Why?

The question has been nagging me for many months now, begging for an answer and daring me to find one. I do not have the heart to ponder it for long, nor do I have the energy to dispel the guilt that inevitably seeps into my mind when I do. What is worse is that I do not have a source for this guilt, a reason, something to point at with blame with relief as I clear my own conscience.

It keeps me up at night, tossing and turning until I must give up on rest and commit myself to reading, an act that, if anything, keeps me from thinking my own thoughts. Tonight is no different, and I sit by the small, open window on the far side of the room, reading by the lowest setting on my lantern. Though the pages of the book are well-worn with age, they still make noise enough to rouse my brother from his slumber.

"Amar?" he mumbles, his voice thin with sleep. "Why are you awake?"

"Do not worry, Little Kartik," I say, calling him by the name I have used since he was a small child. Though he is no longer little, the adjective still precedes his name automatically, an endearing term I know he finds humiliating.

Kartik sits up and rubs his eyes. Despite my reassuring words to him I know he worries anyway; he has never been a carefree boy. He is no longer a boy, I remind myself. He is a young man now, aged seventeen and seven months, a lucky age, the age when he is to emerge from his training within the Rakshana and prove himself worthy of the cause.

I turn back to my book in the hopes that he will lose interest and go back to sleep, but he doesn't move, only stares in such a way that I can feel his large eyes penetrating my defenses. His gaze feels accusatory, or perhaps that is only the guilt that makes me feel so.

"You only read The Odyssey when you are apprehensive," Kartik states, fixing his eyes on the book in my hands. His black curls stick up haphazardly in the back of his head, and I reach up to flatten my own hair, well aware it must be in disarray as well.

"Not always," I lie, though his observations are correct. His ability to see beyond the normal realm of scrutiny has always surprised me. He is more than a good candidate for the Rakshana. Kartik is honest and good and willing, more than I can say for myself. The guilt stabs me again, hot and nauseating, burbling up to form a confession I do not want to make.

Kartik's brows furrow slightly, expressing that he is well aware of my lie but unsure of what to make of it. For once I wish he was older so that I may share with him my problems, but to tell him now would break my heart and shatter his. It is all he has ever known, a cause his older brother has always appeared loyal to. How could I tell him this and ever live with myself?

"You haven't been able to sleep for a long time," he observes quietly, gently pressing his curiosity of why.

"It is nothing."

"Then why?"

Why?

I am silent as I observe him, taking in his features by the dim light in our dingy room. He is not old enough to remember our parents, but I am. I see our mother in his soft eyes and know that Kartik will never look menacing with conviction. I see our father in the slope of his nose, perfectly straight, a profile I was once jealous of because of the bump that rests at the top of my own nose. Kartik is a young man, but still looks reminiscent of the little boy that left home, scared and unable to trust anyone but his own flesh and blood.

Yet I am undeserving of the trust he invests so faithfully in me. Perhaps that is where my guilt originates, knowing that I am secretly plotting against what he so passionately supports.

There is a world of hope shining in our mother's eyes that is yet to be hardened by the inevitable truth that will one day pull the rug from beneath him. My little brother, sitting with his legs stretched long on his cot, is a mirror of myself at his age, burning with the desire to make something of himself, to prove that he is not just another Indian plucked from an obscure village to service the English with a smile.

But…that is exactly the case.

The days of the Rakshana's great reign has far past come to a close. What was once a brotherhood led by great, Indian men of notable reputations, has become a cult headed by the same power-hungry white men that claim ownership on this country. It is nothing more than a shadow of its former glory, a flickering flame fueled by endless strings of earnest boys like Kartik, who only want to be a part of something legendary. I cannot bear to see him fall victim to the lies, yet I cannot bear to tell him the truth.

I had once felt differently. I was once just like Kartik, excited to prove myself.

But then I learned the truth.

In hindsight, it was the Rakshana's own fault that I have come to this point. They assigned me to the priestess Virginia Doyle, formerly Mary Dowd. I was Kartik's age, seventeen at the time, and she was much older, around twenty-nine years old. My assignment disappointed me, because my friends were all paired with pretty young ladies that winked and flirted with them. I was also afraid to be her guardian, not only because of her advanced age, but also because of the mysterious way her previous guardian had died. Heart complications, I was told, but I knew otherwise. He was murdered. That was ten years ago.

Virginia Doyle proved to be much easier to get along with than I had originally assumed. She was kind and warm, like a distant aunt. With her experience, I advanced much more quickly than my peers who were all paired with ladies their own age. I learned a great deal about the Order and the realms, more than the Rakshana had ever wanted me to know. A new friendship formed despite our unlikely pairing.

She told me about Circe, about how once the power-hungry sorceress was once her dearest friend. I learned that for now Circe is unable to enter the realms, but that she still possesses a power the Rakshana refuses to acknowledge.

"So what really happened to your previous guardian?" I had once asked her.

She gazed into space with her piercing green eyes. "He did not believe me." I realized that he had fell victim to the ignorance towards Circe.

Between the two of us, nasty truths were unearthed. A mutual trust had formed, one that was strong enough to share the secrets of our respective organizations. I did not think much of it at first, for she made any conversation feel lighthearted, as if shared over tea. But as I revealed more, I realized just how traitorous I was being towards the Rakshana. It did not matter though, for certain facts learned had made me begin to resent the brotherhood in which I was raised.

"Amar?" Kartik's voice is concerned.

"Yes, Little Kartik?"

"Why won't you answer me?" It is less a question than a demand.

Because I have no answers, I want to say, but even that is not a suitable response, especially not to the one who has always looked to you for the answers. I suddenly feel aged, certainly older than twenty-seven at least. Looking back at the last ten years, it is a small wonder I am still where I am. It has been a tiresome decade filled with harboring a hatred towards the men I interact with every day, raising my brother, whom I swore to myself I would let no harm ever come, and trying to maintain a façade of normalcy, both to my peers and to the public.

There have many times when I have just wanted to take Kartik and leave the Rakshana, leave India, run away to anywhere but here. But just as my bags were packed I'd realize that I was still bound to Virginia Doyle, just as my little brother would be bound to her daughter, keeping us thoroughly entwined with the Rakshana. If it hadn't been for that unlikely friendship, I might be sleeping peacefully tonight.

"I have already answered you," I say finally. "There is nothing wrong with me."

Kartik bites his lip and looks at me with worry. It takes a few long moments before I realize my mistake. "I never said there was," he says quietly.

I was foolish to think I could hide anything from my brother. He has grown up looking up to me, only me, observing my subtleties to know when things were okay and when things were not. If I was happy, he was at ease, certain no harm would come of him. If I was upset, he always realized no matter how well I tried to mask it. Tonight is no different.

I close the book in my hands and look at its cracked, leather cover with The Odyssey spelled out in faded gold lettering.

"Here," I say, handing the book to him. "If I am apprehensive when I read The Odyssey, then perhaps I shouldn't be reading it anymore."

Kartik holds the book tightly without saying anything. It isn't until I turn off the lantern and crawl back into my cot that he speaks again. "Amar? Will you ever tell me why?"

The guilt knots up again in my stomach. It takes several deep breaths to dispel the urge to tell him. As much as I want to always protect my little brother, I know he is not so little anymore. He must learn the answers on his own now. It is a journey every man must take, a pilgrimage to self-knowledge with no definitive end in sight. It is a path I still walk.

Perhaps things will be easier for Kartik. Perhaps he will never have a reason to question the Rakshana, question his purpose. I wish in all things that no matter what he comes across, he will not turn his back on the truth.

"It is not for me to tell you, Little Kartik."

It is, however, the first time I have ever refused him an answer. He realizes this and sighs heavily. Without desiring to, I have still managed to place my burden on his shoulders, something I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for.

There. I hope I've done Amar some justice. He is one of my favorite characters, and I wanted to use The Odyssey as sort of a symbolic exchange between brothers. Hence the title of my story. Not only is the book passed along, but also the burden - the doubt. I wrote this pretty quickly, so forgive me if the message isn't clear enough. I really should get a beta-reader...I'm too impatient though!

Is going to bed and wants to wake up to nice constructive criticism!,
LunaEquus

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Yes, I will update Sweet Misery soon. If you review this story with nice concrit, you'll get a Sweet Mis update even faster!