Brother, Betrayed Read online

  “I’ll just stay in the stables,” Fasime said, only realizing the humor in his words after he heard himself speaking them. Syah and Oman chuckled, but Fasime smiled, not minding their amusement if it meant it stopped Oman’s lecture.

  They came in view of the town, seeing the smoke of chimneys rising into the clear sky. Riding towards it at a casual trot, the brothers noticed the strange glow of the trees and the calm of the forest as they crossed the threshold back to the human world. In silent anticipation, they passed abandoned buildings on the boundary of the town. But soon they came across a man, simply dressed and deep in his work, and another the same. The brothers attempted to appear uninterested, but they were met with even less attention from the villagers. The villagers ignored them, sparing their passing only a half glance. The brothers were curiously pleased with this, because the more unnoticed, the easier their passage would be.

  The town was small. When they reached the main street, it was plain to see the opposite edge of the human buildings, their escape. The mellow workings of the town were peaceful enough to draw their gaze from the onward journey and towards their tasks. The buildings weren’t as sturdy as those from the capital, half stone, half wood, but their make was familiar.

  The market was located in the middle of town. Syah sighed as he looked it over, seeing it was offering grains and tools. His brothers dismounted. Their jobs would be much easier; the small stables and single inn with lazy smoke drifting from its chimney were easy to spot along the main street. Fasime’s expression said to find him if he needed him, and Oman cautioned again about saying anything, and all the dozen other warnings he had given before.

  “Don’t worry,” Syah answered, “I’ll meet you at the inn.”

  Syah started towards the carts and buildings of the market, his thoughts focusing on his task. He found a building, its wide windows filled with dusty brown items, blocking the view into the shop. Syah entered, finding a stout, white-haired merchant sitting behind a counter.

  “Good day, young traveler, how can I help you?”

  “I need some traveling supplies and dried produce, if you have them,” Syah answered.

  “Yes, help yourself. There are some dried fruits on the table there…” His last words trailed off as his eyes shifted to something behind Syah.

  Syah gasped when he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

  Fasime.

  Syah turned around with irritation, seeing his brother grinning with the pleasure of sneaking up on him. Syah glanced at the door, which he realized he had left open.

  “Couldn’t stand it, could you? Had to come and check on me,” Syah spoke casually.

  Fasime checked the man behind the counter, but saw he was smiling.

  “On a long journey, are you?” the merchant asked them.

  “We are heading towards Shal,” Fasime answered. The brothers began to pick out packs of dried food. There wasn’t much of a selection, and Syah and Fasime took almost all of them.

  “There is a good road from here to Shal,” the merchant told them. “Is this all you needed?”

  Syah’s eyes lowered again. “How much for…” Syah’s attention was drawn to something on the table. Syah found small and oddly shaped stones, black as a starless night but shining like metal. “What are these?” Syah asked, reaching for one as if it were a strange feather that the wind might steal away. As he lifted it up and inspected it, he noticed the edges were sharp, but the surfaces were smooth as glass.

  “Ah, yes,” the man said, in a different, softer tone. “Those come from Gorusk. They are firestones.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Syah said, studying them.

  Fasime wanted to interject, but he held back, observing his brother’s fascination.

  “You’ve been to Gorusk?” Syah asked.

  The merchant shook his head with a frown. “No, there’s another trader who goes there for furs. He brought these back. Enchanting, aren’t they?”

  “How much do you want for them?”

  “Two arsents apiece,” the merchant answered quietly, not wanting to interrupt the boy’s own thoughts. “I’ll give you it all for fifteen arsents.” He glanced at Fasime. Fasime exhaled loudly to show his exasperation, but handed the man the coins.

  “Come on, Syah.” Fasime picked up the goods they had bought. The youngest turned to follow him, still gazing at the stones in his hand.

  “No,” Oman said, setting his mug on the table. “We plan to be out of Keslewood Forest before the spring storms.”

  “It would be dangerous to be trapped against the northern mountains when the next winds come,” the old man stated, leaning his thick body forward.

  “No, we won’t be,” Oman replied. He did not bend under the man’s demonstration of the spring storm’s voracity.

  Seeing he wasn’t going to affect the young man, the bartender straightened. “And be sure to be careful of those Dikartians,” he threw over his shoulder as he turned back to his work. That got Oman’s attention.

  “Has Shal had any word of them?”

  The bartender glanced back. “None to speak of lately, but with the battles they have suffered in recent seasons, we always need to be wary of those barbarians.”

  Oman forgot the question he was about to ask. He stared at the hunching old man, realizing his intention. The Dikartian name isn’t one to be used so carelessly in the presence of the king’s son. His lips tightened, so subtly the bartender wouldn’t have noticed. Oman turned his head away to the nearly-empty room, lifting his mug and sipping the mild ale.

  The door to the inn opened. The look of intrigue that slipped across the bartender’s face hinted to Oman who entered. He turned around to Syah and Fasime standing in the open doorway. They spotted him at the table near the fireplace and started in his direction. Oman was about to question them on their findings, but the bartender returned to the table.

  “What could I bring for you, young sirs?” the bartender asked, clasping his hands together and eyeing the newcomers.

  “They’ll have water,” Oman answered for them. “And we’ll order something to eat, if you have it.”

  “Roast poultry, tonight,” the man said, placing his hand on the back of Oman’s chair and studying the two younger boys. “Will that do for you?”

  “That will be fine,” Oman answered. The man turned and left them. Oman’s eyes followed him back through the door to the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Fasime asked.

  “Nosey bartender,” Oman replied, leaning back. “Syah,” he inquired, “were you able to find everything we needed?”

  Syah didn’t answer immediately. He was looking at the roughly-dressed travelers sitting at the bar. Syah’s brows narrowed. “Yes, mostly,” Syah answered, giving half attention to his words. One of the men returned Syah’s gaze with a callous scowl.

  “We need to be sure to have plenty of food for the journey to the northern border,” Oman insisted.

  “There are some towns north of here,” was Syah’s answer.

  “We have enough dried food for a couple of weeks,” Fasime answered for him.

  Oman placed his hand on the table when he noticed the bartender returning. The man set two glasses before Fasime and Syah, then remained a moment, turning to the youngest. “So,” he said with smooth intrigue, “is this your first time traveling to the northern forests?”

  Syah looked up at bartender without emotion.

  “From this direction.” Fasime’s words answered, but the message in them was clear. The man nodded and left them.

  “We will only go to those towns if necessary,” Oman said when he was gone. “It will save time if we take a straight route north.”

  “In a hurry to return?” Fasime asked with a brusque expression.

  The eldest paused at his question. “The sooner we return…” Oman began.

  “The less likely our plot will be discovered,” Fasime finished for him.

  Oman paused again. “Yes,” he said stea
dily, “so we won’t be discovered.”

  Fasime shook his head at him. “You shouldn’t worry about that. They won’t be expecting us back until the end of the season.”

  Oman relaxed. “You’re right, we have plenty of time.” And he leaned back with a pensive, distant look.

  “Time is only as long as its use,” Syah told them, his gaze not lifting from the table, like he hadn’t really been listening.

  Oman grunted. “Didn’t know we were bringing the White Cane along, did you, Fasime?” He gave Syah’s shoulder a playful shove. Oman and Fasime chuckled.

  That’s better. Syah, pleased by their amusement, thought of another of their tutor’s axioms. But he saved it, the keeper coming into the bar with plates of food.

  “Hope you enjoy it, boys,” said the bartender. He set the plates of browned meat, tubers, and steaming bread before them. He stood triumphantly over them, watching them stare at the plates as if they had never had a decent meal before. “Will you be needing anything else?” the man asked them.

  “No, this is plenty; we thank you,” Oman said, kinder. The man bowed in thanks and left them once more, checking on the men at the bar.

  Oman and Fasime took up their cutlery and began to eat. Syah hesitated at first, catching an odd smell from his plate. He placed the piece of soft meat into his mouth and suddenly he felt sick. He looked at his brothers, busily devouring their meals. Syah pressed his eyes closed a moment and then forced himself to chew. The sauce was very thick and strong, and tasted to Syah as if had been bubbling in a cauldron for weeks. He managed to swallow, but the taste remained. He had a queer feeling inside as the bite of food sank to his stomach. He glanced at the fire, feeling its heat making him sweat. He broke off a piece of the bread, to absorb the taste, but when he placed it in his mouth it tasted incredibly dry and stale and he almost spit it out. What was wrong with him? The bread seemed freshly baked and warm, but as he chewed it, it felt like dust in his mouth. He looked back at his brothers, who noticed his sullenness but were still eating the food without any problem.

  You’re just feeling nervous. He raised his glass to wash down the dry taste, but the water, too, tasted stale. It tasted as if it had collected dust for a cycle. He swallowed it before it made him gag. Setting his glass down, he let out the breath he was holding, but had to grip the table to hold down the little food he had just eaten.

  “What’s wrong?” Oman asked him.

  The water seemed to have made it worse. The aroma of the food rose and reminded him of the churning in his stomach. He didn’t want to inhale, choking the stifling, thick smoke from the fire and the pipes they were smoking at the bar. He wanted to get out of the inn. His body longed for the fresh, clean air of the forest. His sweating skin wished for a long, cold downpour of rain. He closed his eyes and tried to set his mind free, riding his horse briskly through the dark, clear wood. “I’m not hungry,” he answered, sinking back in his chair.

  Oman and Fasime watched him for a moment, but didn’t question him. After a while they took his food and finished it themselves.

  Syah felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes, realizing he had almost fallen asleep.

  “Time to go,” Fasime told him. Syah tried to stretch the pain out of his muscles as he stood. He looked at the rough-faced men still sitting at the bar, seeing the keeper wasn’t in the room. “Come on,” Fasime said. They followed Oman down the narrow hallway, past several closed doors. Oman opened one and went in to light the candles, the fire already burning in the hearth. Syah shut the door; at least they were alone in here. And some of his hunger had returned. That was clean, at least.

  “Must we stay here?” he asked, stepping into the middle of the small room.

  “We are all tired,” Oman said, stressing each word. “Let’s just get some rest.”

  “It doesn’t feel right here,” Syah protested, inspecting the room.

  Oman looked at him with irritation. “We are only staying for one night.”

  “Are you… sure it’s safe?” Syah continued, his voice still strained, not facing his brothers.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Fasime asked, matching Oman’s annoyance.

  Syah turned and faced them with an earnest expression. “The men at the bar were watching us the entire time. And that bartender was so inquisitive. Are you sure they don’t…”

  “Syah,” Fasime interrupted, stepping up to him, “there’s nothing to worry about. You’re just tired.”

  “We should at least take watches, in case…”

  “Watches?” Fasime said with amused surprise. He went to the door. “The lock will take the watch for us,” he said, bolting it firmly.

  The click of the lock shuddered through Syah. It seemed to be locking him in, more than locking others out. The sick feeling returned to his stomach. He turned to the door. “You two can stay here tonight if you want to. I’d rather take my chances with the wolves,” Syah said in a shaky voice, reaching for the handle.

  “Syah!” Oman’s angry voice almost yelled. Syah stopped. His older brother was sitting on the bed, but poised, threatening to stand. Fasime laid his hand heavily on the door and watched Syah stand in indecision a moment.

  “Sit down,” Oman ordered in a fierce tone, his body seeming to grow larger and stronger, his eyes locked on Syah’s.

  Syah withdrew his arm. He walked stiffly away from the door and stood at the edge of the bed, but didn’t sit down. Oman spoke, the anger in his voice only slightly calmed. “It would be much more dangerous for you to go out into the woods alone than for you to stay here, with us.” Oman sighed audibly in frustration.

  “It has been a long day,” Fasime coaxed, putting a hand on Syah’s shoulder. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  “Sleep?” Syah mocked him, staring at Fasime with hot eyes. “I couldn’t possibly sleep here!”

  “Lie down Syah,” Oman told him.

  Syah shook his head. “That wouldn’t do any good, I…”

  “That wasn’t a request,” Oman’s stern voice interrupted him.

  Shocked, Syah tried to recall his words, and though he couldn’t, he knew. Oman’s demanding expression and posture told him. Syah’s arms began to shake.

  “Go,” Oman’s voice was calmer now, but still commanding. There was no hint of jest in his words. Syah started to feel smaller, younger, and his brother a giant. He tried to surmise what Oman might do if he didn’t comply, but that thought itself began to crush him.

  As he turned towards the bed, Syah could feel his brother’s powerful eyes still on him. He fought now to hold in his breath as he lowered himself to the bed. Lying on his side, he pulled his knees up to his stomach and clenched his arms around his chest. He could feel the tenseness leaving the room, but it all came to him, filling his chest as he struggled not to let it loose. Shaky, quick gasps came through his teeth as he listened to his brothers’ voices on the other side of the room. It was useless to make him lie down. He wasn’t going to sleep with his anger about to burst from him. Oman didn’t have to speak to him that way.

  A surge of anger directed at his brother’s voices had no target, as they seemed farther away and he couldn’t understand them. Syah blinked mutinous tears from his eyes and tightened his jaw, fighting back another surge. His head began to swim, remembering the men at the counter, feeling his horse ride through the forest, hearing the click of the lock, feeling the pressing walls of the small room. He felt he was about to lose the struggle against the storm inside him. His body and arms were weakening, but the anger weakened as well. His shaking breaths growing steadier, and his heart no longer pounded frantically in his chest. But before he could decide to sit up, exhaustion overtook him and he closed his eyes again.

  Syah woke to the warm sunlit room. There was something he had forgotten. Though he still resented being forced to stay, his unease and anger had seeped away in his sleep. Now he felt ready for the new day, and its opportunities.

  He heard his brothers moving
in the room and sat up, feeling strangely renewed. He stretched and let his lungs fill.

  “Morning, Syah.”

  Syah began to speak, but threw his arms up reflexively when Fasime tossed something at him. Syah caught it with a jerk before it hit him in the face, finding it to be a set of clean clothes. “We’ll be leaving soon. Get ready.” Syah set the clothes on the bed, stifling the urge to throw a pillow at Fasime’s head as he turned and left the room with most of their packs.

  The youngest looked over at Oman, who was sorting out supplies on the bed and repacking them. Syah felt a whisper of distrust towards his elder brother, remembering his voice and his threatening eyes the night before. But the feeling eased. Syah saw that the angry, powerful beast had vanished.

  “There’s some breakfast for you,” Oman said, gesturing to the nightstand.

  Syah’s stomach turned, but he sighed when he saw the food. It was some of the dried fruit he had bought yesterday, and some of the jerky they had eaten in the forest. How did they know? Syah gathered the fruit and jerky into one hand and ate it as he dressed. Then he helped his brothers carry the rest of their things to their horses.

  Chapter Five

  THE SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS

  The wind. A blessing of coolness and fresh freedom, at first. Then it bites, stings, begins to rattle every part, down to the bones. The horses bowed their heads to it. Even Lightning, regal as he was, succumbed to its power. It blew like an eternal force from the looming mountains, stripping the empty plains. The rolling plains offered no protection since the brothers had passed the boundary of the forest, where the trees parted and then retreated altogether. Brave, thin grasses were the only life visible, and the horses didn’t bother trying to eat them. The princes allowed the horses to slow their advance, sensing their destination was near.

  “This is the farthest south we have ever been,” Syah stated, his thoughtful tones barely audible over the gusting wind.