“Knight, how did you find out his name if I never spoke it to you?” she demanded.
“You didn’t need to, my Queen. The description is unmistakable.” Only two years had passed since they had seen each other, but it felt like half a lifetime.
Chism faced the Queen, hoping his mask of impassivity didn’t belie his roiling emotions. “Hatta is my brother.”
Chapter 22
Complements
Traveling the Northern Spoke in late springtime turned out to be even more difficult than in winter. Snow and frozen roads could be sheltered against, but soggy roads and incessant rain proved more insidious than a blizzard. Chism and Ander took advantage of inns along the way, usually staying two or three days at a time to wait out storms.
Frustrated with Chism’s constant pacing during their stays, Ander taught him to play chess, and he took to it like some men took to drink. But Ander was often busy with his projects, and few other travelers or small town folk played the sophisticated game.
When he agreed to accompany Chism, Ander insisted on as much time as he wanted to pursue his tinkering and creating. One of the projects that took Ander away from the chess table was a set of cards he was designing that could be used to play a variety of games. Featuring the players of the current political environment, four castes were represented: hearts, diamonds, spades, and swords. The former Lady Cuora was depicted by the Queen of Hearts. The countenance of the fair Palida graced the Queen of Diamonds. Markin’s formidable likeness fit the King of Swords, and Antion bore a spade. According to Ander, a spade was the perfect implement for the lad. Not only was it small enough for the boy to heft, but a true weapon would be inappropriate for a child. The explanation amused Chism, who was proficient with a sword by the age of nine. The whole project was a grand waste of time, but Ander wasn’t happy unless he was tinkering or creating, and Chism felt obliged to keep his end of the bargain.
The path they followed kept somewhat close to the Northern Spoke, but as Chism predicted, it meandered haphazardly. They couldn’t merely press northward on the road because at any point, Hatta was likely to veer off the path without explanation. So they tracked him through every village along the way.
At least they didn’t have to bother with taverns. One of the few things the brothers had in common was hatred of drink. Shopkeepers and traders were the best informants, and it appeared Hatta had acquired an interesting collection of dyes, tools, cloth, and crafting materials. Many farmers reported seeing him pass with his small cart and paired horses, sometimes doubling back a half day’s travel to revisit a town. At other times Chism and Ander passed through three or four villages without any reports of Hatta. It was exactly what Chism expected of his brother.
After three weeks, they reached the intersection of the Northern Spoke and the Fringe Road. Previously, the Fringe Road was an insignificant border between the Provinces and the interior of Maravilla. Since the split in the kingdom, it was now the official boundary between two hostile nations. The assault on Duke Jaryn occurred on the other side of the kingdom, but the Provinces were unified now, and Chism wasn’t anxious to find out how far his infamy had spread. Nothing but the search for his brother could make him cross back into the Provinces.
That or an Elite mission,
he thought with nostalgia. He just hoped the current journey wasn’t in vain. There was a chance Hatta would run off again without giving Chism a chance to explain.
Chism waited while Ander entered Selvage, the town just north of the Fringe Road, to find out if Chism’s head carried a price. When he returned with supplies, Ander reported that word of the split in the kingdom had reached Selvage, but no one knew anything about a fugitive Elite.
The weather improved over the next two weeks as the pair approached the northern reaches of the Provinces. They met a shopkeeper in a town called Marrit who claimed Hatta bought some mining supplies just two days before.
We’ll catch him soon. He won’t travel fast with such heavy tools.
.
As they left the village, Ander brought up Hatta for the eighteenth time. “How can it take so long to find a man with purple hair and hat?”
As long as talk didn’t turn to possible outcomes of the reunion, Chism would go along. “The thing about Hatta, he’s always in exactly the right place or exactly the wrong place, but sometimes you don’t know which until days later.”
“Are you nervous? Excited?”
Chism didn’t know exactly what he felt. Their parting wasn’t under good conditions, and it was too much to hope that they would be as close as before. “I don’t know,” said Chism. He dismounted and went to the side of the road to scoop up a few stones and stayed out of conversation range.
Every hundred steps Chism placed a small stone into his right pocket. When he collected ten in that pocket he dumped it and added one stone to his left pocket.
Twenty-eight stones later—twenty-two in his left pocket and six in his right—he spotted a small, stone hut a mile or two off the road. From the distance, he couldn’t make out any people or animals, but it was worth investigating. A path led eastward toward the hut, but once they were on it, scrubby trees blocked their view.
Just as he had every day of the trip, Chism wondered how Hatta would react.
Hatta, about eighteen years old at the time, had been the one to flee, after all, and without a word of farewell. He knew Chism was destined for the Elites; it was all he ever wanted to do. Yet his older brother hadn’t sent Chism so much as a single letter. And who could blame him after witnessing his younger brother, only thirteen, run their father through with a sword, even as Hatta pled for their father’s life.
The apprehension surprised Chism. He loved his brother more than he loved anyone else in the world. If Hatta didn’t accept him, it would be like losing a hard-won friend.
There’s that word again
.
The clearing and hut appeared suddenly after a curve and Chism saw a man with a fine coat and checkered hat from behind. After five weeks on the road, and more than two years apart, he’d found his brother.
Hearing them approach, Hatta turned. No surprise showed on his face, and Hatta smiled his half-grin. The worn town hat on his head told Chism he intended to stay at the ramshackle hut.
Hatta seemed to have aged more than the two years of their separation, but his crooked smile was as welcome a sight as Chism had ever seen. Leaving his horse to Ander, Chism walked anxiously forward, coming to stand face to face with his only living family member.
“I’m pleased that you’ve found me, brother,” said Hatta, refraining from physical contact. The gesture, or lack thereof, told Chism they weren’t as far apart as he feared.
A joy that Chism never found in his time with the Elites filled him. “Me too, brother. You’ve had some interesting adventures.”
“That day I fled was the worst of my life. My mood was black; everything was black when I left.”
Is he talking about leaving Palassiren or T’lai?
Chism wondered. Hatta thought every bad experience was the worst day of his life, so that didn’t clear it up. At least he could forget and move on. Chism had a habit of dwelling on negativity, allowing it to fester.
Hatta’s eyes lit up and he said, “But I’ve learned all manner of truths about colors.”
From the inner pocket of his coat he produced and unfolded a circle of cloth with varying shades of colors. To Chism’s eyes, each gray tone faded into another very similar one. He shook his head, but Hatta persisted.
“Colors fit into a circle, Chism. This is yellow and next to it is green because yellow and blue are green. So blue would be on the other side of green. Then purple.
“I know you can’t see it,” continued Hatta, “but this is red. It would be the color of you. And Cuora. Though I think her red makes yours look soft. And across the circle from red is green, which would be my color. But they’re not opposites. No, though I always assumed they were. Even though they seem opposing, they’re actually complements.”
Chism had no interest in a lesson on colors he couldn’t distinguish. “Hatta, we need to talk.”
“Yes, talk.” With a crooked smile and fingers that danced on his wheel of colors, Hatta continued. “See purple here? It would be the pure color of wildflowers. And across from it is yellow, the sun’s color. Complements. Not opposites. And here, orange, which is sunsets. Its complement is blue, the color of water. And there’s white and black, which aren’t in the color circle, but it still works. Like Cuora’s Knight and Knave. I haven’t met them but she told me they’re white and black. Not opposites. Complements.”
“Hatta.” Chism’s voice was insistent, but not harsh. In his entire life there had never been a reason to be harsh with his brother. Angry and frustrated, but never harsh. “Let’s go talk inside while Ander tends the horses.”
“Horses, aren’t they wonderful? What a relief you didn’t have to come all this way with mules for companions. Ornery animals, those.”
Chism walked toward the roofless stone hovel with his brother chattering nervously in his ear. Before crossing the threshold, Hatta reached for Chism’s shoulder, but brought his hand up short. “Please leave Thirsty outside,” he said. “Please?”
Things were not going well, but Chism still held out hope so he unbuckled his belt and sheath, leaving them at the threshold. He might as well leave his right arm.
“Did you come here to make more mirrors?” asked Chism. Plunging into an argument over Thirsty could very well make Hatta run again. In addition to instigating another estrangement, that would make it hard to keep his oath to the queen.
“No, I’ve made the mirrors I wanted to,” said Hatta matter-of-factly. “I’m after cinnabar. It would be where mercury comes from.”
“Mercury, huh?” said Chism with a pained grin. “When I was an Elite I was in the Quicksilver Squadron.”
A look of confusion and worry settled on Hatta’s face. “
Was
an Elite? Have ten years passed then?” Hatta asked, referring to an Elite’s standard term of service.
Chism saw his brother struggling with the mental math and helped him out. “No. I…didn’t last that long.”
Hatta was clearly relieved, but Chism didn’t know if it was because the time line made sense, or because Chism was no longer a soldier.
“Where have you spent the last two years, Hatta?”
“Palassiren. And before that Shey’s Orchard and Frenala. And I was in T’lai before I ran.” His eyes darted around the run-down room, looking for something to distract himself. If Chism didn’t keep the conversation on track, Hatta would start picking flowers or naming the color of the grout.
“I know. I was there with you.” There was no more putting it off; he had to address it. “Why did you run, Hatta? I finally solved our problem and you ran off.”
The restlessness of Hatta’s eyes spread to the rest of his body. He fidgeted, refusing to make eye contact. “I…I told you not to…do it. To kill him.” He forced the last out in a rush. “I told you not to.”
“And I explained why I had to.” Chism fought to control the volume and tone of his voice. “Why didn’t you stay? With Father gone neither of us needed protecting. I told you it was the last time.”
“But I was afraid, Chism,” said Hatta with tears brimming. He acted five years younger than Chism, not five years older.
“I would never hurt you, brother. I did it to protect us. It was just a matter of time until one of us ended up dead instead of him.”
“I know. I know. That wasn’t the cause of my dread.”
Worried he wouldn’t be able to control his temper, Chism waited in silence.
“I never wanted much. Just peace, and no conflicts. We couldn’t do anything about…him, but we could do anything about ourselves. So I found the colors. No matter what time of year, I found any color I wanted, even the colors of the other seasons.” Talking about his memories of colors calmed him noticeably. “In summer I found wintery blue algae hidden behind rocks. In winter there were autumn-brown crawfish that turned summer-red when they boiled. And the spring wildflowers gave me whatever color I needed at the time I needed it.”
More deflection to colors was too much for Chism. With severity his brother didn’t deserve, he said, “You found your colors and what did I find? A sword.”
He reached reflexively for Thirsty. The lack of his friend caused his temper to flare. “You’re five years older.
You
should have protected
me
!” The tears formed in
his
eyes now. He sounded like a pouting child, but didn’t care.
In a loud whine, he said, “But you just wanted to appease and mollify. And your baby brother had no choice but to pick up a sword! Your fantasies were perfect for your escape, but I didn’t have the colors. Or anything else. You failed me, Hatta!” He stopped yelling, and waited for Hatta to run from the shack, wondering how far he would have to chase him.
But Hatta didn’t run. Chism saw his own pain reflected in his brother’s face like a mirror of emotions. Without speaking Hatta stepped closer, reached out his arms and brought him into a careful embrace. It was his only defense against the abuse Chism offered.