“Stop right there!” Dormin said, almost too loudly. “I think very well for myself. I’ve been doing all kinds of thinking, and I’m thinking our family has never done anything right. Our father never thought about anyone but himself, he—”
“He was your father!” Heth hissed. “How dare you speak against him?”
“No, I’m not speaking against him,” Dormin defended. “I’m trying to point out that he simply didn’t understand. He never had a chance to be something better, because he didn’t know. I loved him, and now I have even more respect for him. He should have been more horrible, considering it was his grandmother who had his mother killed, and then she controlled his every move. But he really did try. He could have been good, but he was manipulated by those who never taught him to think. Sonoforen, The Writings have been teaching me to think, to test all things, to ponder, to—”
“Become a bag full of nuts!” his brother finally cut him off. “That’s what you are, you know that? You’ve been talking to a rector, haven’t you?”
“I have!” Dormin said eagerly, “and he’s the one who—”
“Doo-doo Droppings,” Heth said sadly, calling his brother the name he came up with when he was eight. “And you came all this way to—”
“Try to get you to listen. Look, we can fix things. We could do great things for the world, give back for all that we took.”
“I am,” Heth said coldly. “I’ll be giving back all kinds of things. And when I’m done in two more years, I will fix everything in the world.”
Dormin leaned back. “Why do I get the feeling that while we’re saying the same things, we’re meaning the opposite?”
“Are you about finished here? Because it’s late.”
Dormin reached into a pack on his back and pulled out a bound set of parchments. “I want to give this to you, have you read it. Think about—”
His brother snatched it out of his hands and peered at the title in the dim light. “As if I don’t have enough reading to do . . . Oh, I am not bothering with this, Doorpost.”
“I’m not asking for a bed, or for gold, or for anything else. I’m merely asking you to read this. Please. It just may change the way you see everything.”
“Doorknob, I don’t want to see everything differently,” Heth said as he shoved the book back into his brother’s hands. “I like what I see in my future. And you don’t happen to be in it.”
“But what if you can see things better? Wouldn’t that be worth finding out?”
“Look, Doorhead—”
“That one never even made any sense!” Dormin spouted, losing his patience. “What’s that supposed to mean: Doorhead?”
Heth sneered. “Just always said it to irritate you. You’re seventeen years old now—”
“Twenty-one!”
“—and it still works. Look, I realize you came a long way, and what makes it even more pathetic is that it was for nothing. I’m happy. You obviously aren’t. Maybe you’re the one who needs to see things differently. Now, if you’re finally done, get out. They’ve been doing surprise inspections in the middle of the night and it would be so tragic to find that Dormin, King Oren’s youngest son, was found breaking into the university dormitories. So many questions would be asked . . .”
Dormin stood up, The Writings clutched in his hands. “I’d hoped this would go better.”
Heth shrugged. “Don’t know why.”
“Because you’re my brother. I worry about you. And I . . . love you,” he stumbled.
“Ew,” Heth cringed. “All right, it’s definitely time for you to get out.” He stood up and headed straight for the door.
His younger brother nodded. “Well then, that’s it. I tried. I failed, but I tried,” he mumbled as he got up. “I might never see you again.”
“That’s fine, Doorgirl,” Heth said, pushing him on the back towards the hallway.
“What’s that supposed to mean: ‘Doorgirl’? I never got that either!”
“There are a lot of things you don’t get, Dormaniac. If ever I see you again, I’ll make you a list.”
Heth slammed the door.
“And they thought our father was the idiot,” he mumbled as he fell back into bed.
---
It took Dormin almost two weeks to get back from where he started, reaching the village by the middle of Harvest Season, just before the Festival. First he finished out the week removing rubbish in Idumea, then told his supervisor he was quitting. He travelled by night along the rivers, avoiding other loners also trying not to be noticed. Eventually he found himself at the small house that sent him. It was before dawn, but he knew he was expected to knock on the back door, no matter the hour.