by Dante Silva
Father’s gaze swept over Julian as he slowed to a halt beside Mother. He scowled at the woodcutter. “Brin?”
The large man shifted uncomfortably on the cart bench. “The situation’s different than it sounds. Your boy was acting up and being a danger to himself.”
“And how did he manage that?” Mother put her hands on her hips. “By attempting to chop himself instead of the wood?”
“He wasn’t in his right mind, kept going on with all these romantic notions.”
“Because those are so dangerous.” She laughed bitterly and turned to Father. “What do you think, Ronic? Do you find this treatment acceptable?”
Julian waited as his father turned to assess him. Instead of the normal passive look Father wore, concern wrinkled his forehead. “Let’s see your wrists, Julian.”
Turning around, Julian felt more than heard his parents’ shock. Father tilted Julian’s wrists and, after a moment of rustling, the rope fell away. Julian rubbed the dried blood ringing his raw flesh. Father cursed, and Mother drew a shuddering breath.
“Go inside,” Mother said, her voice a whisper. “Your father and I have matters to take care of.”
Eager to be alone, Julian made for the house. Long shadows stretched over the farm as the sun sunk ever lower. Elias wandered from the barn—bits of wheat sticking to his clothes and hair—and made a beeline for Julian. “What happened with Brin?” Then when he got closer, “Julian, is everything all right?”
Julian swallowed his despair. “She’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find her again.”
“Because of Brin?” Elias shuddered. “Never did like that man.”
“Mostly.” I should have known others would find her, that she wasn’t safe so close to the town. “He...scared her off, forced her to leave. I don’t know how to start searching for her.”
Elias patted Julian’s arm. “He didn’t...did he harm her?”
“She’ll be all right. She has to be.” He wouldn’t let himself consider other possibilities. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“That depends. Did Brin’s actions ruin your relationship with her?”
“No.” Julian thought back to that last image. “We made a promise to meet somewhere.”
“Well then, why are you standing around?”
Julian could only stare as his brother went back to the house.
WHEN Father didn’t bother him the next morning, Julian sat at his desk with renewed purpose and wrote down everything he could remember Unharud mentioning about fey and gateways. The precious paper sat mostly blank, but it was a start. Opening his pack, he fit in two pairs of clothes, the paper, some supplies, and all his coin, and he left enough space for a new lyre.
He gazed out the open window that overlooked the back field and the woods beyond. The journey into the rest of the world wasn’t one he’d planned to start alone, but dreams of himself and Unharud camping in the woodlands and kissing each other to sleep each night were just that, dreams. There must be other gateways into the fey realm and people who know about them. As long as she’s alive and safe, I have a chance of finding her.
The sound of chairs scraping in the kitchen broke his musings. Father, Zacharai, and Elias had returned for lunch. With one last look out the window, Julian gripped his pack and took a deep breath, then went to the kitchen. His family sat at the table, their utensils aimed at their plates. At his entrance, Mother jumped from her seat and beamed. “I’m so glad you’re joining us. Sit. I’ll get you a plate.”
Julian braced himself. “Thanks, but I’m not here to have lunch.” He pressed on before anyone could reply. “I’m leaving. If anyone is upset, I’m sorry, but I have to know what the rest of the world is like. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I wanted to say my goodbyes.”
Zacharai’s jaw worked, but Elias grinned. “Best of luck out there, little brother. You never fit in here anyway.”
“Elias!” Mother scolded.
Zacharai joined in. “If that’s what you want to do, then there’s no point in wasting your time here.”
“Thanks,” Julian said. “I think.”
Father snorted, and Julian stiffened. He’d considered leaving under the cover of night to avoid this confrontation but knew he would have regretted not seeing everyone else one last time.
“Running away again, are you?” Father said, a brief pause settling as he assessed his youngest son. “The least you could do is stay for lunch. It would make your mother happy and start you on a full stomach.”
“You’re...not angry?”
Leaning back in his chair, Father let out a lengthy sigh. “No, Julian, I’m not angry, just sorry it took Brin hurting you for me to accept that you’re your mother’s son.”
Did Father just admit he was wrong?
Mother dabbed a linen napkin to her eye. “You know my feelings. I always knew one of my children would follow my footsteps, but the reality is bittersweet. There’s just one thing missing.”
She left the kitchen and returned moments later, holding the lyre. “It’s yours.”
Afternoon sun gleamed along the instrument's smooth surface, reminding Julian of Unharud’s oak. “But what about my punishment?”
“You’re not a child anymore,” Father said. “Haven’t been for some time. There won’t be any more punishments, and you can’t leave without your lyre.”
Julian took the instrument with reverence, running his fingers along the strings, remembering how Unharud had danced when he played for her. He hugged Mother. “Thank you.”
Julian left the farmhouse and walked down the road. The fields and Cloma faded into memory when he entered the woods, as if he’d stepped through a gateway toward freedom and the unknown. He reached the path to the copse and paused to listen, though he knew no melody would drift on the breeze. Touching his neck, he remembered that last image of a sandy beach, then continued to stride through the trees. He had a promise to keep, and he was long overdue in listening to his old soul.
About the Authors
Vanessa Mozes and Dante Silva are a married author couple who love to travel and explore, which often happens as they conjure characters and worlds together. They live in California with cats and look forward to sharing many more stories in the future.
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