Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  And the next, again and again.”

  Fasime’s jaw tightened when her eyes went to him.

  “Ruin and anger appall the skies

  Like a desert void of life

  The sun is ready to warm

  But nothing is there

  Nothing reaches towards its rays

  In darkness, it has all been slain –

  For one brother will betray the others with such treachery that it will change the destiny of Miscia forever.”

  The gray eyes turned towards Syah, sadness somehow in their wrinkled outlines, and anger like unseen light within them. There was a long moment of silence as she stared into Syah’s face again, this time suggestions of emotion playing across the thin skin of her face.

  “Who was the wise man?” Syah asked her in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

  “Well,” she answered, in a disappointed yet threatening tone, “he was a king. Three kings born from one.”

  Hot stew fell and splashed across the floor. Legs forced shocked bodies to stand and swords were drawn without thought.

  “What do you mean by this?” Oman’s shaken voice, too stunned to shout, demanded.

  “It is a story,” the old woman told him.

  “How could you say such things?” Fasime demanded. The woman didn’t acknowledge him, her eyes on Syah. He felt the anger surge through him and his hand tightened on his sword. One motion and it will be over, woman.

  Fasime’s eyes and aim flicked to the girl, not considering her a target, but surprised by her lack of response to their threatening swords above her. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t leaned back away from the brothers’ angry glares and shouting. Perhaps her hand gripped the wood of the chair tighter, but her face was calm as she met Fasime’s eyes. This time it was Fasime who tore his gaze away, back to the old woman unarmed and vulnerable beside her fire. Then Fasime noticed with disquieting unease she was threading the needle through the cloth on her lap again. Her attention was no longer on them. Enraged, Fasime raised his arm for the strike.

  “No, Fasime!” It was Syah. He clung to Fasime’s arm so he couldn’t complete the swing.

  “Syah!” he cried and looked at the youngest, frenzy streaking through his eyes, berserk with anger.

  “It’s a lie, Fasime. There’s no such story.”

  Was the wood floor unsteady beneath them? The last lingering taste of the strange stew returned and grew stronger, souring. Syah’s hand loosed from Fasime’s shoulder.

  “She has no right to speak such words!” Oman shouted.

  “No, leave it be!” It was the knight.

  The old woman’s eyes left Syah, but he still felt her thoughts bent towards him, penetrating him. He felt a pulse of apprehension, as if he was alone in a dark room and heard a footstep near him or felt a queer brush against his skin.

  “Get out of my way, knight!” Fasime’s voice betrayed his rage.

  “Don’t! We’re getting out of here, now!”

  Syah was transfixed. He was still partially aware that he stood in the hut beside his brothers, aware they were threatening the woman, arguing with Denire, but his mind was being pulled away.

  “Let me go! I’ll see her blood before I leave!”

  “No! Get out!”

  He was drifting back into darkness and fear. His eyes, wide and unblinking, focused on nothing. He felt he was about to look upon the answer, or his own death.

  “Syah!” Denire’s hand grasped his arm and the young prince blinked. Syah found he hadn’t been gazing towards the dark wall of the hut, but into the gray eyes of the old woman. A shock went through the prince’s body. It was as if he had been standing too close to a resounding clap of thunder and felt the accompanying lightning bolt. He saw into the woman’s eyes – a living darkness that matched the despair and fear into which he felt himself sinking. He felt himself a fly, hopelessly trapped by the intent, black stare of the spider. Denire’s grip tightened, wrapping the boy’s body with both arms. But it wasn’t Denire turning him that made Syah lose the sight of the riddler. His closing eyes and collapsing head concealed the terrible vision.

  He saw a blurry view of Oman and Fasime outside as Denire pulled him through the door. Oman looked as if he had just risen from being tossed on the ground, his face red with anger. Fasime stood blocking his way, but looked as if he was about to turn and storm back into the house himself.

  Denire and Syah took a few steps outside. Syah’s stomach lurched and he pulled away from the knight. His legs grew weak and he fell to his knees, then leaned forward and disgorged his stomach’s contents. Denire knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back.

  “Are you all right?” Denire asked when Syah’s vomiting calmed. The prince didn’t answer, but weakly pushed himself to his feet. Oman and Fasime came to them, their anger replaced by concern, allowing a moment before Denire had to deal with them.

  “What happened to you?” Fasime asked, touching the frozen pallor of Syah’s face. He handed Syah a canteen and let him rinse his mouth.

  “Help Syah mount,” Denire ordered, pushing the youngest toward his brothers. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The elder brothers took Syah between them and started for the horses.

  Oman turned and saw Denire wasn’t following them. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Just go,” the knight commanded. Denire stood firm with one hand on his sword, blocking the path back to the old woman’s home. Oman and Fasime, princes though they were, didn’t disobey.

  Denire approached the house warily. One ear listened behind him to hear if the princes would follow, the other listened for any signs of movement from within the small hut. He forced open the door without warning, stepped inside to the dim interior and shut the door behind him.

  It was almost utterly dark. The fire in the hearth had mostly gone out. He might have missed the light from the door, except that he knew where his target was. She was still seated in the chair by the fireplace. Although she did not watch him enter, he sensed she was aware of his every movement. He saw the yellow hair of the girl beside her. The girl was harmless; his gaze returned to the dark outline of the still woman in the chair.

  “You shouldn’t have spoken those words. They were a threat towards the king,” the knight said in a low and measured voice. He paused, giving her a chance to speak. She said nothing at first, and Denire thought for a moment that she would ignore him.

  “It is a history, not a threat,” she finally answered, her brief words looming through the darkness like cobwebs.

  The knight’s anger heightened. “What other king of Arnith has had three sons? You dishonor the Anterian bloodline by suggesting treachery in their house, and by claiming you are a citizen of Arnith!” The knight stepped forward, the hut shifting under his weight.

  “It is you who questioned my presence and demanded I prove my loyalties.”

  “Your loyalties certainly don’t lie in Arnith,” he returned.

  “So,” her words like a thread, snagged out to him, “what is the penalty for words in your kingdom?”

  He paused. “It depends,” he answered, loosening his tight grip on the hilt, “on their purpose. Since yours is unknown, I will spare you, for now. But you have been warned – you are not welcome in Arnith, and if Arnithian soldiers pass this way, your punishment will be served.”

  The knight shuddered as he stood there, and his brows lowered at the silence in the small house. He imagined the princes outside, startled by a terrible cry of death from the old woman. No. Don’t make it worse. He turned and moved back towards the door, his steps creaking the floorboards.

  “It seems,” the woman’s words enveloped him as he reached for the handle, “that we all may receive our punishment, one day.”

  His hand shook on the handle as he pulled the door open, then he stepped through and slammed it behind him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  CONSEQUENCES

  Oman and Fasime were standing by the
ir horses when Denire found them. They were watching him, concern and confusion on their faces. They were standing beside Syah, mounted but leaning forward in the saddle – probably the only reason they didn’t return to the darkness of the woman’s hut. Denire went to them with haste.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, and untied his horse. He mounted and looked back to the princes, who stood unmoving, their faces questioning. But he didn’t speak to them, and they turned and mounted. In silence, thoughtful, they left the yard of the stick-and-mud hut and started the trek back through the twisting woods.

  Syah rode, following, dazed and dizzy. All the dark trees seemed exactly the same. He was grateful the knight and his brothers seemed confident of the direction that would lead them out of the strange woods. They had spoken little since they had started back, aside from a stray comment on the old woman’s meddling. Syah felt her eyes could still be on him, but his strength was returning the farther south they rode.

  “She probably recognized us and decided to frighten us with that story,” commented Fasime for the dozenth time.

  “We should have made her pay when we had the chance.” Oman glared at the knight, who didn’t acknowledge him.

  “She told us the story right after we accused her of being a trespasser. She probably said it to distract us.”

  “You’re right, she didn’t like being confronted.”

  Gray eyes with sudden black pupils of depth and warning… Syah tried to close his eyes to the memory of them.

  Their ravings calmed for a while, their minds drifting to the forest and the memory of unspeakable thoughts.

  “We should rest,” Fasime stated. They realized they had ridden almost the length of the nameless woods without a break.

  “A short one,” Oman amended, and dismounted. Brush-covered ground became their seat, as they quenched their thirst and hunger. Fasime remembered the jerky he had given the girl and only ate a bite of it.

  “What drove that woman to say those things?” Fasime demanded yet again of the stark silence.

  “There was no sense in her words. Her story could have never happened, and is impossible,” Syah added. He was answered with surprised looks from Fasime and Denire, for it was the first time he had spoken since they’d left the woman’s house. There was no response, so Syah thought he might have ended the discussion. But he caught a strange look from his oldest brother. Syah’s brows lowered, though he didn’t realize why at first, seeing something dark brewing in his brother’s mind. What bleak concern will he worry over now?

  But there was something else. Syah realized Oman wasn’t reliving his childhood sicknesses, nor anticipating his problems to come. He was gazing at Syah, here and now, seeming to question him. Oman frowned then too, tensing. What was wrong? Oman didn’t look away, didn’t falter, his scrutiny of Syah intensified.

  “What is it?” Syah asked without force.

  Oman’s eyes gave his only answer. They grew harsh and liquid, and his face tightened with accusation. Syah glanced at Fasime for explanation, but his dark-haired brother refused to meet his eyes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Syah insisted, with heightening agitation and desperation. But he stopped, his mind answering his question within. His eyes widened with astonished realization. It was the old woman. They think… “And his heir will fall, and the next, again and again.” Syah’s chest sucked in a horrified breath. “Washing blood from their hands.” Syah’s body jerked up, tottering a moment on sick legs.

  Oman followed him, his hot eyes still set on his brother’s face. “And one brother will betray the others with such treachery…” But they couldn’t think… Oman stepped closer to Syah. “Three kings born from one.”

  Syah cried out, and his hands flew to his head. The story was about him! They couldn’t possibly think he would… Syah glanced at Oman, whose face was still suspicious. He looked as if he was about to expend all his power to defend the throne of Arnith from treachery.

  Anger flashed through Syah, quick as his shock, as powerful as his feeling of disgust. It was her fault! Her wicked words pointed to him, accused him, the youngest and furthest from the throne! Rage and fire were on his face as he drew his sword, calculating the distance back to her hut, the force needed to end her life. “She’ll pay for her words!” Syah vowed to the emerging shadows of dusk, as he turned towards his horse. He vaguely heard the knight cautioning him, then trying to restrain him. Syah pushed him away and started back for his horse. “I’ll make her regret her lies!” Syah cried.

  Then Oman was before him. Syah saw a streak of the lines on his angry face and then the colors of his fist before it slammed into his cheek. Then all he saw was red.

  Denire reached them as Syah’s body fell to the ground. The knight’s face was shocked and appalled. Then Syah groaned. He was trying to push himself up, but his arm faltered and he caught himself on his elbows with a gasp. Denire knelt down and grabbed his arm, half keeping him where he was, and half preventing him from collapsing into the dirt. Then his attention returned to the eldest, and glared all the thoughts he would not speak – disbelief and anger.

  Oman’s lips tightened. “We are not going back there,” he said by way of apology, and turned away from them. Denire sighed in relief and pulled Syah to his feet. He looked at Fasime, whose eyes were wide, staring at Oman. The look on the middle brother’s face betrayed his desire to be any place but this. Denire glanced back at Syah, who was still holding his face and barely aware of being moved. Denire pulled him to the mare with a rough grip. The boy’s eyes opened as the knight hoisted him up to the saddle. Denire moved the mare’s reins, watching Syah lower his hands to balance himself with the saddle’s horn.

  Syah felt Denire leave him. He thought about reaching for the reins and pushing the mare back to the old woman’s house, but Denire returned before his body could catch up to his mind. The knight reached for Syah’s hands, not meeting his eyes. Syah felt Denire’s grasp tight on his wrists, and then a length of rope. Syah tried to pull his hands free but was snagged.

  “Denire!” he cried. He struggled, but watched in vain as his wrists were wrapped with the rope, which was then looped around the horn. Syah turned his head, wanting to call on his brothers for aid, but the ache in his jaw prevented him. “No, Denire, don’t!” he ordered, trying to find a loose strand around his wrists.

  “It’s only until we leave this forest,” Fasime’s voice said from behind him, sympathetic but stern. Syah turned his head, wincing with pain as he moved, seeing Fasime ride his horse into sight and then stop beside him. Fasime’s face was kinder now. The anger clouding Syah’s mind dispersed, replaced by a cold, frightened feeling.

  “Why did…” Syah didn’t finish, realizing he didn’t want the answer.

  Fasime saw pain in his eyes, but not the pain of flesh and muscle; this was deeper.

  “We couldn’t let you return to the woman’s house, however much she deserved your wrath.” Syah shut his eyes tightly and lowered his head, release audible in his sigh. Then Syah’s face grew rigid, and Fasime’s heart twisted as he realized the reason.

  “But, Fasime… You seemed to… Oman thought that I…” He could barely utter the words without his lips trembling and his eyes filling.

  “No, Syah,” Fasime interrupted with sternness, even though he felt a flutter of doubt. “We knew you hadn’t yet realized what that cursed woman meant, and we had to deal with your reaction.”

  “You don’t think that…” Syah hesitantly kept Fasime’s gaze.

  “No,” Fasime answered in a firm voice. “Of course not.” He grasped Syah’s arm a moment, staring earnestly into his eyes.

  Syah nodded, much of the darkness leaving his thoughts. “Fasime,” he said, after his brother released him, “untie me.”

  “Not until we are out of this forest,” Fasime answered, reaching for the mare's reins.

  “Please, Fasime!” Syah’s voice was shaky and resentful.

  “No.” Fasime
pulled the reins over the mare’s head and gave them a soft tug to let her know he would lead her.

  “But, Fasime…” Syah persisted, as he watched his brother start his horse and led the mare behind him. Fasime did not answer him and did not turn around again. Syah looked down and tried to pull his hands from the ropes.

  “Don’t,” Denire said from his flank, “or I’ll tie them tighter.”

  With a low groan, Syah faced their forward journey. He heard Oman’s horse behind them and remembered his accusing eyes. He hoped Fasime was right. He felt the place on his arm where his brother touched him, and the warmth of his presence lingered long after he removed his hand.

  Daylight escaped beyond the horizon by the time they passed out of the strange forest. They continued in darkness, not wanting to camp near the dark forest’s eerie silence. The faint light from the half moon and distant stars faded, and the sky was shrouded by an unknown blackness. But they recognized where they were now, and stopped to rest for the night under tall trees with a thick canopy of branches over them.

  Syah lifted his head and watched as Fasime and Denire dismounted, probably waiting for them to untie him. Syah looked at Oman with a defensive expression when he nudged his horse beside him. Oman lowered himself from the saddle and turned to his brother. Syah’s chest and face tightened in fearful anticipation. Oman realized Syah felt vulnerable, and was afraid he would be struck again. Syah startled when Oman raised his hands, but settled again when the eldest laid his hands on his wrists. Oman’s hands felt the knots and followed the ropes around his brother’s hands. As he loosened them, he met Syah’s gaze. The boy seemed teetering somewhere between sadness and anger, but mostly was weary. He lifted his wrists and rubbed them thankfully after Oman had freed them.

  Syah hesitated when Oman held out his hand, then took it and let Oman help him down. Oman led him away from the horses. Fasime took them to be tied for the night.

  Oman stopped and faced Syah, seeing he did not draw away, his weariness now winning over his other emotions. The eldest lifted a hand to his brother’s bruised cheek, flushed and darkened now. He felt Syah’s fear ebb away as he laid his hand on his face and brushed his thumb under Syah’s eye and down his cheek. Syah only tensed a moment as Oman traced his bruise. It wasn’t done as a test, but as an acknowledgement, and then Oman moved his hand to Syah’s shoulder. He watched Syah frown and close his eyes, as if he were blinking away his pain.