Free To Love

Three men, once close childhood friends, have separated over time, and due to a life-changing event find themselves questioning life, love, and the deeper meanings of existence.

The stream roamed the forest aimlessly, a derelict wanderer lost in its travels. An insignificant branch from the mighty river Elgion, it twisted, turned, and fought its way to the obscurity of the distant unknown. Flood season had swelled its ranks, and the swirling waters rushed by franticly as if pursued by Burthiel himself. Near its edge Jelal stood, the foaming waters lapping at his feet, tossing rocks languidly into the current. Behind him his longtime friend Marcus sat against a tree contentedly, his attention split between the piece of grass he was idly fingering, and watching Jelal. Conversation was sporadic; their friendship was solid enough that silence was comfortable, that unnecessary words were not needed to enjoy each others’ company. Time passed, and the waters charged onward, broken only by the continuing plops made by Jelal’s rocks. Suddenly he paused mid-throw, a look of nagging bewilderment appearing on his face. As quickly as it had come upon him it passed on, and with a look back at the now dozing Marcus he finished his throw and looked out at the stream keenly. With cautious steps he began wading in, his arms extended like a Forzian ropewalker. He continued on until he was approaching the middle, where his foot caught a mossy rock and he fell into the churning foam. Marcus opened his eyes slowly, and with a look of disbelief got to his feet.

“Are you crazy Jelal?” he yelled over the rushing water. “It’s too high �" c’mon get out of there!”

Jelal balanced himself again and flashed a smile back at his friend, before taking the last couple of steps to the middle of the stream. Marcus walked up to the edge and looked with a frown upriver.

“If you want to go swimming let’s go to Tarbot’s pond. This is just stupid, c’mon.”

Jelal was facing upriver, his arms fully outstretched, seemingly welcoming the racing onslaught. He looked back to Marcus, his face engulfed in a grin.

“But this is so much more fun,” he said. “So much more… exciting!”

He staggered once again, almost losing his balance. The water seemed to rise even higher than before, as if it realized there was something amidst it that didn’t belong and was doing its utmost to destroy it. Jelal laughed, his voice rolling like the tumbling waves. Marcus took a couple tentative steps into the stream and held out his hand.

“Let’s go. You know how dull life would be if you went and drowned? C’mon.”

Jelal looked over at his friend, then back upstream. For a long second he hesitated, his merriment replaced for a moment with a resolute glint, before taking a step and grabbing Marcus’ arm. With a short sigh Marcus helped him back out of the water and onto the bank.

“Scared, huh?” Jelal asked, grinning.

“Not scared, just smart,” Marcus replied dryly. “You’re lucky I’m always around.”

With a snort Jelal turned and began walking back along the path, Marcus falling in beside him. They continued on, dripping and laughing, the roar behind them lessening as they went, fading and fading until there was nothing left but only…

 

 

 

 

Silence. The man folded his arms and drew his knees close, as if he could somehow fend off its oppressive weight. How can such quiet cry so loud? Yet with each passing minute it seemed to grow, until he felt he would break, crushed by the lonesome desolation collapsing around him. Across the room a lantern flickered, the muted glow dispelling some shadows but creating more, the darkness scorning light’s feeble assault. The man closed his eyes, but his surroundings remained fixed in his mind like a grisly image that refused to fade with time. He saw a cramped cell with tall walls made of roughly hewn stone, mortared together and flaking with age. High up one wall was a small, barred window. By day it admitted dusty pillars of light that lanced downward and collided with the floor in an explosion of dust. At night he gazed upwards, hoping for a glimpse of a star, for a twinkling of light. A shrouding mist blanketed his hope.

 

In front of him lay a heavy wooden door; strong boards of aged wood that smelled of a fire beginning to burn. A broad metal bar ran across its center into the wall. It was this door that the man thought about most. How he longed for it to open, and yet how he dreaded that same moment. He was no stranger to false hope, that deceitful glimmer that brightens the present by stealing light from the future. He had no delusions as to what its opening would bring. In truth, it was not the open door he wanted, but the freedom that lay beyond. Freedom. Such a hard thing to grasp until you are forced to. He had thought he understood it, and had lived his life accordingly, but it had always been others’ freedom threatened, never his. He gave a rueful laugh. Such freedom that he had! Such power! He went where he pleased, took what he wanted. It had been the life he dreamed of; a life of pleasure, a life of promise. As his infamy spread and his exploits grew darker, they had given him a name. The Shadow Bandit - the one that brought darkness to the day.

 

In the corner the lantern flashed, shadows danced. Shadows… Ahh, what had been…

 

            “But there is a job for you here Jelal,” Marcus implored. “Good, honest, honorable work.”

            Jelal scoffed. “Honest? Honor? These are not the things I want Marcus, you know that. I’ve woken from our petty childhood dreams. I want to see the world, to be my own master.” He sighed. “Our priorities are no longer as similar as they once were.”

            “But why?” Marcus pleaded. “What about this place is not good enough for you?

            “It’s not that Marcus, I’ve already told you… it’s just… I need to leave. Just let me go.”

            Marcus looked with a pained expression into his friend’s eyes.”What - ,” he paused, and blinked. “What about us, our friendship? Does it no longer mean anything to you?”

            Jelal shifted his feet and looked at the ground. When he looked up there was a determination, a burning fire in his eyes Marcus had never seen.

            “It is time for me to move on,” he said in measured words. “I would think better of our friendship if you would let me.”

            “But this is not what we always imagined,” Marcus beseeched. “This job will be good for you. This life will be good for you.”

            Jelal’s eyes had become steel. “It is already decided.”

“Jelal…”

            “No Marcus! It is not your job I want. It is not this life and it is not your friendship.  I want freedom!”

            Jelal turned away and mounted his horse, Marcus silent behind him. As he rode away his mind hardened and his heart soared. Now he could live as he wanted, traveling the road as his own master, free of worries and obligations. Now he could pursue his dreams. His decisive action gave him relief such as he had never felt. It was as if his whole life was an empty book before him, and he had just picked up the quill. There were whole chapters waiting to be written. Nothing, not even his friend’s tears could stop him now. At long last, he was finally free.

 

           

Corvin stared at the piece of parchment before him, and with sigh of disgust yelled for his aide.

            “Mortan! Get in here.”

“Yes, General” the aide cried scurrying in. “What do you need?”

“Bring me some tea. And tell General Bridger I must speak to him at once.”

“Yes sir! Right away sir” Mortan responded. He gave a half bow and quickly left.

Corvin sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Why now? What law of providence dictates such a balance? He had succeeded in every endeavor, risen as high as possible. And yet now, Commanding General of the King’s Army, First Protector of the Keep, he wished for the first time in his life to not be the one making decisions. He slammed his desk in frustration. 60,000 Thorvian troops approaching the border and he couldn’t focus. He had to act! He looked back at the maps, the troop dispositions, the supply charts. These things made sense, the familiar trappings that accompanied his mighty office. These were the things he could control. How was it, he wondered, that he could be so powerful, and yet still a pawn in others’ plans? What good was power over others to one who could not control his own fate?

 

He rose and walked over to the window. Many times had he gazed out this glass, pondering some weighty decision, and many times had he stepped away confident and resolute. Looking out the weathered panes always brought reassurance, the remembrance of past problems and his ability to solve them. Every problem has an answer. He looked down the keep to the sprawling courtyards below. Smoke rose from a hundred chimneys, fogging the sky like a warm morning after a spring rain. Blacksmith’s anvils rang and bellows growled as the readying process continued. Commands were shouted and men marched, drilling even now while the sun hid, preparing themselves to fight. To fight for me, their General. He always loved watching so many people move at his word, but for once it gave him little pleasure. He turned his gaze upwards. As if on cue, the clouds thickened and an eerie stillness settled �" hammer blows became less strident, men’s shouts were subdued. For a brief instant it was as if everything was but a dream; a curious interruption to the simple clarity of life…

 

“Corvin! Corvin! When can we�" oh, Marcus. You look like my brother. Where is he?”

“C’mon Jelal we’ve been best friends for how long and you still can’t get my name right? He laughed. “Well we both know you’re not as smart as me!”

“Oh please,” Jelal retorted. “Let’s go find Corvin. He’s probably playing soldier again. C’mon!”

The boys ran across a rolling meadow towards a little pocket of alders just inside the tree line, their hurried footsteps unable to keep the thick blades of grass suppressed for long. Above, the sky had begun to gray. The diminishing glow hummed softly as the transition from light to dark commenced, and the earth was once again draped in a blanket of dusk. Faint tendrils of light lingered behind, remnants of a day reluctant to surrender its last grip on the world. Suddenly, a piercing call split the reverie, its throaty, childlike tone an obnoxious contradiction.

“Fall before me,” Corvin bellowed. “Come and face King Corvin’s wrath!”

He stood in the middle of the thicket, shirtless, his adolescent muscles just beginning to show definition. Above his head a brandished a large wooden stick, the product of hours of careful whittling. Jelal and Marcus stopped on the outskirts of the thicket to watch, admiration glowing in their innocent eyes. With a series of choppy movements Corvin began to attack trees, bushes, weeds, everything within arm’s reach. Back and forth he went, slashing and hacking until his body glistened with sweat and his breaths became labored. Finally he stopped, raising his arms in victory and turning slowly in a circle. He noticed the boys with a start, and quickly covered his surprise with a burst of zealous bravado.

“Did you see that?” he bragged, grinning wildly. “I’m gonna do that one day, but for real!” I’m gonna be the strongest most powerful man in the world!”

 

A sudden blow jerked Corvin back to the present, the keep once again busting with activity. He slammed his fist against the glass. “Where is my power now?” he screamed, his voice cracking with emotion.

            “Sir?” Colonel Bridger was at the door. “You wanted to see me?”

            Corvin took a breath and collected himself. “Yes. Colonel.” He turned around to face the tall man. “I need a status report on your cavalry.”

            “First and third regiments are ready and eager sir. The second is still beat up from yesterday’s skirmish. Mostly repairs and minor wounds. The reserves have already been processed. They should be at passable combat strength in a week, maybe ten days.”

            “I want you to take Thirgin’s men and any reserves from the Light,” Corvin said, staring absently at his desk. “Form up and relive Mardox at the crossing. Scouts report increased activity across the river. Falix is not a patient man.” He paused, and focused, looking into Bridger’s eyes. “I am relying on you Colonel. Especially now.”

            “Of course my general. I will not disappoint you.”

            “Very well. You are dismissed.”

            Colonel Bridger bowed, spun on his heels, and left the room with a saunter only cavalry officers can manage. Corvin turned to look back to the window. This decision had nothing to do with troop numbers or dispositions. Those choices he dealt with, even relished. But this… He recalled once more the fateful words of that detestable note.

 

General

As of this morning we have captured your brother.

Surrender yourself by the second day or he dies.

High General Falix �" Royal Thorvian Army

 

 

The darkness swirled throughout the woods; a deep, heavy darkness that seemed to contain and drown out the few lights that remained lit. For a few brief seconds a part of the sky cleared and a narrow sliver of a moon smiled from its perch with a mocking grin. A light, dry wind blew mournfully through the forest, an incidental lamentation from an uncaring earth. Small branches shuddered in submission rippling through the landscape, but the thick trunks stood tall and regal, unimpressed by the terrors of the night, confident in the security of the sun’s reliability.

It was, Marcus thought, a fittingly depressing night. He gazed out into the fire, its friendly heat warming his tired face. Life’s joys, present only yesterday, had suddenly lost their appeal, and the day had passed numbly, shades of gray cloaking a vibrant world. What was once simple was now  A tear ran down his cheek, and he welcomed its coolness. “Oh my friends,” he whispered, “what has become of us?”

 

The night was peaceful, slowly settling in as if it wished to give the people below a chance to ready themselves for the coming darkness. Jelal and Marcus sat up against a large tree, drawing figures in the dirt with sticks.

 “Look at my warrior Jelal!” Marcus gloated. “It may be your birthday but mine would kill yours so fast!”

“Unh-unh! I’m nine now Marcus and I get to say what happens. You have to listen to me ‘til it’s your birthday too.”

“I dunno Jelal,” Marcus responded with a thoughtful look on his face. “Just ‘cause you’re older doesn’t mean you’re always right and in charge. What if you mess up?”

“Oh c’mon I’m not gonna mess up. Bosses never mess up!”  Jelal grinned mischievously at his friend. “Besides, you’d still follow me anyway wouldn’t you?”

Marcus grinned back. “Of course! We always have the most fun when were in trouble! Besides, that’s what friends do.”

The boys were silent for a time. Darkness had fallen, and the night animals had begun to stir. The boys became dark silhouettes, void of defining features, yet still vaguely visible.

“Marcus”

“Ya?”

“We’re friends right? Very best friends?”

“Of course, and we always will be!”

“But what if something happens?” Jelal paused for a moment, and then continued in a subdued voice. “What if I really do mess up? For real.”

“We’ll always be friends Jelal, no matter what. These things don’t change you know �" they always last forever.”

“Good. That’s how I want it to be. Best friends forever.”

 

 

The sun’s first light entered the dreary cell, but it did not brighten The Shadow. The man groaned and stretched his stiff legs. This cursed cold. Morning had always been his favorite time, golden beams of light shooting down from the heavens to pierce the predawn gloom. It was an endless promise of possibility, a new chapter without even a title. Who knew what pleasures the new day would bring? Who else had his ability pen their own story? And yet now, his dreams, his pleasures, and most importantly his freedom were dissipating with each evaporating drip of moisture. Had it been too much to ask, he wondered? After all, he had only done what every person has the chance to do. Taking control of one’s life was hardly a sin. If anything, sin was the doggish squalor so many were content with. The only difference between us is their inaction. He did not like to believe in luck, preferring instead to credit his success to skill. Yet maybe this time, he allowed, luck had played a part. He thought back two nights ago, the night that had taken everything.

 

“Steady boys,” Jelal whispered. “Wait for my signal. Remember, Torvan you’re circling to the left, Navell, to the right. I want everyone herded together. Keep your boys in line.”

The men nodded and moved their horses off to either side. Jelal advanced another hundred paces, until he could see the smoke coming from dinner fires and hear the shouts of the children.

“Let ‘em have it men! Move!” he called.

The whoops and shouts of the bandits clashed with the screams of the villagers and the wailing of babies as the ruffians charged. The ruffians forced the peasants out of their homes and away from their fires towards the center of the village. Once they were all gathered, Jelal rode up to observe his captives. There were about 50 of them, every one dirty and grimy, arrayed in a meager selection of worn and tearing cloth. He almost pitied them. It was simple, he thought, if you do not have what you want, just take it. Did none of these poor people understand that? He sent half his men off to search the houses for anything of worth. He doubted this lot would have much, if anything. Ahh well, he thought, it had at least provided some excitement.

“Jelal? Is that you?” a voice called from the crowd. A man stepped forward.

“What in the name” �" he stopped with a start. The filthy peasant calling his name was not some stranger, it was Marcus, his childhood friend.

“Jelal! My friend! It is you!” Marcus cried.

Jelal frowned. “I’m not often called that name, Marcus. And does it look now like we are friends?” He gestured around them.

Marcus’ continued, undeterred. “Jelal let us go. You don’t want to do this. These people need what they have.”

Jelal turned his back on the peasants. “Put that man back with the rest of ‘em,” he ordered. “And make him shut up.”

Just then a line of horsemen broke from the trees. “Where do they think…” But before he could call out a reprimand he realized suddenly that they were not his bandits, but army cavalry. Furthermore, they were Thorvian cavalry.

“Shadows retreat!” he yelled. He wheeled his horse around and made for the other side of the clearing, only to be met by another line of cavalry. Frantically, he tried to turn again but was not quick enough. A mace knocked him from his saddle, and he felt himself being drug back toward the center of the camp. He and his men were herded next to the now doubly terrified villagers.

“What is this we have here?” one of the horsemen bearing a captain’s insignia demanded. He turned to his lieutenant. “It seems Brukadia be havin’ bandit problems as well.” He swung around and trotted over to Jelal and his men. “Which one of you calls yourself leader of this mangy lot?”

Jelal struggled to his feet and attempted to look proud. “I do.”

The captain took another step forward and drew his sword. “Do you know what we do to bandits in my country, scum?” he sneered.

A voice rang out from the group of peasants. It was Marcus again. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sir. That man is the First Protector’s brother. You’d do best to leave him alone.”

The Captain turned with an evil grin and sheathed his sword. “His brother, you say? That could be useful indeed,” he muttered. He motioned to Marcus. “Come here.”

Two horsemen brought him over. The Captain dismounted and took off his helmet, revealing what would have been a young handsome face, if not for the scar that ran entirely across one cheek. “You are sure of this?” he inquired.

“Yes, my lord. Quite sure,” Marcus replied.

The Captain signaled for his lieutenant. “That is the High Protector’s brother we have caught. I am sure the High Protector loves his brother.” He smiled. “A trade maybe?”

“That would be very wise sir,” the lieutenant agreed. “General Falix will be very pleased.”

The Captain turned back to Marcus. “I hope this bandit was worth it,” he said smugly. “Because unless your general be willin’ to abandon his brother, you have condemned him instead.” Marcus looked on speechless, his mouth unable to form the babble of protestations his heart felt. The General remounted his horse. “Bind him,” he said pointing to Jelal. “Leave the others.”

The cavalry left as quickly as they had come, fading into the tree line with the falling sun. Marcus remained where he was long into the night.

 

With a loud grate of protestation the steel bar moved, and the jail door swung open. A guard set down a plate, laughing upon seeing Jelal’s crestfallen face.

”Don’t worry it’s not your time. Yet. You still have another day of waitin’ for your brother.” Jelal’s look became puzzled. “Ahh no one’s told you?” The guard laughed again, a deep growl that tumbled around the cramped cell. “We’ll be lettin’ you go if your brother comes to take your place. Don’t be flatterin’ yourself now, he’s much more valuable than you’ll ever be.” He smiled. “He has ‘til dawn.”

The guard stepped back and shut the door, his muffled voice still audible through the thick wood. “Be hopin’ he remembers you…” Jelal slumped down against the wall, all defiance gone. Corvin…

 

 

Many miles away, Corvin sat brooding. He looked about his lavish apartment, discontent marring his handsome face. It was a large room, exquisitely tiled, filled with priceless artifacts; both works of art and spoils of countless victories. On one side sat an oval wooden table made of the finest cedar. It had been carefully handcrafted especially for him, a gift from His Majesty. The chairs were adorned with precious silks, his bed with the famed blankets of Ill’Cornath. He frowned. These things brought him pleasure to be sure, but in truth he was more pleased by his ability to attain them, to own expensive objects people would envy. But looking at his many comforts failed to soothe his mood, instead it filled him with doubt, and, he was ashamed to admit, fear. Could he give it all up? This opulence? This power? Was it not his right to have such things? Had he not attained them through personal strength and fortitude alone? He leaned back into a cushion and closed his eyes.

His decision could take away all of this. I could cripple the country. But Jelal… “Brother,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

 

 

Marcus walked among the hills of Purgoth, moving over the rocky terrain quickly, almost furiously, as if he could drown his mind and emotions in a flood of physical exertion. He was past the tree line, the tall majestic canopy replaced by a scattering of boulders, some small, some towering far overhead. He had come seeking clarity, or help, or relief - he wasn’t sure which. The previous day had passed in a blur of emotion; he still didn't know whether he felt angry or guilty. What was I thinking? He had only wanted to help Jelal, to show his friend he still cared, but his attempt to play savior had gone miserably wrong. Now he had brought death to at least one of his closest friends. Knowing the Thorvians they’d probably just slaughter them both. He picked up a rock and threw it angrily into the distance, down over the side of the hill he had peaked. When had it become impossible to live an ordinary life, to exist without choosing a side? Where was the simplicity and good will he knew existed? He followed the rock’s flight down until it landed in a stream far below. He imagined it being carried away, caught inexorably in the current that flowed over the rolling hills, around the many boulders, and into the muted distance.

 

 

A tall, chiseled man approached the doorway slowly, and upon reaching it was met by two guards bearing the Red Eagle on their breastplates. He gave them an even stare, and recognizing his face they stepped aside quickly and let him pass.

“Capitan Chevail reporting my lord,” he intoned in a precise, emotionless voice.

The man turned slowly, and stood looking at Chevail, the lengthening silence solidifying the air. “Yes?” he finally asked.

“The letter was delivered successfully my lord. I saw the courier hand it to him myself.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes my lord, it was him. I could not see his face, but his manner, the way he carried himself… he was clearly in command.”

High General Falix nodded. He will come, he thought. He has to come. And when he comes… “Good. You have done well Capitan.” His eyes glinted and narrowed, as though he was peering deeply into a highly pleasurable future. “Soon we will see just how well,” he murmured.

 

            Will he come? Once, Jelal was certain he would have, but things had changed. Both brothers had left their childhood in the past, and with it their friendship. For the most part, he knew, it was because of his choices. Now Corvin had become everything Jelal was not �" authority, order, responsibility. His job was to suppress free spirits, not save them. Corvin had awoken from his dreams to find himself amidst them, and Jelal doubted anything would make him change that. Jelal shifted positions, following the last rays of light as they climbed the cell wall. But he’s my brother… No. What about me is worth loving? He wanted to believe in Corvin, to have the childhood trust he now recalled so fondly, but the very events that gave him what he wanted now condemned him. He was struck by doubt, and being soundly defeated. For when doubt strikes, no faith, no length of time, no assurance of resolution can repel its advances. The self-perpetuating foe assaults the fortress of character, and in this case, Jelal had no heart to fight back.

 

 

The day waned and Corvin stayed in his room, alone with his thoughts. He tried to be rational, logical, but it was impossible. If I turn myself in, I will desert my country in a time of need; if I stay, what kind of man am I? He thought of Jelal, and their childhood - memories washed over him like a charge of cavalry; waiting for leaves to turn so they could snatch the apples from their roosts, wrestling in the mud after a spring rain, stealing fresh-baked pies along with Marcus. And time after time, playing soldiers until dark. Playing soldier. It is not that simple now. I have responsibilities, duty. Duty. What was it, he thought, and to whom do I owe it? What was the power in this concept that he had given his life to?

 

            “You’ve made a good choice my lad,” said the grizzled old man. “You’ll get to see some of the world, earn some coin.” He laughed, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even make captain one day.”

            “I would like that very much sir,” Corvin replied, a smile creeping onto his face.

            “Yes, well it’s something to work for. Until you become one you best be listening to whatever they say though. Get along now - your camp’s across the bridge there.”

            Corvin walked across the wooden bridge slowly, pausing in the middle. He felt as if he was crossing over, that the bridge was spanning one life to the next, his old life to the new. This is what I am becoming, he thought, part of the King’s Army, a soldier for the crown. He quickly crossed the second half, approaching the large tent where his company slept and entering to find the floor strewn with equipment. He went over to an empty patch of ground in the corner and set down his belongings. The wind whipped over the tent causing the sides to billow in against his body. The mournful howl sounded vaguely like a voice. He turned and found a man sitting on a helmet a few yards away, examining a long knife.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Sure about what?” he asked, somewhat startled.

            The man smiled. “The army, of course. Sure about joining.” His face got serious. “You’ve probably been playing war all your life, but this is real. It’s no  game anymore.”

            “I realize that,” Corvin replied.

            “Do you?” the man asked. “Do you really know what that means? Are you ready to devote yourself entirely to your King and country? To do not only what is necessary, but anything that is asked of you, without question or remorse?”

            Corvin’s face hardened and he answered, “I am ready to serve King and country, sir, and I always will be. No matter what is asked of me.”

            The man nodded. “Then you know your duty.”

            Corvin paused for a moment, pondering. “What’s your name sir?”

            “I’m your sergeant,” the man replied. “Sergeant Bridger.” He gave Corvin another quick appraisal. “You listen to me and I imagine you’ll make a pretty good soldier one day.”

            Corvin’s eyes glowed fiercely with anticipation. “Yes sir, I will sir.”

           

Corvin closed his eyes. No. I can’t…. His heart fought one last battle, a hopeless final stand against an already decided outcome. Deep inside he knew it was futile; his decision had been made over years of commitment, solidified with every drill, every command, and no matter what his heart said he couldn’t fight forever. With a quick prayer he rose shakily to his feet. I must do my duty. I am sorry Jelal. He left his quarters, his steps growing sturdier with each stride, his face hardening with every person he passed. Without remorse. He reached the war room and paused, looking up at his country’s flag. It had never meant as much to him as it did at that moment.

 

           

Marcus sat in his house, alone and sleepless. A barrage of memories and regrets battered his mind, whipping through his consciousness like a tempest at sea. Never had he felt so confused, so utterly helpless. He got up again to put more wood on the fire. The flames flared and sparks scattered, mirroring his frenzied emotions. Brother… Power... He no longer cares… He looked back on his life, for once seeing it not as a muddled mess of cause and effect, of incidence and consequence, for once he saw it all clearly, like some beautiful tapestry trailing gloriously behind him. Every thread led to this moment. And as he sat there, immersed in its immensity, realization came to him. Every word, every action, every wonderful memory �" they all converged for one perfect moment of clarity. At this moment, while Marcus saw what had been, he knew what could be.

 

            Marcus lay awake, lulled by Corvin’s soft breathing, Jelal’s harsher half-snores and the prevalent hum of nighttime insects. Unable to sleep, he crawled out of the blankets and went to the next room, startled to see Jelal and Corvin’s mom sitting in front of the fire. He went over and sat next to her.

            “Can’t sleep dear?” she asked sympathetically.

            Marcus shook his head. “I’ve tried for a long time.”

            They stared at the fire, mesmerized by the golden flames dancing back and forth before them.

            “Would you like a piece of advice my son?”

Marcus shook himself and looked up eagerly at the woman he called Auntie. Advice from Auntie was as good as her freshly baked butterbread.

“You have to devote your life to something, Marcus. What better than love?” She turned her gaze back to the flickering glow, peering in as if nothing else mattered. “What better than love?”

 

 

            The sun dawned on a new day, spilling its light on Jelal’s face and causing him to wake. Warmth. When was the last time I noticed such a simple thing? He rolled on his back and looked up to the window, soaking in the comforting beams. It’s so funny, he thought, how the mundane things in life suddenly become significant right before you lose them. How is it that we can’t realize something’s value until it’s being taken away? He thought back to when he was young, to the simple things that now seemed so extraordinary; laughing around campfires with the boys, racing horses over the plains of Almoth, swimming in the river on hot days. He realized that every event, every cherished memory involved his brother or Marcus. Corvin… Marcus… I got my precious freedom but it’s lost me everything. I have scorned my best friend and caused my brother to abandon me. For the first time Jelal saw clearly what he had done, and he saw what he had become. He pulled himself up out of the mud and leaned dejectedly against the stone wall. What I wouldn’t give for one more minute with them… for one more chance… He began to sob; weeping for what had been, for what never would be, weeping for what he had lost.

 

            The three friends rode under a blanket of stars, pushing their horses faster until their exertion and boys’ enthusiasm had reached a peak. With a stuttering of hooves Corvin slowed to a stop, his arrogant yet good-natured look back a testament to his slim lead over the other two.

            “Well boys” he said nonchalantly, “yet another ride won by the most deserving. Whoever said people never get what they deserve?”

            Marcus and Jelal rode up on either side of Corvin, and locking eyes quickly, reached over and pulled him from his saddle dumping him unceremoniously on the ground.

            “How funny Marcus,” Jelal said grinning widely, “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Must be that whole brother thing.”

            Marcus laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Nope, ‘cause I had the same thought. It’s gotta be a friend thing.”

            On the ground Corvin gave an exaggerated groan, rolling over to look up at his still sitting friends. “Grace, gentlemen. Where is my grace?”

            His plea was met with laughs, but the boys dismounted and lay down beside him, all three suddenly silent, soaking in the vast ocean of sky above them. The night passed as all others did, with a rising moon, blinking stars, and the three friends together, enjoying the treasures life had so graciously bestowed upon them.

 

 

            Footsteps began to echo outside the cell, each one an ominous portent of coming fate. When the door finally groaned open Jelal didn’t even look up.

            “Get up.” The guard smiled at seeing Jelal’s despondency. “Now it be time to go.”

            Jelal struggled to his feet, and the guard grabbed him roughly leading him out the door. They walked out into a long, dark hallway, lit only by sporadic torches.  At the end they reached a door, and on the other side a staircase. Jelal stumbled climbing the stairs, and drug himself wearily to his feet, his lack of motivation sapping any remaining energy.

            “Let’s go!” the guard commanded. “We will not keep the High General waiting!”

            Several passageways later they entered into a cavernous room. Soldiers stood at attention along the edges, and at the far end a man stood motioning forcefully to another who nodded almost continually.

            The guard pushed Jelal up to this man. “Here he is my lord,” he said, bowing and retreating a few steps.

            The man looked up and stared at Jelal for minute, and then began pacing around him. “So you’re the little bandit who’s going to win me this war,” he said. “Well, it seems this is a lucky day,” he continued. “For the both of us.”

            Jelal’s eyes narrowed, but he felt no fear. Whatever this man had planned could not hurt him more than he already was.

“It is a strange thing, the bond between brothers. I myself have never quite understood it. I found it necessary to lock up my brother years ago, and yet your bond appears to be quite strong. So very interesting.” With a gloating smile the man gestured to his left. “Bring him forward.”

“What �"brother? Here?” Jelal stuttered.

“Yes, I was slightly surprised myself,” the general answered. “It seems he is less of a man than I thought… But no matter. Your brother, my gallant adversary, has turned himself in for you.”

A hooded man was brought next to the general. “Here he is. I suppose you’ll want to say something to him.”

Jelal was reeling, his emotions rapidly spiraling out of control. He came? Corvin gave up his life, his country, his power? After all I’ve done? And then the general took off the man’s hood. In an instant Jelal’s strength left him and he collapsed helplessly to his knees. Standing before him was not his brother Corvin, but Marcus, his face shining with such compassion, such love that Jelal could not speak. No! You can’t! Leave… No! I cannot reveal him or they will kill us both. Like the crumbling of a mighty dam, all the shame Jelal had shrugged off, every act of violence, every hurtful word flooded his mind at once drowning him in a torrent of regret. And the one regret that caused all others to pale and fade stood before him now, about to be lost just as he was found. How I treated him… and now… Jelal looked up ashamedly and saw Marcus’ face had changed, that there was now also determination and resolve. This is what I want, his eyes seemed to say. And as Jelal sat there, staring up at his loving eyes, he saw Marcus for the first time as what he truly was.

“My brother,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Yes, my brother.”

“Say goodbye.” The general gave Marcus a shove, and Jelal rose shakily to his feet.

Marcus came forward, and as the two friends embraced it felt like no rift had ever existed, as if Jelal had never left.

“Marcus… my brother…”

“Live,” Marcus whispered. “Live and be free.”

            As he was pulled away he slipped Jelal a small scrap of paper. A guard put the hood back over his head, but Jelal could still feel his loving gaze piercing through the cloth.

            “You are free to go,” the general said speaking to Jelal. “My men will take you back to Brukadia.” He turned to Marcus with a look of triumph. “Lock him up until tonight,” he said. “And prepare the men.”

            A guard led Jelal to a door and opened it, pushing him outside. He looked around numbly, and wished he was back in his cell.

           

 

Jelal was let go at the border, and for a long time sat where he was dropped, unable to move. Night fell. Finally, he crawled to his feet and began trudging down the path towards Corasca. Time passed, but he had no notion of it. How could the world still move around him like nothing had changed? He reached the town square and saw the villagers shuffling about, giving blessings and closing shops before bed. How can they not understand what has happened? Don’t they realize… He sat down under a lantern, suddenly remembering what Marcus had given him before he was taken away. Jelal took out the scrap and began to read.

 

Jelal,

            I have thought long about that day, the day you left. I realize now that you were right - our priorities were different. But that is not such a bad thing.

 

Thousands of torches flickered, lighting the night sky with an eerie glow. A procession was marching, winding between rows of chanting soldiers, leading a hooded man up to a wooden platform. It was a gallows. High General Falix marched victoriously up the steps and placed a noose around the man’s neck, then turned and raised his arms to the men.

 

You see Jelal, now we are both getting what we want. You have given your life to freedom, and now I have given mine to love.

           

The chants grew in intensity, filling the air with an animalistic rage. In a dramatic motion the general brought his arms down, and the platform dropped. The man jerked downward, the shouts became frenzied. Had the soldiers taken the man’s hood off, they would have seen his face locked forever in an eternal smile.

Please do not be saddened, my brother, for this is what I want. What better way is there to spend a life, but in the devotion of love?

 

            Jelal closed his watering eyes for a minute, and then continued reading.

 

I have loved you all these years Jelal, no matter what you said or did. Do you remember that night on your birthday? “Best friends forever” you said. I never stopped believing. I hope you can find that spark of love again, and use your new freedom to nurture it.

 

            Corvin rode ahead of his men, a long snaking column following behind him. The entire might of Brukadia had ridden forth. He thought briefly of Jelal, and with a twinge of emotion forced the thought from his mind. He could not afford to be distracted, not now.

 

And please do not begrudge Corvin his decision. We have all made our choices, and there is no sense in resenting the past. My hope is that you can bridge the gap that has come between you, and that there will be a fresh start for you both.

 

He turned back to survey the soldiers, his face shining with the anticipation of battle. I am ready to fulfill my duty. “The time is coming men,” Corvin shouted, his voice quickly lost in the rising clamor.

 

If you can do this, and continue with love to those around you, you will find the same satisfaction in life I have. And so my dear friend, this is goodbye. May you find the freedom you have always wanted, and live with the love I know you possess.

         

Your friend and brother,

                   Marcus

 

            Jelal stared at the letter for a long time, finally folding it with a loving crease, and putting it back in his pocket. Beside him a small stream laughed softly, oblivious to the sorrow that surrounded it. Wiping his eyes, he got up and once again set off, the dusty path stretching before him.  This chapter had ended, but the sun, again, would rise.

 

Author's Note

I've never really written anything before, but I love reading so I thought I'd give it a go. Just wanted to see what other people thought, thanks.

Reviews

[Linda Stinson]

For someone that really never written anything before, you border pretty darn well on professional. It was a great story with lots of strange and odd happenings. It's amazing how wants and desires can take different prospect among friends. The ending was close to spell-binding. I didn't see anything wrong with your writing as far as misspell's. It is a great story. Will be looking forward to reading more of your work. Thanks for sharing.