KEETHRO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I thought I was dead,” Keethro admitted. “And I thought you were dead asleep.”

He and Titon had a fire built in the woods of the rocky foothills several miles south of Phylan. Having taken some clothing off the bodies of those they’d killed, they no longer looked so much like outsiders. Their new coats smelled of old sweat and fresh piss, but they were both too charged from the battle and too tired from so many days without proper rest to care.

“It takes more than that cider they call mead to put me down,” said Titon. “I saw you eyeing that ugly barmaid and knew there was going to be trouble. I figured better sooner than later, should I truly fall asleep.”

“Was she indeed ugly…aside from the sagging flesh?”

Titon rubbed his jaw with a look somewhere between concern and humor.

“Perhaps I have been too many days in travel,” said Keethro. On a voyage I did not wish to take.

“More likely too many cups of southern cider. But you never could handle your drink.” Titon spoke in his usual gibing manner. “It has been like old times though, has it not?”

“Aye,” Keethro replied truthfully. “It has.” But I must do what I originally intended or die out here like a fool. Tonight has only confirmed that. Bile rose in his throat at the thought, and he was thankful for the lingering effects of his earlier drinking.

They sat in silence for a good while, both poking at the fire for no apparent reason. Keethro wondered what it was that kept Titon awake. They had been so long without sleep, and Keethro had an unsavory task to complete that he would rather get over with as quickly as possible.

“How are you and Red?” Titon asked.

“My daughter?” Keethro gave it a moment’s thought. It was not a topic of conversation he had expected from Titon. “She hates me. When she was very young we were close, perhaps, but no longer, not since she’s grown.” It seemed there should be more reason to it than that. He could not recall ever being mean or spiteful toward the girl. “I suppose she is simply too much her mother. And I am done with that woman.” He’d known it for some time now, but to say it aloud was relieving.

“A shame to have a child that does not understand you.” Titon threw another log onto the fire, sending embers floating into the air only to die moments later. “It is the same with Titon.”

“He is a good lad, I’ve seen. Fierce with an axe, and smart as any from what I hear.”

“Smarter,” said Titon. “I am a fool and a coward though. I told him in a letter before departing what I should have told him long ago, eye to eye. As much as I wish to return with a remedy for my wife, I wish equally to return and see my sons, to know they have been successful on their raid, and to let them see the pride they give me.”

Keethro stared into the fire, letting it burn into his vision as punishment for previous misconduct. It was a cruel and stupid thing to have stolen, he thought, disgusted with himself.

“Then we will see it done, my friend.” Keethro said, hearing his words but troubled by their lack of sincerity.

“Aye. Good night, brother.”

Keethro fought to stay awake until he heard Titon snoring, this time in earnest he hoped. His mind had been plagued with doubt during what felt like an eternity waiting for those snores. The finality of what he must do weighed on him like a mountain. Whether it was due to his lack of sleep or his rediscovered affection for his friend of old, he did not know, but he found himself wavering in his resolve to go through with his original plan.

He studied Titon, the mammoth that he was, the chest beneath his beard rising and falling with each breath. How many times had Titon saved him and he saved Titon in scuffles such as earlier that night? He could not recall. When I sink the blade into your neck, will you awaken in time to know it was me? And with you gone, what will remain?

Keethro had no desire to hurt this man who he was now realizing was perhaps his only source of happiness left. But I have already caused damage with my misplaced spite that I cannot mend, he thought with regret. He turned around to rummage through the bag he had been leaning upon, checking periodically to make sure Titon was still asleep. His throat tightened as he found what he searched for. You fool, do not do this. But he saw no other options.

Keethro approached the fire with deliberate steps. “I am sorry, my friend. You deserved a better brother than I,” he whispered under his breath.

Upon the fire he placed the two letters he’d swiped from Titon’s home before they departed, watching them wither and burn. It was bad enough that he had not thought to write a letter of his own to Red, but that he had cost Titon what would most likely be his last farewell to his sons was far worse. As the wind picked up the last remnants of Titon’s words, now turned to ash, Keethro’s insides twisted and shriveled.

Now I must see this journey through and get you home alive. It was the only way he could think to rectify what he had done. Or at the very least, die a fool for trying.