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Matabar. Chapter 49 - Pack
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 18:49:00 +0000 UTCThe train shuddered to a halt.
“Delpas Station,” announced the conductor as he briefly peeked into the carriage.
Ardan snapped awake and realized that, for the past few hours, he’d been leaning his head against the window frame, leaving a vivid, crimson line across his forehead that was now mirrored on the dark glass.
“Excuse me,” Ardi muttered as he squeezed past the legs of his seatmate. Standing between the rows, he stretched, each bone cracking after hours of numbness.
Yes, the train had occasionally made stops at roadside stations, where passengers could step out to stretch their legs. But the last day had been non-stop travel, pushing across the prairies. And in winter, the prairies were even more treacherous than during late summer or autumn. They’d passed Presny, barely even slowing in the waystation town for even a moment.
Collecting his belongings, the young man fastened his coat, grabbed his staff, and headed out. He bid a quick farewell to the conductor, with whom he’d exchanged occasional words over the week-long journey, then stepped down onto the ice-covered wooden platform and... nearly slipped right then and there.
The holiday twilight had already descended over the town.
“Hurry up!” Urged families who’d gathered to visit their relatives. “We still have to find a cab if we want to make it by midnight.”
The station was perched on a hill, and though Delpas was the main settlement in the Foothill Province, the station itself, when compared to the grandeur of the one in Metropolis, looked utterly unremarkable — a modest, two-story wooden structure nestled near a platform raised on stilts and bordered by a simple fence.
Ardan swung his bag over his shoulder, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air crackled in his throat from the cold and dampness, carrying with it the faintest scent of water. Hidden under layers of winter ice, it could only subtly remind one of its presence.
The snow was falling.
It swirled around him, settling on his face in stinging crystals, almost like the snow in the mountains of the Alcade. Only here, it felt softer and more humid, like morning dew.
Ardi opened his eyes and smiled. Above him, stars sparkled, filling the heavens with a multitude of lights that were reflections of distant galaxies and star systems shrouded in the endless depths of space.
It was nothing like the black lid of darkness that capped the Metropolis. And yet, when one looked down the slope toward the shore of Blue Lake, where Delpas lay, only scattered strings of light served as a guide for travelers. Yes, Delpas shone as well, with the glow of its houses and the occasional streetlights along its main avenue, but it was a modest glimmer, faint when compared to the brilliant radiance of the Empire’s capital.
“Mr. Egobar?”
Ardi turned around. Standing nearby was a man in a short fur coat, thick woolen pants clearly pulled over equally warm undergarments, work boots, a cap, and gloves. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and clouds of vapor puffed from his mouth, as if he were breathing out smoke.
The man seemed only slightly older than Ardi himself, but his piercing gray eyes hinted at a breadth of experience far deeper than that of an ordinary resident.
“You’re the gardener, I take it?” Ardan asked.
The Second Chancery man flinched slightly but quickly collected himself.
“Allow me to escort you to your family, Mr. Egobar,” the Cloak offered.
And yes, this was a genuine offer. Ardi was certain that, had he declined, the “gardener” (as his mother had called him in her letter) would have indeed turned and left. But…
The young man looked at the crowd heading toward the station building and then down the steps leading to the hill’s base, where cabs and a few delivery trucks awaited travelers. In Delpas, unlike the Metropolis, the public transportation system left much to be desired — as it did throughout much of the Empire.
Reaching 17 Stonemasons Street would be far simpler with the Cloak’s help than if he tried to make his own way there.
“Thank you,” Ardi said sincerely.
The Cloak nodded in a restrained manner, and they walked through the station’s doors together. Inside, frost had crept over certain spots, and the few clerks behind the counters shivered slightly from the wind that whipped through the building.
“They promised to fix the boilers yesterday,” a female clerk complained, teeth chattering.
“Only a few more hours, Erite,” her colleague consoled her. “Then we’ll get our well-earned rest.”
“That’s if we don’t freeze before then… achoo!”
“Want some tea?”
“Yes, please.”
For some reason, this scene — the way the two station clerks took turns drinking from a tin cup full of amber-colored tea — brought a smile to Ardi’s face. Together with the Cloak, he walked through the waiting hall, where the board was already displaying the schedule of upcoming departures. Tonight, only one train would be leaving Delpas, and it was bound for the Azure Sea.
He wondered what sort of business was pressing enough to pull people away from their celebrations and send them on a journey on the most important night of the year.
He and the gardener descended the staircase and approached an old car with amusingly small wheels and a few dents on its fenders.
“Is the Second Chancery having trouble with their transportation budget?” Ardi asked casually, recalling the contraption in Cat’s possession.
“Our funding was cut two years ago,” the gardener replied, lifting the hood and fiddling with a tangle of tubes stemming from the engine. “The Upper Chamber keeps trying to strangle us, but we’re still holding on and… So, that’s how your Witch’s Gaze works, huh? You start thinking about something, and out it comes, unbidden.”
Ardi only shrugged. He wasn’t surprised that the gardener was well-informed about his passenger’s peculiarities.
“Get in, Mr. Egobar,” the Cloak said, slipping into the driver’s seat.
Ardan opened the door, stashed his staff inside, placed his bag and satchel on the floor, then circled the car and took the seat on the opposite side. He liked riding on the right.
The old engine coughed a few times, grumbling irritably at being forced to run in the cold, and then pulled the car down the winding, serpentine road that descended toward the town below.
They soon passed the port, where barges were mostly being unloaded after hauling in ore from the eastern shores of Blue Lake, where the coal mines lay. The massive vessels moved along a narrow channel cleared of ice, connecting the two banks of the vast lake that, due to its size, could easily have been mistaken for a sea.
But after the vastness of the Swallow Ocean, the frozen expanse stretching toward the dark line of the horizon no longer stirred Ardi’s heart with awe. It was beautiful, yes, but…
In silence, they turned out of the industrial district, where factories and processing stations had shut down for the coming festivities, and the car rolled along the cobbled streets of Delpas’ central avenue. Designed for four lanes — two in each direction — it would have once struck Ardi as an engineering marvel, though now it hardly seemed wider than Markov Street, the street beside his apartment back in the capital.
Low buildings stood on either side of them. They had two, three stories at most. Made from stone and brick, some were adorned with sparse garlands or window displays with hand-painted signs for the occasional cafe or bar. Ardi even spotted an old, clearly unpopular saloon huddled beside the more sophisticated “Blue Lake Bistro,” which stood side by side with its older neighbor.
Occasionally, stables could be seen, though they were currently locked. Even so, Ardi did catch sight of a few riders trotting along the edge of the road.
It felt like he’d not only left the Metropolis behind in terms of distance, but also in time. Here, despite the milder weather, there wasn’t a single modern, powerful vehicle capable of reaching fifty kilometers per hour — a common sight in the heart of the Metropolis.
Not to mention the fact that, apart from the main avenue, no other streets bore Ley-lamps, and mostly oil lamps burned in people’s homes, with their stoves sending black wisps of smoke drifting above the rooftops.
“Will you make it home in time?” Ardan asked.
“What?”
“Your tires,” the young man clarified. “There’s a layer of frozen earth on them. You live outside of town, I presume. Judging by your posture, I’d say you’re based at a military post.”
The Cloak, aside from a brief flicker of his eyebrows, showed no reaction to Ardan’s comment.
“I’ll make it,” he replied calmly. “It’s only eight o’clock now. There’s still time before midnight.”
Ardan didn’t want the man watching over his family to miss the celebration. That would be less than ideal.
After about fifteen minutes, they turned off the main (and only) avenue and wound their way through streets lined with private residences. Occasionally, small shops appeared — mostly grocers and provisions stores, though they did pass a couple of fuel stations with two or three pumps, and they even saw another modest saloon that was as run-down as its companion in the center.
The houses in Delpas looked quite...ordinary. Just like the ones recently built in Evergale. They were two-story buildings, almost square, with sloping roofs, a porch where one could place a small table and chair, modest gardens, and usually a fence bordering their neighbor’s property.
Illuminated by the glow of windows, where townsfolk were wrapping up their holiday preparations, Ardi noticed a signpost. It was a simple, white post planted by the intersection, with several labeled arrows indicating directions.
“Stop here, please,” Ardan requested.
“We’re almost there,” the gardener noted, slowing down slightly.
“That’s why I asked you to stop,” Ardi insisted.
The car creaked under the chassis, and they pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a halt.
“Thank you,” Ardan said.
He collected his belongings and stepped out of the car. The gardener watched him and…silently waved before turning around and heading back the way they’d come. There’d been nothing left to say, and Ardi understood this perfectly. Slinging his bag over his shoulder again, he set off down the street.
Beneath his feet, packed snow crunched, and on either side, along the fences and road, rose waves of snowbanks. They were modest by most people’s standards, and to Ardi, they were barely noticeable.
From behind the fences, cheerful shouts and laughter echoed. Children played, romping in their yards with friends, brothers, and sisters. Their parents bustled in kitchens and living rooms, while friends checked the time for their visits and made sure all the presents were accounted for.
Somewhere far off, the Face of Light’s church was preparing a service for the devout. And there was a shelter with beds and simple food ready for those in need.
Just as he had done many years ago, Ardan easily found his way through the houses, as though guided by an inner compass of feelings that glowed like a beacon near his heart. Soon, he was standing before a low fence.
It was a mere meter, or maybe slightly taller. Behind it stood a three-story house with a lovely porch, a stone staircase leading up to it, and a gabled roof supported by two intricately-carved pine columns.
Nearby, to his surprise, there was even a garage attached, and across from it, a wide gate with a sturdy latch. The windows were layered with double panes and insulated between frames to hold in warmth. Smoke rose from the chimney, while several neighboring ones lay still and silent.
The house had several fireplaces, each separate from the others, preventing the scent of smoke from spreading through the rooms. Cassara hadn’t been exaggerating. This was truly a grand house — beautiful, spacious, and built for more than four people.
Two of those residents were in the yard now, shaping the snowy figure of an angel. They were trying to fashion wings for it, but the snow, damp as it was, resisted their efforts.
“Hey, Erti, what’s wrong?”
A little girl with chubby cheeks, a nose with a slight bump, chestnut hair, and wide, expressive eyes looked at her older brother with concern. He’d suddenly stopped, standing still, then straightened without turning to look.
When he finally did turn around, he and Ardan — who had by this time unlatched the gate and stepped inside — locked eyes.
Erti had changed over the past six months. He’d grown broader at the shoulders and heavier in the face. His cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow, and his gaze no longer looked dull or ill, but had a hint of a lively, youthful spark to it. He’d even shot up a bit, giving him the silhouette of a grown and very tall man from behind.
He was dressed in a gray, fur-lined coat. He adjusted his cap, which had slipped sideways, then…
They embraced. They embraced so tightly that it was as if they were trying to squeeze the life out of each other. Nearby lay Ardi’s satchel, bag, and staff, none of which concerned him right now. He couldn’t have cared less if those damned magic books got wet, if the staff’s wood absorbed the moisture, or if the bag’s frame rusted away entirely.
He just held his brother, and his brother squeezed back, as if testing who could hold on the hardest.
“Now, let me take a proper look at you.” Ardan pulled back, gripping Erti’s shoulders and setting him squarely before him. They hadn’t quite evened out in height, but it was clear that someday, Ertan would catch up to him. “Well, little brother, it looks like I won’t be giving you piggyback rides anymore.”
Erti smiled and sniffed, breathing heavily and blinking quickly — a sure sign he was holding back tears.
“Sorry,” he suddenly wilted. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I was just so ashamed that I couldn’t help-”
Ardan hugged him again, pulling him close and resting his chin on Erti’s head. In that moment, something within him fell into place, like an old, intricate puzzle that had never quite fit together before. He felt, just like he had on the day Erti was born, when he’d spoken words over the baby boy resembling a wrinkled eggplant, as though they were one.
“You and I, brother,” Ardi said in Matabar, “we’re a pack. Always were, and always will be.”
“We pack are,” Erti responded haltingly, his breathing steadying.
“Brother?”
Ardan and Erti loosened their embrace and looked over to find Kena looking a little shy. By the Sleeping Spirits... She was the same age as that girl from the bank…
Ardi shook off the thought. He crouched down and opened his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Kena dashed forward, and he swept her up gently but firmly, then abruptly lifted her high up.
“Who hasn’t flown in a while?”
“Put me down!” She squealed, laughing and playfully pounding his shoulders with her small fists. “Put me down, fang-face!”
“Awoooooooo,” Ardan howled, spinning on his heels. “I’ll spin you ‘round and toss you into the snow!”
And she kept laughing. Her laughter was so bright and carefree. Her long, thick chestnut hair fluttered over her funny little coat. Kena was practically a copy of their mother. And though Ardan felt strange, mixed emotions toward his sister, that didn’t mean he didn’t love her. It was just…
Everything was so complicated.
“Ardi!”
A voice rang out, familiar and warm. Ardi lowered Kena to the snow and turned toward the house. There, in her house slippers, a lovely blue dress that covered her fully, and her hair carefully pinned up, stood his mother.
Over the past half year, it seemed like she had... grown younger. Certain lines had softened, a few gray strands had disappeared, and her hands, always calloused, were still marked, but differently — not from hard labor, but from something she cherished.
She even stood straighter and smiled more warmly now. Just like when he was a child.
Ardan ran up to her, hugged her, and lifted her off the ground, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of flour and blackberries. She smelled like home.
A lump caught in his throat, but he held it back. No tears would betray him now, no matter how hard it was.
She rested her cheek on his head and pressed him close to her neck.
“It’s all right, my boy,” she whispered, gently smoothing his hair. “It’s all right…”
“Yes,” he replied. “I promised I’d make it by New Year’s.”
“You did,” she murmured, “and I promised you a blackberry pie.”
Ardi grinned almost foolishly. And truth be told, in that moment, he didn’t care one bit about the blackberry pie, nor the Second Chancery with its Orcish Jackets, the Grand, the Great Princes, or the elves, not even the Emperor himself. He was hugging his mother. What more could he need?
“This is becoming a tradition, big guy,” the man standing by the door said. “Meeting you with the whole lot in the dead of winter. Last time, though, you were a lot smaller, and it was morning, not night. Are we going to stand out here all evening?”
Ardi set his mother down and looked over to see Kelly. He looked exactly as Ardan remembered him. Average height, solid build, with slightly chipped teeth and a hard gaze. Only now, instead of tall boots and comfortable leather cavalry pants with a tucked-in linen shirt, he wore a double-breasted suit and a tie. And he looked... comically out of place in them.
“I know,” Kelly tugged at his collar, loosening the knot of his tie. “But your mother insisted I dress up for the occasion. I think I looked fine in my shirt too.”
Ardan couldn’t hold back a laugh. By the Sleeping Spirits, at that moment, he was even happy to see this old sheriff.
“Let’s go inside,” his mother reminded them. “We’ll freeze out here, and midnight is coming soon.”
Erti had already stepped onto the porch, holding Ardan’s belongings and staff, while little Kena beamed beside him, all twenty, or perhaps even twenty-two, of her teeth on display.
“Let’s go,” Ardi nodded, putting an arm around his mother’s and his brother’s shoulders and guiding them into the house.
At the door, he paused and glanced back toward the station on the hill, which was now hidden under a shroud of darkness. If this had been one of his great-grandfather’s tales, the story would’ve ended here, but…
***
“No way,” Kelly scoffed, sipping whiskey from a faceted glass. “Twenty stories high?”
“And some even taller than that,” Ardi nodded, stuffing his face with a piece of blackberry pie.
His mother had kept her promise. She’d baked a pie made from berries in the heart of winter. Where she’d found them, she hadn’t said. But the results spoke for themselves. The pie had a crisp, golden-brown crust and a crumbly base filled with preserves and berries. It melted in his mouth, crunched under his teeth, and filled his throat with sweet, slightly tart juices.
Ardi wasn’t usually a glutton, but he couldn’t help himself and, admittedly, had eaten more than half the pie.
The clock’s hands were already nearing two in the morning. Outside, the night sky had been painted with the bursts of fireworks, and the streets had finally quieted, with even the rowdiest groups either drifting into warm cafes and bars or, taking advantage of the holiday, retreating to their beds to rest and recharge.
“And there really are no horses?” Kelly continued, undeterred.
“Not that I saw,” Ardan shrugged. “Everyone was driving. And the cars were far newer than anything in Delpas. Some even had no roofs and went faster than the quickest horses you’ve seen here.”
“No roof?” The former sheriff snorted. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”
“Why would I?” Ardi smirked.
“I have no idea what goes on in that head of yours, big guy,” Kelly waved a hand dismissively. “But I started doubting you the moment you mentioned that... what did you call it? The Grand. And, by the Eternal Angels, if it hadn’t been for that picture of you with the Emperor…” He nodded toward a black-and-white clipping that his mother had lovingly framed and hung above the living room fireplace, among the other family photos. “I’d think you ended up freezing your brain over there.”
“Is it true that in the Metropolis, it’s as bright at night as it is during the day?” His mother asked, stroking Kena’s hair as the girl, who was wearing a festive pink dress already stained twice over, dozed in her lap.
“They say that happens in early summer,” Ardan replied, licking crumbs from his fingers. “So, I didn’t see it.”
“And those trams?” Came a sleepy, slurring question from Erti, who was sitting on the floor near the hearth. Even now, he still always felt cold. “They’re really like the train cars, only without the locomotive?”
“Yes,” Ardi confirmed. “They run on tracks laid right along the city streets. Only they’re much smaller than railway cars and set flush with the street, so cars can drive over them.”
Kelly whistled, and his mother shook her head, pressing a kiss to the top of the yawning Kena’s head.
“All right, then,” Kelly set his glass down on the table, tapping his knees as he rose from the cozy armchair upholstered in soft fabric. “Come on, Erti, let’s put your sister to bed, and it’s high time you got some sleep, too.”
“But I-”
“No buts,” Kelly cut him off. “You have your procedures tomorrow afternoon. And last time when you were tired, the doctors said it was pointless in your state. So, no arguments.”
Erti muttered something under his breath, but he stood, hugged his brother, then pressed a quick kiss to Shaia’s cheek, and finally, he lifted his sleeping sister with great care. She didn’t even wake.
“Come on, come on,” Kelly encouraged him.
It was amusing to watch Erti, slouched and sulking like a grumpy dog, following behind the former Sheriff of Evergale, whom he now towered over by nearly half a head. The three of them left the living room and disappeared around the corner.
Inside, the house was as spacious as it had looked to be from the outside. The first floor held the workshop, a wide hall where a decorated tree now stood, an “imperial staircase,” and off to the side, a combined kitchen and living area with a small winter garden. The kitchen itself had a Ley-powered oven and stovetops, along with a state-of-the-art refrigerator.
The refrigerator — a large and somewhat noisy appliance — was the latest convenience for any housewife. It allowed them to keep perishables fresh year-round, an excellent alternative to an ice cellar.
On the second floor were the playroom, the two guest rooms, and a shower room, while the third floor held five bedrooms with two washrooms and a separate room for Kelly and Shaia.
The walls were covered in understated but elegant wallpaper. The floors were parqueted, and the interior window frames were reinforced with stone inlays to retain warmth. Although the house had not been built from stone but brick, the walls had been layered several rows deep and sealed with resins. Together with the felted cords in the corners, this structure could easily withstand even Delpas’ respectable fifteen degrees below zero, which was hardly comparable to the frigid thirty below in the mountains of the Alcade, or even the cold in the Metropolis, but still enough to warrant careful insulation.
“Let’s go place the presents,” Shaia suggested.
For New Year’s, there was a tradition of leaving gifts under the tree for family members, usually done discreetly so that any children wouldn’t notice it happen. That way, they could be told the story of how the Eternal Angels had delivered their gifts in memory of the First Prophet and his disciples, who’d brought offerings to the lands where they had spread their teachings.
Thanks to his mother, Ardan knew a great deal about the history of the Church of the Face of Light. It stated that God, if such a being existed, had appeared as a blind, old woman to a simple potter, showing him her divine ways. The potter had taken these revelations to the people, and when he’d eventually died of old age, the next Prophet had taken up the standard, bearing a golden triangle as he journeyed across the world. And so it continued until the Holy See of Uldjingood was established, where, in the sacred city of Arma, the Prophets now sat upon the golden throne, spreading the teachings of the Face of Light.
The holy city still stood to this day, and something like the nine hundredth or so Prophet was currently seated there.
However, a few centuries ago, the Church had fractured. A group of believers had broken away, accusing the Prophet of false teachings. They then established their own city of Parma, in the Faithful Uldjingook, where their own Prophet now resided.
And this didn’t even account for the older schism that happened thousands of years earlier, which saw the formation of the Holy Emirates of Al’Zafir and a third line of Prophets — or perhaps the second, since they were older than Parma.
In short, it was a tangled history.
Ardi liked the tradition of gifts, though.
He retrieved the carefully-wrapped packages he’d brought in his bag, most of his savings having been spent on them “just in case.” For Kena, he had found a wooden winged horse toy made from a special wood that couldn’t burn. For Erti, he had picked up a felt hat that was the height of fashion. For his mother, he’d gotten a few rolls of rare, imported fabric that could only be found in the Metropolis. And for Kelly, he’d bought a work knife with a handle carved from the ivory of a northern Scaldavin elephant. This species had tusks twisted into spirals and was covered in fur so thick it looked like armor.
His mother opened a storage closet and brought out several boxes. Together, sitting in the hall, they arranged the gifts, placing them under the tree so that Erti and Kena could discover them like magic in the morning and begin unwrapping them immediately.
Neither he nor Shaia said a word. Ardan simply enjoyed being close to his mother, breathing in her familiar scent and basking in her warmth.
“Have you been eating well?”
“Of course, Mom,” Ardi replied, tucking the wooden box with the knife deeper beneath the tree’s branches, which were adorned with numerous glass ornaments symbolizing the stars in the night sky — they were a “Light in the darkest darkness.” “And how are you all here? Have you settled in?”
“We’re managing,” she replied honestly. “Kelly still struggles with Delpas’ damp weather, and Kena and Erti… They miss their friends a lot. And you? Have you made any friends?”
Ardan thought of Boris and Elena, who he hadn’t even had a chance to warn about his departure. Had he warned anyone, really? And then, it struck him — the Cloaks were in his apartment! What if something happened to Tess...
“And what’s her name?” His mother asked with a knowing smile.
“Who?” Ardi didn’t immediately follow.
Shaia reached out, gently stroking his cheek.
“When you talked about Anna, you spoke warmly, my boy,” she mused, seemingly out of nowhere. “But just now… your eyes reminded me of your father’s. When he worried about me, his pupils would narrow, just like yours did right now. Only his would turn into slits, while yours just lengthen a bit.”
His mother had always been exceptionally attentive to details. Perhaps it was from her that Ardan had inherited this quality, which had made it so easy for him to learn under Shali’s guidance.
“Mom, I… I wanted to talk about my father.”
Ardi placed the last package beneath the tree and wriggled out from under its branches. He then helped his mother up, and together, they returned to the fireplace, where Shaia sank into an armchair, and Ardan sat on the floor, leaning his back against her legs. The firelight capered over his face, flickering in a lively, ever-changing dance while playfully snapping at the logs.
“I wanted to talk about Father and… Great-Grandfather, Mom,” Ardi added.
He felt a shiver run down her legs. Now Ardan was sure — Shaia knew. She’d known all along…
“I don’t know what you mean, dear,” she said, touching his shoulder. “It’s late. I think I’ll go lie down. We can talk tomorrow. You’re here now, and everything’s all right… And after the holidays, we’ll visit the engineering bureau where Anna’s brother works. I’ve arranged for you to have an interview with the chief engineer. After all, six months in the Grand is… Well, never mind. We’ll handle it tomorrow.”
Shaia was rambling a bit, which was unusual for her, and her breath was a little uneven. She turned to go, heading for the stairs, only to realize that Ardan had remained sitting by the hearth.
“Son?”
“Father was a soldier, Mom,” Ardi said softly. “Major Hec Abar… But why did he become one? Why did he leave the Shanti’Ra gang and flee to the border with Fatia? And why did he sacrifice himself for the children and-”
“Ardan,” Shaia’s tone stopped him in his tracks. She hardly ever used his full name. “Come to bed.”
For a brief moment, he saw in this gentle woman a shadow of the mother he remembered from his childhood — the stoic wife of an Alcade Ranger, quick to handle a rifle and unafraid to face down a sheriff. Brave and resilient.
But only for a moment. Shaia seemed to waver right after, softening back to the gentle woman she’d become, no longer capable of bearing the weight of her old self.
Though she looked better now, she certainly wasn’t getting any younger.
“You-”
“I’m not a child anymore, Mom,” Ardi interrupted her gently, his tone tender. “I haven’t been a child since that day seven years ago. And now…”
He turned away, watching the flames in the fireplace.
“I need to know, Mom,” his voice wavered slightly. “I need to know…”
Seconds turned into minutes, until finally, Shaia wiped a tear from her cheek and said, “Wait here a moment.”
She ascended the stairs, and Ardan listened to the crackle of the fire as the logs slowly burned away.
Soon, his mother returned, gathering the hem of her dress as she sat beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and handed him two old, sealed letters.
“I didn’t want to give you these,” she said, her tears falling hot and heavy. “Because… Because I know, my boy, that once you read them… you’ll leave.”
“Mom, I-”
“No, no, I know it,” she shook her head. “You’ll leave… But promise me you’ll come back. At least sometimes. Even if only for a few days. So that I can look at you, hold you, and kiss you. Promise me that. Please.”
“Mom, what are you-”
“Just promise me,” Shaia insisted.
He looked into her eyes and saw something akin to his own reflection, that feeling you get when staring at yourself in the mirror after a great loss. You’d tell yourself, again and again, that you knew this would happen, and yet, deep down, you’d hoped it wouldn’t.
And now it was here.
“I promise,” Ardan said firmly.
“Good.” Shaia wiped her tears with her hand, placing the letters before him. “And for the next three days, you’ll stay with us too.”
“What are you-”
“Even as a child, Ardi,” she said, closing her eyes and nestling her cheek against his shoulder, “when you first opened your eyes and looked at this vast, foreign world, I knew. I knew that you were destined to only stay with me for a while. That something out there would always call to you, something beyond the hill, something hidden in the forest’s shadows, or some new creature howling strangely, or a bird singing an unfamiliar tune… But I had hoped, I had hoped so dearly, that this time wouldn’t fly by so quickly. I hoped that I could watch your kind eyes a little longer, hear your laughter, smile with you at the sun. You loved the sun as a child. You thought it looked like a pancake. Do you remember? You probably don’t. You were just a little tot back then...”
She brought his face closer, tilted it slightly, and kissed his forehead. Then, leaning on his shoulder, she stood up and smiled, as she had back in his childhood. It was a smile that would make flowers bloom, or at least that was what it had seemed like to a child.
“My son… Don’t hold it against me that I didn’t want you to read them,” she said, turning toward the stairs. “And don’t blame them, either.”
Shaia departed, leaving Ardan alone by the crackling hearth with the two letters.
“To the little rascal, from Grandpa,” said the inscription on one. On the other, “To my son, from his father.”
