Brother Mine
“Again.”
Tomlan Dorran, Malikai’s older brother by eight years, was a tall and lanky — pink-orange in complexion with vibrant, tropical blue hair and eyes. A soldier. Or, so he put out to be. Being that he was out often, particularly as of late, Malikai saw little of him in person, and this was one of those rare occasions. The brother’s stood facing each other — or, rather, Tomlan stood and Malik sat on his arse in the grass where he’d fallen back — and a bright, warm summer sun beamed down upon them, overlooking their ‘practice’ session.
Upon hearing that Malikai had taken up duties purportedly squiring for a noble girl of the high houses — after getting over his laughter, disbelief, and then curious pride — Tomlan had determined that
clearly his little brother was in grave need of some proper training. Thus, over the objections of their mother and father alike, he had seen to equipping Malikai with a blunted iron blade and taking him out to a field outside the city proper each evening thus far that he had been around. This was the third day.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Get up, we’ll do it again.”
Malikai flushed, nursing a bruised elbow as he shuffled to a stand, but did as instructed, lifting his blade again and eyeing his brother. “Does it get less heavy, when y’ get used to it?”
“It’ll seem as such, yeah? Right now y’r just buildin’ sore muscle on more sore muscle and bruises on y’r bruises, but give the first lot of ‘em time t’ heal and grow, an’ ‘fore you know it…” Tomlan lunged, striking in and earning a yip but passable parry from his little brother, the
clank of their blades ringing out over the otherwise empty stretch of field, “…it starts feelin’ like a natural thing t’ swing that weight about, eh?”
Malikai swallowed, his breathing a touch labored after all the time they had spent at it so far, but he nodded regardless, moving at each of his brother’s advances so that resounding
clank, clank, clanks sounded at each interval when their blades met. It was a process, certainly: trying to accustom himself to the weight and balance of the blade to begin with, learning the motions and following through with them despite his stiff and sore muscles — littered, as Tomlan had said, with evidence of their previous practice sessions in the form of aches and bruises — as well as simply getting a feel for the terrain, even when it was simple, and getting his leg to cooperate with a far more precise dance of movements.
He missed his toes. Without them, he was all the more clumsy and prone to losing his balance, his mechanical leg simply not equipped to adjust with the same degree of detail and finesse. He was used to that — mostly — when it came to basic activities, though it still contributed to his natural clumsiness on some level, but when attempting to translate his body movements into a combat style, the amount that it impaired him further was all the more frustrating. Still, he kept quiet on the issue. Even at ten, he knew the handicap was as much his fault as any, and that his family had strained to provide even what they had for him as a means of coping, and it was infinitely better than making do without and hobbling on crutches. In addition, even if it weren’t determined to be the result of his foolishness to begin with, there was nothing to be done now but manage. So he did.
He worked with his brother into the late evening that day, until the air began to cool, the horizon turned into a smooth wash of pink and purple, and the night critters began to chirrup in the distant woodlands. He hurt all over, as he had the day before, and the day prior to that, but he left complaints of his hurts for his thoughts and thoughts alone, voicing instead a small ream of questions for his brother: “Where
have you been?” — “What do you get to do, when you fight for Aevah?” — “Have you seen any
oblivionites yet?” — “What are they like?” — “How far have you travelled?” — “What’s it like, off of Serenia?”
And so on, and so on.
They talked the full walk home, over the grass and dirt path, back between the large, looming gates of Ashen City and into the housing district they called home. Tomlan, ever a good natured sort, entertained his questions with attention to detail and spared nothing — save for, perhaps, some of the gorier details he did not deem appropriate for his younger brother’s buoyant mood. By the time the evening was drawing to a close, he had promised that they could, potentially in the next few days, if Malikai was a particularly attentive student, go out further from the city nearer to the mountains and see if they could cut their metaphorical warriors’ ‘teeth’ on some smaller breeds of dragon.
Malikai’s mother — who heard the news whilst in the process of cleaning his face and rubbing healing balm into the various purple splotches on his teal green skin — froze mid-motion and frowned, turning a pinched look, wrinkled with worry, on her youngest son.
“Malikai…” When she spoke, her tone was soft around the edges, but firm at its core. “Y’ know we only gave your brother permission t’ take you out there with a sword t’ begin with with hesitance. Just trainin’ alone c’n be dangerous — look what y’ already look like, an’ this is
without anythin’ but him out there with y’…”
“But Ma—”
“An’ what good is it gonna do y’ in the end, mm? Y’r to take after your da, y’ know tha’—”
“I don’ want to…”
Having started back up on applying balm, she stilled again, eyeing him speculatively, assessing. “Malikai, sweet pumpkin—”
“I don’ want t’ work with metal an’ in a shop all day. I wanna learn t’ fight, an’
help people, an’ defend Aevah Avi like Da used to, an’—”
“If you’re lookin’ to help people, boffin, you know makin’ fine swords is a great way t’ go about it. You could make the blade tha’ serves a soldier better’n any other in their life…”
Malik shook his head. “Don’ want to. I wanna
be there.”
“But sweet thing, it’s
dangerous an’ you’ll give y’r ma so many heartaches—”
“S’dangerous for ever’one, Ma…if all th’ people tha’ thought it was dangerous didn’ do nothin’ ‘cause of it, then who would protect us?”
Before him, his mother huffed, her lips pursing as she reached out to thumb over his cheek. “Sweet child, one day you will see tha’
far more little boys like you grow t’ be brave men tha’ fight an’ hurt th’mselves an’ come back with missin’ pieces or in pieces or…” She drew a stiff, shuddering breath, but seemed to manage to compose herself before pressing on with gusto, “…or not a’ all —
far more li’l boys like you than there are o’ boys like those born ‘n raised in th’ houses o’ your ‘lady’ Lae, child. Not so many like you find ‘emselves with th’
chance t’ take a step aside an’ serve th’ world in a differen’ fashion an’ leave the fightin’ t’ others an’ when y’
get tha’ chance, child, y’ve got t’
seize it…y’ve got t’ seize it…”
Malikai frowned, shifting his weight uneasily. “But I
want t’ fight…I don’ wanna sit an’ serve in other ways…”
His mother’s eyes shut, her lip disappearing between her teeth for a long pause before she released a pent up breath and leveled him with another look. “You could be a mage, y’ know. Have y’ thought on that? Helpin’ people by healin’…stayin’ mostly out o’ the—”
“I don’ wanna be a mage.”
His mother frowned. “Mages are a respected class. They do great, powerful work—”
“I wanna be a warrior. Like Da was, an’ like Tomlan an’—”
“Alright, alright, shhh-tch-tch-tch-shhhhh…” She laid a hand to the top of his head, gently pulling him in to a tight hug, and for a moment, Malikai stilled, frowning as he hugged back, because was his mother shaking…? But then, the moment seemed to pass. She calmed and pulled back, crouching before him and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’ll be a great, beautiful boy no matter what y’ decide, won’ you for me?”
Malikai blinked, eyeing his mother with a touch of uncertainty and reaching out as he nodded. “Yes’m.”
She smiled. “Good boy, then…off y’ get. Sounds like you’ll have an excitin’ day tomorrow an’ y’ll need y’r sleep.”
Malikai blinked, and then perked up. “So I c’n go huntin’ t’ practice?”
His mother hummed. “Best y’ learn your lessons now with your brother at your side I think,” she said. “Yes.”
Beaming, Malik darted in to give her another squeezing hug before starting out of the room.
The next day, as promised — after attending to all things which the morning dictated as necessary — Tomlan helped Malikai don a belt and sheath for an actual, non-blunted blade, packed a small traveler’s meal, and started out with him. They took a quick cart ride for a few coppers to nearest village neighboring Astral City — closer to the mountain and wildland areas than the city itself — before heading on to the bulk of their ‘adventure.’ All the while, Tomlan regaled him with stories: this great battle where they won by a hair’s breadth, these great beasts the size of houses that roared like thunderstorms, those fair maidens that crossed his path along the way and unmatchable friends who stood loyal by his side. As they drew closer to their goal area where they were more likely to come upon actual beasts, he told Malikai too of the terrain and the creatures they were likely to find there, supplying him with information on local beasts, dragons, and strategy.
It was late afternoon, edging in on evening when the gusts about their low mountain path began to pick up.
“Tomlan…”
“Oi, so it’s lookin’ like we’ll be able to find a small nest o’ ayrala at th’ very least…have your sword on hand, then. Despite not bein’ so impressive in size at first glance, they’re mighty fast in the air an’ nothin’ to be trifled with. Razor talons and vicious as a flyin’ serpent. Whatever th’ case is though, I want you t’ stick
close t’ me, you hear?”
Malikai blinked and then nodded, his gut a strange mess of equal parts anticipation and anxiety. He had actually experienced ayrala dragons — in some limited portion — while on Ayr, but he didn’t mention that. It hardly seemed to count, in any case, since he had done little at that time to actually further the battle in any significant way. Mostly, he had only served to trip over himself. But that was the past. The purpose now was to move beyond that and learn from it. He drew his sword, edging up the rock path alongside and several steps behind his brother.
Tomlan had been right.
After rounding the next bend, the winds picked up ever fiercer, and they spied the entrance to a small overhang of a cavern in the mountainside. Just outside of it, on the lip, two silver scaled dragons hissed at each other, locked in some form of internal power feud from the looks of things and clearly heatedly disagreeing with each other. Then, the winds brought them their scent.
Both dragons froze, the winds stilling briefly — eerily, even — and then shifting just as abruptly. Seconds later, the beasts were screeching out their objections, taking flight, and sweeping for them.
Tomlan took the lead, his wings bursting from his back and stretching moments before shoving him off into an aerial charge towards the ayralas. Malikai watched, momentarily wide-eyed as his brother slashed at the first, cutting into its wing and then swerving to cut again. To any other eye, it likely oughtn’t have been impressive — a fully grown orderite taking down one of the lowest tiers of dragon that inhabited the continents — but to Malikai’s gaze, it was heroism, sending a thrill of excitement through him. Just in time for the second ayrala to jut in its course and target him directly.
His, unlike his brother’s, was a messy defense. One slash that barely clacked against the thick scales of the beast’s hide, just managing to spare him from the direct assault of its claws. He recovered, though, from his backwards stumble and repositioned as best he could, attempting to hold his ground despite the shifting winds before jutting his blade forward point first. A lucky jab pierced, opening a gash that sent the dragon temporarily reeling backwards snarling and then summoning a miniature wind tunnel. Malikai staggered, shielding his face from the whipping breeze — and rocks and branches and grit that came with it — only to have his foot catch on the lip of a stone, sending him tumbling over and back far faster than intended.
The ayrala gave chase, leaving him only a moment to roll and slash, forcing himself upward to meet it. It seemed to him only by some miracle that, despite his full lack of clarity on the exact sequence of events, he managed, moments after, to find himself with his blade skewered into the startled creature’s body. It eyed him, giving several bewildered blinks — as though puzzled by the turn of events as he was — a ragged, choking cough, a keen, and then nothing, as its body disintegrated, petering to dust on his blade and leaving behind a glimmering orb in its wake.
Malikai shifted his weight, staring at it for many long moments, bewildered. He’d actually
killed one. With his own blade. In his own fight. Unaided — mostly. It felt…strange, Malik thought, frowning a bit. Though exciting in the rush of it, even for something
attacking him, it felt oddly cruel to watch it die, so surprised by and unprepared for its own end. He crouched, gathering the orb into his palm and hefting it experimentally. So small, to be imbued with so much power.
Another dragon’s screech pulled him from his musings, and Malikai’s attention jerked up sharply. Immediately, he winced.
“Tomlan!” He raced — much as he could on the now rocky terrain — up the mountain path towards where his brother was now fighting not one, two, or three ayrala, but a full slew of more silver overlapping sets of wings than he could count.
After earning several cuts — one not to be trifled with, though Tomlan quickly bandaged it up after — and a hefty helping of scrapes and bruises, Malikai found himself slightly less prone to feeling sorry for the beasts when he fought them. He came away, though, with having fought several all on his own in addition to those his brother aided him with, and together they had a small stash of silvery grey soul orbs of a number not to be laughed at.
So, once the full nest of ayrala — or at least however many of them were intent on emerging from their mountainside cavern to face them — had been dealt with the two of them bundled the orbs, tended to their physical damage, and started back down the path they’d come. By the time they made it to the village at its base, found a cart to pay for their return trip, and made it back inside the city gates, night was in full swing, the stars a sparkling blanket over the deep blue sky.
His mother, of course, wasn’t wholly pleased with the damage done. The moment he walked through the door at Tomlan’s side she fussed and tutted seemingly endlessly, chirruping about their lateness and their scrapes and bruises and blood, but eventually, after seeing to all his damage personally and dropping a small spell here or there where her limited magic could help most, she seemed more or less satisfied that — at the very least — there wasn’t more permanent hurt done. Malikai went to bed sore as he crawled into his cot and tucked under his sheets, but giddy with possibility.
One day —
one day — he could be as graceful in battle as his brother, and little gray ayrala dragons would be nothing. He would train hard every day. He would listen to his brother, to his father, to Laesara, and anyone who cared to give him advice. He push himself, and keep at it no matter how sore it made him. He would learn even if it was difficult and even if he was behind, and eventually, he
would be capable of heroism: really and truly protecting people. Like his father had at one point earlier in his life; like all soldiers did, and like his brother still did. This, he promised himself.
One day, it would happen. He would see to it.
Word Count: 2,915
