Jabberwocky - 5. Secrets

V. Secrets

Jordan woke up early the next day, slightly surprised to find Brandon’s side of the room empty. He stretched a little and tried to remember the lazy, cocky Brandon who whined about getting up before noon. It was a long stretch to connect that person to the angry, withdrawn creature Brandon was now.

The door cracked open and Brandon slipped inside, sitting a bowl on the table in between the cots. Jordan pushed himself up on his elbows and peered into the bowl. It was filled with different types of fruits, along with a few slices of bread and a jar of thick Odwayian honey. Brandon also set down a small jug of sweet milk. “I brought breakfast,” Brandon announced unnecessarily.

“Thanks, baby,” Jordan said, sitting up and sliding back in his bed to reach the bowl. The sheet slid down his lap and across his thighs. Brandon glanced at him, then back out the window, his cheeks stained a deep red. Jordan noticed and groped around the room for his pants, pulling them on quickly.

“So what did you learn yesterday?” Brandon asked as Jordan picked out a piece of fruit. “I saw you hitting the books in the afternoon.”

“Lots, as a matter of fact,” Jordan said, grateful that Brandon was broaching the subject. He seemed a whole lot more relaxed and at ease than yesterday. “Charion has a fascinating history. Turns out each of the sacred places are believed to be a birthplace of a god, or deity. And each god is specific to one of Charion’s regions. For example, Undayo is the god that is born from the Stonestack and he is apparently a fire god and gives Torran fire from the sky that makes their crops grow.”

“The sun,” Brandon pointed out.

“Yeah. And that’s why they worship him, because Torran is an agricultural community. Each deity born in a sacred place represents a facet of Charion that is meaningful to the people in that area. Silver Falls has Lassassia, who is a water goddess. And then we have the Great Tree, which was the birthplace of Mylai, who is like a dryad-type being.”

“A dryad?”

“Think mythology,” Jordan said. “A dryad is a mythical being that lives inside a tree. Mostly a beautiful woman.”

Jordan opened the book and passed it over to Brandon. Brandon looked through some of the illustrations. Indeed, it showed a woman that looked to be growing out of a tree, bare chested and hair made of entwined branches, her skin matching the brown hue of the tree of which she was bound. He saw Undayo, with flaming hair and eyes, holding a burning ball of fire in his red hued hand. His skin was red and his expression fierce, lending him an appearance that was vaguely demonic, reminding Brandon of pictures of the devil from his early Sunday school days. Lassassia had green toned skin and algae hair. Brandon remembered Tananja with a bit of warm nostalgia. She had been from the Silver Falls region, and had the same coloring. Brandon felt his stomach tighten and gave the book back to Jordan. “What else?”

Jordan flipped through. “More of the same. Driamor, which is not near a sacred place--smart planning on Keith’s part--has no immortal deity, but instead honors the Queen Goddess as the protector of the royal bloodline.”

“But Leia wasn’t of any bloodline, royal or otherwise. She wasn’t of this world.”

“I know,” Jordan said, frowning. “No, the Queen is chosen from how closely she resembles the original goddess. Leia happened to fit. The whole system of choosing a Queen was probably designed that way, if we looked into the coding closely enough. Leia was a pawn for him.”

Brandon heard the way Jordan casually used past tense words for her and swallowed, the motion difficult and making his throat stick when he tried it again.

Jordan continued. “So the royal bloodline just refers to having rulers that look like the goddess, considering them to be individuals that the goddess has smiled upon and granting them a visage that is similar to her own. Like in the Book of Genesis, ’So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him’.” Jordan paused a moment, unsure if he got the quote exactly right, then decided it didn’t matter that much anyway. “Or, for the more devoted, that the Queen is descended directly from the goddess herself, or is one of her reincarnations. So the royal bloodline is not determined from heirs or intermarrying, but more from how closely an individual resembles her. And the goddess is the main deity. All the other regional gods are secondary to her. The rulership of this planet is a female Monarchy and the Queen rules all. The religion only reinforces that.”

“Then why was Keith so thrilled to have Leia bear a son?” Brandon asked as Jordan passed him the book again. It showed him another brilliant illustration of the goddess, with an unknown source of illumination lighting up her face and her hair in a beautiful halo. It could easily have been a photo of Leia, Photoshopped up a little, sure, but he could see traces of her in the hair, in those loose romantic curls that Leia favored, the shape of her lips and the color of her eyes, the curve of her face. If Keith had modeled the goddess after Leia, he had done a damn good job.

“I’m not sure,” Jordan said. “If it is a union between Rajar and Leia, like you suggested, then there is a possibility that the son would be a shape shifter as well, but I don’t know if shape shifters can switch gender.”

“They can,” Brandon said without really thinking, remembering the array of faces that had flashed before his face during his encounter with Rajar in the castle hallways. Tananja, Leia, Dathilda, Alexis, Dalaja, before the flawless transition to Jordan’s face. Jordan turned over and gave him a curious look. “How do you know?”

Brandon shrugged. “Just makes sense. If you can look like anyone you want, I don’t think male or female would matter.” That tight ball of tension in his stomach pulled tighter, making him feel vaguely sick. He turned his face so he wouldn’t see Jordan eating. The food that he had consumed earlier before returning to the pod was jumping uneasily in his stomach. Brandon clenched his eyes shut until sparks burst before his closed lids.

“Are you okay?” Jordan’s voice sounded far away and feeble. Brandon forced himself to nod.

“Yeah. Listen, I didn’t say anything in front of Sumna and Jassa, but there is some stuff I found out while you were unconscious that I think you need to know.”

He heard a faint rustle that told him Jordan was rearranging himself on the bed and prayed that Jordan wouldn’t touch him. Not right now.

“Like what?”

Brandon relayed the conversation between Ralph and himself, including the video and the hints that it was Rajar who had crossed over into their world and had attacked Leia.

“There is no doubt in your mind then, that it is Rajar’s child?” Jordan asked.

“Nope,” Brandon said. “I knew the minute I saw him morph into one of the kids at school that it was him. It all makes sense.”

Jordan frowned. “I don’t know. Wasn’t Rajar there as kind of a…a…”

“Sex slave?” Brandon said. “Yeah, but it might have been more to keep Leia in line than anything else. If she was scared of him…”

“Scared of him? When he is in a collar?” Jordan said.

Brandon shook his head and got to his feet. “I’m going,” he said.

“Where?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”

“Brandon, look, I’m sorry. I know she was your friend-”

“She still is my friend,” Brandon interrupted with steel in his voice. “She always will be my friend.” He grabbed his knapsack and slung it across his shoulders, then climbed out of the pod and dropped down onto the walkway. He walked away, wandering until he found another path down to the ground below. He climbed down until he was close enough to jump and then wandered through the trees, careful not to stray too far. He finally sat and opened his bag, pulled his sketchbook out and flipped through it. It started with drawings of the In Between, including one of Jordan lying unconscious on the couch. Then Anailde, Maralya, the Stonestack. Several of the Stonestack, and Brandon remembered how that had clicked and stuck in his mind. Drawings of Dathilda, Salvo, hooping cats, Leia. Sonra. Rajar. He studied the sharp cast of Rajar's eyes, the arrogant smirk on his lips and felt that knot in his stomach again. Then nothing. Just emptiness.

Draw it, he urged himself. Just once and get it out of your system.

He was about to do that, to put the pen to paper, when he heard footsteps crunching over the forest undergrowth. He turned to look and saw Sumna approaching.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said quietly, offering him a gentle smile. Brandon smiled back. “Can I join you?” she asked, holding up her own pen and tablet.

Brandon wanted solitude, but Sumna was nice and pretty so he nodded and allowed her to sit with him. She started sketching on her tablet and for a long time there was only the sound of pen against the grain of paper. Sumna would occasionally hum a little song, and since she had a sweet voice that was nice to listen to, Brandon didn’t find her presence as annoying or distracting as he might someone else's. He drew a sketch of her first, since she was there. Then of Rajar, his face. And Keith. And Leia. He drew all three of them on the same page, then lines from one face to another, connecting them. He flipped the page and started a new one, pulling on an older memory, a little bit warped and with marked lack of clarity that labeled the passage of time. He frowned, focused in and when he was done, he held it out, studying it critically before speaking.

“Hey Sumna?”

“Yes?” She looked up with bright, clear eyes.

“Let me show you someone, and can you tell me whether or not you’ve seen her around the palace?”

“Sure.”

Brandon passed her the sketchbook and she studied it briefly.

“Oh,” Sumna said. “Yes, I know her. She’s on the council.”

“Do you know her name?” Brandon pressed.

Sumna frowned. “I don’t think I do. She’s one of the more vocal members of the council though. Is she an Enabler?”

“You tell me.”

Sumna shrugged. “We can tell one is on the council, but I can’t differentiate who it is, because I only see them grouped together. Besides,” she gave him a pointed look, “harem girls don’t have the same kind of access that guards do.”

Brandon flushed a little at that. “Well, she is. Works with Keith, we think.”

“Hmm,” Sumna mulled. “Well, that is good to know for when we return to Driamor.” She turned to look at Brandon. “Have you made a decision about accompanying us?”

Brandon shrugged. “Still thinking about it, honestly.”

“I see,” Sumna said slowly. She tucked back a strand of hair, appearing suddenly shy. “May I see your sketches? Please?”

Brandon blinked, a little startled. Aside from Jordan and his art teacher in school, no one had ever asked to see his work. “Sure,” Brandon finally said, although he felt a little nervous.

“Here,” Sumna said, offering her tablet. “You can see mine if you want.”

Feeling marginally curious, Brandon handed her his sketchbook, took the tablet and looked through it. There were several landscapes, either of Charion or her own home. Several portraits of people he didn’t know. Scenes from Odwayon, as well as a large wooden structure he took to be the Great Tree. Part of it, anyway. He turned another page and saw a portrait of Jassa, naked and lying on a tree branch, wings from her shoulders hanging down, tips barely brushing the ground. Her eyes were dark, mysterious glimmers and Brandon felt himself blush, more from the obvious intimacy of the scene than the actual nudity depicted. He gave the tablet back to Sumna, not wanting to see anymore.

“I like your work, Brandon,” Sumna said as she handed his sketchbook back. “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” Brandon said.

“That structure that you drew... it's the Stonestack, right?”

Brandon nodded.

Sumna leaned back and looked up at the birds and leaves and sky. “It’s nice, isn’t it, to just sometimes have that opportunity to just draw whatever you want, without having to worry about, you know, Enabling whatever you need for survival purposes.”

Brandon looked at his sketchbook, lying in his lap, suspicion already working in his mind. “Jassa burned down Dathilda’s house, didn’t she?” he asked abruptly.

“She did,” Sumna said.

“Why?” Brandon asked.

“Fires are a common form of death in Charion. Brain rupture of an experienced psychic healer is not. Keith is not being quiet. If other Enablers and Creators knew what he was doing, it would cause a panic. We were trying to keep things quiet.”

“I think other Creators and Enablers need to know what is going on. That they need to know what is going on so they can take precautions.”

“What precautions? Running away? We warn all the teams we can find and try to protect people, but if teams start evacuating the city, then Keith is going to know something is going on and could increase his attacks, spreading to surrounding areas. At least this way we’re keeping it in the city.”

“I don’t like the way you are doing this,” Brandon said. "There are teams in trouble and you are just letting them die without doing anything to stop it." He could remember the bleak desolation of Jordan’s face when he told Salvo his friend was dead and his own aching sorrow.

“We sacrifice a few to save many,” Sumna said. Her voice was still soft and melodious but had taken on a definite defensive edge. “That is how it works in this world. If you can’t handle that, then you have no business being here. Go back to the Stonestack. Go home. Or help us stop this monster inside the palace walls. But don’t criticize what we are doing.”

“I don’t agree with it. And that’s not going to change,” Brandon said, getting to his feet. “But I don’t want Keith to continue doing what he is doing. So if Jordan agrees, we go with you.”

“Just let us know,” Sumna said, opening her tablet up to a new page. “Good day.”

Jordan went out to explore the village some more and went over the books Sumna had given him more carefully. The one on Charion’s mythology had been interesting and a fairly easy read. The one on Creating and Enabling was not and he wanted to make sure he understood all that he could before talking to Brandon again. When he returned to their pod late that afternoon, he found Brandon stretched out on his cot, belly down, presumably asleep. Jordan sat down on the edge of his cot, running a hand over the tangled mane of dark hair, along the slender line of his back. Brandon stirred slightly, pulling away and cracked an eye open.

“What do you want?” Brandon said, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“What's going on with you?" Jordan finally asked. “You’ve been… not like yourself."

Brandon shook his head, swinging his legs off the bed. “I don’t know what you mean."

Jordan reached out, letting his fingers brush against Brandon’s cheek. Brandon flinched, leaning back.

“Baby, please,” Jordan said. “You’ve changed. And something is wrong. I can tell, I can hear it in your voice and I can see it in your eyes. And whatever it is, I want to help you. So just… please, tell me what is wrong.”

“What if I don’t want to tell you?” Brandon asked.

“Why would you not want to tell me?” Jordan countered. “I tell you everything. If you were dealing with whatever the problem is, I wouldn’t be concerned. But since you haven’t, I think maybe I could help.”

“I don’t think you can,” Brandon said. It was the first time he had admitted something was wrong.

“Try me,” Jordan invited.

Brandon shook his head.

“Come on Brandon. No more secrets.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Do it anyway. I want to know.”

“No!”

“Bran-”

“NO!!” Brandon shouted. Jordan, alarmed, started to reach for him again, but Brandon shot up, knocked his hand away and stalked out of the room, leaving a bewildered Jordan staring at his retreating back.

Brandon let out another angry breath, kicking at the ground underneath his boots. He had run, then walked until Odwayon was nothing but an indistinct blur of lights in the distance. He finally came to a stumbling stop near a small body of water, leaning his head against the trunk of a nearby tree. He found himself sweating and shaking, a tight knot in his stomach and chest threatening to crush him, to fold him and collapse him and leave him a crumbled mess on the ground.

He gritted his teeth. God, he hated this. Hated this place, this world and his body ached for something…. a sharp edge in his hand to press against his skin or the burn of alcohol against his throat. Urges that had faded and paled in comparison to what he had faced here… the need to get to Leia, to protect her, to save her. Now even that was gone and he was adrift, helpless prey to the demons stalking his mind. He wanted to cut them out or drink them away. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and let out a shaky, unsettled sigh. He wanted to disappear, wanted the world to disappear.

A splash and a shout interrupted his maddening cloud of unsettling thoughts. He looked up and saw a young, dark haired child standing near the river, pants rolled up to his knees and a long green sash tied around his waist. Brandon knew that different colors represented different jobs done in the village, but he didn’t recognize most of them. He only knew orange represented restaurateurs, because that’s what the workers in the restaurants wore. And it was a sash, not a smock, which means this person was probably a student or apprentice maybe, too young to be working on their own.

The child was hauling a net out of the water, a few fish and algae caught inside. The child peered inside the net, frowned and shook it out, releasing the fish back into the water and pulled the mesh material out, obviously getting ready to cast it again.

Brandon felt torn. Part of him wanted to leave, because even though the child had not said anything or even looked his way, Brandon knew that the child was aware of him and Brandon was a little bit embarrassed at being caught in the middle of an emotional breakdown. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to return to that tiny, cozy room with Jordan and his gentle eyes, his dangerous questions.

He turned away, intending to go elsewhere, when the child spoke.

“Where are you going?”

Brandon turned his head. The child wasn‘t looking at him, just preparing the net for another throw. “I don’t know.”

The child threw out the net again. “Then you should stay here. Do what you need to do.”

Brandon shrugged and sat down near a tree, his legs crossed Indian style. “I don’t know what I need to do.”

“Yes, you do,” the child said. “You just don’t know how to do it.”

Several objections rose up in Brandon’s mind such as how would you know and mind your own business but he kept them to himself. These people had been nothing but generous, accepting them into their community with no hesitation, and most places where they had eaten had refused their attempts to pay. The last thing he wanted to do was offend one of them.

“I have to tell my partner something,” Brandon finally said. “But I’m not sure if I can. Something bad happened and up until now, I’ve been pretending it hasn’t happened. But I can’t keep running forever.”

“And what happens when you stop running?” the child asked. Brandon watched the net sink under the surface of the water.

“Then I’ll have to face it,” Brandon said.

“It’s better to face the things you fear,” the child said. “You can’t run forever and some things you can never hide from.”

“I know,” Brandon said. “I’m just scared.”

“Then find your strength,” the child advised. “Some find it within, some find it from others.”

Brandon glanced at him. “How do you know all this stuff?”

The child turned and gave him an impish smile over their shoulder as they waded back into the water and gathered up the net. “The forest gives all of us wisdom, when we are willing to accept it.”

Brandon was quiet, mulling over the strange advice that he had been given by a child that couldn’t be much older than eleven or twelve. He watched the kid pull out a large load of fresh fish from the water and stood up, approaching, thinking to help.

But when Brandon looked down, saw the fish squirming and flopping in the net, he felt his stomach lurch and an uncomfortable feeling rise up in his throat. He closed his eyes against the scene but the feeling intensified and he couldn’t stop it. He leaned over and opened his mouth, waiting for the vomit, but instead the only thing that came out of his mouth was a strangled sob. Tears burst out of eyes that were previously dry and he dropped to his knees, head down as more sobs tore their way out of his chest.

The youth dropped the net, freeing some fish back into the river, others still flopping on the grass, and a cool tentative hand landed on Brandon's shoulder seconds later. Another sob yanked at his chest and he clutched at the dirt underneath his hands.

“Let it out,” the child intoned, their voice calm and the cold hand soothing on Brandon’s body. It was the first time anyone had been able to touch him without him feeling uncomfortable. “The forest is here to help you heal, but you need to purge first.”

They said nothing else, but Brandon felt that cool hand on his shoulder, another one gently pushing too long hair away from his face. Brandon couldn’t stop crying, couldn't stop the shaking, violent sobs that ratcheted up from his chest, one after the other. When he had exhausted himself, the forest floor underneath him damp with his tears, his face and head stuffy and puffy, his muscles trembling and his chest and throat aching, he let himself lie there, by the riverside. He rolled onto his back, the sunlight shooting green rays of light through the thick foliage. He glanced around for the child, but the child and the fish they had been catching in their net had gone. Brandon blinked and craned his head to look around, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but he felt almost… at peace. Not totally. Not even close. But the quietness of his mind right now made everything a little more bearable.

He stayed out there for several hours until it started to get dark, not asleep but just trapped in a pleasant state of drowsy exhaustion. When it began to get too dark for him to be able to see well, he stood up and walked back in the dying light until he got to the village proper. He turned once he got to the center of the crosswalks and passed the series of interconnected trees before finding the bundle of branches that held the sleeping pod he and Jordan had acquired. He climbed the winding staircase and slipped inside their cozy room. Jordan was already asleep, tucked securely in his sheets. The lamp was still burning; set low but still providing enough light for Brandon once he had entered.

Brandon sat down on his cot and pulled his shoes and socks off, hesitating briefly, then pulled the rest of his clothes, save his underwear, off. He doused the lamp, then lifted Jordan’s sheets, slid inside the cot to press up against his lover. He felt Jordan stir in the darkness as Brandon slid an arm around his waist, warm hand resting on his abdomen.

“Brandon?” Jordan’s voice was tentative and slightly frightened and Brandon kissed the back of his neck in reassurance.

“Yeah, blue eyes, it’s me. Relax.”

Jordan yawned and scooted towards the wall to give Brandon more room, secretly pleased at the way Brandon remained pressed up against his back. Being confined as he was, the wall on one side of him, Brandon’s body on the other would normally bother him, bring out a mild case of claustrophobia, but at this moment with sleep on the edges of his mind and the room too dark to see anything, it was a comfort. And he was thrilled that Brandon was touching him again, even though he didn’t know what prompted the change, but it felt so fucking good to be held again, to feel warm and safe inside his lover's arms that he didn’t care. “Missed you.”

“I know baby.” Brandon’s lips found his shoulder, pressed into it. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“G’night.” Jordan sighed contentedly and snuggled back into the warm embrace of sleep. Brandon, listening, smiled slightly in the dark.