The Two Brothers (part 2)

The sun welcomed them from the east; the sky painted a gentle, pale blue. One would not expect a day to arrive so perfectly to a night ridden with death, but so it did.

The events of the night before were still playing through Albern's head. He could see the symbols glowing bright orange, the dead bodies lying on the floor of the Inn. He was still trying to make sense of it all.

"How are your hands feeling?" Aurol asked, riding closely beside him.

Albern held them out in front of him, the sight made his empty stomach squirm.

"Sore." He answered

"Uncle Woodley will be able to fix them up." Said Aurol, his voice was gentle.

Albern went to touch his sword, hesitant at first, but the coolness of steel greeted him. Soothing the burns.

"I did not wish for this to happen," whispered Albern softly to himself, though not softly enough.

"Nor I, brother." said Aurol, "But we must do, what we must do. For the Gods have given us a different path. One we must take, as rocky as it may be."

Aurol looked over at his brother, he saw how burnt his hands still looked. "I must wrap up your hands again, Albern." He said, looking at the saggy piece cloth hanging around the horse’s neck.

Albern grunted in agreeance, stopping his horse.

"We must eat, too." said Albern, his attempt at getting off his horse was pitiful.

"Let me help you, brother," said Aurol, getting off his horse with the swiftness one would expect from a wizard. He walked to his brother's side, helping him down. "You really are going to be quite useless with those burnt hands, aren't you?" said Aurol, his smile was kind.

"Not as useless as you," said Albern, pointing behind his brother. "You might be needing that horse."

Aurol turned in panic. His horse had wandered half way down the dirt track, an old man was patting its head. "C0me back here!" yelled Aurol, running off after it.

Albern chuckled to himself as he gave his horse an apple. It was considerably hard to do considering he had two burnt hands, yet he managed.

"You're a good horse, aren't you?" said Albern softly, stroking its mane with the back of his hand. “Good horses deserve a name.”

He noticed two large scars running down each of its back legs, nearly the shape of a crescent moon. 'What happened to you here', he thought, drawing the outline of it with his finger.

"How about Moon?" he said to the horse, it continued to chew on its apple. ‘Yes, Moon.’ Thinking about the name. Moon was a nice name; nice name for a nice horse. “I shall call you moon." Said Albern finally, noticing his brother's return.

"Stupid horse," complained Aurol, walking back to where Albern stood. "Dumb old man gave it an apple, she refused to leave his side."

Aurol tied the horse to the nearest fence, cursing after it and the old man as he did. "Stupid, dumb man, damn horse." He muttered to himself.

"Never been one with animals, have you?" said Albern, staring at Aurol's hand as he walked back. "What's that in your hand?" he asked sceptically.

"Huh? Oh this," answered Aurol casually, showing numerous pieces of torn up paper. "It’s nothing, just scraps from my journal."

"Since when have you kept a journal?" asked Albern, laughter influencing his voice.

"Since when I decided to keep one," said Aurol, looking at his brother. "It’s not a problem I keep one, is it?"

Aurol's face had turned a shade of red.

Albern stared at his brother, stunned by his reaction. "I was simply curious, Aurol," said Albern, feeling unnerved. "That is all."

"Curiosity has gotten men killed," replied Aurol, putting his hand into his pocket. The pieces fell. "We must all be careful where we stick our noses."

The silence that followed was quick. The two brothers stared at each other. Albern looked his brother up and down, noticing his empty hand.

"We must keep moving." said Aurol, walking over Albern’s horse. "I have warned Uncle Woodley of our arrival and path we're taking to get to Cape Melen by thought transfer. In case we get lost or run into any form of trouble."

Aurol helped Albern back onto his horse and untied his own.

"We haven't eaten," said Albern bitterly, staring at his brother. "Nor have you wrapped my hands up."

"You had time to eat," said Aurol, his voice wasn't kind. "Yet you didn't, nor did you remind me to wrap up your hand, so I forgot. You will have to wait until Uncle Woodley's."

Aurol gave a high pitch whistle. His horse began to trot down the track. The sound of hooves vanishing as he took off out of sight.

Albern was staring at the ground. A single piece of scroll lay motionless. It looked as if it belonged to a much larger piece.

Albern continued to stare at it. Though it wasn't much to look at, it was barely the size of a silver coin.

Albern whistled for his horse to start moving, directing it over to the nearest fence.

"We will catch up soon, Moon," said Albern, using the fence to help him off his horse. "Just wait here."

Albern walked over to where the piece of scroll lay. He touched his sword's handle as he did, for his hands were beginning to hurt badly.

He stood over the top of it, kneeling down. Its edges had been ripped; almost taking the shape of bite marks, and where it had been burnt looked much worse from up close.

'What happened to you?' He thought, touching it with the tips of his fingers.

"Albern!" shouted Aurol, his voice echoing through the trees. "Are you coming or what?"

Albern ignored his brother's call. Still looking down at the single piece of scroll.

'You're surprisingly beautiful,’ he thought, noticing four faded symbols on the other side of it. 'What do we have here?'

"Wait! NO! Don't turn it over". The desperate cry went straight through Albern's ears. His hand went to turn it over, possessing a mind of their own.

"Don't do it, Albern!” the voice cried, the sound of galloping hooves becoming louder and louder. “stop!"

Albern lost control of his body. His burnt hands hurt no more. He began turning the piece over, his sword becoming hotter and hotter.

"Put it down, Albern!" the cry becoming more and more desperate. "It will kill you!"

Albern's sword unsheathed itself. Its markings glowing bright orange. It flew itself at Aurol.

Aurol unsheathed his dagger, muttering words not from the known language. His dagger formed into a staff, a blue crystal glowing out the top of it. He waved it through the air. The blue crystal turning a blood red, it produced a shield like force, blocking the swords attack.

Albern's eyes were melting, yet there was no pain. He felt at peace with what was happening. He could hear his brother muttering words from a distance, he felt the emptiness of his scabbard. He felt free.

"Close your eyes, Albern!" shouted Aurol, still battling the unmanned sword. "Please!"

Albern could hear the desperation in his brother's voice, he felt sorry for him. Yet he didn't. Anger was swelling up inside him. Unwanted memories entering his head. He could see their Mother. Her final breaths being taken. A little baby being given to their uncle.

"What do you want to call him?" he said, tears rolling down his cheeks.

'Make it stop.' Albern thought desperately. 'Make it stop!'

He could still hear his brother fighting.

"Aurol," said his Mother with her final dying breath. "Name him, Aurol."

Albern couldn't take it anymore. He closed his eyes. "Make it stop!" he yelled. "Make it stop!

He could feel the pain returning, it was unbearable. "Make it stop!" he begged, yet it didn't.

He could feel his eyes regaining their form, moulding to fit his eye sockets.

He kept his eyes closed. They wanted to open, to feel the symbols against them. Albern didn't give them what they wanted; fighting the pain, feeling it weaken.

Albern stretched out his hand, feeling for the piece of scroll. Yet only dirt greeted him.

He heard hooves against the ground, becoming fainter and fainter. "Aurol!" he yelled, unable to hear his brother. "Where are you?"

He left me, feared Albern, scared of opening his eyes to see if he was there. He wouldn't have left me.

The though raced through Albern's mind. He felt helpless. He wouldn't have left me, trying to convince himself.

Tears began forming in his eyes. Memories of the night before flooding back, kneeling down in the darkness, no way to defend himself.

"What is happening?" begging for someone to answer. He tasted his tear, their saltiness cleansing his mouth. "What is the meaning of this?"

Albern laid down on the dirt track; feeling the stones press up against his back. He closed his eyes even tighter. Wishing for it all to be over.

The sound of wood on cobblestone woke him. It was a harsh awakening. Certainly not one he expected. Albern shot his head upright, his neck making him regret it. "Ouch!" he yelped, rubbing his neck with his hands.

"Sorry about the rude awakening," said a male voice, coming from somewhere in front of him. The voice sounded old. "Whoever made this road several blue moons ago, clearly had no idea what they were doing." The voice broke into a deadly cough.

Albern realised, after many seconds of confusion, he was on a carriage. He sat bolt upright, trying to see who was controlling it. He couldn't see anyone. He looked down the side of the carriage, noticing the amount of people everywhere. He then looked at the horse pulling it. There was something oddly familiar about it.

'Moon?' thought Albern, thinking how it was possible.

The horse took a left turn, revealing its whole body. A crescent like scar showed itself on its back leg.

"Moon!" said Albern out loud, his worries vanishing.

"Who?" said a voice behind him. Causing Albern to swing around in fright. "Who is this Moon you speak of?"

"Uncle Woodley?" said Albern, looking at the man’s old, frail face.

"I'm glad you remember me." He replied smiling, leading into a throaty cough. "And you're lucky I remembered who you were, too. Found you lying, dead like on the path leading to Saint Melen, so close to making it. Long night was it?"

"You could say that." replied Albern, still surprised by his uncle’s presence.

"Also," he said quickly. "Your brother left a note. Lucky I found that, too. Something about dealing with important business. Didn't say when he'd be back, nor where he was going."

Albern felt where his sword would usually be. It was empty.

"He didn't leave you a sword, did he? asked Albern without hesitation, hoping for the answer he wanted.

"He did not, was he meant to? Replied Uncle Woodley, looking concerned.

"No, not specifically" answered Albern slowly, concerned of his brother’s safety.

"He also said to wrap your hands up. You burnt them?

Albern looked down at his hands. The redness had gone, and so had the pain. "They're no longer burnt?" he questioned.

"The beauty of the Curealleaz flower," replied his uncle proudly. "Cures all burns, rashes and poisons. People pay an awful lot to get their hands on it, too. Unless you have them growing in your backyard, of course." He smirked.

"How much have you got growing?" asked Albern, curiosity influencing his question.

"You will soon see, my dear lad," replied his uncle. "For we are nearly there."

Albern looked up. Three great castle towers looked down upon him. Never had he ever seen anything quite like it.

"Ah yes," said his uncle, his face lighting up. "The kingdom of Saint Melen. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Quite." answered Albern, noticing banners with a single dagger printed onto them, drooping down the many balcony edges.