Mantos

  Mantos, Mantos… Dear brother, I will find you…

  ‘No!’

  Mantos jerked upright in the bed, his chest heaving. Sweat cooled on his brow. Realization slowly returned. Pain singed as if he had been burned. Another nightmare, he thought. The same cursed nightmare.

  Twilight stretched along the horizon. It had been light when he last looked. He stared at the mound of blankets, at the soft rise and fall of Fonbir’s breathing. He sleeps in peace, he thought. I wish I could do that again.

  Mantos perched on the edge of the bed, staring through the window as his breathing settled. When he’d had enough of trying to count the pinprick stars, he turned and began cataloguing every detail of the night, the room, from the soft shift of color from brown to gold to white of the fur bedspread, to the gentle beat of Fonbir’s breathing.

  They hadn’t been together before Mantos returned from the dead. Their love was confined to letters dancing across pages, hidden from prying eyes. Now they had been together it was everything they thought it would be and more. It was something they never thought too. In their adolescent scribblings, even their older princely communications, the sentinels at the door were only to protect them, to allow them to exist in their new world. They were Fonbir’s most trusted guards, but they were tasked to keep more than secrets. They had to keep Mantos in. That was never written. It shouldn’t have been.

  A touch at Mantos’s shoulder made him turn.

  Fonbir, wrapped in blankets, white eyes hooded with fatigue, gave him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘What pains you, Toketa?’ he asked. ‘Did you not sleep?’

  It took some time before Mantos answered.

  ‘When I sleep, I dream,’ he said. His words felt like an insult to the silent night. ‘I do not want to dream and thus, I do not want to sleep. Yet I do, and I am tortured.’

  The bedding rustled as Fonbir sat up. His hands went to Mantos’s shoulders, working at the knots of tension.

  ‘I had a dream,’ he said. His breath was warm on the nape of Mantos’s neck. ‘I dreamed we were together. Then, when I woke up, I found it was not a dream but reality.’

  Mantos managed a smile as Fonbir pressed gentle kisses to his shoulders.

  ‘Do we live in dreams?’ Mantos asked. ‘Or do we live in nightmares? Do we live somewhere in between?’

  Chuckling, Fonbir wrapped his arm around Mantos’s neck and brought their cheeks together. His talons played with the chain around Mantos’s throat.

  ‘I am no philosopher,’ he said. ‘I have not read as many books as you have.’

  Mantos shifted and took Fonbir’s face in his hands.

  ‘I have read books, but I am not godly,’ he said. ‘You might not have read as many books, but you are good and pure. Your hands are not tainted as mine are. I have the blood of innocents upon me. You do not.’

  Placing his hands on Mantos’s, Fonbir drew his brows low.

  ‘Toketa, please tell me what’s wrong,’ he said. ‘You’ve never been so maudlin before. I worry.’

  ‘I do not feel myself, Nabi,’ Mantos replied. The pet name was awkward on his tongue. He chuckled. ‘How long as it been since I said that aloud and not in a letter. My Nabi, sweet and pure.’

  Fonbir’s frown deepened.

  ‘Don’t change my course with sugared words,’ he said. ‘Why do you not feel yourself? Is it the nightmares?’

  Exhaling slowly, Mantos shuffled backwards, stretching out along the bed. His tail spilled out, lingering on the rushes. Flashes of memory made him flinch.

  ‘I don’t think they’re simple nightmares,’ he said. ‘Nightmares change. This one is always the same. Every detail is identical.’

  ‘You dream of Bandim,’ Fonbir said. ‘You dream of your fears surrounding him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mantos replied. ‘I do. But these images are not puppet theatre of the mind. They are not my fears manifested as symbols, like some would say. They are real. And they have become so much worse since I told your mother all I know. They seem more…real. As if the events are not dreams but are actual, like I’m pulled from my body and into another world. And the pain, it gets worse every time. It isn’t even pain any longer. It’s agony.’

  Memory surged forth.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  ‘I…I…’ He rubbed his forehead as a touch of dizziness swirled out of nowhere. He was still disoriented by the dream. ‘I cannot but think Nunako despises me for surrendering my brother.’ He blinked and rubbed harder, but the bedroom continued to tip one way and the other. He reached for Fonbir’s hand but couldn’t find it. The dizziness transformed into pain—as if his head were cleft in two.

  No! I am not sleeping. I am awake. I am awake!

  He couldn’t think his way out. It was like his eyes were stitched open as he watched, unblinking and unwilling. Once more he was torn apart, ripped at the seams, destroyed by his own brother.

  Mantos…Mantos…

  Jerking and twisting in vain, all he could do was succumb to the pain. Yet he fought back.

  ‘No!’

  Mantos woke on the floor, his throat half-closed. Fonbir screamed for the guards.

  ‘Get Bomsoi! Now!’

  ‘No…’ Mantos said, though the words were little more than squeaks. ‘Not… Not her…’

  Fonbir returned to his side, brushing fronds from his face.

  ‘Shh, shh,’ he said. ‘You were overcome by an evil of shaking, but Bomsoi will know what to do. Stay calm, Toketa. Stay calm.’

  Mantos gripped Fonbir’s claws as another tremulous wave rolled over him.

  Mantos, Mantos… Dear brother, I will find you…

  No, Bandim. No…

  He was ripped apart, the dream proceeding as if its teeth were sharper, its mouth hungrier.

  But two hands dipped into his dream world, hands that were blue and purple, hands that scooped up his pieces, slotted him back together.

  Gradually, the pain passed. Reality swirled back, and those hands were replaced by hands that gave gentle caresses. Hands that stroked his forehead. Fonbir’s hands. Mantos was in his bed, comforted by the one he loved, cradled on his lap like a hatchling.

  But reality came with jagged edges, like shattered eggshell. There were memories of his shaking, and a pair of eyes that watched from the bedside.

  I am weak, Mantos thought. I cannot control my own mind. I cannot live with my guilt. But why do I feel such remorse for speaking out? Why do I feel as though I betrayed my brother, a brother who tried to kill me?

  A voice in his head clarified.

  Because you are a traitor.

  Mantos shifted under the furs and briefly pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt as gnarled as an ancient tree, as tied in knots as the most dreadful of tangles. Fonbir cooed and petted, Bomsoi stayed at a respectful distance. Her armor glittered in the candlelight.

  As always, she was dressed in sober robes of black. There was no elegant trim, no jewels, nothing to suggest she was in any way important. And yet she was. She brought Mantos back from the dead. Now she had dived into his head, a hero of old tales, a savior.

  Mantos raised his head, propping himself on one elbows. The shadow of pain made him bold.

  ‘What is your purpose, Bomsoi?’ he asked. ‘My mother tells me you were there not long after I died. She tells me you were the one to save her and you were the one who took my body. Fonbir tells me he worked with you. He tells me you knew I was going to die. How did you know all this? Why were you in the right place at the right time so many times?’

  Bomsoi stepped closer to the bedside. She inclined her head.

  ‘I am a stranger in this world, though I have lived in it for many cycles. I am one of you and yet I am not. I know things.’

  Weariness threatened to weigh Mantos’s head back onto Fonbir’s lap.

  ‘Why must you talk in riddles?’ he asked.

  He expected a remark that arced around the truth. But that was not what he received. Instead, he was favored with a knowing look—the sort a mother might give a wayward son.

  ‘I do not think you would believe me if I told you,’ Bomsoi said. Her eyes gleamed with mystery. ‘Why waste the words?’

  Mantos grunted. Fonbir rubbed small circles on his back.

  ‘I have a right to know,’ he said. ‘You meddled with my life. You meddled with my death. And now at every turn I see you. I deserve to know what you are so I can understand what you have done to me.’

  There was an upturn at the corner of Bomsoi’s mouth and something strange that glittered behind her eyes. She gave a shallow nod.

  ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I will tell you.’

  Before she could speak another word, her entire body became still as stone.

  Her eyes shone blue and bright in the darkness.

  Mantos’s throat tightened.

  ‘Bomsoi?’ he asked, bolting upright. At his side, Fonbir stiffened.

  There was no response. Mantos’s breathing quickened as he watched Bomsoi, immovable as a mountain, staring blankly with those ethereal eyes. It was as though she was encased in ice or was a statue hewn from silvery rock.

  ‘What in the name of the Dark is this?’ Mantos stared at the frozen curve of her mouth. ‘Look at her eyes! Fonbir, who is she?’

  Fonbir licked his lips, fighting for the words.

  ‘I don’t know, exactly,’ he said.

  Mantos smelled the lie. He grabbed Fonbir’s arm.

  ‘Please, Nabi,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you know.’

  There was a trembling in Fonbir’s arm. He licked his lips again.

  ‘Bomsoi is…a mystery,’ he said. At Mantos’s derisive snort, he shook his head. ‘I know that sounds strange, but she is. She is called the Stranger for good reason. She’s been an adviser to my mother for many cycles. She’s commanded battalions of the queen’s army and it was she who trained Valaria in combat. She trains Fylica now. Before she worked for the longest time in the encampments with her apprentice. And…’ He stumbled, looked away, then looked back. He lifted his free arm and pointed at his eyes. His white eyes. ‘There’s something I’ve never told you, Mantos,’ he said. His voice wavered, and he swallowed. His pupils were wide in the stark blankness of the round of his eyes. ‘There’s a reason Bomsoi is trusted by my mother. When I was young, not yet gendered I caught eyepox. My eyes scabbed over and I lost my sight. Nothing the healers did made it better.

  ‘But Mother had heard stories from one of the camps, of a healer that performed miracles. Desperate, Mother had her soldiers bring the Stranger to me. She touched my eyes and chanted words I didn’t know. Then the scabs lifted and I could see again, though I was marked by her magic—her strangeness. My eyes turned white.’

  Mantos pulled away, lips tightening in a frown.

  ‘You told me your white eyes came from your father,’ he said. ‘Why did you lie, to me of all folk?’

  Fonbir’s eyes filled but he blinked the wetness away.

  ‘I didn’t want you to reject me,’ he said. ‘Touched by sorcery, I would carry a taint if anyone knew. I couldn’t bear your rejection. Only Mother, Valaria, and I know the truth. Even Fylica thinks Father’s eyes were white because she doesn’t remember him.’

  Reeling, Mantos rose from the bed. He gestured at Bomsoi’s gleaming eyes.

  ‘What is this creature?’ he asked.

  Fonbir opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to speak. Instead, Bomsoi answered.

  ‘I am the Daughter of Gods,’ she said. ‘I am the Joiner of Hands.’