Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  “You didn’t have to hit me,” Syah told him in a tentative tone, yet trusting.

  Oman smiled a little, squeezing his neck. “Yes, I did; you were about to gallop alone into dangerous lands. You would have gotten yourself lost, captured, or killed,” Oman explained.

  Syah sighed. He made as if to draw away but Oman didn’t release him. “You were angry with her, too.”

  Oman nodded. “But you shouldn’t have been,” Oman said, forcing Syah to meet his gaze, seeing his confused face. “My brother the thinker,” Oman said with pride, not scorn, laying his hand lightly on Syah’s head, “letting her false words affect you, letting your anger control you.” Oman’s voice became more serious, but comforting, not aggressive. “You shouldn’t have let her, or us, make you lose your head. Your reason is your greatest strength.” Oman paused a moment, watching Syah’s face calm. He waited until Syah nodded, halfheartedly, and then added, “From now on, you need to use your wits to keep us all in check.”

  Syah bowed his head in thought. He wouldn’t look at Oman as he asked it. “So you don’t believe the woman’s words?” Syah raised his eyes and saw Oman’s eyes widen, felt his hand loosen on his neck. Whether he paused out of shock and distress from the question or to quench an uncertainty of the answer, Syah couldn’t tell. Oman only left himself a moment.

  “No,” Oman answered, his breath catching. “Don’t ever think that.” He swallowed, glancing down a moment, troubled. “Our brother the thinker,” he said, his voice regaining its strength and reassuming his grip. “You know her words were lies.” He leaned forward, pain in his eyes until Syah nodded, then he nodded as well. They lowered their heads, resting their foreheads against each other and realizing the hardship they had caused each other that day. They both breathed deeply and Syah felt stray tears blink from his eyes. Oman felt Syah try to restrain a shudder and had to release him before he lost to the tears himself.

  “Come on,” Oman said. He put an arm around Syah’s shoulder, feeling him wipe the tears from his face. “Help me build a fire.”

  There they are, the words I wrote so plainly on the page. Magic is real, Magic is real, Magic is real! I desire to rip out the paper from its binding, strip the confession from existence.

  But I will not. The feeling is still hot in my memory, and even though I now dread it, I will not deny it. I wish I had never seen it.

  It doesn’t matter. Just one thing: The riddler lies. She had to have been… But…

  I don’t know what to write, or what not to. I will not empower it by giving it words on this page. I will not. I will strike it from my mind.

  If I can…

  I would never… no. I will not speak of it. They know my heart, my mind…

  For the three brothers,

  Syah, Prince of Arnith

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE RETURN

  The rain was their welcome back to familiar lands. It poured down in sheets with the wind, as if it was determined to wash all the filth of travel off the princes before they returned home from their journey. But the cleansing quality of the rain quickly changed. It gusted at them and, despite their hoods, riding cloaks and clothes, it wasn’t long before the chill saturated them.

  Strikes of lightning from the storm became closer and louder, startling the horses, especially the stallion. Though they were riding through the drenched forest with care, a clap of thunder would cause Lightning to bolt into the trees, and several times to rear up in fear. Fasime looked very weary by the time they stopped to rest in the partial dryness by the trunk of a large tree.

  “It will be nice to be inside again, to sleep in our own beds,” Oman said, shivering. He sat against the tree, his hands too numb to remove his soaked cloak.

  “And not to have to worry about the perils of the wilderness,” Syah added. He sat down beside the eldest, not removing his cloak either.

  They opened their eyes at the sound of the knight groaning over his efforts to light a fire. They watched him toss pieces of wood after failing to ignite the spark of fire over it. “It’s all soaked,” he grieved, dropping down next to Fasime. Staring off through the trees into the sheets of rain, the knight slumped in defeat against the tree.

  Too miserable, too cold for sleep, they watched the relentless rain trap the forest under its spell. The trees and plants on the forest floor seemed to be rejoicing. The thunder subsided. They could now hear a chorus of unseen birds applauding the clouds for their good aim. Though they couldn’t shake the cold, they found comfort in witnessing their lands teem with life under the spring rains.

  “Well, we’ll have no warm food tonight,” Fasime told them drearily. With clumsy hands he took out food and the canister of water. “It’s cold, like everything tonight.” He passed the food and their chilled bodies stubbornly ate it. “I hope this rain doesn’t continue into the morrow,” he said, giving up on the fruit and meat and placing it into a pocket. “I can’t stand much more of this.”

  “We’ll be back at the castle soon, nonetheless,” Denire told him, looking at him with tired eyes.

  Syah cleared his throat. “The bad weather is slowing us down,” he informed them, and took a drink of the water.

  “We won’t see the elven forests,” Fasime commented, closing his eyes, all the places they had seen revisited in his mind.

  Syah grunted, caught his breath. “You have already seen them,” he retorted, but his words were strained and he coughed to clear his lungs. But the cough persisted, became deeper, and he received stark looks from three sets of worried eyes. The coughing calmed and he shook his head, but his face was pained and they saw both his arms were wrapped around his chest.

  “Syah,” Oman said, as if he had done something wrong.

  “I’m all right,” Syah snapped, frustrated with himself. He tried to hide his discomfort and sit up. Watching him, they realized they had forgotten his fractured ribs, and they pushed him to ride although it pained him. Still, he hadn’t complained, or given any hint of discomfort, easing their impression of his recovery.

  “You aren’t feeling the chills, are you, Syah?” Fasime questioned and gave him a serious look.

  “Oh, Fasime, of course he is!” Oman cried, and pushed himself off the tree. “With this blasted rain soaking us, we are all chilled to the bone!” Oman threw aside a pile of damp brush and found dry earth. Denire and Fasime joined him, feeling along the ground for twigs and sticks. Syah closed his eyes a long moment and then pushed himself up to help them.

  “No, Syah, we’ll start it, sit and rest,” Oman admonished him, struggling to strike a spark from his flint and light a pile of brush. Syah grumbled something in a language they didn’t understand and opened his pack. They stopped, watching him with questioning expressions a moment as he took out his journal. They watched him gaze at a page a breath and then turn to the back, only to tear out several of its blank pages.

  Sensing them staring at him, wordless, he moved and took the flint from Oman. With one flick of it, Syah had his pages burning. He laid the paper under the twigs and brush, then watched them catch fire. As he reached to arrange sticks over it, he looked up at Oman, then at Fasime. They had no words to thank him; they just opened their hands to the warmth of his fire’s blaze.

  On this, the final day of their journey, the brothers’ hearts leapt. They saw places they could name and things that held memory. The weather had improved. Now it held them as periodic fog and constant chill wind from the south, as winter’s last sigh before it faded into slumber. Still, they hastened their pace towards it, sensing home was closer and closer, and knowing soon they would look upon it again.

  “We are near the capital,” Denire said, in a voice that made them turn to him. His eyes were focused on the forest beyond them. “There are soldiers patrolling,” he explained, gesturing towards them.

  The princes turned to see mounted men, barely discernible through the trees between them. But they could see the deep blue of their kingdom in their livery, they co
uld tell by the confident movement of the horses that they were Anteria’s guards. The patrol drew nearer and the brothers’ shoulders and arms went lax. It was as though some tension raking them was released at the sight of their kingdom’s soldiers.

  “They’ve spotted us,” Fasime said with joy on his face, watching the soldiers turn their horses.

  “Oh, no!” Syah voiced his thoughts aloud. “We were supposed to return separately!”

  “Wait!” Oman cried, watching the riders increase their speed as they galloped towards them. “Those soldiers were looking for us.”

  “It’s them!” one of the soldiers cried. “They’re alive! They’re alive!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  DISGRACE

  The guards took the princes and the knight quickly through the castle. A growing unease pulsed inside Syah, seeing the castle workers stop and stare as they passed. The guards seemed to be rushing them. A few maids gave out cries of joy after seeing the princes pass, and Syah looked back at them. That confirmed it. It had been discovered they were missing, and many people must have worried, all the days and nights since then.

  Syah turned and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew was about to happen. Soon they were passing through the doors of the throne room. In spite of his nervousness, Syah felt relief for finishing the journey and setting eyes on his parents. But his father’s face, his mother’s… they were full of sorrow and disbelief. For a moment, the great hall was silent.

  “My sons!” the king exclaimed, rising to his feet. The brothers stopped before them, now fully realizing the consequences of their escape.

  “They are alive!” the queen gasped in a low voice, as if she didn’t trust herself to speak the words aloud. “Is this true?” she whispered, moving tentatively towards them.

  Syah looked away from her when he felt the king’s gaze fall on him. His father’s eyes seemed to penetrate deep into his. Syah’s face fell in guilt, and he found it difficult to look his father in the eye. Syah tensed and hung his head. The king stood rigid by the throne, the obligations of father and king frozen by surprise and emotion.

  The queen approached Fasime, closest to her. She moved as if trying to handle some wild beast that would flee at any movement. Fasime could hear her breath, shaky and shallow, but he made no move to reassure her. Her hand reached out for his arm, her fingers touched it briefly. She raised her head and the prince saw her pleading, desperate eyes and distressed lines of her skin and lips. She touched his arm again, grabbed it, and then held his face. “Fasime!” the queen cried, laughing and crying as she wrapped her arms around him.

  The queen didn’t notice Fasime had not returned her embrace. She released him and stepped towards her first-born son. “Oman!” she sobbed, tears falling down her face now. She embraced him closely. Oman’s body shrank and weakened in her shaking hold. He nearly fell forward when she let him go, feeling his breath stolen from him.

  Then she went to Syah, caught his shoulders. “Oh, Syah!” she cried, and took him in her arms. The young prince tried to breathe evenly, unable to keep his body from shaking. He felt her weeping cease, her drawing away from him, and then he felt her hands on his face. “My sons,” she said as she lifted his gaze up to her own. Syah looked up at her, but how could he hide his thoughts? Her joy faded, her face calming, then questioning, anxious.

  His mother’s growing confusion twisted Syah’s insides. He wished he hadn’t returned, or that he could just go to his room and be forgotten. He lowered his head. She looked away from him, to Oman, then to Fasime. Her hands dropped away from Syah and she moved back.

  “Where have you been?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “Fenar, notify the city the princes have returned,” the king said to one of the guards.

  “Your majesty,” the guard said, bowing, “they already know. Do you not hear the bells?”

  The king turned to the window. They all fell silent, listening to the mix of chiming bells coming from the city. The king nodded and looked back at his sons.

  The queen tried to find the answer on their faces. “Were… were you captured by the enemy?” Syah couldn’t answer her. He sank, lowering himself further until he was kneeling before her. Oman and Fasime hid their faces from her, then knelt on the floor of the throne room beside their younger brother. She gazed at them, afraid, half wishing to embrace them, half driven to withdrawing.

  “Serigonia,” Algoth called her. His voice summoned her from a dizzying fear and confusion. His face was strong and sad as he held his hand out to her. Without looking back at her sons, she returned to him. He held her hand briefly and then motioned her to sit next to him.

  The king’s attention returned to his sons. They had not moved, kneeling with their eyes on the floor. Algoth paused a moment, studying them. “It has been forty nights since the princes of Anteria disappeared. Soldiers and servants have searched for you in the city, forest, camps, and towns of Arnith. They all returned without word of you. We feared you were dead or captured. But now you have returned; you come before us and you seem unharmed. Oman, rise and address me. Where have you been?”

  Oman felt a chill, then a flush, but he forced himself to stand. He tried to remain steady, feeling he was more a servant than a son of the king. “We were not captured,” Oman responded in forced words. The king raised his head. “We left of our own free will.”

  The king closed his eyes briefly. “Why?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”

  Oman took in a shaky breath. Answers were caught in his throat and he had to lower his gaze. “We stayed in Arnith,” he said, choking on the words. “It was my idea, to explore the kingdom.”

  The king didn’t reply at first, then took a deep breath. “So the military training, the hunting trip…”

  “We fabricated them so that no one would realize we were missing. We… we never meant to make you worry.” Murmurs arose from the servants and guards in the hall. Oman saw the pain on his mother’s face.

  “The kingdom feared its heirs had suffered a terrible fate… and you tell us that you planned it? Oman, I am disappointed in you! A leader has more responsibility to his subjects. The skies have had mercy on Anteria by returning you home safe, but how could you put yourself and your brothers in danger? How could you leave the castle alone in a time of war?”

  Oman looked as though he had been struck. Algoth could see him quivering. The king was about to press him, when someone from behind his sons interrupted him…

  “Your majesty.” A roughly dressed soldier stepped forward.

  “Why do you address me now?” Algoth said in a fierce tone.

  “King Algoth,” the solider said, bowing, “your sons were not alone.”

  “What?”

  “Your sons have been under my watch.”

  “Who are you?” Algoth demanded.

  “I am Denire Sharlane. I am a knight of Arnith. I was with your sons on their journey.”

  The king stood up. “A knight of Arnith? You… helped them plan this?”

  Syah looked up sharply.

  “I was their guide,” was Denire’s answer.

  Syah focused on the knight. He began to stand, but something held him. “Wait,” Fasime whispered from beside him.

  “You allowed our kingdom’s heirs to go into danger?”

  “Yes,” Denire answered.

  Syah gasped, but Fasime held him again. “Stop, Syah; this was his choice.”

  “And you helped them leave the city?” the king demanded.

  “No, your majesty, I joined them afterward.”

  “Why did you let them do this? You vowed to protect them!”

  “I couldn’t return to warn you without losing them. I stayed with them to ensure their safety.”

  “Unacceptable! Every step they took further from the capital, the more endangered they were. What motivation did you have to lead them through danger? Did you hope for a confrontation to prove your valor? You have broken your oath as a knight. You
are a traitor to Arnith!”

  “No!” Syah cried, and before Fasime could stop him, he was moving toward the king. “He did it to protect us.”

  The king turned to him. “Syah, this is no longer your affair. Step back!” he ordered. Syah stopped when Oman came up beside him and grabbed his shoulder. “It is one thing for my sons, young men, boys, to recklessly delve into danger,” the king said, eyeing each of them. “It is quite another thing for one of my own knights to betray me.”

  Syah’s eyes were growing wide, sensing what his father was about to say. Oman must have seen Syah’s thoughts on his face; he forced Syah to meet his gaze. “Say nothing!” Oman whispered, his grip tightening on his brother’s shoulder. “He knew this would happen.”

  “Denying your duties could have led to the death of Arnith’s only heirs,” the king continued, glaring at Denire.

  “But he is taking the blame for our actions,” Syah whispered back.

  “Let it be, Syah, you’ll just upset Father further,” Oman said, loosening his grip.

  “So because of your actions, Arnith will hold you to face punishment for your treason.” Algoth’s voice, ever stern, rose in volume as he passed judgment on the knight.

  “Father!” Syah cried. This time, the king ignored him.

  Oman turned on Syah, grabbed both his shoulders and shook him. “Don’t get involved!” Oman warned, more than a whisper now. “You’ll only make it worse!”

  “Denire Sharlane, you are hereby stripped of your title as a knight!”