The Boy and the Animal

Part I | Eleven

The word ripped through my body like a bullet through the heart. My eyes went wide first, my body paralyzed as it was overcome by a tingling numbness, and then it ignited with a fluttering warmth. Tears fell harder now, but they were lighter, warmer- happier.

My mind went blank in the swiftness of my body nearly falling from the stairs into him. I threw my arms around his small frame and brought our heads together as I balled. He said my name. He said my name! My name!

If ever light could shine that much brighter or shadows could become rays of heart, my body was overcome by the two.

I wasn't sure how long we were like that, but I refused to let go until the tears dried up and he was nearly asleep against my pounding heart. When I did finally release him, I cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead. He ripped his head away, but it was too late; he'd already caught me. And even though he objected to my lips' touch, he kept his hand in mine, and I was certain: this was where we belonged.

It was strange how just the yell of one word, a word that I'd heard shouted and muttered and called so many times that it had lost its spark, had solved everything- but it was more than that, wasn't it? Jesiter had spoken my name, showing that not only did he have an attachment to me, but he was capable of human speech. He could be taught. He could be integrated.

At that thought, I glanced over at Dark, who stood staring at me from the top of the stairs in disbelief. I gave a teary grin, a thick sob in my throat preventing me from saying anything. There was nothing to say, anyway. It spoke for itself; truly. Instead, my brother looked away and shook his head of the situation. My heart waned ever the slightest. He still hadn't accepted it.

I watched him leave the room and disappear into his inn as I brushed loose locks of unkempt hair from Jesiter's face. The boy purred and sat himself in my lap, resting his head on my chest to listen to my heart. I chuckled and held him. In the silence of my beating heart and the draft that dried my tears, I rocked him back and forth, and soon he was asleep again.

With the boy settled in his haybed, there was only one more person to appease. I headed up the basement stairs, closing the door softly behind me as I entered the inn, and stepped across the worn wooden floorboards until I reach my brother at the bar. He had his head down, buried in his hands, but, when I sat on the barstool beside him, he lifted his head and preoccupied his eyes with watching the pendulum of the grandfather clock swing.

"Hey..." I began. If I didn't, we could have sat in the blaring silence all day. "I'm sorry for getting upset. I just... Jesiter means so much to me, and... I'm sorry. If you want us to leave, I'll g-"

"Of course not," Dark replied indignantly, clenching his fists. His face was red and blotchy, eyes sore. "Why would I ever kick you out, Brother? I just..." He looked down at his hands. "You've never talked about it." I pursed my lips. Talked about...? No... I knew exactly what he meant. Just the thought of it grew a shadow in my chest. "But I know that it hurts. You used to drink it out, but now that you can't, you're-"

Dark paused and peered up at me with a hesitance in his eyes. I took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue with his thoughts; it wasn't right for me to use aggression when I didn't like what he was saying, and, maybe, it was exactly what I needed to hear.

"I just feel like you act like you're okay, but you're not. I feel like it's my fault, and I do owe you- and that this boy is you trying to cope in all the wrong ways. I know you think about it. Gods, Cyrus, it was only two years ago, and even when you first got home it was like nothing!" The more he spoke, the more frantic my brother became, until a sob built in his throat, and he was forced to stop and choke on it.

My chest nearly caved in on itself as I watched and listened to the boy I used to be so close to. It killed me to think that he'd been worried all this time for me, despite the way that I'd treated him since. The last thing I ever wanted was to make him unhappy; the whole reason I even became a mercenary was so that he would be spared the role.

Right. Proclamation 66-97. The second and subsequent children of age to hold a blade shall enter unto the service of the military until such that the war with the barbarians should cease. The first child shall remain in their home to secure their businesses, families, and personal being. I remembered every word- hard not to, considering I had sat in the den and stared at the parchment until my eyes dried.

As it stood, my fifteen-year-old brother and kindly, meager sister would have been forced into the military to get slaughtered by ruthless marauders of the barbarian country. I couldn't have that. I was the man of the house; I was the one that would protect them. So, I sought the captain of the guard and offered my services in the elite mercenary team, with only one condition: my sister and brother would remain home.

Being a mercenary wasn't like being a soldier. War for us wasn't orderly or clean. War for us wasn't marching place to place to swing our blades and hope we weren't swung upon. Our war was malicious. Our enemies weren't trained peers in fair combat; they were innocent civilians- men, women, and children. We did the jobs the soldiers couldn't, jobs with atrocities that still kept me in waking nightmares.

There was so much innocent blood on my hands.

But I told myself everyday that it was necessary to protect my family and empire.

Right?

There was a sickening, ironic sort of pride to it all, too. To be a mercenary was met with adoration and honor, really feeding into the promise that we were the heroes. Me and Jesiter, my bladesister and best friend, we knew better than that, but we carried our albatross because we knew what it meant better than anyone else. That was why I still called myself a mercenary.

When she died, I carried the weight of the name through the murky waters for the both of us... But when I met the boy I felt as though the weight was lifting. Something as pure and innocent as him- I knew if I could save him that at least one of souls would be free. So, I named him Jesiter.

"Dark," I muttered, reaching my hand out. He flinched, maybe expecting me to hit him, but I placed my hand on his head and ruffled his hair like I used to. He relaxed with a tearful sigh, biting his bottom lip. "You don't owe me a thing. I've always just said that keep you around because... You left the house. And l, you know, I don't blame you. You were the man of the house so suddenly, and you took it like a champ." Dark laughed, rubbing his eyes.

"Not really," he sniffled. "Sara did most of it; I felt like I was doing everything wrong. It wasn't the same without you, Cyrus..." He frowned and folded his hands. "I know you say I don't owe you, but... I really do. We all do, Cy. I'm... Sorry it messed with you. Hell, I wish I could make some potion to make you forget, but I can't. But you don't have to be afraid of me going anywhere." Dark glanced over at me. "And Jesiter... Is he any good for you? Be honest, brother."

"I need him," I replied. "Helping him is the only way that I can forgive myself." Dark nodded and grabbed a bottle of finer quality ale from behind the bar. "He can be taught, Dark. You'll see."

"Maybe," he replied in defeat. I smiled.