Wing & Nien

by Shytei Corellian

  He didn’t exactly ride off, Nien thought as Joash replied, “It’s a little more personal here, Jake.”

  “No doubt,” Jake retorted miserably. Nien glanced at the door through which Wing had disappeared. Dejectedly, Jake said, “Is he or not? Just tell me that. I’ve got to say something to my friends.”

  Nien saw Joash glance at Reean.

  Through clenched teeth, Jake snarled, “Stop being delicate with me!” A raw sadness spun out into the room. With resignation, Jake lowered his head. “Just tell me what to say to my friends and I’ll let it drop — forever.”

  “I don’t know if he is or not, Jake,” Joash said. Nien was shocked — his father had never said it aloud, none of them ever had. “The people think he is, but they have thought so about other men, like Rhegal, and been wrong.” Joash shut the Ancient Writings. The book seemed uncomfortable on his lap and, setting Fey down, stood and set it back atop the mantelpiece. “Is their belief in Wing enough for you? What do you think?”

  Jake appeared blindsided by the question.

  “I,” Jake said slowly, “I don’t know.” Confusion and sadness played across his face. “I guess, I really don’t know who they mean, either,” he admitted, his frustration softening. “Wing’s my brother. He’s a little weird, but he’s still...”

  “Your brother?” Joash said.

  “E’te,” Jake conceded.

  Nien saw Joash exhale with relief. “I know not having a real, definitive answer isn’t easy. There are times, I wish for one myself.” His father’s words felt like a confession. “All we can do is be a family.”

  After a few quiet beats, Jake said, “All right.”

  Joash nodded and Nien noticed that Fey had gone off to play alone and Reean’s knitting sat absently in her lap.

  “Right,” Joash said, more to himself than to anyone else. Picking up the lantern, he said, “Why don’t we all turn in?”

  As the rest of the family solemnly prepared for bed, Nien pulled on a long-hooded coat, and draped another over his arm before stepping out the door into the night. In the distance, he spotted Wing’s dark silhouette.

  “Here,” Nien said quietly, coming up beside him.

  Wing looked over his shoulder and accepted the coat, swinging it around his shoulders. He and Wing were tall men, each well over six steps. The hooded coats Reean had sewn herself, assuring they were long enough, the hems falling nearly to the heels of their boots. Wing slid his arms into the sleeves and drew his arms across his chest.

  “It feels good out here,” Nien said. “Cool air.”

  “Yes, it does,” Wing replied, taking a deep breath.

  “Want to walk?” Nien asked.

  Wing answered by starting out and for a time, the brothers walked together in silence.

  “Sorry,” Nien said. He was not surprised when Wing did not reply. “So, you and father going into the Village tomorrow?”

  With resignation, Wing glanced up at the clear night sky. “The Vancs are getting itchy to be in their new home by the time the cold comes — so I guess I’ll be going.”

  “I wish I could help, but what with the early Cant meeting tomorrow — ”

  “It can’t be like the old times.”

  “Well, Jake’s getting bigger all the time. It won’t be long before he can take your place.” It was clear the idea pained Wing. “Don’t worry about that,” Nien said. “Jake’s eager for it. The only reason he hasn’t yet is fa.” Wing still said nothing and Nien let it go, unable to decipher what else Wing might be thinking.

  As they walked on, Nien’s mind tugged all the day’s disconcerting events together, drawing them in like pulling a single thread in a giant quilt. Things were building, or spiraling down more like, and Nien had no idea how to stop it — how to cut the thread that drew the rest in upon them.

  The Ancient Writings were clear in stating that the Leader would be like no other, they did not say the Leader would look like no other. Nien knew that if Wing could he’d change his silken black hair, tall stature, and olive coloured skin to look more like the creamy-skinned, medium height, and thick brown-haired people of his race.

  But that was only one problem. The shy’teh was another.

  Nien thought back to his ride home earlier that evening and the recollection of accidentally finding what they thought to be the Shy’teh Caves. It had not been until they were all standing on that ledge looking up at the big cat that Nien had understood how freakishly like the shy’teh Wing was, not only in appearance, but also in the way he moved through their world — silently, smoothly, disturbing silence in a group or between people no more than he disturbed the grasses in the fields or fallen leaves in the Mesko forest. Deeper still, was the less obvious but no less real matter of Wing, on the ledge that day, in silent communication with the big cat.

  But even had Wing not looked the part of the man described in the Ancient Writings nor held any similarities to the shy’teh, there was still something about him, like sunlight on a cloudless day.

  I wish it were just his quiet disposition, Nien thought. I wish there was nothing more going on in Wing’s head than work, food, and sex. Simple, Nien mused, and nothing wrong with it.

  Problem was, there was a great deal going on in Wing’s head, and even though Nien was not sure exactly what it entailed, he knew it could not override the glaring fact that Wing, the one whom the Ancient Writings spoke of as being one of their sacred, solitary race, was a solid throwback to a heritage not Rieevan but to a paternal ancestor on their mother’s side by the name of Lyrik, a man shrouded in as much mystery as Wing himself.

  Nien glanced down then at his hands, shiny black in the star-lit night.

  Like Wing, he looked nothing like a Rieevan. His make-up placed him as one of the people of Preak. It was only Nien’s gilded brown eyes that set him apart from his race — “Must be a little something other than Preak in you” — or so Lant had told him since no one else in Rieeve, including Nien himself, had ever seen anyone of that race.

  Situated directly below Rieeve, Preak was a much larger valley than Rieeve. It stood with its face to the great Southing waters, its back against the birth and split of the Ti-Uki Mountain ranges.

  But the fact that he was of a completely different race had never played long in Nien’s mind, for he had grown up with Wing, as a Rieevan, the two having fallen into a familial bond from the moment Joash had come home carrying Nien in his arms.

  It had been at the end of a beautiful Kojko day when Joash had found Nien at the edge of the family fields. The only evidence of his family had been in a tightly rolled scroll tucked inside his tiny, worn jacket. Written in Preak, Lant alone had been of help in deciphering the short message which had read: “No more than life could I give him. I will forever be his darkness, he will forever be my light.”

  Poetic, Joash had noted at the time. But not very helpful.

  Reean and Joash figured Nien had been little more than three revolutions when they found him, and Nien could recall only faint images and feelings of his life before.

  Speaking from his reminiscing, Nien said, “Do you ever tire of the fact that we don’t do anything normal?”

  “Normal?”

  “Yes, normal. Like living in the Village instead of being the only family to live not on the outskirts but cleeear,” he said, dragging the word out, “at the opposite end of the valley? And what about actually going to tabernacle? Trading wares on a regular basis? Perhaps even — Council forbid — looking like Rieevans?”

  “That would be far too much to ask,” Wing said, and there was a spark of humour in his voice.

  Nien chuckled.

  “I don’t know,” Wing said in an uncommon show of recognition for the situation, “I think it would be bad anyway. Maybe worse. I’m glad we live out here. I love my life. I love our lives as a family.”

  “Well,” Nien snorted, “without me you’d stick out like an eight-legged horse.”

  “Thanks for that,” Wing repli
ed, before adding in a quiet, out-of-the-blue tone, “And I hope you’ve never worried about it. Your body may be Preak, but your heart is Rieevan.”

  “And my mind,” Nien asked, pleased with Wing’s assessment, “I wonder where it resides.”

  “In your books, I imagine.”

  “They were my only salvation before the Cant came along.”

  “How is Commander Lant?”

  Nien was surprised. Ever since the Council had started pressuring Lant to convince Wing to join the Cant, the subject of the Commander had become uncomfortable and therefore avoided.

  “He’s good. Busy. He’s been working with Saam in the making of swords and short blades, and Saam’s been teaching me.” Nien hesitated. He knew it was risky, but as Wing was being so open, decided to say what he’d wanted to say for nearly a season. “The two of you used to talk a lot. I know Lant misses that.”

  They walked on in silence and just as Nien was sure Wing wasn’t going to reply, Wing said, “I miss my conversations with him as well.”

  Wing’s words lifted Nien’s gloomy mood. It had been far too long since Wing had been so forthcoming with his thoughts. Nevertheless, Nien didn’t press the subject, moving on. “That reminds me,” he said. “I’ve wanted to thank you for helping me and Lant pay Saam for his blacksmith work. It was great watching the sword design and first construction. Who ever would have thought we’d see weapons in Rieeve? And that we’d be the first?”

  To this, Wing fell silent again, offering only a reluctant nod of his head.

  “Anyway, I’m really grateful. I’ll make it pay off one day. I promise.”

  “I know,” Wing said.

  “Thanks, Weed Farmer.”

  “Anything for the Deviant.”

  They came to a slow stop and stood, taking in the night.

  Nien had rarely felt uncomfortable being in silence with Wing. A sense of discomfort with it having arisen only in recent revolutions, when Wing had stopped talking to Nien as he once had. Now, at a loss for what might be going on inside his brother’s head, the silence felt like a barrier rather than a trusted companion.

  He told himself, as he had a thousand times, that it was all right, naturally perhaps, for they were grown men and life that was harder, steeped deeply in the physical, had been upon them now for many revolutions.

  And then, as if the universe itself felt it necessary to prove him wrong, Nien became aware of a slow gathering of warmth touching upon his back and then folding itself around him. Tears filled his eyes in a rush. He couldn’t believe it even though the feeling was, by no means, foreign to him. It was the same one he’d had so often with Wing, especially as children, the experience of being one soul, where time stopped and reality became both expansive and heartbreakingly close.

  He glanced sideways at Wing and saw his brother swallow. Wing glanced at him and Nien could see the glint of tears in his brother’s eyes as well. They laughed. It was a laugh filled with incredulity and joy, but in it was also sadness and release.

  “As if,” Nien said, his voice rough and soft, “we ever should have doubted.”

  Wing chuckled, swiping at his eyes. “As if,” he replied. And then he released his breath as if he were releasing the weight of the world. And perhaps he was.

  It had been so long since he’d felt it so completely, Nien wondered how he’d gone so long without it. Of course, there seemed to always be a certain magnetism whenever he and Wing were together. And he knew others were able to feel it when he and Wing were together at social events or gatherings.

  As one, they circled their walk and headed back toward the house, walking close, still connected by the experience.

  Entering and quietly closing the door behind them, they noticed their mother sitting in the dark at the dining table, a cup in her hands. Across from her were two other cups.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep,” Nien whispered.

  “I’m not the only one,” she said.

  Hanging their cloaks, Nien and Wing stepped to the table and sat down before the cups of tea.

  “Thanks,” Wing said, taking a sip. “This hits the warmth just right.”

  “I thought it might.” She smiled. “How are you?”

  “We’re fine,” Wing replied. A little too quickly.

  “It was good to have some time to talk,” Nien added.

  “So that’s the secret,” Reean said.

  The brothers looked at her.

  “If I want to say more than ‘dinner’s ready’ to either of you, I need to keep owl hours.”

  “No more sleep for any of us,” Nien said, raising his cup as if to toast the idea. “Hot teeana doesn’t hurt either.”

  Reean looked at them, her expression a mixture of love and wonder. “The two of you,” she said. “Even when you were little you’d stay up all hours of the night talking or playing. Every time your father or I would try to get you up for morning chores you’d be back to sleep before we left the room.”

  “We were so rested after the nightly reading of the Ancient Writings it seemed natural to do something active afterwards.” Nien winked.

  Reean shook her head. “You’re bad.”

  “It’s a good thing we live so far out here,” Wing said to Nien with a chuckle. “The Council would have you hung.”

  “They would have chased us out of the valley long ago if they knew even half of what we’ve done.”

  “I suppose we made the right decision, then, to not follow through with our plan to rob the Council treasury and use it to buy livestock,” Wing said.

  “That would have been profitable,” Nien replied.

  Reean laughed.

  “And still a far less crime than going into the mountains,” Wing said, taking another sip from his earthenware cup.

  “Just count yourselves lucky that I didn’t find out, until long after, that you two took Jake with you beyond the Mesko forest,” Reean said.

  “He begged to go,” Wing offered in their defense.

  “Of course he begged to go. He worships the ground the two of you walk on.”

  Nien snorted. “That will change as he gets older. He’ll see through us.”

  Reean was quiet for a moment before shaking her head thoughtfully. “Not if he’s anything like his mother.”

  Nien looked across the table at her, as did Wing. They had never been bad boys, but as much as their family lived on the outside of Rieevan norms, Nien habitually pushed even the Cawutt standards to the edge, and often Wing had gone along with him.

  The only reason they lived apart from their people without being ostracized by them was because of Joash’s calling as the Mesko Tender. Though never an official election, the role of Mesko Tender was revered as a silent matter between the Tender and the Trees, so when Reean had fallen in love with Joash her family had let her go to live with him, leaving them, the Village, and their people. Still, it was almost as if she’d died. Nien knew that his grandfa had nursed a quiet resentment over it up until his death.

  “We’re sorry if we’ve ever embarrassed you,” Wing said.

  “You two are many things. Embarrassing has never been one of them.”

  “Just know if we blunder” — Nien grinned — “or fail miserably, it won’t be your fault.”

  His mother appraised them. “I hope we have not done you a disservice by living so far apart from our people.”

  “It suits us,” Nien replied. “We would have it no other way.”

  The three sat in the silent stillness of their home before Wing said, “I’m off to bed.”

  Reean smiled up at him but Nien saw the smile did not touch her eyes as Wing stepped around the table and kissed her cheek before disappearing into the room at the back of the house.

  Nien downed the last of his cup’s contents. As he set the cup back down on the table, Reean asked softly, “How is he?”

  Nien shrugged. “It’s Wing. Difficult to tell.” He knew his mother understood. “We haven’t been able to talk for a l
ong time. I miss it.”

  “I know,” Reean said, her voice sad. “It’s hard when things change.” Nien nodded. “I’d swear you two are twins. How you got separated before birth, I’ll never know.”

  Nien met his mother’s eyes and even though he didn’t say anything, knew as well he didn’t need to.

  Taking Wing’s cup, he took both to the large ceramic washing bowl and set them down.

  “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Of course,” Reean said.

  Nien yawned. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Nien crept into the back room and slipped out of his boots and clothes and into bed. He fell to sleep quickly only to wake up again, finding Wing’s bed empty in the pale light shining in through the back window shutters.

  Melancholy touched him, but he only had time to briefly wonder where Wing might have gone before he fell asleep again.

  When Nien awoke again, it was still dark, but he could feel dawn was not too far off. Wing’s bed was still empty and Nien got dressed groggily, stumbling into his boots. Stepping quietly into the main room, he found it empty. Rubbing his face, he took up a cloak from beside the door again and stepped out. Nien glanced to his right into the empty black stretch of fields, and then ahead to the barn. Since he was up before Joash, Nien decided he might as well help with the milking. Walking across the dirt-worn path between the house and the barn, Nien opened the door and stepped inside. There, slumped against the barn wall between the large water barrel and the baskets for collecting eggs, Nien found Wing. His brother was long gone with fatigue. After the day he’d had yesterday, it was no wonder. Looking about, Nien secured a large, heavy saddle blanket and, unfolding it, placed it over Wing’s legs, pulling it up over his chest.

  Wing didn’t stir.

  It was the coldest and quietest part of the night, just before light would begin to make its pale, fragile entrance. Through the opening of the large barn doors Nien felt a whispering breeze, and behind him the rustle of animals shifting in their beds of straw. Remaining for a moment, he wished he could close the barn doors and seal Wing off from the world, make the barn, the animals, and Wing simply disappear into someplace where his brother could live as he chose: working the fields plowing, planting, harvesting.