Lerykaz: Tea
Lerykaz sipped at his tea, his ears pricked for his brother’s footsteps coming down the hall. Although he felt the warm, earthy liquid against his lips and tongue, it turned to ice as soon as it hit his stomach, or that’s how it seemed. Whether his hands were shaking from remaining exhaustion or frayed nerves, he couldn’t say.
He didn’t catch the door shutting, or his brother’s steps. It wasn’t until he heard the clinking of glass beads Lerykaz realized his brother was so close. Multiple strands, all glinting in the low light, hung from his brother’s neck and rattled against each other as he walked into the room.
His younger brother had always been bigger than him, one of those quirks of biology the universe loves to throw out. Muscles carved from petrified wood covered his broad chest and he stood a full head taller than Lerykaz. His bright gold hair only hammered the difference home. His brother was the mighty Xydasian Cloudscraper reaching for the Orb with every branch. Lerykaz was the narrow shadow it cast on the ground.
His brother still hadn’t said anything since the night before when Lerykaz had stumbled through the front door, still spotted with blood and clasping his knapsack to his chest. He’d passed out. He could remember the floor coming up to meet him in the face.
He’d woken up sometime this morning. The light coming through the window tried to split his head in half. His arms were bandaged. So was his chest.
A baby had been screaming when he awoke. It kept screaming the entire day. His head still hurt from it. Even the small glints of lights from his brother’s necklaces sent needles of pain digging into the back of his eyes.
Now everything was quiet, but that was more oppressive than the squalling. It was a silence that pressed against his bruised ribs and made the rough stitches in his arms itch.
His brother folded himself onto a pillow, crosslegged. Eyes focused on the pot and mug, he poured tea for himself. Steam fountained into the air, twisting into gentle curls. Ignoring milk and honey as he always did, his brother knocked back half the mug. He winced as the scalding tea settled in the stomach.
His eyes, bright red, snapped to Lerykaz. They narrowed as he leaned forward.
“Lerykaz,” he said, pointing at his brother, voice low.
“Zakyrel,” he said, jabbing a thumb into his chest.
“Karyzel,” he said, finger pointing to the hallway.
Lerykaz nodded. Karyzel was wearing a wristband of glowing orange hex with his name etched into it. Lerykaz’ was safely locked away in his chest under his bed. Zakyrel’s was on his right wrist, glowing a rich gold. He hadn’t taken it off since they were left in Xylar’s Den.
Zakyrel’s fingers tightened around the clay mug. His knuckles had turned white.
“Where’s dad?”
Dozens of lies had flown through Lerykaz’ head as he’d lain on the pile of cushions that day. Half hadn’t been remotely plausible and the rest insulted his brother’s intelligence. A few died in his throat this night and one made it so far as his tongue. He tried to stammer out an answer. Red eyes were boring into his own and he swore they could see the thoughts churning in his skull.
“He’s dead,” Lerykaz said.
Admitting the truth to someone else brought him some peace of mind. His hands stopped quivering.
“I killed him. I didn’t know it was him. Not until after it happened,” he said, his voice growing fainter. “He had a helmet and there was this light—this bright white light—coming through the gaps. It-it almost blinded me and it just—it just happened. Somehow.”
He had trailed off, whispering the last word. He sipped at his tea quickly, trying to drown out the silence his words had left behind. Now it felt like molten steel rolling down his throat. He coughed, splattering his hands with tea.
Zakyrel didn’t move a muscle. He sat silently, staring at his brother. Their tea cooled and outside the traffic along the street clattered against the cobblestones.
“That’s all? That’s all you have to say? ‘It just happened,’” Zakyrel said, throwing his brother’s words back with a sneer. “Having a kid? That just happens. Breaking a man’s legs in the arena? That just happens. Killing our father? No. No. That doesn’t just happen.”
His brother’s voice had dropped even further. It was a whisper cutting through the air like a throwing dagger. The tone was one of fury. Zakyrel would have been more comfortable bellowing at the top of his lungs so those on the other side of the village would hear it.
But if he did bellow it would wake Karyzel, so he had to be quiet.
That just fueled his anger.
“You don’t just happen to bring our brother home. You don’t just happen to turn us into orphans. You don’t just ruin our lives—my life—and say it just happened. You don’t just leave for a day, and say you murdered dad. You give me some elder-blessed reason—brother.”
Lerykaz searched for the words but came up empty. He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing. Kill one person to ensure something terrible wouldn’t happen to all of Ocost. Be the one person in the entire system who could pull it off. Fulfill the expectation he was something special. He was meant for great things. This was supposed to be it.
He couldn’t tell Zakyrel anything when he disappeared for hours at a time while training, or when he slunk off the morning of his mission. How could he do it now?
“I can’t.”
He murmured the words. At first he wasn’t sure his brother had heard him.
Yet after a moment Zakyrel leaned back. His face had gone blank. He carefully moved his mug and the tea set to one side. He moved forward, kneeling in the warm spot the tea had occupied, and leaned in toward his brother. Their foreheads were nearly touching.
And he drove his fist into his brother’s jaw.
Lerykaz fell against the floor, head bouncing off the wooden boards. Zakyrel hauled him upright by the hair and backhanded him once, twice, three times. Blood ran from his nose and mouth as Zakyrel let go.
Falling back, Lerykaz bumped against the wall and slowly slumped over onto his side. He’d been expecting retribution, though something heavier than this. His brother wasn’t the type to let his anger control him, but he was capable of worse. He was holding back.
Zakyrel crouched over him, putting a hand to his throat. Lerykaz’ pulse thrummed against his brother’s palm.
“I ought to kill you brother, I’d be justified. I ought to hand you over to the law and let you rot in prison. You took my future away. He was going to teach me things, make me stronger. He was going to take me away from here,” Zakyrel said, voice thick, stumbling over the words. “You too. He was going to come back. He was, and now he’s not.”
His brother’s grip shifted. Fingers gripped Lerykaz’ jaw and forced him to meet his brother’s eyes.
“Now I’ve got two brothers: an infant and a killer. That’s all. That’s all that’s left. Now I’m just an arena brat.”
Lerykaz said that once, not long ago. He regretted it now.
“You’re family, by Raxon. And I’m not you. No. I’m better. I won’t kill family.”
Lerykaz heard every word, though his heartbeat was thundering in his ears. Somewhere beyond his brother’s anger was the first whimper of an infant waking up.
Zakyrel stood swiftly, his necklaces rattling. He walked toward the hall, throwing, “You’re up” over his shoulder.
Heaving himself upright Lerkyaz worked his jaw back and forth to regain some feeling. Blooms of pain were already spreading across his face, and warm blood was running across his lips. He swallowed, tasting more of it.
His penance starts tonight.
Just as he got the bleeding under control with a few scraps of bandage he heard a sharp cry from down the hall. Levering himself up, joints popping from disuse, Lerykaz walked back to his baby brother’s room. It would be the first of many long nights.