Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 19 – Voices

Note: What I like about this part is that it plays with the idea of perception more than any of the other parts or characters. Eden Perde had been painted into a box in our minds by the way his brother sees him. I think, I hope, this part blows that box up. I didn't really know the character was going to take this turn, but I think it'll provide an intriguing conflict for the rest of this tale.


Disc 1
Track 19 – Baby Brother – The White Stripes

“My little baby brother used to play down on the floor. But now he’s not satisfied to do it anymore.”

How dare he touch that sword! That brute! Eden allowed the thoughts into his head, even worse into his heart. The seeds of mistrust toward his twin brother had recently started to take root. He didn’t understand the thoughts. It had to be a byproduct of his worry for his wife and daughter. It’s not only that, you know that. You have to sleep. The voice was that of his conscience that always ringed with the same tone as his father’s. Never had he felt anything more than love and admiration for his brother, but he had always envied the man’s strength.

Ewam had a will and a spirit not easily matched even by his sibling. When they were children, Ewam had always won the wrestling matches, the play sword fights, even the games of battle strategy. He was natural soldier. No, Ewam was more than that, he was the kind of man that men trusted and followed.

Eden was not dim. He knew that he would never match Ewam’s strength. Eden had to become the image of a king both in sight and action. By the time he was eight, he had mastered language, decorum and etiquette. It was their mother that drilled him daily on such matters. She never said it, but Eden was positive that she held the hope that one day their father would put an end to the nonsense about having both boys rule Satar. For whatever reason, she wanted Eden on the throne. Therefore, she made him the perfect groomed king. Not that Ewam was not in her heart too, but she knew he belonged in the field, managing the swords and the shields.

Of course the great show that he and his mother prepared never fooled Rudan Perde one bit. He recognized Eden’s behavior as an act. Rudan wanted Ewam to have his share of the throne because he knew that Satar would need a man of Ewam’s grit and power to rule.

Ewam, on the other hand, had allowed Eden to assume most of the control since their rule began. Ewam fell for the pomp and grandeur of Eden’s act. It was all that Eden could do to maintain any semblance of credibility. All he really wanted was enough power to balance the throne and honor their father’s wish.

Now Ewam held that sword, a blade meant for one king even if it were the King of Nocnil, and it looked so natural, so right. He had already sent out riders to gather an army. Soon he’d light the beacons so that the four great cities of Satar would send their regiments immediately. Ewam, without a second thought, had brushed him aside. Even the foreigner Banik had deferred to Ewam once he entered the room. He’ll take everything! That was voice of his mother, one that occupied his mind more of late. The jealousy teased through his restraint enough for it to turn to rage.

The two brothers were alone again in Union Hall. Banik had left upon Ewam’s command. He studied the blade, almost as if he were entranced by it.

“Then we attack Nocnil,” Eden managed to withhold any of his anger from his voice. He settled into his usual airs upon the throne.

“No,” Ewam lowered Duna, letting it rest along his leg. “I will lead our army to Nocnil. You shall stay here. The land will need a king, your wife will need a husband, your daughter a father. I will go to war.”

Like that, Eden was made second. So quickly, I am his puppet. You have always been a puppet. First your mother’s, now you’re his. That was the voice of Rudan Perde again. He pushed the voice away in his mind, but it’s residue lingered. He worried that this was all some sort of disease of the mind. Part of him hoped it was.

“I’ll be seen as a coward.” Eden said. Ewam grinned and all the whiskers lining his face glittered in the light as he did. Eden did wish the man would shave more often.

“You’ll be seen as King. That’s what the people here will want, will need,” Ewam fidgeted obviously trying to keep from gazing back down toward the sword.

“Perhaps,” Eden found it hard to argue with the reasoning, yet his heart screamed for treason. It’s the sword. We must have it. His mother’s voice turned to that of a mongrel. Eden’s skin began to tingle thinking about having it in his hand. “Will you carry that then?”

Eden did not need to name it and as soon as the thought was out, Ewam lifted the sword back up to his face. Ewam was not a man that smiled much, but he did not seem to be able to stop as he traced his finger along Duna’s shining blade. Eden wanted reach out to do the same, but he thought Duna’s spell might make Ewam’s hand hasty. WE MUST HAVE IT! Eden rubbed his temple trying to chase away the voice. When he looked back up, Ewam was staring at him.

“Are you unwell,” Ewam spoke in their private language. Like a strong shot of whiskey burned the throat, the words chased away the voices, if only for a little while. Before him was his brother again, the boy who was always up to a little too much mischief, but always by Eden’s side whenever he needed it. The smile that snuck to his lips then seemed as foreign as the one Ewam had worn while holding Duna. Heavens, how long have I been so downtrodden? This is Ewam, brother, twin, friend. Not some man trying to steal the kingdom. Ewam was not cousin Cortbrane, always plotting and scheming for power. He was Ewam, who wanted no more than to ride free upon a great steed’s back throwing all other responsibilities into the win. If Eden had demanded the throne, Ewam would have wrapped it in a bow for him. Eden took a deep breath feeling reason slipping back into his body.

“I am better now,” Eden said back in their language. Ewam accepted the answer, but the look of worry didn’t leave even as he brought Duna back up to his eyes.

“I cannot deny wanting to carry this,” Ewam stared at Duna. DON’T LET HIM HAVE IT! It took all of Eden’s will to suppress a groan with the voice’s return. “It has a charm to it that is almost uplifting. Here, hold it once.”

“No!” Eden recoiled against the back of throne. The voices all sang out as his brother brought the hilt toward him. He wanted it more than anything else in the world, but the small thread of reason that he was clinging to sounded off like a sentry’s alarm in the distance to leave it be. He knew if that sword touched his hands that little thread would forever be severed. The actions that followed would certainly be terrible. “I cannot. It is not mine.”

The last nearly made Ewam recoil. The man looked at the sword again, his shoulders slumped just enough for Eden to notice. Giving up the sword was already very hard for Ewam to do.

“You are right, brother,” Ewam spoke again in their familiar language. “It is not ours. I shall give it back to Banik. He is the last beacon of Nocnil. When we ride out, he shall carry it to glory.”

Again, he decides without asking. Eden wanted that sword buried somewhere no one would ever find, most of all either Perde brother. Over the next hour, the two poured over a host of decisions about the coming war from the gathering of the soldiers, to the best route to Noce to take. Ewam even laid out the plans for the rule of Satar while he was gone and nearly set in stone all actions necessary if he were to fail. The sword never left his hand. With each passing moment, the voices grew more fevered and frenzied in Eden’s head.

By the end of the meeting, Ewam seemed to tower above him. The flood of plans had overwhelmed them both, but while Eden felt swept away, Ewam was skimming across the waves. The only saving grace was that the two were alone so that none of the other nobles or even servants would know of his inferiority.

Ewam drew the session to a close, saying he’d take the sword to Banik then go to gather the generals. He walked away then, his shoulders back and his posture perfect. It was the first time the man had reflected the image of a king without hours of prompting.

Usurper. His mother’s voice hissed. Puppet. His father’s added in a mockingly as Ewam exited the doors. Somewhere below those there was a whisper in own voice in their twin language. Brother. He barely even heard it. Eden slumped over and wept for the first time since he was a boy and the last time as a man.