Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

16.4 Unbelievable

   Betha and Darla wandered among the trees, gathering fallen sticks and branches. "So?" Betha inquired.

   Darla smirked. "So, what?"

   "So, did you find much firewood? With Frederick?"

   Darla, faking innocence, replied, "Ohhhhh! That. We found enough." She picked up a few more pieces. "He is a decent kisser. Spunky. I like that." Their arms nearly full, they started retracing their steps. Darla went on, "And you? Seemed a little friendlier than usual with the prince back there? Getting soft?"

   Betha rolled her eyes, "He's ... oh you know. He thinks he's wonderful, obviously. You know I can't stand people who have been given everything, especially when they squander it. But watching him struggle so much with the rohva skills made him seem so ..."

   Darla finished her sentence, "like a sweet vulnerable little puppy?" she said in a syrupy voice.

   "No!" snapped Betha. "Made him seem more ... human, I guess." She paused, for they neared the camp, then adding in a whisper admitted, "And I know he knows it, but he is a little easy on the eyes. Did I just say that out loud, or was that in my head? Oh... stupid spoiled noble brat..." she trailed off, to Darla's obnoxious laughter.

   They dropped their wood by the fire and sat to eat some of the provisions laid out by Stuart and Gregory. The party was a little merrier that evening, telling stories by the fire, joking with one another, sharing tales and songs, and, by the end, even Aeden's spirits were lifted, in spite of his sadness from Priam's loss.

   They went to sleep. The fire died down to glowing embers while Aeden lay there, thinking of his poor sister, his father, his dear mother back in Ramath, his best friend now missing, and finally, of his brother. He had few memories of him, being but three when he had gone missing. He remembered his brother throwing him up in the air and pretending not to catch him until the last possible moment-which he recalled finding humorous beyond all reason. He remembered meal times when the servants would bring in the food, and sometime after the meals started, his brother would come running into the dining room, flushed and breathless, cowering under the berating of his parents as he slunk into his seat. He remembered his smell, of all things.

   "You awake?" Aeden heard Rupert mumble nearby. He rolled over.

   "Yes."

   "What are you thinking about?"

   "None of your business."

   "Aw, come on. Ok, I'll start. I'm thinking about Priam. Do you think he's ok? I bet he's giving them hell right now."

   "Yeah. I guess."

   "He was a good friend, wasn't he?"

   "Is. He is a good friend. My best friend. We grew up together. We spent all our time together. I've told him things I wouldn't dream of telling my father, or even my brother, if he were still alive. He was like a brother to me." Aeden huffed impatiently.

   "You have a brother?"

   "Had. He went missing when I was three. We heard later that other teenage boys in the city went missing around the same time, and so we think they were all abducted. But we don't know that-all we know is that he's gone. Probably dead. My father and his brothers and our servants searched for nearly a year before they had to come home. He went out the next year for several more months, but eventually...." He trailed off.

   "I'm sorry." Rupert looked over at him with his narrow set eyes. The awkward boy from the daytime replaced by a somber, even reflective young man. "You know, I don't have many friends, and I don't talk a lot with people one on one. So I haven't told anyone this:" He took a breath, "I hate royalty."

   Aeden looked up, eyebrows raised. "Really? Well. I'm only the heir of the sixth duke-it's not like I'm the prince or something..."

   Rupert smiled at him, "No, I don't mean you. Well, I thought I hated you when I first met you. Ok, I did kind of hate you when I first saw you. But, you've been through a lot. I had this image of royal's kids coasting through life, living on the backs of their servants and their daddy's money and title ...."

   Aeden smirked, "Well, that's not entirely untrue ..."

   "Ha!" Rupert did his silent convulsive laugh that tended to make girls stare in awkward disbelief. He recovered, and continued, "Yeah, I know you had that kind of life, but I always imagined that bad things never happened to royal kids, and if anything bad ever did happen, their parents or some rich relative would take care of it and make it all better. You," he paused, "you, lost everything, and here you are, fighting for liberation."

   "I'm fighting to kill my sister's killer, and my father's killer, and now maybe my best friend's." Aeden said, stone faced.

   "Well, ok. But at least you didn't run away down to the capital city and try to live at court or something. I might have after losing what you've lost. But you're here." Rupert nodded at him approvingly. "I like that."

   "I'm glad you approve, my friend. Do I have enough approval to get some sleep? Or at least a few pointers for our next duel?"

   "Yes. Think small." Rupert replied, apparently quite able to abruptly switch subjects without skipping a beat. "You were a dragon. I was a tiny hawk made of iron. To tell the truth I was just playing with you before that."

   "Well thanks for the honesty."

   "You're welcome, and furthermore," Rupert continued quickly, not noticing the sarcasm, "you relied almost totally on weapons. You had one brilliant bit where you breathed that sticky stuff at me, but weapons?" He looked disapprovingly at Aeden, "weapons are no match for a properly trained rohva. When I decided to end it, it was over in about three seconds. Remember-smaller is better, and trust your inner rohva a little more and your sword arm a little less."

   "My inner rohva?" Aeden practically choked over the words. "You almost sound like my aunt Kate, except take out rohva and throw in words like soul and creator, and you get my fanatically religious aunt.

   "I thought you were religious."

   "I am. Just not like my aunt. One time, during the spring festival of lights, we sat at prayer to the Creator. I was ten or something, and I starting fidgeting a little bit, I mean, they're long prayers, right? So she looks over and sees me, and looks down until the prayers are over. Then she marches over to me, grabs my ear, rips it nearly clean off as she drags me in front of the priest who was giving the prayer. 'This boy has the inner spirit of a devil!' she yells. 'His soul is crusted over with idleness and reeks of sin!' or some blather like that. So when you said inner rohva, it reminded me of her ravings about our inner spirits, our souls. But yes, I'm religious-I believe in the Creator and the Chronicles. I was invited to become a priest, you know."

   "No. You're kidding, right?" Rupert looked at him in disbelief.

   "Well, a little. I talked with my priest before the attack, and he said I should consider it, that I'd make a good priest, but he thought I was too ... worldly was his word at that time. Which is more or less true. So are you religious?"

   "Not really. I mean, I think I believe in the Creator, but I just don't quite believe that he would go through all the trouble of creating every living thing, starting at the smallest to the largest, give them all bones and brains, and then, bam: let's make humans completely different, with metal in our bones and in our heads, and full of millions of lines of instructions and filled with lightning, and able to get in each other's heads and imagine completely realistic worlds in every way..."

   "Who knows? Maybe animals can do that. Do you know that they can't?"

   "No, but they don't have metal in their heads either. Highly unlikely."