"Kelton!" Rebecca yelled.

Gossamer closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew what he'd see when they opened again. Kelton's heart was too big to leave the family to its fate. If only Kelton would have listened and waited for him in the forest as he was told. Alas, Kelton was getting older, and his independence was growing. He had no idea that to face one of the Brethren was death. Gossamer shifted the what-ifs to the side and concentrated on the what-is. The only person he loved in the world was about to die. Gossamer's purpose was over. A sly smile grew on his lips. Kelton was lucky to have seen one winter, much less fourteen. The boy had become a man, which allowed him to choose his own fate. Gossamer had given him that. He had given Kelton's father and mother that. Time was a success itself.

If this was the end, then so be it. Kelton will not face it alone, not while Gossamer stood on the same field of battle. The cause was noble, the boy nobler still. Sure, some hopes will die with Kelton but isn't that the way of life in a world where dreams were wasted thoughts. At least they would go down facing the evil taint head on. Gossamer opened his eyes.

Cory was on his knees, cuts riddled his body. The brother was playing with him, torturing him by delivering pain without death, all with one hand. The soldiers, both the King's and the Hold Lord's, waited patiently for their orders. The brother would have seen assistance as an insult. One mere man was not a threat, much less four or five. Taggert was on his knees, swaying after being hit by the pommel of the Brother's sword, his head slowly bleeding. The brother was ecstatic as if this were all a game for his entertainment.

Kelton was running toward the brother from behind, both swords held wide in his hands. His hair was bouncing wildly, glowing bright red in the setting sun. Joycelyn saw him at the same moment Gossamer did. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments. A strange instant frozen in time as they both saw the end clearly. It was Gossamer's smile that passed on the plan. They couldn't touch the brother, but Kelton might. He was unseen. At least they could exact some vengeance before the soldiers descended and killed them all.

Joycelyn screamed in a rage born of a mother protecting her children. Gossamer drew his dagger and let loose of a war cry. Together they charged the brother.

The brother's sword moved with impossible speed. It met Gossamer's thrusts with an ease he never knew possible. It was as if the brother knew when each stroke was coming and exactly how it would be positioned. All this, while fending off an insane unarmed mother trying to tear out the man's eyes. The brother was laughing again, as Rebecca redoubled her efforts to break free of his grip.

Joycelyn dropped to the ground, her face bleeding from symmetric shallow cuts on her cheeks. Her thighs had both been pierced with quick jabs Gossamer had barely seen. Rebecca screamed as the brother blocked another feeble attempt by Gossamer and decorated his arm with a deep slash to match the others on his body. All this done in the time it took for Kelton to run the fifty paces across the town square.

"Die, storyteller," the brother yelled. Kelton tossed Gossamer's sword over the brother as he neared. It was the step back that Gossamer took in an attempt to catch it, that saved his life from the killing blow. Instead, the brother sensed the coming sword, sucking the information from Gossamer's eyes and rising hand.

There was confusion on the brother's face, and the laughter ended as his sword rose and knocked the unexpected blade from the sky as if he knew its exact location. He turned to face what shouldn't exist. The scream was loud, driven forcibly from an anguished soul. Rebecca broke away from the brother's grip, falling on her backside, shock growing in her eyes. The scream continued as the brother's sword fell from his hand. The sound echoed off the buildings and traveled into the trees, soaking the world with a reverberating horror. The brother's body dislodged itself from Kelton's sword and dropped lifeless to the ground. It was then that Gossamer saw Kelton's face, covered in blood and still screaming. Gossamer quickly retrieved his sword and moved to Kelton's side.

"It's done," Gossamer said. Kelton's mouth closed and his eyes turned to focus on Gossamer.

"I'm sorry," Kelton said, his shaking hands still holding the sword outward. The initial shock was wearing off the soldiers. No one alive had seen a brother killed. They had no experience with the unseen.

"I'm not," Gossamer returned. His eyes moved to the soldiers, drawing Kelton's attention with him. "Pride is all I feel. I can think of no one better to meet my end with." Both the blue and the red had drawn their weapons and started to move forward. Gossamer assumed a fighting stance, feet shoulder-width apart and sword held outward. Kelton looked at him, then at the oncoming soldiers. He too assumed the stance as he had been taught, the end of his sword shaking uncontrollably.

"Head of fire, the first will fall!" It was Joycelyn who screamed it out. The soldiers stopped their advance, looking toward a proud man in blue, the Hold Lord. Apprehension held some sway. Joycelyn stood, the pain obvious in her face. "Head of fire, the first will fall!"

Gossamer remembered the old words. It is a storyteller's job to gather tales and learn from them. The words were long declared sacrilege, a death sentence to all who spoke them, but it mattered little to the already dying. Everyone knew them. Kushiel's Answer had been passed down through the centuries, kept alive over late night fires because it was forbidden. Gossamer looked at Kelton's unruly red hair and remembered it flying about as he ran at the brother. It was time to be a storyteller.

"You would dare threaten Kushiel's Answer?" Gossamer asked the soldiers. He stood taller, dropping the tip of his sword as if it were unnecessary. Confidence filled his stature, though he felt none of it. The people began to murmur, the shock of the brief battle fading and with it, a new possibility growing.

"What?" Kelton whispered. Gossamer stepped in front of Kelton, blocking him from the soldiers.

"Lord, you saw him end a brother with one stroke. Do your men mean so little to you?" Gossamer asked loud enough so all could hear. The crowd was shifting, some moving closer to Gossamer. Hope pulled like a magnet.

"I don't believe in sacrilegious fables, old man." The Hold Lord stepped forward. He was a bulky man held together with a pride born of his heraldic title. His men didn't possess his confidence. The King's own were also slow to follow.

"The first has fallen," Gossamer said to the crowd, "Are you sheep? Do you send your daughters to the wolf willingly?" Cory dragged himself to his feet. Blood coated his clothes, but still, his blade rose forward.

"Not my daughter," Cory said weakly. "Not my daughter," he repeated with more anger. Town men began moving, their small blades drawn as they lined up next to Gossamer and Cory. The women gathered behind them, though some forced their way to the front. Hope had a powerful pull.

"This town and you people are forfeit," The Hold Lord announced. He was backing up as he spoke, the numbers no longer on his side. There were none of the Brethren to back his words. "The King won't stand for heresy or those who support it."

"But he will stand for the forced bedding of my wife?" A man called from the right.

"Or mine?" yelled another.

"Not my daughter," Cory yelled again. The townsfolk became a mob, and it moved forward with a life of its own, forecasting a horrible agenda with the anger breeding in their eyes. Outnumbered, the soldiers retreated to their mounts. There were no cheers of victory as the soldiers rode off and the town people returned to the huddle in the square.

The threat over, Kelton promptly dropped to his knees and vomited. The anger faded as the people saw the boy's weak normalcy.

"The boy is not the one." It was the elderly man who had spoken for the town when questioned by the brother.

"No," Gossamer said as he kneeled next to the heaving Kelton. He patted Kelton's back in hopes the gesture would alleviate the battle fear. "He is nothing but a man who could stand no more."

"He said he would save me and he did," Rebecca said with conviction. She looked like her mother at that moment, mature beyond her years. Joycelyn moved toward her as best as her wounds would allow. Rebecca met her halfway and found more strength in her arms.

"Aye, and killed us all," another man said. "They'll return with hundreds." Kelton heaved again. Gossamer rubbed his back knowing the success was not as satisfying as Kelton had envisioned. The folk began talking amongst themselves, plans to vacate the area and find safety.

"He did kill a brother," the elderly man reasoned. "They are not invulnerable. It is our fear that makes them that way. Others will now know they can be beaten."

"Worthless knowledge, and at what cost?" yelled another.

"We must run," a woman said. She was hugging one of the girls that had stood with Rebecca. "They will come and choose another and kill the rest of us." Many agreed. Joycelyn's family gathered together, their wounds slowing them.

"I'm sorry," Kelton mumbled, his stomach still heaving with no more contents to expel. Gossamer could see the pain Kelton was in. He knew the boy had thought it was a simple black and white issue. Vanquish the bad guy, and all would be well. He had kept Kelton in the dark for too long. He couldn't tell him everything, but more information would serve him well. He would have to remedy that soon. Gossamer rose from Kelton's side.

"What's done is done," Gossamer said. "If they ride hard, it will take four days for an adequate force of the Brethren and soldiers to return to this village. If you leave by the morn, the ones who don't cross their path will find safety. Scatter to the winds in as many directions as possible."

"And leave all that we own? Our lives are here!"

"I'm sorry," Kelton yelled. He rose with watery red eyes. The brother's blood had streamed down his face and stained the front of his shirt like macabre art. He moved to the prone brother's body. "You made me do it," Kelton screamed, and he began kicking the corpse. He repeated the words and the continued the useless punishment until Joycelyn wrapped her arms around him. His brief insanity faded into tears, collapsing to the ground with her. She made soft shushing noises as she stroked his hair. All the adult had vanished from the boy.

"He only did what we all wished we could," the elderly man said. "I blame everyone, and me the most. I've watched more than you know die and disappear from the likes of them." He pointed at the dead brother. "You all with your youngins, you get gone, and I'll stay and steer those that come in the wrong direction. I saw one of the Brethren get what's coming, yes I did. That alone is worth more than the little time I have left." He chuckled. "Did you see the fear in the Hold Lord's face. I say they'll think twice about grouping us all together again. Drabkin's Forge will be remembered."

It was pride that chased away the melancholy. They had faced down the soldiers. The bravery of the elderly man furthered the determination of the town. Plans were devised, and people began moving off to gather what they could in preparation for evacuation. The Brethren would find little in the way of vengeance once they arrived.

"That red hair will become a curse, boy," the elderly man said to Kelton. "You best shave it off or work some soot into it."

"Mayhap, it's better to be found," Kelton said. He broke free from Joycelyn's arms. "Then it will just be me, and they'll forget about everyone else."

"Naw," the elderly man said. "It would not stop what will happen. It's best if you move far and fast." He chuckled again. "It will frustrate them to no end. I hope you know how to hide."

"Been doing it his whole life," Gossamer said.

It took some time to load the family into the wagon. Cory, Joycelyn, and Gossamer suffered from wounds that needed to be bandaged. The brother had known his anatomy, striking where it weakened the thigh muscles, making their movement slow and painful. Taggert was dizzy but put on a brave face. He kept looking at Kelton with awe in his eyes. Being young, heroes held a power beyond words and Kelton was the only one he knew.

Rebecca had a different look in her eyes. An infatuation that bordered on religious fervor. She was the one who cleaned the blood from Kelton's face with a tenderness he was too traumatized to notice. He sat on the ground in silence and let her care for him. She moved his hair about more than necessary, almost stroking it before Joycelyn intervened.

Gossamer drove the wagon, allowing the others to recuperate in the back. It wasn't lost on him that the brother's body still lay untouched in the village square. No one cared enough to move it, leaving it for the beasts to devour at their leisure.

Gossamer chose to retrace the way they arrived, believing the soldiers would never imagine they would travel the same road again. It was late in the night when he finally steered off into to secluded clearing, well away from the road. A distance Kelton assured him was too far for him to sense.