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...
In Naomi's eyes, Achim saw a flustered turbulence. The downward bend of her lips and brow told of her concern, but a fire deep beneath her trembling gaze was absolutely unwieldy. Alas, Naomi nodded and said, "...I will."
"Good," Achim replied.
The dark boy let out a pensive breath before looking around the ruin-riddled clearing. Achim soon saw the remnants of a collapsed home with fabric fluttering in the stench-choked breeze. The structure had been draped with a long cotton blanket that, at some point in the past, produced some semblance of privacy. Now, on this warm summer evening, the cloth hung without purpose.
Achim ripped a portion of the curtain from the pinning and sliced at the seams. By the time he was done, the fabric had been fashioned into a dingy cloak and hood. He wrestled Naomi's head into the coverage and, after an exhaustive effort on both their parts, her hair was hidden.
"Alright, now stand up and walk around a bit," said Achim.
Naomi would rise and spin, her priorities painfully misaligned with Achim's. "I feel like a junkyard model," she giggled.
"Don't say that," said Achim.
"Right! Models don't exist on this side of The Divide," Naomi thoughtless remarked.
Achim slammed both palms into his face and groaned. How much easier would this excursion have been had he left her behind? It was a legitimate question with an easy answer, but Achim's rationale wrenched and morphed before the sun-kissed girl. Alas, he sighed and gave Naomi's new attire another once over.
"Well, it doesn't look bad. How does it feel though?"
"Pretty fun actually," Naomi happily replied. When she began flapping her arms like a child in a cape, Achim's moonlight eyes glazed over. His judgment then compounded when her hair sprang from beneath the covering. The sun-kissed girl quickly stuffed her fiery curls beneath the veil, but it was too late. Achim's faith was already shot.
"Let's just get going," said the dark boy.
. . .
Achim and Naomi are officially over the wall. Naomi has donned a make-shift disguise to blend in, but it leaves much to be desired for the ever-cautious Achim. Naomi doesn't seem to mind.
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As Achim and Naomi came to a populated pocket amid the ruin, the first thing they saw were the lights. The streets were adorned with them, little bulbs strung on long wires. The lanterns lit the crowded path in a warm glow while shops with eye-popping signs shined in a rainbow of neon. Along with the lights, the streets were also shrouded in a mist of mouth-watering aromas as food was smoked, grilled, and sautéed in the open. The flavorful smells were so strong that the stench that blew in from the ruin was long forgotten. Dodgy radios played foot-tapping tunes of jazz and, when the radios failed, harmonica hums and guitar strings produced songs from street performers.
