Excerpt: This is How it Ends/Just a Glimpse/Under the Infinite Skies/Legend of Paredin

The things that Pavo had said to him had been tumbling through his mind ever since they had spoken. After the dinner had concluded, they had talked of other things, insignificant things, while Pavo had played games with his children. Behind it all, no matter how good a front his brother put on, Stepan could see that the war was wearing him down, and that there was less life in him than there had been when he had last returned home, but even that had not been a joyous occasion; as that had been when he had brought his son home for burial. Even then, though, he had looked more alive than he had that day. Sorrowful, but alive, and blazing to get back to the war.

**
It had been a completely unexpected return, and the first that Stepan had known of it was when his father had come and knocked on his door early in the morning. It was unusual for his father to deign to visit him, and so when he saw the man standing there, he knew that there had to be something very wrong. The look on his face confirmed it. Immediately, he stepped back from the door. “What’s wrong, father. Has something happened?”

It was obviously painful for his father to speak, but when he was sitting in a soft chair, head back and body in a position of abject defeat, he said, “Your brother has come home from the war.”

The first thing that Stepan had thought was that Pavo had been killed, and his stomach turned to ice. Almost immediately, beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and the back of his neck and his heart had begun to race. He had seen Pavo as his hero, the brother that went off to war. Even though he still hadn’t supported the war even then, he had always respected and loved his brother. “What has happened to him?” he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. He wasn’t even sure that his father had heard the words.

“It’s not Pavo. It’s Valad.”

That hit even worse, like a punch to the stomach. He could remember Valad from just a short while ago. He had known that the boy had gone off to war, but he hadn’t thought that it would ever turn so sour. He had always assumed that once Valad arrived at the front, Pavo would make sure that nothing bad could happen to him. “When did he come home?”

“Late last night. I didn’t even know he was in the house until the morning. He chose not to wake me.”

“I want to go and see him.” Stepan rose to his feet and walked out of the house, not knowing and not caring if his father followed. The heavy footsteps on the street a few paces behind him confirmed it, but he did not turn to talk. There were no more words in him to exchange to his father. All of them belonged to Pavo. The walk seemed to go faster than normal, though that might simply have been because he was hardly aware of his moving until he had reached the familiar front door of his father’s house. The key had somehow appeared in his hand, and he pushed the door open, suddenly with a feeling of sick dread, so great that he thought he might vomit, at what he was going to have to confront within the house.

It had not been entirely what he had expected. Pavo was standing in the kitchen, staring out the window. There was a blank look on his face, his shoulders slumped; dressed in his army uniform, he looked like a soldier who had just surrendered to the enemy and now was awaiting his certain execution. More, that he didn’t care whether or not that execution came; he was as good as dead anyway.

Slowly, he walked over to his brother. It didn’t seem as though Pavo even noticed him. Gently he reached out, almost afraid to touch Pavo for fear that the man in front of him would suddenly crumble, but finally his hand was resting on his brother’s shoulder.

It was only then that Pavo turned his head, and Stepan could see the paths on the dirty face where tears had run their course. It was only when Pavo turned to face him that Stepan could see the dark stains on his brother’s uniform, that he could only assume were Valad’s blood. Pavo’s lips were straight, tight, and the muscles of his face were drawn taut. He was deliberately keeping his expression neutral, holding everything in so that nothing mattered.

“I’m so sorry,” Stepan said. He heard the front door close behind him and knew that their father was home, but hoped that he would give the two of them some privacy. “I never thought that this would happen.”

“No,” said Pavo. His voice was hollow and hoarse. It didn’t sound like him at all; Stepan hated hearing it. “I never thought it would, either.” It was only after those words had been said that his eyes focused, and Stepan knew that he was seeing who he was talking to for the first time. “Did father come and get you, Stepan?”

He nodded. “I thought that I should come and see you right away. I thought that you might…need me.” It was perhaps a pathetic thought; he had always been the little brother getting in Pavo’s way, but this suddenly seemed like the right thing to say.

“Thank you. I’m glad that you are here. I nearly came to your house last night instead of this one.”

“I would gladly have welcomed you. You know that.”

“You have your young son. I would have woken him. I didn’t want to do that.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. Did you sleep at all?”

Pavo shook his head. “I haven’t slept since I learned.” The shadows under his eyes showed that he was speaking the truth, and the slowness of his words was either that of a man drunk or a man exhausted. “But I will have to bury him, and then return to the front.” There was hardness in those words, as though he had repeated them to himself a hundred times, in order to convince himself of their truth.

“You don’t have to leave so quickly, Pavo. Stay, be with your family. We can help you through this.”

At this, Pavo stepped back, shaking his head. “No,” he said, the quiet tones of desperation in his voice, “none of you have lost your eldest son. None of you know how I feel right now. And none of you can help me. I have to return to the front because it is the only place that makes sense anymore.”

Something dawned on Stepan. “Do you want to die?”

Pavo looked as though he had suddenly woken up. “What? Die? No, I don’t want to die. What good would dying do for this country? For all the fathers who have lost their own Valad? Nothing. I will continue to fight. I will bury him, and never forget him.”

Stepan looked back over his shoulder. Their father was not in the room with him, but he was not a good deal away. He could probably hear every word that was spoken between them. He took Pavo’s arm. “Come. We’ll go to my house, so that the two of us can talk alone. I know that I can help in some way, even if it is only small.”

Pavo had relented, and they had taken the walk back to Stepan’s house; it had seemed much slower this time. They were silent on the walk, though he could feel that Pavo was shaking with some suppressed emotion; sorrow or anger, he could not tell and did not ask.

When they arrived at his house, he had locked the two of them away and they had talked for hours. Pavo had cried in front of him. As far as Stepan knew, that was the only time he had cried in front of anyone over his son’s death, and he had felt honored to be that one.

They had buried Valad the following morning, early, in the family plot. Pavo had been dry-eyed, his face steady and emotionless as they had gone through the motions. The body was placed into the ground and almost immediately afterwards, Pavo announced that he was leaving.

Stepan had gone after him. “You don’t have to leave right away. I know you said that you were going to, but stay. You don’t even have to stay with father. You can stay with me. That would be better.”

“I have to leave. I can’t listen to everyone in this family tell me how sorry they are that I have lost my son. I know that you did, and it was appreciated coming from you. But I know the feelings that we share, and I know that you are the only one whose condolences I want. Now that I have them, I can go. I can go back and fight. I will write to you, and you can write back. You will see that I am fine. I am just…I don’t feel as though this is my home anymore. This city might have been where I was born, but it is not my home. I can never truly return here and feel as though I belong. The front is my home now, as sad as that may seem to you. So I am going home, Stepan. I am just sad that I will be leaving you behind.”