The Inheritance (Prologue Only)

A Story by J.M.Fields

In the high mountains of Elkin, where the snow caps the Earth, above the clouds, and the green valley's below, lies the pool of Desmond. It is a sacred pool filled with precious spirits, and dark magic. At its icy shores the chosen receive divine revelation and prophecy. It is an open door to the gods and a bridge to light and darkness. It sits atop the mountain of Eenthrisel, the highest peak of all the Northern islands.

At its entrance, four stone pillars sit aside the long path to the water. They stand crooked and cracked with age, their foundations buried beneath heavy snow. On each of the standing structures is placed a godhead statue. Each chiseled and worn, breaking against the cold air. Their vivid expressions frozen in time. They stand gaping at the white valleys below.

The first god upon its pillar cast out upon the sky in nine heads, the heads of snakes on one body, curling one tail down the stone. The many viper's struck the air with a hunger and cruelty, casting malice upon travelers. Each were fanged with a forked tongue coming up between them. The spiny necks tangled around each other with indecisiveness and violent intentions. Some looked above and others below, catching every distant figure as they stuck out like the branches of a tree. Below him written in stone was the sum of his being:

“Here sits Opar, the god of death, the god of fear. Here he sits before them all. For death is the end and beginning of all things, the crucial, yet undesirable fate of life itself. He dwells in the forests of Val’haln, and there he is bound.”

In his weary state, a small boy was walking under these monuments. He carried a heavy burden upon his back as he walked, the weight of misfortune upon him. He made his way to the gate at the entrance of the pool tugging at his coat as brisk winds scraped his cheeks. He pulled up his mask and kept walking anyway. A bitter sensation came upon him with every step as the wet snow seeped within his boots. He moved slowly determined steps, one at a time, one foot before the other, sinking into the snow. There was a stony path before him but it was overlay in a thick blanket. So he looked above to each grand being above, the stone statues, which marked the way.

The next god was not too far off from the last. She perched atop like an angelic being of splendid beauty. In her hands she held two chalices filled with many gifts which were cascaded in streams of ice hanging like thorns below her hands. The icicles chipped and little ones would fall, landing softly below. But it was her winded hair which was so lively in its frozen form, from the stroke of chiseled stone making it seem as though it was caught in the breath of the wind. And there were two long featured wings draped down her back and stretched out to the sky. The icy air molded around her head as she shimmered in the sun. Below her written in stone was the sum of her being:

“Here sits Tsithar, the goddess of temptation and keeper of the mountains. It is her beauty which makes the morning sun rise to see her form and fall so that the stars might catch but a glimpse of her naked back as she sleeps. She dwells in the caves of Tahidrya and there she is bound.”

The lonely boy trudged through the snow to the feet of the god. He ran his hand along her glossed stone heel. There was no imperfection in her figure. She was the embodiment of all beauty. The foggy marks of wet lips stained her icy feet for it was customary to give a travelers kiss, yet he did no such thing.

There was before him then the next of the four gods. A great wolf, with long hair, high standing ears, and an unhinged jaw, hanging loosely with jagged teeth lining the mouth. It's front legs were stiffened in defense as it guarded what lie behind. In his jaws he gripped seven human skulls. The skulls were not carved in the stone, but pieces of the dead aging in the wind gnashing his teeth, his eyes blackened with charcoal. It looked below with vile anguish, struggling to withhold and waiting to strike the wounded. Below him written in stone was the sum of his being:

“Here sits Ak’mor, the god of vengeance and war. Upon each breath from his nostrils many tremble as it sounds like coming storms. And lo when he roars they cry, for the ground start to shake and armies begin to rise. He dwells in the barren deserts of Saorouqk and there he is bound.”

The boy then came to the last statue upon the pillars. He stepped off the path and into the alk, which was the deep snow. It came to his waist as he sank deeper and deeper. He pulled with his hands, moving forward, leaving a scattered trail in the snow. When he approached the column he placed his hand upon the rock. He felt the smooth creases on the edge and the crest of every chiseled frame. He could feel its icy chill through his gloves as he moved his fingertips along the embossed letters.

It’s body shrouded the path with a great shadow. The sun stayed still behind as a burning fire upon its glistening sides. Three heads with long brass tounges licked the air, entangling around one another as they watched the earth. Long wings sprawled out at its side spanning to the east and the west. The god stood straight in the air with two hands at his chest. Resting on its scaly palms were the broken shards of a silver sword.

“Here sits Raldash, the god of wisdom. The king of eternal realm is not among us and yet-” The boy ran his hand on the lettering but it wasn’t legible. He pulled down his mask and blew hot air on the ice. “His presence can be felt-” It said. He violently pulled off chunks of ice as they broke away like thin glass. He scraped off the remaining and moved his hand along until he could make out one more word. “In the essence of all things for he was there at creation, perhaps he is the creator.” At closer look he realized the words had been destroyed by a pair of claws. He took the thick cloth below his jaw and tugged it back up to his nose. Then he went back to the path where he sank in waist high.

His eyes wandered above to the massive immortals. They were fixed on the foothold of the structure, for the crown of the highest head was hidden in the fog. On one of the lower levels of the idol a small bird sat watching him. It examined the child and Eli moved uneasily from it. The boy began up the stone slab steps, through the iron gate, and into the small spring. The pool was made in similar design of men but the small intercut carvings in the tiles were made by the divine urden.

There above him, a little black bird glided from statue to statue and perched on the gate. It cawed and spread its wings, turning towards the spring. “Death be it the fool enters.” Said the bird. The boy jumped and turned around. There it sat on the top of the gate. It was caught in the great white sun like darkness against the pearl. The crow fluttered its small wings and vanished.

The boy closed himself tightly in his fur coat. It was grey, the hide of an Elkin bear. His hood was the open mouth and his head was in its clutches. The teeth came down in front of his blue eyes. He pulled his cowl down, hiding his face as he walked into the presence of the spirits. They were hidden and silent, but brought every human weak to their knees as they approached.

It is in these waters from which the spirits rise, and to which the dead will come. He wondered what it was that called him there, and what it was that he was seeking. Unanswered he began to remove his clothes, untying his belt, throwing off his coat, his boots, and taking off his undergarments. Then with one foot he began to step in. He felt a soothing warmth creep up his leg. The water began to steam off the surface as he entered. It was an unusual yet pleasant feeling. Like warming a man's soul.

He took another step as hot steam began to float up to his thighs. He relaxed digging his toes into the wet sand. He held his hand out as small cotton like snow fell and those he missed melted in the water. In the moment everything around him became a blur and haze of white and gray. He kept going into the water as he made it to his waist. The serene absence of sound enveloped him as he was drawn forth. He felt nothing. He was numb.

The mountains about seemingly danced hypnotically swirling around like strokes in a painting. They moved side to side and then began to raise above as the child fell into the pool. He was tossed on his back as he watched the sky vanish against the roof of the waters. Every cloud became smaller and smaller until nothing was left but darkness. His breath followed a short trail to the surface of the waters as he began to sink. Slowly he looked about to notice something faint and blue moving beside him. It was like a butterfly caught tumbling in the wind, there for a moment and gone. Then there came a sound like the sound of a beautiful woman beckoning him deeper. He saw two eyes in the black water.

Like a ribbon, something wrapped around his hand and many more joined in song. Then the eyes came closer along with white lips. And in the dark of the cavern pool he could see her figure emerge. She had soft skin, as cool and as blue as the surface of the Northern Sea. She grabbed hold the chord of her gown which drifted like wings in the depths of the water. She began to pull him closer, reeling him slowly with the tug of her arms. She wrapped him around in her long dress, bound by his arms and legs. Drawing him ever so close to her eyes she moved forward and gently kissed his lips. The spirit breathed into his lungs and a thick fog collected around his cheeks. Then she vanished and the song stopped. Nothing was left but his own body drifting silently in the abyss. Then he was elsewhere.

At the height of a tower, in a window stood a king. He grieved for Isin’iath, death loomed beside him. His weak hands gripped the window seal, shaking the worn iron as he trembled. Below him city lights fluttered in the distance. They were unknowing to what went on above. Miserably, he looked behind himself to the abandoned quarters. The curtains were torn, the tables were turned, silverware, scattered upon the floor, and there was a vile of poison lying by his feet. He turned back to the barricaded door with sore red eyes and crippled at his knees. He fell to the ground and held the carpet with a tight grip as the sickness crept within him.

The door begin to unlock, and he watched the door knob turn ever so slightly. It swung open with a sense of urgency as his brother stepped inside. The prince looked about to the weary king and shook his head in disappointment. He stepped forward with one hand grasping the hilt of his sword, which hung on his belt, and lightly swung it back and forth. “I have appeased the guards, soon the people.” He threw a bag of silver coins to the floor which spilled out across the stone. “It’s amazing what loyalty one can buy with money.” He sat down in a chair, opposite to the table, holding onto the back of the seat. “Keep it if you want. It won’t hold much value to you, but if you can take anything with you past death-” He looked down to the ground and grinned, leaning forward, grabbing one of the coins. “Do you think they’ll ever put your face on one of these?” His thumb glossed over the metal, to a portrait of their father. “I hope they put my face on one.”

Furiously the king stewed and from the pocket of his cheeks he spat a trail of blood cross his brothers face. Slowly and without remorse he slid down the wall and fell to the ground looking him in the eye with a dreadful hate. Eragor wiped it off with his black gloves and nodded appreciatively at the effort. “This long war we’ve waged, you and me, it’s over.” Eragor cleared his throat and stood up, the chair falling loudly to the ground. “You cast me out.” He whispered grudgingly and withdrew his sword. “You banished me like a leper.” As he walked toward him he left the blade scratch the surface of the floor. “But I found my way home, and I touched you. I touched you with my leprosy.”

Suddenly he thrust the blade into the king's stomach. Andor gasped for air, falling over on the edge of the sword. He let it stay there a moment, placing his hand on his shoulder as the blood dripped from the kings mouth.

“Their fears will rise above you.” Andor breathlessly whispered. “They will throw you aside and my son will take your place.” Eragor withdrew the sword and the king grew pale and cold.

“Their fears? I will teach them fear, they will know not to rely on you or your gods. I will tie them by their toes and dangle them by the trees and when they finally glimpse the world from upside down they will see that their savior above is the monster below.” Taking his sword he stabbed him again, and again, and again until the king had lost all life. His body fell over onto the ground.

Eragor stared at his dead brother a moment, then he took him by his feet and started to pull. He drug his wet blood stained corpse across the floor smearing a red trail on the stone and carpet. By his sides he picked him up and threw his body out the window. Eragor looked at his bloody hands and sighed, then he took hold of both corners of the curtains and shut them, darkness filled the room.

Around that time two black horned Baphomets brought a captive before the gods. Their hooves clicked on the stony ground as they walked unevenly, carrying the weight from behind. They tied his body in thin wire and pulled him in. He kicked and squirmed as the guards brought him forward. One reached down and with his hands he began to untie. The captive looked up, startled at the appearance of the goat head. It looked at him with its black slit eyes and its long wet beard. The two creatures dripped with perspiration in the humidity. And they smelled of rot and wretched mildew.

The first one lifted him up by his underarms and pulled him to his feet. He secured his shackles, came behind him and pushed him forward. There they stood before a jagged door frame that about fifteen feet high. It was made of a dark marble yet more visible than everything around. And the captive looked, but nothing was in sight, nothing but small stars out wayward in the faint cloudy distance, and the door. He hadn’t the slightest idea of where he was but it seemed unfathomable.

The door creaked open slowly on its clean iron hinges and the two Baphomets prodded him inside. It was a realm between realms which they stood. A door which could only be opened by that which lies within. By their permission they entered in the pillar of Dedraqk. And they stood center of a three sided room, with three walls of glass which raised indefinitely to a place above, and three gods behind each one. They were unseen, but with foggy form. They moved like mist, but darkened like thunderous clouds. They spoke to them in a language which transcended mortal tongue.

“There is unity in this room mangod.” There was a long and eerie echo which lingered in the pillar. “Your human form has never seen anything like it. We transcend your half mortal nature. I am and we are.” The two creatures bowed and stepped back from the captive. The second kicked him from behind the knee and he toppled over. He fell down and his chains rattled on the glass. He stood very cautiously turning to look at the beasts. They tightly grasped their spears and began to step away as he looked up to the foregods. “You reside in the nation of Isin’iath?” The foregod Ak’mor bellowed with his deep voice, ringing in the chamber. The Ilhin shuddered, grasping his ears.

“I-I” He trembled in their midst, hunching his body in an uneasy deminer, stuttering on his words. “I was taken- I was in hiding, your creatures they took me.” They remained quiet a moment as the glass became tempered grey. He came to all sides, curiously looking in through the glass but they were indistinguishable from rolling fog. The beasts stung his back with the end of his spear and grunted.

“Answer the question.” The Ilhin raised his hands and looked to the cloudy foregods.

“I- uh, yes, yes I do.” He faced the Baphomet which beckled, making a deep and intimidating growl from the back of his throat. “What do you want me for?”

The fog washed over the glass and it was slated with white as Opar spoke. “Thiloqk, Thatches leave us.” The Baphomets bowed and vanished from sight. “You are one of the few of your kind which remain. A child of my children’s children. There aren’t many Ilhin left in this time, in this place. You are a flower amongst thorns mangod. My servants have watched you, and believe you hold a very intimate position. Eternal life in the realm of man is highly sought after. They fade so quickly we can never rely on a human to report on the nations or they die within a hundred years. I can't leave, nor can Ak’mor or Tsithar, we are bound by Raldash in this mortal prison. Therefore we beckoned you because we believe you can keep a watchful eye on a very particular individual.” The mans chains rattled as he lifted his hand to scratch his neck. With heavy breathing he threw them down. He walked with an insecurity feeling as though they judged him on every movement.

“Who?”

“Eragor Ri. The coming king” The Ilhin was taken aback a moment as all three voices spoke at once and together in unison.

“The coming king? Is there a revolution?”

“Something I’ve had my hand in for a long time. I want Isin’iath. Isin’iath is the gate to war. Whoever controls that country rules Sathemn. I’ve bound the king to my will. But he does not hear me, you will speak to him on my accord. You will be his advisor. Likewise I cannot see the ongoings of man, they move irrationally, by the time word gets to my ear of a certain someone, they’ve grown old and died. So you will advise us. You will report these ongoings and every event so that we can intervene if we so choose. The king will approach you Mordauch. From now on, pay attention to everything.”

When the curtains shut the new king stepped back and heard the screams below. Frantically the townsfolk beneath Asgra’maithe flocked to the late king. But Eragor didn’t stay to listen . Out of the room and into the hall. His guards bowed at his presence as he asked for something to wipe his hands. One handed him a clean rag, as he smeared the blood across it. “Palo, It is finished.”

He trailed off into the far East wing until he reached the door of the queens room. She was in birth, he stood outside waiting. She knew of the plot, and had her own hand in the king's death but she was discontent. She cried violently as the boy entered into the new world having the blood of his father, the blood on his uncle's hands. At the thought of this the king left, only to come back at the end when all her pain had left.

The queen laid back against the bedframe drawing thought from her times in the kingdom. From once she came through the doors a maiden herself till upon her first wedding day. She thought of her gown, which had been burned. She thought of grand window room which had been barred. She remembered the balcony which she stood atop gazing at the kingdom before they locked her away. She had been made to suffer, and now made to relinquish all thoughts of her late husband and past life. She pitied herself for that. She buried those thoughts down in the pit of her soul as she slowly beat her head against the wood and sighed.

Her hair was red like a dull rose and held its fragrance. It fell loosely every which way on the pillow. It spread like flames, as she caught her breath. She laid tiresome, restless on her mattress looking above to the drapes. She was so weary, holding the small newborn in her hands. She rested him tightly against her bosom. Her maidservants joined her side in awe and they all began to gaze in wonder. "A beautiful prince." said her maiden. The queen reared back and smiled abundantly and kissed his wet forehead. She wrapped him in the thin blankets as he cried and began to wipe the blood from his cheeks. "Will you name him by his father's name?” She asked. The queen cradled him and thought for a moment.

“No I don’t believe Eragor would allow that. He’s more of a Henry anyway.” The baby took hold of her finger and looked with his large eyes. “ My little Henry Ri.” Gently she stroked his bald head with little blonde hairs and began to cry. “But he does have those eyes.” She gripped him tightly and wallowed muffling her groans against her wrist as she held the baby. The maid servant placed her hand upon her shoulder as Despha grieved. She began to tremble and Henry stirred. “His daddy’s eyes.” She whispered his name under her breath as the room around her darkened and every little light seemingly vanished from her sight. She exhausted herself with tears flooding down her face until she had nothing left to give. When she had reached a point of end she heaved slowly catching her breath.

The infant still continued to cry though, and she held him even tighter. She put a finger to his lips as she collected her bearings and calmed down. “It’s alright.” She said faintly to him. “But you can’t cry too. I need you to be strong for me. I need you to be strong. In your life you will have many days to cry. Many days to mourn. But not today.” The queen looked up to the lady and smiled. Heavy redness swelled in her face and the tears stained her dry cheeks yet she forced a smile. “Today is a happy day.”

“I should leave you and your son a moment.” Said Beatrice. Despha touched her hand softly.

“Alright.”

“But I’ll be just outside the door if you need me my lady.” The maid servant went to the outer room and reached for the handle when it opened on its own. A hand came from the other side and began to pull it open.

“Apologies Beatrice, come first.” The king stepped aside as she gave a head bow and went into the hallway. He shut the door and stared in awe at the naked child.

“Behold-” He called out. “He will be the envy of the land.” He came into the dim lit room to the bedside. Her head fell and she looked away, as to not show him her tears. “They will come over barren deserts and stormy seas to catch a glimpse of this wonder.” He slowly kneeled at the bedside and set his hand on her arm. He rubbed her wrist and gleamed happily above her.

"So beautiful is he not? And his eyes-" He took a look upon the face of his nephew and was still. “They rage like the ocean.”

"Why have you come-" She turned to face him with tear stained cheeks and a terrible hatred flushed over her face. “Here-” Despha frowned and turned back. “On this night?”

“And miss the birth of my nephew? I came to celebrate, to celebrate life and to be with my beloved.” He reached down from between her grasp and slowly took hold of the baby. Eragor held Henry at his waist then brought him forward cradling him in his arms. “I can see it in your eyes.” He said dismissively. “That anger you harbor toward me.” He shook his head. “Because of what I made you do, and what I’m making you do. I know what you’re thinking-” He licked his fingers and ran them through the tuff of Henry’s hair. “But I would never kill a child.”

“But you would kill.” She wiped the tears below both her eyes with two palms and straightened her face. “You would kill.” Eragor frowned and leaned away from her in frustration.

“Well I did kill the king.” He nodded his head slowly and brushed her hair. “I heard you through the door. You’re right, today is a happy day.” Her mouth hung loose as she stared into the curtains, moving slowly in the wind. Eragor reached between her arms and took hold of the infant. He rocked him back and forth, holding his head upright and paced around the room. All the while she didn’t make a movement or a sound. She just laid on the bed like stone.

Pero hurriedly walked the streets adjusting his jacket. He carried a small booklet beneath the leather lining, holding onto it with one hand as he wearly paced himself. He walked with a limp, dragging his foot with an irritable deminar. It was an inconvenience for where he was going. The young man was bruised from the head down, covered in blisters and red markings. The tip of an arrow had pierced his calf and it had only just begun to heal. Even though, he still quickened himself, nearly running beside the stone walls.

A tall man in a hat, covered by the shade, walked into him unknowingly. They both exchanged glances. Then he grabbed hold the boys jacket. “Pero, you fool.” He said while reaching into his pocket. He threw the book to the wet ground and went on shaking his head. It slid on the street ice and the pages opened up, flapping in the wind. “Be careful.” Pero looked behind and waited for him to pass. Once he turned the corner he reached down, balancing on one leg and grabbed the book. Discreetly he tucked it in the seams of his pants, buttoned his jacket and moved on.

"There is an undeniable truth, that we live in a time of turmoil. You are now subjugated beneath your god king.” Pero looked up to see another public flogging. He sighed and went over to it, carefully pulling up his hood. He scoured the criminals looking for any friends. There was a whipper standing amidst them, probably a lord in the district, he didn't know. He didn’t care, but the man kept speaking. “Not long has he been in power and yet so many seek to overthrow him.”

“Not my king!” Someone from the crowd shouted. The lord raised his voice, ignoring the interruption.

“There is no restraint amongst the people, no patience to the process.” Two soldiers hauled off the man as he kicked and screamed. “And since there has been a lack of self discipline, or rather a lack of understanding-” The lord began to say, “-amongst you radical people, precautionary measures have been taken. This is so that you do not attempt to destroy the new order, which is an impenetrable fortress. It is impossible to overcome this kingdom, impossible to overthrow. Because so many of you do not take heed the laws of the new king I will read them again.” He pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it, walking around the flogging post.

“Thus it has been decreed-" Said the lord. "by the sovereign god king of Isin’iath, a new construct of laws which pertain to all citizens. They are written in accordance with the ways of Tsithar. They are not to be taken lightly but in a manner which is severity unto death. For unto death you will be apart of his ruling, and will never be severed from the might of his grasp.”

In past days worship at the shrine of Raldash was considered a noble act, but as it defiles the image of the god king and Tsithar, prayer unto Raldash is forbidden. If one must pray, pray unto King Eragor for he is the head of the nation and the ruler of many lands. Pray to Tsithar for she is the heart and the god which produces abundant harvest and contentment in your soul. Pray to Opar for he is the eyes, watching looming evils, who speaks to you of coming trials and death. And pray to Ak’mor for he is the fist which smites your enemies and the enemies of Isin’iath. This is the body for the new construct.’”

“You shall not trade and barter with outsiders. The buying and selling, to and from foreigners is forbidden. All trade deals must be made from within your district. There is a structure within the nation which is built upon self reliance, not the reliance of others. The streets will be rid of foreign filth and our sacred goods will remain our own. Let the poor have their poor but the riches of Isin’iath belong to the people, and you should want no more than what this nation has to offer.’

“And all books written before the ascendancy of Eragor Ri must be turned into a lord, lady, or judge for collective burning. History is being written now and an eye to the past is regrettably our demise. For the sake of your time and effort you will be compensated for having given away your collections. Although failure to release any old papers will result in a thieves trial, for you have stolen newly claimed property of the god king.’

“Those who have been caught with warning, and this being due warning for all, shall be punished according to the lord of the land, if that be death let him die. Rise against the powers which ascend to the clouds and the might of the iron kingdom will fall upon you."

The criminal leaned over on the flogging post. His back was scourged with stripes and deep gashes. He curled his body in agony as the next string of leather bonded to his back. With a flash the whip fell upon his skin and blood began to drain onto the ground. The lord hurled another blow with great strength as the criminal groaned. "This is a firm example-" He shouted releasing the whip again. -"of due process of law. You have been weighed and measured on the scales of morality." The leather snapped again and cut a line down the man’s side. "You have been judged by your peers and they have seen your sins. They have turned you in." He struck him again, the blood splashing out and dotting his face. "They have given you up into my hands, and I have found you-" With a crack he fell to the ground unbearably and cried out. -“exceedingly guilty."

The man ran his hands along the wet leather and tucked it into his belt. He faced the crowd, who both horridly and eagerly watched. "The criminal kneeling before you like a pathetic swine is the first perpetrator of the new order. His name is John Tragen, remember that name, write it down, for he is the first of thousands who will be put to death for their crimes against the god king. His neighbors have turned him in for his wrong doings. And he, having heard, and knowing full well the voices of the king's advisors, chose to break the law. He was found atop his balcony praying to his god, crying out like a delusional weep, 'Raldash! Raldash! Deliver me!'" The man knelt down beside him and looked into his eyes as he hung on to the post and whispered in his ear. "Have you found your deliverance?"

He stood to his feet again and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. "His neighbors have done a good deed in the sight of Tsithar and the sight of the king." He uncapped the bottle and trickled the alcohol onto his back. The criminal roared and hollered as it seeped into his fresh wounds. The crowd stirred angrily at this, hurling insults at the lord. "I would encourage all of you to watch your neighbors carefully. Turn in your friend, brother, husbands, wives if you see them wrong. This is for the benefit of a healthy nation and the benefit of our growth. So in acknowledgment of your grievance and lawful actions, I am to inform you of a reward. For every man, woman, or child you turn in, for the greater good, you will be given fifty pieces."

He gently grazed his chin and looked onward to the people sympathetically. "I am only a gracious man following a merciful king." He pulled something shiny from his pocket and set it on the stone. "I am done with him." He buttoned his shirt and threw on his overcoat without a glance at the people. As he did this the people began to chant against him and the new order.

“Tie him up! Burn the king! Kill the crow! Clip its wings!”

A few soldiers came by, taking the key and unlatched his shackles. They carried him by his underarms, his feet dragging behind. The lord sat down on a long and old crate leaning against the flogging post and began to smoke as the people kept calling out. He brushed the blood from his wrist and spat on the ground.

“Tie him up! Burn the king! Kill the crow! Clip its wings! Tie him up! Burn the king! Kill the crow! Clip its wings!” The speared soldiers pushed back the rioters until they felt threatened enough to leave. The lord sighed and muttered to himself.

“Clip your own wings, let me fly.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and laughed. As the people dispersed some light rain started to fall on the cold street. Pero stood still as they moved around him. It fell heavier even still, drenching his hood. It sent a shiver down his back and his left hand started shaking, so he tucked it away, he hid it in his overcoat. Pero breathed slowly, looking for his brother amidst the crowd. The foggy air rose above his lips. There was a loud whistle as he looked about. He turned his head quickly to see another darkly dressed figure. The boy came to him urgently. Immediately his brother saw the arrow wound and shook his head. Palo stroked his jaw as he thought a moment.

“Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” He handed his younger brother the book. Hurriedly Palo put it away as the drops stained the cover. “You don’t have to-” The boy pushed past him and scoffed shaking his head. Pero called out to him.

“Palo listen to me.” His brother turned around, holding out his arms with frustration.

“If you aren’t going to follow through with this I will.” Pero came to him, hobbling on his sore leg.

“You can do what you want, but I want you to know that you have a choice.”

“I know I have a choice.” He pulled out the book and held it out in the rain. “I choose this.” Quickly he covered the paper in the shade of his sleeve and turned each page till he reached a single verse. “If it be true-” He started to read. The boy wiped his wet hair from his eyes. “That there is something above which shares its divine nature with us, then when we wage war on its behalf. It embraces our struggles in part as we have taken part in it. With its burden we share, and implement human goals for the sake of the gods. And they burden themselves to maintain our faith and security while we defend their unspoken laws of life and death and death everlasting. This brotherhood I have committed myself to is more than what my eyes can see and if not I wouldn’t be so foolish.-” Palo reached forward and shut the book.

“Just come home.” He pulled him in tightly and patted his back. “Please.” Palo embraced his brother, shaking his head slowly.

“That’s not a promise I can keep.” He let go and looked him in the eye. “But I’ll do my best.” The boy then hurried off into the dim lights of the city, running away to do something unspeakable, but necessary. Thunder rolled and the grey clouds patterned themselves over Isin’iath like black waves. He took a single look behind to his brother as he made his way to the castle and sighed. He would never see him again. He opened the book and stared at its pages. Then he closed it and began to run. It was the last remnant of a past soon to be forgotten. As for these boys, history would struggle to recollect anything but their one deed. And they would only know their memories in song, many years from their death, they would sing the tales of Pero and Palo, the lesser known heroes of their time. Two brothers who did that unspeakable, but necessary thing.

© 2019 J.M.Fields

Author's Note

I'll be done with the whole book soon. Hopefully.

My Review

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Reviews

Lyanth

Good morning, this was a very interesting and attention grabbing piece. I don't usually prefer to read in the third person however, this was done well. My only commentary would be, that this piece is at least a couple pages long put all on one page. Perhaps if you separated it into several pieces it would be a bit less daunting to read.
Also, a few small grammar checks are in order, but overall it is a great story line and nice idea to work with and I like the names, keep writing.
All the best,
Lyanth