A Boy Named Brant

This is a conceptual piece that was written for a future Copperbane Saga book. (Hah! I just changed it from Copperbane SERIES to SAGA today. Sounds cooler doesn't it?) It explores the character of Brant Fletch, who is awesome. This has not been edited.

January 2nd 2007


Brant Fletch’s early years were almost exactly like those of every Fletch before him. Brant grew up romping about the Copperbane Plateau, playing with his little siblings and the falcolf puppies, while endlessly trying to impress the baby Fletch horses who watched from their wild herds. Brant would play with sticks, pretending they were swords, or try to knock apples out of the orchard with branches that he dreamed were spears. He was a normal enough lad.

Or, so he was until he turned ten.

On his tenth birthday, Brant woke up feeling very nervous, for it would either be an exciting, joyful day, or it could be a horrible one full of pain. Because Brant’s luck had never been the greatest, he was very inclined to believe the latter fate. For today he was to be given the most deadly poison on Rimer; falcolf venom, which could kill a human in less than a minute. So today could even be his last, if the antidote of jewel snake venom failed to work, should he show adverse reactions to the virulent poison.

His parents and Miss Calm had come home special for the occasion. Brant was happy to see them of course, but he couldn’t quite forget how nervous and scared he was. After all, he could die! When finally the entire family was gathered in the living hall and the dusty but cozy old furniture had been occupied by the horde of falcolfs who considered the Copperbane Plateau their territory, making the room rather crowded. Brant’s cousins and relatives all gathered around, waiting eagerly to find out if Brant would be a Magic Bringer - mage - or not.

Brant was terrified as he watched his grandfather, the man who was more his dad than his real father, fill two syringes, one with the highly poisonous falcolf venom, and one with the equally deadly but in this case life saving jewel snake venom antidote. The boy’s face, usually bright with cheer, was pale as a ghost under his messy black hair. His light blue eyes seemed gigantic in his face. Then his grandpa slid the needle containing the falcolf venom into his arm and everyone stared at him with bated breath, waiting for him to show some sign that would tell them whether or not he had inherited the homozygous recessive trait that only ran in the Fletch bloodline and made them mages. Sometimes the trait skipped several generations, and there was only ever one Fletch who had it. The trait made a person immune to falcolf venom, which awakened it. Nobody had it in Brant’s family.

Nothing.

Brant neither convulsed suddenly in agony, or suddenly became aware of anything like how drafty the room was, nor the way the fire crackled in the hearth. No, Brant didn’t do anything at all and he certainly didn’t feel anything. He stood there, feeling rather foolish that he had been so afraid with people staring at him. The day was a confusing one for all and when Brant went to bed that night, he wondered what could of gone so wrong. Maybe he wasn’t actually a Fletch. Maybe he was actually a Garrison or a Harms that had been adopted by his grandparents. No, he had his father and grandfather’s eyes and his mother’s fine black hair.

But as it turned out, Brant was a mage. Just not any sort anyone had ever heard of. Brant did not have an affinity with the earth, or with the water, wind or fire. His grandparents put him in contact with all these things, but none he reacted to. Yet Brant suddenly had a lot of friends. His grandparents thought it very strange the first time they saw him talking to thin air. He stood in the courtyard, quite ignoring his little brothers and sisters, who whined at him to play. Brant was having a rather fascinating conversation with someone, only nobody else could see that someone.

Brant’s grandparents were scandalized by his behavior. Since when did a ten year old, with so many play mates, make up imaginary friends? But it appeared that Brant had, and as he got older it only got worse. Brant started being rather absent minded and would absolutely ignore his siblings and the pups, going off into the woods for days completely alone, all the while muttering to friends only he could see.

In his education, he barely paid enough attention to even merit a passing grade from his stern but doting grandmother. Brant could do anything she asked of him, but he did it boredly and would frequently start talking to nobody in particular. Everyone thought he was insane and his siblings played pranks on him. The falcolf pups started to hate him, the one who they would of followed to their dying days. He didn’t play with him. He wasn’t considered to be fun anymore and to everyone, it looked like he had no visible, real friends.

But Brant did have one.

She was small, sleek and long legged like a courser. Her mane and tail were like very soft pooling silk and she was a Fletch horse. She’d come to him on one of his jaunts into the wilderness and hadn’t left his side since, considering him both a herd mate and a constant supply of treats. Nisha was a beautiful little mare, pure blue black, with just a streak on her nose and a single coronet band of white around her right foreleg. Nisha followed Brant with pricked up ears around constantly, listening to him chatter to his friends and understanding a lot more about him than anyone else.

Because Fletch horses are part elven, unicorn and wild horse, she knew Brant’s heart. She’d inherited elven magic through chance and her eyes, which showed the presence of the magic by one being very dark blue instead of brown or ice coloured, were evidence of this. Her other eye was brown. In fact, Brant’s horse knew that his friends were far from imaginary, because she was aware of them too, though she could not see them herself.

Nisha did not require Brant to talk to her, or play with her. She only required him to occasionally gift her with an absent minded pat, which Brant could indeed do for hours. Brant loved his horse and she adored him back. His friendship with wild Nisha, was considered his only normality in the Fletch stronghold of Copperbane. Brant could spend all day laying in a meadow, looking at the sky while Nisha grazed beside him, swishing her soft tail and occasionally snuffling his face. Nisha and Brant could of ran to the ends of the universe for each other and so they would one day.

When Brant turned sixteen, his parents took him for his training in politics, rather against his will. Brant didn’t want to go and the only reason that he did, was because they caught Nisha and dragged her off. Brant had no choice but to follow, even though it meant leaving behind his ‘friends.’ Yet in Serenity he swiftly made some more and people in the International Parliament began to think he was rather insane, or at least absent minded. People muttered that falcolf venom had addled his brain. Brant, continuing with his glorious tradition of ignoring his peers, ignored them too. He did not take well to politics, because he hadn’t the faintest idea how to deal with real people. His parents finally, at their wits end, demanded that he stop pretending.

“But I’m not! I don’t get why you can’t see them. See? Tina’s right over there. Look!” snapped Brant.

His parents sent him to his room and did not let him out for a week.

Brant, while considered quite hopeless by his elders, was thought to be quite dreamy despite the fact that most people were of the opinion that he was rather an air head. Brant, who usually wore a black long coat with shiny metal buttons, polished soot coloured boots and dark clothes, was very handsome. Nisha only helped his appearance, though Brant truly didn’t try at all to cultivate any it. His hair was very glossy, cut short, slightly wavy and contrasted well with his glacier shaded blue eyes. Brant’s aristocratic face was sharp but kind. The girls would of all of loved to have dated him, except for the fact that they may as well of not existed at all, for all the attention he paid them.

While Brant spent most of his time talking to his ‘friends’ or riding his mare, he actually took quite good care of himself. He took baths regularly and washed his face. He combed his hair and twice a day he groomed Nisha. Brant did not have any acne problems. Very few Fletches did. It was another trait of their bloodline that Brant had been quite happy to inherit.

Because his parents thought him such a lost cause, and because the Copperbane falcolf tribe did as well, he had no falcolf friend. Instead, an old bodyguard of a female falcolf tracked him everywhere and she seemed of the constant opinion that if she didn’t watch him, he’d run into a wall.

Then Lila Fontane was murdered and somehow, without a scrap of evidence, Brant pointed out the killer from a line of people who had been arrested as they were under suspicion. The murderer who had been her boyfriend was so shocked about his perfect crime being discovered, that he pled guilty immediately. Later evidence confirmed his crime and Brant was hailed as something of a hero. Brant declined requests from the Serenity Herald newspaper for an interview asking how he’d done it, because he was pretty sure they wouldn’t believe him anyway. His parents certainly didn’t. They finally gave up on him following in their footsteps as the next leader of Rimer and sent him to join the army with Nisha, hoping it might improve his personality somehow. Maybe he would stop making up imaginary people, they thought.

What followed was perhaps the worst six months of Brant’s life, as well as of his training officer’s. The seventeen year old refused to stand straight or learn anything remotely useful. He slouched boredly and muttered what he thought about the officer to his friends. His real counterparts seemed to decide that he was something of a black sheep compared to his ancestors and hardly worth their time since he never spoke to them unless he absolutely had to. It wasn’t them, he told them. It was just that his other friends were just more interesting. Between running his comrades and superiors ragged with his odd tendencies, and often leaving the base on Nisha for long hours quite without permission, he was finally kicked out of the army. The training officer retired soon after.

This was how Brant came to find himself riding Nisha in the middle of nowhere, having elected to run away and become a hermit. Because nobody but her understood that his imaginary friends were not imaginary at all. That they were, in fact, ghosts and Brant was the first ever spirit mage. This meant absolutely nothing to Brant yet, but because he was one, it would one day, in the not-to-distant future, make him a hero.

“It’s not fair.” complained Brant to his current companion, who was in fact, Lila Fontane. Despite having her revenge on her killer, she tailed Brant determindedly. For now, until the future in which she passed on, she was his best friend. She walked along beside him, smiling charmingly up at him.

“Of course it isn’t. You know only you can see us. They just don’t understand. You’re far better off without them.” said Lila.

Nisha whinnied her strong agreement.

“I don’t know.” said Brant. “I’m so confused. If I go home, my parents will just make me do something else I hate. They don’t care that I don’t even know what I want to do with my life. They just care about me serving Rimer or whatever.”

He stared at Nisha’s withers.

“I just want time to figure things out.”

“It’s perfectly fine. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life until I turned twenty! Most people know long before that.” said Lila. “Of course, I also died when I was twenty, so I suppose that doesn’t count. I wanted to be a seamstress you know. Make fancy dresses and all that.”

“I’m sorry.” said Brant unhappily.

“It’s perfectly alright. I’m quite happy being dead you know. Don’t have to worry about anything. I’m sure you’ll figure out what you want to do someday.” said Lila consolingly. “You’re smarter than the livings think and you’re handsome. I’d say you could do whatever you want with your life.”

“Except join the army.” said Brant. Lila laughed.

“Well, maybe you could if you changed your name and joined at a different base.” said Lila.

Brant shook his head and smiled. “You’re funny Lila. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“If only the living people would understand.” said Lila sadly. “You’re so sweet you know. Maybe someday you’ll meet somebody who does.”

“Maybe.” said Brant. “I guess there has to be somebody out there. But I don’t know if I’ll ever meet them. I’m just too odd to have living friends. I prefer the dead.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself down.” said Lila. “You’ll figure things out.”

“Maybe.” said Brant again. Somehow he doubted it.

They rode down the road, then turned off into the forest. Brant doubted anyone would bother to search for him. After all, to them he was a lost cause, a waste of energy and time. Nobody would care about the young man and his horse leaving home for what they had decided as forever.