The Two Brothers (Part 3)

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

“Not a finer place to live," said Uncle Woodley, his voice proud. "King Pennen's rule will be remembered as the greatest. We should count ourselves lucky to live in such fortunate times."

Albern had never heard of such a king. For his quiet, isolated life meant the farthest away news he ever heard was only ever one or two bridges away, depending on the weather. "This King you speak of, how long has he reigned?" asked Albern, leaning forwards to listen.

"Long enough to have had an impact, m'boy," his uncle answered. "Cleaning up the mess King Leamet left was no easy feat. Such turmoil the kingdom was in, yet the God's answered our prays, giving us King Pennen. How sweet a day that was, I can still see King Leamets head rolling down the street, the cheers were deafening, yet beautiful. The golden crown being placed upon Pennen's head; I will never forget. Long live the King."

Albern listened as his Uncle started singing, 'Long live the King.' He had never heard of such love for one King.

The passing folk joined in, 'Long live King Pennen," they sang, passing the carriage.

It made Albern feel uncomfortable.

Uncle Woodley chuckled to himself as the singing faded away to the usual chatter of a busy street. "Your Mother would've loved this," he said, a tear sliding down his wrinkly cheek. "She would've loved the sight of everyone getting along, living in harmony." He coughed the last of his breath away, slamming his chest.

Albern could see the struggle in his eyes, he watched his uncle fight it, spitting blood over the side of the carriage. It hurt him to watch.

"You'll be old one day," said his uncle, managing to grasp a sweet breath. "You won’t believe it at first, so you'll continue on. Fighting in denial until you can't anymore. The inevitable cycle of life. You live, you die. You must think you have the world of time, you and your Brother?"

Albern watched as his uncle coughed and spluttered yet again, thinking of his uncle's words, then of Aurol. He couldn't understand why he had left. It was his idea to come to Cape Melen, to talk to Uncle Woodley. Albern reached into his pocket, pulling out the parchment given to him by Mr Flutwere.

'Possible Vilanchi.' His eyes lingered over the words.

"What's that you got there?" asked his uncle, staring intently at the piece of parchment.

Albern thought if he should tell him, running his eyes down the page. "It was given to me by Mr Flutwere, I do hunting and scouting jobs for him. Just another job he asked me to do."

"May I have a read?" His uncle's voice was voice polite.

Albern handed it over to him, thinking of Aurol’s reaction.

He watched his uncle read, seeing if he was going to screw his nose up at it, yet he didn’t.

Albern stood up and walked to the front of the carriage, watching Moon trot slowly down the everlasting street. He wondered to himself where his uncle could live, he said we were nearly there, watching shop after shop go by. Bakers were baking, prostitutes were waiting, he could hear the sound of blacksmiths hammering away at molten steel, making him feel for his sword again, yet only his empty scabbard greeted him. He felt lost, lost in a place he didn't want to be.

Albern awoke from his thoughts a few moments later, turning to his uncle. "Uncle?" he said, looking around the empty carriage. He looked back down the street, it was its usual self. He walked over to where his uncle sat, feeling the seat, it was warm. Where could he have gone? Moon was walking at a steady pace. He couldn't have jumped.

Albern whistled for Moon to stop, she listened.

He jumped down from the carriage, looking around. The sun was harsh overhead, feeling his flesh weep.

Albern walked over to Moon, untying her. "Where'd he go, Moon?" he said, untying her. She gave him a loving look, expecting an apple. "Sorry, Moon. I'll feed you when we find Uncle Woodley." He scratched her chest. "He can’t have gone far."

He whistled for Moon to start moving, walking steadily next to her.

"Had enough already, have you?" said a familiar voice.

Albern turned around in shock.

Uncle Woodley was sitting in the carriage, almost as if he had never moved.

"I-I thought you had gone?" said Albern, whistling for Moon to turn around.

"Gone?" replied Uncle Woodley, laughing. "An old man like me, jumping out of a moving carriage. You'd be scooping me off the ground." He chuckled to himself as Albern walked back to the carriage, tying Moon to the front of it.

"You weren't in the carriage?" said Albern, climbing back on. "I couldn't see you anywhere.”

Uncle Woodley starred at Albern, his face showing concern. "I've been here the whole time, Albern, I even watched you leave."

"You didn't bother stopping me?" asked Albern, feeling annoyed.

"You looked possessed like, I didn't want to disturb you."

Albern sat down, putting his hands over his face. What is happening?

"Are you ok, Albern?" his uncle asked, he could feel his concerned stare.

"Fine." He replied, his hands muffling his voice.

"I finished reading what Mr Flutwere sent you," said his uncle gently. "I thought Vilanchi's were a myth, children's tale?"

Albern laughed, wanting to scream. "Funny you should say that, because so did Aurol."

"Mr Flutwere wanted you to search the Wouldering Woods. Why were you and your brother coming to Cape Melen?"

Albern could feel his Uncles words trying to find answers. He didn't know what to tell him.

"Why did Aurol leave you, Albern? Why were your hands burnt?"

Albern had no time to think, questions kept coming.

"What is this sword you were speaking of earlier? Was it of any importance? I can help you, Albern."

Albern couldn't take it any longer. "Listen," he tried to say it as calmly as possible. "It's been a long day, long night and day actually. A lot of unexplainable events have happened in that time that I don't have the answers to. I feel as if I'm going insane, so I would appreciate it if you could keep your questions until tomorrow, I really just want to lay down undisturbed right now." He closed his eyes, begging sleep to come.

Uncle Woodley tried to cough as silently as possible, spitting onto the ground. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I’m just worried. I find you lying on a road, a note from your brother saying can I fix your extremely burnt hands and that he has to attend to some unknown, important business. You don't have your sword on you, I’m assuming your brother took it with him, where ever he went. I find a horse standing near you as if it's waiting for you to wake up. Now you wander off, thinking I've left the carriage. It's natural for me to have questions, Albern, I'm concerned about you."

Albern was drifting in and out of sleep, listening to the odd word his Uncle spoke.

"I'll let you sleep now," said Uncle Woodley, whistling for Moon to start moving. "I'll wake you up when we arrive home."

Albern couldn’t stop thinking. When he tried to stop, it hurt him more. He wanted to know what was happening, why it was happening. He thought of the symbols, what did they mean? He tried to think where he had received the sword, but his mind was muddled. He thought of where his brother could be, is he in trouble, is he hurt? Many possibilities crossed his mind, all worrying. The piece of scroll, Aurol's scroll. It has to be; why else would he be so protective over it when I asked him about it. He knew Aurol studied magic; top of his class, how jealous I was. Remembering it made him smile.

It had been five years since they had last seen each other before meeting in the Wouldering Woods. What could he have done in that time? The thought scared him.

He knew many wizards who would study the dark arts after finishing their traditional magic study, for it held far more powerful magic, that was known.

He lingered on the thought for a while before returning to where his brother could be. Trying to put himself into Aurol's mind, feeling long grass brush up against him as he ran through a field, running and running. Running from something, someone.

He drifted off to sleep, the touch of grass was beginning to feel more real. His sword swaying on his belt as he ran, hotter than before, hotter than ever. He stirred on the wooden seat, struggling to find comfort. The image of the field becoming clearer, he could see something gaining on him, widening his strides, faster! begging his imagination. He widened his stride even further, continuing on running, he could never stop running.