Authors Note: This was my first attempt at Fan Fic, and plan to continue the story when I can. I am still interested in anyone's reviews, and hopefully you enjoy my writing.
Telo
I heard the triumphant shouts in the distance, woman crying in relief all around me. Dust and dirt rising as a cloud, as children jump up and down, trying to catch a glimpse of the heroes. I could see the long line of warriors marching victorious through the village, and my father, Chief Urloes Gourvil at the fore front. Riding upon his high horse, his great axe hanging weightless on his back, mane of brown hair flowing to his shoulders. He grinned cordially, although his eyes could not bear to look upon the commoners. Voices cheered around me, ringing painfully in my ears. "Long live Urloes!" They cry. "Victory for Gourvil!" My eyes were drawn to the rear of the soldiers, men bloody yet proud. Proud, as they hold high rotten trophies. Trophies with eyes staring sightless. I tried not to gag at such a repulsive display, as I turned away from the crowds, the men, the shadow of death.
My name is Telo Gourvil, second son of the chief. I have always been treated somewhat different from my two brothers, as I was born to a different mother. It pains me, for our differences only grew over time, and looking back, I doubt my father every really acknowledged me. Oh, for the naivety of childhood.
Walking down the dirt paths of our village, I suddenly heard a familiar mocking from behind me. "Hey, little brother!"
"What do you want Ioen?" It was one of my half-brothers.
"Aren't you glad to see my return? It's a shame you couldn't come." The sarcasm in his dark eyes was evident. "You have no idea what it's like on the battlefield. Not just the fame, or glory, but the exhilaration! That feeling of your blade snuffing out another life." Ioen motioned violently with his arm. "Ha! Look at you. I bet you'd split like a twig at the first sign of battle. Don't lie. I see your eyes."
"I'm not afraid. Of you, or of anything else." He smiles at my answer.
"That's the correct reply in the chief's presence isn't it now?" Ioen grabbed me roughly, throwing me against a nearby wall. A few passer-by's took one look, and turned away.
"I'm going to be Chief one day, but we'll still be brothers right? You can be honest, right here, right now. Who do you think you are?"
"I am a son of Gourvil, and I am your brother."
"Wrong. When that day comes we won't be brothers. You'll either become my subject, or you will find yourself very dead on the ground. A son of Gourvil, hey! You have no right to claim that name, coward. Regardless of heritage, you don't have the guts. My younger brother is weak, but would be fighting by my side in a heartbeat if he was old enough."
We stared at each other in silence, striving for mental mastery.
"One day, you're going to find that this world is governed by the sword. If you can't understand that, how is my assessment wrong?" With those words Ioen spat on the ground before me, and walked off.
The feast was to be held that night, a repulsive event celebrating gluttons and drunkards, lasting from dusk till dawn. I walked through the gardens that surround the great house of my father Urloes, when I heard a soft whump behind me, barely audible. Turning, my eyes fell on something dark lying on the grass. Bending over to pick up, I found I was holding a strange black book of some kind, white spidery lettering denoting its title. 'DEATHNOTE'.
Death Note? What sort of book is that? Someone must have dropped it…
Well, maybe there's someone's name somewhere inside. I decided best to take it inside, and to asses it further in the confines of my father's library.
I say my father's library, but in reality it is a room all but avoided by him. It is here that my teacher Jaouen spends much of his time, recording the present and studying the past. My teacher Jaouen was a good man, and one of the few people I truly looked up to. I smiled at him as I walked past, and he gave me a respectful nod. Huh, no one else showed me the courtesy befitting a son of the chief.
I found a corner between two rising shelves, and I leant back, staring at the spidery letters before me. Definitely no name, instead there is some kind of list. "1. The human whose name is written in this note shall die. 2. This note will not take effect unless…"
Wait, what kind of ridiculous joke is this? This sounds like something Ioen would think up, if he could write. No, this sounds more like the witchcraft from the tall tales the women tell. But magic like that is for the children, and for the superstitious sages.
"Telo, you best get out of here for now, the feast's about to start."
Oh right, that. I was so distracted, I lost track of time.
"Thanks for reminding me Jaouen!" I shouted, running out of the library and heading down a long hall towards the sounds of merriment and laughter.
The Hall of the Bear takes up at least a third of the house, a giant room with an equally giant table stretching down its length. Urloes sat on a throne of oak-wood, a mink-fur over his broad shoulders.
On his left sat the elder warriors, and on his right Ioen and Ewen, my half-brothers. The rest of the table was filled with the noble men and woman, and the other victorious warriors.
I moved to sit a little way down from my half-brothers, and as my father's eyes met mine, his smile turned to a scowl. "You're late!" He shouted, already half drunk. "And you dare think you can sit by my general! What were you thinking boy!"
I moved to open my mouth, but I didn't get a word in.
"You're as bad as your mother. Good thing we got rid of her."
I stared at him. I had heard those words before, how my mother had been outcast for insubordination. How they had found her days later, or at least what was left of her. The wild animals had got to her they said.
White faced, staring into space, I got up. That was when I did it. I left the table, moving into a side room. My eyes staring into the main hall, at the grinning face of Urloes, that cow of a man sitting in ignorance, treating every man and woman like the expendable pigs that he devoured. I know exactly what possessed me. In that moment my hate for him was unrestrained, my hate for all of them seethed within me there that night. That's why I wrote in it, that book that screamed murder. I didn't think anything would happen. It was childish. As the warriors sat at their tables with their woman and their food, attendants running back and forth, a pen scratched quickly across a blank page. It was almost an unconscious action, as I stared at those beasts at their table. That pen in the shadows wrote one word. Urloes Gourvil.
Hilarity amongst steaming food, false smiles from painted woman. War stories of blood, as meat is roughly shredded with greedy hands.
A deep throated gasp, and a hand slammed desperately against the table. "Chief Urloes! What's wrong?" The panicked shout of a warrior. No answer, as the chief fell forward, his great head landing heavily on the feasting table. Eyes wide, he lay motionless.
"Father, what happened?" Ewen squeaked.
"Everyone!" Ioen stood tall, marching towards his father. He shook him roughly, and stared into his eyes. Ioen's face turned to stone, as he turned to face everyone. His voice commanded. "Everyone out! Now!" Ewen looked up worriedly. "What is it brother? What's wrong with our father?"
Ioen was solemn. "…Chief Urloes is dead. Long live Gourvil."
My eyes stared from that side room, a deep dread welling up inside. I could see Ewen crying, hear Ioen speaking softly, his face sombre. I had just killed a man, my father, and I feared for what would happen if I was to be caught. I felt shock and loss at Ioen's words. Yet somehow, there was disconnection, a lack of guilt. I mean, I hadn't actually attacked him or anything. There was another emotion. A sense of power, accomplishment, satisfaction. 'You have no idea what it's like on the battlefield. Not just the fame, or glory, but the exhilaration! That feeling of your blade snuffing out another's life.' The words of Ioen echoed in my head. No, it's not like that. My hand moves to write, my eyes locked on my elder brother. No, what am I doing? I'm not like him. I'll never be like him! A crack as the pen snapped in my fingers. I gasped silently in pain, as a small line of blood trickled down my hand.
No, I'm neither barbarous, nor piggish, nor do I have reason to know greed. I will show people I am different. Maybe, with this newfound power, I can make them see. Right this nation of blood. Something hits the ground beside my foot. An apple core? A voice behind me, like rusted metal. "Yes, kill for a cause. We've seen it all before, and we'll see it all again. Go on, make your next wish, the note is waiting. We will sit back and enjoy the show."