Fodel

chapter one

Fodel Starag stumped his lute softly, and imagined the notes drifting into the air. The night was cool in Gretherenn. It was a town growing, growing into a city, and exhausted workers and their families needed entertainment. Him and Mother made the stories go round. Stories of heroes of old, lost love, tragedies and comedies.

The other four, Father, Ramas, Kara and Mara all acted out roles of some sort, mother sometimes even partook in the acting routine. Fodel did not. He couldn't dance, spar with a fake sword, or anything else his family did to save his life.

His sisters where very good at this, they took on the rolls that he hand mother devised for them with ease. They ate the basics, and took it from there. Often improvised, but they flourished in there one-day identities, making ticks or movements distinguishing each character. Kara could make a stutter so convincing, you would think she had been born with one.

Fodel had practiced watching their faces to see just how deep it got. He had reached the conclusion that his sisters forgot their previous lives when they entered a role. Sometimes he wondered, in a nagging, incurious way, if his sisters were actually another roll acted out so convincingly, so flawlessly that no-one had the slightest idea that they where anybody else.

So he told stories. And he read stories at the libraries when he was at cities, taking notes, then presenting his findings to mother so they would write something together. Songs and poems, lines of music, and then the hours of practice. It was grueling work, and by the gods he loved it. And hated it.

It wasn't the performance he loved most of all, though that in its own right was a reward. To see that work paid off, it was a gift without value. It wasn't when he was approached in the streets and congratulated on his good work. Or when her heard people quoting the lines he had written. What Fodel loved most of all was the cool down moments like this. When he was alone with the stars.

Fodel was pretty sure everyone else was asleep, except for maybe one of his parents. He was alone, but something told him he was being watched. He dismissed the notion. No one would be up at this hour. And if someone was watching, it was at the very least form another plane of existence. Some celestial or something. It probably didn't matter.

Maybe it wasn't a celestial. Maybe it was a demon. This thought made him chuckle. The idea was so beyond preposterous, he couldn't help it. Maybe, he thought, still rocking in silent laughter, it was a girl. This last idea made him pause, freeze in place, utterly still. He closed his eyes and put all of his attention into listening.

Nothing.

Fodel didn't think he liked girls. Not in that way at least. Or... Maybe I do, he thought. Ramas was older. Maybe this was something he new about. Sometimes he was with a girl, but never for long. Either way, Fodel didn't think that was something you talked to other people about. Or family at least. Friends, maybe, but Fodel never stayed long enough in one place for that to be a possibility.

Mara was sometimes with a girl as well, but unlike Ramas, it was usually for a longer time. Sometimes boys would attempt something that Fodel assumed as flirting, but he was never able to pin down what gave him that idea. Best he could figure, it was because whenever that happened Ramas would become his alter ego. The older brother.

The older brother was a very different. For one, he didn't smile nearly as much. And when he did, the expression never went passed the cheeks. It was like another word to the older brother. Like "fun", or "bright", or "brick". It was simply another part of a sentence.

Whenever something happened, Ramas would whisper in the offenders ear, the boy would go pale, then walk away, no where near as confident as before. And Ramas would give that smile. Sometimes, rarely, Kara- it was almost always Kara, would slap him on the back of head, and Ramas would looked a little ashamed.

It didn't matter. Either way, whether it was an angel or a demon, a girl or nothing, his peace and quiet was ruined. These thoughts were uncomfortable, and the made Fodel squirmy inside. It was about time to return to the tavern where they whee staying, and get some rest. The night was late, and Fodel was tired. The stars would return at dusk.

Fodel got our of the dirt and stretched. His back cracked. He scratched at his forehead, and made more motions of a child who is ready for bed. Moving carefully, because of the dark as well as his slight dizziness from standing up so quickly, he made his way back to the tavern where his family was staying.

The tavern itself the "Frowning stag" as the sign out front suggested, would tell you everything you needed to know about the state of Gretherenn. It was rebuilt, with polished new wood, brand new paint, but with older tables, chairs, kegs, mugs, and basic utensils. The town might be refurnished, but it was keeping its roots. Fodel entered, and went to bed.

When he woke up, he descended to the first floor dining area, where his parents where already awake, eating breakfast. The room was almost empty, save a view other people in traveling clothes that had probably came in while he was stargazing. Fodel yawned as he approached them

"Morning mum, morning da." He yawned again, half way through his greeting. It was easy to see the resemblance. Povel Starog was a tall, thin man with big hands, and nimble fingers. Father stood and and embraced his youngest son. As he did he heard the beating of his fathers heart. Then the embrace ended. Father sat down, and Fodel walked to mother kissing her lightly on the cheek, then sat down on her left. Mother was much shorter than father, but far broader in the shoulders.

A server brought over a cooked egg and two slices of buttered bread, as well as a mug, filled with water. Cheerfully, Fodel began to dig in to his breakfast, being careful not to slurp. When Ramas was here, he could do it. Being scolded by mother or father was worth it, if he and his brother could laugh about it later.

The twins came down stairs next, their dark ringlets that looked so much like mother making a frayed halo around their heads. They made gestures to father and mother that where almost identical to the ones that Fodel had made only moments ago. Kara absent-mindedly rubbed his hair. Fodel made a warding gesture with his hands. Trying to brush her away. Mother scolded him for that. Kara gave him a smile when she sat down, and Fodel returned it.

Everything was alright. No one was watching him. Last night, he was tired, and that was all. His head was in the clouds, and he had began to think he could be a hero like in one of the stories that he told. Well that was nonsense, and it being nonsense was… ok. It did no harm. He would live to tell stories, and if he was lucky, that is how he would die. Doing what he loved.

Ramas swaggered in the front door, wide awake. "Ehya, pop. Morning mom. How long are we staying in town?" While father was lean to the point of gaunt, only coming alive during one of their performances, Ramas was full. Almost has tall as father, with his eyes leveled to the older mans mouth, but with broader shoulders, and a thicker frame. But beyond this, Ramas seemed to be more present. Like he had a gravitational pull of his own.

Mother looked at father. Father nodded. Fodel hadn't the slightest idea what this meant, though he had a nagging feel that he would know. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but likely years form now. It was like how Ramas seemed to be good at getting along with girls, something Fodel would understand. Someday he would understand those kind of things. How Kara and Mara communicated, however that was unique. That was utterly foreign to him, and he suspected it always would be.

"We where thinking about a week, maybe ten days before moving on. Do you have plans?" The way mother said the last sentence made Fodel uncomfortable. Ramas gave a big smile.

"Well, it is harvesting season, and one of the apple farmers needs some extra hands. He is also willing to pay me daily because of our schedule. A silver piece a day. The harvesting season is almost over, and he needs to get the apples of the trees before they go bad."

Father and mother did another one of those things where they had conversations that no-one could hear. Fodel looked at Ramas to see if he could understand it. Ramas was smiling slightly, but Fodel had as much insight into that smile has he did to mothers and fathers communication.

"Fine." Mother said. "I want you home in time for tonights performance. And make sure you're not too tired either, I need you ready and capable to do 'the lord barons misfortunes.' okay?"

Ramas's small grin blossomed. Fodel could tell he wasn't faking, but maybe, just maybe he was not as delighted as his face showed. This, more than everything caused him to wonder. In all the stories he told, and all that he read, It never go down the nitty gritty. How heroes of old recognized and enemy or friend, how they communicated with only their faces.

"Can I come too?" Fodel piped up. He was only part way through his breakfast, but as soon as he finished, he hoped to be out in the fields. He hope to be out in the fields. I want to be out in the fields. Why do I want to be out in the fields? this was troubling him, but he suspected that it should be done.

Another one of those silent conversations. Fodel began to demolish his food, to show his enthusiasm. Finally they agreed.

Why did I want to be out here? This continued to march through his mind. He hated this physical labor thing. It was boring. He was in the apple orchards and down wind of the animals. Cow, goat, and horse feces in the misty weather combined to a wonderfully disgusting scent. Worse, Ramas had picked up on Fodel's discomfort and was teasing him about it.

They had just switched over, so that Ramas was picking the apples and Fodel was putting them in the basket when they began to hear the screams. Between catching apples, Fodel was rubbing his hands together to warm them up again.

"Bear! Bear!"

Fodel turned around to see where this bear was. Groups of people where running every with way, and zig-zagging with no apparent center point to run from. Ramas was shaking him. He must have climbed down the latter. How long had he been standing there, unmoving, during a crisis?

"Run! Come on, Fodel! We need to run!" Ramas was yelling above the din. Fodel heard a low roar. The bear. The bear. The bear. The world going silent. The shouting, the trampling of feet, taking a sort of back seat in his head. In the front of Fodel's mind was that one sentence. The bear. The bear. The bear. His mind continue to chant, it echoed through his head like a massive cavan.

Then it changed. Ramas, Ramas is trying to help me. It was a weightless thought, without desperation. Flat, without conviction. I need to run. Run? Yes! I need to run! Fodel didn't run, he walked. Ramas still tugged at him, trying to pull him away. Oh gods. I am going towards the bear.

Without conviction. Again. In the days that were to come, In the years that would pass, Fodel would remember this moment. Not when he wasn't afraid, but when he was so afraid that he could only face the danger in front of him.

He saw the bear, big, brown, eyes the consistency of black marbles. It seemed to focus on him, and as it charged, giant paws tipped with dagger like claws ripping the earth apart. Impact craters instead of foot prints. It seemed to come from a long tunnel, the only thing that mattered, here, in this moment was him and the bear.

Ramas saw the bear charge. Despite himself, he let go of Fodel's hand. It was impossible how fast that animal moved. Ramas fell down. Fodel would be dead then. Ramas, failing to get them both out of this orchard as soon as they heard the first screams had killed them both. Not the bear, Ramas. It wasn't fear that kept him on his back. It was a sort of sadness. Failure. He closed his eyes, waiting for something wet and a little viscous to land in droplets on his face then something sharp to dig into his torso or neck.

It was getting bright behind his eyes. The bear roared, but there was something different in it. Fear maybe, or rage. And the light was defiantly getting brighter. Ramas peaked through partially closed eyelids. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Fodel was alive. That was thing number one. The bear was keeping a distance, about five meters or so. Fodel was unhurt that was a big thing number two. The real thing was thing number three. It was that Fodel was glowing.

Giant spectral wings protruded from his little brothers back, each feather a dazzling color of the rainbow. The bear was mewling softly, submissively. Ramas watched in fascination as the bear prodded closer, before edging away. Fodel stepped closer to the bear. The bear, its head inches from the ground watched his feet with something like fascination. Fodel continued to approach the beast, slow, certain, without hesitation.

The animal lifted its massive head to meet Fodel. Fodel met its eyes, and reached out. The bears nose came to rest on against Fodel's palm, wet and leathery. The hand moved off the nose and down the side of the snout, where hair was greasy, unwashed in weeks, not seeing water.

Fodel looked the bear in its empty eyes, and his heart dropped int his stomach. His face scrunching in sadness. He moved closer, to embrace the poor animal, wrapping his arms under the beast thick neck.

"Oh, you poor, poor creature," Fodel whispered. "you poor, dead beasty." Now that Fodel was close enough he could smell the rot. They flies had left the bear alone, for now, but they would come. As if to confirm Fodel's belief, the bear opened its mouth. The tongue was gone, and the hanging flesh from the roof of the mouth was just beginning to decay. The combo of bear breath and rot was a score worse than the smell of animal feces in the wind.

Fodel touched the bear between the eyes, his calloused fingers could feel the solid bone under the skin, and the beast fell over, heaving in wheezing breaths. Fodel wanted to cry. He didn't cry often, because he thought it was embarrassing. But the bear deserved it. Its corpse desecrated in such a way, did it not deserve a few tears at the hands of the human who had returned it to its final slumber?

The tears dried, yet soft sobs began to pass through Fodel's body. He didn't the see the specter step out of his body and vanish behind him. Ramas saw, but was too stunned to speak. As the Fodel clutched the grass, an absence began to peak into his awareness. Instead of a cold emptiness, it was rushing like fire through is veins. Raising his body temperature, till he was hot to the touch sweat glistening in a soft sheen.

Once his body felt like it was melting, a new type of pain emerged, sticking into his mind, the soft tissues of his young brain being slowly and expertly dissected, stabbing and slashing. The pain was like a beast, digging hungrily into the boys memories, gleefully playing with memories of regret, anger, disappointment, and more.

Fodel didn't scream. He couldn't. Instead, he flopped on the ground, not moving, with spasmodic breathing, and seizure like movements in his trembling appendages. Ramas got up, shakily, looking at his brother with befuddlement. Nothing was connecting right. Thoughts refused to line up coherently.

brother. That is my brother. His eyes widened a little, his pupil's dilating. My brother. There was a comforting certainty. I should be panicking. A little voice notes this a small corner of his mind. The little voice sounds amused. When the voice would speak to Ramas again, in the days and years that would follow, he would notice that it sounded like the brother he had lost to fate. he would notice, and remember.

Ramas doesn't really hear that little voice though not yet. His mind has found order, and is calculating on how to act. He stoops, picking up Fodel. A hand, unrestrained, uncoordinated, rises, and connects weakly with the young mans face. He takes the blow with a single blink. Ramas knows there is a healer in town. Part of him, in a cold calculation, doubts that a local healer can handle such a condition.

The older brother moved out quickly out of the forest, not running, but not taking his sweet time either. Holding onto Fodel was like grabbing cooked meat that had time to cool down. Squishy, and warm enough to be uncomfortable. The sweat on Fodel's skin made him slipperily like a seal.