Brothers of the Wind (The Last King of Osten Ard #0.75)

by Tad Williams

“Duty is honor,” my stern father often used to tell me. “And honor is all.” But I would amend his saying. I have learned that our first duty is to truth, because without truth, honor itself is hollow.

A whisper of surprise—yes, and apprehension, too—swept through the great hall at the description of such a large worm. The long conflict called the War with the Dragons had ended many Great Years before, though the struggle against the wormspawn still continues. None of the oldest, most terrible of the beasts had been seen south of the Snowfields since Aisoga the Tall and a hundred warriors from Asu’a and Anvi’janya had destroyed the mighty White Drake of the northern waste back in Senditu’s day.

I bowed then and left. I had much to do if my lord was to go giant hunting with the rising sun. It is hard to speak of my master Hakatri without also speaking of his younger brother Ineluki. In many ways they seemed like two halves of a single thing. They were nearly inseparable during their youth and understood each other’s thoughts so well that sometimes I saw an entire conversation take place between them in a single exchanged glance. As youths, they would race their horses side by side out of Asu’a’s gates, laughing as their steeds matched each other’s pace, the riders’ pale hair unbound and their cloaks billowing behind them. Seeing them, the people of Year-Dancing House would call out, “There go the Brothers of the Wind!” And indeed, at such moments they did seem like creatures far beyond the rest of us, even to their own kin.

“What madness is this?” Hakatri demanded. “You saw Hidohebhi with your own eyes, brother. This creature is the spawn of Khaerukama’o the Great, who killed thousands!

“Ah.” She nodded. “And your master’s Dawn Children revere the memory of the Garden. They celebrate the Garden even long after they left it behind.” She leaned closer, a strangely intent look on her face. “But our people were the Garden.”

They did this work with the only suitable tools we had, the brothers’ swords Indreju and Kimeku and a witchwood hand-ax from my master’s saddlebag.

It is perhaps surprising for me to say it—and it was far more confounding to me to feel it—but I was beginning to weary of living with my lord’s almost constant suffering. This, of course, made me feel like the worst sort of traitor.

Strangest and most frightening of all, though, were the dreams I had about Asu’a itself. Whether they sprang from my master’s imaginings or my own growing fears I could not tell, but they were truly terrible. I dreamed of our ancient home in flames, of dark, distorted shapes running through the halls and of blood dripping down marble stairs. I heard frightful screams and cries for help, all in the Zida’ya tongue. Over it all I saw again and again a shadow wearing the ancient birchbark crown of Asu’a’s Protectors, with branches that spread from it like the antlers of a stag. I dreamed that a ghastly horned shadow sat in the Protector’s chair, but the Sa’onsera’s chair beside it was empty, and the sky beyond the high windows was tinged with the red light of fire. Jingizu, a voice said, echoing through those Asu’a dreams, a voice that hissed like the Blackworm but that I could almost recognize. Sorrow.

“It tears at my heart,” said the taller one, and though he spoke quietly I recognized Ineluki’s voice. My fear ebbed but was replaced by a troubled curiosity. What did he want in his brother’s chamber? And who was with him? “He lives, but he suffers every day,” Ineluki said. “There are moments when I think it would have been better if he had perished in Serpent’s Vale.” I did not hear what, if anything, his companion said, then Ineluki spoke again. “Of course I do. No punishment could be enough to pay for his suffering. For what they did to him, I would happily see every one of those cowardly vermin driven from our lands.” As I peered from the shadows, I saw the shorter figure lean close to Ineluki, but all I heard was an almost silent murmur, like dry leaves blowing across the ground. The figure was hooded, but I thought I could guess the name of Ineluki’s companion, and my heart sank a little. “No!” Ineluki still did not raise his voice, but his reply was full of shock and disgust. “Never! He is dearer to me than anything. But I see no way to go forward with him this way. How can he be Protector when the time comes?” Again I heard the dry rattle of a whisper. “You run ahead of all sense, Ommu,” Ineluki said. “That day will never come. I have told you so before and told your mistress as well. He is my brother. He is my blood.”

“It cannot be helped.” He closed his eyes again. “I cannot do anything for them. I cannot live with their helpless love. I will find aid somewhere—a cure, perhaps, or at least something to dull this cursed, unending pain and the madness of my dreams. One day I will return and make things right for them—for my family and all the folk I have disappointed.” That sounded more like a fading dream than something he truly believed, and my heart ached for him. I ached for myself, too, but that was not something I could afford to think about until we had left Asu’a far behind.