A Tale of Traitors

The Mind Seeker

     The light was blinding as it flooded everything in sight, enveloping my eyes in gold. The shadowy figures around me blended together and doubled and disappeared again, like looking through a kaleidoscope. Someone launched forward and hugged me, I think; my senses were overwhelmed with sights and smells merging together, I didn't know what was real—

—cinnamon, someone's hand in mine, a storm brewing up above—

"... Don't be afraid, Darling, it's okay..."

—shadowy figures, blue fire, Mom—

"... Watch her close, she'll bring you dishonor..."

—stars, old book smell, leather strap on my sword—

"... Willow, go! Run—"

—fall leaves under my feet and my toes in the grass and I'm singing and tears are on my face and the light is blinding and—

     His soothing voice enveloped the room, comforting the little girl in the tiny princess bed made of white wood with the pink drapes over it. Her rug was pink, too, and it was covered in unicorn toys she had been playing with earlier. He sat on the edge of her bed, looking outside at the storm, while he sang to the half-asleep bundle of pink clothes and short blue hair lying in his arms. He was older than her by twelve years, and he already looked like a man with his broad shoulders and he sounded like a man with his deep voice. But he made his voice gentle when he sang to her, while they watched the lightening flash through the windowpanes and heard the rain tap dancing on the roof. That's what he said the rain did—it danced, it didn't pound. It was an older brother's job to protect his siblings, and sometimes that meant protecting them from scary thoughts in their heads. The other siblings weren't very smart, they never had been, but he knew Willow was smarter than them. She saw the world a different way, different than he had and different than their parents had. Willow was creative and usually quite... well, weird.
He looked across the floor and spotted a couple of his old dragon toys mixed in with her girly princesses; one was saving a rag doll. Why would Willow play with a rag doll when she had others made of porcelain and dressed in silk with beautifully painted faces? He almost chuckled but sucked in his breath when he realized the little girl was stirring.
"Are you sleeping yet?" He whispered cautiously.
"No," a loud voice whispered back.
"Are you scared?"
"No," her head lifted up and smiled at him.
"Do you want to try sleeping?"
"Okay, Forestt." She started to rise, and so he lifted her the rest of the way and tucked her into bed.
"It's very late, Willow." He stood and went to draw the drapes closed when her little hand shot out and grabbed his.
"Please don't leave," her lip quivered and her chin melted into wrinkles as her eyes threatened to release more water than the sky.
"Okay," he sighed and tried to be patient. He'd been there for an hour, and had classes early the next morning. He needed to work hard if he wanted Tormod to notice him. He tried not to seem exasperated or exhausted, although he was dangerously close to both. But then he heard her cough uncontrollably and reach for a Kleenex and blow out blood, and she got scared all over again, and he knew he couldn't leave. Willow had never had a cold because their dad was the best doctor in Realm One. She didn't understand what was happening, so he had to help her out.
"Blood—blood—" Willow was panicking, waving the bloody, snotty tissue about her like a flag.
"Put that in the garbage, right here," he picked the trash can off the floor and brought it close to her hand.
"My insides are bleeding," she whined, refusing to let go of the Kleenex.
"No, it's just your nose," he started to laugh, unable to hold it back.
"Don't laugh, I'm dying!" Willow burst into sobs.
"You're not dying, silly," he pulled her into a hug again. "Don't worry, people get this sick all the time. It's very common."
"But BLOOD—" she thrust the Kleenex up and almost hit his face with it.
"What's so scary about blood? It's in your entire body. It's in everyone's entire body."
"It's not supposed to be OUT of my body!"
"Willow, throw that away. I don't want to touch it," he responded, dodging her little arm as it shot up once more. "No, it's not supposed to be out of your body. You're right. But your body just needs to heal itself, and it's healing now. Don't worry about the blood."
"But if I blow too hard more blood comes out—"
"Just a little isn't bad," he soothed.
"—and if I blow too hard, my brain will come out too!" She was crying so hard by now that she couldn't breathe.
"Willow," he stifled his laughter, "your brain cannot come out of your nose."
"Elra said people pull brains out of dead people's noses!"
"Well, I won't let anyone pull your brain out of your nose. Does that help?"
"No!" She flung her hands over her nose.
"If anyone comes to pull your brain out of your nose I will pull their brain out of their nose first, don't worry."
"NO!"
"Why no?!"
"I'm sure they love their brain too."
"Okay. Fine. I won't pull their brain out of the nose. But I will punch them very, very hard in the face."
"Okay." She rubbed some tears off of her cheek with one hand and then dared to pull her other hand from her nose.
"And if you blow your nose so hard that your brain comes out, then I will put your brain back in your head."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now go to sleep so I can go to sleep too."
"Okay." She laid down but kept her eyes squinted open just enough to watch the rain. Or maybe watch to see if he'd left yet. When he saw she wasn't going to sleep for some time, he started to sing of faraway places where there was no sickness anymore. No nose bleeds. He sang of rolling green hills and waterfalls of glass, and roads of gold with lots of beautiful houses for all the people to live in together, a place where the lightening never destroyed anything and the people were always kind. He liked to write his own songs, and one day after his parents couldn't control him, he wanted to sing for arenas full of people—he wanted to sing for the king himself.
"Forestt," the little voice ripped him from his thoughts of glory, and he looked down into the massive lion-like eyes who were cloaked in darkness.
"Yes, Willow?"
"You're the bestest singer I've ever heard."

—cinnamon, someone's hand in mine, a storm brewing up above—

"... Don't be afraid, Darling, it's okay..."