The First Step

Chapter 1
The Lapse

His Highness Prince Crilliar of the Barathosia Empire was the twenty-four year old son of an old man and woman, who had nothing better to do than to sit on their velvet seats, sipping champagne and wine, while they waited to find out if their son was dead. Said parents were already thinking of the rumors they’d spread to conceal the man’s death while he laid, sweating in his bed. However, His Highness Prince Crilliar of the Barathosia Empire was not this man; it was his brother, and the son part—he chose to renounce at this very moment. He couldn’t be their son, but he wasn’t able to make any intelligent and decisive decision given his mental and emotional state for the time being.

It had been a week that Crill’s older brother, His Highness Prince Demetris, had lain between his wool covers, staring up into the darkness that was his room. It had been a week that Crill tried to figure out what was wrong with Demet, but he only kept his mouth closed, literally. Demet’s eyes wouldn’t jerk to see. His limbs wouldn't move, and one of the doctors even suggested that the man was in a coma that he induced himself. How could Demet be pretending all of this? Crill couldn’t imagine.

Crill entered the room, and he instantly felt a pit of air linger in his throat, and swallow to his lungs. He closed the large oak door behind himself and paused a moment to look at Demet’s bed, as he had done five times before. He watched his brother’s covered legs for any sign of a light kick or a jerk of the knee; heck, he would see a wiggle of the toe as a positive sign.

He walked slowly, his leather boots scraping the stone. His one hand covered his mouth, and his other swung at his side. As soon as he reached the bed, he kneeled down and grasped his brother’s grossly thin hand. Please, Crill pleaded in his mind. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to his gods. Once he was finished, he looked over Demet's body.

“Demet!” he scolded quietly, glancing down at the soaked linen which stuck to Demet’s chest, stomach, and arms.

Shaking his head, Crill rolled his eyes in quick frustration. “What have you done?” He asked sharply, in fear that he would never hear that answer. Fortunately, he couldn’t have known how wrong he was.

His hand let his brother’s fingers slip away back onto the bed, slamming down ungracefully. Then, he brushed off the knees of his pants and stood up. Once again, he began to walk leisurely around the rather large room, his arms crossed behind his back. He cleared his throat, but no words escaped his mouth.

Soon, Crill paced past the only window in the room and glanced out to see a green field with several birds basking in the orange glow of the sun, setting down behind the distant mountains. Just like that sun, he felt his heart sink heavily down his stomach, legs, and feet. He looked back at the body, and it was merely a shadow in the faint light.

Crill grabbed the only lit candle from the bed stand, ignoring his brother’s barely lifeless form beside the table. He walked across the room and lit the two candles on the maple dresser and the low-set table lining the front wall. Then, he lit two hanging lanterns and finally placed the candle back on the nightstand, steadying his wrist as he lowered it. He could just hear the rumors now if he was so pathetically incompetent: Prince Crilliar killed his brother. In embarrassment, he lit himself on fire and killed himself. Isn’t that a shame…Crill winced at the notion. Demet wouldn’t die. Demet was his older brother. He was the one that Crill went to when he was angry or upset. Demet couldn’t die! Crill shuddered.

Demet's was just skin and bones, except his skin seemed to be crawling and his eyes were bloodshot. He seemed at peace, sort of. Worse of all, in that thin, white clothing, he looked defenseless and weak. He was no longer that robust, strong man that Crill once greatly respected him for. Although, he figured, apologetically, that Demet’s absence would give him the chance to be the brother that more women swooned over. (They had a count going. He had seven. Demet’s was more like seventeen.)

“Captured several men today,” Crill started as he half-sat at the bottom corner of the bed, his one leg on the ground, the other dangling. He talked as if Demet was an active part in the conversation. “And two women.” He smiled, patting Demet’s foot. “They're named Phera End and Alma Pihgs, apparently.” Crill laughed quietly and watched Demet’s eyes for a second. They didn’t even move. He shook his head.

“The men were Eryk…” he couldn’t remember the last name, “… Dru Carenth for plotting murder , Seth Metch for stealing, and Lee—” Demet’s foot jerked and Crill jumped. His heart pounded out of his chest. His breath ran quick and erratic. What in the name of gods! He could not… He should not—Damn it all! I am hallucinating. Get a hold of yourself!

He covered his face with his fist. Everything logical said that it could not have been a sign that his brother had woken up. It had to have been a spasm. It was an unconscious jerk that was due to absolutely nothing that he had said. It would have happened regardless of if he was there or not.

Crill turned away from the bed, his hand still over his hazel eyes (although he could still see the ground). His breath started to slow down, and his heart rate lowered. That’s all it was: a stupid jerk that almost got his hopes up. He considered himself, foolishly, that he had a more realistic way of thinking. Otherwise, he would have fallen on his knees and started to cry and scream to the highest towers and balconies that Demet was awake! However, this wasn’t the first time he felt overexcited or that his brother would return to his original self.

A sigh escaped his lips. Stupid! He scolded himself, before he began to massage the tension above his eyes with his fingertips. Shaking his head, he turned halfway and stopped. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see that his brother’s eyes were shut, not just staring blankly at the ceiling. They were shut.

Turning to view him better, Crill could see Demet’s chest heave and lower. He could hear Demet inhale and exhale.Then, his brother’s lips parted, and for a splitting moment, Crill could’ve sworn that he could see Demet’s breath hover above his lips like a white fog. A chill ran down his spine, and he started to back away. However, he just stepped forward; he refused to be cowardly.

“Demet,” he said as he kneeled next to his brother and stared intently at the man’s face. Crill took his brother’s hand and held it close to his chin. His heart raced. His breath rushed in and out of his throat like a bolt of lightning surging through his body. It couldn’t be. “Demet, I swear if you’ve been fooling us, I promise I will kill you.”

Demet’s hand pulled away from his. Demet’s neck turned to the opposite side of himself and then towards him again. He arched his back and shoulders and collapsed back down onto the straw mattress.

“Crill,” his brother’s voice strained in a whisper. His eyes still shut. “Crill…” His voice dragged off and his mouth stayed open.

“You’re awake! What? How? Why?" After no response, Crill finished, "I swear I’m just going to rip your eyes out.”

Demet’s mouth curled into a small smile. “I guess I’ll have to advise against that.” His smile widened, slightly. “What day is it?” he whispered.

“It’s three days before the sixth month of harvest.”

“I’ve been like this for nine days?” Demet’s smile turned to a grin, and his whole body turned towards Crill. Demet’s eyes opened, and Crill could see a blue tint entirely covering his brother’s hazel eyes. “Thought you’d never…” Demet let the sentence drag off. “Stand up for your future son’s sake!” His eyes widened, alarmingly. “ You’re not expecting a child with some girl in the past nine days, are you?” His voice was already starting to be become more steady and smooth.

Crill shook his head, and he stood. “What made you awake? No! What happened to you?” Crill found himself lowering his voice to a whisper. His tone surprised himself. Heck, that fact that he wasn’t awaking everyone in the castle was amazement in itself.

“Seth Metch,” Demet said and grimaced. “And I’m not too sure of what really happened. My memory isn’t too great this time. You understand, right?” Demet arched his shoulders back. “Ahh!” He shouted, and began to squirm. Demet sat up immediately. He pulled back his sleeves, checked his arms, and took off his shirt, and threw it to the end of the bed. He began to rub his lower back. “Please tell me that there are no bedsores. Please.” His voice strained, again, and he looked at Crill expectantly.

“Your body had been turned regularly.” Crill chuckled. “We thought your brain was rotting.”

Demet rolled his eyes, but began to breathe quickly, grabbing his head. He groaned in frustration and pushed the bedcovers back with his free hand. Goosebumps appeared on his stomach, and more noticeably on his arms and neck. Crill reached for a blanket that Demet took immediately. He wrapped it around himself, in the same fashion a mother would do for her babe.

“What plagues me?!” Demet yelled, hoarsely, glaring at Crill, and he took a step back.

Crill couldn’t answer. He could not yet venture to guess his brother’s ailment.

His brother started to cough, and Crill raised his hand to start hitting his brother on the back. However, once his brother started hacking, he decided that he could only watch.

“Brother, what happened to you? I wouldn’t tell a soul if what you were doing was amoral or illegal.”

“Damn it, Crill, I can’t remember!" Demet paused. He shook his head, and looked back up at Crill. His eyes were filled with anger. "I’ll tell you who does know," he said quietly and urged Crill to come closer. "It's that man they caught. Bring him to me."

"Which one?"

Demet chuckled in a devilish tone. "Why, none other than Seth Metch."