Chapter 4

The debates between the headmasters lasted for weeks. Our master would come out of those meetings looking more and haggard, one hand on brother's shoulder to lead him safely, the other tiredly massaging his brow. "Don't worry master," I would sometimes hear brother say, "they will see that it is best, eventually". I never really understood it when I heard master whisper "I hope they don't, my pupil, I hope to god they don't."

I was only 13 at the time, just coming into my manhood. I had no outstanding features or qualities; and though I lived in a village full of sorcerers and sages, I had no innate mystical powers of my own. My brother, on the other hand, was adept at nearly every magic he was taught. We were orphans, our parents had either left us or died, we never bothered to ask anyone; they all had their own problems. My name was Carl (Marianne raised her eyebrows, and started to interrupt Karl's narrative, but a stern glance from the narrator told her that he was not going to be interrupted), but my brother would call me "Little Caesar", a name so full of sarcasm he had but to open his mouth with the intention of saying it to anger me. My brother and I were never really close during those years just before the discovery of the resurrection magic, and it got worse afterwards. I guess to him, I was just a weight. In retrospect, I guess that's what all the others thought of me. The only one who ever treated me nicely was the blind master, but all I could do for him were petty chores. Every day I felt ever more out of place, every glance from any one else in the village, no matter how short or mundane, made me feel inferior. Finally, when the debates were at their hottest, and everyone's nerves were taught, I quietly left, with nothing but a dirk, a little food, and the clothes on my back.

I traveled around for almost a year before I returned to the village. In those 10 or 11 months, I had struggled to become something, anything, to prove to myself that I was more than a chore-boy. I had tried my hand at becoming a warrior, all I was left with was a basic knowledge of how to fight and a bruised ego. I tried becoming a merchant, a thug, an explorer, a thief; but failed in all those as well. The only thing I got for my effort was trouble, and the only useful skill I developed was a knack of surviving it. I learned how to live off the land, but quickly fell ill after only a few nights in the wild, so I had to spend twice as much time in the city, stealing medicines and food, as I could in the wilderness.

When I returned to the village, nearly a year older, none the wiser, stronger, defter or richer; I found that everything had changed. The village had become a fortress, with black armored troops standing guard at the impressive metal gates. The village had been transformed from an idyllic timber and thatch haven into an iron and stone monstrosity! Inside the village itself, the humble people who had resided there had been replaced with busy, warlike Samaritans; even the women wore black clothes, carried knives on their belts, and worked with a grim sort of determination at whatever it was they did at the time.

I had some trouble assuring the guards to let me through the gates, they were under orders to watch for spies, they told me afterwards, though they still regarded me with a look of suspicion. I could blame them, a year of stealing to survive had changed the way I looked, as well as how others looked at me. I didn't look like a prince, that was for sure. I was instructed to proceed straight to the council chamber, and was provided an armed escort, though I doubt it was for my own safety. And even though I was born and raised in that village (Karl chuckled wryly at this point), even though I was under an armed guard, every one in the village would stop what they were doing and put their hands to their weapons as I passed by, and watched me with such looks of paranoia that I couldn't decide to laugh or cry. I had just entered manhood, I was not even 14 yet!, and everyone looked at me like I was some sort of monster!

My thoughts so troubled me that I didn't even notice when I had arrived at the chamber. I didn't hear one of the guards tell me to disarm; I just stared at the council door, my thoughts turned inwards. But my reverie was broken quite quickly when the guards all leveled their spears at me and ordered me once again to disarm. I did what I was told in fear, everything about my home scared me now, and placed all my weapons on a small table near the door, the same knife I had when I had left the village, and a slightly larger one, a hunter's knife I had found in an abandoned shack.

With their spears still leveled at me, the guards ushered me inside. The first thing I saw was my brother sitting on a raised dais, on what frighteningly looked very much like a throne. He was bone thin and haggard, his eyes almost popping out of his skull. He looked like a court jester in his overlarge and dirt stained ermine robes, and looked like a mere fool with a weighty gold crown atop his brow. He looked so weak, that it seemed his neck would break at any moment from the weight of his hideously garish crown. But the guards shied back nonetheless, fear painting their faces. At first I couldn't understand why they were so afraid of him, looking like that. But even as the question crossed my mind, I felt invisible fingers clawing at my flesh from all sides. In a way that astonished me at the time, I knew exactly what was clawing softly at me; where they stood; I could almost see the dim shapes. I realized with dread that the dead filled the room. My brother slowly and laboriously turned his eyes toward me, and looked at me for almost a whole minute before instructing me to speak

"Do you not recognize me, my brother?" I asked in astonishment.

After staring blankly at me for a few seconds, all he said was, "Oh, its you," before turning his head again and making a slight shooing motion in my direction. The guards dragged me roughly through the door, then hesitantly gave back my weapons before telling me that the king (Karl's nostrils flared as he said the word with spiteful sarcasm) was busy planning his expansion and that I had no permission to be in the village, and, though I said I came from here, they told me to go back to whence I came. As I was pushed a poked roughly through town once again, going back the way I came, a woman, dressed completely in black robes, complete with a black hood, stood in the middle of our path. The soldiers hesitated, though she had no weapons on her, or any noticeable marks of strength. Nonetheless, a soldier in front stepped forward and asked insolently, if somewhat hesitantly, why she blocked their path. The woman looked at him with disdain, and without speaking, pointed at me. The soldier looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then looked about to take a stand when she brought both her hands together and started to chant silently. The soldier immediately jumped aside, and the others quickly followed suit, clearing the street and leaving my completely unattended. As soon as the soldiers were gone, the woman stopped her silent chanting and smiled at me, then turned and beckoned to me to follow her as she walked into a narrow side street. Not knowing what else to do, I followed, and there well and truly starts my path of damnation.