FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

Born Lucky

 

Somewhere outside of time…

Death chased me through a maelstrom of mist and shadow. A barren expanse, suffused with eons of grief and the wailing of the damned. Flames of desperation burned hot in my breast, fear and exhaustion both threatening to overwhelm me. I wasn’t going to make it.

It felt like trying to swim against a raging tide, an entire world fighting to halt my escape. Howls echoed from somewhere close-by, cutting through the mist, and the clanking of chains heralded my wardens’ advance. Giving up wasn’t an option. Not when I finally knew the truth. 

I’d dedicated my life to the pursuit of vengeance, but it’d been too late for me to change anything. So many years wasted, one more person lost to the flow of time like a speck of dust in the wind. Now, there was a chance. An infinitesimally small chance, but a chance nonetheless. I had to remember what the god told me, had to fix everything no matter what.

For the ones who remain, and the ones I couldn’t save. 

I pushed my feelings and exhaustion aside, advancing. Through the mist, through the labyrinth, through the shadows. When Death’s hounds finally caught up to me and began nipping at my heels with slobbering maws, claws rending at my flesh, I advanced. When the wardens slung their chains at me, hoping to catch me like a fish in a net, I advanced. 

Just as I thought that it may have all been for nothing, something on the path ahead caught my eye. A small sliver of light in stark contrast to the darkness around it, golden and pure. Simply gazing at the light filled me with newfound strength, fanning the flames of my resolve.

That’s right, I said to myself. I have to escape. It’s the only way. 

Death’s furious shriek shook the world, space tearing itself apart under her ultimate authority. I didn’t listen to her words, focusing entirely on advancing toward that brilliant starlight. The hounds fell back, whimpering and unwilling to follow. Wardens circled, looming, searching for a means to destroy my final means of escape. There wasn’t one. The only being who held enough power to defy my newfound ally was Death herself, bound as she was to her throne.

I raced through the realm of Lady Death, fleeing from her servants, hearing her curse at her own inability…

And I laughed.

For the first time in an eternity, I laughed. My voice carried across the labyrinth and high into the sky where the damned congregated. To know that the monarch of this realm was bound by her own power, unable to do anything but glare at my insolent back as I escaped—it sent shivers of joy down my spine. There was no one left to stop me. 

No more setbacks, no more obstacles. This was my second chance, an opportunity that wouldn’t come again.

The sliver of light expanded into a radiant doorway, its power flowing over me like a warm blanket. I allowed it to take me. Death’s fury, the hound’s baying, the wardens’ footsteps, and the susurration of lost souls all vanished behind the veil. It was finally time to make everything right. Currents pulled me away, towards a familiar yet wholly new world. 

Towards a new purpose. Towards freedom. 

I just hoped that I’d make it in time.

~~~

~~~

Moon of Wind, the first of Spring…

I sprang upright, dreary eyes sweeping across blurred surroundings. It took a long moment for the pieces to fall into place, comprehension followed by a long groan. I sunk back into the thin mattress beneath me, tucked away within wool comforts.

Just another dream, I thought.

My dreams were safe havens, and being pulled from that sense of security had become an unfortunate routine. Never failing to put me into a sour mood, like having a good novel torn from your fingers before you could finish reading it.

What’s the point in an unfinished story?

A thunderous knock sounded from the far-side of my bedroom. I listened to my belongings falling off their respective shelves as my bed trembled. Someone was banging on the door, and perhaps I would have thought that someone was trying to break in had this not also become routine. Not that there was much to steal.

“Zavis! Are you awake?” A man’s voice came from beyond the closed door, eliciting a resigned sigh.

I called out in return. “I’m awake!”

As my fingers raked through my unkempt hair, I hauled myself upright with another groan. Relinquishing the soothing embrace of the blankets, my toes grazed against an uncomfortably cold floor. It was a sensation I had grown accustomed to, one that spurred me to always don a pair of socks before retiring for the night. The rest of my family made fun of me for it, but I stopped caring about their opinions long ago.

“Zavis!” 

The room shook again, and I wearily grabbed the closest item to throw at the door. Whatever it was slammed into the wood with a dull thwack before falling onto the floor.

“I’m awake!” I called, louder this time.

Satisfied and convinced that the incessant manhandling of my door would relent, I yawned and glanced around the dimly lit room. It was nothing special.

In-fact, mine was the smallest bedroom in our house.

A fact that I'd grown beyond being troubled by, the practical side of my mind telling me that it was because I had the least belongings.  Aside from several bookshelves of varying sizes, my bedroom was virtually barren. The others sometimes called this room my 'library' as each bookshelf was overflowing with novels of every shape, size, and genre. Books were rare in our village, as most of the villagers weren't even literate. I was fortunate enough to have been educated by my mother, who provided me with ample reading material. Though I'd always wondered where the woman had found so many books, which she regularly sat outside my door within large crates. Despite being asked by myself and my siblings, she always dodged the question.

Perhaps my mother moonlighted as a librarian herself. Not that there were any libraries for leagues around, much to my ceaseless dismay.

Turning away from the bookshelves, I moseyed over to the bedroom door, glancing at the tall mirror placed beside it. I'd considered it nothing more than wall dressing when Father had placed it there. It was a rarity to find me outside of the house, so I considered a brief look at my appearance really all that was needed. Though the women in our household would surely disagree, I was never one to fuss over my appearance. 

I’d grown past the point of caring what others thought. Immunized to the judgmental stares and whispering behind my back. Our neighbors had come up with so many theories about the village’s so-called ‘sickly child’. Again, it didn’t really bother me. This ‘sickly child’ was actually quite healthy, if you ignored my lack of exercise and vital nutrients. 

Let people believe what they want.

My foot brushed against something lying on the floor, where I found a book at my feet. Likely the same object I’d thrown moments ago. Bending down and inspecting the cover, a tinge of regret stabbed at me upon seeing its crumbled pages.

I turned and placed it back onto my bed, making a mental note to fix it later. 

Those books were something of an obsession, according to my family. I thought of them as more of a hobby, and Mother tended to agree with me. They were an escape, much like the dreams they birthed. Shields forged from paper and bound in leather covers.

Which brought my thoughts back to the door. 

I reached for the doorknob, and voices from the other side made me hesitate, propping my ear up against the wooden surface. It wasn’t that I was keen on avoiding my family, it’s just that overbearing people are better left for when the sun is higher in the sky. Which was just one way to describe my family. The strained relationship between my elder brother and I didn't help matters. It made things awkward, tense, so I tended to avoid all of them. 

I told myself that everyone was happier that way.

Once I was certain that the coast was clear, I pulled open the door. 

And then promptly slammed it shut. 

“Zavis? What's wrong, son?"

Where had I gone wrong? Had this man been silently standing there, waiting in the shadows, this entire time? Had I underestimated his capacity for moving unnoticed? More likely, he'd simply returned because I'd been taking my sweet time.

Steeling myself, I opened the door once-more. 

The beaming face of my father stared down at me. A truly aggravating sight to see after he'd torn me from the comforts of my dreams. I found my eyes wandering to his smile, which I'd always thought was a bit much. It showed too many teeth, like he was compensating for something. 

"Morning!"

Owen Invidia wasn't a particularly large man, though he unfortunately towered over me. If you didn't know we were related, you would probably never guess. Father was a handsome man with dark hair and eyes, his tanned face covered with an unruly stubble that blessed him with a rugged appearance. There were plenty of women in the village who blushed at his mere glance. 

Some people are just born lucky.

Father clamped an heavy hand upon my shoulder, practically dragging me into the hallway. "Your sister's made breakfast,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry.”

“You should really be more like your brother,” Father replied, chipper. “He was up training at the crack of dawn.” I stifled a sigh, and he slapped the small of my back, nearly sending me sprawling onto the floor. “Say, did you throw something at me?”

“A book.”

I heard him click his tongue. “You shouldn’t throw books, y’know. They can sell for a lot of crowns if you take care of ‘em. Say, don’t the Alberts collect books? Maybe you should reconnect with Theo.”

“Uh-huh."

“Come to think of it, doesn’t he have a sister around Lara’s age?”

“Good morning, Mother.”

Swiftly changing the subject, I slid into my usual chair and greeted the woman sitting beside me. Mother glanced over at me with eyes identical to my own, and nodded silently. That was the kind of greeting I usually received from her. With one look at our kitchen table, anyone could tell which parent I took after.

Aneira Invidia was a small woman who appeared woven from snow. Alabaster skin, short white hair, pale blue eyes. Traits apparently shared by everyone in her family's line, though I knew next to nothing about them. Like myself, Mother was never one for many words. Her expressions were always muted, her tone flat with little inflection. She would occasional smile or chuckle, but this was a rare sight.

 Like finding a white buck in the woods.

As I watched Mother out of the corner of my eye, feeling bitter, a cheerful voice came from behind. "Morning, Zavis!"

The middle child, Lara, swooped over and dropped a plate in-front of me. She was the designated cook of the household, as the rest of us were helpless in the kitchen. Lara had taken after our father, inheriting his dark hair, eyes, and ceaselessly outgoing personality. 

"Morning," I replied, curtly. 

My gaze shifted down to the plate. It was a painful sight. A lone slice of bread sat next to a thin slice of venison, barely enough to be called 'breakfast'. More like an early morning snack. 

Not that I would say such a thing out loud, of course. My sister and I had a decent relationship all things considered. She was doing her best with what we had on-hand. 

Or so I thought, until my attention was drawn to the boy sitting across from me. 

The eldest child, Abel, was busy devouring a plate that was practically overflowing with meat, buttered bread, and fresh eggs. He hefted a fork of venison into his mouth before meeting my gaze with a raised eyebrow, feigning ignorance. The boy was the spitting image of our father, and would no doubt grow up to be a handsome man. Provided that meals like this were an irregularity. 

Grumbling, I reached over to pluck a strip of meat from my brother's plate. "I suppose you wouldn't mind sharing?"

A hand slapped mine out of the way, and I looked over to find Lara glaring down at me. "Zavis! You have your own food in-front of you; Abel needs his energy today."

Sighing, I chanced a look at my parents to gauge their reactions. Mother watched on with apparent indifference, though I could tell that there was disapproval beneath. Father's was more obvious, as he scowled at me from above his own meager dish. 

Lara had probably used several days worth of rations to make Abel’s breakfast. We could have each split the servings and had full bellies until supper, but this too was routine. This was life in our household, where the eldest child was given everything he could want and then some. Often at the expense of everyone else. Not that the others would ever question it.

After all, I was the only one who could. 

Remember when I said that some people are born lucky? Well, Abel is undeniable proof of that. Because my brother is Blessed. I didn't know much about blessings, and neither did anyone else. From what little I'd read about them and heard about from our Mother, the origin and purpose of blessings were complete mysteries. In short, certain individuals were born with innate talents or abilities seemingly at random. The Church considered the Blessed to be chosen by the gods, and we'd even been visited by a bishop when Abel's blessing first manifested.

There were many kinds of blessings; some enhanced one’s physical or magical abilities, while others had stranger effects. Abel’s was the latter, and it made everyone adore him. No matter how much havoc he wreaked, nor how disrespectfully he behaved, everyone would find some way to avoid the truth and continue treating him like a perfect little boy.  

Everyone except for me. 

It took some time for me to realize that I was immune to his blessing, but it was obvious when they all started acting differently. Everyone in the village started talking about him as if he’d actually descended from the Great Beyond itself. My best friend—Theo—immediately abandoned me, running head-long into a life of following Abel around like a lost puppy. Most regrettably, even our family was affected. 

From that day forward, no-one compared to Abel in their eyes. On the days when they actually remembered that there was another boy in the house, they always made it about him. Abel did this, Abel did that. The situation proceeded to a point where the rest of us went hungry so that Abel could be satisfied, where the two of us weren’t given presents for our name-days so that Abel could receive more. 

But Lara couldn’t complain. She didn’t even realize what was happening, ignorant beneath the blanket of Abel’s blessing. To our sister, it seemed that spoiling her elder brother was simply the proper thing to do. I was the only one capable of calling out their behavior, save for the boy himself. Which always led to a scolding at-best.

So, what was the point? Abel knew that he was taking advantage of his family, and didn't even care. If everyone else wanted to life under his thumb, then I'd long-since decided to let them. It wasn't my problem.

Getting involved would only hurt me.

Shaking my head, I dug into my shameful breakfast. 

Technically speaking, I knew that none of this was Abel's fault. He'd manifested a power that was out of his control—it didn't seem like he could turn it off. No-one even knew why I was the only one immune. Everyone else rejected the implications that their minds were being tampered with.

Perhaps someday Abel would would discover the unsettling implications accompanying this 'blessing'. When he begins to wonder why everyone loves him, when he begins to question whether his future wife and children love him because of who he is, or because they are forced to love him. What would everyone think of him if they were freed from divine intervention? I considered those questions often.

Father's voice interrupted my inner contemplations. "How are you feeling?"

I looked up, hoping that he’d noticed the rueful expression on my face. No, the question had been directed toward Abel, still scarfing down his meal. They had clearly all moved on from me and proceeding into the part where they forgot that I existed. Abel glanced at our father and nodded with round cheeks, looking like a stuffed squirrel. 

My brother swallowed. “I’ll win,” he told them. “Just like every other year.”

Father grinned, still a little much. "Well, I know that you can do it.” Then he glanced over at his wife. “We know that you can do it. You’ve worked hard for this, son. Just remember what you’ve practiced, and watch our for the chief’s grandson.”

Abel waved a hand dismissively, practically glowing with self-confidence. “Him? He’ll be out of breath before he steps into the arena.”

The others laughed. Nothing he said was funny enough to warrant that reaction.

It was all so superficial. Superficial dialogue. Superficial laughter. Superficial smiles. My family members acted like mediocre actors reciting lines from a script. It'd been this way for years, and the one person who didn't follow the script was ostracized because of it.

 I frowned, and looked between them in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Three gazes turned towards me, making me regret opening my mouth. Lara smiled politely, as if assuming that I was trying to make a joke. Father's brows were raised in an expression that clearly said ‘wait, I have another son?’, and Abel rolled his eyes. Our parents answered at the same time. 

"The tournament!"

"The spring festival."

While Father's answer was useless, Mother's triggered my memory—the spring festival. I'd completely forgotten about it on account of not being interested whatsoever. We lived in the Nortis Empire’s northern province, Geimhread. It was known for having a harsh climate and long winters, so we were forced to live without crops and large game for the better part of the year. When the winter season nears its end, the tradition is to throw a big celebration to hopefully reign in a prosperous cultivation season. 

I'd unfortunately lived through fourteen festivals at this point, and couldn't remember enjoying any of them. The festivities included various games thrown together by parents to be rid of their children, an ice sculpture crafting competition, offerings to the gods, and a tournament between the village's most ‘promising’ young boys. 

No, I've never been invited. 

It was always capped off with a large meal and dance, which I tended to avoid. It wasn't that I hadn't tried asking girls to the dance before, but they were only interested in Abel.

At some point, I'd stopped caring. What was the point?

"I forgot about that," I said, shrugging.

"I take that to mean you don't have a date?" Father asked. He'd apparently taken my irritated expression as one of melancholy, because he slapped my shoulder and grinned. "Don't worry, I'll go talk to Theo’s sister!"

As I met my mother's gaze for aid, she only nodded. 

"She's a nice girl."