(TLO) Chapter 82: It's All Done (Patreon)

“That was madness.”

Perhaps, a piece of Seth’s mind agreed with Barnabas, though Seth disagreed with it. If anything, Emriss had been kind to Forlorn. The stories he’d heard of Barons growing up were worse. That she had put a bullet in his leg for his disrespect instead of his head was a mercy Barons were not known for.

Apparently, Fin agreed with him. “Madness?” he asked, perplexed. “When Forlorn pulled the trigger, was that madness?”

Barnabas’ response was silence.

It was easier to dish out accusations than defend sins. But Seth did not hold it against him. Barnabas might be the best with the sword, but his mind was weak. Often times he found himself wondering if that was the reason Forlorn had befriended him.

They were in the dining hall having dinner of roast meat too much for seven boys to finish, beans and boiled yam. Seth wasn’t one for yams so he touched none of it, leaving all for his brothers as he bit into pieces of meat and spoons of beans. Beside him Timi ate as timidly as he always did, quiet and slow.

The dining hall was full of seminarians as was always the case. Brothers the same year as them occupied at least for tables, eating away their hunger none the wiser of what had happened not too long ago. The older boys ate with more control. It was minute, almost imperceptible, but it was there. As if age made seminarians more regal in some way. Closer to the doors were the younger seminarians, the closest having not truly witnessed the cruelty of the seminary. They were the ones who still had some speck of innocence in them, children who have not pulled the trigger on their brothers.

Do you think they consider each other brothers yet? A piece of his mind asked.

Seth did not answer it. After all, even now he did not consider all his brothers to be brothers. He turned a quiet gaze to Timi who still ate quietly. His mind thought quietly. At least you consider him brother.

“We will have to speak of Forlorn soon.” Josiah said from where he ate opposite Barnabas.

Barnabas paused. “What do you mean?”

“Anger or not, he did pull that trigger.”

“He harmed no one.”

“But he was willing to kill someone.”

“The cartridge was empty,” Barnabas refused. “We all saw it.”

Fin sighed. “And yet, he was unnaturally confident through the entire fight.” He dropped his spoon and rubbed his forehead between thumb and forefinger. “And we know he’s never won a spar against Jason before. He had a trump card only he knew about.”

“Planned deceit,” Josiah said.

“Are you saying he intended on killing our Jason from the start?” Barnabas asked.

“Yes,” Everyone answered without missing a bit. Timi, however, did not speak.

“Mindless slaughter,” Jason said, slowly.

They all turned to their brother. He was shaking horribly but somehow managed to keep the beans in his spoon from spilling. Whatever skill he had used had taken a lot out of him, drained him completely. It had been a while since they’d left the training hall and his state was showing no sign of letting up. It worried them but scared Fin.

Jason lifted his head to meet Barnabas’ gaze. “That’s all he thinks we are meant for. Mindless slaughter.” He looked back down at his meal and was quiet again.

In the chaos of moving cutleries and chewing mouths and clear conversations in the dining hall, the silence at their table was loud. Forlorn’s action hung over their heads like a guillotine. It was bound to come down. The only question was whose head would be there when it did.

Barnabas seemed unwilling to give up. “But—”

“You cannot expect me to continue to trust him,” Jason cut him off, his voice harsh and baleful. “You cannot ask me to trust a brother who aimed a gun at my face and pulled the trigger without hesitation. You cannot ask me to forgive him.”

Barnabas raised imploring hands, making a calming gesture. “And yet,” he begged. “You should.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s our brother.”

Seth gave an amused snort. “I had a brother once.” It caught everyone’s attention. “At least I think I did. Never liked him.”

“I thought you don’t remember much of your life before the seminary,” Josiah pointed out.

Jabari had advised against allowing his identity be known, so rather than making up lies he would have to remember and follow he’d gone with a simpler story. Amnesia.

Seth nodded without missing a beat. “I don’t remember much of it. But I remember a brother.” He tilted his head so that he looked at Barnabas. “I also remember that I never liked him.”

“Your half remembered brother is not Forlorn,” Barnabas scowled.

“And your psychotic boyfriend is not innocent!” Seth shot back. “Stop trying to defend him.”

“What did you say!?”

“I said—”

Before he finished, Barnabas scaled the table in one motion.

Seth snapped up a fork from the table as he pushed away from his seat. He stumbled backward, fell to the ground, then scrambled to his feet. He was up and ready for his brother before Barnabas had cleared the table.

“[Blink]” Barnabas hissed, and he was gone.

One moment he was on the table, then he was gone. A mild panic filled Seth. The boy had just disappeared, vanished from his eyes like the wind. Just how many of them had already begun learning their skills?

His stance lowered and he held his fork tighter. It was his only weapon. But what was he going to do with it against an opponent he could not see.

Behind you, his mind warned, and he ducked away from where he stood. He felt the breeze against his back as something passed by where his head had been.

“Following the path of your boyfriend, I see,” he scoffed, turning to face a panting Barnabas. “Mindless Slaughter.”

Barnabas’ scowl deepened. He was sweating something bad too, like a man who’d done nothing but run for an entire day. Yet while he saw rage in the boy’s eyes, he saw pain, and something he couldn’t quite place.

One of the fragments of his mind placed it for him. Shame.

It seems there might be some truth in your insult, another thought.

“How dare you?!” Barnabas panted into the silence of the hall. “What gives you the right?!”

That’s quite the audience, a fragment pointed out.

Seth noted it. The entire hall had gone quiet. All the seminarians from the youngest at the entrance to the oldest deep within spectated their altercation. “You can say that again.”

Normally, Jason would’ve chosen now to step up but Seth did not count on it; the boy was in no condition to interfere in anything.

“You don’t want to do this,” he told Barnabas. “It won’t end well.”

“I’m not Forlorn,” Barnabas spat.

“True,” Seth agreed. “At least you know how to use a skill.”

“[Blink]”

Barnabas took a step back and vanished.

When he did, Seth watched the entire thing. The world around him pressed inward, as if someone had dropped something on a thin transparent shawl, then his brother disappeared into it.

“Where?” Seth asked his minds as his brother vanished.

The answer was immediate. No idea.

He braced for whatever impact would come when another fragment shouted in his mind. Left.

He was about to step away when he felt someone on his right.

“[Indomitable Dome]”

Seth’s skin stood on end at the sound of Timi’s voice. He ducked on instinct, squatting out of the boy’s outstretched arm when a cry filled the air. The pain in it was unmistakable.

Above him Timi held Barnabas’ hand in a powerful grip. Whatever strike Barnabas had gone for, Timi had taken it head on.

Barnabas cried out in pain as Timi enforced his power on him, crushing the hand he held till it dripped bloody. He bent their brother’s hand downward and forced him to his knees. Where he held his hand, bloody and broken, something metallic poked out.

Timi’s face betrayed no emotions, even now.

“Rumor has it,” he said with the slightest touch of anger, speaking to someone who was neither a priest nor Seth for the first time in two years, “that I can crush you in one blow.”

His face, once emotionless, morphed into clear anger. “I will.”

He clenched his other hand in a fist and raised it above his head.

“Please…” Barnabas whispered between his pain.

Timi’s fist came down like the will of a vengeful god.

“No!” Seth barked.

In the silence of the hall his voice echoed. Behind it, like some broken piece of an unnecessary sonata, the sound of something breaking served as its prelude.

Barnabas fell limp to the side, his face hovered bare inches from the floor. The only thing keeping it from meeting the cold floor was Timi’s continued hold on his broken hand. But his partial savior was paying him no attention. Instead, Timi stared at Seth. There was something broken in his eyes, its inky blacks somehow managing to display an emotion of fear. A fear he focused on Seth.

“Did I,” he stuttered the words, slowly. “Did I do something bad?”

We don’t think so, a piece of Seth’s mind answered.

Though we didn’t need the help, another added.

Seth shooed his minds with a mental shrugged, willing them to silence as he met Timi’s eyes. His friend had done what he’d done to protect him. But there had also been an anger there, an anger he had either failed to control or refused to control. He wondered if it should worry him. Was this what it meant to be souled?

First, Forlorn had displayed an unnecessary need for violence. Then Barnabas, although the boy had possessed a bit of Justification for it. Now Timi.

But wasn’t Timi justified?

I’m sure Forlorn thought the same.

Seth’s gaze fought itself from turning to Jason as he mumbled, “Jason, too.”

Timi’s hold on Barnabas tightened and the unconscious boy groaned softly. Even unconscious he could not escape the pain. But the sound was enough to bring Seth back to the present. Whatever answer he gave his friend here would be important.

The hall remained drowned in its silence. The younger children remained so for fear of getting drawn into a problem they could not handle. Their mates held on out of curiosity. The older children, however, seemed utterly uninterested and were the first to resume sounds as he approached Timi.

He reached out to Timi’s hand and took what was sticking out between thumb and forefinger. It was made of stainless steel, with signs of yellow plating, perhaps once serving as designs of some sort or the other.

“You can let go now,” he said. “It’s all done.”

As if he’d been waiting for the command his whole life, Timi released his hold and Seth felt how tightly wound the muscles on the boy had been. He seemed to physically deflate.

Did he get smaller? A piece of his mind asked.

Another turned its senses on Timi in a way Seth felt like a physical force. It was as if the mind had taken one of his sense from him to attend the task. No. He got bigger when he interfered.

Indomitable Dome. This piece seemed intrigued. That’s three people capable of using skills. They’re growing fast.

And yet, we don’t have a fragment to our name.

But we are souled.

Seth frowned at the noise in his head, wishing again that they could find silence when he needed it. The piece of steel came away with him as Timi released Barnabas. When their brother’s face met the floor, sound had already returned to the hall. So no one heard him fall and no one cared.

The dark, endless void of Timi’s eyes did not leave Seth as he asked again, “Did I do wrong?”

Seth watched his brother’s fear and knew there was only one answer. “No, brother. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Tension eased from Timi’s shoulders and his lips loosened in a warm smile. At least, it was supposed to be. His eyes made it seem anything but.

As Timi returned quietly to his meal with a happiness in his steps, Seth looked down at the piece of steel in his hand. Staring back at him was a bloody, balled up fork, wrinkled and battered.

“How did you not catch that?” he asked his minds.

He must’ve picked it up when he disappeared.

He looked at his unconscious brother with new worry. A lot could be done to a man with a fork of stainless steel. Especially one as strong as what the seminarians ate with.

We think we’re missing the point here.

Seth nodded, allowing another fragment of his mind make the point.

Timi didn’t even flinch.

But Barnabas’ hand had suffered drastically. If this had been done to him before he was souled there would be no doubt he’d never hold a sword with that hand again.

Still, Seth slid the crumpled cutlery inside his cassock. How powerful does that skill have to be to be able to do this?

Something told him he would one day come to find out. He only hoped he would not be on the wrong side of the discovery.