FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

Comfort Zone

 

The beginning rounds of the tournament went about as I’d expected.

For all of Abel’s faults, he took his swordsmanship seriously. Likely because our father was a swordsman himself, and one of Flykra Village’s guardsmen. Abel had inherited his belief that it was a man’s duty to defend the weak. This was another difference between us, as I couldn’t imagine risking my life for a bunch of strangers. I’d much rather stay in my room and nap, much to the dismay of everyone else in the village. Especially our father, who routinely tried to rope me into their training.

We sat in hastily placed wooden stands, gazing into an ‘arena’ that was actually just a small circle of dirt surrounded by a shoddy wooden fence that looked ready to topple. I watched as a large boy entered through one end of the fence, with Abel entering on the other. Both had made it to the finals, proving themselves to be the mightiest delinquents in the village.

The village chief’s grandson was covered in leather armor. I couldn’t tell if what sat beneath the armor was muscle or fat, but it didn’t particularly matter. Abel spun his dulled sword arrogantly as his opponent approached, eliciting a cascading cheer from the audience. The grandson—Dag, or Dab, or something equally eloquent—raised his own blade into a combat stance. His weapon was nothing special, and looked like a toothpick in the boy’s meaty hands.

“Ready?” The chief stood on a podium outside of the arena, and waited for both contestants to give their assent. “Begin!”

Both swordsmen stared at one another for a long moment, neither willing to make the first move. But my brother had never been never known for his overabundant patience. He lowered his center of gravity, slammed a boot on the ground, and shot off. A cloud of dust erupted in his wake as the smaller boy dashed forward, crossing the arena with impressive speed. The chief’s grandson raised his blade to meet Abel’s.

Wood clashed against wood, and another cheer forced me to cover my ears.

“That’s my boy! Woo!” I glanced to the side with dismay as my father rose from his seat, punching at the air like a madman.

“Go Abel, woo!” On the opposite side, Lara had decided to join him.

The others’ cheers followed my family’s, shaking the sitting snow from ledges and making me increasingly concerned that our seats were going to collapse. Even the larger boy’s own family were cheering for Abel. Ouch.

As the cheers grew more fervent, I turned my attention back to the fight. There was another clash of blades, throwing splinters into the crisp air, and then Abel was gone. It took me a moment to realize what he’d done. My brother used the momentum of the larger boy’s attack, spinning on his right foot while his blade lashed at his opponent’s unprotected side.

Striking out like a viper, Abel’s blade bit into a leather shoulder pad. His opponent was slow to react, but to the larger boy’s credit, he didn’t falter. With little more than a simple pained wince, he turned to meet Abel’s next strike. Another shower of splinters ensued.

The larger boy wore a stern expression, sweat slicking his brow as he concentrated on the duel. By contrast, Abel was brimming with confidence as he weathered his opponent’s attacks. One was large and powerfully built, while the other was slim and quick. They couldn’t have been more different.

Unfortunately, the differences extended beyond their outside appearances.

It was clear to everyone in the audience, and perhaps doubly so to those in the arena, that Abel was the better swordsman. His movements were poised and alacritous, his blunted blade a speeding serpent that kept the other boy on the defensive. Strike after strike, I watched as Abel advanced. Never faltering, never relenting.

Something stabbed at my heart as I watched my brother overpower his enemy. My eyes followed his every movement, and I found myself wondering what it was like to have such strength. If I could just wield a sword like that, would everyone look at me the same way? Would they cheer for me, love me as much as Abel? Could I really be that strong if I’d just tried?

No, I told myself. They would still find a way to compare us.

There’s no point.

The racket of wood against leather tore me from my self-deprecation. There was a yelp, and something fell from the large boy’s hand—a sword. He grabbed at his shoulder, slinking away from Abel, who watched on with hungry eyes. My brother was clearly ready to continue, but the village chief’s voice echoed through the tournament grounds.

“Dav’s sword has fallen!” he announced, as if everyone hadn’t been watching. “The match goes to Abel Invidia!”

So that was his name. I liked Dag better, personally.

“Woo! Great job, Abel!” “Congratulations, Abel!” “Well fought, Abel.”

My family’s voices cut through the uproarious cheering, and Abel waved up at the stands. His haughty expression made me feel sick, but I couldn't deny that his victory was well-earned. Once more, I felt that pang in my chest.

The chief stepped into the arena, completely ignoring his wounded grandson to present Abel with his award. It was only a hand-crafted plaque made from wood, which begged the question: did they already have his award made? Of course they did; no-one actually expected Dav to win the tournament. Even his own parents had probably placed their crowns on Abel, the crown prince of Flykra Village.

A small part of me wanted the large boy to be angry, but it only took a moment for the two rivals to begin laughing amongst one another. Dav didn’t seem to be bothered at all, joining in with the congratulations. I didn’t know why I continued to hope. There was no-one else who saw things the way I did.

When Abel started walking toward our group, I took it as me cue to leave. No-one was paying any attention to me, so I easily slipped away as my family ran forth to meet him. It would be a while before anyone noticed my absence. Plenty of time to hide myself away from all of this inane festivity.

My eyes wandered while I crossed the village. Some of the youths were competing in a rather vicious game of tag that put the tournament’s ferocity to shame, while swarms of teenage girls argued over who would be asking Abel to the dance. I listened out of morbid curiosity, and heard my own ‘name’ mentioned more than one.

“Maybe you should ask his brother,” said a girl, sarcasm evident. “What’s his name? Zane?”

“Zeke, I think.”

“Eww, that weirdo? My papa told me he’s got some kind of disease–”

That’s roughly when I stopped listening. It didn’t bother me, really. I was used to being called names, used to the misconceptions. That was actually relatively tame compared to what the other boys said about me. Everyone in Flykra Village treated me like I was the lesser brother, wishing that I was more like Abel. They claimed that our parents made a mistake when raising me. As they say, every basket has a bad apple.

And since one bad apple can spoil the rest, people tended to give me a wide berth.

I feigned obliviousness and maintained my usual apathetic expression, fading into the crowd. Ice sculptures lined the path ahead, most of them crafted in a familiar boy’s likeness. Their arrogant grins seemed to mock me as I scurried back into my hole.

After some time, I managed to make it back home. Only to be greeted by a crystal-blue glare.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked incredulously. “How are you here?”

My mother, despite having been busy congratulating Abel when I departed, was now leaning against our front door. Her brows were furrowed in as much of an expression I’d ever seen from her. How in the King’s name had she known I would come back? And even more puzzling, how had she arrived before me?

I brought up my elbow, coughing into the crook. “I’m not feeling well…”

“Uh-huh,” Mother replied, none too convinced. “You didn’t congratulate your brother.”

“I’m sure he’s heartbroken.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No one actually wants me here,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “Just let me inside. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Mother sighed, and shook her head. “Not for you, Zavis. A boy your age should be out playing with his friends.”

“Right, because I’m drowning in those.”

“You don’t leave your room unless we force you,” Mother argued. “If you don’t have friends, then it’s no-one’s fault but your own.”

I felt my face turn red, and drew in a shuddering breath. “You’d have me make friends with people who think of me as a freak? Sorry, Mother, but you’d be better off telling a bird to eat its own wing.”

For a moment, it seemed like her expression softened. I thought there was a glimmer in her pale eyes, but if there was, it was gone just as soon. “Go enjoy the festival, Zavis. You can come back with me if you’d like.”

I held Mother’s gaze for a breath, before shaking my head. “No, I’ll go find something to do.”

“...Fine. Don’t cause any trouble.”

With that, my mother pushed off from the door and strode past me. Once I was certain that she wouldn’t notice, I began to inch forward. My hand reached out for the door knob…

A voice called out from behind me. “By the way, I locked the door.”

My heart sank.

I turned to find Mother looking back at me, her arms crossed. Was she smirking? No, of course not. Surely just a trick of the light. “Enjoy the festival,” Mother repeated.

Then she walked away. Watching her back fade into the crowds, I grumbled to myself. “Easier said than done…”

Despite winter coming to an end, the wind was still bitterly cold and the ground was slick with ice and half-melted snow. I’d always hated the winter, which was particularly troublesome considering that it was almost always winter in Geimhread. There were fires lit throughout the village for people to gather around, but I’d already decided to avoid them.

Sure, they’d warm me up but I would also have to deal with the suspicious glares and gossiping behind my back. If I had to choose between that and hypothermia, well…

Lara makes a pretty good soup.

And this was what life was like in Flykra Village, for the boy called Zavis Invidia. Shunned, ostracized, and labeled as an outcast. My family preferred to fret over my brother than to take the time to ask the simplest question in the world: are you okay?

No-one looked at things from my perspective, and so nobody had a chance at understanding me. How could they? Everyone was bound by a blessing that made them blissfully ignorant, hopelessly oblivious. They would sooner starve themselves and go an entire winter with one meager meal a day than let Abel lose a few pounds.

For far from the first time, I wished that I was somewhere else.

Someone else.

Eventually, the bitter winds began to die down and the sun fell beneath the canopy looming over our village. As the Wardens’ light faded and the festivities came to an end, all of the villagers gathered at Flykra’s center square. A large brown tent had been erected in-front of the chief’s house and I could hear someone playing music within. Beside the tent, a large table was being filled with dishes of brown meats and beige breads.

Geimhread’s sole delicacies.

There were pyres located nearby where people dumped their leftovers into the flames, suffusing the area with the acrid smell of burning food. I watched a villager kneel down, reciting a prayer to the Winter King, and asking the Scarlet Empress for a great harvest. It was an old tradition in the north, intended to thank the Nine for their hospitality by sacrificing some of your food.

Though in a place like Geimhread where resources are scarce, I had to wonder whether the gods were just the divine equivalent of homeless beggars.

Flykra Village was not a large settlement by any means, but it was apparently considered to be one of eastern Geimhread’s more prosperous ones. We struggled at times during the winter, but tended to get by. There was a population of nearly two-hundred, and most of them were attending the meal or dance.

I stood at the side of the procession, watching as my brother strode forth with arms around two different girls. I recognized one as being Theo's sister, whom my father had taken me to see earlier in the day. Abel probably intervened just to spite me. Not that I’d wanted to dance with her in the first place.

Some of the village boys surrounded Lara, who was perhaps the only girl not looking for a date with Abel, and asked her to dance with them. She was too polite to decline, so she was passed around the floor from boy-to-boy. Theo was her current dance partner; my former friend, who'd abandoned me as soon as Abel's blessing manifested.

I still remembered what he'd said to be back then: 'Sorry, Zavis. I'd rather hang out with your brother. He's just more fun.'

We hadn't talked since. I'd tried multiple times, back in the day, but Theo proceeded to act like we were strangers. As if we'd never slept at each others' houses, or ate at the same dinner table more times than we could count. I knew that it wasn't really his fault, but couldn't keep the bitterness out of mind.

Father had been quite pleased to see his eldest son attracting such attention, but now watched on with a scowl. If there was to be any bright part of the night, perhaps my former friend would get a little too handsy with Lara, leading to my father bringing the hammer down.

Or maybe just thinking that made me a bad person.

Anyway, this was a common occurrence during festivities. My sister was nearly a woman, which led to many suitors looking for marriage. Our father had a habit of chasing them away from his little girl, but Mother always stopped him. That line of thought made me realize that our mother was nowhere to be found. My gaze swept the group in search of our distinctive white hair, when—

“Zavis.”

I nearly leapt out of my boots, whipping around to find two pale eyes staring at me. They glimmered like crystals in the orange firelight. Mother wore one of her best outfits, consisting of a simple white blouse and dark pants. She was never one to dress up, making Lara far more of a lady than her.

“Mother? What are you doing here?” I asked for the second time, glancing back at the platform to confirm that Father was still watching Lara like a hawk. “Father looks like he’s going to lose it.”

She glanced at her husband with indifference before turning her attention back to me. “Your sister’s nearly a woman. She’ll be getting married soon.”

“Uh-huh…?”

I feared to know where this was going.

Mother came forward to stand next to me, causing me to shift awkwardly. Her eyes were boring into my side, as if searching for something. She had a habit of doing that, treating me like I was keeping secrets. It was Abel she should have been suspicious of.

Aside from occasional greetings, it wasn’t often that the two of us spoke. My mother had always been distant toward me, even before Abel’s blessing manifested. I always suspected that she'd wanted another girl instead of a second son. Or maybe she was just disappointed that I wasn’t more of a son, like the others in the village.

“I’m not going to dance with anyone,” I told her. It was usually Father doing this, but they’d apparently swapped jobs this year.

“That’s fine.”

I was prepared to argue, my retort already on my tongue when her words registered. Mother let out a soft breath upon seeing my shocked expression, which may have been a chuckle. But that was impossible. It was probably just a cough.

“I never cared for dancing growing up,” Mother said. “My parents always tried to push it on me.”

My brows rose in surprise. Our mother never talked about her family. All we knew about our maternal grandparents was that they had white hair, and lived somewhere in Geimhread. She’d left home at a young age, and apparently didn’t get along with them. Though I was certain that this was leading to another lecture, curiosity overcame me.

“Did your parents take you to many dances?”

Mother nodded, sighing wistfully. There was an unusual look in her eyes, distant. As if she were reliving a memory from long ago, a world away. “Too many, if I was to be believed. There were times when I wanted to lock my door and stay there.”

“Is that why you left?”

When I noticed her shoulders tense, I came to regret my words. Mother took a deep breath and stepped away, the moment apparently ruined. “You may not believe this, but I understand you. We’re not all that different. As your mother, let me give you some advice: sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have married your father.”

“That would have been tragic,” I replied, dryly.

Mother looked as if she wanted to say something, then shook her head. “Maybe try being more like your brother, alright? You might like it.”

Something shifted inside of me, and I felt my face become hot. Mother walked away without another word, and I watched her stride over to my father. He’d been glaring toward Lara, and seemed surprised when Mother wrapped an arm around one of his own. A pointed look was sent my way as she led him toward the dancing area.

Though my eyes caught the action, it barely registered. I’d clenched my fists at some point, breathing heavily. Her words echoed through my mind, and I turned my back to all of them. My feet moved without thinking.

‘Step out of your comfort zone.’

‘Try being more like your brother…’

That was easy for her to say. She didn’t have to deal with the looks, the insults, and the constant degradation. Did she expect me to get married in a village where everyone hated me? Where I couldn’t walk down the path without being looked down upon? To these people, I was nothing more than a worthless son, the lesser brother—an outcast.

And it was their fault.

Surely these people realized that I hadn’t always been like this. Things used to be different, back when we were kids. Back when Theo and I used to play outside with the other boys. I’d only become a recluse after the blessing manifested, when everyone started treating me differently. When Abel became the prince and I was scolded for not being him. That was when I realized: no-one wanted Zavis.

They wanted another Abel. If I was an outcast, it was only because of how they treated me.

I learned at a young age that the world isn’t fair. Some people are born lucky, given everything they could need or want. Whether it be the gods’ will or some other twisted form of fate—there was no point in trying to change things. It would only hurt me.

I was tired of that.

Better to stay in my room and keep to myself than fill the role I’d been assigned against my will.

There was no point in leaving my ‘comfort zone’.

There was no point in being Zavis Invidia.

When the sounds of music and laughter began to fade away, I stopped walking. Glancing around at my surroundings, I found myself in the outskirts of Flykra Village. There weren’t many houses out there, so the path was dark and covered in snow. The anger produced by Mother’s words had faded to lone embers now, and I felt numb. Empty.

Why had I gotten so worked up in the first place?

It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard those words before. From Father, and Lara, and Abel.

Realization dawned on me. The anger stemmed from her being the one to say those things. The mother who’d always rejected me. The one I wanted to be close to more than anyone. The only person in this entire village who looked and behaved like me. My hair and complexion had made me a subject of ridicule for years, either considered sickly or otherwise abnormal. She got away with it on account of being Abel's beloved mother.

I didn't.

My earliest memories were of a disappointed face, a strained smile. There had been no warmth in my mother’s gaze, looking down at her youngest son with disdain. I was an observant child, and always noticed when the woman kept her distance from me. All the while, she’d watch intently. As if she was waiting for me to do something wrong. The one person in my family I needed to be close to…didn’t want anything to do with me.

Perhaps that was where it started. Would I be a different person if she showed me the same love as Abel or Lara? If I’d broken through her icy mask, would I still feel so miserable? Despite this, I couldn’t bring myself to hate my mother.

My breath dyed the air in-front of me a crisp white, and a noise from behind caught my attention. Flinching, I turned toward the sound of snow crackling beneath boots. Someone was walking toward me, but this wasn’t particularly strange, as I was surrounded by the few homes located at the outskirts. I figured that it was some drunkard heaving home to sleep their buzz away, or maybe one of my family members had come to drag me back.

Turning to face the visitor, I found a woman standing at the end of the path. It obviously wasn’t Mother, whose white hair practically glowed in the dark, so it must have been Lara. I could see the dark, braided hair that marked her as our father’s daughter.

As she stepped into the silvery moonlight, I saw her clearly for the first time, and realized that it couldn’t be Lara. My sister was dressed in her finest attire for the dance, but this woman wore a completely different outfit. Fearful of being reprimanded or drawn into a conversation, I spun on my heel and walked away, keeping a wide berth from her.

The moment I turned my back to her, a clamor of warning bells erupted within my mind. My hackles rose, and my body locked in place. A sensation of dread, new and alien, seized me, causing my knees to quake. My heart thundered within my chest, breaths escaping in ragged gasps.

I cast a glance over my shoulder, only to find the woman's gaze fixed upon me. A chill swept over me as I realized she had closed the distance between us. And then, on the evening breeze, I caught a whiff of something foul, a stench like rotting eggs, that turned my stomach.

“C-Can I help you?” I asked, voice cracking.

The woman gave no response, continuing to stare at me. It was too dark to make out much of many features and long dark hair fell in-front of her face. Somehow, a part of me knew unequivocally that I should have stayed with the others.

Because now I was in danger.

Perhaps if I’d been more of a fighter, like Abel or Father, I would have stayed. Maybe this woman was sick or in need of help. The others always told me that I had a habit of over-thinking things. Yet the irrepressible feeling of dread accompanying the woman’s gaze assured me that I wasn’t.

Thus, I did the only thing that came to mind—I ran away.

Unfortunately, the woman stood as a barrier between myself and the other villagers. Too frightened to move past her, I sprinted past the nearby houses and through the wooden posts marking Flykra’s outer border. It was a decision I would ordinarily never make, but my thoughts were a frantic mess.

The packed snow slipped beneath my shoes, causing me to stumble. Struggling to maintain my footing, I didn’t bother looking back even as the night breeze tore through my clothing. Civilization soon faded away, replaced by trees and dense foliage. I’d never journeyed into the wilderness surrounding our village before.

Another intense bout of fear ran through my body. As if electricity was being sent to both legs, I leapt to the side by instinct. Snow exploded upward from where I’d been standing, and a blast of air threatened to knock me from my feet. In the distance, wood splintered and a shadow descended upon me from above.

I shrunk back in terror, throwing my arms up around me like a makeshift shield. The ground trembled and a deafening sound like a thousand logs snapping echoed through the woods. When my eyes opened, I sighed in relief to find that I was still in one piece. But the relief quickly faded upon identifying the source of the cacophony.

A tree had fallen where I’d been standing moments ago, branches sprawled across the ground and blocking out the moonlight. Snow and late-night dew drifted lazily through the air, and it took me a few heartbeats to understand what happened. My gaze shifted down to the tree’s trunk, wider than my own torso and several times as thick. The ancient trunk had been split down the middle, and something was stuck in the wood.

I inched closer, finding that it was the handle of a blade. An ordinary knife by the look of it, something that I’d seen Lara use thousands of times in our kitchen. Not something that could have cut down a tree of any size let alone one so ancient and large. I turned around, searching for where the knife had come from.

The woman from earlier stood in a clearing behind me, wild and disheveled. Her shoulders heaved, and I felt myself draw back as her gaze stabbed into me like a blade through the heart. I tried to call out, but my throat seemed to close in on itself. No words emerged, and I could do nothing as the woman took a tottering step towards me.

In that moment, I was prey caught in the claws of a great cat.

~~~