A long time ago, there were two young brothers who lived in a cabin inside a valley between the maw-like mountains of Htrae. The valley held a lake of sparkling turquoise water and the purple peaks were crested in snow and clouds. It was as picturesque a place as you could possibly imagine. It even smelled of wood smoke and fir trees. The craggy range separated two kingdoms, and was, to the family, a refuge in a warring world. The two brothers played and learned and grew up sheltered by their doting parents and the protective bluffs that kept the wind and war at bay.
One brother was short and brawny, a dwarf the stature of the solid and sturdy stones that sat on the vale's sandy beaches. The other was tall and scrawny, just like the birch trees that grew in a grove by the lake. Each simmered with latent magic.
Within this bubble of manufactured peace, the brothers' powers grew. Both had an insatiable appetite for books and spells, sending their parents out of their hideout to retrieve a growing personal library. The arcane arts came naturally for them, as did their friendly rivalry – who would be first to memorize the words to levitate their father while he was trying to chop wood? Who would be quickest to find the most inventive addition to their mother's stew? Who would—
"---Wait a second, Grandpa," interrupted Laina. "What does this have to do with anything? Why are you telling us about two young boys? I don't get it."
"Patience, Grasshopper. If you don't shush, you'll never know," Ollie admonished, sticking out his tongue at Laina.
So, they all settled back into their chairs, ready to hear more of the story. Laina looked a bit skeptical, but Ollie continued anyway. "Right... where was I? I can't quite seem to remember."
"Who would," offered Will.
"Yeah, no. Lost my place. Darn it. Ah well. I'll start with," He paused and thought for a moment. "Soon..."
Soon it became clear that the elder brother was adept at wielding wind and snow, air and fire, earth and nature like they were paints on a pallet – which is called elemental magic. For a while, he trounced his younger brother in their forest games, always getting him to surrender first. Until the younger one found runes in old tomes and discovered an affinity for the energy humming off the page, like a secret magic language only he could translate – this was called runic magic. Then, he'd set traps by carving symbols into the snow or etching marks into the bark of poplars. The two brothers were once again even, traipsing around the woods zinging harmless spells at each other until each was breathless and tired enough to settle for a tie.
They pushed each other. They had fun with each other. But they were restless.
As they grew into young men, it became clear that their parents were hiding them away. Anything outside their haven was forbidden and therefore mysterious. The boys had searched under every stone and climbed to the top of every tree in their vale, they had asked every question they could think of, but still they were hungry, ravenous, for answers their parents refused them. They knew nothing of politics, nothing of the reasons their parents kept them secluded away from everyone and everything.
The two brothers, now thirteen and eleven, were spurred on by their curiosity and decided to hatch a plan.
They ran away in the dark of night. They left a note to assure their parents it was only an exploratory mission and that they would be back in a week or two. They were thoughtful like that. They weren't scared, no, they had no need to be; they were resourceful and skilled with magics.
They decided to go South. It was summertime, the birds were singing in the skies and the sun was filling the boys with optimism.
Three days in, they encountered a village, something they'd only come across in stories. From the forest it looked like clusters of cottages and smoking chimneys all lined up on either side of a large, fat, sandy path. They made their way eagerly, excited to meet other children like them.
At the entrance to the village was a toll booth, where there were two royal guards, dressed in crimson hauberks and gold chain mail. A guard with a funny looking moustache looked them over.
"Hello there, young men! You're new faces here. Fresh blood! What brings you to town?"
Jorah, the elder brother, answered. "Our parents live in the woods and we've come to get some stuff we're out of."
"Right then. Let's see your tattoos."
Both brothers looked hesitant. They didn't have any tattoos.
"Actually, my brother here made me a bet that I couldn't win an arm wrestle with you. I was hoping you might play along!" said Jorah.
The moustachioed guard laughed, his hairy lip twitching with glee. He was momentarily distracted and mollified.
"Fancy yourself a bit of a kinetic, hmm? Well that makes sense, kid. I'm a kinetic, too. You might be outmatched. But if you don't mind losing badly I don't see why not." He waved both of them over to the little wood table and chairs that were set off to the side of the checkpoint, while the other guard stood leaning against the wall of the hut and watching over his buddy's should—
"Grandpa, how is a children's arm wrestling match relevant?" Laina interrupted again. "I think you've lost the bigger pic—"
Ollie glared at his granddaughter. "Laina?"
"Yes?"
"Zip it."
Will cracked up and a small smile played on Sky's lips as she watched the family dynamic play out. In the short respite, Will moved to the cupboards to grab some bowls, milk and cereal. Then he placed them on the table for everyone to help themselves.
"Ready?" Ollie asked. "Or not, here I go."
Jorah took his place, his arm one third of the length and bulk of the guard's, even shorter than an average sized dwarf's.
"Are you sure about this, kid?"
"Absolutely. You're going to get walloped."
The guard chuckled in response, his arm in position, braced for the word GO.
As the game began, Jorah mumbled words under his breath, his arm staying ramrod straight, completely unmoved by the force of effort from the guard. But the guard was turning pink... and then red. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. Jorah's brother cheered him on, jumping up and down, calling his brother's name and pumping his fists. "JORAH, JORAH, JORAH!"
With a wave of Jorah's free hand, a tree by the side of the path began to tremble and a branch grew and snuck up behind the two of them. It formed a bent brown wooden elbow and then a forearm and then five twig-like fingers that came up to engulf and brace Jorah's small hand, helping his efforts to push. Both guards' eyes widened to saucers, their jaws dropping in disbelief, as the oak tree's strength made easy work of the arm wrestle, pushing back the guard's arm until the back of his hand was flat on the table.
The guard stood abruptly then, his chair crashing to the ground behind him. "That was spectacular! You cheated, but... how did you...?"
"That's not called cheating where I'm from," Jorah yelled jubilantly, clearly delighted by his victory.
"And where is it you said you were from exactly? That was one of the most talented displays of elemental magic I've ever seen. And you clearly also have an aptitude for arcane magic. I heard you casting a spell earlier. Two magics, that's rare!"
"I have two magics, too," said the younger brother. "Arcane and Runic."
The second guard who had been leaning leisurely moved to join the conversation. "Runic, eh, kid? You'll be a 'portant person one day, makin' our Empire run like a tickin' clock. There 're so few of ya left to help everything hold. I hope you're studyin' hard at the 'cademy!"
"Of course we are," Jorah answered for his younger brother quickly.
"Ya know, it's strange," said the second guard. "My son's at the 'cademy. He's trainin' ta be part of the Empire army. He's a kinetic, like me. But school's not out yet..."
"You must be proud," Jorah answered. "But they let us out early so we could visit our sick mom. We're here to pick up some medication and a few things to help her out."
"Which 'cademy do ya go to?" The second guard stepped closer to them, his expression unreadable.
Jorah began to cough and his brother peered at him, the picture of concern. When he was finished hacking up a lung, Jorah said, "Well, we should be going before we're gone too long. Wouldn't want to worry my Pa. He's got enough to worry about with our mom sick and all." He took his brother's hand and started walking further into the village.
"Wait right there, kid," the second guard said, catching Jorah by the collar and stopping him in his tracks. "We need to see yer tattoos."
The guard pulled up Jorah's loose beige peasant shirt to display his chest. There was nothing but clean bare skin above his heart.
"Boamer, get the Irons!" commanded the second guard. "They got no tattoos of 'titlement. They're not marked. Their parents are prob'ly deserters."
The brothers had played this game so many times in the forest. Normally, they'd spring spells, launch a wind attack of sand into faces, something. But both were scared, panicked and shocked, frozen in place as the first guard ran back from the little shanty with big iron cuffs that he clicked into place on their small wrists, looking apologetic.
And just then, a voice like bells on the wind said, "Please. Let them go. We'll give you whatever you want. We have money. It's all yours. Just let them go."
Jorah and Olleander looked up to see their mother and father standing at th---
"Hold up, hold up, hold up Grandpa!" Laina burst out. "The second brother's name was Olleander? But ... that's your name! That doesn't make sense. You're from here, not Htrae... right?"
She waited for a response, but there was only silence.
"Well?"
"Well... not exactly. Thought you'd have figured it out by now," replied Ollie. "The second brother in the story is me."
"What the hell?! You have powers? And a brother named Jorah? And you're from Htrae and we never knew this how?" Laina sat ramrod straight, her arms crossed in front of her, and her eyes wide. Will just looked curious. Sky looked like she wished Olleander would get to the point.
"I'm trying to explain it." He reached over the table and patted one of Laina's hands. "But if you don't listen nicely, I might have to steal your wagging tongue." He wiggled his eyebrows and waved his hand in the air with a flourish, feinting stealing it as if he were playing the vanishing nose game. Except that next time he might make something disappear for real. Laina sat, ready to listen properly.
"So, ahem," he cleared his throat. "This part is important," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
Jorah and Olleander looked up to see their mother and father standing at the mouth of the path. They'd found them! They'd come to rescue them!
So I, err... Ollie that is, tried to reach down into his powers, tried to whisper words of a sleeping spell to place on the guards, but it was as if the magic was trapped inside my body. The iron around my wrists burned.
"It's not working," cried Jorah. "My magic isn't working."
"Mine either," I said, with a quaver in my voice.
The first guard, the one who had arm-wrestled with Jorah, held our chains solemnly, a knowing look on his face.
I was scared. The second guard was walking towards my parents in a menacing way and my parents ... they weren't like us. Mom could make a few arcane spells work – instantly boiling water or getting the shovel to animate and get rid of snow, and a few things like that, but it was hard for her. Dad knew some runes but those didn't come in handy in this sort of a situation. And we were ... powerless. Each time we tried to call forth our magic our wrists would blister and burn and the magic would fizzle. We were completely at the mercy of the two guards.
"Please," my mother begged. "We have money. We'll leave. It'll be like we were never here."
"You can come away from this rich men," my father pleaded.
The second guard got up into my mother's face and spat on her.
"Trash! Only cowards hide. You run, you die. That's the Empire sentence fer deserters."
"The Empress would have collected my sons like they were fancy objects. Please, have mercy. Do you have children? I wanted them to be more than her tools for killing." She was crying now. Tears streamed down her face. My father was staring at the man as if he wanted to rip out his eyeballs. You didn't make my mother cry and get away with it in our family.
And the guilt was stabbing me in the heart. This was our fault, my brother and me. We had run away from our happy life. We had gotten caught. We had put everything in jeopardy.
It happened so quickly, really.
I remember the sound of whimpering, but I'm not sure if it was coming from Jorah or me.
It made no difference. The guard beat our parents to death.
We stood in shock, our mother and father's bodies lying there, glassy eyed. Gone.
All our fault.
"They didn't have to see that, Arnie. They're just kids," said the first guard, Boamer, as he pulled us away from the scene. "Clean it up and report it. I want nothing to do with this mess." Then he turned away from Arnie and lead us into the village, to where we would be held.
***
Did you figure out that Ollie was the little boy in the very beginning? If you enjoyed the chapter, please vote and add Wyrd to a reading list! Thank you.