Chapter 35 - Promise

The room was smaller than it looked from the doorway. Four people, one bed, two chairs, and a window that faced a wall. Sari had hung a spare blanket over it anyway, and in the permanent dim light it was easy to lose track of whether it was morning or afternoon. Arien found he didn’t particularly want to know.
He lay at the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to his sisters breathe.
Alia slept most of the time, which the healer said was normal and exactly what her body needed. When she was awake, she rarely asked for anything and barely reacted to what was happening around her. She ate whatever she was given, and her answers rarely went beyond a word or two. Once, in the middle of the second night, she whispered Mama so softly that Sari’s arms were around her before Arien had even registered the sound.
He didn’t sleep much. Whenever he tried, his mind returned to specific, useless details: the particular sound the gate latch made when it needed lifting, the smell of the barn in winter, the teeth marks on the bars of his old crib, which had probably burned to ash with everything else.
He had lost parents before. He knew what came next. At first you survived because there was no other choice, and eventually the pain became easier to live with. It never truly went away.
Knowing that didn’t make the ceiling any more interesting to look at.

 
On the third morning Sari made him go downstairs.
She hadn’t asked. She had put her hands on his shoulders and physically pushed him toward the door with a cheerful brutality that reminded him painfully of Sari at nine years old, dragging him around a sunlit pasture and naming every plant she could reach.
“You need to eat something that isn’t bread,” she said.
“I should stay with Alia—”
“Alia is asleep and will stay asleep, and she doesn’t need you watching her do it.” She steered him firmly toward the stairs. “Will is already down there. He’s been there since dawn.”
Arien gave up arguing and went downstairs.
Mili was moving between the few occupied tables nearby, carrying breakfast from the kitchen. Will was indeed at the corner table with a bowl of porridge he had apparently forgotten about, staring blankly at the wall. He looked up when Arien appeared and straightened a little.
“You look terrible,” Will said.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I mean it as an observation, not a criticism.” He pushed the porridge toward the center of the table in what was apparently meant as an offering. “Sit down. Mili says they have eggs.”
Mili took one look at them, brought over eggs, and disappeared again without being asked.
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, Ribenne was already loud. Loaded carts creaked through the streets, voices carried from below, and somewhere nearby two people were loudly arguing over prices.
“My brother wrote,” Will said finally. “He wants me to come to the capital as soon as I’m well enough to travel. He says it isn’t safe here, with the border situation uncertain.”
“He’s probably right.”
“I know.” Will looked down at his hands. “It just feels like I’m running away.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“He wrote that he’s sorry about Father and the rest of the family. He trusts the King will do something and that Mother, Syl, and Riztor will come home safely.” Will hesitated. “Now I understand why Father always said Malbek was made of stone.”
Arien didn’t say anything.
“Father was teaching me an overhead combination,” Will said. “We hadn’t finished it. I keep trying to remember the second part, and I can’t get it right.” Will stared at the untouched porridge. “It’s stupid. It’s just a sword technique.”
“It’s not stupid.”

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“It feels stupid.”
“It’s not.”
Will nodded slightly, though he didn’t look convinced. He picked up his porridge, only to set it down again without eating.
“Your mother,” he said carefully. “And your sister. Kreft said—”
“I know what Kreft said.”
“Do you think they’re—”
“I don’t know.” His voice came out flat. “I try not to think about it too much right now. When I do, I can’t—” He stopped and took a breath. “I’ll think about it when I can do something about it.”
Will watched him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Then we’ll think about it together. When you’re ready.”

 
That night, after Alia had been settled and Will had retreated to the corner of the room with the focused expression of someone performing mental sword drills, Sari sat beside Arien on the floor with her back against the bed. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Outside, someone was singing badly and at significant volume. A dog answered. The singer did not stop.
“I keep thinking about the cows,” Arien said finally.
Sari turned to look at him.
“Lazy and Fat. I don’t know what happened to them.” He paused. “It’s a stupid thing to think about.”
“It’s not stupid,” she said.
They were almost exactly the same words Arien had used with Will that morning. A short, shaky laugh escaped him.
Sari looked at him for a moment, then leaned against his shoulder. Arien put an arm around her, and they stayed like that while the bad singer found a second verse. Eventually even the dog gave up, and the city slowly grew quiet around them.
He didn’t sleep for a long time after she did, but he stayed still and kept his breathing even so she could rest.

 
Several days later, the time came for Will to leave for the capital and join Malbek. Rain had fallen almost without pause since their arrival in Ribenne, and that morning it turned into a full storm. Kreft briefly considered delaying their departure, but there was no telling how long the weather would last. In the end, they pulled on heavy cloaks and prepared to leave.
Arien waited with Will while Kreft finished preparing the horse.
“Write when you can. If I don’t answer, I’m probably just too poor to send a letter back. And don’t forget me once you discover the capital has better sweets.”
Will looked at him seriously, then reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a knife. In his small hands it almost resembled a sword, with a fine wooden hilt engraved with the Greyrock crest and a narrow, slightly curved blade. Arien had never seen it before.
“Kreft found it in the ruins of the estate. It was Riztor’s. My father gave it to him.” Will turned the knife in his hand. “I always wanted one like it. Riztor probably forgot it in his room.”
Arien didn’t know what to say.
“My brothers never wanted me around. Not really. And before you, I never had a real friend.”
“Will—”
“I know your family was paid to keep me company,” he continued quickly. “I know that’s why you first came to the estate. But you didn’t have to become my friend.” He met Arien’s eyes. “I want you to be my blood brother.”
Arien stared at the knife, then back at him.
“And someday, if the King hasn’t brought them home, we’ll go to the Tyranny ourselves,” Will said. His voice wavered, but he forced the words out. “I’ll get strong enough to bring them back.”
His fingers trembled around the knife.
“And to make the people who did this pay.”
Arien wanted to remind him that they were only children, that neither of them knew where the captives had been taken or what waited beyond the border. But he couldn’t make himself say it.
Will’s words brought back the anger Arien had been trying not to think about since the attack. He thought of the burned house, the bodies of his father and brothers, and everyone dragged across the border: his mother, Lisa, Lady Helia, Syl, and countless others.
He had felt the same anger years ago, sitting in a courtroom while a judge sentenced the drunk driver who had killed his parents. The driver had been young, from a respected family of lawyers, with no prior record and an apparently convincing display of remorse. He received a five-year suspended sentence and a seven-year driving ban.
That day, he had wanted a weapon and the chance to deliver justice himself, both to the driver and to the judge, who he later learned had been a friend of the killer’s parents.
On Earth, there had been nothing he could do except live with the verdict. In Erador, becoming strong enough might actually let him do something.
Arien met Will’s eyes and gave a slow, serious nod.
Will drew the blade across his right palm. Blood welled along the cut before he handed the knife to Arien. Without hesitation, Arien did the same. The sting barely registered as they clasped bloody hands.
Neither spoke until Kreft called from the road. Will tightened his grip once before letting go.
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
 
Will climbed onto the horse behind Kreft, and soon they were riding away through the rain. Just before they disappeared from view, Will looked back. Arien raised his bloodied hand and kept it there until they were gone.
For days, grief and the need to keep moving had kept everything else buried. Now, with Will’s blood drying against his own, Arien stopped pushing it aside. He was angry at the raiders who had destroyed his home and at the soldiers who had arrived too late. Most of all, he was angry at himself for being powerless yet again.
Something shifted in his Status.

 
Avenger: a cold fire of vengeance burns in your blood. The names of the dead walk beside you, urging you forward. As long as your thirst for vengeance endures, you gain +0.5 perception and +0.5 Vitality per level.
 
End of Book One.