Young Writers Society

Second nodded in agreement.

Minra was right, but it was the only reason that Second was wary of Carter's determination to kill James. He wasn't sure how he could explain it without revealing his own secrets - secrets he guessed he'd have to face later, but secrets that wouldn't really help now.

"I wasn't trusting him over you," Second said. He stood his ground. He doubted Carter was going to swing his sword at him - it just didn't make sense. He might push him out of the way, or try attacking James from another angle, but it was hard to tell. "I'm not from your world. What your king decided means nothing to me. And if we're all going to be stuck here together, I'm not going to blindly trust the words of a stranger."

He gestured at the woods around them.

"This was made by you, Carter," he said. "You can't brush us off like you did when you were rescuing Anne - we need to know what's going on, and we need to know it now. I'm not going to let you get any closer to James unless you tell me exactly what crime he committed and what he did to you."

Carter was not used to this kind of unabashed disagreement from people of such low status and insignificance. Sure, there were always going to be the rebels, the occasional rioters, the criminals, the political squabbles, but this was so deeply personal.

He hated that Minra was right - if he was wrong about this, it would mean their doom. He would never male it out of this alive. For all he knew, he’d be trapped inside his mind, turning into a wretched beast while his body remained comatose and he never woke up. Such a fate was unbecomingly horrifying. He had a life to wake up to - and well, Minra and Second did too.

But Second was abrasive. Accusing Carter of creating these problems, as if he was the one responsible for all of this in the first place? Not only was he wrong, it was outright offensive. Carter has never intended to drag them into his personal dramas, and he didn’t want to. That was the dream’s fault, if he could so blame something seemingly inanimate.

But apparently, they wanted him to think about it. About what? What else would James even be here for? Just to pin people against him? Make him the enemy again?

...That would make more sense. Facing the fear of rejection, maybe. But Carter didn’t care about what other people thought. He didn’t. And he would just have to believe that to get through it, then. Right?

He wasn’t so sure of himself anymore, but his face didn’t show it. He narrowed his gaze at Minra, then Second. At least Minra spoke to him with some respect towards his own free will, instead of demanding things of him like a child.

“He snuck into the king’s chambers and interfered and sabotaged plans for the expansion of the kingdom’s borders,” he began, his voice icy and low. “He stole confidential information, destroyed ancient documents, and lied to his king, and to me. He pried into matters that were not his concern, and he betrayed the crown and his sworn duty to it when he decided his own agenda was more important that his promised loyalty. I came to him on the night the king discovered his betrayal of trust and went to meet him to reason with him at the stables - only to find he was deserting. Unwilling to take responsibility for his actions and fleeing, like a coward. He wouldn’t listen. And he left me with what would have been a mortal wound had I not been found quickly and healed.”

He looked past Second to James, who’d finally looked up from the dead lesves by his feet. James was staring at him with an expression that made Carter’s stomach twist into knots inside.

James had never been the most expressive of men, but Carter knew his look of deep regret. Eyes piercing, yet cloudy. Brows drawn together in something other than annoyance.

No. James didn’t get to be regretful. He’d made a choice. A choice to kill his best friend, for all he knew.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Carter,” James said, his voice still soft, like a wounded lamb.

“I am not doing this right now,” Carter spat, words coming out bitterly. “Not with you. Not now. Not ever, and especially not with these two around.”

“Why not?”

Carter took a small step back from Second, eyes flicking from the green haired child to James. He felt stiff. Exposed.

“You know full well why not.”

Then James did something Carter didn’t expect, and he stepped up beside Second, putting a hand on Second’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to stand between us,” James said to Second. “I don’t know how you’re involved with him, but this is not your quarrel. Our rivalry goes far back into our childhood-“

“Rivalry?” Carter scoffed.

“Were we not rivals first? And then friends?” James questioned, as if stating a fact. But it simply wasn’t true.

“I-“ Carter’s voice cut off sharply. The things he wanted to say, he did not want to say in front of a teenager who might lord it over him later. His grip grew tighter around his sword. James was right there. He could pierce him through in a moment, and this all would be over. But would Minra and Second then leave him there, to die? Would he fail the test of bravery?

A swirl of confusion clouded his mind. The voice of his father said to do it. Take action, before you’re taken advantage of. The voice of the king saying not to hesitate, decisiveness was what made a good leader. The voice of his mother, calling him hopeless for being unable to face his most despised enemy without unquestioned conviction.

A stuttered reply came out.

“I... I used to think the world of you, James.”

He hoped, desperately, to tug on the hearts of Minra and Second. He needed them to side with him on this.

“When did that change? When I slashed your leg with my sword, or long before that?”

Carter didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know. He looked to Minra, eyes widened ever so slightly. He would not beg, but it was as close to pleading as he would allow.

“So you admit it, then. Trying to kill me,” Carter said. His shoulders were tense.

“No.” James’s voice sounded so tired. “I admit to defending myself when you attacked me first. That is all.”

Minra realized that Carter was quickly losing his composure. The commander was no longer in control of the situation, and his confidence had dwindled.

He likely never expected that we'd oppose him in this. He's used to being obeyed without having to explain himself.

Carter shot Minra a glance, not quite imploring, and she thought she saw a glimmer of desperation there. Not only on his face, but in his posture. The man wanted it to be over, not to be questioned or challenged.

But Minra was growing more and more convinced that executing James was a mistake. She was beginning to believe that Carter was holding something back. He was afraid to say it, to have to face whatever it was.

If she was right, and he failed, they were all as good as dead.

James had meant something to Carter. That was obvious. So something else had to have happened to make Carter want to kill him so badly.

"Carter. You said that he meant a lot to you. He was your friend," she said firmly. "There's something you're not saying. What actually happened to drive you apart?"

"Why do you want to kill him?"

"Thanks," Second said, looking over at James and giving him a small smile, "but I think this is my quarrel now, too."

There wasn't much distance left between James and Carter now that the first of the two had moved, but Second still managed to squeeze between them. He clenched his hands at his side. The players hadn't known what they were doing when they started taking over his world - they had just thought it was a game.

But Carter wasn't in that situation.

"You said that James stopped your borders from expanding," Second said, his voice quiet. "That he betrayed you and his king, and that he just wanted to 'further his own agenda'. You don't have to say it nicely. I might not be from your world, but I know that means taking land from other people - and doing it violently."

He couldn't help it - a little bit of anger had begun to slip into his voice, even when he was trying his best to hold it back.

"What really happened, Carter?" he asked.

Carter's collected demeanor started to fracture. His mouth twitched again, this time more fervently, before curling up in annoyance. His brows furrowed, and this time, his anger was directed at all of them.

"I already told you," he stated sharply, though he knew that wouldn't get them to let up. They were stuck here until they did something right (or wrong) like some kind of torture. How dare they try to pry him open. They were not entitled to his story, his thoughts, or his emotions, and he didn't care if he was acting with the stubbornness of a child.

But that wasn't entirely true. He did care that he was perceived wrongly.

He wasn't some kind of blind, power-hungry conqueror who stole the land of innocent people. The land they were taking back was rightfully theirs, stolen by monsters and goblins in the wake of the calamity. They wanted to unite humankind under one banner, for there'd already been enough division amongst them. And he didn't even agree with all of the king's rulings - he was - he was waiting-

But that had nothing to do with this. This was about James, who Minra and Second wouldn't let him confront privately. They were trying to be mediators.

Because... they were in a dream. He had almost forgotten.

He took in a slow breath to compose himself. It didn't really work. James's very presence kept his blood boiling. But Minra and Second wanted to know why.

"As if him wounding me wasn't enough."

Something inside of him squirmed at that. He knew how that sounded. It couldn't be enough. To them, that just made him sound petty and bitter.

Carter's glare had been set on Second and Minra until James spoke up.

"I meant what I said," James said. "I didn't want to hurt you. I just-"

"Just what, James?" Carter snapped, but his voice stayed at a level volume. "Just didn't want to cooperate? Couldn't swallow your pride? You couldn't have even tried to work with me? Maybe even returned all the favors I did for you over the years? I moved so many obstacles out of the way for you just so you could follow your childish dreams of becoming a soldier. You would have had nothing if it weren't for me. You'd still be stuck in Hedgale living like a peasant. Or you know what? You could've stayed with your family, and faced them like a man. All these years you don't think I saw how you resented me like it was my fault you made a choice to leave and never turn back?"

Carter was inching closer, eyes locked with James'. He didn't care that Second was in the way. He was just a boy. Easy to push, easy to get around.

"I helped you because I wanted my best friend to come with me, like any child would. I helped you because you were hurting. And what did you offer me in return? Skepticism of my motives. Criticism of my family." Carter leaned in, his voice dripping with bitter disgust. "Countless gifts all thrown away on you."

James broke eye contact first, but only for a moment. Carter could see him swallow something down. Good. He wanted to see James cry, or get angry. Something.

"That's really how you remember it?" James asked, his voice growing even quieter like he was trying to keep it from cracking. Carter took in a deep breath, pulling back just a little, though he stood right in front of Second.

"Yes," he drawled. "That's really how I remember it."

There was a small silence as James looked over at Minra, and up at Second, and finally down at the ground. His hat shadowed his face again as a pitiful shield.

"I..." James stuttered like words were escaping him. Carter knew it was because he was right. James couldn't defend himself even if he tried.

"I thanked you countless times," James finally said. "I did everything I could to show you I cared. You knew I had no money, and no resources, but whatever time I had left that wasn't devoted to study I devoted to you."

James looked up, meeting Carter's eyes again. Carter bristled.

"Look. I don't know who these people are, or why they're here, or why they're keeping you back from doing what I know you would if they weren't present. But I've been equal parts hoping for and dreading the coming of a conversation like this one, where we could actually talk about what happened. I'd rather them not be here too. But I don't think we'd be having any conversations if they weren't."

Carter held his tongue, but he was seconds away from telling James to just shut up.

"I know you know what you were doing. You're too smart to be that blind."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Carter asked defensively, though his stomach twisted. He knew.

"It's what you do with everyone,” James said sadly. “You learn them, and you use them for your own benefit.”

“And what possible benefit would I have of befriending an estranged, poor peasant boy with nothing to offer?” Carter retorted, scathing.

James looked away again.

“That was my question.”

Second wanted to keep pressing Carter. He knew there was more to the story than he was letting on. He knew, deep down, that Carter was probably going to stop talking soon - he was going to grow tired of just verbally avoiding the questions. But Carter didn't know who he was talking to. He was underestimating him, just like everyone else always did. And while Second was usually grateful for that advantage, it was making getting answers difficult.

But then James faltered.

And his voice broke.

And when Second spared the briefest glance back at him, he saw that James was staring down at the ground.

And then James started telling his side of the story. If Second hadn't already been doubting Carter and his motives, he did now. He was still sure that rescuing Anne had been the right thing to do. But killing James - or even hurting him - was just plain wrong.

It made him feel small again. Like he had been when Lorcan had first found him. What he and Lorcan had been through would never be the same as what James had been through, but he knew what it was like to think that a relationship was right because the other person gave a few special gifts. His owner hadn't been Carter. He could feel it in his gut.

But their relationship was just as wrong looking back.

"You're manipulative," Second realized, looking right into Carter's eyes. "You've been holding back information from us because you don't want us asking questions, and you're getting frustrated now because we're doing exactly what you tried to prevent. And you did the same thing to James, too."

He glanced down at Carter's leg.

"That was probably the first time he fought back against you," Second softly guessed.

He looked back up at Carter's face.

"You might have shown him kindness before," Second said, "but that doesn't mean he's forced to stick with you forever. James said it himself. He already showed his gratitude. True friends respect each other's decisions. I know it's naive to think that friendship trumps something like loyalty to a king, but I would have never hurt a friend for doing what they thought was right. Even if I didn't agree, I wouldn't spend five years trying to chase them down and kill them."

It was clear to Minra now what the answer was. The test wasn't to kill James, it was meant to see whether Carter could spare the man and confront something in himself.

Compared to this, rescuing Anne had been easy. Carter had only needed to fight to save an innocent woman from death, someone he cared about deeply. He was good at fighting.

Now he was going to have to hold back and solve the problem without a weapon in hand. He'd have to admit his own wrongs, and let a man he hated live. Minra could see him getting more and more agitated, more angry at not only James, but herself and Second now as well.

For the first time, she felt a jab of worry. Would he be able to do it? Could he sacrifice his pride and say what needed to be said, regardless of how it might change their perceptions of him?

Minra had seen in the past how powerful pride's hold on a person could be. People could carry it with them for years, decades, all the way to their graves. It was impossible for them to face the fact their way of thinking might be wrong.

She hoped Carter wasn't one of them.

"Talk to James and listen to him, at least. Let him explain himself."

Manipulative.

The word started a chain reaction, recalling images of his mother and father that were violently unearthed from the depths of his memory. The things they said faded like mist into foggy recollections but the feelings and the impact remained. He could remember the day that he realized he'd started playing their own game against them, playing a role because he was expected to, because it would get him what he wanted, because it would keep the peace, because it would keep him safe. But over and over again, he'd said he wasn't like them, and he never wanted to be.

He could feel something inside of him breaking. He took another step back from Second.

A memory of Anne, once forgotten, came back in pieces, and then all at once.

They were sitting in his schoolroom, at his desk. It was midday and the sun was high overhead, sending bright rays of light through the tall bay windows. She was seated across from him, holding one of his assignments in her hands. A research paper. Something about history. The history of magic in the kingdom.

Like he was hearing the words for the first time, she said: "Your paper is very well written, Carter, but I want to challenge you. Sometimes, things aren't always what they seem. The people who write the books you read, who record history - not everyone is as unbiased as they say. When you research, I want you to question everything. Dig for the truth. Don't let people manipulate you into believing their truth. You need to figure out what you believe for yourself."

But Second ripped him back to reality.

"That was probably the first time he fought back against you," Second said. He was right. It was the first time James had fought back. It was also the only time Carter was assigned to kill him if he didn't surrender, but that was before they knew James had destroyed all of the documents he'd stolen.

"Talk to James and listen to him, at least. Let him explain himself," Minra pleaded.

Carter clenched his jaw, taking in measured breaths. Normally, he didn't have trouble keeping his composure. Normally, people didn't question his motives - not like this.

"...Fine," he surrendered, though his entire being was aching and fighting to lash out. "On one condition. Second gets out of the way."

He squeezed the hilt of his sword, before he threw it on the ground, behind him.

"And I won't touch my sword."

Every inch of Second's body was telling him not to move. It was telling him it was his duty to keep standing in front of James, and to keep being a physical deterrence from a fight breaking out. Maybe Carter really did want to talk with James. He'd have to, if they were going to get out of this place.

But still.

Second eyed the sword that Carter had thrown behind him. It would be different, but...

"Okay," Second said, "but I'm intervening if you try to hurt him."

He moved out of the way, a little skip to his step - out of habit and not intentionally - as he went behind Carter and grabbed the sword. The hilt and metal of the blade felt heavy in his hands, but he knew he could use it if he had to.

He rested it at his side and watched what Carter would do next.

Minra sighed in relief.

Second had gotten Carter to give up his sword. And, finally, the commander had agreed to talk. Though there was still anger written in his posture and on his face, he seemed to be regaining his composure.

It soothed her worries somewhat, but this wasn't over yet.

She stepped back and waited for either Carter or James to speak.

Carter heard the shift in the fallen leaves. He knew Second had moved and picked up his sword.

"Don't be a fool," he warned, though he didn't look back at Second. His eyes were trained on James, who he was studying closely. He didn't expect James to strike first, but he knew better to always be prepared for it.

Carter could feel his senses reeling. Tension in his clenched fists as his blood boiled and his heart raced. James was so close now. Carter could so easily just grab him, pull him in, break him. He wasn't worried about Second wielding his own sword behind him. He had armor. This was his dream. Second had said it himself - he'd made this reality, whether consciously or not.

But James kept looking at him with eyes pooling with sadness and regret like he wasn’t angry with Carter at all. Only two feet of distance between them and James didn't look scared. Just sad.

He despised it. Being pitied was a mockery.

James looked over at Minra.

"I... I don't really want to explain myself," James started, his voice quiet, and unassuming. "I never really have. I don't think Carter-" he looked to Carter. "I don't think you'll ever see it from my perspective anyway. Maybe that's not fair to assume, but I've relived the moments over and over in my head so many times, I don't know if I remember it right either, anymore. And that's only with the ones I remember, nevermind the ones I've probably blocked out and still can't recall."

James sighed.

"It... it's been a long time coming," he continued. "There's a lot I could say. But there's one thing I need to say not just for you, but for myself."

Carter held his breath. Suddenly, in the midst of the rage, the offense, and all of the swirl of emotions, a nervousness gripped his stomach. He had no idea what James was going to say next.

“Carter... I forgive you.”

Carter stared back at him. His face paled.

“For all of it,” James added. His eyes were misted, and he was looking into Carter's face. But Carter wasn’t there. Not really. Not in body and spirit.

James.

He always had to have the last word, didn’t he? He always had to go be the nice one, the one approved by all, the one that everyone loved and agreed with in the end. He was always stealing away the support, the love, the attention that Carter never got but always wanted because James just had to make it all about himself. Oh, so forgiving! Oh, how admirable! But never, ever letting Carter grieve the loss of their friendship because James always made it out to be his fault.

A lot happened in the following two seconds. Carter’s hands reached up to James’s neck, and James grabbed his wrist. Carter spun around, twisting his arm, pulling James forward. For a moment, Carter had James in a hold, but he somehow wriggled out and had his arm around Carter’s neck.

Carter dragged James to the ground, grabbing James’s arm, and then threw him to the ground before throwing himself on top of him.

He felt the thunk of his armor as he landed on James, but he knew it hurt James far more than it did him.

With his heart racing, Carter flung himself to his feet, backing away from all of them, breathing heavy.

James’s hat had fallen off rather quickly, and his hair was messy, falling in his eyes.

James was crying. Quietly.

Carter felt his own eyes stinging as rage welled up again.

“You have no idea the shame I had to bear after you left," he said, his voice starting low. "I was supposed to bring you back home! Everyone expected me to bring you back! I wanted you back!” He began to shout. “And then I was left limping and wounded, and it took years to repair my reputation, my strength and even my ability to walk and fight again." Tears started falling from his eyes, but they were full of anger and bitterness mixed with sorrow.

"You would never understand," Carter said, breathy. "You would never-"

But then it hit him, like a mighty oak tree crashing in a storm.

What was he saying? What had he done?

James would never understand? James had been the only person, ever, who understood him. The only person who listened.

The anger drained from his face, slowly being replaced by horror as Carter stared, wide-eyed down at James who was still curled up on the ground, hurt.

Everything moved too quickly for Second to step in. By the time he had gotten closer to the two to stop the fight - the sword forgotten on the ground beside him - the fighting had already ceased. Carter was finishing a tirade. James was crying.

But Carter wasn't fighting anymore.

He guessed he could take comfort in that.

Second stopped in front of James and grabbed his hat. Holding it out to him as an offering, as well as his other hand, Second gave him a comforting look he knew wouldn't really help.

Carter had to fix this. He knew he had to fix it - if he’d already failed, they were done for, but nothing had happened yet. No new doors appeared, no new scenes came, and no one was making a sound.

This was all still a dream, and Carter had just made a fool of himself, no doubt proving to Second and Minra that he was who they thought.

There was a great discomfort in his chest. A tightness, almost a pain, pressuring him to do something quickly, something that he would never do under any other circumstances.

He stood beside Second and offered a hand to help James up.

He told himself: this was just a dream version of James. This would have no real consequence or bearings on his real life when he woke up. Maybe he could change now, for the moment, but it didn’t have to be forever. He could play by the rules of the dream. He could move past his outburst and fit of anger. He could be “morally upright”, and kind, and fair like James if it was just for a dream.

James took his hat first with a shaky hand before looking up at Carter with distrust.

“...that’s fair,” Carter offered, taking a step back. “I am the one who put you there.”

And all just because James had said he forgave him. Carter didn’t even remember ever asking for forgiveness.

A thought occurred to him. He knew in his heart things like this were supposed to be organic and come from a pure and sincere motive, and not just to escape a dream, but it all suddenly made sense.

He would never be like James. But, he could follow in his footsteps for this one thing.

Carter kneeled to the forest floor beside James, who pushed himself up to a sitting position and had plopped his hat back over his messy hair. James’s eyes were already dry, as if stopping and starting a cry was a perfected practice. Carter believed that.

“I realize I never asked to be forgiven,” Carter said quietly. “And it’s wrong that I never did. I recognize that I hurt you, and I am-“ this felt wrong “-sorry. So, so, sorry.”

James was staring at Carter, but Carter couldn’t read his expression.

“You were always better at this than me,” Carter added. “The apologies. But it doesn’t make it right that I stayed in denial for so long. Thank you... for your forgiveness. A small part of me had always hoped we might part ways again in peace.”

James held his gaze with Carter before slowly standing up, the movement clearly pained.

“And I’m sorry for lashing out,” Carter added. “That was wrong.”

Carter stood up as well, picking up and sheathing his sword along the way.

“Yeah,” James replied, his voice quiet, as he started to turn and walk away. “It was.”

Carter opened his mouth again, but suddenly couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d already spouted more apologies than he had in a very long time, and none of it fixed it. James was still hurt, and now he was walking away.

Guilt crept over him like a wave of chills, but it felt foreign. Like a filthy weight that wouldn’t fall off.

So Carter had done it. He'd apologized.

Minra felt a kind of awkwardness settle over them, and she looked away as Carter stood and sheathed his sword. She felt... uncomfortable. She'd seen something private and personal, a piece of Carter's life that she was no part of and had no right to know of.

She thought of her own secrets, her own private worries, pain, guilt, and regret, and winced at the thought that she might be next.

Well. No use in dwelling on it.

She looked up and saw that regardless of the sincerity or lack of it in Carter's apology, it seemed to have worked. James was gone and something had shifted.

Minra peered down the path he'd taken to leave the forest clearing and saw a glimmering arch that hadn't been there before.

She turned to Carter and Second, then gestured at the path James had taken. "I think that's the next gate."