Chapter 38 – For Him
Two years had passed since the bloody fall that had marked their childhood. Yet fate refused to let the two brothers taste peace. The nightmare returned, crueler and more relentless than before.
Glann was no longer the same. At nine years old, his body already seemed in ruins. He coughed constantly, a harsh cough that tore at his fragile chest and filled the air with a metallic taste of blood. His skin, once pale and smooth, was now covered with red pustules that sometimes oozed. His eyes were bloodshot, giving him a possessed look, and the unbearable itching drove him insane. Each night, he scratched himself until he bled, leaving the sheets stained red.
One winter evening, as the wind whistled through the cracks of their cabin, Glann turned to his brother. His body shook, lips dry and cracked. His thin hands clutched at Gosh's worn sleeve with desperate strength.
— "Gosh… why… why is my body doing this?" His voice was broken, gasping. "It burns… it itches… I can't breathe…"
Gosh, still too young to fully understand the illness, felt his heart break. He grasped his brother's hand, trying to hide his panic behind a forced smile.
— "Hold on, little brother… it's just a sickness. It will pass. I promise you."
But Glann shook his head, eyes brimming with tears.
— "No… I feel… I feel like I'm going to die…"
Those words struck Gosh like a sword to the chest. His expression darkened, his throat tightened.
— "Don't say that!" he shouted, almost angry. "You have no right to leave me alone! I will keep my promise, do you hear me?!"
Glann smiled weakly despite the pain, his blood-stained teeth showing in the shadow.
— "You're always strong, Gosh… but I… I'm weak…"
Gosh's fists clenched. He trembled, not from fear, but from rage at this cruel fate.
— "You're not weak!" he yelled. "You are my brother. And as long as I breathe, I will find a way to save you!"
Outside, voices rose. Whispers at first, distant, then closer, more threatening.
— "That boy… he's cursed."
— "He'll infect us all."
— "We have to eliminate him before the sickness spreads!"
A stone flew, shattering the window with a sharp crash. Sharp shards flew across the room. Glann flinched, his breath short. Another stone hit the wall, tearing a piece of wood.
— "Get him out!" shouted a man.
— "Burn him!" screamed a woman.
The cries rose, hateful and relentless. Torches flared outside, lighting up the night with a trembling glow. The flames cast monstrous shadows on the walls, as if an army of demons surrounded their cabin.
Glann shivered all over, clutching his brother's fingers like a drowning man grabbing a lifebuoy.
— "Gosh… they're going to kill us…"
Gosh's heart raced. His breathing quickened, but in his eyes burned a fierce determination.
— "Let them try…" he said in a deep, almost inhuman voice. "I will never let you go."
Without hesitation, he grabbed Glann's hand, broke a plank of the wall with his shoulder, and jumped outside. The icy night swallowed them. Behind them, the torches swiveled, and dozens of silhouettes screamed in pursuit.
— "There! Catch them!"
Gosh ran, his brother clinging to him like a weight that would have crushed any other child. But he held firm. His feet pounded the earth, raising clouds of dust.
Glann gasped, his chest wheezing.
— "I… I can't run… my legs… they won't hold…"
— "Then I'll carry you!" shouted Gosh.
He hoisted him onto his shoulders, arms trembling under the weight, but his gaze burned with rage and courage.
A stone flew and struck his temple. Blood ran down his face, blurring his vision. But he did not stop.
— "Hold on, Glann!" he shouted, gritting his teeth. "As long as I live, no one… NO ONE… will take you from me!"
Behind them, the shouts continued, the flames chasing their flight. But in Gosh's heart, a promise had been etched in red-hot steel: to protect his brother, no matter the cost.
The brothers ran all night, fleeing the torchlight, fleeing the hatred of their village. When at last their legs could carry them no further, they collapsed in the dark forest, soaked with sweat, lungs burning. Dawn broke over their exhausted faces, and from that moment, their lives took a path from which they would never return.
For weeks, they wandered from hut to hut, from abandoned barns to cold caves. Everywhere they set foot, the whispers arose again: "It's them… the cursed children…" And each time, they fled, chased like mangy dogs.
One night of pouring rain, when their clothes were little more than rags and Glann's breathing was barely audible, they reached an isolated valley. At the bottom, nestled between steep cliffs, lay a peculiar village. The houses seemed hastily built, with misaligned planks and pierced roofs. Silhouettes roamed the edges, armed with rusty daggers and poorly maintained bows. Their gazes were heavy, wary.
Gosh, carrying his brother on his shoulders, quickly understood: this was no ordinary village, but a den of thieves. Yet, it was their only refuge.
The leader of the thieves, a broad man with a thick beard and black eyes, looked them over.
— "Two kids alone… and one of them is sick as a dog. You think we feed useless mouths here?"
Gosh clenched his fists.
— "I can work. I can steal, run, climb. Let us stay… I'll do anything."
A harsh, hoarse laugh echoed. The men, amused by the boy's audacity, agreed to keep them. Not out of charity, but because a desperate child could be useful.
And so began their clandestine life.
Days passed, then months. Two years went by. Glann, meanwhile, had only worsened. His illness had deformed his body. His limbs were twisted, thin, and stiff. His face bore deep marks; his reddened skin seemed always to burn. He spent his days lying on a mat, fighting against the pain. His eyes, however, still shone with a fragile spark.
Gosh, for his part, had changed. From a scared boy, he became an agile thief. He learned to slip through alleys, steal an apple unseen, open a purse with a single gesture. His hands, once pure, had become those of a survivor.
Every evening, he returned with a stolen crust of bread, or a half-rotten piece of meat, offering it to his brother.
— "Here, Glann… eat."
— "And you?" Glann always asked in a faint voice.
— "I ate before."
It was false, almost always. Gosh denied himself, his stomach screaming, but he preferred seeing his brother swallow something than watching him starve.
In the filthy alleys, the other thieves mocked him.
— "Look at the kid… he doesn't steal for himself, but for his brother's corpse!"
— "Let him die, it'd save us work!"
Gosh endured the taunts, teeth clenched, gaze dark. He never answered. Because his fists would be useless against so many men, and because every second, every breath of his brother counted more than anything.
One night, returning from a run, Gosh found Glann curled up on the mat, his nails bloody from scratching his pustules too much. His body trembled, covered in sweat.
— "Glann!"
He rushed to his side, placing a hand on his burning forehead.
— "Gosh…" murmured his brother. "Why do you keep going? I'm just a burden. You should… leave me."
Those words were like a knife in Gosh's heart.
— "Shut up!" he cried, voice broken. "Never! Do you hear me? I will never leave you!"
He held him in his arms, pressing the frail, twisted body against him. Tears streamed from his eyes.
— "I'll steal again, I'll fight again. I'll do whatever it takes… but you will live."
Glann closed his eyes, a painful smile hovering on his damaged lips.
— "You're stupid, Gosh… but thank you…"
And so the days passed. Glann's suffering grew, but Gosh's resolve hardened. In the alleys of that thieves' village, a child was becoming a shadow, ready to do anything to protect a single fragile flame: his brother's life.
To be continued....