KELLAN
“You cannot even begin to understand what you have done, Malachai!”
Slyvan is young. Kellan guesses around fourteen; not yet a man. Yet he stands facing Malachai in a way even his own generals do not — chastising.
“For what? For what gain have you destroyed a grove a thousand years old? For what gain have you taken the lives of peaceful people?” He shouts. “I have made no move against you! I told you I would not; I declared it over and over as many times as you would listen.”
He looks to the ground. “Or did you not even read the letters? Did you discard them, because they were from me?” He says, then begins to cry. “Of course you would. You follow in the Emperor’s every footstep. His shadow; always. From his brutality to his hatred of me.”
The boy is dressed in little more than rags. Despite the cold; he doesn’t shiver. Flower bands are around his arms and legs; and a much larger necklace of braided-together small wooden plates hangs down to his stomach. For his age, his body is impressive. Shorter than Malachai, but probably physically stronger pound-for-pound.
He already knows him to be fast. He had approached the watchtower alone — and an archer had shot for his heart, thinking him one of the ’greenmen’. He’d dodged it, even in the dark; then he’d climbed up the entire thing, seemingly refusing to use the stairs — and come face to face with Kellan.
If the boy had come to fight, he’s not sure he’d have won. That doesn’t hold well in his mind. Damned be Kellan’s need to sit and watch the moons.
The boy knows it, too, but he’s not caught so much as a sideways glance.
“I did read them, Sylvan, and I wept for your naivety.” Malachai says, almost softly. He’s dressed in a more regal attire, now, with red and black. “Do not think our brothers would not have done the same, if they had the particular advantages I did.”
Sylvan shakes his head. “I already spoke to Alistair. He had no interest in the forest. If you hadn’t—“
Malachai scoffs. “I seem to remember Magnus once shoving you through a wall for no other reason than Alistair told him to. He a trustworthy man does not make.”
“Alright, then, Malachai.” He shouts. “Then lets talk strategy instead, since that is the only thing you seem to understand. What reason would he have to attack?”
“Knowing Alistair — and Magnus — it simply could have been for the fun of it, Sylvan.” Malachai shakes his head. “Fine. Other reasons? The wood, for one. Food is another. Conscripting of the green-men, perhaps. That magic, in Alistair’s hands, could be extremely potent.”
Slyvan shakes his head. “Not a chance. You’ve burnt the forest to the ground and they have gone down with it. They’re all dead. I don’t even—“ he sighs. “I shouldn’t bother. I know I shouldn’t. Why would I bother? Speaking to you; to Alistair, to Magnus, to Isabella… it’s like talking to a brick wall. You’re all trying to do… what? Conquer the world again? Why?”
He takes a moment. “You’re well on your way, dear brother, to living up to father’s Legend. I can’t even imagine how much a boost this will grant you when it spreads.” He shakes his head rapidly, then puts his hands on his cheeks. “I’m doing it again. Trying to convince you, to change you. It’s so pointless.”
“It isn’t pointless, Sylvan. Join me.” Malachai asks — demands, in true terms. “I will win, little brother, and when I do, I will change the image of the Empire into something far better. I won’t try and compare myself to you in terms of philosophy. If I could, I would grant you all the power of all the divines; so that you might reshape the world in your image. For it would be the best world we have seen.”
Sylvan speaks in a mimic of Malachai’s voice. “Yet that is not the world we live in.” He shrugs. “I’ve heard it before, Malachai. A thousand times have I heard it and nary a time has it been true. It is the justification of tyrants and warmongers, oathbreakers and monsters; the reasoning of those who seeks suffering for gain at the cost of the people of the world. I’m no idealist. I understand that sometimes we must suffer more for our children to suffer less — for their children to not suffer.”
Malachai nods. “I am compelled to delve into the realms of warfare so that my offspring can enjoy the freedom to explore the wonders of mathematics and philosophy, natural sciences and trade, thus securing their progeny the privilege to pursue the arts.” He speaks in a strange tone.
Sylvan’s face immediately bursts into anger. Not a normal, childish anger; the anger of a savage, raw and undiluted, honed to a point and pressed out toward an enemy like a spear. “You would quote my tutor? After you slaughtered him?”
Malachai nods. “I would. I thought the man rather smart among a sea of sycophants. I was never allowed to tell you, but I did not kill him for the fun of it. I was ordered.”
“And you, ever the loyal son, did it dutifully.”
“No. I did not. I’ve killed many for Father, but I refused that order. So he used his power to Command me to do it. I strove through the halls like a blur; barely even registering reality until wet blood was already upon my hands. That is the first time I was Commanded to do something… and my resistance to it grew only weaker as time went on. There are times I do not even remember what he had me do. They are simply… hollow, missing memories filled with random emotion. I remember hatred, sadness, confusion. And amongst all that, love. For in some time he had Commanded me to love him.”
Sylvan is silent. Kellan searches his face finding… confusion. “Has it broken, now that he has gone?”
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Malachai shakes his head, and that same look of anguish and sorrow runs over his face — as before on the boat. This time, however, a tear does not fall. “It hasn’t. I cannot hate our Father as you can. I am simply incapable. I feel a need to defend his empire; his person; his everything. That is why I need you more than anything else. I need anathema to his existence. I need voices that aren’t the same god damned ringing in my ears — his fucking ringing, THE CONSTANT RIN—”
Just as soon as he started to shout, Malachai twitches, then looks at the ground like a child told it cannot have something. “And there it is. I am reset. I feel the slightest bit of hatred towards him and I am reset, as though the servants come and clear away the old plates ready for a new fucking course. The only ability to resist it I have comes in short bursts, and I have only become aware of it after his death. I hope with every ounce of my being that means it fades — but I cannot know. I can never, ever know — for who can deny the word of a God, even in death?”
He twitches, then looks around before locking eyes with Sylvan again, and a deep sigh comes from within. When he speaks, it is strained as though he must push against a thick wall of stone. “Even. Expressing. Disinter—“
He twitches again. Kellan speaks. “I think he understands, Lord-Supreme.” Malachai looks to him forlornly, then nods. “I trust you, Kellan. Speak to my brother — explain anything he must know and anything he wants to know. If he runs to our siblings, so be it. I will not trust again if I must — but I will trust him. I must leave or else I will push myself too far.”
Then he walks away, disappearing into the night as though he was never there. Kellan is left alone with Sylvan. The boy watches the spot were Malachai was stood, then turns to stare silently at Kellan.
Kellan doesn’t know what to say for a good few seconds, but then his words come. “I know that frustration.” He says, and Sylvan looks at him for the first time since the watchtower.
“What?” He says, almost dismissively. But that’s not it. Not quite.
“I come from the City of Moons. You asked why you should even bother; when it never works. When you can never convince them — because they’re either too stubborn or too stupid or both. Even if its right in front of them. Even if all the evidence points against them, or against what they believe — they still won’t get it.”
“Yeah.” He speaks. “Malachai is exactly like that. It doesn’t matter what you say it him, it never gets through. Though… now… I’m not sure if that’s always because I always took a stance against my Father — and he couldn’t agree with me if he wanted to. I… don’t know how to feel about that. It feels… horrible. To be trapped in your own mind. Is he allowed to even think non-loving thoughts? At that point... is he even human? Or just a doll with strings?”
Kellan’s mind flashes. Rows of people, trapped in eternal dream, filtering through them as they are forced inside their heads — finding the right one. His mother, willingly joining — to ensure he doesn’t starve.
“I don’t believe your brother’s mind is immutable, nor is he incapable of straying from your father's desires. He has offered me the City of Moons if I serve him. I believe... in times past, they were an ally, of sorts. Not a potential enemy.”
Sylvan’s eyes widen. “And you understand — no, you would… but does he understand what that means?”
Kellan nods. “I’m not sure if its something I even fully comprehend — but I would be divinity… and he knows that.”
“Is his plan…?” Sylvan stops. “This is something Father would not even broach. If he intends to ascend to Divinity; as per Father — and plans to also make you a god…”
He looks up into the air. “Yes. I see it now. I understand it, even. It is the twisted mind’s solution to peace.”
“What do you want, Sylvan?”
The boy taps his chin. “I’m not quite sure. Everybody getting along is too simple an answer and too impossible a goal. I am not that naive… but…” he closes his eyes. “That is what I want. An end to peace as a concept — for it oft implies a time between wars. I do not know how it would work, but I seek an end to the brutality of life in all forms. That is what I want. Do you think Malachai can grant that?”
Kellan shakes his head. “If that is something in his eventual power, then I believe the time to want anything is gone; and all that would remain is whichever world he wants.”
Sylvan smiles. “That is a philosophical answer. Perhaps you would be interested in learning?”
“Does that mean you will join us?”
The smiles disappears. “I don’t know if I can. I do not know if that is the moral thing to do. Is it better to join a force of evil; to change them bit by bit? Or is it the resistance of evil at every turn that is most important. Do not deny me the thought that my brother is evil. To murder thousands and be simply unbothered marks him as such… then again, perhaps brutality to bring about an end to violence is a necessity; and I am simply delaying the inevitable.”
He shuts his eyes. “I am rambling again. But I think I know what I would want; what Malachai could grant.”
Kellan nods. “What, then?”
“If he’s offered to make you divinity; then why not the same of me? I could test my ideas in my own realm. You have the lunar — and Malachai will take the Living… so that leaves me the material, natural, or solar realms. Nature wouldn’t be so bad. Little different to what I had in there—“ he says, shoving his thumb back. He starts to talk again, but it quickly becomes so quiet he can barely hear it.
If there is any anger at Malachai for burning the people Sylvan lived with, he doesn’t show it anymore. If anything it seems to be a passing memory.
“I am compelled to delve into the realms of warfare so that my offspring can enjoy the freedom to explore the wonders of mathematics and philosophy, natural sciences and trade, thus securing their progeny the privilege to pursue the arts.” Kellan speaks, and Sylvan raises his eyebrows; ’What?’
“You asked if it was better to join a force of evil. I’d argue that your tutor’s quote argues in favour.” He says, not even sure himself where he’s going with it. Just using the same thing he’d used to convince about two thousand men and boys to leave the City of Moons. “Should you do the same? Gain all the power you can so that you can bring about change?”
“I find it very interesting you hold no resistance to myself calling your lord — and by extension, you, evil but—“ Sylvan shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I haven’t anything else to do now Malachai killed them all… and my brother needs my help. Especially since he’s got an eye on him now.”
Kellan raises an eyebrow; and Sylvan points into the distance. There, a small orange dot glows in the night sky. “I reckon Carra’ghous will take, eh… a day or two to break through the barrier between realms and talk to Malachai. I dunno, it could be shorter.”
“Carra’ghous?” Kellan balks. “Why would he come? To kill Malachai?”
Sylvan looks confused for a second. “Uh, no, probably not. I don’t know — ask Malachai why he summoned him.”
“He didn’t.”
He might have expected a look of shock on Sylvan’s face but instead there’s a bored resignation; as though he’s talking to an idiot. “Yes, he did. You don’t burn an entire forest — including all of its people — to the ground and not summon a god like Carra’ghous — the God of Desolation. The fat worm is far too curious for his own good.”
“We should— we should prepare.” Kellan’s mind races as he speaks. Fortifications, defensive positions — the locations of Malachai and the generals, decoys — escape routes.
“Why? It’s a god… if it wants us dead — we’re dead.” He says, then smirks.
“Prepare to meet your first divinity; o’ sweet child.”