I turn back and join my troops as their water break ends. I strip off my shirt and begin working alongside them through the movements of swordplay. It’s been so long since I practiced like this, much less with others, and the familiar motions feel stiff and awkward. Nonetheless, I find myself enjoying the rhythm of it.

When we break for the day, the platoon disperses to get some water and rest their weary muscles and I find a seat on the edge of the property. Sybil hasn’t returned to the farm, yet, and Tolstoy has long-since handed out cookies.

My hands spread out into the blades of grass. I close my eyes and let my mind wander, my internal gaze shifting into magical sight. I explore out with the magic, touching against flowers and trees, against the blinding sea of wheat. I follow my breathing and let it settle my nerves and frustrations.

I finally tackle what has been haunting me: how I ended up in that prison cell.

I filter through my memories one by one like turning pages in a book. My tutors back home on the sunny terrace surrounded by hibiscus flowers and the distant sound of a market, going over fabricated history lessons in textbooks; learning tactics on large map tables in mahogany rooms; sitting beside my father during court and hearing what I had then understood to be the trifles of the working class – which I realize now must have been those of the gentry. I remember Luis by my side through all of it.

How he betrayed me twice.

The first time, we were out on the battlefield, and he’d struck me from behind. Always from behind, I realized. I remember the blood leaving my body and my desperate plea to live, live, live.

I’d forgiven him, then, and our relationship had been rocky ever since. So was it at all surprising that he’d turned on me a second time? The dagger hung loosely in my foggy memory, all blurred edges and fuzzy lines. I try to remember it as clear as I can, the way the world shifted, waking up in the cell beside Simon.

Do you want to know what happened? Truly? I hear Via’s true voice echo in my mind and my eyes snap open. She sits across from me, legs crossed. My magical gaze sees the after-image of her brilliant glory, extending out from her small body.

I frown at her. She smiles and tilts her head. Well?

“Yes,” I say aloud, but I feel uncertain. Do I want to know? Do I want the memory of my closest friend to be shattered? The swimming hole memories when we were boys? Passing notes in lectures of poorly drawn male genitalia?

You’re a good kid, Tony.

Am I? I let my eyes fall closed again and let go of the breath I was holding. I remember the list, the vow to hunt down every last necromancer in the land. To remove as many beastmen as I could – to make Led “pure,” like I had been taught. To return it to the heretic druids that were forced into Cainern.

Of course you are. You don’t want to hate your friend, you want to give him the same forgiveness you’ve been given.

Oh. Forgiveness. What a terrible word.

I still need to redeem myself.

Of course you do, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to accept the occasional gift of forgiveness. It also doesn’t exclude you from extending it to others.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Did he try to kill me for my father or for himself?

I feel Via chuckle. Does it need to be either of those two choices? You know the truth is often more nuanced than just that, Antonio.

I frown, but I understand what she means.

Images begin to filter into my mind. I’m standing in the study, the fire crackling away, but I see myself younger, clean-shaven, more muscular, sitting in a lush chair. A feeling of vertigo swiftly overcomes me, and I feel nauseous. I swallow against it just in time to see Luis as he walks into the room and hands me the glass of wine. I see what I hadn’t seen before: the uncertainty in his face even as it flickers into a carefully practiced nonchalance. I watch myself drink the wine, I watch us talk. I watch as the knife appears in his hand and he rushes toward me. I watch him apologize to me as I struggle to crawl away – I watch the door burst open and Herman throw Luis off of me.

Surprise fills me.

I watch Herman and Luis struggle while Herman’s Second, Diego, storms into the room and helps secure Luis to the floor. I watch my Second as he kicks his feet and snarls, trying to break free from my brother. I see their mouths move in angry shouting, but the images carry no sound.

My brother?

I feel Via nod.

I have to write him, I realize.

Wait, child, see everything for yourself. Luis, finally bound with Diego’s help, is spitting vitriol from a darkened face. I see Herman wipe a wrist across his sweaty brow, scraping a thin line of blood. I hear him talk quietly to Diego, jerking his head at my body and the door I had almost made it to. My limbs are all askew, my face looking painfully uncomfortable against the floor. Diego nods, looking a little pale, but hops to: gathering up my limbs and carrying my lame body from the room.

He sent me to jail? I wonder, confused.

Herman looks around, seated on Luis’s back. I hear their mouths move, and Herman just looks unimaginably sad.

I need to write him. I decide.

You don’t care that he sent you to die? The images flash away from me.

There’s an old story about two brothers, I muse, floating back into my body seated in the grass. We used to hear it when we were children. The younger brother offered an abundance of gifts to Diemes, the god of thunder. After a grand festival, the older brother slays him in front of the temple, letting his blood run over the steps of the building. When asked, the older brother says nothing. Three days later, the city and all of its people were burned alive, the echoes of their screaming can still be heard to this day.

That’s not a fun story.

No, I smile. It was a lesson for children to avoid jealousy and hatred, but I read it differently.

I open my physical eyes and see Via’s eyes open, holding my gaze. Her eyebrow quirks up.

Gods don’t care enough about any one person to send a fire so powerful to destroy an entire city to the ground, I tell her and a knowing look flashes in her eyes: comprehension. The historical record shows us that the city was set upon by their father’s enemies after the younger brother was not traded as part of a peace treaty. The older brother did the only thing he thought he could: he killed his beloved brother to save him the horror he might experience later.

She smiles. Clever boy.

Our connection breaks off in one sharp cut, and she stands and stretches her arms over her head. She extends a hand down to me as the magic fades from my eyes. I take it. “Thank you.” I tell her as she helps me up to my feet. “For showing me everything.”

She nods and smacks me on the arm. “You’re a good kid, Tony. I’m glad to meet you, even if Sybil isn’t.”

I cock my eyebrow at her, but she shrugs and doesn’t elaborate, proceeding to wander off.