The Witch's Uprising: Part Two

Brother-Killer

Bryar

Brother... I'm sorry.

Kennet's face was all that Bryar could see, and his voice was all that Bryar could hear. When he shut his eyes in the caravan, or lay his head to sleep, Kennet's shadow followed. No moment would pass without a pang of guilt. No matter how hard Bryar tried to send him away, no matter how hard he forced the image of his baby brother into the darkness of his memory, the face returned.

When he closed his eyes, the wound would be there, waiting for him.

Every hand that held a work knife reminded him of the Stellarian sister. The killer visited him in his dreams too. In the mornings, when Bryar wiped the sleep from his eyes, he saw her.

She was a Sister; she was meant to act with proper judgement.

With her dark cloak and shaking hands, she had run away in fear.

She had only to breathe, to see that he was a child. Bryar tried to forget her, but the tighter he shut his eyes, the harder it was to let go.

If only he had watched Kennet... if only he had screamed a warning, the woman would have stopped...Such cold eyes, such dark hair. He cursed himself for hating her, when she only acted out of fear. But how could she be so foolish? The Sisterhood trains them to fight and fight well. That was what he had heard for so many years. He supposed the world had changed again. His questions came with every turn of the horse-cart. For every time he cursed the woman, he damned himself twice over. I should not have lied... he thought.

"When will we arrive?" he asked his mother. She had wept for days.

"Soon," she said.

His father remained silent.

They rode with their troupe north, and none of the men made their jokes or sang their songs. No actor in their troupe could pretend that losing Kennet meant nothing. He was the youngest - a fledgling actor, but a good one.

Bryar held his head in his hands. I should not have lied... he thought again. Murderer, that is my name to them now. Not one troupe member would look him in the eye. They whispered as they passed him, but not loud enough for him to hear. Every man, woman, and child in the troupe thought Bryar a fiend. He could feel it in his skin.

When his father found Bryar next to Kennet's body, Bryar told a story to keep the Stellarian sister safe. It was a quick decision - perhaps too quick. He panicked, yes, but telling the truth was more dangerous. He lied, and the reasons were simple: A member of the Sisterhood slaying a boy... There would be a hunt... Jon Lethy would make an example of her. His stomach churned. She had ridden away in fear that Bryar would catch her, or worse, that her sisters would. He said that Kennet fell. No more bloodshed. No more. He closed his eyes. A small part of his mind, the powerful fire that burned from time to time, gave him the thought. It was that fire that made him lie. Kennet had fallen. Kennet had fallen. He knew that lying would somehow help, he knew. And so, when his father buried Kennet, Bryar told him the story carefully: he played with a blade and fell.

He held his head tighter. The world clouded twice over, and all he wanted to do was unlock the part of his mind that could understand, that could pick the world apart - the fire that made the world make sense. It was a poor lie - a lie that would fail him. There was no knife nearby, and Bryar was the only person around.

Now, as the troupe moved forward from village to city, to village, Bryar could hear them whispering:

We should leave the whelp in Rodyl's Pass.

He should stay at Chalice Point. There's work - he'd live. He can't stay with our children.

Keep your knives close; don't let the boy near when you sleep.

They would abandon him. He was sure. He overheard his mother and father talking of the same. Maybe there was a place for him farther north, where he could grow up better than he had on the road. He wished he hadn't lied to them. He wished they knew the truth, but telling them that their other son was murdered by a Stellarian Sister...by accident...

His shoulders grew heavy and his throat tightened. I am a gull...without the wind or sea... Even in his mind, the words were small and choked, quiet and still. His eyes welled up with tears. When he closed them, Kennet was there in his bloody shirt - a pale boy without a home, without a life. His family and friends marched forward with their day, backs always turned.

He tried not to think about him, but he missed Kennet. He knew it was an accident, and he knew it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault Kennet was gone... It wasn't his fault.