The Choice

A long time ago, in a glaxy far away...The legend of two brothers.

-o-

The path to the abandoned temple was slippery with rain and mud. The darkness stretched its arms around the swaying trees, hid all life – slumbering and nocturnal – into its embrace. The night was warm and deep and silent. The fresh scent of rain lingered, pure and lovely.

The company of six walked in a row along the narrow path with sure, confident feet, hardly making a sound. Their brown robes merged with shadows, their faces eclipsed by hoods. A company of faithful priests – a company of deadly warriors. They climbed the path higher, not faltering even once on the overgrown, wet track, until they arrived at the half-ruinous courtyard. The stone temple loomed above them, ancient and full of mysteries. The huge doors were cracked, spilling darkness and secrets. Despair hung in the air, thick and smothering.

One of the six took a step forward, one, and then another. The hooded figure looked at the stone doors and beyond, through the cavernous hall and twisting corridors to the inner sanctum. A heart beat strongly within.

"He is here," one of the remaining five said, a statement void of emotion, although not lacking altogether sympathy.

"Yes." The figure did not turn to face his companions, but drew his hood away, letting the night gaze upon his features. Shorn hair, the color of which was indistinguishable in the dark. Sharp eyes surrounded by deep lines, a scar disappearing under a trimmed beard. A man in his prime, although tired, weary, bruised. Resolved. Determined.

"Will he come peacefully?" One from the row of identical brown cloaks asked, sounding doubtful.

"I will go alone," the man said, still looking at the doors and what lay behind them. Feeling the heart beat, beat, beat.

"You will do what must be done." Not a question or a request.

"Yes – I will do what I must." And the man stepped through the broken doors into the company of the dead and the one, whose heart still beat in a steady rhythm with his own.

In the dark, the man found the inner sanctum of the temple unerringly. A torch was burning near the stone altar, laying shadows upon shadows on giant rock figures, on their unseeing eyes and time-eroded faces. Surrounded by their silent regard was a man clad in dark leather and armor. He knelt facing the altar, upon which lay his sacred weapon. A tribute or the offering of a penitent?

"Brother," the brown-cloaked man said evenly. He did not move further into the chamber, but stretched, reached out until his spirit touched the dark man, careful and hesitant. The other stayed kneeling, still as the stone figures all around him, but everything in him recoiled, rebuffed the gentle touch. He curled further upon himself, away.

"So the great Order has come to punish the wicked heretic at last." The hilt of the weapon gleamed in the firelight, arrested both their gazes. The hidden blade called with pulsing blood, a color of deep crimson.

"Once fallen, one can never come back," was the steady answer, the line old and weary from repeated recitation.

"I do not wish to come back!" The other suddenly roared, anger echoing against the walls. He rose swiftly and turned, facing his once-brother-in-arms. Bloodshot eyes, rimmed with yellow fire, met the older man's gaze defiantly. "I won't come peacefully or otherwise."

"I know," the man answered calmly. His clear-sky eyes did not turn away from the burning stare of the other. "Not even for me."

Something softened ever so slightly in the zealous gaze, a remembered bond whispering of days and nights spent side by side, sharing everything and anything, both important and mundane. "Not even for you." The words were honest, but not cutting.

"Then I must come to you." The declaration was spoken with surety, with a blood-oath resolve. The brown-cloaked man stepped closer, ever closer into the circle that held his lost brother, closer until they were standing mere inches apart.

"It's dark where I am," the other warned, breath ragged.

"Not so dark as it is here without you."

Hearts beat strongly in synchrony. One or the other – or both – cupped a cheek, touched the base of the neck, laid his forehead to rest against the other. Brow against brow, heart against heart.

"You will do that for me?" The darkly clad man asked, bewildered. "You love the light."

The other smiled sadly. "I love you more."

"They will never let me leave here alive." The yellowish eyes closed, leather-clad hands took hold of the brown cloak, not letting go.

"We live together – and we'll die together." It was an old vow, religiously held, secretly cherished.

"Yes, Master," the dark one exhaled, exorcising long-held fears and doubts. His spirit soared like a bird, flew higher and higher before coming back to earth, settling against the other, light and effortless. The man took his weapon from the altar, fastened it with sure hands back to its customary place.

Together they left the secret sanctum and walked through the long-forgotten corridors, out of the cracked doors into the courtyard. Together they faced the waiting five, with blue and red blades blazing in the dark night.

Together they fought and lived and died.