Children of the Rune: Winterer

Chapter 10

Winterer

Gwitt, standing opposite Yevgnen, was unable to hide his terror—the uncontrollable trembling in his shoulders gave it away. He also had a hand on a sword, but he didn’t look all that skilled with it. Conversely, Yevgnen stood in a posture that showed complete mastery of sword fighting.

Boris had seen his brother go up against young men from neighboring territories on a few occasions. They hadn’t been duels to the death, but competitions of sorts, and the matches had ended when one side was injured. He had also heard that his brother had actually fought a real duel with someone, but he hadn’t been present. The look in Yevgnen’s eyes was a far cry from the usual warmth that occupied them.

“Draw your sword,” Yevgnen said.

The moment Gwitt did so, he moved his hand as well. As Winterer’s blade was exposed to the air, the crowd of watchers and witnesses were all shocked.

A few quickly whispered to those beside them.

“Look at that white blade. That’s no ordinary sword.”

“What in the world is that? Ever heard of a sword like it?”

The light of the setting sun flooded the yard, and it made the faces of those standing around red, like they were drunk. The white glow of Winterer in that setting was as cold as a piece of ice shoved into the heart.

Someone muttered quietly, “I have heard that there’s such a thing as a Sword of Winter out there somewhere…”

That was when the two opponents jumped into the middle of the yard, sword meeting sword. Winterer sucked in the light of the sunset, burning a bright red.

Gwitt was the first to attack. Like the rookie he was, he believed that attacking first would give him an advantage. The moment his sword came into contact with Winterer, he realized that something was wrong—very wrong.

He hadn’t been mistaken about the powerful strength that the lad had shown earlier when he’d pinned Gwitt down. Yevgnen was a slim young man, but he had far more strength in his arms than Gwitt, who had survived using violence in these parts. Winterer, moreover, was a sword that had a magical beauty in addition to a demonic sharpness. Gwitt didn’t know what to think as the tip of his sword was cut clean off. He scurried back as quickly as he could.

It was now Yevgnen’s turn. He closed the distance with only two paces, pushing back his opponent’s unsteady sword, and gave a lateral swing. The swords seemed to glance off each other, but Gwitt’s shuddered with a metallic twang.

Moments later, there was a massive ringing noise that no one could identify. No one who hadn’t used Winterer before could know that sound. Gwitt blocked twice in a row as best he could, and the veins in his forehead stood out from the effort. And that was as far as he got. There was a tinkling crash.

“Oh my!”

A few people shouted in surprise, and some were at a loss for words. Boris watched as Gwitt’s sword shattered into pieces and fell in a shower to the ground. It wasn’t just a couple of pieces—metal could not possibly shatter like that.

What was this white sword, anyway?

“Uh...” Gwitt soon realized his situation. Seeing Yevgnen stab forward with Winterer, he fell to his knees and put his face flat against the dirt. Then he clasped his hands together above his head and begged. “P-please don’t kill me. Please...”

This was no time to worry about his dignity or his pride.

Yevgnen pointed his weapon at the back of Gwitt’s neck. “Do you yield?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. I yield.”

Yevgnen’s voice was cold. “You recall what I said?”

“I...” It was a terrible thing to think about, but it was better than death. Gwitt nodded a moment later, trembling.

“Get up,” Yevgnen said.

The sun had set. While the staff of the inn lit lamps, Yevgnen held Gwitt at sword point and had him walk back inside.

Boris followed them in, gazing at his brother anxiously. Would his brother really force this man to eat all of that stew? The Yevgnen he knew would never do that. But his big brother had swallowed some of it as well.

Many people’s eyes were still glued to Winterer, and they whispered among themselves so that Yevgnen could not hear. The blade poured out white light again now that it was indoors, like it had been freshly washed.

Gwitt sat at the table while Yevgnen stood behind him, sword at the ready.

Yevgnen said tersely, “Eat.”

Gwitt picked up a spoon. His hand was shaking almost imperceptibly. Many of the bugs had crawled out of the bowl in the meantime, which diminished the volume. The sight, however, was even more loathsome. He began to retch before he’d even taken a bite.

Yevgnen spoke again. “I won’t ask again.”

“Yevgnen...” Boris said fearfully, but he did not turn.

His face was devoid of emotion. This was not the brother that had smiled cheerfully at Boris. A few in the crowd looked away—this was not a pleasant sight. But for some reason, no one left the inn.

Gwitt lowered the spoon into the bowl, and the people seated behind him could easily see how his shoulders were quivering. He brought the spoon up to his mouth. Yevgnen watched to the very end as the man ate a few spoonfuls, threw up, ate more, and threw up again.

When Gwitt was completely spent and had thrown the spoon into the empty bowl, then disgorged all the contents of his stomach and passed out, Yevgnen finally took Boris and walked away.

“Yevgnen.”

“What is it?” He was inspecting the wick of a candle, then he turned around and found Boris huddled up on the covers, looking frightened. Yevgnen let his face relax. “Are you worried about something?”

He took off his boots and set them up against the corner before climbing onto the bed and stroking his little brother’s back. Boris was trembling faintly.

“Tell me.”

Boris looked up, apparently surprised to see the peaceful look on his brother’s face. Yevgnen realized what he must be thinking.

“Boris, you—”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Boris said suddenly. He meant it.

“I’m so relieved you beat him. But you know... You somehow seemed different. It’s not that you did anything wrong. I know that you had no choice. If Father were here, he would have praised you for it. But still...”

“No,” Yevgnen said suddenly. “No, Boris. What you saw is correct. If anybody could see it, it would be you.”

Yevgnen smiled vaguely and leaned back against the wall. Turning away from Boris, who was watching him, he gazed out through the open window for a moment.

“You know, Boris...” Yevgnen stopped short again.

Boris looked out the window as well, and he could see that the sky was dense with sparkling stars. It was the same night sky that they’d often seen from the manor.

“You and I—we were never quite the sons our father wanted. Were we?”

Boris remembered. Their father did not resent the brothers’ love for each other, but he wanted them to be stronger and colder, people impervious to affection. Yulken was a man who had been at odds with his own brother for many years, hating him to the bone. Perhaps it was natural for him to think that way.

The candle flickered, and Yevgnen continued on. “I’m finally starting to think that he might also have been right, though it’s far too late now to change. I should tell you this in his stead, even if no one else does. Don’t let things like sympathy weaken you. Be strong. Strong enough to overcome pain and disdain.”

What was his brother trying to tell him?

“If I could take care of you for longer... If only I could... I would protect you so that you could continue living the way you are now... with your gentle eyes and that warmth in your heart.”

Why was he speaking as though he was about to leave?

“But I can’t be by your side forever. In fact, even if I could, I should not. There will be a path for you, one that is all your own. And you need to be very strong if you want to find it—hard as nails.” The blue eyes that resembled their mother’s suddenly seemed to tear up. Yevgnen struggled through words he didn’t want to say, emphasizing every one of them.

“Boris, if you can’t become like a stone—if that is beyond you—become a clam instead. Close up so that your soft insides are hidden. Seal them away so that nobody can open you up. It’s fine for you to cry if you are in some deep, secluded room all by yourself. In a place like that, nobody will hold you accountable.”

Boris didn’t understand why his brother was suddenly talking this way. It was clear that he was speaking from the love in his heart, but there was more to it than that. This was sudden. And it wasn’t some natural topic of conversation, as was the norm between the two of them.

“I hope that you’ll quickly understand that this is not a world that will let you stay the small, good-hearted boy that you are now.”

Quickly... quickly... There was pity in Yevgnen’s voice, as though he were asking a chick whose nest had vanished overnight to start flying that very evening—as though he were asking for the impossible and had a good reason for doing so.

“Does this mean that is the sort of person you’ve decided to become?” Boris asked when he broke his silence.

Yevgnen said nothing, gazing elsewhere for a moment. Then he replied, “Yes.”

“I see...”

Boris decided to think that he was warning him to be strong, now that their house had fallen. He nodded emphatically to soothe his brother.

Tonight’s incident would have never happened if they had still been living in their home in Longgord. It wasn’t so strange for his brother to behave in a way that wasn’t usual for him. This wasn’t their territory, where soldiers were stationed to protect them. Everyone around them was either a stranger or an enemy.

He prepared for bed and started to undress. Yevgnen shook his head.

“Don’t remove your armor, Boris.”

“Why not?”

Yevgnen said with a bitter look on his face, “There may be people who are after us. I’ll stand guard, so you can sleep first. I’ll wake you at dawn.”

Yevgnen blew out the candle.

Boris thought he was dreaming, but as the sleep slowly left him, he realized this was no dream. Yevgnen was sitting on the floor, holding Winterer upright against it. He was leaning on the bed, and his head was hanging. The moment Boris wondered what had woken him, he realized his brother was stifling sobs. There was almost no sound. Perhaps it wasn’t his brother that had woken him. What had it been, then?

The silence in the dark room was enough to tell Boris that Yevgnen was pained and was suffering over something very important. The silence pressed upon his ears and weighed down on his chest until he felt his heart would explode. He felt as though it was the sad silence itself that had stirred him from sleep. Should he have said something?

But Boris couldn’t speak. Tears flowed down past his temples, silent tears that came without apparent reason.

Why… he wondered.

Why?