Little Brother
She squinted off into the distance, just barely feeling the Quickening in the other as yet, but knew it to be an Immortal. She instinctively reached for her sword.
Why should this happen today? She did not usually venture far from the camp, but this had seemed like a beautiful day for a ride. It was and she loved a good ride. There was nothing like the freedom-nothing. She loved the wind in her hair, the sun in her eyes, the feeling that the horse and she were one and they would gallop endlessly on-making the world their own. So long as there was a horizon, there was a place for Anath-Sin.
A lone figure, astride a nag-a wretched-looking beast. Even from this distance she could tell it was a broken animal and she wondered about the wretch that rode it. She saw he wore his hair in the style of one of the mountain peoples-a people she had known. This had been to show his tribe-markings. Among them, for a time, she had stayed, and she received her own marks, and became kin to the people-but this was far from that land. That had been to the north, well to the north.
As he came closer into view, her heart stirred-it could not be! Her joy was complete-he would not want her head. She knew this man-knew him well. Had known him many times.
He did not seem to know her, though, and this was strange. She was unique for this region-her skin was pale for most climes, and her hair the impossible color it was. He should have known her for who she was right off. He almost reared the horse backwards when he sensed her, but then, he also looked at her. And his face changed.
She knew she should speak. She was uncertain-the look on his face made her so.
"Little Brother!" she cried. This nickname-how he received this nickname from her she could but dimly remember-it had nothing to do with size. "Little Brother!" she called again.
And then he knew her, it could be no other and he whipped the horse and paced the poor old bugger to meet her.
"Anna-it is you, after these many years-you!"
And he seemed so wistful, so genuinely happy to see her, that she was touched.
"Caspian, you remember me well, I know." She dismounted, as did he, and they embraced. His touch was warm, but she felt something strange in him. He clutched her a bit too tightly, as if he had a need. It had been too long-she must remember her friends better. Too damn long.
How many years had passed? For her, they never seemed long, but then, perhaps time moved differently for her. But this one, this was a young one. She remembered knowing him even before his first death-that was what made him dear to her. He did not even know that he could not be killed when he first stood up for her--he had been brave enough to face down his own people for her and thus became her brother.
Ah, "Little Brother", now she remembered. It was because of the language of his people. In another tongue, it might have been "younger."
She pulled herself back from his embrace and looked his face over. He seemed sad, as if he had known a loss recently. With respect, though, she would allow him to tell her of it only if he would-this was the proper way. Perhaps some three score and ten years stood between this meeting and their last.
She knew him to be strong, but as he stood before her, he was thinner, and looking again to the animal he rode, she understood he was in a bad way. She could not help it then, and inquired,
"My brother, what have you done with your time? What brings you here? Do you dwell far from here?"
Caspian's face lit up. It had been so long since he had someone to speak with, and Anna always could cheer one. She had that way about her-she could listen, or say the right thing, or simply make things right-he was glad that it was she.
"I have lived-I took a wife among the people that live not far-a good woman. And I live not far-would you not go to my place?"
Anath-Sin wondered if Methos would not be angry with her if she went forth with this man, but he had spoken of his wife, and so she thought it might be well-although Methos might not be pleased to know it was Caspian that she had met with. Methos and Caspian also knew of each other, and they could stand toe to toe. They had not raised a sword to each other, but she knew there was bad blood between them.
But also, she wondered how her Little Brother was being kept. She pictured it to be meanly. What wife keeps her man so? Did the woman not know how to farm, or even to gather-had she no people? His horse was badly fed, and so was he, and this must be seen to.
She would not have her kinsman be ill used. This was not her way.
*****
She would go at a trot, but for the condition of her companion's animal, and so out of respect, she kept back. She wished to draw him out in conversation, but he seemed to change the subject when she asked about his life, and this worried her. Was it dreadful?
Instead, he wanted to hear of her-what had she done, since they were parted? And so she thought. She would tell him it all-but no, she could not do that. Methos alone did she know well enough to speak of such things. Instead, she told a version of the truth that left out her time in Nippur.
"I have done as I always do-I ride. I burn. I take nothing from anyone in battle-I take what I see in spoils. The camp with which I ride is not far. We are Immortals and men alike-but this, I would remedy."
"You have never changed. Only the strong, Anath-Sin, only those like yourself. Men and Immortals. With whom do you ride? With any I would know?"
She hung down her head, knowing what the response to this would be. It was ever thus.
"I ride with Methos. He runs the camp. I am his woman. But I have influence." She would not have him believe her to be no one within that circle-by no means would that be so.
He pulled the nag up short, and turned to her.
"You? Methos' woman? After all these years, you still care for him above all things, do you not? His ways towards you have not always been respectful, Anath-Sin-he does not always show honor to your years and better counsel. I can imagine how you must ride by his side when you should lead."
She colored at this. What she had with Methos she could not explain. He respected her-but in his way. And she would not have him spoken of so-not even by one she cared for.
"I love him."
Caspian closed his eyes and nodded. That was all he needed to hear to understand, for he had known Anath-Sin well. When she loved, it was complete. She could love-by the gods. Her heart was terrible. It ruled her. It unseated her reason, at times.
They again were on their way. But now, it was in silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, though. Anath-Sin knew Caspian could be that way-quiet. And it did not mean anything. Surely he was not judging her. Not that she thought there was anything wrong with her arrangement with Methos.
"We are here."
*****
"Here" was a cave carved from the outcropping of rocks. It had been some time since she had seen a cave used as a dwelling-it was a way known to the older people-but it was still done. It could be done, if one swept the cave floor and laid out skins or cloths. It could be done if the cave were not so damp, as some were prone to wetness.
"It was...more convenient to the way we lived," Caspian said softly in response to her puzzled look. They had dismounted, and now they stood at the threshold. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she appreciated this. She would better know what this meant, though-and then it dawned on her.
"Was? It was? What means this, Little Brother?"
"She died. She was...not one of us. She had a fever, and she passed on. I saw it to the end, and then-I did what was right."
Anath-Sin nodded. She knew. Among his people, it was a custom to eat the dead, that their flesh be not wasted, and that the good of the honored one stay with the tribe. She often thought this might be what made Caspian and Methos naturally at odds-the difference in their cultures. Methos' people knew a taboo on the eating of human flesh-she would not be so ignorant as to tell him his people once were the worst man-hunters.
She herself almost met the fate of being carved with an obsidian blade, and made a pottage by Methos' people, time out of mind. She herself could not care what others put in themselves-so long as it was not she!
"Let us enter, then," she said, sadly. For now she understood.
He was in a bad way for he had no one. No one cared for him. He lived alone in this cave with his thoughts, and she could imagine nothing more sad. She must see this for herself how he lived, for he was her own kind, and she cared for him.
"It is...not…" and at this, a look came across his face. She wondered at the look, but let it pass. She knew what it was to be alone. And she knew how things could be-a shambles.
She turned, and placed her own arms around him. "I know. I have seen a house that has known death. I have seen what grief does to men. I will enter your place, and I will understand. You know me-we are kin. You are my Little Brother. There is nothing that we can not share."
And she meant this. And he looked into her eyes, and he knew it. She was always this way, ready to know-to understand. There was nothing she would not accept or face. And so he welcomed her into his home. She was Anath-Sin-his sister, and she would not wonder at what she saw.
****
The smell was what grabbed her first. It was a smell she knew, but did not like. It was the smell of death-the smell of human flesh. It was the smell of something that should have been let go a long time back.
The cave floor was clean, and there was a pit where the fires would be lit each night. And then her eyes fixed on the bones, and she was suddenly afraid for her Little Brother. This was a constant reminder-and none need this. It was her bones, the bones of his wife. He had kept them. He had let them remain-a testimony to his love of her. But this was wrong. They both knew this.
"Caspian, my own brother, how long have you kept her here?"
He lowered his head. He did not wish to answer-to answer would be admitting to a weakness, and this was hard. He did not like to make his feelings known, but then, this was Anna. He took a breath, and he spoke--
"Two years. Harvest has come and gone twice since her death. I loved her more than life-I would have done anything for her, but I could not make her like myself! She died-and I must remember! We are flesh-they are flesh-and the flesh is consumed."
She saw, then the worst of it: two years he lived like this. He lived in his own mind. He grieved, but the wound was old. He shared this with none-oh, her poor brother. He had been alone in this. It was because of his nature. He thought he could bear this alone, as Immortals are strong, but this should have been borne among family.
She was his family-she his people. She knew that, so she touched his face. She looked in his eyes and saw the grief. She wanted to make it go away, but knew better. The least she could-the most she could do-was comfort him, now. And so she held him--embraced him so fiercely that his return embrace spoke volumes. They were hurting each other-but this was what he needed-the contact.
"My dear brother," she spoke, finally, "you must bury her. We can love mortals but for a time. Then we must give them up. Oh my brother-I know it went hard with you. I know it was painful...but I know you will live. You must believe me. Caspian," and she felt the tears come, and knew they must, "Let her go."
He was silent. It was so hard. It was something he did not ever want to do, but Anath-Sin was right.
"Will you help me?"
"Oh, yes, Little Brother, yes. I will help you put her into the earth that she is returned to the mother. I will say the rites, that she knows peace. This must be done, there is no other way-you can not keep her."
He began to cry. He was but two centuries old; this was still new to him. And she remembered when she put Uta-nammu to earth-how that had hurt her. It never changed. It always hurt.
"It is not good that you are alone, Caspian, my brother."
He nodded, and looked away, with tears.
"My brother-you should come with me after this."
"Do the rite. Bury her. Perhaps we will both know peace if you do. I want this-and then-I will decide."
*****
They buried her, and shared the knowledge of the ritual. She was remembered by them both, now, and being remembered, would live. Caspian was still sad, sad beyond her knowing, but she knew she could not do that which would make him forget even though the temptation gnawed at her. Only Methos knew the pleasure of Anath-Sin's favors. She knew this was the best of comforts, but she would not bestow it. Instead, she must invoke their kinship. She would relate to him as a brother no matter what he had been in her past.
"My brother, have you decided?"
"I have, and have not."
"How do you mean?"
"You ride with Methos-and Methos and I have ever known each others' throats. We would kill each other...one of us would die."
She knew Methos better than Caspian did, and doubted this. He could be patient-he was better than she gave him credit for-her Methos. If he loved her, he would better accept her brother. It was not a question-Caspian should be with them. If he remained here, he would know madness.
"No. Neither of you will, for my sake. I love Methos-and he loves me. You are my brother, so he must respect you. For my sake."
"For your sake-does Methos love you this much? Can he love you so much he tolerates me-for your sake?"
Anath-Sin shook her head. She did not know the depths of Methos' love of her, and half-feeling she was at his mercy-she cared not to speculate. But if Caspian were there-if the balance was better made-perhaps it would not matter so much what Methos thought. She could have both of them. And they would be both her kin.
This was what she craved-a family. She-Methos-Caspian.
What better? What more deadly? What more perfect for the life she led?
*****
They set off for the camp-Anath-Sin would have her way in this, and Caspian was too beside himself to counter her.
"When I have brought you to Methos, he will know you should be one of us. He knows that you can fight and he knows you to be a man. If he is less than accepting, then this shall be left to me. I have a way with him," she spoke, trying to overcome the silence that fell between them, and to convince them both.
Caspian said nothing, only rode on.
"We will find for you a new steed. That one is fit for tent-hide. You should know a charger-like that black creature you had in the steppes. Oh, that, a beautiful horse-obedient and could run like a high wind in a bad storm. Did you not call him after the storm?"
"I did."
She could tell something was on his mind, and she would know it, but she would not pry. It was not her way to ask questions, but rather, to be around when the answer came out. So she simply was quiet, and then, he did speak.
"There had been others who I killed. It was as if there was nothing I could do, else. They were alive, and I despised them for it. And as I had no use for work-for hunting, it was..."
She knew. She knew from the smell in the cave that this was so, but being also a killer, she could scarcely judge. She herself had stood on the edge of madness more times than she cared to count. It was a thing that could occur to anyone. So, she simply repeated,
"It is not good for you to be alone."
When he was among herself and Methos, and when he again knew companionship-again he would be her Little Brother, as she knew him. She found herself again after so long by this scheme-perhaps he would be healed as well.
She only hoped that this habit would not be known to Methos-he sickened so easily at such things. One day, he might be a bit more understanding. But as she knew him now, he would only be revolted.
*****
Methos had seen her do this before, by the gods, he had. Take in a fox cub, a wounded bird, even that boy child back in Nippur-she had a heart like that. And so he listened patiently as she explained the straits her dear friend was in, and knew he was going to be among them-damn her, but she did have a way-a passion about her. He could not say "no." He could only look stern and pretend to resist her.
For her part, even as she explained these things to Methos, her eye was on her Little Brother. One time, he had proved his strength for her-now, it was up to her to be equally as strong. If Methos said "No," she would except being outcast rather than giving up on her adopted kin. She just prayed that Methos did not put it to that point. But she knew deep down he would not, for she was certain of his affection for her.
The men eyed Caspian, and she knew he would fight before the night was through-this was the way. One had to be strong to ride among them, and she smiled secretly. She herself had trained him, shown him how to be strong and also how to win. Pity the poor fellow who took it too far with Caspian-he would be giving up a Quickening for sure, if he were not mortal. Pity the poor mortal who crossed him as well-but then, at least they would have meat-all but Methos, of course. (This thought brought a twinkle to her eye that she carefully hid from Methos-he would be put out!)
And when Methos finally relented, although her case was probably won at the outset, she looked at them both, Methos and Caspian, and was as happy as she could imagine. She had a family, two men whom she knew she loved and could count on. She might grieve less for that boy she had lost, now.
The three of them--her family.