by Peter Plasse
“Singular,” called Norma. “Singular, come now. It’s time for your lesson.”
“Oh jees,” he said. He stood and trotted back towards her.
“I caught one,” he announced as they walked back, hand in hand, towards Elsie’s cabin.
“Caught what?” she asked.
“A red-spotted frog. It was beautiful. It took me a long time, but I did it. It’s the first one I have ever caught.”
“You didn’t hurt it, did you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I would never harm one of the Old One’s creatures. You know that. I tossed it back into the marsh, Auntie Norma. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”
She smiled, taking great joy in the fact that her charge could find such pleasure in as simple a thing. “All of the Old One’s creatures are precious, aren’t they?”
He nodded, thinking back to how he had so carefully snuck up on the little animal. It was a small triumph in his young life, but a triumph nonetheless.
“What is today’s lesson?” he asked.
“Swordplay, my dear one.”
“Oh Auntie,” he said, “Do I have to? I hate swordplay. Uncle Turman is mean to me. Last time he clobbered me up side of the head and almost knocked me out. It gave me a terrible egg.”
“I know it’s hard,” she said, turning around to look over the marsh that had been the only home he had ever known in his ten years of life. She was silent for a time. “Look at that,” she said.
“At what, Auntie Norma?”
“The marsh,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“It is,” he answered, sensing that she was about to say something important.
“Always remember to take the time to burn certain images into your mind,” she said. “Happy images, like this one. They keep you going when times are hard.”
He didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, but he did as he was told. Auntie Norma knew about important things.
“The thing is,” she said, “you won’t always be here, Singular. When you are grown, you will leave this place and do what it is you must do.” She sighed deeply and took a seat on a bench in Elsie’s yard, fashioned from hewn logs. She beckoned him to sit, and he took a seat beside her.
“It is time you knew something,” she began. She sighed again.
“What’s wrong, Auntie Norma?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong,” she answered, trying hard to keep her voice pleasant. She had dreaded this conversation for ten years now. It pained her deeply to have to finally tell him the truth about who he was and what he was destined to do. “It’s... well... you need to know who you are.”
He looked confused. “What does that mean, Auntie Norma?”
She took a deep breath and began. She told him right off that he was the Prince of Vultura, and how his mother, the Emperor’s wife, had died bringing him into the world. She told him how the murderous Trolls had struck down his father, the Emperor, and how she had spirited him away to this place with the thought that he might grow up out of harm’s way from those that would have him dead as well.
“Elsie is not really your grandmother,” she said.
“She’s not?” he asked. His mouth had gone dry, and it was hard for him to get the words out.
“No, she is not. She loves you as though she were. With all her heart, but she is not. She is not who you think she is. She is a witch. Not a bad witch, like in the stories we used to tell you when you were little. She is a good witch, with a heart of pure gold. And this place,” she paused, gesturing around her with a broad sweep of her arm, “does not truly exist in the kingdom of Vultura. It is a special place. It is … enchanted, spelled into existence by her conjuring. Invisible, sort of, to any who would venture here unless summoned. She did this for you. She knew that someday you would come … ” She broke down and began to cry softly.
He put his small arm around her and did his best to console her while his young mind tried to wrap itself around all that she had told him.
She looked at him, her face wet with tears. “Oh, my beautiful boy,” she said. “I wish that all of this were not true. But there are thousands of Gnomes out there,” she pointed to the horizon, “whose lives have been ruined by the Trolls. They live as slaves; their entire lives spent in servitude to cruel masters who care not a whit for their existence. There is no joy. None. Our once proud nation is in shambles. And you, as heir apparent, will… be charged with leading the nation back to a free state. It is a… daunting task, to say the least. But… it is something you must do. It is your destiny.”
Later that night, he lay in his bed, sore all over from the rigors of his lesson in swordplay. Turman Pandieth had reported to Elsie and Norma that he had never seen the lad perform as well, that he had finally started to take the lesson seriously. Norma told him of her conversation with Singular earlier that day. He nodded in somber fashion and said, “It was time. He needed to know.”
Singular found it difficult beyond words to grasp the notion that he was who he was. Now he understood the years of lessons in Geography, Map Skills, Political Science, Mathematics, Reading, Writing, and Military Tactics that he had received from a veritable army of instructors that had been visiting Elsie’s place for as long as he could remember.
Finally, sleep took him. His dreams were filled with images of war. He both saw and heard the sights and sounds of battles being fought, with the dissonant clanging of blade on blade, the shouting, the chaos, and in the end the ground stained red with blood. The screaming of Gnomes wounded made him cringe. The horrible sights and smells of the decaying bodies left him feeling nothing but empty.
He awoke drenched with sweat. Silently, he stole down the ladder from the loft. He was hoping that a glass of milk from the cold-room might help to settle his stomach, which churned unceasingly. Turman Pandieth opened his eyes as Singular crossed the small room. He watched him glide along, open the door, return, and sit down.
“Singular,” he said softly. “No boy of your age should have to be told the things that you were told today. But,” he paused, “it was necessary. Please do not have hard feelings for Norma Webb. For while it is true that she is not your real aunt, she loves you as if she were. Some day you will come to know that her telling you these things today speaks to the very essence of what we call courage.”
“I know,” said Singular. “I know.”
He finished his milk and went to the fire, where he stirred the coals and added some kindling branches to raise a small flame. “The nights are getting colder,” he said softly. “Summer is passing.”
“Time does pass,” said Turman. “It is the one thing that remains constant. And with the passing of time comes change. We often wish that it would not, that things could stay just the way they are; that we could remain ever-safe and secure in our homes like you are right now.” He ran out of words and crossed the room, putting his arm around the boy.
“So you are not really my uncle,” said Singular.
“No I am not. But boy, I will always be there for you. No matter the hardship. No matter the circumstances, I will always be there for you. Always”
Singular hugged him fiercely.
“Oh Uncle,” he whispered. “I am so afraid.”
“Fear can be good,” said Turman. “Fear can be good. It can keep you very much alive.
“If we are loyal to each other, and loyal to our cause, we will prevail. I will keep you safe. It is my life’s work. And, as you already know, I’m pretty good with swordplay.”
Singular smiled a half smile and hugged him for a long, long time.
It was years before Ubri Gall could bring himself to tell his father, Andar, about the abnormal occurrence at the fishing hole and Bramwith’s disturbing behavior. And he only did because, with the arrival of adolescence, the whole family had observed an ever-increasing pattern of behaviors that suggested that Bramwith had a very dark side. The concern became that his disposition quite possibly represented not
only a problem, but a potential threat.
At first, Ubri had kept the entire affair to himself. After all, Bramwith’s father had suddenly up and died. And although he had been only a youngster, Ubri still understood on some level that Bramwith had to have unresolved issues as to who his father had been and how he had been treated after the passing of his mother. So he let it go for a long time and was glad he did. They once again were more than friends. They were brothers. They worked and played together. They attended school together. They spent long hours helping each other prepare their lessons. In fact, Isandora often commented how lucky they were to have each other, considering that the enormous demands of running their establishment oftentimes meant that she and Andar were unavailable to help them with their homework assignments. But by the time they did get around to reviewing their work, before retiring for the night, it was almost always done and in good form. This being the case, they each did very well in school, and they were always proud of them when they brought home their report cards.
But some years later his mother gave birth to a baby girl, and right away Bramwith’s dark side yet again reared its ugly head.
It began the day she was born. Within hours of the delivery, with little Jubra suckling on her mother’s breast for the very first time, the boys went in for their first glimpse of her. Ubri was delighted and asked almost immediately when he could hold her. Bramwith, however, remained on the far side of the room, appearing sullen. He expressed no interest in holding her and didn’t seem to want to even look at her. His only comment was something about how ugly she was, which brought a quick tear to Isandora’s eye. Andar, knowing how the world works, brushed it off, attributing the boy’s behavior towards the newborn to normal sibling jealousy, but whenever Ubri told him how Bramwith had shared with him plans for eliminating her in quite graphic detail, he vowed to keep a watchful eye on his step-son. The three of them discussed it with Bram in absentia, and resolved that Bram and Jubra would never, ever be alone together. Furthermore, Ubri was asked to report without a moment’s delay if Bram expressed any more ideation along the lines of hurting her, or any other words or deeds that he found in any way alarming.
However unfortunate, a rift began to develop between the boys. Ubri was thrilled with his younger sister, taking every joy with her growth and development. He held her and rocked her at every opportunity, oftentimes running breathlessly to either his mother or his father to report on a new word that she had learned, or anything else that caused him delight. He was there when she first crawled, and again when she took her first baby steps. Bramwith showed no interest whatsoever in their sister.
Then the arguments began, not that normal growing boys never argue, but it always seemed to Ubri that Bram looked for reasons to quarrel. Furthermore, these squabbles increased little by little in frequency and severity until they were virtually a part of everyday life in the Gall family household. It began to wear them all down.
All the while, Ubri had kept in the back of his mind the resolutions upon which he and Andar and Isandora had decided, now years ago, the most important one being that Jubra never be left alone with Bramwith.
Still, the practical reality of life being what it is, there came a day when Andar and his mother were away on errands. Ubri was out in the woodshed organizing the wood-stores and cleaning out a bunch of junk that had accumulated over the winter. Then he was to move a half-cord of wood inside for stoking the wood fires. It was the first morning of the spring festival, the day that marked the official start of the season for the inn, and everybody was working full-bore with last minute preparations. Bramwith was supposed to be helping him, but had clung to his bed claiming that he didn’t feel well. Rather than fight with him, Isandora had said he could rest for the morning. Too cold for Ubri to bring Jubra outside with him, he had left explicit instructions with the chief cook to watch over her and to call him when Bramwith got up. As it turned out, the cook became distracted with her kitchen duties and completely forgot her assignment to keep her eye on the four-year-old.
Ubri stood and looked around the woodshed. He smiled with the satisfaction that comes with a job well done. What had been a huge mess had been transformed into the picture of neatness and organization. All of the remaining wood was now in neat stacks with wide aisles in between for efficient access and restocking when they went in the fall for the winter stores. The clutter had all been cleared out. He knew his father would be pleased with his efforts. Now all he had to do was move in the half-cord for today’s burning, and he could have some lunch. His morning labors had left him famished. Then again, he wasn’t about to start moving an entire half-cord into the kitchen without seeing if Bramwith was feeling well enough to lend a hand, so he went back inside to check on him and to see how little Jubra was faring in all of the commotion. He was a little surprised to see that she was nowhere in the kitchen, and his surprise turned into annoyance when the cook, to whom he had assigned her care, had no knowledge of her whereabouts. He went quickly to Bram’s room, mostly to engage him in the search for her. He stopped outside of his door, hearing strange sounds of sputtering coming from within. He threw it open, and there on the bed was Bramwith straddled atop Jubra. He had her pinned and was pouring a large pitcher of water over her face, causing her to thrash her head wildly about as she choked and gagged.
“Bram!” he cried. “What are you doing? Stop it! Get off her! You’re choking her!”
Incredibly, it appeared as though Bramwith hadn’t heard him, causing Ubri to lunge at him with everything he had, tackling him and driving both of them completely off the bed where they crashed into the wall beyond. Ubri struck his head violently and was momentarily stunned. Jubra scampered quickly out of the room to safety.
When he came to his senses, Bramwith was on top of him, straddling him in the same way he had been straddling Jubra moments before. He had drawn his belt knife and was waving it slowly back and forth, inches from Ubri’s face. He noticed the same detached expression that he had seen years before at the fishing hole. “Bram,” he said, “get off of me. Get off!”
“Poor little Jubra,” Bram said, lowering the knife until it lay across Ubri’s throat. “Little Jubra. Family pet. The favorite. She will always be the favorite, you know. Little Jubra now gets all their love, all their attention. Nothing left for Ubri and Bram. No, no, no. Time to end it. They can have her. Maybe they will think about that now.”
Ubri, his eyes wide with fear, noticed the cook standing behind them brandishing a large iron skillet. She was looking at him, seeming to be asking what to do. He made eye contact with her and nodded slightly. The skillet came crashing down on Bramwith’s head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Jubra stood in the doorway, witness to the whole event, sucking hard on her thumb.
“Ubri,” said Isandora, “please go check on Bramwith. Take your father with you.”
It was late in the evening now and the celebration was near its end.
Ubri nodded and fetched his father, who was talking to a pair of merchants that had journeyed all the way up from King’s Port for the festivities. Together they went to Bram’s room where he sat, bound and gagged, in a chair. Andar grimly checked the ropes to make sure they were all securely fastened, yanking the gag roughly from his mouth.
“Please, Mr. Gall, Father,” he pleaded, “Please let me go. I didn’t mean any harm. I was only fooling about. Please. Please!” he begged, his voice now a high-pitched whine. He struggled furiously against his fastenings.
Andar didn’t in any way engage him, turning to Ubri who stood behind him, holding a plate of food. “Feed him if he will eat,” he said. “And something to drink.”
Ubri nodded and approached his stepbrother warily as though he might, at any moment, free himself from the bindings. He held a forkful of roast up to him but Bram turned his head away.
“Never mind then,” he said. “His choice.”
He turned to the boy and seized him firmly by the chin, turning his head so tha
t he was forced to look him in the eye. “It is over, Bramwith,” he said. “In the morning, when the constable comes, you will be taken away. You can’t live here anymore, and you will never again come back here for any reason. We opened our hearts and our home to you, yet … ” his voice trailed off.
“Please, Mr. Gall,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I love you. I love this family. Please, Mr. Gall, let me out for a little while. I need to relieve myself.”
Andar towered over him. “You will stay in that chair for the night. You may soil yourself, but that will be a small price to pay for your deeds this day.” He turned again to Ubri and said, “Gag him again. I will not have him shrieking like a screech owl and disturbing our guests.”
Ubri tried to reinsert the gag. Bramwith responded by trying to bite him, prompting Andar to knock him hard up side of the head, which stunned him. He took the gag away from Ubri and shoved it back in Bram’s mouth. “You will go and stay the night with your mother and Jubra. I will stay here with him.”
Ubri looked up at his father, his eyes sick with the horror of the terrible events of the day.
Andar patted him gently on the side of the head. “Go now,” he said. “It will be all right. Tell your mother what I have said. Go on.”
Ubri looked one last time at Bramwith, then walked slowly from the room, tears streaming down his face.
Ubri awoke early in the morning, hoping to speak to Bramwith before anyone got there, but when he entered the room it was already full of police officers. Bram was in irons and sobbing.
“Father,” said Ubri, “could we please speak alone? Outside?”
“Of course, son.”
“Would you please excuse us for a moment?” he directed towards the constable.
“Of course.”
Ubri and his father exited the room, and his father closed the door softly behind them.
“Father,” said Ubri. “Does he have to leave us? Where will he go? We’re the only family he has ever really known. What will happen to him?” As he spoke, his voice tightened more and more, and he became more and more anxious, walking briskly back and forth. As a lad of sixteen he felt he was old enough to have some say in this decision and was clearly pressing his father to reconsider. He stopped pacing and stood in front of him.
