by Amy Lehigh
Three years, and I never hugged you.
I was a fool.
After some time, Bo scooped up Ryan’s limp body the same way he had swept up Olea the day he took her home and sang her to sleep in his arms. He sang softly to Ryan’s closed ears as he carried him, not bothering to swallow the tears that fell down his cheeks. He carried him through the dark woods, his voice winding, forlorn, through the dying leaves that fell from the trees. “My heart breaks again,” he sang softly. “I lose what I love, and live with what I lose.”
When will I lose myself?
Bo continued singing to his deaf audience as he gently put Ryan on the ground and dug a grave for him in the fields they had once come from. Dayo landed as Bo finished digging, silent as Bo continued singing in a whisper to the dead, tapping the tip of his tail in a soft drumbeat to Bo’s grief, and watched as Bo carefully put his companion in the ground. Dayo pawed the loose dirt back overtop, and the two were silent.
“I am sorry, Bo. I did not mean for this to happen,” Dayo said, eventually breaking the silence of the cold night. The life around had hidden itself away from the rain and the beasts it had brought about.
“I know. I would have buried him anyway, someday, I knew,” Bo said. “He did not stop in time like me. He wouldn’t have. But it wasn’t supposed to be today, Dayo. He was supposed to live in the happiness I couldn’t.”
“You did let him live that happiness, Boelik, I’m sure. All of the training one takes can only prepare him for so much, however. Death takes her prey in every chance she can,” Dayo said. He looked at the new grave, his wet fur hanging in tight white locks. “I was preparing to meet him. I am sorry that I never had the chance.”
“So am I. You would have made quick friends, I think; you both have more patience than I could ever have,” Bo said with a bitter smirk.
“Bo,” Dayo rumbled. “There are still no new assignments. Will you be staying here?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I shall find you when the next half-demon is ready to be trained.” Bo held up his hand in a wave without glancing at Dayo. “Good-bye for now, then,” Dayo said, lifting off and flying away.
Bo walked back alone and found Ryan’s hat on the ground by the river. He dusted it off and took it home, putting it on the back of Ryan’s chair as he reset the table and chairs and cleaned up the cabin. He ate a dinner in silence for the first time in years. As he went to bed, he breathed in the scent of his former partner. He dreamt of Ryan that night:
Bo stood near the bridge, on the side that looked out to the field. Bright light filtered through spring trees, breathing new life into every tree and shadow. Ryan waved to him from across the bridge, a grin on his face as snowflakes began to fall. He seemed to call something out, but Bo couldn’t make out what was being said.
Olea appeared behind Ryan as Bo moved to approach, making Bo freeze in his tracks. His wife gave him a little wave and a sorry smile as she guided Ryan away, and Bo could see her telling the boy something. Ryan looked back at Bo with regret written on his face as he was led away. Bo reached out, words forming on his lips to call them back to him and to apologize.
And then he woke up.
Bo sat with another meal in front of him, staring at the hat on the chair across from him. He remembered talking and laughing as he had eaten just a few days before. He remembered having someone to laugh with. He stood and went outside, leaving his wooden plate behind on the table. The food was untouched.
Autumn passed, and winter came and went. When spring returned, Dayo informed Bo of a new assignment. Bo traveled to the village and let Colette know of the new development, and she hugged him as she said farewell. He told her he would be back within ten years, but just to check once or twice a year for a fire in the cabin. With that, he went to his new charge.
Bo protected and trained his new half-demons until they decided Bo was no longer needed; so he left one night. When Bo informed Dayo of this, he was told to let them go; the half-demons were trained well enough to make something of themselves.
Bo went back to Ireland two years earlier than he’d expected.
He and Colette soon reunited for a picnic, and she informed him that she’d found a suitor. Bo told her that he was glad for her, and feigned happiness despite the hole he felt inside. It was not long before Bo had another assignment and left the country again.
This time Bo’s charge died of a disease, and he returned within three years. Colette was married and with child now. He got to see the babe once before he left again.
The pattern of coming and going to and from Ireland continued for many years, even after Colette and her children were dead and buried. Bo watched the generations pass, watched as more of his pupils either fled from him because they felt they had no reason to stay, or they passed onto the next life because he was unable to protect them. Still he continued to return to his Irish cabin, long after his visitors stopped coming.
He helped the descendants of Colette’s family in secret, leaving them game on their step whenever famine hit, and wood in the winter. From the edge of the forest he watched the children as they played in the fields, or from the branches as they ran in the woods. Somehow, none ever found his cabin.
***
One day, Bo headed into the town. What used to be a quiet little hamlet with horse-drawn carriages was now a bustling place with loud things called cars and artificial lights everywhere. He sold some game, bought new clothes, and asked someone to tell him the date—the whole date.
“May seventeenth, nineteen eighty-five,” he muttered to himself as he trekked home. He looked up at the ancient branches above. “It’s been a long time.”
Bo began to open the door to his cabin when he heard something coming from deeper in the woods. He peered around and saw nothing, so he put his belongings in the cabin and cautiously walked in the direction of the constant noise.
It was in the area where Bo and Ryan once trained together that Bo found a little boy, looking to be about eight years old. The boy was sobbing into his arms, sitting curled up on the ground. His short, fluffy, dirty-blonde hair was tousled by the breeze in the forest. Bo walked closer to him and knelt beside him. “Hello,” he said.
The boy, startled, lifted his face from his arms and stared with puffy eyes at Bo, who held up his right hand in submission. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you. What’s your name? I’m Boelik—Bo for short.”
“Kian,” the little boy responded.
“What’s your last name, Kian?”
“Quirke.”
“I see,” Bo said. One of Colette’s. “Well, Kian, what are you doing out here?” The boy bit his lip. “You can tell me.”
“I ran away.”
“You ran away? Well, what for?”
“My Da got mad at me.” Kian sniffled.
“Oh, I see. And you got lost and want to go back, don’t you?”
Kian shook his head. “I just want to stay here.”
Bo looked at him pityingly. “Kian, I’m sure this wasn’t your father’s intention. He was probably scared for you. People get angry when they get scared sometimes. Your parents care for you very much, I’m sure. And what about your mother? Do you want her to cry because her little boy ran away?”
Kian sniffled again. “I don’t want Ma to cry.”
“There you are. Are you hungry at all, Kian? Do you want to eat before you go back home?”
Kian shook his head and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Okay,” Bo said, standing and holding out his hand. “Get up, then. I’ll take you home. But no more tears, all right?”
“Mm-hm,” Kian said, wiping his away. Then he stood and took Bo’s hand.
“That’s a boy. You’ll be home soon.” Bo walked Kian back home, to the edge of the little town that had evolved from the one he’d once known. Cars rolled down the streets, and the homes of supposedly better quality loomed over the paved streets. Bo glanced down at Kian. “Can you get home from here?”
&nbs
p; “Uh-huh,” Kian said with a nod, releasing Bo’s hand. “Thank you for taking me home.”
Bo waved him off. “Just don’t get lost again, all right?”
“Okay,” Kian said, starting toward his home. Bo watched him go for a moment, waving to him as the boy turned and waved before running to his house. He leapt into his mother and father’s arms as they saw him from their porch. Bo turned away and walked back to his cabin for another night alone.
The next morning Bo awakened and ate breakfast. When he finished, he sat back and stared at the old gray hat on the chair across from him. He shook his head. “It was almost easier to burn the house and everything in it,” Bo remarked to no one in particular, “than to live and see something of the people I loved every day.” Staring at the hat, he continued, “It’s been almost two hundred years since then. Maybe my own time is going to run out soon. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Then he stood and put on his cloak, clasping it over his right shoulder, letting it fall over his left side.
Bo meandered out to the field where Ryan was buried in an unmarked grave. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said to the grass beneath his feet, to the body somewhere beneath that. “I hope that I can join you wherever you are when I finally die, decrepit old man that I am.” An image of his wife and Ryan waiting flickered through his mind.
“Boelik!” someone called from behind him.
“Hm?” Bo turned, and at the head of the path from the woods came Kian, running up to him. “Kian? What are you doing here? Did you run away again?”
Kian shook his head and gazed up at him with his big brown eyes. “No, I didn’t. I came out for a walk with my Da.” He pointed back to the path, bringing Bo’s attention to a man coming upon them, taller even than himself.
“Hello there,” the man said, his eyes calmly meeting Bo’s. He had brown hair as well, and the resemblance to Colette reminded Bo of how long it had been since he’d seen her alive. Though one definite difference stood out—his eyes were of two different colors, the right being green and the left a bright blue similar to Ryan’s. “I’m Mr. Quirke. I take it you’re the Boelik who helped my boy?”
Bo nodded, holding out his hand to Kian’s father. “Boelik. You can call me Bo.”
“Well, Bo, thank you very much for bringing our boy back to us,” Mr. Quirke replied, taking the hand.
“You’re welcome. I was just heading home when I heard him in the woods, to be honest.”
“Where do you live?” Mr. Quirke asked, releasing his grip and letting his hand fall back to his side. “I haven’t seen you in town.”
“I’m not in town. I live in a cabin in the woods.”
“Really? My parents told me a story of a strange man who lived in the woods. A magical being, I think they called him.”
“Well, I assure you, I’m no delusional hermit. I’ve just lived there for a long time. It’s far more peaceful that way. Birds make better company than cars.”
Mr. Quirke nodded. “I understand the sentiment. It’s why my boy and I like to go for walks like this. I didn’t expect to find the man who helped us, though.”
Bo shrugged. “Fate can be kind or cruel,” he remarked, glancing at the dirt below his feet. “It seems as though it were kind to you today.”
“Very,” Mr. Quirke replied.
Silence followed for a moment. “Well,” Bo said. “I suppose I should head back home now.”
“Oh? Well, all…” Mr. Quirke began to say until Kian interrupted.
“Wait,” he said. “Won’t you walk with us?”
Bo looked at the young boy, his big brown eyes staring into Bo’s hazel ones pleadingly. “Well?”
Bo sighed.
“Please,” Mr. Quirke added, picking up on his son. Bo held up his hand in surrender. “All right. But don’t expect me to come to dinner with you afterwards. I have my limits.”
The three walked back into the woods, strolling along the dirt paths that wound around the old alders. They talked about various things, Bo continuing to be vague and distant with his answers. However, the Quirkes didn’t seem to mind at all. It seemed as though they understood his want of privacy and didn’t prod for answers. Bo returned the favor.
At the edge of the forest that looked over the town, Bo said, “This is where I break away.”
“All right,” Mr. Quirke said. “We’ll be coming out again tomorrow. Would you like to meet us here again?”
Bo shuffled his feet and glanced back at the woods, the wind whispering through the branches. After a quick peek at Kian he sighed and said, “Well, I don’t see why not.”
Around the same time the next day, Bo met Kian at the edge of the woods. “Where’s your father?”
“He said he had some work that just came up and had to be done,” Kian replied. “But I said that I’d still go with you.”
“Well that’s good of you,” Bo said. Kian grinned, and they began to walk through the forest. They were around the bridge when Bo noticed that Kian kept staring up at him as they walked. Bo peered down at him. “What is it?”
“Why is your hair so long?” Kian asked.
“Hm?” Bo wondered, holding up some of his shoulder-length hair. He cut it regularly so it wouldn’t get longer, so it had stayed a pretty steady length over the centuries. At least he hadn’t ever grown facial hair. “Isn’t this the normal length?”
Kian shook his head. Bo thought back and realized that men seemed mostly to wear their hair short now. Oops.
“My Ma cuts mine all the time. Do you want me to ask her to do yours, too?” Kian asked.
Bo gave an awkward smile. “No, thanks. I’ll figure something out.”
They continued to walk for some time, though Kian didn’t ask about much else. Bo eventually took him home before returning home himself. He found his knife in its ‘new’ sheath by the bed and took it to the river so that he could cut his hair. It wouldn’t do to stand out quite so much.
It was evening by the time he was satisfied. The short cut reminded him of a boy’s hair, but he shrugged it off. Fashion was something he never understood, even after all this time. Bo soon returned to his home, thinking of the next day’s walk as he fell asleep.
***
It was a few years late. A light snow covered the ground, and Bo was headed to the normal meeting place. When he arrived, though, no one was there, and he leaned against a tree to wait. The sun began to set, turning the fresh white snow into a pink sea. Bo watched it sink, the snow beneath gradually changing to violets and blues. And when still neither of the Quirkes had shown up, Bo sighed and glanced down at his feet. That’s when he saw the tracks and paid new attention to the village.
There seemed to be a commotion on the Quirkes’ porch. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Quirke in conversation. By the looks of it, Mr. Quirke was trying to calm down a panicking missus, and trying to keep her voice down. “The boy is thirteen years old,” Bo muttered. “Don’t tell me he’s run off again?”
Nonetheless, Bo followed the barefoot tracks deep into the woods. He sped up as he noticed the steps were getting more erratic. The trail led him past his cabin and closer to the heart of the woods, and he began to hear something. Bo paused to listen.
The sounds were a deep grunting and panting. It seemed like a large animal was in distress. Bo looked up and leapt into a tree, bounding from branch to branch until he saw the source of the noise. It was a large deer, stumbling about in the snowy woods with enormous, clunky antlers. It certainly wasn’t anything Bo had seen before, in Ireland or elsewhere. He was tempted to hunt it for a moment when Dayo decided to pop in. “Don’t kill that!” he shouted in Bo’s head, making him grab for his ears.
Dayo! Quit yelling! What is it?
“I know it’s been a while, but do you remember what I told you? About morphers?”
You’re saying this is one of them? Bo asked as he removed his hands and took a new look at the deer.
“Yes. I found a line of ancient morphers in your vicinity. It is a dying br
eed. Apparently, that little Colette you once knew was carrying the ability.”
Colette? How do you know?
“My visions are sometimes convenient,” Dayo replied.
Dayo. You are increasingly frustrating.
“I know. The life of a prophetic unicorn-dragon is quite a burden at times.”
Dayo, Bo warned.
“I apologize. I remembered her from a vision, and then I had another where I saw you with her another time. I found you knew her then.”
Her name, though? I don’t recall telling you that. Bo watched the deer below smack its head into a tree with its awkward antlers.
“I hear a surprising amount of your thoughts when you don’t pay attention.”
Dayo! You’ve been eavesdropping on my thoughts!?
“I’m sorry. Either way, that is a morpher, not a piece of prey. Do not kill it.”
Where are you?
“Overhead. I was coming to tell you.”
Two hundred years late? Bo thought, glancing down again at the strangely drunken deer-morpher.
“My visions are only sometimes convenient.”
Well, I have the information now. I shall take this from here.
“If you say so.” With that, the old dragon withdrew, and Bo’s head cleared.
The deer gave an elk-like call, making Bo wince. He dropped down from the tree in front of the animal, putting up his human hand to show it he meant no harm. It started at his sudden appearance, tripping and falling to the ground. The two stared at each other as the animal stood again, standing firmly now. Bo could hardly see how a human mind could be thinking in that body.
“Wait,” Bo said a thought coming to him. He felt like a fool for not thinking of it sooner, even after Dayo said it. “Kian?” The deer’s ears perked at the name. “Oh, Kian…” Kian lowered his head and despite not being able to understand him, Bo could somehow feel that he was sad. Sad and scared.
“Come here,” he said. The deer walked unsteadily toward him until it was close enough to touch. He really was uncannily large, his head already higher than Bo’s. Bo opened his arm and Kian stepped into a hug, Bo’s arm stretching around his thick neck. “Don’t be afraid,” he told Kian. “You’ll be all right.”