Forbidden Fruit

Forbidden Fruit

Dorian Doman

Dedicated to my fish, Camthalion, or Cam.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't make money off it. I'm a poor, but humble (at least most of the time) student/librarian-type thing. Who would want to sue me? Was it the incident when I kicked someone's camel?

"Men are not punished for their sins, but by them." -Elbert Hubbard


Echrogen was a chivalrous lord. His attire was of suede robes, colored black as the raven that sat observant on his shoulder, or as dark a blue as the night sky. Upon his head was a circlet of silver that lay entwined in coal black hair. And about his throat sat a necklet that held a sapphire crescent moon and bones carved of the finest ivory.

He wore a smile regardless his line of work, for the dead were always well
treated and welcomed into his halls before judgment. Some, he decided, would be sent back into the world and others would live in peace for many years, their souls being purified until the day that they were chosen to rejoin the living in a completely new life.

At his feet lay the wolfhounds of gray and black, Saeshudian and Bargayous,
which had been bred by the finest. On his shoulder was perched Dargayian, a raven. These animals he had chosen as his messengers. It was a well-known legend; in fact, our mother had many times told us that if the two animals appeared and their piercing cries rose as one, the Lord of Death had came to lead souls into his hall.

His wife was the Lady Fate, whom many said was the kindest and cruelest of all. With magic, she wove great tapestries duplicating each being’s life — and Death — until they reached the Halls of Echrogen, Lord of Death. The Lady Fate was she who both gave and took away life, ruling with the lord Echrogen who lead spirits from their bodies and into his halls. Their marriage was equal—or at least as equal as one’s marriage can be when one could take away the other’s life and the other could give her hell as he died, and ruled, the place she lived.

She was a woman both old and beautiful. Wise, and yet not the brightest candle in the chandelier. Just, and yet readiest to strike anyone who ever dared insult her with a lightning bolt from the clearest of clear blue skies.

In short, the Lady Fate was a woman.

There were those, among others, whom she favored (and also used “the good
yarn” on). Two of such beings were the bothers Amarian and Camthalion.


* * *


The Lady Fate paced her room. Inside it was a large bed, enough candles to set the entire forest of Regaollain on fire, and a few paintings of nude, male woodland elves minus the wings. Such paintings easily matched the sculptures outside in the gardens. The sculptures, however, were by Echrogen’s good grace covered with masterfully placed leaves. He had argued with his wife that even a purgatory should have common decency because of the wee little dead ones.

Echrogen, meanwhile, was updating his filing cabinets of Earthly beings - Apparently, the Wa’s had been mixed up with the Qua’s – when he heard his wife’s shriek, dropping the document he held. “Echrogen! Come here!” I swear she’ll be the death of me, he thought, unamused with the bad pun.


* * *


“Are they not sweet?” asked Amarian, throwing another of the apples he held in his lap to his brother.

“Indeed they are,” said Camthalion, and looked to him as no brother should.
"But as you have said, brother, some things are sweeter," he said, running fingers through silken hair. “Damn sins and let me have you.”

“Aye, brother,” said Camthalion as he was pushed down in moist grass.


* * *


“Look at them!” exclaimed Fate, dragging her husband to her mirror by his arm.

Sitting at her loom, she wove their lives and the many paths and choices they could have — and did — choose. The brothers continued their sins, for the clouds were still as white. The leaves still fell in a blanket of brown, orange, and red. And what their parents didn’t know didn’t hurt them. And Nature, so it seemed, has as little regard for their going-ons as anyone else.
The days flew by swiftly and slowly as was always the way of life and after
many years, they passed to the Halls of Echrogen to await judgment. They sat
nearest the fire in the purgatory on a brightly woven rug, as youthful as they once were on the day the Lady Fate had been taken with them.

The halls consisted of many rooms, all lavishly furnished with oil lamps
burning to illuminate the room as if by the fires of a thousand hells. Paintings, candleholders, and great tapestries of the finest colors and most beautiful of threads lined the walls. "The paintings were masterfully done, and depicted the woods, the sea, a waterfall, and a bathing elf maiden… that interested far too many of the men and young lads. The tables were of fine cherry wood, blending nicely with the oak ceiling rafters and stone walls.

Nearest the front of the room was set a grand feast and many were laughing
merrily at a fair warrior who sang obscene, wicked songs. The blonde warrior had jumped nimbly to his chair, resting a foot against the table. The minstrels grinned widely before taking the tune. The blonde opened his mouth to sing and broke off on the first word, seeing the Lady enter.

“Fair Lady Fate! I trust my singing pleases you.”

“Off, Mandred, Echrogen already has an arrow waiting for you should you try
anything.” She sighed in exasperation. “When will he ever send you back?”

Mandred grinned smugly. “Surely you enjoy my marvelous company? And surely you shall remove the arrow from my aching hindquarters should I try to carry you off?” She ignored him.

As the Lady Fate approached the brothers, they fell into an immeasurable
silence. Surely they were going to Hell.

“Hail Amarian, Camthalion." She gave them a stunning smile. “Might I bother
you?” she asked, taking a seat upon one of the velvet sofas.

“Indeed,” said Amarian. “We owe both you and the lord high regards for such
generosity.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said. “I am no God.”

“Right you are, Lady,” hissed Camthalion. “We owe you nothing.”

“Cam…” his brother said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Then ask, brother, if she is so fair. What have we done to deserve this?” He referred, of course, to their incest.

“It is a gift,” Fate replied. “Nothing more.”

“It is a curse!”

“Then why have you done it?”

“Because I choose t- ”

“Exactly. But what is brother after all? A mere title?”

“But it is wrong,” Camthalion argued. “Sin.” Amarian's eyes grew wide and he
drove an elbow into his brother's side and hissed his name.

“I did not curse you!” she said firmly, laying a hand on his cheek. “No, dear, sweet child… On the contrary! I have blessed you – do you not see?”

“And now, Cruel Fate, you will have us separated and I have not even hope of
death in Hell!”

The Lady rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Camthalion… if everyone else is
without some sin… then what makes it worse to have love – even if it is sin – than to murder? Or steal? You have hurt no one. Have you not suffered enough?”

"No, we deserve so much more than tha- "

Amarian thrust a hand out to cover his brother's mouth. "You are right, My
Lady. We have suffered much. Long, horrible years." He nodded vigorously. Terrible. Just terrible."

"I see."

She stood and turned to walk away before glancing back. “Besides, those
paintings you were looking at – do you think I would have them up if sin was so horrible?”

Camthalion's cheeks redden. "I suppose it is not."

She turned to go again.

"But- " said Camthalion.

"Yes?"

"What... What is the meaning of life?"

"Hell if I know." And with that said, she left.


* * *


She entered Echrogen's study and wrapped her arms about his neck. He sat at his desk polishing his scythe. "Should I tell the young one there is no Hell?"

"No. He would be far less interesting. What would he have left to do in the afterlife if freed from the questions of Hell, the true extent of sin, and the meaning of life? Or his brother, chaos, who keeps him from perfection with love? He is the philosopher of the two, and philosophers never really get any answers. Tell but one, destroy both. "

"So there would be many more ruined sheets?"

"Exactly. And laundry is only every Tuesday and Thursday."


* * *


In the gardens, there were several trees with slender gray trunks and
branches. One held bright red leaves and the others were either bright green, a green-yellow color, or mixture of greens and yellows. There was also a fine
swing of creamy brown and the chains were rusted red-brown. Underneath it lay a stone walkway that was dusted with leaves from the trees overhead. There was a nest in overhead, which held a pair of sparrows feeding their young, singing for all who cared to hear.

Amarian wrapped an arm about his brother as the wind toyed with their hair. The birds had returned to fly after each other in childish frenzy.

“Don’t swing that thing at me,” the younger of two brothers said, staying back to chide while his brother went ahead to battle a tree with a short branch.

“I remember a time it didn’t look that way,” the father of the two boys said
while his younger sister cut his hair. Each strand was silver.

Cam rested his head on Amarian’s shoulder as they sat in silence, watching the world as they remembered it and marveling in the bliss and tranquility neither had experienced in ages.

Death’s arm came about Fate’s shoulders and the world, for once, was at peace.