In A BALLAD OF BROTHERS, fifteen-year-old Achim Arbitor searches for the last living member of his family; his brother. To that end, he wanders the ruin of an old world aided by powers believed to be a gift of God.
Years have passed since his quest...
Through the ethereal flow, Naomi felt something in the shadow of the Dark Wood. Her senses were innately sharp, but her limited knowledge rendered her blind to the incubus that was Adlai Arbitor. He was the unseen form in the shrubs. The anxiety nipping at her sixth sense. He melded into the thicket with practiced mastery, and he was pleased to find that his skills left her second guessing her instincts. But just because he had gone undiscovered did not spell complete relief. Only Nadine, his teacher, found him when he skulked in places unseen. Yet here was a common girl who felt his presence and pinpointed his location innately. Spooked, it was not until after the sun-kissed girl and his moon-eyed sibling departed that Adlai emerged from the shadows and stared.
"Who was that?" Said Adlai.
. . .
When I was younger, I used to want to draw comic books for a living. That was before I decided that writing was more my speed. Despite that, I never grew out of wanting to draw title pages similar to the manga I used to read. This one is of Adlai.
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On the other side of The Divide, amid a cluster of steel and stony decay, was a city of scraps and shanty. Known to all outside the confines of the wall, it was called The Yorktown Slums.
The slums were a remnant of an old age whose inhabitants lived in the detritus of a distant time. Abandoned buildings littered the scene in varied states of decay. Now fodder for the wildlife, nature's reclamation was slow but absolute. The structures within the shanty did not need to fear the flora though, not when the greenery cradled them so gently.
The elements were not kind by comparison. They constantly beat at the wobbling walls and crumbling foundations season after bitter season. These buildings were worn by the weathering, but many still stood because of the people who did the best they could with what they had.
Everything constructed here was born of debris. Twisted steel, crumbling bricks, and rotting planks went into every structure, and, after decades of collective effort, bazaars and bars emerged from the great recycling. These homes and buildings were squeezed together and stacked so that not even space could be wasted. This was the slum town way.
Adlai walked with the rotting realm in full view. The morning dew meant that the day was still fresh, but, even in the early hours, people darted up and down the dusty path. A slight chill lingered between the patch-work buildings due to the long shadows cast by the wall, so it was not uncommon for the slum dwellers to wear layers even on summer days. In truth, the slums were about as ideal as ideals went when compared to the rest of the wilds, but Adlai, in his short tenure here, had come to hate these ruins.
In front of one home Adlai saw a married couple exchanging farewells before the laboring day, and farther up the path were a troop of huntsmen. These grizzled individuals struggled to push a cart of equipment out of a dip in the dirt road, and, running past them, was gaggle of kids, parchment in hand, scattering to deliver the daily mail. The slums were a dour background, but each endeavor on display was a light of life. Adlai did not understand no matter how many pleased little faces he counted. He and his brood had only been there for a couple of days now, but the disparities between the interior and the rim along the fence were clear. So why?
Day-to-day living was a struggle. Plumbing was next to non-existent, and electricity was an isolated rarity. Meat meant days, sometimes weeks, of scavenging for rodents or hunting in the treacherous wilds, and green eating involved daily toils for only seasonal yields. The city only shined when it rained, but even then, the sparkling sight was marred by mud stains. Even light itself was hoarded by the citizens of the interior, leaving the slums along the rim as a dark place haunted by cold air. But for Adlai to find such jovial looks amid a deprived population; it was mind boggling.
The forefathers of this place had been a people rejected, and yet here they were in the spirit of their offspring. With a fist clenched so tight it could bleed, the eldest Arbitor could not stand it. How could they sit on the very edge of it all and still play the fool in their ragged taverns and rancid speakeasies? How could they be content in light of their unjust existence? How could they find contentment in their curse? More importantly, why couldn't he?
Fairness. That was the word. It proved far too elusive since he took first breath, and Adlai rubbed at the eyes beneath his hood as he wondered if the concept had ever truly existed. So long had the notion of justice been just that, and now that he knew that his younger brother had once again been graced, this time with the affections of a local, Adlai was on the verge of letting it all go.
He would let broken things remain so, for what would fixing them matter when the universe endeavored to sanctify sinners and reward the sin. The untold sacrifices made in the name of The Sunlit City, the crimes committed by the people who reveled in their pilfered riches; how could one look to them, or the world in which God had given them lease, and be happy?
Adlai had come to this place before, the throes of miserable resignation, but the pits of his despair were averted by the whispers from within. The voice spoke with imprints of Adlai's own. It used identical diction and his unique cadence, but it was not him. He knew that, but knowing was hardly the point.
The sweet caresses of those silent words easily enticed him. The promise of a broken realm made right; how could he resist?
This happened on every occasion in which Adlai tarried on thoughts of futility, insecurity, and failure. It was happening again, in this very moment. The whispers. They told him what to do as visions of success eased Adlai into the clutches of trust. He was bolstered by the beast, and his low chin rose from the assurance.
Yes. He was absolutely right. He saw the slum walkers clearly. Made dumb by their depravity, he would never be like them. He would have his justice, for the whispers told him so.
