Chapter IV

Raphael has to say goodbye - but not just to home. After, he and Rose have an... interesting conversation.

Chapter IV

Love & Selfishness

 

“I’m not paralyzed,

But I seem to be struck by you.

I wanna make you move.”

-      Paralyzed by Finger Eleven

 

The day of the leave was a b***h.

     First of all, I got no peace. Every time I shut the door to my room, someone else would knock and want something. Freaking ridiculous, but it kept on coming. A maid bringing me a hot meal even when I hadn’t asked to be brought food in my room, a maid wanting to take my bed clothes to switch them out for new ones, Jacque with a couple of letters for me, the stable boy wanting to tell me that my horse was in good hands while I was away, the chef wanting to idly chat about dinner last night because I’d had to send it back from an overdose of black pepper �" the list never seemed to freaking end.

     I slammed my door after yet another maid, this one wanting to gather my laundry, left. Aggravated, I leaned on the door and just looked around my room. The four poster bed was stripped of what were normally black and white blankets and quilts. A window on both sides of the back wall let all the light I normally needed in, and I momentarily stared out of them. My room was larger than I’d ever needed it to be.

I had enough room for two windows, a space for my bed, a night stand, four clear solid feet to maneuver in, and then a balcony all along the back wall alone. The walls were bare mostly, except the random things I’d had framed. My dresser, sword rack, waste basket, laundry basket, and the small end-table I kept to set empty trays were on the left side of the room in a neat array. The right side, however, had my desk, three bookshelves loaded with books, my closet door, and an empty metal rack that I used to toss freshly discarded clothes on. I kept it now because I could bring it into the clear space in the middle of the room, lift myself up and practice slowly lowering my entire body weight up and down, like upside down push-ups. I had figured out a multitude of exercises to use it for that allowed me to angle my body differently and work muscles in those angles.

Glancing at the engraved pocket watch I carried like a priest carries faith; I saw that I had a solid eight hours before I planned to leave. With all the interruption, I wanted to leave earlier but it was the very interruption that made me want to leave that kept me from having even changed out of my bedclothes. I was nowhere near ready to leave. That fact had me more irritated than the damned people popping in and out of my room all morning.

Sighing, I grabbed the rack, set it down, and then proceeded to lift myself up and slowly start to lift myself up and down on the rack. My muscles were trained to jump in and out of action, so I ceased bothering to stretch beforehand. Besides, I wanted to get my arm working back to full capacity sooner rather than later. It did hurt, though, to work the arm. I had to seriously focus to keep my right arm from crumpling entirely under the weight of my body when I went up. Letting myself slowly lower down was even harder, though, and my feet tipped around a bit.

I fell over entirely when the door opened again. I burst into a swearing fit, ready to send whoever it was through the door when I looked up to see Bethany. My swearing only paused for a moment before it continued at a severely lower decibel level. I set the rack back up, rubbing my sore body from the fall. She shook her head, saying, “You’ve only just gotten out of a sick bed and you’re already being reckless with yourself. You want to die young, I think.”

“Beth,” I said, hardly in the mood, “not right now. I haven’t had a moment of peace in three hours.”

She watched me for a moment before randomly spouting, “I want to tell Ana the truth about everything.”

I likewise stared at her for a few minutes before speaking any kind of response. “Why?”

“She saw you covered in blood, Raphael. She saw men attack her friends and family for causes she doesn’t fully understand,” she argued with her eyes ablaze with years of resentment. She hated lying to her daughter. She knew what it would do to Ana to find out that we’d all lied �" and as her mother, was finally sick of blindly following her husband’s wishes.

“It’s not up to me. Durza wants her to be left in the dark,” I said lamely.

“I will not leave my daughter defenseless in this world, damn you. I understand his reasoning for wanting to shelter her, but it will only harm her in the long run. She hasn’t been taught to spot trouble like you and Derek. I’m her mother and a poor excuse for one at that,” she said to me as her eyes welled up with tears.

Frowning, I immediately went to her and embraced her, letting her start crying into my chest. “Don’t cry, Mum,” I murmured.

“What else can I do? I’ve failed as a mother to her, Rafe. I was supposed to teach her how to protect herself but I let fear cow me into listening to Durza. He and I lived such dangerous lives as youths that I was sure that being my daughter, she’d fall into the same pattern. I wanted so much to keep her from it.”

“No one can blame you for that,” I protested.

“Any mother in her right mind can blame me,” she snapped, still leaning on my chest. “I should have known better.”

I patted her back for a time before saying, “If you tell her, she’ll know that I’m not her brother.” She didn’t hear the profound sadness in my tone and I was oddly grateful that she hadn’t. I hadn’t realized that I loved having Ana as a sister so much �" that it made me this happy to have her look at me and call me brother, believing me to be the real deal.

The idea of her looking at me like a stranger made something in my heart ready to break. “She deserves to know the truth,” Bethany said softly into my shirt.

For a long time, I didn’t say anything. Finally though, I said, “Don’t tell her yet, Beth.”

“Why?”

“Let me do it when I get back,” I said, knowing full well what I was asking for in the long run. She looked at me and I could see the puzzle falling together in her head. If I was the one to tell Ana, it would be easy for me to tell my foster-sister that not telling her was my idea. I could tell her that I made the others keep it from her �" I could take the blame and lessen the blow on Bethany, Derek, and Durza.

“You know that if you take the fall, she’ll hate you. She’s not mature enough to understand, Rafe,” she said to me gently. “I know you love having her as a sister, but she won’t understand. She’ll only know that the man she’s been calling brother her entire life is not only a stranger �" but a man who pretended to be what he wasn’t.”

I nodded. “I know.”

Beth was quiet, but then said, “Why would you do that?”

“If she’s going to hate anyone, let it be a stranger. Let it be me. You’re her mother and Durza is her father. Derek is strong, but he was never strong enough to deal with his own father hating him, even though he grew up knowing that’s how it was. It always broke him.” I went quiet as well, even as she looked me in the face as if to search my face for answers on my thoughts. Weakly, I smiled at her. “I’m good with loss, that’s all. If she decides to hate me forever, I’ll handle it better than the rest of you.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Am I really supposed to put that on you? Do you honestly expect me to agree to set this on your shoulders?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately. “Yes, I do. Durza will never let anyone other than maybe you see how much Ana makes up his world. That girl is his life. You’re his heart, but Ana is his life. If she ever uttered the words ‘I hate you’ to him, he’d be completely broken.”

“Durza is a grown man and he made the choice to lie to his so-called life,” she answered with some amount of anger.

“He did it out of love,” I shot back. “I keep lying to her because… I’m selfish, alright? Just don’t tell her while I’m gone, Bethany. Promise me you won’t tell her,” I demanded.

She rose abruptly, going to the door. She opened it as she turned to look back at me, saying, “This is bull, Rafe.” Pausing, she added very softly, “I guess I’m not allowed to tell Durza that you’re going to take the fall for lying to Ana either.” I shook my head in confirmation and she sighed. “Yet again, that’s bull.”

“It’ll be better.” With that, she left.

I looked at the rack, sullen. I didn’t want to admit that I was only protecting Durza because I could see what Bethany, who was too close to him all the time, couldn’t. Durza didn’t even know how good he had it. He had a beautiful woman to love him and a gorgeous daughter who adored him. He had somehow managed to have it both ways �" the biggest badass of the Brotherhood and a family.

The fool didn’t even know that it was all going to come crashing down unless I took the fall for lying to Ana. I knew it, of course, but I’d always known.

Angrily, I went to the balcony and shoved the doors open. Immediately after, I grabbed the rack, carried it all of three feet, and hurled it out the doors. It went over the railing and crashing to the ground below. I was so furious that I didn’t even stop to wonder if it might hit someone. Furious still, I looked around the room for something easily replaced but breakable. Finding nothing, I went about packing up and getting ready.

I decided to forget saying goodbye to anyone else in the house. I didn’t want to see Ana, considering I was too much of a coward to have to come back and tell her �" and then be here to face her wrath. I didn’t want to talk to Bethany anymore and I didn’t want to talk to Durza. I didn’t even want to see Derek right now.

After I was packed, I sat down at my desk and wrote a pathetically short letter that explained the truth to Ana. I couldn’t even bring myself to make it sound like I cared, I hated to write it �" but I was too much of a coward to tell her that I’d lied.

I reread it at least fifty times, trying to think of better ways to put it, but the end result kept being the same:

Ana,

There’s no easy way to say this. There’s not even an easy way to write it. That’s why I’m putting it into a damn letter. I’m sorry for this. Bethany wanted to tell you sooner. Durza didn’t like hiding it from you either. It was my fault. I asked them not to tell you �" while Durza has been the one keeping you in the dark about the real reasons behind the attack at your party; I’m the reason for an even bigger lie.

You father lied about everything in the Brotherhood because he thought it would protect you. There’s more going on in what he and I do than you know. You can ask or not. It’s up to you. He has to tell you now, though, because I’m going to tell you something he can’t deny after what you saw.

I kill people. When he sends me away, it’s not just some silly errand he had no time to make on his own. It’s typically to sneak into a Royal home, infiltrate their bedroom, and slit their throats while they sleep. I’m a killer, Ana… but that’s not all I am. I hope you know that.

There’s something else, but I have to work my way up to that. I know you hate suspense but forgive me; you’ll hate me when I do tell you.

Since I was young, Durza has trained me to kill, to fight, and to be a weapon for the Brotherhood. He trained me to be this way because I asked him to do it. You don’t choose this life, Ana. What I do… There are so many nightmares, Ana. There are so many nightmares, that I couldn’t even begin to tell you about them.

When I was nine years old, your father came to what I called home as a favor to the woman who took me in out of the kindness of her heart. Derek was my best friend even then, and he was visiting to get away from his own living hell for a night. (I’ll let him explain that, though.)

       The details are fuzzy on how it started, but by the time Derek and I snuck out of the attic, we were watching your father be tied to a chair while Rathbull interrogated him about what he knew of the Brotherhood.

       That night, your father brutally murdered two men to save my life. I was beaten to within an inch of my life to make your father talk. I showed up in this house not as a new-born baby, but as a stranger.

       That’s what I am, Ana. I’m not your brother. Durza isn’t my father and Bethany isn’t my mother. We’re not related. Your father taught me how to be what I am so that I could avoid being sent into slavery. I was an orphan. I AM an orphan. I have no parents. I have no siblings, uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, or any other relation to speak of. I don’t even know my real last name. I only know the name my absent father left me; Raphael.

       This job is all I have in life, besides you, Durza, Derek, and Beth. It’s all I’ve ever known.

       Hate me, if you must. Your mother loves you more than you understand �" and while he can’t be bothered to show it, so does your father. Derek only went along with keeping the secret for me. Try not to blame him.

       For the past fifteen years, I have meant it every time I said I love you, Ana. I still think of you as my little sister, and I always will.

       I’m going on a less-bloody job for your father. I don’t know when I’ll be home �" but I’ll be ready for a knuckle-sandwich when I get back if you want.

                     Your brother,

                                  Rafe. Raphael.

          I tried to make myself write the letter again, without so many crossed out parts, but I had no strength left to do it. I stared at the letter for a long moment before folding it up to have Jacque give Ana later, once I was gone.

          Staring at the paper in my hands, bags on my back, I felt that rage well up again. Lividly, I threw my bags down and blindly started trying to kick out the supports in the four-poster-canopy bed. Once I’d managed to trash the bottom right support, making it fall off entirely and rip the canopy in half, I picked up my bag and left the room, slamming my door.

          I saw Jacque on the way and gave him the letter with orders not to give it to Ana until this time tomorrow, so I would be too far away for her to chase me down.

          Then, I went outside to meet Rose out front as we’d agreed.

 

          Rose saw that I looked angry and started to ask questions, but then seemed to think better of it. Her hair was back in a braid and she was wearing the same white dress, only freshly cleaned, with a darkly colored traveling cloak over it. She had on boots and her bag over her shoulder. Softly, she said, “We can afford one more day. Is there something wrong?”

          “Yes,” I answered her. She began to ask about it but I said, “Just let me be with it, okay? I just… Let me have that.”

          Hesitantly, I looked at her. I expected mixes of pity and sympathy but instead, there was a sad understanding that surprised me. I didn’t show the surprise though. We started walking and we didn’t talk but after a time, she just grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly.

          “No, it won’t,” I told her with a cold tone.

          She just smiled at me though, giving my hand a little shake as she told me warmly, “I didn’t say it would be okay now, tomorrow, next week, or even next month. But someday, Rafe, things will be okay. Trust me,” she said.

          “How can I just trust your word? Things for you haven’t turned out so great at all,” I argued.

          The smile was firm in place, and didn’t weaken at my probe �" which I felt bad for making later. Instead, she actually laughed. “Rafe, if I went through life believing nothing could ever get better �" that I could never win and that nothing good would ever happen to me �" I think I’d have to kill myself or I’d go completely insane.” She shrugged, telling me honestly, “Sometimes it’s not about knowing; it’s about just believing in faith.”

          “Faith isn’t a very stable source to rely on,” I said, a note of heavy doubt in my voice.

          “Neither is grief,” she replied easily. “I’d rather run on blind faith than years of pain, Rafe. Try it sometime �" I bet you’ll feel a bit happier.”

          I scratched my head with my free hand, not wanting to break the hold on her hand if only because it made me feel a bit stronger for the touch. “What do you have faith in?”

          “Myself, first of all,” she told me. “I have faith in the Mother,” she went on.

          “You’re a White Woman?”

          “Yes,” she said laughing. White Women were a dying breed, but there were still the odd ones around. They believed in the Earth. With every seasonal change, they held small gatherings to praise the Mother for different things. I’m no expert on it. Most men and women prayed to the Primal Gods �" which is a completely different story but I guess I should run over it.

          The Primal Gods are gods that society believes will exist as long as living mortal beings do. The God of War is the first. Supposedly, as long as there are two wolves alive to fight over a mate; war will exist. The Goddess of Love is an easy one, too. As long as there are men and women, love will continue. Hell, some people believe that the Goddess has even improvised with same-sex relations before. The God of Thieves is another, but priests believe that he only exists because it’s impossible to “completely wipe out the sin of the earth.”

          The God of Thieves, apparently, runs on this basis: there only needs to be one man to want what another has for this God to exist. Provided there are those to covet what is not their own, he’ll go on.

          God of Death and Goddess of Healing are two more. These two are depicted as fraternal twins in murals. The God of Death will breathe as long as there’s something to die, just as his sister will exist as long as there are lives to save. One cannot exist without the other, for as long as she is not there to pull some back from the abyss of death, there is no one for him to pull in.

          There are also Elemental Gods, who rule things like water, fire, storms, rivers, and things like that, but that’s another story in itself.

          It has been passed down for centuries that the Gods gain power from followers. Pretty much this: as long as someone believes, they have power. If one child believes in a god they make up, it won’t even exist. However, if that child could get several hundred (unlikely) other children to believe in say, a God of Toys, then that god would slowly come to be. There’s a pretty serious loophole, I’m told. I read in a temple scroll once that the only way for a god to lose power would be for it to cease existence.

          This goes back to the “two wolves to fight over a mate” bit. As long as there are two people to fight over something, War can exist. Once the God is real, killing it would require the entire world to stop doing it; so unless there’s a way to make the whole world stop falling in love, Ms. Love will never die.

          It’s a long complicated web, and it’s part of why I don’t indulge in religion.

          “How do you stay sane, believing in something you can’t see, when things get so terrible?” Pausing, I added, “How do you stand all the complicated crap, too?”

          She shrugged again. “That’s what faith is about, Rafe. It’s about believing even when things are bleak �" if you’re only going to believe when things go right, than you might as well not have a religion at all. You’d just be kidding yourself.” She grinned and told me as well, “You’re under the impression that I go to Temple. I don’t. I haven’t my entire life. I believe what I believe with my own brackets and such.”

          Confused, I said, “Is that even still the same religion, then?”

          “Religion is very debatable. Do you know why?” I shook my head, offering only that people think different things about it. She beamed. “Exactly,” she told me. “It’s all opinions and theories. It is speculation and interpretation of thousands of years of folk tales and word-of-mouth. You can believe that all Gods only exist because we believe in them �" or you can believe that they exist because an even greater being put them on the earth.” She went on, obviously having a lot to say on the subject. “Furthermore, you can also believe that it’s actually okay to enjoy sex and not offend any Gods. I mean, they made it so we had to get dirty with each other to have babies �" why would they want creations they love so much to dislike making life?”

          I could only blink. “Do you think about this stuff all the time?”

          “Enough,” she said with a chuckle. “Not much else to do but think when you travel alone for years at a time,” she explained.

          Shaking my head, I said, “I can’t think about something that much. You’ve obviously turned this religion thing over hundreds of times in your head.”

          “Try thousands,” she corrected with another laugh as I looked at her in shock. She laughed as she told me, nudging me gently with her elbow, “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Rafe. Just believe in something.”

          I frowned, asking, “How do you know it won’t just end out to nothing?”

          “I don’t know, Rafe. That’s my point. The only way to find out is to believe,” she said warmly, shaking her head slightly at me. “You can choose to live your life or to stay back where it’s safe,” she went on. Finally, she said, “If you never put yourself out there and believe in what you don’t know for sure, Rafe, you’ll spend your whole life never knowing �" just wondering. I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna wonder. I wanna know.”

          Neither of us spoke again for a bit until I realized I was still holding her hand �" and holding on tight. I released her hand but she took it again, stopping in her walk as she said simply, “It’s okay, you know.”

          “What is?” I was dodging, and badly, but it was all I could do.

          She smiled. “It’s okay to be afraid of faith. Most people are; that’s why half of the men alive hate anything. It’s because they’re afraid, and don’t understand.”

          I shook my head in disbelief. “Where do you get all this wisdom from? Who told you all this?”

          Rose just grinned at me, giving my hand one more squeeze before letting it go as she started to walk again, saying only, “No one told me, Rafe. Like I said; there’s not much else to do but think sometimes.”

          With that, we went on walking.

 

Author's Note

IGNORE " IN THE TEXT BECAUSE WRITERSCAFE REPLACES - WITH THEM. -- Tell me what you think. (: