When a certain old man spoke to me in the desert, I was pleasantly surprised that the captives were capable of communication. I had early on during the march that their dismissive moans during my sermons were owed to a language barrier or head trauma, psychopathy, or severe mental impairment of some sort.
Furthermore, his vulgar speech and twisted sense of humor reminded me of a certain idiotic brother of mine, whom I believed taken up from the earth. Perhaps I'd found myself thinking better of the old man because of this. Fonder of his chatterbox ways as he spat into my ear time and time again.
But now, I hear him run his tongue and regret not becoming a chained burden during the march.
I should have died and made this one pull my weight.
The other chatterbox—this usually jovial, hot-headed brother of mine does not laugh for a second. The wind itself is cautious, tiptoeing between the trees so as not to disturb the silence an old fool left behind. Jonah stands so still that for a moment I think he's forgotten how to move.
Then, he asks, "It was Wilhelm, wasn't it?"
"Wilhelm? Ah—right, right. The Backbreaker. Yeah, he's usually the one who gets into it. Don't tell me you didn't notice it all along." The old man snorts, half a laugh, half disgust. "Whatever the reason, it ain't a good idea referring to your masters by the first name."
"There ain't a man in the heavens who can call himself my master," growls Jonah.
"That so?" Squalling Senior clicks his tongue. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I mean, you had a damn good view how their captain treated Little Red Bouldy. Even if you are a little heartier than the rest of us, it doesn't matter how the fabric feels on your fur; If the sheepskin fits, act like one." Jonah stands so still that for a moment I think he's forgotten how to move. Then his flame flickers—small, terrified, furious. "You talk too much, old man," he says. His voice sounds nothing like my brother's. It's lower, dragged through coals. "Don't get it twisted cause we cracked a few jokes. You and I ain't nothing in the same. I never stopped plotting a way out. There ain't a rope wide enough to wrap around my neck."
The elder chuckles again, though it's thinner now, trembling around the edges. "You saying there's one big enough to wrap around mine?"
"Settle yourselves, brethren," I tell them nervously, putting myself in between them. "There is no place for dispute among friends."
"Not yours," clarifies my brother, "But I bet we can find something a few sizes smaller."
"Adages, chapter fifteen, verse one - A soft answer turneth away wrath, but a harsh word stirreth up anger!" They don't hear me or are pretending not to. The nighttime grows colder as an unwelcome breeze swirls around the two.
"What? Your master been having trouble getting it up lately? This is my first time hearing 'bout a pecker on a string. But here's my two cents, free of charge, on how to improve on your contraption. Tie the other end to your ass and it'll jump when you twerk."
Jonah's flame brightens. His hand twitches, and for an instant I glimpse something alive, terrible, and hungry. A peculiar whirling and flickering that was not there before he left the village. Yet even that light pales beside the familiar wrath swirling in his soul.
"Stop!" The word cracks like thunder through the woods.
Silence descends upon them, finally.
Briefly.
"Yeah? Sheep or not, the last thing I'll do from now on is listen to a liar like y—" Jonah's soul shivers mid-sentence, turning rigid. "Vantage, Solly. Now."
My brother stoops low with his fingers linked, providing a foothold.
I step into the space between his palms with my right.
His back feels different from when we reunited. Larger, less emaciated. Carrying not just his own burdens, but adjusted for mine as well. "On three?"
He curses. "No time for three. One."
With that, he plants his feet into the trembling earth and hurls me skyward.
My robe flutters in the upward rush. It whispers against the wind as I reach the apex. A once childish idea, perfected over years of practice. Even after the separation, adjusting mid-air is a simpler task. Like the wind itself is responding to our synergy and helping me turn.
There are shapes outlined in flame in my vision. The forest breathes in shades of ash and dim light, its vastness stretching like the inside of some sleeping creature. Every trunk pulses faintly with life; every root winds like veins beneath a great, unseen skin. But when I'm off the ground, the breadth of the forest is exposed to me.
Steel men, still at the six entrances to a forest clearing. Mercenaries looming over dying embers, who are pulling one another close in the darkness. On the ground, there are many things, but there is nothing in the sky but me.
And there, between the trunks, moves a darkness.
Not the absence of flame, but the presence of something else entirely. A being walking upright, vaguely humanoid, its form unraveling as it moves, its edges undefined, breathing, dissipating, and folding in on itself. The trees around it bend slightly away, but make no sound. It does not disturb what it passes through. It simply... no…
Its blasphemous tendrils of darkness reach out and lick the surrounding flora and fauna, which fade promptly from my cursed sight.
I've seen many happenings since the dawn of my bestowment. I've watched determined flames pour out of fatal wounds. Others, I've seen siphoned through the head tops of sleeping boys and girls. More often, there were dwindles and ignitions with the comings and goings of illness and climbing age. Then more recently, steel men coated in the breath and its fearsome application to aid in combat.
But none comes close to this.
It is not killing them. They cease to be.
All the while gliding across the forest at the pace of an idyllic midnight stroll and heading straight for Squalling Senior, Jonah, and I, like a curious Veuvron.
I have to warn the others, no matter the cost.
The eunuch is despicable, but he is a cold and calculating reason.
Once he learns the truth behind this forest's serenity, he will alert his masters, or, at the very least, recall the mercenary leader, who will be more than willing to lead his men into combat against this nocturnal threat. There will be no loss should he triumph. And should he fail…
Deeper down, far beneath the forest's breath, something else catches my sight.
A stone tablet buried under the soil. Perfectly straight edges, precise corners, smooth as glass, and lifeless as iron. Except it is not. Were it so, its existence would be stranger to mine. Yet it sits there, quiet and still before my eyes, burning brighter than the flames of my own living companions. In fact, to my deep and indescribable dismay, the only competitor to its brightness is the opposite. One—light without life buried deep underground. And two—life without light roaming above it. Each blasphemous pulsation, each blasphemous step, a testament against her teachings.
Perhaps the two share a connection.
There is no question whether to act. If the being roams the forest, hoping to stumble upon such a thing, it is my most tremendous responsibility to keep the two separate. The three of us have to find it before we return to the clearing. Have I not landed yet? How far did my brother throw me? I almost wept when I brushed against him in the cell. Did he find some hidden strength in his anger? One that goes against the contours of his bones?
"It's like the dam—darn wind itself refuses to let me go!" I curse under my breath.
The air around me tightens, and the pull of gravity returns like an accusation.
Finally.
I look up one last time as the ground pulls me close. As a child, I scarcely cherished the leisure of such a thing as cloud-watching, only lying underneath the sunset because it was the only time that man made his thoughts known. Of course, he wasn't really talking to me about those forgotten things.
I no longer remember the sound of my father's voice, nor the color of the sunset. However, I see now that those fairytale dreams of his will never leave me. For when I imagine gazing upon those languid days and scumbling skies again, I envision a streak of pure white tearing across the heavens.
Jonah leaps into the air and catches me with a grunt.
His arms and chest are a bit meatier, healthier than they were when we first met. Almost as if he's become a different person. Has the eunuch been rewarding him for finding me? Or is he truly no longer the brother I once knew? If I had eyes, I'd still remember what he looks like. But I am haunted by a dark feeling that he never stopped smiling since the day he never returned.
"Shit," he curses, laying me on the ground. "The hell happened up there, Solly? You're burning up."
"So are you." Still distracted by the three sights, the words only fall out of my mouth. Therefore, I did not know how to respond to my brother's confusion. "Forgive me, I mean. This forest is not what it seems. Its peace is owed to the presence of an Eclipsant. Perhaps far more terrifying than the one who killed in The Exorcist."
"Looks like I'm still sharp," he says proudly while I get to my feet. "If the little guys leave some place alone, it's cause a big guy's made that place his home." My grandfather's rhyme when bringing first-timers on a hunt. "Indeed," I tell him. "Someone should warn Mister Eunuch before it stumbles upon the clearing."
"Alright, then. What are we standing around for? Let's head back."
"No. The two of us are staying, Jonah. That someone has to be you."
"Nuh-uh. No way, Solly. I know exactly what's going on in that heroic little brain of yours. This isn't the moment you activate some profaned trait that helps you do The Heavens' work. You stay behind and face that thing, you die. That's it." "You underestimate me again," I say solemnly, trying to quell the injustice threatening to boil over. "This is why I refrained from telling you about their attempts to break me. I may no longer be your equal when it comes to combat, but my world did not come to a halt when you left it behind."
"For the last time, Solly. I did not leave you behind! If you want to blame me for being absent, blame your stupid grandparents for selling me off to the highest bidder!"
I shake my head. "Yes. I know well that the actions of my grandparents were despicable." I know it better than you, brother. "Be that as it may, I'm no longer the helpless child who used to ride around the village on your shoulders. This is not a blind risk—old man, do not laugh—As the fastest, you'll make it to the clearing and lead the mercenaries back to us. And as the only one who can see the enemy, I'll steer us clear of that thing until it happens."
"Hold on. In that case, why don't I go back with him?"
"Solvanel, I—"
I raise my hand for a pause. The motion feels awkward in my skin, and I fear they double over laughing at my expense, but it gets the job done. "What's the matter, scaredy-cat? Still think I'm trying to get rid of you? Sure, I've already adjusted to a world without you, but the last thing I'd ever want to do is go back."
Jonah frowns at my cockiness, I imagine. A disdainful sneer so deeply carved that it will be fresh tomorrow morning. But I alone can see his inner flame settling. He scoffs. "Let them out of your sight for a few years and start talking like a big man."
"That's exactly what I'm saying? Hey, you're taking me with you, right?"
"Fine. I'll play my part in your little plan. But if I come back to your dead body, my boys and I are gonna take turns pissing on it."
Solvanel laughs at his brother's vulgar joke. "Then I will not disappoint."
Jonah's flame ignites with determination as he prepares to take off. The being of darkness is still some distance away, but the memory of those flames disappearing is enough to make the fact a meager solace.
"Alright. I'm ready. Which way is it, again?" asks my fellow captive.
He laughs and threatens cheerfully. "Ahh, relax. You'll be fine.. Unless you come back alone. In which case, I'll kill you. And leave some bloody red—I mean—blood-red hair on top of your corpse."
The sound of the old man's gulp echoes all the way to the heavens.
"Anyway! See you later!"
"See you later!" I reply. Then to the old man, who's shivering down to the marrow of his bones. "No need to be afraid, Sir Squalling. He's always been a bit rough around the edges. You'll know what I mean once you get to know him."
The old man's flame ignites, "Do you know him?"
"Of course I do," I tell him cheerfully. "No-one's left to know the two of us better than each other."
Some distance away, there is a sudden pause in my brother's footsteps—the fire of his divine breath caught between the trees, illuminating the shadowy forest.
THE LANDS FORSAKEN | ??? | AN OLD MAN'S DREAM ____________________
The kid tilts his head, and he says to the other one, « Is there something wrong, brother? »
So the other one, the other one—the evil one—not the first one—the good one—face thicker than a donkey's ass, he turns to him all pretty like, and he drops a line straight out of a fruitcake's fantasy. He goes, « I never told you, did I? »
« Pardon? »
Can you believe that?"Pardon"—Little bastard talks better than half the nobles who pay for ya.
Oh, right. So the other one—evil one again—he exhales through his nose, and he goes, « It's been on my mind since we reunited. Look, I know I can be an idiot sometimes, but I don't want you lying awake at night, over-analyzing every move I make. »
Sound good, don't it? And then the good one, he goes, « You probably say this to all the other girls. »
No, not really. He was silent as a mouse. Meanwhile, I'm standing in the background. You know—tall, dark, and handsome. Fine. Fine.. Am I telling the story or you?
« On my first day in Dunreach, they were calling Gramps a fool for taking me in. Hell of a welcome for a kid who'd just lost his home. You were the only one who wasn't afraid to talk to me. You let me sleep under your bed when I was too scared to be seen. »
He laughed, then, but there wasn't any humor in it—only memory. « Truth is, I never actually fell asleep. Not because I was afraid of them coming for me, but because I made a promise. I promised you, me, and The Heavens that I'd never lose anyone ever again. »
A faint current of air moved through the clearing then—warm—and dangerous, like the bolt of a lightning that had yet decided where to fall. It brushed against our face. My face, I mean. Well, I guess our faces. They were different faces back then.
[And for a fleeting moment, I can't tell if it came from the forest or from my brother's soul]
« I really care about you, man. More than anything. So whatever you do, even if it's always this legendary savior thing, I'll do whatever it takes to keep you by my side. Dreamers dream together, right, little brother? » The moonlight reflected off his pretty brown eyes and sharp white teeth like a wolf staring me down from the shadows. « After all, there is no paradise in hell. »
The good kid laughs, for some reason. I don't think the evil one heard it. I was thinking maybe he knew what all us seeing folk had the privy to.
[I laughed, though I had no reason to. I disagree with my brother wholeheartedly. It is only expected if I am destined to lead the sheep. Usually, I let his negative comments pass, but I feel now that if I don't correct my disheartened brother, the memory will be a hindrance on my path to ascension.]
[And so I did. I know now that I was lying to my brother…]
Thinking he was telling the truth…
[Because this world truly is hell, after all…]
It's just that he's the only one who didn't know he was burning…
[Less than one week or two ago. Forgive me… I can't quite remember what it was...]
But I think it went something like this…
« That's not true, Jonah » says, the kid, to a man who'd long been way past listening, « This forest is not the paradise we seek, but in believing that this world is hell, we doom ourselves to burning. Whatever happens from here on out, know that this forest remains my paradise. For it was in this burning place that my one true dream came true. He may not be the brother I knew, but he is my brother nonetheless. I love you too, brother. Always. »
I don't think he was wrong in saying what he did. Wouldn't tell you he was lying to that brother of his, either. 'Cause the Solvanel I know, he ain't one to snake his tongue. Ain't one to give up, either—everybody's savior and all. It's just...
[His back shrank down as he left me.]
The truth is, not being able to help somebody who's looking to your back is one thing.
[That night, I watched my brother fade into the darkness.]
But if you're the one looking to theirs, then there ain't a hope in the world.
[And the Prodigal Son never returned.]
Especially if they don't want to be saved.