K. Parker: The Proof House

Bardas opened his eyes. ‘Is he still alive? He must be over a hundred.’

‘Still going strong, apparently,’ Gorgas said, ‘though Buciras and Onnyas take the boat out now. Well, before I stole it, anyway. So that’s that,’ he went on. ‘Everything we ever had, everything we worked for, you and me, all gone up in smoke, literally. It’s just you and me now, Bardas. We’re the only ones left.’

‘I see.’ Bardas closed his eyes again. ‘So where are we going?’

‘Ah.’ Gorgas’ voice was smiling again. ‘That’s what I meant when I told you it was all going to be all right. You remember Fleuras Peredin?’

‘What?’

‘Fleuras Peredin,’ Gorgas repeated. ‘Used to go fishing for cod and those long wriggly buggers with the big flat heads, out beyond the sand-banks.’

‘Yes, I remember. What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘Ah.’ Gorgas chuckled. ‘Well, I remembered something he told me once, about how he’d been caught in a squall and blown right out to sea; and he told me about this island he’d wound up on, a long way out. Of course I thought he was making it up, he always was a liar; and then I heard someone in the Hopes and Fears telling pretty much the same tale about a year ago, which set me thinking. Anyway, the long and the short of it is, there really is an island there; I’ve been there, and I know how to find it. It’s nothing special, I’ll grant you; lots of rocks and trees and not much else. But there’s fresh water, and a flat spot right in the middle that looks as good a bit of dirt as I’ve ever seen anywhere; spit out an apple pip and a year later you’ll have a tree. There’s goats living up in the rocks, and plenty of birds; you couldn’t go hungry there if you tried. There’s timber for building, any god’s amount of it; and to cap it all, do you know what I found, up one of the mountains? Iron ore; dirty great lumps of it, just lying on the surface. I promise you, Bardas; my strength, all your skills, there’s nothing we can’t have there if we want it. Just you and me, together. It’d be like old times. What d’you reckon?’

Bardas thought for a moment. ‘You’re crazy,’ he said.

Gorgas frowned a little. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re actually suggesting we could live together, build a farm, as if none of what you did ever happened. You want to go back to when we were kids, before-’

Gorgas’ face seemed to be falling apart; the cracked, angry, melted skin and the look of horror. ‘For gods’ sakes, Bardas,’ he said. ‘What I did? I love you, Bardas, more than anybody in the whole world, but you simply can’t just lie there and talk about what I did. One bad thing – oh, a very, very bad thing, no possible doubt about that; and ever since, every waking moment of my life, I’ve been trying to make up for it – to Niessa, to Clefas and Zonaras, to you. Every single thing I’ve done since, I’ve done for the three of you. And yes, I’ve done some bad things in that time, terrible things, but good and bad simply don’t come into it when it’s done for us, for family. But you – all the things you’ve done, all those people you killed – with Uncle Maxen, in the courts, during the siege, on Scona, Ap’ Escatoy, the war here; who did you kill them for , Bardas? For whoever was paying you? Go on, answer me, I want to know.’

Bardas shook his head. ‘Don’t you dare say that,’ he said. ‘Don’t you ever try to make it sound like I’m like you.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Gorgas was almost laughing. ‘You left home to seek your fortune; that’s fine. All the money you made, you sent it home for Clefas and Zonaras; you were trying to look out for them, just like me. During the siege you were fighting for your city. On Scona – well, you had the right, that’s all I can say about that; but we were quits after that, and you know it. But since then; you, a soldier of the Empire? Do you sincerely believe in the manifest destiny of the Sons of Heaven?’

‘What about the Islanders?’ Bardas shouted. ‘Killed, enslaved, because of you-’

Gorgas shook his head. ‘By the Empire. The people you fight for. Please. And besides, none of it would have happened if Ap’ Escatoy hadn’t fallen; and who was it let the bull out of the pen? But that’s all right,’ Gorgas went on, speaking more softly. ‘You were doing a job, just like you were doing when you were with Uncle Maxen; a soldier’s not responsible for the wars he fights in, just as I’m not responsible for what the Empire did to the Islanders – or what Temrai did to the City. And besides-’ He made his horrible face into a smile. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘we’re through with all of that now, both of us. Don’t you see? We can put it all behind us – dammit, if I’ve got one single virtue, it’s being realistic. We can’t put right any of the bad things we’ve done. Even trying to make up for them makes us do more bad things, worse things. There’s got to come a time when we say enough’s enough, it’s time to do something else ; something worthwhile and decent and good. I tried that, Bardas; I tried to go home, to be what I always should have been, a hard-working farmer making an honest living out of our land. I tried to wind back the wheel, if you like – and what happened? Our home’s nothing but cold ashes and trash, everything ruined, burned and gone. And you – well. I don’t have to say it, do I?’

Bardas was actually shaking with anger. ‘Everything, ’ he said, ‘everything bad in the whole world, is your fault. All the bad things, the evil things I did, are your fault . And I’ll never forgive you. Never.’

‘Oh, Bardas.’ Gorgas was gazing at him, his face full of compassion. ‘Do you know, what you just said, in a way, that’s an act of love. All these years you’ve been letting me take away all the bad things you’ve done. You’ve allowed me to do that for you. And that’s fine; I’m glad about that. Now let me do this one last thing, for both of us. Let’s take all the evil away, shall we?’ He grinned, stretching the burns and the wounds that hid his face like a visor. ‘Let’s rid the world of the Loredan boys, for good and all. Now wouldn’t that be something, eh? Get the Loredan brothers out of harm’s way, where they can’t do any more damage. Can’t think of a single more altruistic act than that. Think of it; we’d be as good as dead and buried.’

( It’s customary to die first; but in your case we’ll make an exception. )

‘And anyway,’ Gorgas went on, still smiling, ‘it’s not as if you’ve got a choice. You’re too weak to fight me, or jump over the side. When we get there, as soon as I’ve got you and the stuff ashore, I’m going to soak down the decks with lamp-oil and set this old tub alight. You want to get off the island, you’re going to have to build yourself a boat.’

Bardas was having trouble breathing. ‘Or I could kill you,’ he said. ‘I could kill us both.’

‘You could,’ Gorgas conceded. ‘If you wanted to; and then we’d really be alike, you and me – except that my act of deliberate evil was at the beginning, and yours would be at the end. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’›

‘Thought not,’ Gorgas said cheerfully. ‘So it looks like we’re going to be doing it my way. It’s all right; if I take away the choice, you can carry on blaming me for everything. You can blame me when it rains, or when it doesn’t; you can blame me when the goats eat off the green corn, or the hayrick catches fire; I’ll be glad to take the blame, it’ll be like old times.’

‘No,’ Bardas said softly. ‘Gorgas, please.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Gorgas said (he was walking away; Bardas couldn’t see him any more). ‘I guess you’ve just got to trust me, Bardas. After all, I’m your big brother and I love you. And haven’t I always seen you right?’