by Kyle West
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he said. “I promise.”
When we entered our apartment, my father found some wood by the stove, firing it up for a bit of warmth. My mother had been saving that, but with my father home, it was definitely occasion enough to use it.
I lay on my pallet in the apartment’s main room, while my parents went to the small room in the back. I heard them speaking in hushed tones, and I wondered what they were talking about.
When I closed my eyes, I thanked Annara for answering my prayer.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS PROMISED, I WOKE BEFORE the sun to see Shara off. My mother came out to join me, and Naomi was also there, along with Nath and Juli. We all had a good visit, but it was clouded by what was going to happen.
Before long, Shara shook her head. “I can’t drag this out anymore. I have to get going.”
Each of us gave her a final hug, and she reached me last of all.
“I’ll miss you, Shanti,” she said. “It looks like things will be getting better for you, huh?”
I couldn’t help but notice some bitterness in that question, and I didn’t know what to say as tears came to my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re leaving. Will you be coming back, you think, before they ship you off anywhere?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I hope to the gods they’ll let me. But if not...I’ll be thinking of you. When I write letters for my family, I’ll write to you as well.” She broke from my embrace. Her blue eyes were wet with unshed tears, and she wiped them before they could fall. “This is the hardest part, walking.”
Her mother gave her a final hug, along with her little brother and sister, all of whom were in tears. After a moment, Shara forced herself to break away.
“Goodbye,” she said.
“Annara watch over you, Shara,” Naomi said.
“I’ll be all right. The war is over for good...I hope. In any case, this is my path now. Goodbye! Annara shelter you all.”
With those final words, she turned and headed south toward the city on the empty dirt street. She didn’t look back until she reached the intersection where she would have to turn, about five buildings down. She gave a final wave, and then was gone.
Naomi shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Wars are the dread of mothers.”
***
When my mother and I returned to our apartment, my father was stoking the wood stove. He looked at us both as we entered.
My mother embraced him. “Good morning, my love. Sit down, and we’ll make breakfast for you.”
It was still dark in the tiny kitchen, and there was only the light from the single lantern that my mother had lit. In the dimness, we prepared a simple breakfast, the usual oatmeal, which we had done so many times that we could have done it easily in the dark. While my mother cooked, I laid the wooden dishes on the table, then sat next to my father. He stared blankly ahead, keeping his silence.
My mother lifted the pot, and scooped its contents into three bowls, giving my father twice as much as either of us, as well as giving him the majority of the leftover blueberries.
We ate in silence. My mind grasped for something to say, but all I could think about was Shara leaving, and how my own father felt like a stranger. The difference I noted yesterday felt all the more present. Part of him didn’t seem to be here with us, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“We got your letters,” I said.
“I got yours, too,” he said, smiling for the first time.
“I wrote a lot of them,” I said. I didn’t know why I said that, because I always mentioned that I was the one writing the letter.
“They were well-written,” my father said. “You have a way with words. You made working in the fields almost sound romantic.”
“There has to be a purpose behind everything,” I said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Maybe so,” my father said.
“If times get better,” my mother said, “perhaps you can return to school, Shanti. You’ll be behind everyone else, but you’ll catch up.”
“I want to do whatever I can to help. If it’s too much money, I don’t mind working a bit longer.”
“You’re going to school,” my father said. “And that’s that. Whatever we have to do to make it happen, we’ll do.”
After we finished eating, my mother and I cleaned. My father just stared ahead, seemingly at nothing. Once finished, my mother touched him on the shoulder, startling him in his seat.
“Nick? Shanti and I are going to work. Like we talked about last night.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Last night. Don’t you remember?”
“The fields?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Shanti and I have to work. If you come along, we stand to make even more.”
My father finally seemed to understand. “I don’t remember talking about this.”
“We did. Last night.”
He shook his head. “I must not have heard. I’m sorry, Yasmin. I can’t allow it. Not today. No soldier’s family should have to work in the fields, and you won’t be spending another day doing the labor of peasants.”
My mother went quiet, as if not sure how to respond.
“You never answered me clearly in your letters,” my father went on. “Why did you not go to my family? I told them to take care of you. I told them.”
“They helped...at first,” my mother said carefully, after a moment. “But they had their own problems. Any help, if given, became far more grudging. When Jiu died two years ago...they changed toward us.”
My father nodded, pain written on his face. Of course, he knew his older brother, Jiu, had died. He’d been a soldier, like him. As a landholder, he’d been one of the very first enrolled.
“I never liked Kira,” he said, finally. “But now that she has my brother’s money, she doesn’t want to let it go.” He stood, shaking his head. I noticed his hand was trembling. “You are my wife, Yasmin. A veteran’s wife.” He gave a small smile, and my mother returned it, though it seemed forced. “And there is the matter of my pension.”
My mother blinked. “Your pension? How much?”
“A little over two talents,” my father said. “If we’re careful, it will be enough to rebuild our lives.”
My mother’s eyes widened, and I couldn’t believe my ears. Two talents were as much as my mother and I could earn together in six months. Two thousand sestes. It was a small fortune, enough to do many things with.
Perhaps even enough to rebuild our lives.
“Two talents,” my mother said. From her face, I saw that I had misinterpreted her surprise. “I thought it might be two, even three times that. That will only cover rent in the city for a few months, even if we get a place like this.”
My father sighed. “It wasn’t just the common people that the Covenant shorted. It was the soldiers. I was never promoted to be an officer, but if I had been...” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Yasmin. I tried my hardest, but all the rules down there were backwards. The nobility fresh off the barges got the open officer positions instead of those who deserved it.”
“Two talents is enough,” my mother said. “It has to be enough.” She paused. “But we might have to stay here for a bit longer and wait on Shanti’s schooling.”
“We’ll see,” my father said. “The most important thing is to reopen the shop and buy a storefront, at least one in a similar location. There is definitely enough money to stock a basic inventory and afford a few months’ mortgage payments. I still know all my suppliers. Some might have died, but most will be alive.”
My mother smiled, but I could see she was skeptical. She was far more aware of the prices of things than my father was.
“Maybe, Nick...maybe it’s better if we kept working while you make those arrangements. Shanti and I can at least earn a little to help out. There’s a farmer north of here who needs help building a fence, and...”
“No,” my father said fi
rmly. “Absolutely not. Today, we’re going to the city. I hear there’s a festival and a victory fair.”
“A fair?” I asked.
My father nodded. “We need to celebrate. After today...we’ll make our plan. Things will get better...you’ll see. I’ll make it work. The gods have seen us through the worst of miseries. So first, let’s celebrate the start of our new lives. This will be a day we’ll never forget.”
CHAPTER SIX
WE CROSSED SILVER BRIDGE INTO Colonia to find everyone already in the streets, celebrating the victory over the Novans. I watched the endless sea of smiling faces, streamers, stringed instruments, food vendors, and street performers. Today’s atmosphere was the complete opposite of yesterday when Shara and I had come. In fact, it was hard to believe it was the Holy City of the Annaran Covenant.
It must have been years, if not decades, since Colonia had seen such festivity. The Covenant hadn’t officially sanctioned the celebration, as far as I knew, and yet the priests were doing nothing to curb it. If anything, they were celebrating, too.
Two men wearing combat leathers and red capes were lifted high above the roiling crowd. Other men in red were dispersed throughout, but my father merely wore a simple tunic, dusty from our short journey here.
We walked through the center of the Plaza of Sands, heading for the bank on the opposite side of the square, a large building of gray granite and wide-open doors. Already, a long line of soldiers stretched out the doors. Those that were leaving held large sacks of coin in hand, and wore smiles that were even larger.
“First, we have to go see about our money,” my father said. “Then, we’ll go eat, shop, or do whatever.”
“Nick, are you sure we can afford this?”
“We celebrate,” my father said, nodding firmly. “Don’t worry about money.”
My mother pursed her lips, but didn’t argue.
It was at least an hour waiting in line before my father stood before the bursar.
“Your uniform, soldier?”
“At home. I have my identification.”
My father slid a chit across the counter, and the bursar took it, holding it and squinting at it. He then looked back at my father.
“First Cohort,” he said. “Impressive.”
My father said nothing as the bursar flipped through a rather large book. After a moment, he seemed to find my father’s name.
“Where were you born, Master Roshar?”
“In Colonia.”
“Your mother’s name?”
“Hanna.”
“And where was she born?”
“Eastwatch, by the Wild.”
“Very good, sir,” he said. “How much will you be withdrawing today?”
“One hundred sestes,” he said.
The man raised an eyebrow, but nodded at a young man not far away, ushering him into action. “Most of the men are taking all of it, as if it will be gone tomorrow. I imagine many, especially the younger ones, will be destitute within the month.”
“Not me,” my father said. “I have a family to take care of.”
“Wise,” the bursar said. The young man handed him a small coin purse, sliding it across the counter. “But if I were you...I might take it all. Annara’s will is fickle, and so is the Grand Council’s. Your account stands at three talents and four hundred and seventy-six sestes.”
My father’s eyes widened. “Wait...you said three?”
“The Covenant rewarded First Cohort men a one-talent bonus,” he said. “For length of service.”
My father blinked. “That’s...unexpected.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. You’re the first to come in today from the First.”
“That’s wonderful,” my mother said.
“We should get going,” my father said. “Thank you again.”
As we walked out of the bank, my mother smiled wide. “Three talents. Three and a half! That certainly changes things.”
“That it does,” my father said. “Perhaps Shanti will be starting her schooling sooner than we thought.”
“Why did the First Cohort get more money?” I asked.
“I was moved there during the last year of the war,” he said. “The First was reserved for the very best soldiers, and we were always where the fighting was thickest.”
When my father said that, I was filled with pride.
“We need to get the rest of that money later,” my mother said.
“We will on the way home,” my father said. “For now...let’s enjoy our day.”
We left the bank and wandered Colonia’s streets, passing food carts and covered wagons doing a thriving trade. The air smelled of grilled meat and roasted vegetables, of spices and butter and baked sweets. From the way I wanted to stop at every cart we passed, I might as well not have eaten breakfast at all.
It was strange to walk down familiar streets completely transformed by the celebration. I felt a thrill at the thought that we’d be moving back here, that my old life could be returning. If I was lucky, I might be going to school and learning within the week.
I smiled. Everything seemed perfect.
We made a few more turns, and the neighborhoods began to look familiar, despite the crowds and festivities. I just stared at the red stone apartments, each about three floors high, rising above the narrow, cobbled streets. My father offered me his arm, and I smiled and took it.
And then, we were there. We paused in front of my father’s old shop, but it no longer sold tools. It sold clothes. My father walked toward the open door, and the business was filled with women and the husbands they’d dragged along with them.
“What would you like, Shanti?” he asked. “A new scarf? A new blouse?”
I ran my fingers along the fabric of a nearby skirt. There hadn’t been money for any new clothes in the four years my father was gone. I felt the eyes of the other women on me, taking note of the dirt and patches, making me feel as if I didn’t belong in the very place my father used to own.
I ignored them, trailing my fingers along multicolored blouses, robes, cardigans, sweaters, pants, hats, and dresses. I couldn’t get any of these things. I couldn’t believe the price tags: Ten sestes. Twenty sestes. Even as high as forty. A person could live off that for almost a month if they knew what they were doing.
At last, I sighed, and turned to my father, who was smiling, as if to say, “What will it be?” But I couldn’t bring myself to buy a thing, not when the family was struggling. I just shook my head, not able to speak.
My father, though, seemed to understand. He found a particularly thick scarf, verdant green, and wrapped it around my neck. I couldn’t remember when I last felt something so soft and warm.
“It looks good on you,” he said.
“It brings out your eyes,” my mother said.
“Father, you don’t have to, really.”
Secretly, though, I wanted the scarf. It was soft, and it was warm, and if I wore my current rags if we moved, I’d be laughed off the street.
“It’s yours,” he said.
He bought one for my mother as well, but hers was apricot, and he promised more later. It was the happiest I’d seen her in a long while, despite how frugal she’d grown over the last four years. It was strange how much difference money could make between being happy and unhappy. When my father ran the store and business was booming, I never thought about money, because you never thought about what you already had. You took it for granted. But when the war started, my mother and I obsessed over every single seste. If one came up missing, it could be the difference between eating a meal or not. It was surreal to watch my father hand over twenty sestes for two pieces of clothing that wouldn’t help my mother or me work a hard day in the fields. These were the kinds of clothes you didn’t work in. You wore these to be seen and comforted, to show that you were someone.
Another six sestes were gone by the time we sat outside at a cafe, drinking coffee with our cinnamon buns after a filling meal of lamb an
d rice with peppers and onions. The sun was high enough for it to be comfortable, if cool, and we sat for a while talking of old times, watching the throngs of people streaming by.
We left the cafe and went into the streets, the crowds thinning as we approached a tall row of apartments. My father was looking at them, taking note of the leasing signs. When he found one, he would write carefully with his pen and notepad, and move on.
“I’m starting to get the feeling we came here for more than to celebrate,” my mother mused. Her eyes went to the apartment in front of her. “I like this one.”
“I’ll enquire about the price,” my father said, making another note.
“It looks like our old place,” I said.
It was tall, three stories, with the same long, rectangular windows that every other apartment building had. It had the same stoop, the same red stucco, and several minor cracks on its face. Two small plots had been planted on either side of the door, each of which held a flowering cactus about half my height.
“We’ll see,” my mother said. “By the time they take our deposit for the first month, there may be nothing left for the store.”
“The bank offers fair loans for returning soldiers. In the end, a small loan might be necessary.”
My mother went quiet.
We walked on, away from the neighborhoods and toward the northern half of town, just west of Riverside. I wondered why my dad was taking us up here. This part of town was rougher, and if we walked any further, my scarf was going to become a liability rather than an asset.
“Did we take a wrong turn?” my mother asked.
“Just a minute,” my father said. “I want to show you something. It’s a surprise.”
As we continued to walk, the crowds thickened. Buildings of sandstone gave way to ones of wood and adobe, short and squat. There were few, if any, gardens and parks, and the only large building we passed was the North Cathedral, which I’d never been to. Even it looked run down compared to the others I’d seen.