1.5 Isha

Isha, a twelve-year-old girl, scion of house Baranas Vetras did not like her name. Not her nickname that she had chosen for herself, but the name given to her. Ishvara. What kind of name was that?

She was in her father's estate, much to her mother's dismay.

She sipped tea in the sitting area of her room with a plush sofa, and a tea table sat above the mosaic tiles. A chandelier gleamed above her, adorned with not ordinary crystals but coral stones—the most valuable gems in the world used by mages to increase their power, and for alchemy and enchanted items, among other things.

On one wall stood a bookshelf with the most powerful spell books money could buy. On another wall hung tapestries embroidered with gold, which depicted the greatest achievement of heroes she loved to hear stories about.

A closet with clothes of every cut from every nation she had ever visited or had heard of stood in one corner of the room.

A bed large enough for ten of her, draped in a curtain of red and blue and gold, dominated her room.

She had everything she needed, a luxury grand enough for a princess, yet she did not feel like a princess. No, the room was suffocating.

She felt like a little girl who could do nothing for her brother.

Isha shipped her tea. That was her seventh cup. She was not a tea person, not really. But after two days, she could not help it. Father and brother had been gone for two days now. Why they had not taken her with them, she did not know. But waiting, it seemed, was the worst part of it all.

Her foot could not stop tapping.

"They should be here by now. What's taking them so long?"

Her brother had taken sick over a year ago, and no amount healers had helped him. The disease had taken hold of her brother's brain. Cancer, they called it.

Fortunately, her father had managed to get an appointment for the best healer on the continent, holder of the Lifebringer badge. It was said he could bring people back from the brink of death and cure any illness.

So why was it taking them so long? Her brother should have been healed and running about by now.

Had something gone wrong? It could not be. Her brother was in the best possible hands. The holder of Lifebringer wouldn't fail them, would he?

She stood carrying all her teapots and walked out onto the balcony attached to her room. The balcony also had a tea table. A place where she could sit in luxury and safety while watching the view of the gardens below.

She sat the pots on the table and walked past it and leaned on the balustrade to watch the gardeners' work, a teacup in hand.

Now she was in her eighth cup, and she desperately had to pee. But she kept it in. Not even the scent of roses and lavender helped her mood.

When she was halfway through her 9th cup, a knock came at the door. Finally, it had better be good news.

"Come in," Isha Said, walking back into her room.

It was a servant woman. "Mistress Ishvara, your brother, Isham, he is back. He wishes to talk to you."

"How is he? How did the healing go?"

"Forgive me, Mistress, they did not say. They simply asked me to fetch you. Though from what I could see, your brother seemed no different from before he left."

That did not sound like good news to Isha.

"What about my father? Why hasn't he come to me personally?"

"Your father has not arrived yet, Mistress. From what I have heard, lord Ishval is still speaking with Lifebringer. Though I am sorry to say, I do not know the details."

Isha frowned. Had something actually gone wrong? Why else wouldn't her father be back?

"Take me to my brother."

***

Her brother, indeed, had not changed from the last time she had seen him. He was lying on the bed, just as pale as before. His ebony eyes almost lifeless.

"Little dove, it is good to see you again," Isham said as soon as she entered the room.

She sat in the armchair next to her brother's bed and took his hand in hers.

"What happened? How did it go? What did they say?"

Her brother smiled weekly. "Your voice, yes, I missed it. After being poked and prodded by healers, your voice sings in my ears."

"You are not answering my question, Isham."

Her brother's face fell, and that told her things she did not want to hear.

"Was it really that bad?" No, it could not be. She did not want to lose her brother. Not Isham.

"They couldn't do it."

How could they not heal her brother? They were the best of the best. "Was it too expensive?"

Her brother laughed. He laughed! How could he laugh at a time like this?

"Oh, sweet thing. Your father has more money than he can spend, and you know that as much as I. They could not heal me. They did not know how, not without leaving me brain dead."

"But he is the Lifebringer. How could he ever fail?"

Her brother caressed her hand. Was he trying to soothe her? Why? She was not the one who was going to die.

"Not even the Lifebringer can save everyone, Isha. No one is perfect."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "What's the point of all the magic in the world if it can't save a single life? Your life."

He wiped her tears with his fingers. "The point, my dear sister, is to save the lives that can be saved."

"Why can't It be yours?"

Isham made a gesture as if he was trying to grasp at something, then let his hand fall. "I don't know, Isha. I don't. I ask the same questions to myself all the time. Every day, every hour."

Now, her brother had tears in his eyes too. "So you are going to leave me?"

"I…" He choked.

"Father left me with mother and took you away. Now you are going to leave me forever. How could you do that to me? How could you? I hate you. I hate you all."

She ran away, unable to take it anymore.

"Isha. Isha comeback. Sister."

She ignored her brother's pleas for her to come back, and ran away, tears in her eyes. And before she knew it, she was inside her room.

Her face buried in her bed, head covered with a pillow, she wailed.

"I hate them all."

A part of her knew that it was not her brother's fault. That it was the disease that ailed him, that was taking him away from her. That she could not blame him for it.

Yet an irrational part of her could not help but blame him, for how could Isha blame a disease that had no face?

She lay in her bed for hours, weeping, hating the world and all the gods in it. How could they do this to her? How dare they try to take her brother away from her? She only left her bed once in between those hours to pee.

A knock came at her door. She was in no mood for visitors. "Go away."

The knock on her door did not stop.

"I said go away. I want to be left alone."

As if to mock her words, the knocking only grew insistent. With a snarl, Isha got out of her bed and opened the door, intending to give a rough side of her tongue to whoever it was. I swear, whoever you are, I'll have your hide.

"I told you to…"

Her angry words died in her tongue. The maid who stood before her had tears in her eyes. Ishvara felt an awful premonition.

"What is it?"

"Young Mistress, It's your brother. H-he," She hiccuped. "He's dead."