Deshni wiped one arm across his sweaty brow and leaned on his shovel. The sun, though dulled, was hot through the multi-colored clouds that incessantly threatened rain. He sighed as he looked past the fences and out into the empty vastness of lifeless, angry desert. Somewhere out there was a cave. A cave with fighters. His thoughtful brown-green eyes went blank as he day-dreamed.
Some time later, Deshni started back into the current world and nearly fell off his shovel. He quickly began to dig again, hoping no one had noticed his momentary lapse.
Hardly a few minutes later, a dull, metallic crash sounded across the country-side. The clouds rumbled with their strange, empty thunder and were lit from within by the sky's fire. In moments, the rain would begin.
Deshni! came his father's shout. Cover the crops! Hurry now, boy!
Deshni dropped his shovel as though it had suddenly become coated with burning coals and ran through the dry soil to grab the coverings. His father, Stelton, was already there.
Stelton shook thick, dark hair from his face and thrust a corner of the ancient, dirt-coated cloth into his son's callused hands. With the barest nod, the man began to run, Deshni sprinting to keep up with him.
Their few crops had been much reduced by the violent weather, but they still had one small field and Deshni's father would give his soul to keep those gangly crops alive. It was all the tiny family had. The man glared. He hated the poverty. Once, he had been so rich. If only that were still so.
The first raindrops began to fall when they had nearly reached the shaking plants. The rain was colored purple and blue and its thick acid burned in stinging slashes across their bare skin. Deshni nearly cried out when one hissing drop struck his eyelid. Blinking hard against the onslaught, he ran faster, hating to think what would happen if his father's dream was ruined.
They worked madly to sling the cloth over the rows of purple-drenched, burning plants. Stelton clenched his jaw in frustration, hating the weather and begging his plants to live. Deshni pinned the cloth down and rushed to do the same to the other end.
Stelton slipped and thunked to the muddy, boiling ground. The rain burned badly and he moaned, trying to get back to his feet. Deshni ran to him.
Dad! he shrieked.
Get the cloth, boy! he growled through clenched teeth. Deshni hesitated, then ran to his father and pulled him to his feet. He flopped angrily, pushing Deshni away.
I said, get the cloths, boy, he demanded, teeth clenched.
Deshni took a deep breath and shook his head. His brown hair slapped his cheeks, shooting acid pains against them.
Dad, let's go. The crops'll be fine.
No, you idiot boy, get back there! I c'n manage! He shoved his wet son towards the plants.
No, Dad. We're going in. Come on. Deshni's voice was rock-hard and ice-cold. If you die out here, who's gonna bother getting the crops in anyways?
And if I live, who's not going to have any food? his father countered, shoving his wet hair up off his shoulders. You, me, Akeste.
Deshni bit his lip. Akeste was his little brother. He was only eight and as scared as a mouse among cats. And so thin. If he died, what would Deshni or his father do? Probably fight until they ended up killing each other. Deshni swallowed hard and blinked away acid water and tears.
Fine, he snapped softly. But only if you get back in that house right now.
Stelton looked ready to argue for an instant, then gave a little glare and a shake of his dark head and turned to hobble off through the mud back to their tiny shack.
Deshni breathed a sigh of relief, blinked hard, and turned back to the crops. The muddy, purple rain had slowed from its acid waterfall to but a few drizzles here and there. Nausea buffeted Deshni as he walked to the far end of the field- the part that was still uncovered. The little green plants were now brown and withered. Despair coated the plants in thick coats.
No, Deshni whispered, shutting his eyes hard. No! Wake up, you stupid plants! Wake up! He slid to his knees in the mud and shook one plant. It crumbed to a wet, brown slosh that let off the stench of burning rot.
Deshni sadly pulled the cover over the shriveled plants and stood. Looking up at the purple and green clouds, he growled through clenched teeth, Why? Why, why, why? Why! he ended in a shriek that broke as tears ran down his face. He crumpled to the warm mud with a sniffle and sobbed in despair.
The illusion of light had left the cloud-blackened sky long before Deshni rose and limped back to the shack. His father looked at him suspiciously, still angry, and Deshni looked away, biting his lip.
Desh! came Akeste's squeaky voice. I wanting to go look for you, but Daddy wouldn't let me. Me's so glad you're home! With a little shriek, he jumped into Deshni's soaking arms. Now it was their father's turn to look away. Bitterly, he wondered why the child was so attached to Deshni and not to him.
It's great to see you, too, Ake. I'm glad someone cares. Deshni shot a look at his father, who seemed to be studying the fire pit.
Yeah, when them bad purple clouds a-come, I weres real worried, Akeste continued innocently, blissfully oblivious to the anger between his brother and father.
Denshi fondly ruffled his brother's hair and strode to the fire to dry off. Akeste bounced around, chattering in his childish way. Deshni grinned at him, then chanced a look at his father. His father looked quickly away, but their eyes had met for a moment, and that moment left Deshni even more confused than ever. He had seen not only pain, but sorrow and hurt in his father's eyes. It was definitely not hurt from a wound or from earlier; that would have been a fresh hurt. This was an old hurt, an old sorrow, and Deshni's heart ached to know, but his mind was not prone to forgive so easily.
Akeste yawned loudly, momentarily interrupting his complete report of every second of his day. Stelton took that instant to say, Ake, time for bed, old boy!
Akeste looked to his brother for approval and the gesture tore Stelton's heart in half. Deshni nodded, not noticing his father's sudden pain.
The older boy walked his brother to the other room of the small shack and Stelton heard him whispering softly as he gently tucked Akeste into bed. Stelton sat forward as Deshni came out, but he shook his head. He's already asleep.
Sitting back, Stelton sighed, pain tearing at him mentally, and physically as well. The earlier fall in the mud had reawakened a pain in his knee that blazed dark fire at the slightest movement.
Deshni took a seat at the low bench near the fire. Father and son sat in an uncomfortable silence, both avoiding the other's gaze. After a long while, both opened their mouths and said simultaneously,
Dad.
Desh.
There was a moment of shocked silence, then Stelton said quietly, Go on, son.
Sure. Deshni gulped, then gulped again. After months of rehearsing this one phrase, he couldn't say it. His voice failed and he swallowed hard for the third time. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked into the fire.
Dad, I've decided to participate in the war. There. He'd said it. The words hung, dead and ominous, in the drafty air. Deshni took another breath and stole a glance up at his father.
Stelton blinked, surprised and shocked. He was positively horrified! Why would any son of his want to be in that worthless war? And anyways, Stelton would need Deshni to work at home. Yet a cruel little voice in the back of his head said, But with Deshni gone, you'd be alone with Akeste and be able to win him back to loving just you. Let's just let him go, come on. Let him go.
Stelton gulped. Letting Deshni go to war would be the end. And not just for Deshni, but for himself, too. He knew that Akeste would never grow to be strong and brave like Deshni. And besides, he'd seen war. It was gruesome and could only end in sorrow and pain. Elisabeth had been killed in the earlier parts of the war. Stelton winced at the deep memories. Only Deshni and Akeste had kept him alive. And now he was in danger of losing his firstborn son.
No, he found himself saying, but his voice was weak and sad. It surprised Deshni and he blinked, his throat full of confusion.
But- but I gotta do something! he stammered. I mean, Ake will never be able to fight and you won't. Think about it: blue skies again, the silver clouds you talked about us once having, the honor, the freedom-
No! Stelton was on his feet, his face red and his voice strong and solid. No! The blue skies are gone forever, as are the clouds! I never should have told you about the Old World! It's gone, boy, and there ain't nothing you can do to change that! His chest was heaving and it was all he could do to keep from sobbing his broken heart out. Or from grabbing his son around and neck and trying to shake some sense into him! Couldn't the stupid boy see how much he'd upset his father?
It was quite obvious to Deshni that his father was very angry, but he suspected it was out of bitterness and anger about the death of his mother, not his wish to leave. He leaped to his feet.
I can change that! I can make the blue skies come back and the birds sing again in the air! Deshni shouted, his frequent temper rising. I may not be able to bring Mother back, but I can sure as the winds howl bring back the sky and the birds! And I will!
Stelton was struck as if by a slap to the face by the force of his son's words. Deshni couldn't know how much he wanted Elisabeth back. Couldn't know what he would pay for the birds to be there again, every morning, singing on the roof and swirling through the air. If it weren't for Akeste and Denshi, he would have gone to the war long ago, but out of guilt and love, he had given up honor and courage to raise his boys, his last remnant of Elisabeth. And now his son, his ungrateful, worthless son, would give up all his father's dreams to fight! And he would die. Everyone who went to war did. He would give up all his father's worldly being to have one moment of battle-fire flowing in his veins, feel the pounding of excitement as the enemy flooded across the field, swords raised, to strike him down, like a burnt stalk of wheat in the wind. All for one moment, Deshni would give everything up.
Deshni was shaking with fury, unaware of his father's feelings. He was fighting for the clouds and the sky and the birds! He didn't care at all for battle excitement and had never felt it before. He didn't realize what exactly war would be like and he didn't care. He had nurtured the dream to fight for so many months. And now all he needed was the rusty sword that was hidden under his father's mattress. Long ago, there had been guns that fired steel into the air, but Stelton had told him of the time, right after the creatures had come and the world had changed. They had come to every house and taken all the weapons. Except for Stelton's sword. And that was all Deshni needed. That sword- and his father's permission.
The silence roared on. A soft batch of snores emanated from Akeste's room. The fire popped suddenly. A little blast of wind struck the roof and sent another bit of the straw flying.
Dad? Deshni asked finally, his voice stiff and caked with granite and the bite of anger.
No. Stelton's voice was hard as stone and sharp as his rusty sword.
Dad- Deshni began, his face transforming from pale to crimson in the fraction of a heartbeat. Stelton cut him off.
I will not have any son of mine engaging in idiot manslaughter! Now, I will hear no more of this. Stelton glared firmly at Deshni, but was daunted to find his son staring back just as rigidly. Stelton blinked, seeming to wither, to lose his strength.
Dad, I'm going, Deshni said, his voice final. I won't say when, but I'm going. I am. So don't be surprised when one morning you wake and find me gone-
No! I said, no more! No more, ever! Stelton jumped to his feet, grimaced in pain, and stomped over to his mattress in the far corner of the room. Go to bed, boy. You wouldn't understand how powerfully tired I am. Stelton's voice was weak and sorrowful.
I do, Dad! It's you who doesn't understand! I'm going to war and that's that. You're just too afraid to lose this silly farm and your little son! But just watch, I'll be gone one morning and you'll never take me for a stupid-
Enough! Stelton roared, feeling the familiar anger rise in him. With a jolt, he realized that the cold steel under his hand was the hilt of his sword. He gulped and hastily pulled his hand away, rubbing it on the blanket as if the sword had seared his fingers.
Denshi was surprised by his father's shout. He took a step backwards, then, still glaring, turned and stomped into the room Akeste and he shared.
Shaking, in pain, and afraid, Stelton pushed the sword directly under him and lay down on it. He'd know if it was gone. Slowly, he fell into a restless slumber haunted by dreams of a woman's shrill shrieks, red-hot flames, and the clash of steel on steel.
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