by Morgan Rice
Sartes grinned from ear to ear—which she thought was rather strange—and then he held up a copper coin with his healthy arm.
“I think I owe you some food,” he said.
Ceres gasped in shock. “Where did you get that?”
“That rich girl in the golden carriage tossed out two coins, not one, but everyone was so focused on the fight between the men that they didn’t even notice,” Sartes replied, his smile still very much intact.
Ceres grew angry and prepared to confiscate the coin from Sartes and throw it. That was blood money, after all. They didn’t need anything from rich people.
As she reached to grab it, suddenly, an old woman appeared and blocked her path.
“You!” she said, pointing at Ceres, her voice so loud Ceres felt as if it vibrated straight through her.
The woman’s complexion was smooth, yet seemingly transparent, and her perfectly arched lips were tinted green. Acorns and mosses adorned her long, thick, black hair, and her brown eyes matched her long brown dress. She was beautiful to behold, Ceres thought, so much so that she became mesmerized for a moment.
Ceres blinked back, stunned, certain she had never met this woman before.
“How do you know my name?”
Her eyes locked with the woman’s as she took a few steps toward her, and Ceres noticed the woman smelled heavily of myrrh.
“Vein of the stars,” she said, her voice eerie.
When the woman lifted her arm in a graceful gesture, Ceres saw that a triquetra was branded on the inside of her wrist. A witch. Based on the scent of the gods, perhaps a fortune-telling one.
The woman took Ceres’s rose gold hair in her hand and smelled it.
“You are no stranger to the sword,” she said. “You are no stranger to the throne. Your destiny is very great, indeed. Mighty will the change be.”
The woman suddenly turned and hurried away, disappearing behind her booth, and Ceres stood there, numb. She felt the woman’s words penetrate her very soul. She felt that they had been more than an observation; they were a prophecy. Mighty. Change. Throne. Destiny. These were words she had never associated with herself before.
Could they be true? Or were they just the words of a madwoman?
Ceres looked over and saw Sartes holding a basket of food, his mouth already stuffed with more than enough bread. He held it out for her. She saw the baked good, fruits, and vegetables, and it was almost enough to break her resolve. Normally, she would have devoured it.
Yet now, for some reason, she had lost her appetite.
There was a future before her.
A destiny.
*
The walk home had taken almost an hour longer than usual, and they had all remained silent the entire way, each lost in their own thoughts. Ceres could only wonder what the people she loved most in the world thought of her. She hardly knew what to think of herself.
She looked up and saw her humble home, and she was surprised she had made it all the way, given how her head and back ached.
The others had parted with her some time ago, to run an errand for her father, and Ceres stepped alone across the creaky threshold, bracing herself, hoping she did not run into her mother.
She entered a bath of heat. She made her way over to the small vial of cleaning alcohol her mother had stored under her bed and uncorked it, careful not to use so much that it went noticed. Bracing herself for the sting, she pried her shirt and poured it down her back.
Ceres cried out from the pain, clenching her fist and leaning her head against the wall, feeling a thousand stings from the omnicat’s claws. It felt as if this wound would never heal.
The door slammed open and Ceres flinched. She was relieved to see it was only Sartes.
“Father needs to see you, Ceres,” he said.
Ceres noticed his eyes were slightly red.
“How’s your arm?” she asked, assuming he was crying from the pain of his injured arm.
“It’s not broken. Just sprained.” He stepped closer and his face turned serious. “Thank you for saving me today.”
She offered him a smile. “How could I be anywhere else?” she said.
He smiled.
“Go see Father now,” he said. “I’ll burn your dress and the cloth.”
She didn’t know how she’d be able to explain to her mother how her dress had suddenly vanished, but the hand-me-down definitely needed to be burned. If her mother found it in its current condition—bloodied and riddled with holes—there’d be no saying how severe her punishment would be.
Ceres left and walked down the downtrodden grass path toward the shed behind the house. There was one tree left on their humble lot—the others had been chopped into firewood and burned in the hearth to heat the house during cold winter nights—and its branches hovered over the house like a protecting energy. Every time Ceres saw it, it reminded her of her grandmother, who passed away the year before last. Her grandmother had been the one who had planted the tree when she was a child. It was her temple, in a way. And her father’s too. When life was too much to handle, they would lie underneath the stars and open their hearts to Nana as if she were still alive.
Ceres entered the shed and greeted her father with a smile. To her surprise, she noticed that most of his tools had been cleared from the worktable, and that no swords waited by the hearth to be forged. She couldn’t ever remember seeing the floor swept this clean, or the walls and ceiling so lacking in tools.
Her father’s blue eyes lit up, the way they always did when he saw her.
“Ceres,” he said, rising.
This past year, his dark hair had turned much grayer, his short beard, too, and the bags under his loving eyes had doubled in size. In the past, he had been large in stature and almost as muscular as Nesos; yet recently, Ceres noticed, he had lost weight and his formerly perfect posture was sagging.
He joined her at the door and placed a calloused hand to the small of her back.
“Walk with me.”
Her chest tightened a little. When he wanted to talk and walk, that meant he was about to share something significant.
Side by side, they meandered to the back of the shed and into the small field. Dark clouds loomed in the near distance, sending in gusts of warm, temperamental wind. She hoped they would produce the rain needed to recover from this seemingly never-ending drought, yet as before, they probably held just empty promises of showers.
The earth crunched beneath her feet as she walked, the soil dry, the plants yellow, brown, and dead. This patch of land behind their subdivision was King Claudius’s, yet it hadn’t been sowed for years.
They crested a hill and stopped, looking across the field. Her father remained silent, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked up into the sky. It was unlike him, and her dread deepened.
Then he spoke, seeming to select his words with care.
“Sometimes we don’t have the luxury of choosing our paths,” he said. “We must sacrifice all that we want for our loved ones. Even ourselves, if needed.”
He sighed, and in the long silence, interrupted only by the wind, Ceres’s heart pounded, wondering where he was going with this.
“What I wouldn’t give to hold onto your childhood forever,” he added, peering into the heavens, his face twisted in pain before it relaxed again.
“What’s wrong?” Ceres asked, placing a hand on his arm.
“I must leave for a while,” he said.
She felt as if she couldn’t take a breath.
“Leave?”
He turned and looked her in the eyes.
“As you know, the winter and spring were particularly hard this year. The past few years of drought have been difficult. We haven’t made enough money to get through the next winter, and if I don’t go, our family will starve to death. I have been commissioned by another king to be his head bladesmith. It will be good money.”
“You will take me with you, right?” Ceres said, a frantic tone in her voice.
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He shook his head grimly.
“You must stay here and help your mother and brothers.”
The thought sent a wave of horror through her.
“You can’t leave me here with Mother,” she said. “You wouldn’t.”
“I have spoken to her, and she will take care of you. She will be kind.”
Ceres stomped her foot in the earth, the dust rising.
“No!”
Tears burst from her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks.
He took a small step toward her.
“Listen to me very carefully, Ceres. The palace still needs swords delivered from time to time. I have put in a good word for you, and if you make swords the way I have taught you, you could make a little money of your own.”
Making her own money might possibly allow her more freedom. She had found her small, dainty hands had come in handy when carving intricate designs and inscriptions on the blades and hilts. Her father’s hands were broad, his fingers thick and stubby, and few others had the skill she had.
Even so, she shook her head.
“I don’t want to be a smith,” she said.
“It runs in your blood, Ceres. And you have a gift for it.”
She shook her head, adamant.
“I want to wield weapons,” she said, “not make them.”
As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted speaking them.
Her father furrowed his brow.
“You wish to be a warrior? A combatlord?”
He shook his head.
“One day it may be allowed for women to fight,” she said. “You know I have practiced.”
His eyebrows crinkled in worry.
“No,” he commanded, firmly. “That is not your path.”
Her heart sank. She felt as if her hopes and dreams of becoming a warrior were dissipating with his words. She knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel—he was never cruel. It was just reality. And for them to stay alive, she would have to sacrifice her part, too.
She looked into the distance as the sky lit with a jolt of lightning. Three seconds later, thunder rumbled through the heavens.
Had she not realized how dire their circumstances were? She always assumed they would pull through together as a family, but this changed everything. Now she wouldn’t have Father to hold onto, and there would be no person to stand as a shield between her and Mother.
One tear after another dropped onto the desolate earth as she remained immovable where she stood. Should she give up her dreams and follow her father’s advice?
He pulled something out from behind his back, and her eyes widened to see a sword in his hand. He stepped closer, and she could see the details of the weapon.
It was awe-inspiring. The hilt was of pure gold, engraved with a serpent. The blade was two-edged and looked to be of the finest steel. Though the workmanship was foreign to Ceres, she could immediately tell it was of the finest quality. On the blade itself there was an inscription.
When heart and sword meet, there shall be the victory.
She gasped, staring at it in awe.
“Did you forge that?” she asked, her eyes glued to the sword.
He nodded.
“After the manner of the northerners,” he replied. “I have labored on it for three years. Indeed, this blade alone could feed our family for an entire year.”
She looked at him.
“Then why not sell it?”
He shook his head firmly.
“It wasn’t made for that purpose.”
He stepped closer, and to her surprise, he held it out before him.
“It was made for you.”
Ceres raised a hand to her mouth and let out a moan.
“Me?” she asked, stunned.
He smiled wide.
“Did you really think I forgot your eighteenth birthday?” he replied.
She felt tears flood her eyes. She had never been more touched.
But then she thought about what he had said earlier, about not wanting her to fight, and she felt confused.
“And yet,” she replied, “you said I must not train.”
“I don’t want you to die,” he explained. “But I see where your heart is. And that, I cannot control.”
He reached a hand underneath her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met.
“I am proud of you for it.”
He handed her the sword, and when she felt the cool metal against her palm, she became one with it. The weight was perfect for her, and the hilt felt like it had been molded to her hand.
All the hope that had died earlier now reawakened in her chest.
“Don’t tell your mother,” he warned. “Hide it where she cannot find it, or she will sell it.”
Ceres nodded.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I will try to be back for a visit before the first snowfall.”
“That’s months away!” she said, taking a step back.
“It is what I must do to—”
“No. Sell the sword. Stay!”
He placed a hand on her cheek.
“Selling this sword might help us for this season. And perhaps next. But then what?” He shook his head. “No. We need a long-term solution.”
Long term? Suddenly, she realized his new job wasn’t just going to be for a few months. It might be years.
Her despondency deepened.
He stepped forward, as if sensing it, and hugged her.
She felt herself begin to cry in his arms.
“I will miss you, Ceres,” he said, over her shoulder. “You are different than all the others. Every day I will look up into the heavens and know you are beneath the same stars. Will you do the same?”
At first she wanted to yell at him, to say: how dare you leave me here alone.
But she felt it in her heart that he couldn’t stay, and she didn’t want to make it harder on him than it already was.
A tear rolled down her face. She sniffled and nodded her head.
“I will stand beneath our tree every night,” she said.
He kissed her on the forehead and wrapped tender arms around her. The wounds on her back felt like knives, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent.
“I love you, Ceres.”
She wanted to respond, and yet she couldn’t get herself to say anything—her words were stuck in her throat.
He fetched his horse from the stable, and Ceres helped him load it with food, tools, and supplies. He embraced her one last time, and she thought her chest might burst from sadness. Yet still, she couldn’t utter a single word.
He mounted the horse, and nodded before signaling to the animal to move.
Ceres waved as he rode away, and she watched with unwavering attention until he vanished behind the distant hill. The only true love she had ever known came from that man. And now he was gone.
Rain started to descend from the heavens, and it prickled against her face.
“Father!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Father, I love you!”
She fell to her knees and buried her hands in her face, sobbing.
Life, she knew, would never be the same again.
CHAPTER THREE
With aching feet and burning lungs, Ceres climbed the steep hill as swiftly as she could without spilling a drop of water from either bucket by her sides. Normally she would pause for a break, but her mother had threatened no breakfast unless she was back by sunrise—and no breakfast meant she wouldn’t eat until dinner. She didn’t mind the pain, anyway—it, at least, allowed her to take her mind off her father, and the miserable new state of things since he had left.
The sun was just now cresting the Alva Mountains in the distance, painting the scattered clouds above golden-pink, and soft wind sighed through the tall, yellow grass on either side of the road. Ceres drew the fresh morning air in through her nose and willed herself faster. Her mother wouldn’t find it an acceptable excuse that their regular well had dried up, or that ther
e was a long line at the other one a half a mile away. Indeed, she did not stop until she reached the top of the hill—and once she did, she stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight before her.
There, in the distance, was her house—and before it sat a bronze wagon. Her mother stood before it, conversing with a man who was so overweight, Ceres thought she had never seen anyone even half his size. He wore a burgundy linen tunic and a red silk hat, and his long beard was bushy and gray. She squinted, trying to understand. Was he a merchant?
Her mother was wearing her best dress, a green linen floor-length gown she had purchased years ago with money that was supposed to be used to buy Ceres new shoes. None of this made any sense.
Hesitantly, Ceres started down the hill. She kept her eyes trained on them, and when she saw the old man hand her mother a heavy leather pouch, saw her mother’s emaciated face light up, she grew even more curious. Had their misfortune turned? Would Father be able to return home? The thoughts made her chest lighten a little, although she wouldn’t allow herself to feel any excitement until she learned the details.
When Ceres neared their house, her mother turned and smiled at her warmly—and immediately Ceres felt a knot of worry in her stomach. The last time her mother had smiled at her like that—teeth gleaming, eyes bright—Ceres had received a flogging.
“Darling daughter,” her mother said in an overly sweet tone, opening her arms toward her with a grin that made Ceres’s blood curdle.
“This is the girl?” the old man said with an eager smile, his dark, beady eyes widening when he looked at Ceres.
Now up close, Ceres could see every wrinkle on the obese man’s skin. His broad flat nose seemed to overtake his entire face, and when he took off his hat, his sweaty bald head glowed in the sunlight.
Her mother waltzed over to Ceres, took the buckets from her, and set them on the singed grass. That gesture alone confirmed to Ceres that something was severely wrong. She began to feel a panicky sensation rise in her chest.
“Meet my pride and joy, my only daughter, Ceres,” her mother said, pretending to wipe a tear away from her eye when there was none. “Ceres, this is Lord Blaku. Please show your respects to your new master.”