Deornoth continued his training, getting up early each morning to work on his swordsmanship. His skills sharpened with the summer, and soon, he graduated from his stick to his pitchfork. All around him, his family members noticed a shift in his mood with curiosity. Unlike his usual dreamy self, Deornoth would be the first one up, and already working furiously in the fields when they came out. The first one finished, he would dash off to nowhere with his pitchfork, then come back in a sweat for dinner. They left him alone, however; he was a better worker than he had ever been, and that was all that mattered.
Things had not improved with Rion. Deornoth's friend had stopped coming over; in fact, when they saw each other by chance on a path or in the market, both averted their gaze to the dirt or perhaps a vendor. Deornoth could feel Rion's gaze on his new muscles when he wasn't looking, however. He hoped that Rion would still be enough of a friend to not tell anyone. He was stronger and faster now, yes, but there was no way he could avoid his father's whip, something he knew he would get if his father knew what he was doing each day. Deornoth longed to tell his friend what he was doing, how he was stronger now and how he could wield a sword almost as well as a castle boy, but he refrained. Rion made his decision. Deornoth wouldn't be the one crawling back, begging for the other's company.
Rion, however, was not the only one who noticed Deornoth's strength and skills. One day, while Deornoth was working, his mind going over a new thrust he had seen the king's men practice, he felt Juhno's hulking form behind him. Groaning inwardly, he tensed, waiting for the sound of something whooshing through the air.
He wasn't quick enough. Pain seared through him as Deornoth made a mental note to work on his speed. Instinctively leaning on his pitchfork for support, he kept himself upright, then glared into Juhno's eyes. "What?" he asked, annoyed. "Shirking your duties? Father won't like that."
"Shut it." Juhno kicked him again. Deornoth, ready this time, whipped his pitchfork up to block it. Juhno's foot hit wood.
"I knew it!" Juhno cried triumphantly. Seeing Deornoth's innocent expression, he sneered at him. "Don't play cute with me. I know what' yer doing. Practicing yer swordsmanship, aren't ye?"
Deornoth was silent, knowing it had been a mistake to block Juhno's kick. He fumed.
Juhno laughed, seeing Deornoth's tortured expression. "Yer really dull enough to think that practicing with a stupid pitchfork will get y' into the Erkynguard, aren't ye?" He shot Deornoth a look of disgust. "In yer dreams. Yer a middle son. I told you before, an' I'm gonna tell y' again. If anyone makes it, it'll be me."
"Too bad," Deornoth spat. "When the oldest is too stupid and ugly, they have to go to the middle."
Juhno let out an inhuman cry of rage. He came rushing at Deornoth, apparently forgetting that Deornoth had a weapon he could wield with sufficient skill, opposed to his nothing.
Deornoth weighed his odds. Juhno, being insulted, would go and tell their father not matter what happened. He was going to get in trouble anyway, and there was no point in not having any fun before that. At any rate, he'd been dying to try his skills on a real opponent. He tensed, ready.
His training paid off. Juhno, in his rage, wildly threw his fists out, letting Deornoth block each of them with absolutely no effort. They continued like this for a while, until Deornoth, distinctly aware that the entire family, save for his parents, were watching. Deciding it was time to end things, he took his chance during one of Juhno's recoils to let the pointy end of the pitchfork strike. Juhno howled with pain as the three points nudged into his skin. Rage renewed, he came at Deornoth again, who blocked expertly and jabbed Juhno again. Blood oozed out the points on his chest. A gasp came from his family as they saw the red.
His blood boiling now too, Deornoth's blocks became fiercer, his stabs stronger. All of a sudden, images flashed before him. Juhno, stealing his food and his toys, bullying him and his siblings all through their lives. His father, beating him and his sisters and Tobe, screaming at them, cursing them. His mother, crying, pleading with his father for him to stop beating their children. Tobe, starving, begging Deornoth for food and a toy to play with. Suddenly, these memories appeared on Juhno's face, became a part of Juhno. Deornoth felt anger well up, and he beat faster and harder, hitting his brother more and more, intent on only destroying those images, destroying those memories. He no longer saw the bloodied form of his brother, the angry-turned-pleading face, no longer heard the begs of mercy and strained apologies.
It was Tira who finally caught Deornoth. He struggled in her grasp, panting, unknown tears streaming down his face, then went limp, the will to fight evaporating. His sister hushed him like she did when he was a little boy, then gently took the pitchfork out of his hands.
Juhno struggled to his feet, and only then could Deornoth see the damage he did on his brother. Little droplets of blood were everywhere on his body where the points of the pitchfork had punctured his skin. His shirt was now in tatters, subject to the hard tearing. Crimson ran from scrapes on his arm, and his face was bruising badly. Deornoth blanched, but refused to let his brother see that.
"Bastard." Juhno spat at Deornoth's feet. A bloodied glob landed on the grass near him. He looked Deornoth in the eye. "I won't b' forgetting this," he warned. It would be the story of town for a long time, and Deornoth knew that his father would starve and whip him for days on end. But he no longer cared. He eyed Juhno coldly.
"Juhno," Tira coaxed desperately, "Juhno, it wasn't entirely his fault. Y' had some part in it too."
"I did? I did?!" Juhno advanced threateningly again. "Y' have the nerve to say that it was my fault? Look at what the bastard did to me!" He held out his arms, now completely red. "Look!"
"Juhno." Tira looked away, despite herself. "Juhno, y' made him. Y' know he has his pride. Just like y' have yers."
Juhno took another step and Deornoth threatened, ready to jump up and defend his sister should the need occur. "Yer always defending him," he said with disgust. "But see if I care. An' see if I'll listen." He was now speaking to their entire family. "Y' wanna be on his side, that's fine with me. Just don't beg me t' spare you when I come out on top." He stalked off into the house, no doubt to complain to their mother.
Aranna rose and followed him without a backwards glance. There was a silence, then Tobe rose. He looked Deornoth in the eyes, and for a second, Deornoth saw himself in the little boy's face. Quietly, Tobe gave him an untrusting, apologetic look, then turned and went into the house. Deornoth watched his little brother go, then looked down. He put his head in his hands.
"Deo." Tira lifted his face, gently wiping the tears away from his cheek and giving him a hug. "I'll talk with him. We all make mistakes."
"No." Deornoth wrenched his head away from Tira's grasp. He quickly brushed his tears away. "Go with them, Tira. Don't help me anymore."
Tira chuckled, though it was unconvincing. "What do y' mean, 'don't help me anymore'? I'm yer sister. Of course I'll always help ye."
"No." Deornoth turned away. "I'm not going t' let him hurt you on account of me. Be on his side." He pushed himself up and out of her grasp.
It pained Tira, he could tell, but he had to do it. "Go." He turned around and looked into her eyes. "I'll be fine." He stepped off their field and crossed onto the road.
"Deo!" Tira pleaded, "Deo! Come back! It won't work."
"It's going to." Deornoth turned around and faced his sister for the last time. "I'll see you again, Tira. I promise. I'll get you out of this mess." He knew then that he had to. If not for his dreams of becoming the greatest knight, then for Tira's sake.
"Deo!" Tara begged one last time, but Deornoth turned his back on her, refusing to let himself see her again.