Page 8

Brother Dearest

Callum

Pain exploded from Callum’s back as the air was forced from his lungs, and dust billowed around him from the impact.

A pair of oval nostrils surrounded by tawny whiskers pushed his cheek as he regained his breath.

“You’re supposed to stay in the saddle, Cal.”

Barlow leaned over him with a wide grin, his spectacles reflecting Callum’s image, red-faced and winded but smirking back.

Barlow’s pale skin, shaded by a hat, was peppered with freckles in irregular spots across his nose and cheeks that served well to cover the dirt and dust that seemed to be his constant companions.

Callum couldn’t help but let his smile broaden as he grabbed his own hat from where it had fallen.

It had been months since he’d heard Barlow’s voice.

The young man hadn’t changed much in the time since he’d last seen his adopted brother.

The pair of them had been inseparable as boys, chasing wild dogs and climbing the odd tree strong enough to withstand the heat.

Though Callum had been surprised to hear Barlow had followed him and joined the ranks in Ylitson, he was glad to still have the opportunity to see him regularly.

Callum accepted his brother’s hand and grunted as he pulled himself up.

Barlow was now nearly the same height as him, which was shocking, because not only had Barlow’s mother been a tiny little thing, but Callum had always been larger than the average man.

Broad and tall.

He swore that Barlow grew an inch every time he left.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can spend all day riding and grooming animals,”

Callum replied, stroking his solarith around the single horn that protruded from its skull and quietly scolding the animal for embarrassing him in front of his brother.

The damn sandstriders—as the powerful beasts were called out here—were a sassy bunch.

“Besides, she saw a snake and got spooked.”

“Excuses.

You get to travel to far-off countries and continents doing all kinds of things that I’m not sure I could even dream of, but a little mare is your undoing.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Thanks, again, for showing me the sketchbook, Cal.

That two-headed lizard? What a sight!”

“It was nothin’.

Filled my time up so I wasn’t bored for weeks on a boat full of listless, horny men.”

“I’m not sure you understand how wonderful it is to see your notes.

I mean, most of those animals we’ve never even heard of, and now, thanks to you, the board can add your sketches and notes to their research.

Will you be going back?”

Color warmed Callum’s cheeks as it often did when Barlow praised him.

He never quite knew what to say, so he just shrugged and smiled in thanks.

Barlow was just like that.

He spoke his mind and there wasn’t a disingenuous bone in his body.

He loved his job as a veterinarian service officer, lieutenant-rank, in the governor’s army, assigned to Durask.

He devoted his free time to research and treating ailments of those too impoverished to afford a regular doctor. Cal didn’t deserve to have such a good-hearted brother, but he was grateful for it.

“Arkona Bay’s requested me.

Time for take two,”

Cal announced to no one in particular, sweat already making his neck sticky, as he stepped into the stirrup, swinging his leg across the saddle with a natural agility.

This solarith was newly broken and it showed, but she was a sweetheart, unlike the wild sandstriders that roamed the dunes outside the city.

Once he was successfully seated again Barlow clicked his tongue, turned his mare to the east, and headed into the outskirts of the city, where he had some friends, human and animal, to attend to.

Callum followed closely, just a few paces behind, mostly so if he fell off again, Barlow wouldn’t see it happen.

Barlow was the only person he’d willingly allow to see him in such a state, but he’d prefer to avoid such a circumstance altogether.

Honestly, he’d rather be left to die in the desert heat than humiliate himself like that again.

They rode through the rocky lands just outside the city, the sandstriders kicking up red-orange dust all the way.

Scavenger birds circled ominously overhead, their black forms floating starkly against the late-afternoon sun.

He wondered briefly if they were vultures, or perhaps the giant sketlars.

He squinted, trying to spy the extra set of wings sketlars were known for, but it was difficult to tell at such a distance.

Callum pulled down his smoked lenses to shield his eyes from the brilliant sunlight reflecting on the pale stones surrounding them.

Both he and Barlow wore cloth masks to protect their skin, nose, and lips from the powdery sand lifted by the canyon wind.

Long shadows cast by rows of spindly windmills offered a reprieve from the unrelenting sun, each standing like teeth in the canyon’s gaping maw.

The spiky green and tree-like lefiin had been cleared from the valley to make way for the wind farm.

The spinning blades flashed as they turned, and the squat bases made of bleached rock reflected the bright light overhead.

Stone and lefiin structures flanked their bases, the vessels storing the water the turbines drew from the aquifer beneath them.

They rode down past the lines of windmills toward the smattering of houses leaning against the mountains.

Barlow had a patient in one of the homes below.

The settlement formed a patchwork of homesteads up the canyon’s sides.

Thin slabs of rust-colored stone had been stacked into neat fences to mark where one property ended and another began.

The wedge-shaped structures had long sloping roofs that dipped toward the canyon side, mounded so that the mountain wind would flow over the residences with ease.

Similar, smaller structures huddled around the main building of each homestead—shelters for the livestock or entryways to deep, cool cellars where supply reserves were stored during the summer’s heat.

Goats with long, curving horns and scruffy beards bleated at Barlow as he opened the gate to the humble village, then followed the two sandstriders as the men made their way to a small home on the eastern side.

Callum was reminded of his mother’s goat.

That damned thing had been a bully and had enjoyed chasing him and Barlow as often as he could, only ceasing when they’d managed to bribe him with sugar cubes.

“Remember that blockhead of a goat of Ma’s?”

Apparently Barlow was thinking the same thing.

“How could I ever forget? I’m certain I still carry bruises on my bottom from his nasty horns.”

“According to Ma, he made a fantastic stew after he died,”

Barlow said with a grin.

Callum laughed, startling the chickens strutting around the solariths’ feet, their patchy dark feathers fluffed in irritation.

Hopeful faces of resident families appeared in a few doorways, summoned by the thud of solarith hooves.

Some waved at Barlow as he passed, but others ducked back into the shelter, moving out of Callum’s line of sight.

“They’re just a bit skittish seeing the colonel out and about.

Your reputation precedes you,”

Barlow said softly, leaning over toward Callum.

“Though, I’m sure if you turned on the charm, there’d be a few pretty ones that’d come out to see you.”

“Me? Nah, I’m too scary.”

Barlow scoffed and shook his head.

“You? Scary? No way.

Besides, Ma was asking me the other day about when you’d be bringing home a girl.”

Subtle, Barlow, thought Callum.

Very subtle.

“Have you found a wife yet?”

Callum deflected, his eyebrows disappearing beneath the brim of his hat.

“You’re the homebody, staying in Durask, or round about it.”

“There was one,”

Barlow said with a wistful smile, “Private Kirsten Marshal, a field medic.

Big brown eyes and long copper braids.

We’d spend the afternoons riding and evenings reading over tea.

She even helped me deliver a pair of lambs.

She didn’t mind getting right in there to lend a hand.

I joked that she might be in the wrong job.”

“She sounds about perfect for you.

What happened to this affection that blossomed over such messy business?”

Barlow shook his head, his heavy exhale laden with regret.

“She accepted another job before I could work up the nerve to ask.”

“Probably a good thing.

You smell like a sandstrider, Barlow.

I didn’t know how to tell you till now.”

“What about you, Cal? There’s plenty of widows here that’d be happy to wash your clothes and cook you meals,”

he laughed.

“ I can select a few candidates for you that still have most of their teeth.”

“Wow, so generous.”

Callum paired his eye roll with a grin.

“Honestly, I don’t see where a wife would fit into my life.

I hardly see you and Ma as it is.

Any wife worth having wouldn’t want me—gone most of the time, stuck at work the rest…she’d forget what I look like.”

“That might not be a bad thing,”

Barlow retorted with a lopsided smile that turned to a laugh.

His humor was infectious and Cal couldn’t help but join in.

His brother had always been one of the few who could make him laugh, and today was no different.

But, there was a somberness around Barlow that piqued his curiosity.

Callum lowered his cloth mask.

“Something’s bothering you.”

A statement, not a question.

They were long past that.

His brother’s sigh acknowledged Cal’s assumption, but before Barlow could answer, a whistle cut through the quiet homestead and a man swaggered out of one of the buildings with a rooster tucked beneath his arm, his uniform covered in the reddish dust of the desert floor.

“Heya boys! Sorry t’ keep ya waitin’.

Had t’ catch the chick killer.

Gonna make some boots outta his hide.”

He wiggled the snake’s corpse slung over his shoulder, copper curls peeking out from beneath his hat.

Callum and Barlow swung down from the sandstriders to meet the newcomer.

“Cal, you remember Lieutenant Fynten?”

He gestured to the man who joined them.

“Didn’t you have a mission together or something?”

“Oh, Callum Reid,”

Fynten grinned at them through the gap in his teeth.

“Haven’t seen ya since the hairs on yer chin were as fine as the ones on yer head.”

Fynten leaned in close, mumbling to himself as if conducting an official examination of Cal’s aforementioned chin.

“Fyn, good to see you, too.”

Cal took his old friend by the hand, leaning back, careful to avoid the snake bobbing as they shook.

Cal shot Barlow a bemused look.

“Come on, Barry, the missus of this here fine ‘stablishmen’ be waitin’ for ya, but Mabel’s in bad shape.

We been waitin’, came straight from the barracks, I did.

Sketlar’s a comin’.

I say ya came jus’ as the rooster crowin’.”

Without waiting, Fyn turned on the heel of his boot and strode straight toward the barn behind the little house.

Barlow shrugged apologetically at his brother, color staining the freckles just beneath his glasses, and hastened to tether his solarith to a nearby hitching post before following after him.

“Well, Fyn’s still as strange as ever,”

Cal muttered with a chuckle as he tied his own solarith up next to Barlow’s mare, the two creatures tapping their horns together, and followed the men to the barn.

Cobwebs drooped from the rafters, crisscrossing over the gaps in the roof like lace tatting, barely holding the withering shelter together.

At least it was shade.

Callum wrinkled his nose at the heavy scent of livestock and hay that greeted them like a hot breeze and surreptitiously lifted the cloth back over his face.

Many of the stalls were conspicuously empty, he noted, crunching over the dusty floor behind Barlow.

Soft murmurs and nickers floated up from the far side of the small barn.

Fynten knelt in the hay beside a woman with mousy brown curls peeking out from beneath a cream-colored bonnet.

She was petting a prone cow, stroking its nose and murmuring reassuringly at each whimpered moo.

Barlow didn’t hesitate.

Slinging his bag from his shoulder, he knelt beside them.

He pushed his glasses up his nose and began gently prodding the cow with practiced hands.

Fynten patted the woman on the back, mumbling in his thick accent.

She answered him with a nod and a shy smile.

The scene had Callum shifting on his feet.

The shabby barn was suddenly too small and the air stuck to his throat.

He quietly excused himself and made his escape, breathing a sigh of relief when he inhaled the dusty outside air.

Callum leaned against the door frame and let his mind wander as he watched the sun slowly bend to kiss the horizon.

Jameson had asked him on the ship if he’d miss the greens of the Arryvian forests.

Cal wasn’t so sure he would.

Sure, no one could argue at the beauty of the lush plants and colorful creatures.

But desert life had its own beauties.

A tougher, hardier beauty. Everything from plants to animals had to tenaciously overcome the barren landscapes in order to prosper. Cal had always found something admirable about that. Here, people had claimed the land. Tamed it almost. They’d grown accustomed to the heat and circumvented the struggles with ingenuity that never ceased to amaze him. Wind turbines, aqueducts, underground gardens, and root cellars. And that wasn’t even the half of it.

“I bet the rain was nice, when you was overseas.”

Fynten stepped up beside Callum, his dark eyes following his gaze across the landscape.

“I hear the trees grow big ‘round as sandstriders and so tall ya can’t see the sky.”

“Bigger,”

Cal replied.

“There’s so much moisture that it feels almost like drowning with each breath.”

“That so?”

Fynten’s grin widened and he pulled out a cigar, clenching it between his teeth, the cherry-red glow illuminating his sun-weathered face with a reddish hue.

He inhaled deeply and blew out a long puff of sweet smoke that curled around his large ears.

He offered the box to Cal with a raised brow and shrugged when Cal shook his head.

“Imagine that.

Green an’ trees an’ fresh water all the time.

If I didn’t know betta, I’d say you was fibbin’.”

Fyn laughed and tossed Callum a wink before sauntering forward and gripping the reins of his own solarith, tied to the post with Cal’s and Barlow’s.

Barlow appeared at Callum’s side.

The smell of alcohol stung his nose as Barlow rubbed his hands together.

“One more stop and then maybe we can get back to the barracks in time for some dinner, eh Fyn? Maybe they’ll serve something better than meatloaf.”

Barlow grinned at Callum and clapped him on the back before following Fynten and swinging up onto his solarith, avoiding the irritated huff and slight jab of her horn.

“What’s wrong with the meatloaf?”

Fyn demanded and the three of them chuckled.

“So, Fynten, what do you do now?”

Callum asked as he lifted himself onto his own solarith, eyeing Fyn’s uniform for a hint.

“I haven’t seen you around here since that first mission.

How did you two meet?”

“Came ‘cross Barry here when I was bringin’ in some new livestock fer our lov’ly cap’n Sully.”

Fyn gave both men a knowing look and rolled his eyes.

“Transferred from Halecot a few weeks ago.

Den, a secon’ time when I was shoppin’ for some med’cine for Mabel.

Dat poor cow’s had a rough year.

Yer brother’s a good man, helpin’ da folks out here.

Wit’ dose skills of his, he’s more use than I am. But we’re both doin’ what we can.”

Fynten ribbed Barlow playfully.

“Da ladies favor Barry, tho—dat missus sure has her eyes on you, doc!”

A blush, bright red, streaked across Barlow’s face making his freckles stand out.

“Missus Sheerim has me come to check on Mabel every week or so,”

Barlow explained “She needs that cow.

Without her, I’m not sure how she and her children would survive.

Not sure how anyone survives without a cow of their own, actually,”

Barlow amended, his eyes scanning the horizon as his sandstrider plodded on.

“I donate my time off to the locals and help where I can.

Fyn knows most of them through his lady friend.”

“My be-a-utiful lady Marta,”

Fyn corrected with a dreamy look.

Fyn was clearly enamored with his lady friend, his tongue tracing the sounds of her name like a precious stone.

Barlow continued on with a shake of his head.

“Lots of folks out here don’t seem to have access to basic care for themselves and certainly not for their livestock, and the systems in place are difficult to navigate.”

Fynten snorted and his solarith nickered.

“Dat, m’friend, is an unda’statement.”

“It’s nothing against you, Callum,”

Barlow assured with a smile.

“It’s not like you have access to the governor.

I think he just mustn’t know how bad it’s gotten.”

“Bad how?”

Callum asked, his brow wrinkling against his hat.

The sun had finally dipped beneath the horizon, but the sand and rock stored the heat so the temperature had hardly changed.

“There’s supposed to be aid and systems at the ready for rough times.

Are they not running smoothly? What about the Lists?”

“Raiders an’ thievin’ no-goods don’t care ‘bout no Lists…The folks try t’do the right thing and get smacked down for it.”

Fynten shook his head sadly and shrugged.

“Once they’re given their allotted supplies for the month, they ain’t allowed to go askin’ for more even if it’s stolen.”

“They cut the rations again,”

Barlow added softly.

“So the governor knows about the thieving?”

Callum asked, his concern growing.

This didn’t reconcile with what he knew of Governor Cesar.

Surely if there were issues within his jurisdiction, he’d have plans in place to make it better.

“Perhaps he’s trying to provide aid and deal with the aftermath of the drought within and around the capital first.”

Callum guessed, shrugging.

It wasn’t his job to get in the governor’s business.

He just followed orders.

“Maybe.

Already people are having to tighten their belts…But we don’ gotta worry ‘bout that, eh? Military takes care of its own, ‘specially you, mister golden boy.”

Fynten’s wily cackle rang out and Callum shot a smirk at the strange man.

“Are you making fun of my hair?”

Callum chuckled and motioned at his cropped blonde hair, mostly hidden under his hat.

“I thought it was more straw-colored and less gold.”

“Someone’s gotta take ya down a few pegs, ‘specially since yer brother ain’t gonna.

Barry here’s too sweet for his own good.”

Fynten’s laugh was quite infectious and Callum found himself grinning and shaking his head.

“You can say that again.

Barlow’s better than us both.”

Fynten tossed a grin at Barlow and then motioned to another squat building just ahead with a fence—if it could be called that—in need of some serious repairs.

“Me ‘n’ Barry are needin’ to drop off some feed to the Martin family for Mister Precious an’ his lil’ women.”

He nimbly swung off his saddle.

“You comin’ in, Golden Boy?”

Callum glanced back toward Durask, the lights illuminating the port city where the low barracks appeared as a bald spot on the horizon.

There was a distinct gap between the official buildings and smaller, civilian structures, as if they only coexisted due to their forced proximity.

The tall, carefully curated military buildings were all right angles, whereas the civilian homes looked to be made by loving hands rather than perfect ones.

“I’ve got time before I need to report,”

he replied and hoisted himself down from the saddle.

The solarith nickered a soft objection and tossed his mane before ambling after Barlow and Fynten’s sandstriders, where Barlow was tying them to a post.

No animals to greet them as they passed the dilapidated fence.

Fynten whistled his own greeting and a rooster, Mister Precious he assumed, flapped off the roof and strutted toward Fynten.

A smattering of dark brown feathers covered his little body and a shockingly crimson sock of pebbled skin hung loosely below his beak, dressing up his puffy neck like a well-groomed beard.

A matching and equally wrinkled comb crowned his small skull.

A gaggle of hens followed him cautiously, their necks and legs more somberly dressed in coffee-hued leathery skin, their meager combs significantly less impressive than the brilliant mass that adorned Precious’ head.

The rooster scolded the men, flapping and rushing at Callum’s boots as he protected his flock from the intruder.

Cal crumpled his face at the nuisance and rebuffed the angry bird with a flick of his boot.

A creak announced the door opening and a sun-darkened face peered through the crack.

The woman’s clothes had turned the same tawny color as the desert surrounding them.

It was the color of heat, of dried and withered plants, a color that stretched as far as his eyes could see in Yetoben.

“Mister Fynten? Mister Barlow?”

she asked cautiously, the confusion on her face disappearing as joy replaced uncertainty.

She draped a scarf over her head, twisting it under her chin as she walked toward them.

“It’s good t’ see ya boys!”

she cried, “As ya c’n see, Precious’s happy too.”

Her cracked lips rose in a smile.

“‘S good to see ya too, Kiora,”

Fynten replied warmly, removing his cap as he gave the woman a deep bow.

“How’re the wee ones?”

Kiora’s smile softened the creases the hot, dry climate had painted on her face.

“They growin’ quick ‘n’ gettin’ into trouble,”

she replied.

“Th’eggs is hatchin’.

You showed up right in time.”

“Callum,”

Barlow’s voice relaxed Cal’s face, still tense from his battle with the irritating rooster who persisted in plucking at his bootlaces., “Have you ever seen chicks hatching? Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

Cal rolled his eyes and offered his brother a shrug.

“You know that’s more your thing than mine.”

Callum stepped out from behind the pair, his boots kicking up little clouds of dirt.

Kiora’s eyes widened as he approached.

She shrank from him instinctively and scuttled back toward the house with Fynten sauntering after.

“C’mon y’two!”

He called.

“I expected at least one a’ya t’be quick!”

Mister Precious pecked at Fynten’s boots, making low, threatening noises as he strutted beside him.

As the brothers followed, Callum spotted golden crumbs falling from Fyn’s fingers, the rooster eagerly snatching them up.

Behind the small hut was a fence woven from the shinweed—tall whip-like grasses that grew in sharp tufts— their deep roots drinking from the hidden pools of underground water reserves.

A dilapidated barn, if it could even be called such a thing, filled the back corner.

Kiora held the door open for the men as they entered.

Inside the barn, alongside the small stalls, two bed sheets were lashed together along the ridge of a long sturdy stick and staked into the hard-packed earth.

A pair of dirty toes wiggled from a slit at the end of the makeshift tent that faced the party.

A girl, less than ten summers old, ducked out of the tent and lunged toward Kiora. A young boy peeked out and stuck out his tongue at the girl before his face disappeared once more.

“Mum, he’s doin’ it ‘gain! Pickin’ off the shells insteada lettin’ the baby—”

she stopped abruptly.

Her eyes widened just as her mum’s had as Callum approached.

She darted away, her dusty feet leading her body to hide behind her mother’s legs.

“Jedda,”

Fynten brightly greeted her, untying the knot holding the bag of golden grain from his belt, “I gotcha somethin’.”

He shook the bag meaningfully.

The child, Jedda, looked from the bag and back to Fynten, but then her eyes stuck to Callum and she stayed tucked behind her mother.

To her credit, Kiora offered a shy smile to Callum before guiding her little one behind the curtains.

“They’re just a little shy of,”

Barlow looked him up and down, “well…you.”

“I ain’t that scary,” Cal said.

“It’s those accolades dressing up your shirt,”

Barlow replied.

Callum gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the dirt-stained toes wiggling out of the end of the tent.

“I understand.

Perhaps I should go.”

“Ne’er gets old, yannow? Seein’ new life.”

Fyn elbowed his side as he came up between the pair and nudged Callum forward, following close behind.

“Can we see the chickee, Liam?”

he asked the small face now peeking out at them, as the three men stuffed their larger frames in between the hanging sheets.

The little boy bared a toothless grin and showed them to the hatching basket.

Callum rolled his eyes to the top of the rafters, and took a deep breath.

The air smelled of animal shit and dust.

“The things one does for family,”

he muttered.

Then he went to take a look, if only because he knew it would please Barlow.

A couple hours later, Callum and Barlow made their exit and returned to the solariths.

Fynten followed, but he took a large sack from his sandstrider—one Cal hadn’t noticed before—and offered it to Kiora, who took it with her weathered hands.

It saddened him to see.

She couldn’t have been much older than him and when she’d held the chicks, her face had lit up in a way that washed away the hardships and toil.

Kiora had looked quite pretty.

It was a shame she no longer had a husband to provide for her and now relied on, apparently, hand-outs from Fynten.

Fynten waved them both goodbye and with a parting kiss on Kiora’s cheek, and an attempt on Barlow’s, which was swiftly rejected with an awkward chuckle, the quirky man rode back toward the barracks.

The two brothers mounted their sandstriders and made their way down the trail, following where Fynten went.

“Is it just me, or has Fyn gotten…weirder?”

Cal asked.

“Yeah, he’s pretty strange, but he’s a great guy and lends a helping hand whenever someone needs it.

He’s done a lot the last while.

Plus, he’s good company, you know?”

Cal nodded, watching their friend’s silhouette fade into the distance.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

The silence weighed heavy in the air, the wind tugging it between them.

The younger brother turned his gaze to the elder, his glasses winking in the starlight.

“Go on.

Ask.

Something’s on your mind.”

Barlow was right, as usual.

“You know me too well, brother.”

Barlow’s answering smile gleamed.

“That sack that Fyn gave Kiora—it had the governor’s stamp on it.”

“Yeah, I thought you might notice that.

Like we were saying before, the people don’t really have a method of getting more rations and things once they’ve reached their quota.

But I can.

I’m allowed to requisition more.

It’s meant to go to the animals, and it still does, just not necessarily the ones in our stables.”

Barlow sighed and stared out at the moonlit desert landscape, silver highlighting every divot and ridge.

“Mostly I just turn a blind eye and Fyn makes sure the food and supplies get to where they need to go.

I mean, you saw them, Cal.

These people will surely starve if something doesn’t change.”

“Can’t they go to the commissioner?”

Barlow’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he shook his head sadly.

“They’re just turned away.”

“Well, I’ll ask around at the fort while I’m there and see what I can find out.

I know some people.”

“Arkona Bay, huh? How long will you be gone this time?”

“A few weeks, most likely.

I’ll write, don’t worry,”

Cal replied with a smile.

“Good.

Last time I didn’t hear from you for months.

Ma was nagging me almost daily for any news.

One of these days, you’ll come home and she’ll have a woman at the table just waiting for you to make her an in-law.”

“That would take the hardest part out of it, eh?”

Callum replied with a wink.

“I saw how you looked at Kiora.

She seemed amiable toward the end.”

Cal straightened, his eyes scanning the shadowy desert, lingering on the barracks now just a little ways off.

“Well, maybe I’ll come visit her when I come back from Arkona.”