Notes:
Woohoo! I actually put up a chapter for approval on time with my self imposed deadline!
Ahem. To clarify, Esben is a far better artist than I, and my version of his painting is like…not the exact version of what I had in my head as I wrote this.
Chapter 20-Going Back
Esben stopped and let go of Artham’s hand. He exhaled loudly and surveyed the careful arrangement of easels and canvases as if reassuring himself that everything was where it should be.
“I haven’t shown these to anyone else yet,” he said, “not sure I ever will. Except that yesterday someone was in here trying to ‘clean up’ he almost took the cover off one of these when I came in.”
Artham laughed.
“What did you do to him?”
“Eh…just ordered him out. I felt like dumping a bucket of paint on his head. He was so scared that he had made me mad that it was kind of hilarious.” Esben suppressed a laugh.
“I know,” Artham replied. “Yesterday someone cleaned up my room too, and whoever it was ‘straightened’ all my piles of books. I couldn’t find anything! I need to remind the Head Steward to stop sending people in here to clean…” Artham trailed off and looked at Esben expectantly. He was absolutely itching with curiosity to see what Esben had done, but he thought he might have a guess.
“Anyway,” Esben let out a loud puff of nervous breath. “This first one was the one I gave them to show at the funeral.” He pulled off the rough gray cloth and revealed the portrait of Jru, Illia, and Nala that had stood alone on the pedestal in the cathedral. Artham stepped forward without realizing it and gazed at the painting. It was the first time he had actually been able to see it up close and for the first time he realized what an incredible job his little brother had done. It was most likely that he had done it from memory, though he could have used as reference a few of the more formal portraits of them around the castle, but this was by far the best portrait of them that Artham had ever seen.
They weren’t wearing the regal clothes that they had on in all of the castle’s paintings, but instead the type of clothes that they wore day by day, still regal, though nowhere near as formal as their throne room or court clothes. Putting aside all of that, though, the true focus was on their faces. Esben seemed to have captured each one of their personalities in their images. He had poured all of his love and skill onto his canvas, and created something that stirred the hearts of others.
“Wow,” Artham said, turning to his brother. “How long did it take you to do this?”
“A couple of days.” I finished it the first week, and I’ve painted a lot of stuff, but this was the best suited to use at the funeral, even though I wasn’t thinking about that at the time.”
“It’s amazing, Es. By the way, do you know what portrait they were going to use?”
“You really weren’t listening, were you?”
“Not really.”
“Uh…me either, at that last meeting for planning. I just found out the night before that they were going to use the portrait in the left wing of the library.”
“Seriously?” Artham asked. “Who decided on that?”
“Not me, that’s for sure.”
“Well, this one is way better. It’s my favorite painting I’ve ever seen of them. I love it, Es. It’s…hold on a second, I’m trying to think of something…
Life from paint and paper,
Captured, preserved, forever.
Through the brush in the hand of its maker.
All of your paintings are like that.” Esben was smiling sheepishly as his brother talked, and now he was moving on to the next easel.
“Where did you get that poem?”
“I just thought of it. It wasn’t really a poem, more of a rhyme. Maybe someday I’ll make a real poem out of it.”
“You should,” Esben said as he pulled the cloth of the next frame. It was a moment before Artham remembered that he wasn’t actually inside of the painting, another moment before he reminded himself that because he wasn’t currently in the painting that he needed to breathe, and another moment before he remembered to say something.
“I-I- just…Esben you are some kind of magician.”
“Thanks, Arth. It’s the gift the Maker gave me, so if there’s any magic in it, it's not mine. I’m using His gift the best I can, and I’ve found that my best comes from what’s in my heart.” The second painting was quite a bit larger, and was actually a drawing made with different shades of pencils and a small amount of watercolor. Despite the painting's opacity, Esben had managed to create the appearance of light filtering through a leafy tree. It portrayed the kind of afternoon that Artham had loved best, and thus had tried hardest not to remember, but seeing Esben’s painting brought it all back.
It was a painting of one of the huge trees in the castle garden, the one that had the old stone bench under it. Illia was relaxed in the slope of one of the tree’s wide roots, holding a book, and by her expression, reading aloud. Artham, who looked maybe fourteen in the painting, hung upside-down by his knees from an overhanging branch, reading above Illia’s shoulder. Jru sat on the stone bench beside Nala with his arm around her and his eyes closed in ‘relaxation’ as he listened to his sister read, pretending not to notice as a twelve year old Esben sprinkled a handful of torn up leaves in his hair. Nala seemed to be shaking her head at Esben, but her eyes were full of laughter.
The painting was done in less detail than the first, which made sense since there was so much going on in it, but every line was expressive. In short, it was an image that told a story, or to the two people left who had been there, it was a memory made far more vivid by the physical form it had taken on. Artham felt a painful stab of joy as he looked at the painting. The memory nestled into the locked up place in his heart where his memories lived and drew them out. He was overwhelmed by the rush of everything that was before, and he realized how much he had buried inside of him.
The flood of memories brought back the tightness in his chest, but even as it hurt, it helped to heal.
“I remember this exact afternoon. You did it perfectly. Remember how hard Aunt Illia laughed when she finished the chapter and Papa’s hair looked like a bush?” Esben laughed softly.
“Yeah, I remember. Do you want to see some more?” Artham looked up, remembering that Esben had a lot more paintings. He whistled softly as he realized that there were at least ten more.
“I want nothing more.”
* * *
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the brothers had wandered far into the halls of memory. The dinner had been completely forgotten and five more of the paintings had been uncovered. Most of them were sketches, only a few were colored and only one was actually finished, paint and everything. Each one sparked a new conversation, and each one was a new wonder. Every scene was a memory, or something that their aunt or parents had done so often it had become a part of their life together.
There was one of Illia overseeing a wooden-sword fight between the brothers, another of Illia and Artham working on a poem while Esben doodled on the margins of Artham’s paper. One of them Jru wrestling with the boys while Nala looked on, bent double with laughter at Artham’s intense scowl and Esben’s glee. One of the few that had the basic colors laid down was Nala with her hands lovingly on the brother’s shoulders, leaning over them to exclaim at the map of their favorite woods that they were plotting, complete with the cave, stream, and up till then nonexistent tree house. By the time the sun had set, all the paintings had been uncovered, as well as every precious memory the brothers shared with Jru, Nala, and Illia. The first two images had been the crack that had broken down the dam for Artham, and his heart was full. Finally, Artham looked out the window. The sun was setting slowly, and Artham could see the pale white of the moon as it rose from the horizon.
“Es, look at the time!”
“Uh oh, what…um, what exactly did you tell Bonifer about that rather important dinner we were supposed to attend?”
“It doesn’t matter. They can figure things out without us for once. Besides, I wouldn’t trade these last hours for anything. And I didn’t want to go, anyway.” Artham sighed. “The strange thing is I’m so tired!”
“Arth, are you kidding me? You haven’t slept in about forever. It's definitely not strange that you are tired. Go to bed. By order of the future king of Anniera.” Artham yawned loudly.
“I think I will. But I feel a lot better now, even without any sleep. Thanks, Esben, for everything. I already said it, but you really are going to be a great King.”
“I think I could debate you on that, but I’m not going to do it now because you need to get out of here and go to bed!”
“I’m as good as gone,” Artham said as he dodged a something that went whizzing by his head, absentmindedly hoping it wasn’t a book or anything else likely to be damaged by hitting the wall behind him.
* * *
Two or three hours later Esben opened the door to his room and peered down the hallway, intending to sneak down to the kitchen for a snack because he had just realized that he hadn’t eaten dinner. Instead, he was surprised by a light shining under Artham’s door. He opened it softly and looked inside, Just in time to see Artham wrap a leather strap around a thick leather notebook, his fingers black and smeared with ink.
“Arth, what are you doing?” Artham started and jerked around to see Esben, nearly tipping his chair over.
“Um…not sleeping?”
“Obviously,” Esben answered disapprovingly.
“Come see.” Artham unwrapped the leather strap around his journal and handed it to his brother.
“Wait a minute, didn’t you get this journal for your last birthday?”
“Yeah, Aru gave it to me.”
“But, the whole thing is full! Cover to cover!” Esben exclaimed as he flipped through the pages that still smelled of fresh ink.
“I filled it all tonight. I’ve been writing down everything that I remember about them. A few of their favorite quotes, the beginnings for some poems. Things that it would be a crime to forget. Es, this is my way to make sure I can always remember and remind.” Esben smiled as he skimmed through the notebook.
“I’m going to read this whole thing tomorrow,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the older brother replied. After a pause, Esben spoke again.
“You wanna sneak down to the kitchen for a snack?”
“Absolutely,” Artham said, grinning as he rose from his chair. “I’m starving.”
“And then you are going to bed!” Esben exclaimed.
“Indeed. And probably sleeping until noon tomorrow.”
Next Chapter