight bouncing from glimmering locks. He ran a hand through his hair, no extra faces or eyes to contend with. A smile began to cut into the daydreaming boy’s cheek. Then a sound bumped into his ears.

Snapped back into reality.

Jingling mail and scratching plate armor echoed from down the hallway he had emerged from. He can see another light, flickering, dancing, making new shadows. His head swiveled around and he plunged into the darkest corner he could find. Close to the tapestry and behind a grand pillar. Tommy watched the light get stronger. His foot brushed against something hard, thin, but heavy. The lumbering four-eyed guard got closer and closer, but Tommy noticed that his glimmering eyes remained on the tapestry. All four brows furrowed, not two heads but one. A hindrance in that kingdom. Less so than having two eyes—no wonder they sent him into the unknown alone. The fire balled up on the guardsman’s torch revealed the short-sword underneath Tommy. His foot already stamped on it. A fist of overwhelming willpower began to rise into his chest. No more running.

The guardsman put the fire closer to the tapestry. It was dull, lifeless, and hardly detailed under his flame. It looked like a mess when he scanned it up and down. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tsk. A rock clattered against the opening to the lost room. The guard spun around, hand on his own sword. “Is that you Elentwin?”

Silence answered. Tommy can see the chill from under his garb. Wits end.

The pursuer laughed at himself, “Gods be graceful. The mind…” He sighs, then grunts, “No freaks—GAH!” He wails out in pain as the rusty blade tore into the back of his thigh. Red spots dot the stoney floor. Tommy yanked it out and swung with both hands towards the four-eyed-man’s face; it CLANGS against his helmet, cutting one of his four eyes and sending a streak of blood across his vision. The torch rolled away. An inky shroud consumes the wounded man. He could barely make out the black spot coming right at him. He attempted to unsheathe his sword but it snagged. He whimpered, using all he could to try and rip it from his scabbard. Too slow. Tommy jumped. He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed again. Blood, blood, blood everywhere. His neck, his arms, his hands, his face.

The sanguine blade stuck out from the twitching four-eyed-bastard.

A newborn man stood before the lost life. Tommy was shaking profusely and a single tear drops onto his balled fists.

Tommy pulled the tapestry down and wrapped it around himself to stop the shivering. Both eyes adjusted to the shadows again. On his shoulder was the dark babe, around his heart was the panel in all red.

Maybe—he didn’t need to only survive. Maybe…he could live. History is written by the winners, right? Amidst the gloom and gray despair, something new rises. Something gold, dripping like honey in ambition, anger, and a new dawn.

Tommy is an omen.

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