“Good
morning, Godfry,” Brine said, turning to the shadow and raising a hand to his
eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you until—”
Brine started.
In the east, the mid-morning sun was
peaking over the gray stones of the castle and turning the newcomer into a
featureless silhouette. But even without the details of color and texture—or
the use of his trusty monocle which was lying in his lap—Brine could see it
wasn’t Godfry.
He could see the split in the man’s
trousers where Godfry’s robes should be and he could see the absence of a beard
where one should have been spilling down the man’s belly.
“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry,” Brine said, still
squinting unflatteringly, “I thought you were—”
“Can yeh keep playin?” the
silhouette asked, somewhat urgently.
“I, uh…sure,” Brine said, raising the
flute to his face and noticing, with some alarm, that the man was jerking
spastically. “What should I pl—”
“Jus play—play somethin!”
Brine did, but not before rolling to his
feet and taking several steps back from the man whose silhouette was now
jerking about like an enraged epileptic; head rocking, arms jumping, legs
dancing in place.
Brine hadn’t noticed this before—not in
his temporary state of confusion—but now it was all he could see. The man had
either gone barking mad or he was being attacked by a swarm of killer bees. In
either event, Brine was starting to think a trip to the nearest guard might be
in order. The jittery stranger might be a harmless fan of music who’d heard his
favorite song and wandered over for a better listen, or he might be a raving
lunatic who’d decided to live out his dream of cutting up a flutist while they
played Marching up to Glory. Since Brine didn’t know which scenario was
true, he decided to compromise…playing the tune while retreating to the
kitchen.
His music played, his feet backpedaled,
and the activity levels of the shadowy stranger slowly approached inertia.
Brine took a few more steps back—just-in-case steps, he told himself—but they
proved entirely unnecessary. The longer Brine played, the calmer the stranger
became. It was almost as if he were a wild beast from depths of the Harriun and
the ghostly tones were soothing his savage nature.
The man’s head stopped jerking, his arms
grew calm, and although Brine wouldn’t have believed it had he not seen it with
his own eyes, the man appeared to be settling into a gentle bobbing motion that
reminded Brine of a slow dance between two lovers…And wasn’t there something
oddly familiar about that dance?
He thought that there was, and with the
sun now on his right side and the man’s details slowly gaining in clarity, he
saw several other features he thought familiar as well, like the coppery tint
of the man’s beard, the matted locks of his hair, the grassy stains on his
breeches.
Brine stopped playing and lowered the
flute.
“Jaysh?” he asked, not needing his brother
to confirm with his mouth what he had already confirmed with his eyes. And it
was a good thing he didn’t require such confirmation, because his brother
couldn’t have answered even if he tried, not with the thing in his arms
thrashing about like a fish and threatening to break his grasp.
Brine took a step back, both eyes bulging
at the cat-sized monster that had previously blended with his brother’s backlit
form, now attacking Jaysh with savage fury.
“Can yeh—!” Jaysh yelped, unable to
finish his sentence as he wrestled with the beast. He didn’t need to say more.
Brine understood exactly what he wanted and quickly began to play, watching as
the flailing cat-thing slowly went slack. Needless to say, Brine continued with
the song well after the beast had placed its head in the crook of Jaysh’s elbow
and closed its citrine eyes. And even then, he stood studying her for a very
long time before directing his attention to his brother.
“Is she okay?” he whispered.
Jaysh shook his head. “Dunno,” he said,
staring down at her. “She doan’ use’ly want nothin to do with people.”
Shifting his look of concern from pet to
brother, Brine said, “What do you think she wanted?”
His brother thought about this, then shook
his head again. “I doan’ think she’d hurt yeh,” he said, his eyes focused on
the animal in his arms and not on the cuts on his forearm or the tears on his
sleeve. “We was jus walkin along, like always, an’ she jus went mad, clawin an’
bitin, tryin to get out’a my arms. She did once’t—”
Brine stiffened.
“—but I caught up with her an’ drew her
back.” Jaysh looked back the direction he’d come. “Funny thing was, after we
come over the hill, an’ she could see yeh over here playin, she calmed right
down. Jus lay there in my arms like nothin happened. Weren’t ‘til yeh quit
playin that she went mad.”
Pretending to adjust the position of his
sandals, Brine took another step back. He’d seen the animal the night his
father passed away, but he had not seen it well. The chamber had been dark and
the pet-thing had remained coiled in Jaysh’s arms.
Now, however, seeing her in the light of
day—and in full flail, no less—he’d gained a new respect for this…well,
whatever it was. With shredded skin for ears and a nub for a tail, he’d found
the thing to resemble no classification of animal with which he was familiar.
Still trying to place the beast, he
half-suspected some evil wizard had pieced her together, a theory that only
blossomed in his mind the longer he surveyed the scars on her body. Is it
worth it? he asked himself. Is bonding with the man who made your life
miserable as a child worth tolerating this horrible-looking
animal—Horrible-looking and dangerous?
Brine thought about that for a long time.
The previous night, as he excused himself from the anteroom and retired to his
chamber, he’d mentioned something to Jaysh about catching up on the past and
trying to repair the ten ages they had spent apart. At the time, with the grief
of his father’s passing fresh in his heart and the decision to stay as adviser
fresh in his mind, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Clearly, his God
had a purpose for him in this land and, based upon what he’d seen so far, that
purpose likely involved the revitalization of the temples, an act which would
prove infinitely more simplistic with the assistance of the ruling magistrate.
His holy purpose aside, though, wasn’t
forgiving others an Amian’s responsibility? Was it not written in the Wogol
that he should love his enemies and chase after those who forsook him? Knowing
full well that it was, Brine forced a smile and said, “So what’s her name?”
“Zeph,” Jaysh said. “I calls her
Zeph.”
“Zeph, huh.” Brine felt out the name for a
moment, tracking down the connections it made in his mind. “Is that short for
Zephyr,” he asked, watching as Jaysh only frowned. “Like the light breeze?” he
added. “Here and then gone?”
Jaysh glanced to the west and wrinkled his
brows. “Doan’ think so,” he said. “Fer as I know, it jus means Zeph.”
“Okay. Zeph it is,” Brine said, returning
his attention to the beast and feeling his smile start to slip. He was running
out of things to say and he knew it. He pointed at the lines of scar tissue on
her back. “So did Zeph have an accident or something?”
Jaysh leaned forward and gave the marks a
look. “I reckon she did,” he said.
Brine waited for an elaboration, but when
none came, he said, “What do you…um…reckon it was?”
“Doan’ know,” Jaysh said. “She jus come
like that.”
Sill scrutinizing the rippling lines,
Brine said, “And where’d she come from?”
“Found her down round—I wouldn’t touch
her!” Jaysh said. Brine jerked back the hand he’d been extending towards
the creature. “She doan’ like bein’ woke up,” Jaysh said, “or touched.”
“Oh, I—I see,” Brine said, sounding
reluctant and a little afraid. He studied the thin lines of the creature’s
eyelids and wondered how close he’d just come to loosing one of his fingers. He
wrapped the hand around the flute and lifted his eyes to Jaysh, watching as his
brother assessed his cargo a little longer—a just-in-case stare, Brine thought—and
then lifted his eyes as well.
The brothers stared at each other.
Behind them, an old door—or possibly a
gate—squealed on its hinges; Someone in the castle going about their daily
business. But in the greenery of the garden, the Brothers Denbauk continued to
stare, staring until the act became something that might get one’s ears boxed
in the right kind of tavern.
“I best get,” Jaysh said, glancing at
Zeph. “She sleeps better when I walk.”
“Does she,” Brine said, aware that he’d
omitted the inflection and his statement sounded like an accusation. In order
to recover, he offered a weak nod and said, “I suppose she would.”
“Yep,” Jaysh said, and walked back into
the garden.
So much for reliving the good times,
Brine thought. But even as he thought the words—even as he watched his brother
easing deeper into the unkempt grounds—he couldn’t claim to be entirely
disappointed. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to his brother.
It had more to do with the fact that they simply had nothing in common and
nothing more—
Iman! The Missions!
“Oh, hey! Jaysh! Jaysh, I
forgot.” Brine sprinted after him. “Have you seen Iman?” he asked. At the sound
of their childhood friend’s name, Jaysh flashed him a guarded look and Brine raised
a placating hand.
“Oh, you’re fine. He’s not mad,” Brine
said. “You just might let him know you’re back. He’s been looking for you.
We’ve all been looking for you actually. I mean—” he winced at the
implications of that last statement and studied his brother, looking for signs
of injury or irritation.
Fortunately, though, Jaysh made no display
of either emotion. He actually appeared enthralled by something behind the
disciple, something moving in the trees at the rear of the grounds, possibly
the same animal that had eluded Brine’s gaze earlier that morning.
“What I meant,” Brine said, still puzzling
over his brother’s stare, “was that we just wanted you to know the council
wasn’t upset with you—Well…,” his face broke, his Amian training applying a
mental slap to his face for this attempt at deception, “…Mums was upset, and
Serit too—But only at first, and never with you.”
Brine shook his head. “They were upset
with Iman, not you. And Mums, she was going to be upset no matter what.
I’m sure you’ve heard her theory about Jashandar reverting to Drugana, so of
course she wasn’t going to be happy unless we all set out for the south.
“And Serit…well, you know Serit,” Brine said,
offering a polite grin so he didn’t have to come out and call their
pseudo-uncle a spineless coward. “He has some issue with the kryst and the
histories, something to do with the integrity of the Sway Mission. But I didn’t
catch all of it. I had to step out to the privy and by the time I came back,
Iman had…had him…”
Brine frowned and looked to the edge of
the garden, searching for whatever it was that had his brother’s attention.
“Is something back there?” he asked.
Jaysh continued to stare for several long
moments, then finally shook his head, his eyes never leaving the maples and
firs.
Maybe he’s looking for kittens? a
voice cooed in Brine’s head. Out loud, Brine said, “Well, anyway, no one was
really happy about the missions—except maybe for Reets.” He gave his
best what-do-you-expect shrug. “But everyone was given the opportunity to step
down from their positions, even Mums and Serit. Iman made that perfectly clear.
No one had to stay unless they wanted to. And it wasn’t as if any of them had a
better idea, so…,” he trailed off, unsure of what else to say, “…so was that
why you left?”
Eyeing the trees along the back of the
garden, Jaysh said, “Had to get more vine.”
“Oh,” Brine said, staring at the bulge in
his brother’s cheek, this one every bit as large as the one he’d seen three
nights ago.
Jaysh said, “Iman’s sendin me into the
Sway tomorruh.” He nodded slowly. “Vine doan’ grow there.”
So you are going, Brine
thought, hoping his wide expression did not betray him. The other popular
theory regarding his brother’s disappearance—aside from the one centering on
his fear of Mums’ reprisal—was that the new king had finally seen the error of
his ways and had decided against the missions.
Because everyone knew the
missions had not been his idea.
Jaysh, with his tattered pants and muddy shirt, his matted hair and
leaf-flecked beard, just didn’t have the look of a planner. Iman, on the other
hand, was a notorious planner, or perhaps schemer was the more
appropriate word. Needless to say, no one was surprised when—as Iman circled
the roundtable and detailed the king’s strategy—the king had sat in the garden,
running his hand along his pet-thing’s back.
Instead of mentioning this to his brother,
Brine mustered a rueful grin and said, “The Sway mission…wow.”
His
brother nodded. “Yep.”
“I’m going on the Harriun mission,” Brine
said, and when his brother failed to comment, he added, “I mean, Godfry and me.
And the Lathians. They’re going, too,” he said, looking over his shoulder.
“They’re actually supposed to arrive today. And when they do, Godfry and I are
going to meet them. We decided that since Balthus already knows them, and since
we’ll be traveling with them for quite awhile, it would be best to introduce
ourselves. Maybe get to know a few of them, so it’s not so awkward later.” Like
it is right now, he thought.
Jaysh continued to stare.
With a nervous grin, Brine said, “You
don’t have to worry about that, do you. You already know Serit.”
Jaysh glanced at him, then back to the
trees, but in that flicker of eye contact, Brine thought he saw something
there, some semblance of emotion his brother held in check.
“I gota go,” Jaysh said.
