Brothers at Arms Length

"More of this, brother?" came the sudden voice behind him.

Dellan started at the rough rasping voice of his brother.

"Yes. And why not?" said Dellan

The man moved with such quiet steps, Dellan swore his former profession before the cloth was one of the shadows.

"It's eons passed," Archimus said.

Dellan stuffed the pages he was studying under his own unfinished manuscript, as Archimus settled behind him at his own desk. He listened as his brother took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of his work, the ink, the paper and the rich leather binding. He often said it grounded him in their shared purpose. His brother settled back into his labours eyes close to the page, fingers making tiny movements.

"Millenia," said Dellan.

"What's the difference? Their bones and tombs lay dusty and buried."

Delann sighed, he knew he would not win this argument but he could not stop.

"But they worked such great wonders. They reach such heights of technology."

"That was their undoing if I remember my lessons."

"Yes, but..." he let the thought trail off. Even among brothers it wasn't a safe thing to utter out loud.

"But we would do better if we had such things?" finished his Elder Brother, not turning his gaze from the manuscript he was illuminating.

"We know better," he said in defense of a unfavourable position.

"We might. But we choose a different path, do we not?"

"We do."

"And why do we choose this path?"

"Because of the lessons we learned from their expense. We remain and they do not. We eschew the pursuit of knowledge at all costs, focusing on the growth of the spirit and the communion with our world around us."

"Your knowledge of scripture is sound. But come brother, out with it. Why do you think we do not?"

"Because we are afraid."

"Of what?" his brother asked, an eyebrow raised.

He had turned now in his seat to get a better look at the emotions furrowed in his younger brother's face.

"We are afraid that their objective lessons come tainted with their subjective failings."

"And you think this is not so?" said Archimus.

He had put down his instruments, he dusted the page without breaking his hard gaze with Dellan.

Dellan refused to wilt, "I do not."

Now Archimus laughed, a wicked deep sound "Tell me more."

Dellan paused a moment collecting his thoughts.

"I think that we hold onto the Darkness, we keep it close around us, instead of risking the Light. The light of knowledge and learning. We hide from it."

"We hid from the other Darkness brother."

"It is millennia since then. We are not the same people."

"We are similar enough. Even now I hear the same thirst in you, the same ambition that condemned us before. That brought down their glittering towers, that poisoned their oceans, darkened their skies and heated their world into an unlivable mess our order has had to clean up since its founding."

"Work that could've been easier if we mine the past for the wonders they hold."

"You propose we cherry pick, that we select that which is beneficial and simply ignore what is dangerous? That which ran rampant and caused such destruction."

"Yes!"

Dellan felt the trap close too late.

"Ah brother, but who decides what is safe and what is harmful?" asked Archimus.

"We do."

"Who is we?"

"The Order, the collective."

"There will always be differing opinions, there will always be greed, ambition and the lust for power. Better to keep those books closed than to try sort through the morass and get our souls dirty in the process. We managed without it."

"Did we?"

"Are you fed? Do the rains no longer burn? Do our fields yield produce?" Said Archimus, gesturing towards the window.

"They do," said Dellan, looking at his manuscript, his shoulders stooping.

"Are we not safe from the plagues of the Fallen Age?"

"Again, I say we do, brother," said Dellan his arguments dying in his throat as every time before when Archimus beat him into submission.

But this time fire sparked inside him. An anger, a surprising heat and desire not to bend this time. Not to let his brother brow beat him with common retorts.

"You speak of what we achieved. But you miss what we did not."

"It is not hard to miss what does not exist," said Archimus, gesturing the thought away like dust on parchment.

"Opportunity is not a myth, we eek an existence out of nothing but a sliver of this world. We can reclaim it, we can nurture the Garden, we can rebuild. We could..."

"You speak as someone who would be a hero, a leader to a promise land."

"I speak of what we could do if we open our eyes, if we learned from the past and we strove to use those technologies for our betterment. We have the strength of character to resist!"

"We do not!" Archimus surged to his feet. He slammed his fist against his table, knocking his ink to the floor. The dark pool spread toward Dellan's feet.

Dellan stared back at him, defiant.

"Even you idle fancies, your meanderings in the Histories of that age have given you a perilous hope. They have fed your desire for an easier life, a life of comfort, convenience. Honest hard labour keeps a person focused on what matters. Keeps our heads low and humble."

"Why must we be so humble?" said Dellan, who stood now as well.

Their faces were inches apart. The blood flushing their faces, Dellan's pulse rushed in his ears loud and deafening. He saw the same hot-blooded anger thundering in his brothers veins. But Archimus turned away first.

"Because their hubris brought us this low."

"We can do better."

"I don't doubt you truly believe so, brother," Archimus placed the listening device on his lectern.

The red light flashed in time with Dellan's heightened pulse, he looked at his brother his face pale. Sweat crawled from every pore, his stomach fell away, and chills colder than winter cave flooded his limbs. He was undone, betrayed.

"You gave me no choice," said Archimus, unable to meet his pleading gaze.