Brothers, Pt XIV

If you had asked him, Beautiful Killer never would have thought that an equine face could be capable of conveying human emotions. Now, however, he realized that they absolutely were- or, at least, this one was. The winged horse was staring at him in what could only be described as shocked recognition, and it was totally destroying any half-formed plan Beautiful Killer might have had regarding what to do with the golden bridal. Instead he let the divine gift slip from his fingers to the ground, where it coiled in and around itself like a sulking snake, forgotten in the dirt. He watched, confused and fascinated, as the expression of shock shifted to a strange war of longing and disgust. The creature was trembling, not as though it was afraid, but as though it was waiting to spring into action and hadn’t yet decided which direction to take.

“He- hello,” Beautiful Killer said. The winged horse flinched at the sound of his voice, but still made no movement one way or the other. Beautiful Killer held his hands out in front of him, to show he had no weapon, and the creature flared its nostrils in response.

“I was told to seek you out- that you are the only one who could help me. Will you…” he paused, suddenly unsure of how, exactly, he to explain himself. He was fairly certain this was not what the goddess had intended when she sent him to this mountain, this talking business. But she wasn’t here now, and Beautiful Killer was, and he knew in his gut that not even a gods-crafted device could compel this creature to do anything it didn’t want to. His only hope lay in his limited powers of persuasion, and so he drew himself up and continued.

“Will you listen to what I have to say, and maybe consider helping?”

***

Pegs blinked in confusion. This reunion was so outside the realm of what he had ever even remotely considered that his brain was doing a bit of a rebellion, turning his thoughts and emotions slippery and difficult to grasp. Here was his brother- long loved and long missed, ached for even now- but his brother was a hero, a thing to be despised, tormented, and perhaps even killed. But he wasn’t acting like a hero, swinging a weapon about and forcing his will upon others- he wanted to talk. To talk. Pegs might have laughed if he hadn’t wanted so desperately to cry, for here was the worst thing of all: he knew Chrys with a deep surety that rose up from his bones- but Chrys very obviously did not know him… and Pegs was incapable of forming the words to explain.

It’s just as Benthie warned, he thought. I have remembered for both of us, but how can I share my memories?

So he did the only thing he could do. He forced himself to relax, and took on an Air of Listening.

***

Beautiful Killer could tell the moment the winged horse made up its mind. Its body ceased its fine quivering, and it cocked its head at him in a manner that indicated it was, indeed, willing to listen to whatever Beautiful Killer had to say. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the creature, and then lowered himself to the ground. After a moment the winged horse did the same, folding its gleaming wings about itself, much like a swan gliding through the water might.

“Can you speak?” he began. The animal shook its head, and Beautiful Killer thought it looked irritated. “I’m sorry- I just didn’t want to assume that you couldn’t, just because you hadn’t. I met a creature that might be cousin to you earlier in my journey, and he spoke his opinions loudly and at length, so I thought maybe… well, never mind.

“They call me Beautiful Killer.”

***

Pegs let out an indelicate snort at hearing his brother’s epithet. ‘Beautiful Killer’ gave him a rueful grin and continued, “I know. That’s about how I feel about the title, myself. But that’s what they call me, and I’ve been informed that that’s what I am, so I may as well get used to it.” This gave Pegs a momentary twist to his stomach. He, too, might be described as Beautiful Killer, if those doing the naming knew of his exploits. He resolved to reserve judgment until his brother finished his tale.

The story that unfolded was a tangle of accidents and misunderstandings, and by the end of it the only thing Pegs knew for certain was that in order for his brother to be able to go home and not be executed on the way, Chrys (or, rather, Beautiful Killer) must kill the monster Kymera.

Pegs did not like the sound of that, not one bit. He had no intention whatsoever of helping anyone, not even his long-lost twin, kill an innocent monster. Even so... his heart didn’t want to believe that Chrys would really do such a thing. In fact, his heart ached with every fiber of its being for Pegs to move closer, perhaps even to lay his head in his brother’s lap.

And then what?

Pegs stared into Chrys’s burnished-gold eyes, and memories welled up. He remembered their mother’s blood, their aunts’ tears- he remembered dancing in the sand as the little boy laughed, the sense of belonging, of rightness that had been taken from him by the agony of separation. He remembered years and years of a lonely emptiness that none of his foster-mothers, no matter how loving or kind, could ever fill. No, he did not know what would happen if he were to go to his brother, make his allegiance clear- but he knew what would happen if he did not.

Chrys would leave. And he could not bear that a second time.