Brothers
by Venesa BurranupakornSelfran and Seldard were of the same womb. They came into the world on the same day and within the same hour. It was a hard birth, but it did not murder their mother. She was killed much later.
When Seldard emerged and cried his first cry, a bright bird as golden as his mother's hair winged through the window and landed on the perch of her nose, and chirped, "Be he born of shining warmth and of lovely flames; he will live and die of them."
When Selfran emerged and cried his first cry, a pale cat as gray as his mother‚s eyes darted out from under the birth-bed and leaped onto the softness of her lap, and purred, "Be he born of glittering cold and of sweet skies; he will live and die of them."
Their mother took a feather from the bird, a tuft of fur from the cat, and put them in a box. This she sealed with her breath and a dark metal key. The key she sent to a smith who melted it and recast it into a pair of needles. The sons never learned of their omens from their mother, but each was given a black pin.
They grew up, as sons must do. They took up the blade and the axe, as sons often do: they grew in renown, and slew many warriors, taking heads to their home and laying them at their mother's feet. Together they were become fear, a storm that scorned and swept away all in their path. Behind them, a trail of broken things and weeping ghosts.
Until they came, in a forest, upon a witch.
She was not old, nor young, but her hair was black as sin, and so too her skin. Her voice held the smokes of the night. But it could not enchant the brothers, for the twinborn are protected against such might. Blade and axe rose, poised to fall upon the soft, inviting flesh of her neck.
Her hand rose and she spoke. "Do you wish, brothers," she said with the music of old forests and older earth, "to know of the gifts stolen from you when you were birthed and your eyes could not yet see, when your head could not yet understand - when your heart was so freshly cloven in two and given into different breasts?"
Seldard did not falter, but Selfran's blade stayed his axe.
"I wish to know," the child of the skies said, and there was a cat's curiosity in his voice. "Keep yet your killing! Brother, we may yet blood her later."
The witch smiled, her mouth the red of scarlet amber. "You shall then invoke a curse: for it is not done to blood a gift-giver."
"Here is a snake, Selfran - we shall close our ears to her."
"And what of that? All women are snakes. Courage, brother: ours shall not be overcome."
"Yes," the witch cried and laughed. "The wisdom of serpents and the guile of their sweet coils. Come and listen, for a man must have his birthright, as might a bull or a stallion."
Seldard at last put away his axe. "Let your lips open and give forth your fruit. It shall be poisoned, yet sweet: I shall have taste of it, for all know we do not fear poison."
"It is worth more than staying your metal. You will give me, first, a price."
Beneath the branches and upon the leaves gone wet, each brother lay in turn for the witch to ride them. They never saw her breasts, her belly, her thighs, nothing but her moving shadow, and so had no claim to any seed that sprouted in her.
When the moons rose, she told them, "You each have to his name a black pin, a treasure richer than your fleshly weapons or your steel ones. Hie yourselves to your mother's home and ask her for her jewel-box, the one that opens as she wills - or when she can will no more. Fly!"
They flew and did not see the witch again.
Their mother would not give them her box, nor the answers they sought. On the same night, they drowned her, for to spill the blood of kin is to anger the gods out of measure. Beneath her bed, beneath the board under her bed, they found her jewel-box.
Their mother's breath faded, the pins touched the lid, and became a key, black as sin.
The twins did not change: they remained a storm, a terror, but where once they slew with blade and axe, they slew with fire and wind. They called beings born of flames and beings born of the sky to serve. No man under the sun or the moon was greater than them. No man under the sun or the moons knew of the gifts they had wrested out of the feather and the tuft of fur. They learned to have secrets.
There came a day when crops in their home no longer grew and babes died in the womb, poisoning their mothers from within. The earth dried and cracked; the sun went dark and did not return. The unwise whispered that it was a curse, but the wise kept silent, counseling only that the land did not forgive.
Out of women's hair they fashioned a ship, and on this they gathered their last. Nights and days they sailed; nights and days Selfran sped their voyage with his winds and Seldard warmed them against the everlasting winter with his fires, all unseen, all in silence.
They made land, and came upon the shore of a new world.
Their people wept at the trees that would not yield or burn, stone that would not melt, and earth that would not accept their seeds. The warriors among them were set upon by unknown beasts before which their weapons were as brittle twigs and dead leaves. The fisher-folk among them came back with empty nets, for the fish of this world's waters never answered their lure.
The brothers, fearless, left their kith and kin behind. "We shall venture into the untouched wild," said one. "There we shall find wood that burns and bends to us, stone that submits to our will, earth that bows to our ploughs, and fish that swim to our lures."
"And witches," whispered the other, unheard but by his twin self, "with necks to break."
Six days and six nights they journeyed into the new world: they slew with fire and wind, stitched cloaks out of unburning wood, and made armor out of stone that would not melt, knitted bowstrings with the scales of alien fish and reforged their weapons of steel with the fangs of unknowable beasts.
On the seventh day, they reached a city of bright gemstone towers, bridges woven of white cloud-strands, and above them all, aged suns captured in glass prisons larger than a dream. Its ivory gate was guarded by a shining creature, whose eyes and hair were like for like, star-pale. He embraced with birds that took no flight until their glittering gazes fell upon the brothers.
"You have frightened away my birds," the shining creature said. "That is not done."
Selfran spoke. "We would know of the city behind you."
"The city is not meant to be known by you. But it is yours if you prove you can hold it."
"Give us your challenge," Seldard cried in answer.
"The old suns in those globes are mine, but they fled. My birds cannot fetch them, for they will burn. Bring me back the suns."
The city barred their feet and rose up against them, but they flew on the wings of Selfran's winds. The glass broke like young hearts under their fanged blade and axe, and Seldard's living flames bore the fading suns in their wooden cloaks.
"We have returned," Selfran called. "Here are your suns."
The guardian of the city took the precious suns in his mouth and swallowed them. "The clouds that make the bridges are cold and make me sore. My birds cannot tear them apart, for they will freeze. Cast apart the bridges."
The bridges danced and leaped out of their reach, but they lit up the sky with Seldard's flames and the clouds drooped low in fear. The bridges were weighed down with their bowstrings and stone armor. Their fanged axe and blade shattered the clouds.
"We have returned," Seldard called. "Here are the ruins of your hated clouds."
"Give us our crown," said Selfran.
"Give us our scepter," said Seldard.
The shining creature cast back his head and laughed, the suns' heat gusting out of his mouth, his tongue aflame. "Twinborn! I did not say these tests prove you can hold this city. Look you this: you have taken away the fires that give warmth and light; you have sundered the bridges for walking between the towers bright. Twinborn! Would-be kings! Your prize is failure."
The brothers would have together rent the city's guardian limb to limb, but the feather told them the birds would have their entrails for the picking and their tongues for the young in nests. The cat's fur told them this shining creature would not bow under their steel, even if they had them still, for his flesh was not soft and would not break.
And so, one spoke. "You see and judge us unfit to hold this city: but are your eyes to trust?"
"Be your sight clear, you shall tell us this," the other said in turn. "Which of us commands the wind, and which the fire? Name us with your cunning - for the witless are blind, and the blind deserve no such treasure as what stands behind you."
The shining creature looked at them, each by each, and could not name which was Selfran, and which was Seldard. So close they were, twinborn, like for like in all things. And so the guardian bent his knee.
"You have acted with the serpent's wisdom - its borrowed wisdom - and I surrender the city. But you shall rebuild the flames, and the bridges. As this city stands, I shall protect it, and serve."
The brothers ascended to the thrones. Years and years they ruled, as generous kings, as good kings. Their kith and kin were given hearths and houses, and given honor as each was born to have. Land and water became tame for them. None contended with them, those heroes of wind and flame.
But one sunset, each in his own bed, awoke to see a child. The children were black of eyes and of skin, and so too their hearts, like sin.
"Father," said to Selfran the one who was a little maid, her hair and dress moon-pale. "Treachery afoot. Look about, my sire, for your cat-tuft of gray."
He looked and could not find it.
"Your brother, Father," she whispered, "wishes to possess both the wind and the flame."
She let her gown fall, and bared her budding breasts: need fell upon him, but she rattled ice into chains and cloaked them upon her flesh. "To have me, Father, you must possess the flame," she sang, and was gone.
"Father," said to Seldard the one who was a fledgling cub, his hair and armor sun-bright. "Treachery afoot. Look about, my sire, for your feather of gold."
He looked and could not find it.
"Your brother, Father," he whispered, "wishes to possess both the flame and the wind."
The child held up a cup in one hand, a sword in another: need fell upon Seldard, but wings grew about and about, cup and blade, to fly away from him. "To have these, Father, you must possess the wind," he sang, and was gone.
None knew what the brothers did then. Only this: they were not seen again. On the nights of full moon, the wind whispered to the city: Betrayal, brother: yours cannot be borne. the nights of hidden moon, the wind whispered to the city: Forked is your tongue: lies cannot stand.
The tallest tower crumbled on the night they disappeared. It was said the glittering stone was softened by blood.
The brother and sister ascended to the thrones. Years and years they would rule, as generous king and queen, as good king and queen. Wise as the forked tongue, guileful as the scaled coils.
None contended with them, those serpents of silver and gold.
©Venesa Burranupakorn
Venesa Burranupakorn is an undergrad studying English Literature at the University of Durham, England. Her highest aspiration is that, after graduating, she won't have to stand in a street corner while pleading to passersby that she will write lit essays for food.