“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Wing said and, forcing his wet legs into the leather pants, eyed Lucin threateningly as he squatted down, found a corner of his capote, and yanked. Lucin rolled over then, making a long low crooning sound in his throat. Wing extricated his jacket and shirt at last and pulled them on.
“Thanks for the help,” he said, as Lucin threw a back leg up into the air and began licking himself.
Wing slung his duffel over his shoulder, gathered up the rest of his gear, the staves — green as well as seasoned — the bow and arrows, and re-pocketing the cutting knife Rhusta had sent with him on his trip.
Boots under his arm, Wing padded up to the house and deposited everything into the grass beside the single large door which stood open to the river.
Wing stuck his head in through the open door and was about to call out when he spotted Monteray seated at the head of a very large dining table. Monteray looked up at the same time and stood, waving Wing inside. Wing went in, taking in the home’s interior finding that he’d been correct in his assessment of the vaulted roof — from within the angles and materials of its construction cast light in a sensual array across the room beneath. It was dramatic but, also, surprisingly warm. Directly behind the dining area was a long flight of stairs leading to what Wing assumed to be upper bedrooms. Two beautifully made rugs — one smooth, one shag — hung adjacent each other high up the tallest walls. The dining table in front of him was already elegantly displayed with pottery plates, cups of glass, and arrangements of short red and white flowers in short square vases of red glass.
In rare manner, Wing found the home capable of both stateliness and comfort.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Monteray offered.
A young woman came into the dining area then, seating herself directly across from Wing.
Monteray said, “This is our daughter, Tei.”
She appeared to be no more than twenty revolutions. Wing said, “Nice to meet you.”
“And this is Kate, my wife,” Monteray said as Kate entered the room through a set of small swinging doors which, Wing imagined, led into the kitchen.
“Welcome,” Kate said, smiling at him as Wing stood and offered to help with the plates in her hands. “Thank you.”
“And that’s Sep,” Tei, the daughter said.
Wing heard the short swinging doors to the kitchen swing once more, and set down the plate he’d taken from Kate before turning to greet what he assumed to be another member of the family.
But a burst like lightning split his skull instead —
Nien?
All the air left the room.
The food and stoneware plates Nien carried toppled in a cacophony to the hardwood floor.
Viscerally, Wing was aware of a fall of glances — between Kate and Monteray, from Tei to her mother. And from Nien, who might as well have spoken aloud for how vivid the voice registered in Wing’s brain…
Wing.
Facing one another, Wing did not move, couldn’t breathe. And so it appeared to be with Nien.
Wing shook, his lips parted to speak, but as he started forward to embrace his brother, Nien dropped to his knees and began gathering up the mess.
Wing stalled, confused, and then crouched down to help. His hand fell upon the same piece of broken plate as Nien’s.
In a moment that probed eternity, Wing drank in the glistening tone of the black hand. Its rich textures. The milky white half moons at the bed of its fingernails. He felt Nien doing the same with him and knew they were thinking the same thing —
Is this real?
Their eyes lifted and met. Wing started to speak again, but Nien silenced him with a look.
With his arms full of the largest chunks of the serving plates, Nien lurched to his feet and hurried back into the kitchen.
Standing, Wing felt the room move around him. His legs trembled. Hobbling backward, he felt his chair against the back of his legs and fell into it.
For a few eternal moments, he stared at his plate. Kate had gone back into the kitchen and was, even now, with Nien. His brother was here, here in this very house, he would return to the dining room shortly and they would sit at the same table, just had they sat for meals at home all their lives. It was impossible.
Wing heard the short doors swing once more and his heart hammered hard and painful in his chest.
Why did Nien not want the Monterays’ knowing that they knew one another? That they were brothers? What was going on?
Wing stared numbly at his plate. Surprise had turned his guts to jelly; shock immobilized his brain.
Nien and Kate sat down, Nien on the same side of the table as Wing and Wing felt his stomach rebel: how could he possibly eat?
“Where are you from, Wing?” Tei asked.
It took Wing a moment to realize Tei was talking to him. “Rieeve,” he said shortly.
“Do you have many Preaks there?” she asked.
Wing swallowed hard. “Uh, no,” he said.
“Have you ever been to Preak? Sep there, he’s Preak, but he said he’s never been there. I’d really like to go. I keep begging him to take me.”
Wing looked at Nien; his heart and throat burned as he asked, “Then where did you grow up?”
Never had words felt more disconnected, more wrong in his mouth.
“Quieness,” Tei supplied helpfully, taking a large bite of food, her eyes moving to Nien.
Nien nodded. “Quieness,” he said.
More confused and pained by the moment, Wing forced himself to nod as if he found the information interesting.
Thankfully, Kate changed the conversation, asking Monteray something about a meeting in town later that turn, and Wing let himself disengage. Recoiling into himself like a snake at the mouth of its den, Wing took in the conversation only peripherally, his mind still trying to grasp what had happened, what was happening.
And then, beside him, Monteray said, “You look tired. We can talk tomorrow if you’d like. After you’ve gotten some rest.”
Wing nodded absently. “Yes. Thank you.”
Monteray wiped his mouth. “There is a room upstairs where you may stay.”
Kate stood and went to Wing’s side. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Wing got to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Nien. But Nien was not looking at him, his head downturned over his plate.
Wing followed Kate up the fair length of stairs behind the dining area and into the long hall at the top. Through a door on the right, he stepped into the bedroom that would be his for the night.
Had Wing been capable of noticing, he might have given pause for the room was exquisite. Across from him two windows faced the river and between them sat a large, raised bed, blanketed with a comforter of pure Jhedan’ret.
Wing had never seen the soft, lustrous material, but Nien had told him of it after his return from Quieness. A polished wood floor felt smooth beneath his bare feet and on the floor beside the bed was another thick shag rug similar to those hanging on the walls in the grand entryway below.
Wing stepped onto the rug. At any other time, he might have dug his toes into it, enjoyed the coarse feel of it, but he was awash in a strange concoction of dismay and agony, incredulity and joy, and so took in the sensation only peripherally.
Feeling Kate’s hand upon his arm, he looked at her.
“Sleep well,” she said.
Wing replied unintelligibly and watched her leave. Turning back toward the bed, he reached out and touched the Jhedan’ret cover. It had a fine caramel luster and felt cool under his touch. He hardly dare lie on it, but there seemed to be nothing else his bruised mind could think to do, so he climbed on up.
He lay for a time, vaguely aware of the dull ache in his leg and trying to comprehend what had just happened.
How could he possibly sleep?
Nien. Se’te ney Eosha. He’s alive. And here in this very house.
They’d called him Sep.
Sep. T
hey’d said Sep. What kind of name was that? And Quieness? Nien had told them he was from Quieness?
Desire pulled fiercely upon him. His heart began to throb again.
He had to get up. He had to go to Nien. He had to see him. Talk to him. But Nien’s glance had been explicit —
He didn’t want to be discovered.
Chapter 60
Brothers
W ing felt a hand touch his shoulder and a voice whisper his name.
Wing opened his eyes. But no one stood by the bed. Wing closed his eyes again. He’d been too overwrought upon getting into the bed that he had not, then, noted how ridiculously comfortable it was. He tried to remember the last time he’d been able to sleep without the knots in a wood floor or mountain rock digging into his bones.
And then…
He sat up.
In the bedroom doorway stood a man.
The notion flashed through Wing’s mind that he was still sleeping and that himself, the bed, and the man that stood in the doorway were all a part of the same dream.
Wing stared for a time and then pushed himself out of the bed.
As the moments stretched into infinity, the man said, “Wing.”
Lost in an array of confusion and dismay, it was a distant, habitual recognition in him that replied: “Nien?”
The apparition nodded, Wing gasped, and like the breaking of a tide, the two crossed the room.
They met chest to chest, shoulder to shoulder in an embrace that contained enough pressure to produce flat metal out of raw ore.
Nien. Brother. Alive! The words lit up in Wing’s brain like drops of liquid flame.
Elation grabbed him up in great crystal wings as he laughed and cried and shook, feeling Nien laugh and cry and shake as well.
“I can’t believe it,” Wing said, chin grazing Nien’s shoulder. “You’re not real. None of this is real…”
Nien stepped back and held Wing at arm’s length, looking him over as if he were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Wing! You’re alive! You made it. I knew it.”
Tears streamed down Wing’s face as he gazed at his brother disbelievingly.
“Seeing you, the broken plates, sitting next to you at the table…unendurable.”
Nien gulped. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
In silence, the brothers reveled in the sight of each other.
“Come,” Wing said at last, motioning to the bed. “Sit.”
They sat down together. Nien bounced up and down, running his hand over the Jhedan’ret cover.
“I actually thought I could sleep here and wake up with a clear head,” Wing said. “You know, wake up and remember that you were still gone. The reality of that felt easier to handle than the possibility that what I’d seen downstairs had been an illusion.”
“I know,” Nien replied. “I looked right at you and was still not convinced.”
Wing asked, “Where do you stay?”
“In a small cabin, just down the river. It belongs to the Monterays.”
“I saw it,” Wing said, an apology in his tone.
“It’s not bad,” Nien assured. “I like it.”
Wing looked him over. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “How long have you been here?”
“Nearly ten turns — as far as I can tell.”
“Ten turns. And they have no idea who you are?”
Nien shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“So, what have you been — ”
“ — doing?” Nien said. “Helping Monteray with his home.”
Wing looked at him a moment, feeling suddenly apprehensive. “I thought relations between Legranders and Preaks was…”
“Strained?” Nien supplied. “They may be. But I’ve had no problem here with the Monterays.”
“So, helping them build their home is, bringing them their food is, what?”
“Being part of a family.” The pain Nien must have seen in Wing’s eyes caused him to explain further. “They’ve been very good to me, Wing. I help them, yes, hoping to pay them back for food, for lodging, for...saving my life.”
A million more questions were tumbling around inside Wing’s head and they all went unsaid except one: “What happened, Nien? Pree K sounded so sure you were dead — that all had been killed.”
“I should have been. I very nearly was.”
“And the family?”
“I made it out. I saw no one else.”
“But you did make it. Maybe…”
“No.”
“But,” Wing insisted.
“No, Wing. The chances are small — so small.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure. It doesn’t matter how.”
But a wave of desperate hope Wing had thought long dead resurfaced in him. “It does matter!”
“No, Wing,” Nien said, his voice an airy, lifeless counterbalance to Wing’s passion. “They are gone.”
“Don’t tell me that!” Wing reached out and clutched Nien’s shirt in his hands. “If you escaped, others had to! Someone. Maybe Jake, maybe Carly...”
“Stop it,” Nien muttered.
“All those days in the mountains. I…I thought you were all dead, I thought…But now you’re here! You’re alive!”
A glint of something terrible flashed in Nien’s eyes and he pulled himself out of Wing’s grasp.
Startled, Wing released him.
The turn in his brother’s face was excruciating — as if some deathly beast had been resurrected inside of him. Wing saw a vision of the beast as he had once felt it in himself, scratching from the inside to get out, to take over, to drag him under.
“I saw them, Wing — our family. They were killed inside the castle walls.” Nien’s face pinched, his hand twitched, and he reached up unconsciously to touch the back of his head. “I remember falling. Hitting my head against the cobblestones. After that, I only remember being dragged, dragged a long way, and then thrown...” Nien blinked absently, his sight turned inward. “They threw us all into one huge pit. One huge, stinking, vile pit. When I came to, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t even move. So many of them, pressing down on me, pressing in from all sides. They wouldn’t stop — they couldn’t. So many of them. They were so heavy...”
Wing felt something inside him slip and break.
Brother, he thought, stop. Stop speaking. Don’t tell me anymore…
“So much blood,” Nien said, lost in the retelling. “It should have dried, but it didn’t in the rain, the rain kept making it bleed, it was raining blood, and I couldn’t breathe, and I fought, I fought so hard, I don’t know how. The uncanny horror of it, the sickening madness of it...”
The words fell from Nien’s lips in fragments and coughs until his voice dried in his throat and Wing could see that his question had left his brother naked in a flood of memories, images, and feelings that he’d kept safely barred from his waking moments —
Until now.
For a wraithlike moment, Nien was deathly still. And then the sobs came.
Wing tried to control his mind, wanting only to keep it from the horrific roll of images moving through it, conjured by Nien’s words. Mother, tiny Fey, Jake, his noble father — thrown into an open grave. Not even in his darkest moments, not even when the hand of death had been upon him had he imagined such a thing.
— Imagined
No.
But he had seen it. In the vision. He’d seen their people in those visions, he’d known it was them, as well as many others that he did not know; the dead from other valleys, he had supposed.
Wing reached out to Nien. His hand hung in the air a moment and then fell back to his side.
I shouldn’t have asked, Wing thought. I should have respected his reluctance to speak of...
Wing could not even find a word to reference it. None would do.
That Night. A terrible night that, with shocking sentience, seemed to bury and then raise itself over and over again.
We’ll never be free of it, Wing thought. Never.
In truth, because of the visions, Wing had not been free of it even before it happened, but at least then he’d had hope that he could find a way to change it. But he hadn’t been able to, and his visions had just been recounted to him in detail as horrifying in their reality as the visions had been in the Void.
Beside him Nien had grown silent, like a ghost, as if the core of him had been drawn into the abyss.
“I’m sorry,” Wing muttered. “That night, I wanted to find you, I wanted to find our family.” Wing couldn’t find the strength to explain. Consumed in Nien’s pain, he said, “I did not think what answering my question would mean for you. I’m so sorry, brother. I shouldn’t have asked.” Nien’s eyes were moist and feverish and Wing felt ripped with longing to see them warm and aurulent again.
But Nien shook his head. “That you are alive is enough. It’s everything.”
Nien was right. That they were both alive, that they had found each other was everything.
Wing took the back of Nien’s neck in his hand, pressed his face into his shoulder, and together the brothers wept.
Chapter 61
Right by Them?
K ate lay awake in bed, Monteray in silence beside her. She knew Monteray was not sleeping either and that the two brothers were the reason why.
During dinner, after Nien had dropped the plates and returned from the kitchen with Kate, she and Monteray had talked with Tei and feigned ignorance, but between themselves husband and wife had been speaking silent volumes:
We were right, Sep is Nien Cawutt, brother to the man, Wing Merehr, friends, both, of Commander Lant.
Desiring to end the brothers’ discomfort as soon as possible, Monteray had suggested that Wing get some rest.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” Kate whispered.
Beside her, she felt Monteray nod his head. “I wonder if we did the right thing, keeping our knowledge of his identity from him.”
“Well, we weren’t sure. You suspected…”
Monteray made a non-committal sound.
Kate turned into his side and he wrapped an arm around her, cupping his big hand around her shoulder.
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