Tales after Dusk 02

After Sevan stirs the fire to ensure that the logs catch, he follows his brother up the ladder to the loft where he and Thomas room together. He quietly creeps over to his younger brother, heart pounding while he hovers over him, searching for a sign of life; to his relief, he sees his chest rise and fall, rather laboriously.

Sevan kneels on the wooden floor, just next to Thomas' straw mattress. He peels the cloth off of his forehead and dunks it into a bowl of water, ringing it out again before gently dabbing Thomas' brow. His eyes are slow to open, thick with the crust of sleep but upon seeing his brothers, he offers a weak smile.

"Would you like something to eat or drink, Thomas?" Jacques asks. He sits upon the one chair in the loft, next to the small desk that divides his younger brothers' beds.

"No," Thomas croaks. He tries to rub his eyes but his body is so weak, he misses a few times.

Sevan shakes his head, "You have to, brother, in order to keep up your strength. How about some broth?"

Thomas closes his eyes, "Fine, if I must."

Though he would have hoped Jacques would offer to get it, upon seeing no effort on his brother's behalf, Sevan climbs down the ladder. Their home is rather large; in fact it is probably the third largest home in their town, if it could even be called that on account of it actually being a barn. The loft covers the front third of the building, with enough room for both brothers to have ample space, each with their own window. The edge is open out into the main floor with the exception of the far left corner of the loft; when their father grew up in the barn he built a small room up there to be used as a changing area and a privy.

The main floor of the barn has an open kitchen area on the right with long wooden counters and shelves for storage. Sevan can remember back to when he was a kid; all of those shelves had food on them. Now, almost all of them are empty. In the middle is a long, lopsided table with benches on either side, enough to seat at least eight people, though they never have any company. Centered in the middle left wall is a great big hearth, with a large hook that holds the soup cauldron. Sevan is relieved to find that there is still some soup left over from the night before. He ladles a cup but after discovering that it is still boiling, he opens the front door just enough to reach out and break an icicle off from the side of the house. He stirs the broth with the ice, tempering it down to a lukewarm temperature while staring at the open door at the back of the house that leads into his Mother's room. It is the largest, most private room of the house; across the small hallway from her door is the bathroom and Jacques' tiny bedroom. All three of the boys fought for that small room, simply because it allowed them almost as much privacy as their Mother's, even though it was substantially colder in the winter. The loft above, in the back of the barn, is walled off to keep it separate from the inside. It can only be accessed from the outside and is where they keep the straw and hay for the horse.

Sevan carefully climbs back into the loft with the cup of broth in his hand. It takes a lot of coaxing but he manages to get Thomas into a sitting position. Jacques decides to help and strips off Thomas' shirt, wiping down his sweaty chest while he struggles to sip down the broth. Sevan makes him finish it all, before putting a fresh shirt on him and helping him back down onto the bed. It is only a few seconds before Thomas falls asleep again; Sevan covers him, tucking in the blankets tight so that he doesn't catch a chill. He lingers for a moment, saying a silent goodbye to his brother, as he has done every time he leaves his side. Climbing down the ladder, he leaves Jacques alone to do the same.

Sevan pulls a package of meat from his cloak, dumping it into an empty pot. Though it can hardly be called meat, since it is mostly bones that have been cleaned off, he at least knows that it is fresh, from a cow butchered last night. His boss didn't even charge him for it since it was going to be thrown out anyways.

"You are such a good brother, taking care of him so well," Jacques says after climbing back down the ladder.

Sevan looks at him, thinking that his brother is behaving oddly, "Yes, well, I just hope that Mother gets home soon, I don't know how much longer he is going to hold on."

Finding a few scraps and peelings of potatoes, carrots and onions from last night's soup, he adds them to the pot, knowing that they will make a wonderful broth and it will do Thomas some good to have a change of taste, even if it won't help Sevan at all. He bundles up in his cloak. Lugging the pot with him, he heads outside to fill it up with snow.

The wind bites through his thin cloak, so he tries to make short work of it. Packing it tight, he makes sure to mound the snow on top of the pot because he knows that when it melts, it will take up a lot less room than when it is frozen. His hands begin to go numb and he is barely able to hold onto the handle while he heads inside. Sevan walks to the hearth and sets it on the hook over the fire; he adds a few more logs for good measure before sitting in the worn chair in front of it, in the tiny seating area they have. Though the furniture might have been glorious at one point, he thinks that his parents must have gotten them for free when someone was throwing them out. The dingy, yet elegant rug on the floor is in the center of the seating area is surrounded by sleek, curved back sofas and chairs that have various threadbare patches and holes in them. Regardless of their appearance, they are still somewhat comfortable.

Jacques sets some money on the table, "Well brother, I must be going so I can get ready. I will try to stop in tomorrow if I can." He offers a fake smile.

Slowly nodding, Sevan watches his older brother go, shutting the door behind him. Jacques hasn't been back home since Mother left, a full week ago, so he is glad that he stopped in to see Thomas and had the opportunity to say his farewells in case their brother slipped away quietly into the darkness. However on the other hand, he is thankful that Jacques didn't stay long and has been scarce since he joined the militia. It is hard to say what will set off his brother but some nights he fears for his life. While he minds Mother and is nice enough to Thomas, for the past ten years or so Jacques has had a grudge against Sevan that has gotten progressively worse. There were a few nights, before he moved out, that Jacques came home so violently drunk that after he went to sleep, Mother would climb up into the loft with them and they would pull the ladder up, out of fear that he might do something that he could not take back.

He pulls the small book from his pocket and begins to read, trying to drown out the misery of his circumstance. As the soup begins to heat up, filling the house with the misleading smells of a wonderful meal, Sevan breaks from his book a few times to add more snow to it. He makes it through a few chapters before his burning, tired eyes make him to stop. While he could spend the entire afternoon and evening finishing the book, he forces himself to put it down so that he might have the chance to savor the escape from his bleak world. He finds it so easy to get wrapped up into the pages, sucked into the character's story. When it is over, depending on the ending he is either depressed for a few days until he finds another to cheer him up, or in a happy, content mood until he realizes that nothing that wonderful will ever happen to him, in which case he becomes depressed for a few days until he finds another to cheer him up.

Standing and stretching, he climbs the ladder to check on Thomas again. He sleeps still, breathing steadily—he won't wake again until morning, if he is lucky enough to wake again at all. Sevan watches him for a few moments, finally deciding that it wouldn't hurt to go to the party for a few hours. They always have good food there and a tremendous amount—perhaps if he leaves through the kitchen he can sweet talk the Governor's cook into giving him some scraps to take home. He grabs his best clothes from the old dresser that he shares with Thomas and begins to melt enough snow to wash with.

...

The Governor's house is at the opposite end of town and by the time Sevan reaches it his hands ache with the pain of cold. Set on the very last street at the far edge, its neatly manicured backyard is tucked into a lush forest. The front cobblestone drive is full of carriages; large stone vases roar with fires along the curve to keep both the horses and the coachmen from freezing. A few quick steps take him through the large double front doors where he reluctantly gives his cloak to the butler before slowly walking into the crowded foyer.

Though a majority of the houses in town are half the size of his own, the Governor's house is at least four times the size of the barn that Sevan and his family call home, though Sevan often wonders what a true mansion would look like. The books he reads paints them so incredibly large that one could easily lose themselves in the twisting corridors and secret passageways, or guests could stay in a different room for at least a week before having to repeat any.

Just beyond the foyer is a large living room, about the size of his house; it has been cleared of all furniture to allow for an open area to dance. A stringed quartet is stationed along the far back wall just in front of the fire place and on either side of them are two or three couches full of chatting women. The floor itself is covered with couples dancing about the room, the edges spotted with small cliques of people.

To the right of the foyer is a large hallway, lined with tables full of food. Just beyond it is the dining room and kitchen. To the left is another hallway with chairs on either side, all full. Sevan takes a right and slowly walks the length of the table, grabbing a plate. He takes his time despite his growling belly, making sure to stand up straight and keep his chin up so as to emulate the appearance of being classy. Though everyone in town knows of his family and their fortune, his Mother always instilled in him the necessity of appearances for he only has two options for improving his station: work until he is dead, or marry up. When his plate is full but not too full, he eats delicately while walking down the hallway. He is thankful to get a wave from someone who would call him a friend, though they never really converse much. He joins their group, listening attentively while eating and adding a few poignant statements when necessary.

Sevan eats until his stomach quits trying to digest itself. While he could easily eat three or four times more than he did, he doesn't want to appear that he is desperate for food, not wanting to give anyone insight to the true misery of his family and fortune. He smiles and mingles with a few others that he vaguely knows, trying hard to pretend to be interested in their gossip though he really just wants to fill a plate and head home. After a few hours of conversing he slowly walks down the hallway towards the kitchen to sweet talk the cook, who is an old friend of his Mother's, out of some scraps. He is just about there when a delicate arm slips through his.

"Sevan! I am so glad you came," Clare beams at him, swaying slightly.

"Good evening, Clare," he says, steadying her as it is obvious she has been drinking, "I was actually just heading home to check on Thomas." Her smile is sloppy, her eyes a bit dazed and flirtatious. The gown she wears, a deep purple affair, costs more than everything he owns. It is laced up so tight that it has squeezed all of the fat from her torso into a now fully ample bosom. While she is truly a beauty to behold, her blatant display of wealth and her disregard for trying to present some respect for it disgusts him.

"Nonsense! Have you even danced yet?" She gets a coy pout on her lips.

"Well, no..." he replies, trying desperately to come up with an excuse to leave her company.

"Then just one before you go," Clare insists, turning him back towards the center of the house before he can think of a reason to object. He reluctantly lets her lead the way, ignoring the nonchalant winks of the group of friends he was standing with earlier. His face begins to grow red, as she trots him along the barrage of people in the long hallway, like a newly acquired pony or plaything. He swallows his pride, trying to remind himself that she is still a lady, albeit a drunk one and as his host he should be polite enough to amuse her. When they reach the foyer he starts to guide her to the dance floor but when she tugs him down the opposite hallway he finds himself confused.

"I believe the dance floor is back there," he tries to say lightheartedly.

Clare walks in silence towards the end of the hall and leans back against a door, turning the knob behind her. She tries to look flirtatiously at him but when the door swings open wide she stumbles back. Sevan rushes to catch her, managing to do so just before she falls. He blushes awkwardly, helping her to her feet; Clare shuts the door and leans against it.

"Oh, come now, Sevan, we never get to spend any time alone together," she smiles.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, turning his back towards her to look around the room. It isn't fairly large but has a fire place, soft plush couch and two floor to ceiling bookcases that contain more books than he has read his whole life. He slowly walks forward, tilting his head to read the titles, "It isn't exactly very chivalrous for me to be in a room alone with a lady, Clare. If you would like to talk, perhaps we can do so during a dance."

She stands behind him—Sevan doesn't want to turn around but she forces him to. She reaches up to straighten his coat jacket but leaves her hands in place, "If I didn't know any better, Sevan, I'd think that you have no interest in me." She looks up at him with her big, blue eyes.

He smiles tightly, moving a lock of hair out of her face, trying to find a good way to word his answer, "Clare, I'm just afraid that you will find me so dull once you get to know me. We don't have anything in common," he tries to add more but can't think of what else to say, so he just smiles when in truth, he has no interest in her at all. Though every man in town would leap at the opportunity to find themselves the apple of her eye, he finds Clare to be extremely superficial, concerned more with matters of the appearance than matters of the mind or heart. Being the daughter of the Governor and one of the wealthiest heirs in town, anyone would be a fool to turn her down simply for not being smart enough. He softens his smile a little when she doesn't respond, thinking that she understood his point.

Quickly, she closes the gap between them, smashing her lips against his. It happens so suddenly, Sevan is taken aback—he doesn't want to burn any bridges but he doesn't think he could live his life stuck with her. He grasps her biceps in his hands, trying to gently push her away but she persists.

Sevan hears a click, followed by a flood of noise from the hallway. He manages to push her away and turn towards the door just in time to see the fleeting glimpse of a red militia coat.

Outside of the room, Jacques quickly hides behind the wall out of sight, clenching his fists tight. He can feel his face grow red, furious that Clare is interested in his worthless brother and that his brother had his hands all over her. He storms down the hallway, bumping into a gentleman and almost knocking him over. He is so angry that he doesn't offer an apology but simply continues on his path. Jacques feels hard pressed not to wring his brother's neck the next time they cross paths.

"What's the matter, Sevan?" Clare says defensively.

He increases the distance between them, "I'm sorry Clare but we aren't right for each other."

"You can't be serious," she says, face red, words slightly slurred, "You have nothing. You are nothing and yet you are turning me down?"

Her words cut like glass; he straightens his jacket and smiles tightly, "You're right Clare." He sidesteps her and walks towards the door, "I am turning you down. I can't expect you to understand that the value of a person is not something that can be seen. Like you, for example, appear to have everything but in actuality you having nothing that matters."

After a quick stiff bow, Sevan exits the room before she has a chance to respond; swiftly he walks towards the front door to get his cloak from the butler. He thinks he sees a fleeting glimpse of Jacques around the corner but he has no desire to talk to anyone else, he simply wants to leave.

The cold walk home in the falling snow and setting sun helps a little to quell his anger; he can't believe that the women in this town are so shallow, so mindless and dull. Sevan dreams of a smart, intelligent woman who will match him in wit but he believes that such a creature doesn't exist. He feels his future begin to close off, his destiny nothing more than marrying a woman whose physical beauty only hides her ugly interior, his only refuge the books that he reads. He is home before he knows it; as he approaches the gate he finds that he left it open. Then, he sees their large brown horse by the door, saddle still on. His Mother is home.

He rushes inside, shutting the door tight behind him, "Mother!" he calls happily. When there is no response, he quickly checks her room only to find it empty. He swiftly climbs the ladder, only to find Thomas alone, asleep and still with fever. Confused, he goes back outside. The horse looks up at him. Sevan checks the ground but only sees his and the horse's prints come through the gate. He walks to the horse, grabbing it by the reins while he pats its neck, "Where is Mother?" he asks the creature though he knows he will get no response.

Leading the beast to the road, he looks up and down it for signs of another human but he sees none. Nervously he mounts and begins to follow the creature's fresh steps out through the gate and down the road towards town; though he expects them to lead into town, his heart stops when he finds that they turn off and onto the less traveled road that he watched his Mother head down almost a week before. Without thinking twice he digs his heels into the horse's side, taking off into the forest.

It is an hour at full speed before the falling snow covers the tracks so well that Sevan can no longer see them. There is no sign of his Mother. With his face wind burnt and his hands so cold they surely will break off if hit too hard, his adrenaline is the only thing that keeps him alive. He lets the reins loose and kicks the horse's flank, hoping that the animal will lead him to the right place. Hours seem to pass but for all he knows it could be minutes. The snow is so thick that it whitens the darkening night. Sevan feels deep in his heart that he will not find his Mother and begins to believe that he will not find his way back to town either. Just as he starts to turn the horse, he sees a break in the trees resembling an old unused road. His hope renewed, he urges the horse forward. With the thick, bare tree branches above and the cascading snow falling heavily from the sky, there isn't enough light to see much other than a gigantic, dark, house-looking shadow in the distance. Perhaps his Mother is there—even if she isn't, it will be a safe enough place for him to spend the night so that he can find his way back to town in the morning. The horse, needing no direction, walks to the house and through the gates.

Immediately, Sevan gets a chill down to his bones, despite the warm temperature around him. He twists his body to look behind him, seeing the beginning of a blizzard in the forest only a few feet back. Turning forward again, he finds himself unable to fathom the fact that the house in front of him is covered in no snow, nor is the ground where the horse contentedly munches on the rich, over grown grass. Slowly, Sevan dismounts. Surely this place is evil. He feels the overwhelming urge to leave, a feeling so strong that he would consider death in the frozen woods as a viable alternative to staying in this wicked place a moment longer. Just as he is about to mount his horse, he spots something near a low wooden fence that appears to surround a garden. He hesitates, fearing what he might find yet knowing that he has no choice but to look. His swift steps take him silently across the wet grass to the fence, where he discovers his Mother's satchel.