Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  Fasime’s eyes caught something beside the trail, color not natural for the forest. He grabbed the reins, pulling back Lightning who reared back in protest, almost tossing him. But he held on until the stallion lowered, and then turned him back to what he had seen…

  It was Aulia. They had tossed her beside their path. She was alive, conscious, but seemed unable to move or cry out. Fasime gazed at her from atop the stallion and he saw that they had wounded her to subdue her. Her eye was badly bruised and swollen and her cheeks and neck were red. She stirred a little, but then was still again, and Fasime guessed that one of her limbs was broken. She was aware and seemed to recognize him.

  Fasime was about to dismount and hoist her to his saddle, but stopped. His gaze returned to the raiders, gaining ground ahead of him and almost becoming imperceptible in the distance. He looked back down to her, pulling back the stallion’s reins, sensing its rider’s desire to ride. The girl was afraid, but she appeared to understand; he must pursue them.

  The villagers will be here soon, he told himself and prepared to catch up to his fleeing targets. What if they don’t find her? He breathed out in angst, turning to examine their trail, barely visible upon the forest floor where no snow had accumulated. If you delay any longer you will lose them.

  “I will come back for you,” Fasime told her brashly and flicked the reins. But he hadn’t gone three strides before he pulled them back again, feeling a sinking dread in his heart. What if you don’t return?

  He watched the last suggestion of his foe disappear into the forest before him, and with it his vengeance and anger. He turned around and dismounted, lifting the girl into his arms.

  “Aulia!” the farmer shouted as Fasime caught site of the band of villagers through the trees. They had barely entered the forest when he met them. Fasime rode to meet the farmer, the girl sleeping in his arms.

  “Aulia! You saved my Aulia,” Torgan cried as Fasime stopped and handed her to him, the girl waking as she came into her father’s grasp. “You’re alive, my sweet daughter, you’re alive.” Fasime dismounted, watching the mighty farmer fall to his knees and cradle her as he wept.

  “One of the raiders gave me his life, one other was wounded. The rest I lost in the wood,” Fasime stated as the villagers gathered around them with admiration. Torgan looked up to him and wiped his eyes.

  “You saved my daughter’s life, brave Fasime, there is nothing more I could ever ask of you.”

  Fasime nodded shortly and then helped him stand. “Come,” he stated. “Her leg is broken. We should get her inside.”

  A mighty hand slammed down upon the wooden table. “This is outrageous! The raiders have never dared kidnap a child before! How much more will we allow them do to?”

  “What can we do, Torgan? We are not soldiers.”

  “We are not safe upon our own land!”

  “What do you suggest, move into Arnith where they can protect us?”

  “Perhaps we should,” the farmer answered, calming. Fasime breathed pensively, listening to the gathering of farmers and villagers in dispute.

  “They are just as troubled as we are,” another farmer argued.

  “They attack you because you are vulnerable,” Fasime raised his voice. None of the farmers reacted in anger; they quieted in respect.

  The farmer beside him sighed. “There is no way to protect ourselves out here.”

  Fasime stood. “The raiders would be less likely to attack you if your goods were in a keep.” Some of the villagers were about to interject, but the young, foreign man continued, “And surrounded by a wall.”

  One of the younger farmers stated, “Even if we could build walls and a keep, it would only make us more of a target for the raiders’ attacks.”

  “No, it would deter them. Their bands are actually few. They don’t have the strength enough to overcome even a thin wall with few guards.”

  “But sir, there aren’t enough of us to run the farms and build defenses.”

  Fasime looked to Torgan. “And what about other villages to the west and south? I am sure they have suffered attacks from these raiders since their armies have scattered.” Torgan nodded. Fasime looked back to the villagers, straightening. “If we are to survive, we must band together. We can build defenses. We won’t tolerate attacks from raiders any longer!” His voice rose in earnest and the vexed, heedful villagers cheered.

  “But sir,” another villager stated, “any settlement that grows too large runs the risk of attracting the attention of Arnith, and their king will force it into his kingdom.”

  “Believe me,” Fasime answered after lowering his gaze, “the king of Arnith is too occupied with other troubles to notice us.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  CREATION

  Fasime stood and wiped his brow. He stepped away from the stone and mortar, gaining view of the village below him. He examined the progress of the surrounding wall. The villagers had made good time doing what they could during the winter and trying now to use every available moment since spring had come. They were constructing the barrier out of wood, for now. Tall logs were fastened together and sharpened into stakes at the top. Stone would come later. He looked to the keep he stood astride, half constructed from stone of the quarry. Construction of both defenses was slow, but Fasime and the villagers figured that there would be no attacks from the raiders until late summer, when the harvests began. They would have the wall, at least, finished before the first raid. He would be sure of it.

  Fasime reached and lifted another stone from the pile, chiseled into a smooth sided brick, and carried it to the men setting them into the mortar along the foundation. They met his gaze as he returned from his pause, having grown accustomed to his intermittent oversights and contemplations.

  It was late spring when the villagers gathered to celebrate the completion of the keep. They gathered to celebrate another occasion as well, the girls adorned with wild spring flowers and intricate cloths, and the boys in clean, simple suits looking sheepishly at them. Women gathered, gossiping about young hearts, fabric, and bread, and the men discussing soil, seed, and toil. Soon the villagers converged before the large keep, admiring its faultlessness, and recognizing, half-unbelievingly, their own contributions to its construction. Many of them could pick out stones that they themselves had carved or lain, but now unable to distinguish their effort with that of the whole.

  Flowers bedecked its front steps, where guards would soon stand, but where now stood a man and a woman turned away from them, towards a villager they recognized, though his garb was more ceremonial.

  “The bones of our land have wielded to us,” Torgan spoke out to the crowd. “This keep is just the beginning of a better future for our people. And today we rejoice in another beginning, a marriage between these two lovers. Just as the stones of this keep have come together in common purpose, so have we.”

  Fasime took Eltha’s thin, soft fingers and she looked to him. He thought she had stolen two pieces of the sky for her eyes. His past and anxieties subsided; his soul overcome with love and comfort from holding her, standing beside her and finalizing their matrimony. He gazed at the beauty of her skin, her hair, her dress, and tears came to his eyes as they agreed to love one another, forever.

  “This is only the beginning,” Torgan announced and Fasime and Eltha turned as renewed souls to the crowd that exalted the sight of them, “for as your love will grow, so shall this village.” Fasime felt calm and belonging in his heart and turned and kissed his bride. As he did, Torgan continued, “And so we give this keep to you, for your protecting.”

  Fasime blinked, withdrew. He looked back to the farmer behind them. He was… Fasime tensed. He looked to the crowd of people. They were bowing to him. Fasime felt a dark apprehension grip his heart, but Eltha grasped his hand, turning him to her.

  Her face was pleased and fulfilled. Fasime released the apprehension from his breath, the world stalled as all witnesses cast their gazes to the ground and he and Eltha stood
, hand in hand, atop the steps. She seemed to understand his hesitation, but there was love for him in her eyes. Her eyes reflected acceptance and certainty in him. He took command of his surprise, drawing her closer as he looked back out upon the kneeling people and was proud.

  Fasime’s troubles and hardships were forgotten as he stood in the doorway, watching Eltha prepare a child’s room near theirs. She was sewing a blanket on her lap, the light of the sun flowing over her light hair, shining off her skin. She had not yet noticed him, watching her and gorging on her beauty.

  Fasime came into the room and she looked up to him, her hands still working the thread through the blanket. She smiled and he returned it. “It is a beautiful day,” she said, glancing out the window. His eyes stayed on her.

  “Yes,” he agreed, kneeling before her. “How are you?”

  “I am well,” she answered softly. “The villagers have been so kind tending to us. They have such gratitude that they have not been harassed by raiders all this season.”

  “I’ve noticed that as well,” Fasime stated and he placed his hand on her arm. “We all have been more productive with the surplus stocks we have been able to save.”

  “Just imagine what we’ll be able to accomplish if this peace continues.”

  Fasime breathed in the calm to his soul, thinking not only of the fortune of the village but also that before him. He looked down to the blanket resting beneath her hands. His fingers traced the carefully woven designs. “Knights?” he asked.

  “You don’t think he’ll like them?” she asked playfully.

  He tilted his head, smiling ruefully. “He?”

  She paused, grew still.

  “How do you know it’s a boy?” he teased her.

  Her face lost its smile and her eyes were watchful on his.

  “Why do you think it is a boy?” a voice, lost, drifted somewhere between them.

  “I…” she hesitated.

  Her frightened eyes made the unease inside him sharpen. His body crushed under a realization. “You know it is a boy, don’t you?”

  She shook her head, about to say something but… nothing.

  He stood with hesitant movements, retreating from her. “You know it’s a boy. Which means… you know… which means…” He looked away from her, reading his words across the air. “You can see the future.” His eyes narrowed, as if the words were fading. She stepped towards him and sighed. Her hand was laid softly on his arm. His gaze came back to her unwillingly. “You know the future,” Fasime said in a voice that was a drop of water at the bottom of a well.

  “Yes,” she answered sadly, but set on him.

  “You lied. You are the woman’s daughter.”

  Her head lowered. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Why? Why did you lie to me?”

  “My love,” she said softly, her hand wrapping around his arm. “You came to that abandoned hut. I was alone. If you had left me there, I would have grown old. I would have died there, withered away just like she did. It would have been a life of loneliness, solitude, without companionship.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I am sorry,” she said. “It was the only misdirection I have ever given you, the only time…”

  But she stopped. His hand moved quickly between them to prevent her words. His face tilted, his eyes away from her again.

  “You know the future,” he said stronger, questioning and accusing, desperate for the answer, and afraid of it.

  She smiled then, a strange smile of someone he did not recognize. “I do know it, my lord.”

  “You could tell me… You know the future. You could tell me…” His eyes went around him wildly. “Is Syah going to attack Arnith? Did… did he ever mean to harm us? Did…” his eyes came back to her with a shake, “did I betray him as well? Did Father… Did I…”

  She gave him a comforting look, her hand went to his chest, feeling his heart racing. She replied strongly, alluring, “Yes. I can tell you this, my lord. I can tell you everything you desire to know.”

  His eyes widened fully and he looked upon Oman stabbing Syah, he saw Syah seated on the throne, giving orders for the soldiers to protect Anteria, again. His heart jumped for it. “What…” She can tell you. “No!” Fasime screamed, throwing her off of him.

  She caught herself, but held her hands over her chest, leaning forward as she tried to catch her breath. He stood there poised, arms stretched out where they had thrown her. She tried to calm the tossed feeling inside her, rubbing her arms where his hands had dug into them a moment. “Fasime!” she gasped.

  “I didn’t know that you could do this, that this was what you were!”

  She nodded. “I know. It’s all right.”

  “I loved you when I found you!”

  “I know,” she said, advancing towards him. “I love you too, and that is why I want to tell you.”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t marry you for this!”

  “But my lord, I know.” She reached out towards him, but he withdrew. “I know… I know about your brothers. I know what will happen.”

  “I didn’t marry you for this!”

  “I can tell you…”

  Her hand touched his arm for a moment, but then he threw her off, rushing towards the door. “No! Never speak it!”

  “My love!”

  “Never speak it!” he cried and burst through the door.

  Eltha was alone, hearing his footsteps down the hall. The storm of loss, doubt, and anger rushed through her, feeling it rush through him as he fell further away from her. But she mastered the terrible feelings, calming her breath and bringing her thoughts back to herself. She straightened, knowing that elsewhere in the keep her husband was fighting rage and despair, crying with desperate gasps. She turned, shaking it from her mind. She gave herself a comforting smile and went towards the window. She opened it, looking out onto the growing village around the keep. She looked down to the bare land beneath her casement. The smile faded from her face, feeling, in the distance, beyond sight, a deep and lasting grief.

  She knew that he sat, leaned over at a table, burying himself in books, in maps, in stories. His eyes fell on a worn, leather bound book partially buried beneath legends and mysteries. He gazed at it, now apart from it but still painfully connected to the memories, the pain of loss. His hand rested, the light touch of shaking fingers upon it. The joy of the memories was lost to him. He still held on to the pain, rather than lose it completely. He let out a long, weary breath and closed his eyes, his mind going back, back.

  But he stood, his hands grasping the book. Without emotion he went to the shelves on the wall and replaced the book, trapped between the others of the library. His feet started him towards the window. Without opening it, he looked out and down. He saw the moving people beneath the castle. He saw their armor glint in the sunlight. And he knew, in the distance, the dragon rested.

  Eltha’s hand grasped the stones of the casement tightly as she saw a new figure, there, at that window. His were darker, dreadful eyes. He bore dark armor and a tight and stern face. Still, there was something familiar about him as he gave a cool glance over to the dusty books on the wall. His eyes fell on one in particular. It was small and leather bound with loose pages… a diary. A boy’s diary. A diary that never told of twenty lashes. A diary that never told of a small stone carving. A diary that never told of hands cut by a knight’s blade. The man raised his head. His eyes were fluid, as if peering into the past. His body turned to the casement where he stood, opening the window, pushing aside the glass frame. There was something of a joy, a pride on his face as he stared out of Webtharian onto the legions of warriors, hearing their footsteps resonate off the earth. His gaze rose to an echoing, resounding shriek as he looked upon a torrent of dragons circling above the city with their cries.

  Eltha blinked, seeing out her own window again. One hand lifted off the cool stone and she placed it atop her sleeping child. His words echoed in her mind again.

  Never speak it…


  About the Author

  DANIELLE RAVER

  Danielle Raver has been writing fantasy since she was a child. Brother, Betrayed is her first novel and is the prequel to Flight Moon, Danielle's life work.

  Besides writing, Danielle loves drawing, reading the classics, studying foreign languages, enjoying cheesecake, and attempting to garden. She has a passion for education, psychology, and folk music, and she always makes a wish at 11:11. She lives in Alabama with her children and husband.

  Danielle is active on her website http://www.danielleraver.com

  Find more great books from Fantasy Island Book Publishing at http://www.fantasyislandbookpublishing.com