The Wheel Turns (Short Story)

THE WHEELS OF TIME DO NOT ALWAYS TURN AS THEY SHOULD.

The flaws and ridges of the wheels bump on the well-worn road of life, tossing souls off the wagon though they were prepared for a longer journey. It might have been better for them to hold on a little tighter to the rails, but what is the joy in life when your only focus is the ending?

The wheels were poorly oiled the day Nylis was hanged. He bellowed with all the breath in his lungs that it was not his fault. That the world was cruel. That I am cruel, even. He may be right, should I follow the lead of my brothers and sisters to interfere with the lives of men. But I do not, so I am not. And poor Nylis was left kicking out the thieves' dance as the crowd watched on—eyes wide—some full of horror, others of vengeance, and more than a few of weary resignation.

You see, I knew this was coming. From the minute the desperate thought came to Nylis' mind, I knew there would be no averting this. For a man of his understanding, he had made few wayward decisions in his life. He had always tried to make the right choice, so when the time came to make it, he did not fret over the consequences. He just…did what must be done.

The problem was that, when the fears and woes of your fellow workers niggle at your ears in the early hours of the night, and you remember the life leaking from a goat when you clamped your hands around its neck for waking the sick child, and you see the old-age nobles throw your hard-earned money wherever their whim lands that day, you feel, as Nylis did, that you should make a decision.

A terrible thought. The Harbel family was old, stretching far into the past. Their patriarch and matriarch were worse for the wear, having struggled so to start this new, free kingdom just to fall to the same plights and pitfalls as the last. Nylis had wondered when they might pass on and leave the ruling to their only daughter, Kalia. But the hope that she would be different was weak. Raised by her parents, she would be much the same and marry some power-hungry, pin-headed brat of a nobleman. Together they would pilfer the money of Nylis’ coworkers in just the same way as those who came before them, and those who would come after them.

Did you know I was there, sitting in the unused chair in the corner of his bedroom, when Nylis decided to kill her? It was dark that night in the wooden shack Nylis called home. Some might call me cold—or evil, even—that I would let such thoughts stir in a man’s mind. That I would allow Kalia’s life to be snuffed out in such a plot. But, I remind you, I am the god of fate. Not of nagging thoughts or quiet sufferings. I only reign over what is to be, not what could. And so I watched.

The next day when he spoke his plan in a small whisper to his two closest friends, I listened. Poison, an architectural accident, even scraping their money together to hire an assassin—all these ideas were scrapped. Poison could be given to the wrong person. Accidents were too hard to plan. And an assassin, well, they kill for the highest bidder. 

It had to be one of them. Or two.

They chose Nylis and that man full of wrath, Kernden. Both had doubts, and both knew it might end with another pithless nobleman lording over their village, or worse, with a noose tightening around their necks. The Harbel family would last two, maybe three years with only the parents. They were far too old to have more children.

Of all the men to lose something, Nylis knew he was the best choice. No wife, no parents, no children who needed him. Only the rough calling to a dark business. He heeded it and made his choice.

When the time came, and they were standing on the walkway across from Kalia’s reading room on a bright day, Nylis knew he had to make a decision. The same one he had made at least a hundred times leading up to that day. When they bought the stewards’ attire, when they offered their services, when they spoke to the lords of the house with murder in their eyes. He had so many times made the choice, and here he was, making it again.

I stood at the half-open door, watching both of them. Watching Nylis and watching Kalia. She was ready, I knew, for death. It surprises me when one so young is prepared for their fate. But it happens every so often, as it did with Kalia. She was tired but fulfilled. Hopeful, yet sure. A mind like that makes me wonder what the world would be like if she had lived a little longer.

But it was not so. Nylis approached the door, grabbed the handle, twisted, and entered the cavernous reading room. Kernden stepped in behind him, and Kalia barely even noticed. She was absorbed with the shape of a cloud outside, and the end of a book she had finished, and how she knew, at some point, that everyone would forget her.

Watching Kalia think, Nylis stopped. He had made his choice. Finally, with no misgivings, with no decisions otherwise. And he would do what had to be done.

Nylis turned on one heel, nodded to Kernden, and strode for the door. There would be no deaths this day.

But Kernden had also made his decision. And, being such a god as I am, I knew his destiny as well. And when he stepped up behind Kalia’s chair, knife in hand, I could not bear to look. I had seen it already a thousand times in Kernden’s eyes: the blood, the quiet gurgle, the rage. And lastly, that terrible idea when he saw Nylis’s horrified face.

Kernden leapt for Nylis and cuffed him across the side of the face. The man, unprepared, dropped. He dragged Nylis over to Kalia’s corpse, dabbed her blood over his hand, face, and neck, and slipped the knife into his hands. Then, after a quick wash in Kalia’s basin, he put on the best horrified look he could—not unlike Nylis a minute earlier—and ran to the Harbel’s door in a fit.

Then he lied, and lied, and lied. And they sent guards up to Kalia’s reading room, and even once Nylis was awake, they did not believe him. And on the day he was to be hanged, when he pleaded with the prison keeper, he was not listened to. I listened.

When he was strung up to be hanged, my eyes were the only ones filled with tears. A man such as Nylis should not be thrown from the wagon in such a manner. But that which the wheel decides will and must happen. He died, and Kernden went free to be made lord of his little village when the Harbels passed away, for all that he had served them in their time of grief.

He lived a long life. And on his plush deathbed, while Kernden reflected on his many choices, I watched. I waited for his life to slip away, and at the moment it did, to catch his soul and deliver it into eternal judgment.

For his fate was not in the successes of this earth, but of an everlasting damnation in the choices of his past.

That was The Wheel Turns, another short story I wrote in my writing group! I came up with the prompt for this one: we created our own mythological god, then wrote a story from their perspective with the prompt: "In a freshly-established kingdom, the first murder has taken place: a young noble girl of only twelve. Nylis was blamed and hung for it, but claimed to the end that the fault lay elsewhere."

This god is Cetriphuse, the god of fate and destiny. (Can you tell I'm interested in fate?) I'd be really interested in writing more about him, and how he observes/interacts with the world. I felt pretty good about how I wrote his perspective, too.

I hope you enjoyed! Cheers! 

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Busy Times, Busy Minds

I was reflecting today on how much posting my writing on this website has been helpful to me. Everyone's their own worst critic, and that couldn't be more true for me. However, putting things out there and getting them seen is really beneficial for several reasons.

For one, it requires vulnerability. If you want to be in the creative field, you have to get used to rejection, critique, and failure. It's easy to hide behind a wall of anonymity and never show your work, but if you want to push yourself and grow, you must. It's like putting a glass sculpture in the middle of a crowded daycare—it's going to get bonked. And that's okay. Rather, that's good for you.

Second, it puts some restraints on you. You can't keep sections in the mental clouds anymore, you can't keep "(write this later)" in the manuscript, you've got to try and write it! That's one of the most helpful things to learn: when to consider and brainstorm, and when to just write! I used to spend hours and hours worldbuilding, but wouldn't write. I had a cool world, perhaps, but you can't publish a world. And as cool as magic and countries and races are, people don't relate to those. They relate to characters.

And characters only grow when you write them. Get them down on a page; it doesn't matter if it's messy! Once it's down, once it's got bones to it, you can work with it, pull it, change it. You can't get a handle on a cloud. Putting your stuff out there—whether it be to friends, family, or a couple of strangers on the internet—will get you to write.

Dress for the job you want. Pretend you've got a drove of people waiting for your stories, if that's what you want to do with them. Don't delude yourself—be aware that there's a high chance you'll fail. But get excited! Rejoice in the small victories.

And you might find that along the way, you don't even need to get published to feel confident about your stories. You just need people to read them.

We overthink so many things. How we'll phrase a request, how we want to reword something, how we want the finale to feel, and too many times we do more thinking than actual doing. In basically all creative fields, it's better to just go. Get stuff out there. Get critiques. Learn to change, learn to not change.

Learn to flush all those thoughts that are bouncing around in your head down onto paper, and let them go.

Keep creating. It's good for you.  

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The Final Hero: Chapter 6

“One Look Back” 

SAI LEFT HIS MOTHER TO WHITTLE, FINDING IT TOO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE. The most he had been able to eke out was “I love you” and an assurance that he was going to keep trying.

But walking back into the house, he realized there was more to say. More that he had to say, to set things right. And Hanako had given him the perfect idea.

He plucked a paper from Hanako’s needlessly tall stack on the table and took it to his room. He had a quill there and took to writing a letter of his own, but this one wouldn’t travel far.

Sai spent what felt like hours on the thing, worrying over the phrasing, and repeating again and again in it that he would be okay. This was something he had to do and something that Dad was calling him to do. He apologized for not telling her earlier, and that this was the only way he could ensure that he could escape Rakuken. By the time he finished it, the dappled sun stretched for the horizon. It would be time soon. He deposited the letter beneath one of his mother’s projects and hoped it would not be long before she moved it.

Hanako had long finished writing her letter; she had dozed off on the table, snoring quietly. He stroked her hair and took the sealed letter. “Dad” was scribbled in neat handwriting on the front. Sai grinned. He slipped it into his bag and replaced it with the wooden, carved windpipes he had made for her on the hilltop three days ago.

Sai leaned next to his sister’s ear and whispered, “Goodbye. I love you.”

Hanako stirred, but did not wake.

 

As she had said, Theo was nowhere to be found. It’s for the best, thought Sai as he sat, anxious, in his room. Theo would figure him out. He had barely evaded Mirai’s prying eyes; if Theo took too long a look at him, he’d figure out exactly where he was planning to go and when. Sai assured himself that Theo was busy and gathered up the last thing he needed for his trip: a sack of money.

Eleven jins and six gabs. It was half of his savings. Sai was grateful that he hadn’t converted his twenty jins into a fela, a shiny gold coin emblazoned with the steam caverns of the mountains. He stuffed the coins into a small bren-skin pouch and strung it to his belt. A shiver danced through his hands and arms as he closed the pouch and stood upright.

That was all he needed. He had said his goodbyes—as best he could, to those that would listen—and had packed all he needed. He hadn’t found Theo, but that was okay. Distance would do them good.

He trusted his mother’s letter would take care of things with Lev. His friend would by soon enough, and Mom could tell him everything. If Sai tried to tell Lev in person, it wouldn’t go down well. Lev would blab to Rane, then to his dad, and it would probably get back around to Mirai before their mother even had a chance to explain. Lev would forgive Sai once he thought about it.

Mom was soundly asleep, her door pulled tight. He tucked a sleepy Hanako into her bed, and Mirai was still awake, working something by candlelight in her bedroom. It was the perfect time.

He hesitated at the door. It would be spans before he saw this place again. Sai tried to etch every corner and curve into his memory, breathing in the scent of home, and felt the old sturdy floor through his boots. He stood there for longer than he had expected, hand on the doorknob, trembling at the thought of leaving it all behind. Eventually, he took one more lungful of air, pulled his hunting cloak over his head, and stepped outside.

It was quiet. Very little light penetrated the Tree during the day. During the night, there were several moons to guide him. Only five of the eleven were visible tonight, all in different phases of round and crescent. The closest moon, the Watcher, was full tonight. Sai stared at it through shifting leaves, catching only glimpses of its soft blue curves. The sun strengthened him, encouraged him. The light from the moons was of an entirely different quality. Something about them made him want to go back inside. Staring up at the dark sky, feeling the night breeze wash over him, Sai felt wet on his cheeks.

He was crying.

Sai sniffled, pulled his cloak tight to wipe his tears, and left the protection of the porch. His travel bag over his left shoulder and the mystery box over his right. The hunting bow was slapping his thigh as he walked; adjusting it didn’t help. He would move it when he had time. For now, Sai had a mission: escape from Rakuken.

He set his shoulders, rolled his neck, and reached for the box on his back. The white thread appeared with a little focus. This was part of his father’s invitation, so he would have to trust it. He breathed in, breathed out, and started following the ethereal thread’s path.

It led him first off his home tower, then across the creaking bridge. Sai stopped in the middle to glance back one last time at his home. Lev’s house stood near the bridge, not a light within. Forgive me, friend. I’ll bring something back for you and Rena.

The white thread continued past the agriculture pillars and onto the one connected to the Windy Mountain, which he and Dad had crossed just two days ago. Sai watched for the patrol guards; even during the night, this was the one safe way in or out of Rakuken. By Reza Tharon’s rule, it had to be guarded at all hours of the day and night. One guard stood at the gate, but Sai had prepared for that. There were no lanterns patrolling the outer perimeter.

The last thing he had grabbed at home was from his father’s study: two pitons and forty feet of rope. Sai approached the ledge, gentle beams of moonlight outlining the point where land ended and open air began. There, he wedged both pitons in a crag. He cinched the rope beneath the piton’s hooked head, hammered the metal pin into the rock, and pulled the rope tight, then dropped the free end of the rope over the ledge.

Rope uncoiled freely into the night air. Sai wondered idly how he would recover it. By the time the rope hit the ground, he decided he could—and so would—not. Now came the tricky part.

The guard at the gate rested his head against the archway leading out of  Rakuken. Still no lights in the forest. He was clear.

Sai approached the craggy ledge on hands and knees. He pulled on the rope once, twice. Still tight, he assured himself. You and Mirai talked about this enough times. It will work. He swallowed, feeling lightheaded. He wasn’t even off the plateau yet. If I fall, it’s forty feet. People survive those. Usually. Lev survived it. A moment of silence as Sai set his feet on the ledge and tugged on the rope one more time. He can summon the wind. Doesn’t exactly count.

If he sat here all night worrying over whether he could get down, he never would. Better to do it… he thought, and dropped. It was only a couple of feet, but it felt like ten. He pulled tight on the rope, feet set against the side of the pillar, and felt his lifeline taught in his hands.

It held! He slipped down, all the strain on his hands and shoulders, and found he could lower himself a few feet at a time. His palms burned at the friction, but soon enough, he lowered himself far down so that he could drop. Sai lowered himself to the bottom, just to be safe. When his feet hit the ground, his tight chest shoved out a breath.

Still no lights dancing in the forest. He could make it. He would make it. Sai grinned, pulled his bags close so they wouldn’t jangle, and started toward the perimeter of the hunting grounds.

Further in, golden light from guards’ lanterns poked through the trees. Sai stayed far away from the beams and walked slowly, keeping his head low. His heart beat madly in his chest. Sai pressed a hand against his cloak, sure that the rapid, intense beats would draw the guards.

But he crossed the draped forest without drawing any attention. One more line of trees, and he would have traveled further than ever before. Sai approached one, placed a hand on the weather-smoothed alester bark, and stared at the shadowy form of Rakuken behind him. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye Hanako, and Mirai. And Theo. I’ll be back.

The night air was cold in his throat. He took in a lungful of the crisp stuff regardless, breathing deeply in, then out.

A figure stepped from the shadows. Sai stuttered back and scrambled for the knife at his belt. Upon a second, frenzied look, the angles and ridges of the face made the figure’s identity obvious: Theo.

Moonlight reflected off the sharpened edge of the Wargrave halberd planted firmly by his side. An unlit lantern hung from his belt. His expression was like the blade of a razor: thin, flat, and all edges. “What are you doing out here?” Sai hissed. “Is this where you’ve been all day?”

Theo stared at the box over Sai’s shoulder. His voice was low and grave. “I can’t let you leave with that.”

Sai grasped the leather strap of the box. “You don’t even know what’s inside it.” You can’t stop me, Theo, he responded in his mind.

Theo jarred his halberd from the earth and, hefting it in one hand, circled Sai. “How could you not?” Sai opened his mouth; he didn’t have a retort. All he had was shame. Had his brother figured it out before him without even inspecting the box? Sai clutched it close to his side. Theo’s eyes lingered on it. He paused mid-stride. “You can’t feel them?”

“What? This is mine. Dad entrusted it to me.”

Theo took the halberd in both hands. “Sometimes, even Dad makes mistakes.”

He jabbed the polearm at Sai’s stomach. Sai narrowly dodged back, bending at the waist to pull his body away. He slipped on a root, caught himself with a firmly placed foot, then stumbled back as the halberd came at him from the opposite direction. Sai took three steps back and splayed his fingers.

“What are you doing?!” His voice rose over the quiet din of the forest, making lights stir between the trees. One of them approached.

Theo cast a look behind him. “Taking what’s rightfully mine.”

Sai turned on one heel and ran. He heard the thundering of footsteps behind him—or was that his heart?—but he kept running. He may be loaded down with bags, but Theo had a duty to stay in the forest. Go much further, and he would betray that duty on his first assignment.

Sai ran with all the strength and speed in his legs. His brother wasn’t one for giving up easily. Tonight, neither would Sai. He pumped his arms, his legs, and ran until his chest burned and he wanted to collapse. Then he kept running.

He didn’t check whether Theo was behind him. But neither did he feel a tug on his bags nor blood dripping from a cut on his legs or arms. He just kept running.

Sprinting through black trees, stumbling over stumps and roots getting in the way, further and further down the mountain, Sai ran. He knew it would take a while to reach the bottom; he didn’t think about that. He only thought about running and staying ahead of Theo.

Gnarled roots snagged his feet and knees, and he crashed to the ground, heaving, shaking, chest rapidly rising and falling. Sai pushed himself up by his elbows, scooted away, and for the first time all night looked behind him.

No one was there.

That was Chapter 6, the last chapter of The Final Hero that I'll post on here! Sai is safely out of Rakuken, but things between him and Theo haven't been worse. If you enjoyed these chapters, I hope you'll keep an eye out for the full book!

Thank you so much for reading! Please, feel free to check out the short stories around; there are even some set in the world of Hearth! I'll post a Welcome to Hearth page soon enough to give some insight about the world as a whole.

Cheers!

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Witness for the Dead: Story Snippet

The Necromancer of Sariklend kept a heart in his bag.

He clutched it close to his side, hurrying along with his head down so as to not draw too many stares. The passersby on the cobbled road to the queen’s palace couldn’t see the heart, of course, but the necromancer was sure they could tell from the way they stared.

It was deep in his bag, next to inert reagents and stacks of paper scribbled from top to bottom with notes. All of it was thrown together in a moment’s notice when the necromancer heard the news from his sentry crow. He had dropped everything: his plans, his experiments, and even his dinner simmering in a pot over a pile of embers.

When he was needed by the queen, he arrived, worked, and left. That was what was expected of him: to stay out of the way until needed. He had locked up his small cabin seven miles from town on the fringes of the forest and made for the queen’s sprawling city.

The streets were crowded today, and all the people he passed were so caught up in their own devices that many failed to notice him rushing by. Those who did not gave the characteristic sneer or gasp.

The necromancer was allowed entry through the Kantic Wall—the towering bastion separating the city Commons from the Ridvael, where the queen lived—via a paper stamped with the old queen’s wax seal. The guard at the Wall cocked an eyebrow, then let him through with a grunt.

The new queen was different and harsh, some said, but at least it didn’t appear she had gone back on her predecessor’s agreement. For that, he was grateful. The last queen, her sister, had died in a hunting accident two years ago. There had been no body for the necromancer to attempt to revive.

He had stayed away from the city since then. Until now.

He followed the thin road—whose cobblestones had been replaced with marble tiles on this side of the Wall—all the way up to the queen’s palace. Two guards were posted on either side of the double oak doors, each with halberds couched in the crook of their arms, standing at vigilant attention. Their shoulder sashes revealed that they had served in two Ages: Faryan’s and that of her deceased sister, Rethona.

That brought a smile to the necromancer’s face as he approached. It was not mirrored by the guards as they crossed halberds over his path. “Halt, stranger! What business have you here?”

He stopped mid-stride, hesitated, then held up the wax-stamped paper clutched in his hand. “I’m here on business for Queen Faryan.”

The guard on the right—mustached and thick-necked—spared only a cursory glance at the paper before returning his critical stare to the necromancer. “The High Lady does not associate with those such as yourself. Be gone from here.”

The necromancer gave them a cockeyed stare. “Would it be better if I took the skull of my shoulder? It’s mostly for show, anyways.” Give people what they’re expecting on the outside, and they fail to notice the smaller ways you don’t match. “Could you at least ask her?”

Metal squealed as the oak doors parted, making way for a tight-belted and full-stomached merchant. The man bumbled through with his arms full of books and papers, many of which were stamped with a large red seal. Slowly, dramatically, the man’s eyes widened as he took in the necromancer’s hood, his staff with the crow’s head, and his long, thin fingers. The merchant gaped, choked on an unhealthy gulp of air, then buried his face in his papers and hurried along.

The guards closed the door after him, then the shorter of the two—bald and sharp-nosed—responded, “Perhaps I can alert the High Lady Faryan to your presence. But know that she does not take kindly to scoundrels wasting her time.”

The necromancer sighed. “I can assure you, I have no intent of wasting her time. My business is strictly waste-less.” He paused, glancing between the pair. The joke was lost on them. “Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

The guard simply nodded to his compatriot, snatched the wax-sealed paper from the necromancer’s hand, and slipped through the squeaky doors. After ten minutes of excruciating silence, the necromancer opened his mouth to ask when the guard might return.

He was cut off before he had a chance to speak. “Requests made of the queen will be answered by the beginning of the next regal day; no sooner and no later,” said the guard in rote monotone.

The necromancer deflated and placed a hand on his bag. “It’s already evening, and my cabin is too far away to return by nightfall.” The guard stared at him and proceeded to offer no helpful suggestions, only rude ones.

So the necromancer made his way down the winding marble road and up to the Wall before remembering he did not have his paper anymore. The warden there could not ensure that he would be let back in, so that left the necromancer with only one option:

Purchase stay at an inn in the Ridvael, where the citizens were rich and the inns were just as expensive. His coin pouch was light, and he had had enough of this city already, but the necromancer turned round and set off in search of the most run-down inn within the Walls.

That was a small snippet of Witness for the Dead! The third draft is complete, so I'm sending it out to some beta readers to get their thoughts on it. Once it's through the initial rounds, I'll put more on here.

Cheers!

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The Final Hero: Chapter 5

“A Man Named”

SAI, HIS SIBLINGS, AND HIS MOM WERE ALL AWAKE as the sun crested the horizon. They gathered on a pillar several bridges away from theirs, standing in a crowd encircling Theo. Sai’s younger brother stood at the center, face turned toward the sky, with his eyes closed.

A tall, willowy man—Oran, his name was—stood beside Theo with a long alester branch, broken at the base but still flowering at the tip. A faint howling whistled from the spidery leaves still clinging to the twig. The officiant held it aloft in one hand as his long, brown and grey robes flapped in the wind. He read from a thick, weathered book in his other hand.

“This day marks two revolutions of Theo Varion’s apprenticeship amongst our many paths, and he will from this point on dedicate himself to one. He has proven his mettle by walking each path diligently, as our forefathers did before and as our descendants will do after us. With Theo’s choice, he will join the many and bind himself to their fate. He will become one of us, one of the chosen.”

Oran turned to Theo, swept threads of gray hair from his face, and rested the branch on Theo’s left shoulder. He whispered some words to him, smiled wryly, and turned to the crowd. “As one of the chosen, he will take a new True Name, casting off the one of his childhood and taking on a new mantle, one of a man. Who will come forth to name him?”

Sai’s heart skipped only a beat before Theo straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “My father has already given me a new Name. I choose to accept it now, and bind it in wood.”

A shout came from the crowd. It was Tharon. “He can’t—” spluttered the reza, stepping forward, then hesitated when he realized all eyes were on him. “You…he can’t, can he? Kai—it doesn’t work that way!”

Oran stared at Tharon in alarm, then swiveled back to Theo. The officiant collected himself. “It is not unheard of, my reza, for a Name to be set in place beforehand. Eager parents have come to me years in advance, intent on solidifying the name as soon as they see it blossom in their child. I see no harm in allowing this.”

Tharon bristled but straightened his coat and nodded. “Fine.”

The officiator continued the ceremony and brought his ear close to Theo. “What Name did he give you, boy?”

Theo spoke it too quietly for anyone to hear. Oran leaned back with a brow raised. “Your father chose well.” Then he raised his voice to a shout, proclaiming his next words over the crowd. “Theo Varion, you step into a new season with your True Name—a man’s Name—and join the Chosen of Rakuken with all of your ancestors.” Oran lifted the branch, crossed it over Theo’s head, and laid it to rest on Theo’s opposite shoulder.

The crowd cheered. Sai’s sisters and mother raised their hands and clapped, while Sai was less enthusiastic. Theo, out of the full crowd, was staring at Sai; Sai stared back and nodded. His brother didn’t react.

When the cheering died down, Oran gestured to the five people who stepped up from the crowd, all bearing an item. Lev’s father, on the left, held a gilded bag like Sai’s for Advancement, and beside him, another held a blank leather-bound book for Academics. A woman on the right held a flapping green banner for Leadership, and further to the right, a man carried an iron-shod bow for Stewarding. The final figure, standing in the middle of the five, was a young woman with jet black hair dressed in iron-shod leather armor. Jal planted a long steel halberd before herself and grinned, representing Defense, and by extension, the Wargraves.

There was a small moment where Sai doubted if he had predicted correctly. He wondered if Theo might step toward the path of Academics and become the scholar he had always admired. But instead, Theo met Jal’s eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed the pole of the halberd right above Jal’s hand. “I claim my place in the Wargraves.”

Jal beamed and raised both the halberd and her voice. “We accept Theo Varion into our ranks!”

The crowd sent up another cheer as Jal let him take the weapon. Theo tested the balance, then gave a crisp salute with halberd crossed in front of him. Jal saluted back, fist over her heart, and grinned furiously. “It is good of you to join us,” she said to Theo.

Sai stopped watching then. Jealousy bit at the fringes in Sai’s heart, seeing Theo hold the halberd. Seeing his brother succeed where Sai had failed. It wasn’t that he disliked his position in the ranks of Advancement, but his heart had yearned for the Wargraves. Still did, if he were honest. They were their protectors, and it was what Kai had chosen when he was their age.

Before he started leaving Rakuken, of course.

Feeling foolish, he slipped a hand back to touch the box over his shoulder and pulled the red threads into view again. Most did not point ahead of him this time; they curved to either side, away from the circle, away from Theo. Like they were trying to run away from this whole situation. Sai frowned and searched for the little white thread. He found it snaking through the crowd, off the ceremonial dais they stood on, then down to the bridge leading off the pillar. No matter where he was, it always led off Rakuken and onto the mountain. He squinted but couldn’t see where it went after that.

Standing there, listening to congratulations lift from the crowd at Theo’s success, one piece of the solution dawned on Sai. Everything about this box, its composition, its strange relic-like abilities, and even the white thread all screamed at him to leave Rakuken. He wouldn’t find answers here. He couldn’t find answers here. Kai’s words came back to him then: There are some things you cannot accomplish in comfort. Sai stared at the white thread as a cold shiver danced in his legs. Dad said that the time will come when I have to leave. He saw Theo holding the halberd, newly inducted into the Wargraves, who protected Rakuken from all threats posed to their isolation.

He can protect them now. Dad knew that he was going to make it into the Wargraves. He even prepared a Name for him. I only needed to wait a little bit. Then… Something akin to excitement bounded in, sending a shiver up Sai’s arms. Dad wants me to follow him. I need…to leave home and follow him across the sea. Sai stared at the ground, shocked, as the crowd dispersed around him. Dad always leaves for the Alliance. Maybe it’s my turn.

“The future is never as far away as we think,” he had said.

Hanako and Mirai congratulated Theo, examined his new weapon, and greeted Jal, who had stayed behind to talk with them. Mom hugged Theo, pulling him close and whispering a quiet congratulations, and then there were only the two of them. Selene spoke to Jal, the two of them grinning and casting glances at Theo while Mirai and Hanako spoke in frantic whispers about Mirai’s apprenticeships, which were soon to begin.

Theo stood on his own, supporting himself with the halberd, and looked coldly at Sai. Breathe in, breathe out, Sai reminded himself. He couldn’t place the feelings raging through his chest; were they anger? Excitement? Confusion?

“I knew you’d make it in, Theo,” Sai said, after a time.

Theo just looked at him. Sai tried to find something else to say, but he could not. So he stared holes into the ground, sighed, then looked at Theo’s halberd. Theo held it close to him, couched comfortably in the crook of his elbow, and scowled. “If that is all, I must report for my initiate crest.” He jerked his head at Jal. She said a quick goodbye to Mom and followed after him.

Sai didn’t watch them leave. His mother, on the other hand, followed the other pair with her eyes until they were out of sight. “I know it’s hard to talk to him right now. He’s angry; so are you. But time heals many things, and if you keep reaching out to him—keep showing that you are willing to put your anger aside—you give him everything he needs to put his down, too.”

What was there to say? Sai rubbed his arm and nodded. “Okay.” He will do a much better job than I did. He can protect the family now. I…am not needed. Sai straightened his shoulders and tried to convince himself that, if he was right, an offer to join his dad on a trip across the ocean was a greater honor than joining the Wargraves.

He had a hard time at it.

 

The first thing Sai did when he got home was start packing. Since the ceremony, a nervous fervor had come over him any time he thought about the box or Rakuken. There were so many things to prepare, people to say goodbye to, and paths to consider that he could hardly think of anything else.

He set the box in his room and took up the bag given to him when he joined the path of Advancement after his own Naming Ceremony. It stung a little, holding it rather than a halberd, but Sai couldn’t change the past. He could only forge the future. He stuffed his whittling knife, several small pieces of wood, and his windpipes into the bag from his room. After a moment’s consideration, he also strung his aging hunting bow to the side of the bag along with ten arrows, lashed to the bag with Mirai’s broken bowstring, which he found in his pocket. He rolled the thing between his fingers before continuing, gathering his flint and steel and a bedroll. The bag was already getting full, but he wasn’t done yet.

Kai’s study was on the far end of the house. It was a small room furnished with a writing desk, bookshelf, and weapons stand holding daggers, polearms, and their father’s 100-pound draw longbow. Large maps sprawled the mahogany walls, detailing the layout of Rakuken first in sharp detail, kept up to date with fresh black ink marked by his father’s hand. The other maps showed the larger Windy Mountain, then all of East Tiereth and some of the West. Sai knew these well enough, remembering his father marking out the borders of their world with his finger, then showing Sai the matching places on the mountain from up on his shoulders on one of the taller pillars in Rakuken.

He smiled at the memory. But Sai’s focus was not on these; he could follow a straight line down the mountain and to the ship port at the base. Eastern and western travel was not as simple as Treeward or Rootward—with those, your heading was obvious—but he assumed the Windy Mountain would not be too difficult.

Instead, Sai dug at the nails keeping a smaller, older map in place: one of Carlen. After the ceremony, he followed the white thread until it leaped from the mountain and traveled east. It seemed to provide the straightest path to its destination, so that must mean that his father, also, had traveled east.

Rarely did he know where Kai went exactly, but Sai had heard stories of the flat, sprawling Carlen and its countless rivers. He wasn’t sure how he’d get there, exactly, but it was the first country past East Tiereth, and he knew his father had gone there before.

Nails shimmied out under his scrabbling fingers, and soon he had the whole map laid diagonally on the desk and tried to roll it up. How he would fit the rolled-up map into his bag without crushing it was beyond him, but this was his best shot at navigating the foreign country, in case it came to that.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Sai froze, keenly aware of how rash all his actions might seem. Frantic, he swept the half-rolled map from the table, dumped it into his father’s reading chair, and stood in front of it pretending to stare at bookshelves.

Mirai entered and slowed upon seeing Sai. “Hey,” she said quietly. There was a droop to her shoulders and a weight in her voice. She glanced slowly around the room. “I hate that he’s gone, too.”

Sai nodded and kept his eyes on the bookshelves. Panic mixed with a very real longing in his chest. That’s why I have to follow him, he thought. I can’t stay here anymore.

Mirai strode to one of the bookshelves and ran her finger across meticulously dusted books. “But it’s like you said, last time.” A smile crept onto her face. “We just have to keep walking. Mom’s here. Hanako is here. Dad’s not, but so what? We have our own lives. Tomorrow won’t wait forever.”

Sai’s shoulders dropped. He wanted to blurt out everything and tell Mirai his plan. But he knew she’d try and stop him. Or worse, ask to go with him. Instead, he leaned back against Kai’s desk and sighed. “That’s all we can do,” he responded. “And if things change, we change with them.” Mirai grinned; that was one of her phrases.

“Yeah.” She plucked a book from the shelf, inspected the cover—it was about the Stewardship path and each member’s duties—and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks.”

Before she left, Sai called out to her. “We should go hunting soon. Lev wants to replace all the windmill central shafts in the northern district with a new design, but I should have some time after the Skylit Waters.” He did mental gymnastics and hoped his trip wouldn’t take that long—the festival was nearly five span away. “Let’s go, before it gets too cold.”

Mirai smiled back at him. “It’s a deal. No skewering this time?”

The ground fell from under Sai for just a moment, then he recovered and nodded. “Right.”

Mirai left. Sai exhaled and rested both hands flat on the desk. Then, slower this time, he took to the map and stuffed it into his bag.

 

He waited until the kitchen was empty to gather a bundle of dried strips of bren meat, two loaves of hearty, flour & molasses Rakuken bread, four stalks of dense yalken for chewing on the road, a small sack of whiteberries, and a skin of water. Sai filled it with a short trip to the well just down the road and returned to find Hanako pacing around the entryway. She perked up when he came inside. “Have you seen Theo?”

Sai shook his head and took a nervous sip from his water skin. “Did you check the training room?”

“Yeah. He’s not in the back, either. I wanted to give him his book, the one we got for him yesterday. But I haven’t been able to find him.”

“He’s around here somewhere,” said Sai, walking into the kitchen. “Probably out with Jal celebrating his new path.”

Hanako folded her arms and pouted. “I don’t like her. She and Theo spend too much time together.” Her violet eyes narrowed.

“He’s excited. I would be, too. You’ll see when you choose your path.”

The comment didn’t seem to faze Hanako as she slipped into one of the chairs by the dining room table. She craned her neck over the table and scrutinized a paper strewn out before her. It looked like a letter of some sort. “What’s that?” Sai asked, approaching the table.

“A letter to Dad,” she said plainly, then stuck out her tongue in concentration and kept writing. “I’m going to send it on a boat so Dad can read it.”

Sai placed a hand on the back of her chair and smiled down at it. When he tried to read what it said, she covered it with her arm and scowled in a way that was not at all intimidating, though she no doubt meant it as so. “Don’t! It’s a secret.”

Sai laughed. “I can deliver it to the Trade district, if you want.” I have enough space in my bag. That letter would never reach Dad on its own.

Hanako’s face lit up, and she eagerly returned to working on the letter. “Okay!”

Sai sought out his mother. She was on the back patio where Mirai had been two days before, whittling away at a long walking stick. Sai paused at the threshold, looking at it, wondering in shock whether she had already figured out that he was leaving and planned to give it to him.

But when she stopped and smiled up at him, he saw no recognition in her eyes. “Come, sit beside me.”

Sai carefully walked up and sat down. Of all the people in their family, even including Theo’s sharp wit and Mirai’s keen eyes, his mother was the most likely to notice that something was amiss. He fidgeted with his bag, knowing that within were the tools he was going to use to leave home.

His mom was slowly, slowly carving strips from the stick, taking care of each bend and stripe to ensure it was perfect. Theo had inherited some of her perfectionism, but his mother still reigned superior. After a stretch of silence, she said, “How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” was his immediate response.

Selene smiled and turned the stick in her hands, approaching it from another angle. “Scared of the future, not your brother, I hope.”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“You’re on your way. All of you are. And the stumbles are beautiful, because they make us who we are.”

Sai crossed his hands in his lap. He didn’t know how to do this, how to say this. Even now, his mind warred within him over whether he should tell his mother or not. He knew that if he told her, she would stop him. So he couldn’t.

But so much of him wanted to tell her and ask for her advice. He found a different way.

“I feel like I’m stuck, Mom. Like…everyone else is growing and I’m not. What…how else am I supposed to learn, then to try something new?”

“New things are good. They teach us more about ourselves and the world. But don’t leave the good things behind in pursuit of something new.” She put down the walking staff and wrapped her arms around Sai. “Keep going. Keep walking. Your pursuit is just as worthy as your brother’s.”

Sai held her back and began to sob.

And that was chapter 5! I actually ended up splitting chapter 5 into two, so the last chapter you'll get on here is chapter 6, where Sai makes his final preparations to leave Rakuken and follow his father to the Alliance. Of all of Part 1, chapter 6 has one of my favorite moments in it. You can read it here!

From then on, you'll get short stories, snippets from other Hearth stories (I have a full book written several thousand years prior to The Final Hero!), and perhaps some articles.

Thank you for reading!

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