Dnara gently set the blackrope’s head down upon the loamy earth. Standing up behind Athan, Dnara decided she’d been kept in the dark far too long about far too many things. Moving past Athan’s attempts to intervene, Dnara stood before Melakatezra and Treven, no longer willing to have her fate decided for her; to be led by the hand through this world, understanding less than the truth.
“Please,” she said to Melakatezra and raised a hand to Treven’s snout. The mule, the boy within in the mule, nuzzled into her palm and closed his eyes. “Explain the truth of this to me.”
“Dnara-” Athan began but stopped as Treven stamped one hoof to the earth.
“The truth of it?” Melakatezra mused the words for a moment, the last remnants of sunlight behind her finally giving way to winter’s final dusk. “Where shall I begin?”
“The beginning,” Dnara said, never more certain. “You should always start at the beginning.”
Her words made Melakatezra smile. “Yes, I believe that is always the best place to start.”
27
The Two Brothers and the Raven
Once, there were two brothers who lived on a small farm where their father raised cabbages and their mother mended clothing. They were happy, these two brothers, running after each other in the hot summer sun, down to the edge of the property where they would dive for hours into the small fishing pond. In the mornings, they would tend the field with their father. In the evenings, they would help their mother deliver mended clothing to other farmers around the nearby village. Each sunrise brought a new day full of promise and adventure, and each sunset would see them safely tucked in their beds, kissed goodnight by their loving parents.
Together, these two brothers felt invincible, and they made grand plans for their future. The eldest, Athan, wanted to take over the farm and grow even bigger cabbages than their father. The youngest, Treven, wanted to be like the merchants who came bearing extraordinary items from faraway lands, traveling around Ellium, though not too far from home. No, the brothers vowed to remain together, to look after one another and their parents, no matter what the next day may bring.
How could they, young and innocent in their ways, have known that the next day would bring blight and shadow?
Blight came first to the fields of their neighbors, decaying vegetables in the earth and filling their orchards with rot. Next, blight came to the animals, driving some away and driving others mad, killing their offspring before they themselves died standing in the fields. Lastly, blight came to the people. It took from them first their children, filling them with cough and fever, then it came for the mothers with babes still within their bellies. Like ashes they fell to the earth in silence, without crying nor wailing save from those they left behind. Many of those left behind, standing alone in ruined fields of bitter harvest, fell into madness and despair as all around them the world burned.
The two brothers lost their cabbages, then they lost their chickens. Their father left to find new fortune upon the Sapphire Sea, never to be seen again. Their mother fell next, along with an unborn child taken soundlessly in the night. The two brothers were left alone in a barren field next to a rotten apple tree under which they’d buried their mother, watching on the horizon as the King’s Guard came and burned the farmlands to ash and cinder.
“Why do you not cry?” asked a voice from the branches above. The brothers looked up and saw a raven, its curious gaze turning this way and that, as if trying to understand the ways of man.
“I have no tears left to shed,” said Athan, the eldest. “I have cried for my mother, I have cried for my father, I have cried for the hens dead in their roost and the cabbages blackened in the field. Let the king’s men have the rest, but they’ll have no more tears from me.”
“What good would it do to cry?” said Treven, the youngest, his small hands fisted tight in anger. “If I were stronger, I could stop them, but I can’t. I can’t do anything but stand under this tree next to a mother who is dead.”
The raven turned its head side to side, hopping along the branch closer to the boys. “You are sad,” it said to the eldest, “but not angry like your brother. Why?”
Athan thought it a strange question, but no less strange than the talking raven asking it. “What good would it do to be angry at what I cannot change? What is, is what is, and I am sad for it, but I can’t dwell on it in anger. I must look to tomorrow and hope for better things.”
“I see,” said the raven. “You still have hope.”
“There is no hope,” said Treven, eyes glaring down at the mound of upturned dirt that used to be his mother. “The blight has taken everything away.”
Athan cast his eyes out to a smoke filled horizon the color of a setting sun turned mad. A thick black plume covered the sun, like a rising creature of shadow threatening to swallow the world whole. Despair entered his heart, and he felt without purpose. His breathing hitched on rancid air, and he looked down at his ash covered, empty hands.
“It’s true,” Athan said. “Everything is gone. My hands are empty and I lack a purpose.”
“But, there is hope,” reminded the raven.
“It’s not enough,” Treven argued, sullenly wiping away a tear that escaped his hold. Wet ash streaked across his cheek like a war borne scar, and his eyes reflected a dwindling soul as empty as his brother’s hands. “I don’t want to feel this way. I want to run away from this grave and the fires until I can’t run anymore.”
“I can help,” said the raven. “For I am formed of magic, and I have enough of it to share.”
“How would you help?” Athan asked as his hands remained empty and the hope in his heart faded.
The raven hopped closer. “To you, elder brother, I offer a purpose to fill those empty hands, so you can hold onto your hope and not fall into despair. And to you, younger brother, I offer the power to run faster and farther than any man could dream to run, so you may escape the pain and sorrow of this place.”
“I accept,” Treven quickly said. “Anything is better than what I have now.”
The raven tilted one black eye down to Athan. “Both of you must agree, for that is the nature of the magic I have to offer.”
Athan leered up at the raven. “At what price?”
“You are smart to ask,” the raven cawed. “For it is true that all magic comes with rules as well as a price. My price is thus: sometime in the future, I will ask of you a favor, Athan, and this request you alone must fulfill.”
“Only me?” Athan asked. “You swear to ask nothing of my brother?”
“Only you,” the raven replied. “I swear it, and by magic I am bound to this promise.”
“Please, Athan,” Treven begged. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Let’s take the raven’s offer and leave this place together.”
Athan could not deny his own wish to have purpose again, and he hoped the raven would grant him a piece of land somewhere far from the blight where his empty hands could be filled with rich, fertile soil to provide for himself and his brother. “All right,” he said. “I accept.”
“The bargain is stuck.” The raven cawed loudly and hopped along the branch. It cawed and cawed at the sky, louder and louder until its voice was joined by others. On black wings came the ravens, hundreds upon hundreds more, their voices raised in discordant echoes.
Athan took his brother into his arms and held tight as the ravens swarmed the hill. Round and round the ravens flew, swirling like smoke on the wind, feathers falling and turning the day into night. Athan clenched shut his eyes, he heard his brother cry, then abrupt silence surrounded the knoll. When Athan opened his eyes, he held not his brother but the neck of a saddled and bridled mule.
“What have you done?!” Athan yelled up at the raven. “Where is my brother?”
“He is there,” replied the raven, beak jutting towards the mule. “I have fulfilled his wish. He may now run farther and faster than any man. Many of my kin were sacrificed to provide such a beautiful gift. Ar
e you not pleased?”
“No!” Athan could not believe the mule had once been his brother, but faintly he heard the whisper of Treven’s spirit trapped behind the mule’s glassy black eyes, and his heart sank at the truth of the raven’s words.
“But I have fulfilled his wish, as promised,” said the raven. “And yours. You now have a great purpose: to take care of your brother.”
“But, that has always been my purpose,” Athan argued.
“Indeed,” the raven agreed. “I’m sorry such drastic measures were needed for you to see it.”
And to that, Athan could not argue. His hands had never been truly empty, but he had been unable to see it. “Take it back,” Athan pleaded. “Please, this is not what we wanted.”
“The deal was stuck,” replied the raven. “I cannot undo it until the promised request has been fulfilled, for that is the nature of this magic.”
“Then tell me what you want of me!” Athan begged. “I’ll do anything! Just give me back my brother!”
The raven tuned its head to look at Athan with one eye then the other, its feet hopping an inch closer on the branch. “When the blight has spread from field to forest and mountain to sea, when the smoke of desperation endlessly covers the horizon and the children of man have dwindled to nothing, then I will come to you and make my request. If you fulfill this request, then, and only then, can I return Treven to his former self.”
“How long?” Athan asked, his throat heavy in a want to cry for all he had lost by not seeing what he had remaining. “How long must we live like this?”
“As long as is required,” said the raven as it took wing and flew away. “And not one day more.”
“Wait!” Athan yelled but no further response came as the raven’s form disappeared into shadow. He looked down to see his hands were no longer empty, for they held the reins tied to his brother’s bridle. With not else to do, they put the fire filled horizon behind them and left that place, waiting for the raven’s return, together.
Tales of the Raven,
Collected Fables of Ellium, Vol. 3
28
Melakatezra finished her story, starting from its beginning but not detailing the end. Exactly when the raven had returned to the two brothers wasn’t important, and what had been requested of Athan had already been made clear. The price for his brother’s freedom had been the freedom of someone else, a price he seemed no longer willing to pay.
Dnara looked to him, but the forester could not meet her eyes. He’d bargained with magic and lost. She looked then to Treven, and his gaze on her did not waver. She saw guilt etched on the mule’s features, but also acceptance of the fate he’d been dealt by the choice he’d made. So young, both of them, to have been tricked into the raven’s- into Melakatezra’s game.
Dnara’s grip on the Elvan lantern tightened and she turned to face the raven feathered mage. “Thank you for telling me the story,” she said, because now she knew the truth of it. “And for revealing to me your deceitful trickery.”
Melakatezra’s aloof expression fell into a glower. “Deceitful trickery? No, dear child, I gave them a choice. They chose to depend on the promise of magic fixing everything instead of facing the truth of their situation.”
“They were children!” Dnara sucked in a tight breath to calm her rising anger. “They had lost everything, and you took advantage of that.”
Melakatezra’s eyes narrowed into black slits, then she smiled with a small shrug of her feather laden shoulders. “Fine. They were children. You, however, claim to not be a child, so I will make an offer to you.”
“I want no part of your magic,” Dnara said.
“That, I’m afraid, is too late a request,” Melakatezra replied as her detached demeanor returned. “But, in this matter, I urge you to at least hear my offer before making your choice.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Athan warned. “Get onto Treven’s saddle. He’ll take you to the Thorngrove as fast as possible. Please, Dnara. I am here to face my choices, but I want you and Treven to be safe.”
“None are safe as long as she is without tether,” Melakatezra said in a prophetic voice that caused the ravens to caw and shake the trees.
Dnara didn’t know what her words meant, except that a tether sounded like another type of collar. She also didn’t want to run. She was so very tired of running.
“Make your offer,” she dared to command of the raven mage, with head held high and voice kept steady.
She had endured worse in her life than standing face to face with a mage, even one who seemed as powerful as Melakatezra. Magic had rules; rules that could be bent but never broken. ‘The trick to magic,’ Keeper Ishkar had once told her while nursing a cup of honeyed tea during one of his less tumultuous moods, ‘is to read the fine print.’ Dnara had not fully understood his words until hearing the story of Athan and Treven. And with a mage like Melakatezra, Dnara assumed there would be a great deal of fine print.
“Very well,” Melakatezra said with a slight smile, and Dnara prepared herself to unwind the threads of half-truths the mage was sure to spin. But, instead of weaving a tale of allegory, Melakatezra simply said, “Come with me, and I will spare the rest.”
Dnara’s confidence sputtered and dwindled. “What?”
“That is my offer,” Melakatezra answered. “Come with me and I will reawaken the blackrope, I will return Treven to his former two-legged self, and I will consider my deal with Athan completed as promised.”
“Don’t,” Athan said, taking a step closer to Dnara and his brother. “Her offers are never that simple.”
“All you must do is take my hand,” Melakatezra said, her focus intent on Dnara and ignoring Athan’s efforts to interfere. She extended her thinly fingered hand, palm upturned and empty, to Dnara. “Just take my hand, child, and everything will be made right again.”
Dnara could feel Athan stepping closer and the uneasy way in which Treven shook his head while pawing at the earth with front hoof, but her attention centered on the open, waiting hand in front of her. She could set Athan free from his deal, returning Treven back to human form. Her mind tried to fathom all the two had endured, how Treven had lived for so long as a beast of burden, and the guilt Athan must have carried all these years as heavy as any load upon Treven’s saddle. Would she have acted any different if it had been her sister now a mule? Side glancing to Athan’s pleading eyes, she could not say with certainty she would have put the freedom of a stranger over that of someone she cared for.
“Dnara,” Athan said as he caught her gaze. “Please, leave this place. My brother and I have already decided to live with our choice. Neither of us wants you to go with her.”
Dnara looked back to the mage who stood unmoving, allowing Athan to have his say. Melakatezra’s placid expression gave nothing of her motives away, but neither did she attempt to persuade Dnara from Athan’s words. By the rules of the magic used, the offer had been made and now Dnara alone could make the choice.
Treven lightly tugged on her cloak with his soft lips, and upon gaining her attention, he nodded as if in agreement with Athan. She couldn’t hear the voice of Treven’s spirit the way Athan could, but she could see Treven’s acceptance within the large black eyes of the mule. To further make his point, Treven turned his broad body so that his seldom used stirrups lay waiting within easy reach for Dnara to step into. His big head nodded at her then flicked towards the saddle, asking her to take the counteroffer made by Athan to Melakatezra’s open hand.
Though their wishes were clear, there remained one person who could not speak of what choice she wanted Dnara to make. Looking down to poor Jenny, Dnara’s heart ached. How could she abandon Jenny to an unknown fate at the hands of this mage? The blight had taken everything away from Jenny, just as it had Athan and his brother, then she too had been twisted by magic into a form far from herself.
But there, almost missed within shadows blanketing the ground, Dnara saw Jenny’s eyes glance her way. Before Dnara cou
ld think it a trick of the mind, Jenny winked then returned to the well-formed mask of an immobilized, unthreatening statue. Dnara slowly averted her own gaze, trying to keep the surprise from her expression as she met Melakatezra’s waiting stare.
Athan, Treven and Jenny were waiting, too. Waiting for Dnara to make her choice. Waiting for Dnara to accept the sacrifices they had willingly made in exchange for her freedom.
As the silence carried on, Melakatezra’s placid facade cracked as the corner of her eye twitched with impatience. “Well, child? What is your choice?”
Dnara lifted her chin further, squared her shoulders and faced the black-eyed mage. “I decline your offer.”
Melakatezra’s pitch black eyes widened just before her brow angled sharply in anger. “You selfish girl. You would choose yourself over what is best for the others?” She flung her empty hand towards Dnara in a more dramatic offering. “Think of them, all they have done for you, and take my hand. Take my hand and repay their kindness. Take my hand and end their suffering!”
Dnara stood defiant. “By not taking your hand, I am repaying their kindness. They have chosen their path so that I may be free. To take your hand would disrespect all they have suffered, the choices they have made; to ignore not only all that has been lost, but also what has been gained. Taking your hand would be to depend on the promise of magic fixing everything instead of facing the truth of my situation.”
Throwing Melakatezra’s own words back at her caused the mage’s mouth to open in shock then snap shut with a rising sneer. “You ungrateful, fickle creature! Fine. If it is the hard truth of this world that you desire, then so be it.”
In a flash, Melakatezra’s empty hand filled with a silver object that moved too quickly to discern. In the blink of an eye, it shot from the mage’s hand, disappearing into shadow. Next to Dnara, Athan sucked in a pained breath then sank to his knees while clutching his chest.
When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1) Page 24