Travelers

by Alia Hess

  “What do you mean? I failed my quest. I can’t get a name.”

  Quietbird shook his head. “Due to everything going on in the Mainland, I’ve decided to just have people do their naming quests here on the island. They still climb Foxtail, and still pick the mushrooms. But I just let them camp out on the volcano for the night and have their vision there. You’ve already done all of that and gone through hell trying to get your vision, so I’d say you’ve earned the right to get a name. I’ll make sure to give you one that’s not too terrible.”

  “But… I still didn’t have a vision.”

  Quietbird waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. This won’t be the first exception I’ve made. Do you remember First Daughter of Birdsnest? She wanted to go on her quest last year, but she’s allergic to mushrooms. I’m sure if it were Elder Redcloud, he would have told her tough shit. But I told her just to camp out on Foxtail—stay away from the mushrooms—and then come back the next day and tell me what she dreamed about. Her name is Kittenpaw now.”

  Trav rubbed his eye and stared into the wall, brows furrowed together. Different expressions touched his face and Owl felt she could read each thought.

  “I go by Trav now. For Traveler.”

  A smirk spread on Quietbird’s face. “You want me to work that into your name?”

  Trav smiled and looked at Owl. “I’m going to get my name.” He laughed and stood up, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her out of the chair in a tight squeeze. “I get my name!”

  He planted her back on the ground and pressed his forehead against hers. She smiled and laughed. Her heart was full for him, and maybe that was enough at the moment. “Congratulations, my love.”

  Trav turned to Quietbird and threw his arms around him. “Thank you, cousin! Thank you! You know, you’re right, you do play favorites, but I’m not going to complain.”

  Quietbird laughed. “Alright, alright. Now quit your blubbering, you big baby. Go home for a while. Decompress.”

  Trav received a house key from Quietbird and took Owl’s hand. They left, trotting down a cobblestone path behind the house, then slipped into a stand of palm trees and down a grassy path that ran adjacent to the village. Suddenly, static crackled and Quietbird’s voice boomed.

  “Good afternoon! This is Elder Quietbird, and I am overjoyed to announce that the wasteland has given us back a name-seeker. Son of Mossflower has returned! That’s right, Son of Mossflower has returned to us after…” Papers rustled. “Three years, four months, and twelve days. Due to him being gone for so very long, I respectfully ask that you give him some downtime to readjust and don’t pay him a visit until after his naming ceremony tomorrow. I don’t think any of us can imagine what it’s like to leave Nis and live on the Mainland for that long. Thank you! That is all.”

  The speaker whined loudly, then the sound echoed away. Owl followed Trav to a small river inlet flowing near a slice of beach. They passed a few houses along the way, stopping in front of one overgrown with vines. Curtains covered the windows, and a faded mural of an ornate whale graced the round house. Trav unlocked the door and walked inside.

  He stood in the dim front room and inhaled deeply. “Still smells exactly like I remember it.” The house held the aroma of old wood and cooking spices. He set his pack on a rough-hewn table near the window and turned to her. “I’m home, Owl.”

  Owl smiled, but there was a hitch of emptiness in her chest. She dropped her pack. “How does it feel?”

  “Surreal. And wonderful. And sad. And exciting and… I’m happy. I’m happy.” Trav squeezed her tightly and parted the curtains. Glass tubes, or maybe bottles, were embedded in the ceiling. They glowed with refracted sunlight and seemed to be the only source of light other than the windows. Colorful rugs draped the clay floor. A molded bookshelf jutted from one sage green wall, laden with battered paperbacks and hand-bound books. A large seashell collection sat in a row on the top shelf. A quaint kitchen lay beyond an arched doorway. Past the front room, a hallway curved toward the back of the house.

  “So, this is my place.” Trav gestured around him. “It’s just the way I left it. But if you want to redecorate a little, I don’t mind—” He paused. “I mean, uh…”

  Owl frowned. “You want me to live with you? I thought… You promised me a house, remember?”

  Trav looked at his hands. “Right, right. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. I’m overwhelmed with everything and—”

  “I’ll stay here. With you. Truthfully, I don’t want to be alone in a strange place like this. I feel like I’ve been living with you for the past months anyway. We just won’t be walking so much anymore.”

  “So you’ll live with me?”

  “Yes. I’ll live with you.”

  He gave her a tight hug, beaming, then his smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just thinking about my parents. Wondering if I have a letter waiting for me at the postman’s.”

  Realization dawned on Trav’s face. “Your letter. I got wrapped up in everything and I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. We can go right now. Let’s find out.”

  They received a fair share of politely horrified stares on their walk to the post office—which was nothing more than a little stand. Netted bags filled with envelopes hung from the back wall. The postman dug into a bag, then another, pawing through cards and envelopes, looking for Owl’s name. The more he dug, the more certain she was that there would be nothing. Even if there was a letter, it wasn’t necessarily good news.

  The postman eventually pulled out a thick, cream envelope with her name scrawled across the face. It was much too heavy in her hands.

  They couldn’t get back to Trav’s house fast enough. She squeezed the thick letter in her hands, then held it out to him. “Will you read it to me? I don’t want to open it.”

  Trav took it. “You sure?”

  She nodded, pulse throbbing, and he ripped open the envelope, sending curls of paper to the floor. “There’s a letter and another envelope.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it.

  “Dear Owl, I’m so happy to hear from you. There are people in town that miss you. I will be glad to tell them you are okay. Enclosed is a letter from your mother. It came last month. It’s the only letter I received for you, even though she mentions sending a previous one. The letter is opened, and I read it because I was going to send a reply to her and let her know you were no longer in town—but now you can do that.

  I am doing fine, thank you, and Waterton is more or less the same as it was when you left. I have heard about the slavery going on in the Northwest, especially recently, but Waterton is fine at the moment.

  Warmest regards, Blackdog McGill.

  P.S. Don’t ever, ever come back to Waterton. The sheriff still has it in for you.”

  Owl sank back into her chair as Trav folded up the letter. “You want me to read the other one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dear Owl, did you get my last letter? I expected to get a reply, but now I’m afraid in all the commotion that the letter must have gotten lost somewhere. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m writing to let you know that we are safe and sound with Corvin—”

  Trav looked up. “Who’s Corvin?”

  “My brother.” Owl sighed in relief.

  “—safe and sound with Corvin and you needn’t worry. He heard about Winter’s army long before they showed up and sent for us. We traveled with a caravan far to the East to an industrial city called Hammerlink. Corvin is quite the businessman here and isn’t the degenerate deadbeat your father thought he was. He’s in the garment business and has a very large house. He wanted us to live with him, but your father wasn’t comfortable with that, so he put us up in a nice house of our own. It’s strange being in a place where someone else does the farm work. This city has everything. I’ve never seen anything like it. There are weird machines that do things for you, and we hear people in Torchester are trying to create a government.

  We miss you. Cor
vin misses you. He said you and Adam should move here too and he would take care of you as well. No one knows how far Winter’s territory will spread. I don’t want you to get caught up in that. You can move here, and then I can help out with all those grandbabies you’d better be making for me! I’m not getting any younger, you know. Please write back when you get the chance.

  Love, Mom.”

  Owl sank further into the chair. “They’re safe. …My parents are safe. We’re safe. You’re getting your name.” And Corvin misses me. “I’m so relieved. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks.”

  Trav smiled. “I know what you mean.” He squatted in front of her and took her hand. “Thanks. For being here with me. I know it’s hard for you and different. And I wish the people here would make you feel more at home, but… I guess what I mean is—you do want to stay, don’t you? Or would you rather go live in the East?”

  Owl considered the idea for a moment. Corvin had promised to wait for her to turn fifteen, then they were going to go be ‘progressive’ together in the East… She had long-since forgiven him for leaving when he did, but it had been so long since she’d seen him.

  She stared into Trav’s eyes, thinking of him whisper-shouting to Quietbird that he was madly in love with her. “Of course I want to stay. I want to be with you.”

  Trav let out a breath and nodded. He held the letters out to her. As he did so, a photo fell out of one of the envelopes. Her brother stood tall—just as skinny as his sixteen-year-old self—with a huge grin on his face and his arms around their mom and dad. Her parents were smiling too, standing awkwardly for the photo. Behind them, buildings and grey smog stretched to the horizon.

  Trav pointed. “Is that them?”

  Her lip quivered and she smiled. “Yeah. I can’t believe I have a photo.”

  Trav put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “You want to see the rest of the house? Then we could go get some food, get you some new clothes if you want?”

  “Um, sure.” Her gaze lingered on the picture, then she slipped it and the letters back into an envelope and put them inside her battered black notebook.

  Trav walked into the hall. “Here’s the bathroom.” He pointed to a door in the curved wall. “We have plumbing, so you don’t have to empty out the toilet. Most houses, including ours, don’t have a bath or shower. There is a community bathhouse toward the center of town, or you can just use the river.”

  He gestured to two more doors. “And back here are the bedrooms. This one was my mother’s. Some of her stuff is still inside, but it’s mostly empty. And this is our room.” He opened the last door in the hall, and they walked inside. A large bed sat against one wall and a dresser against another. Long shafts of morning light cut across the room through the askew curtains, highlighting the many vines growing on the other side of the glass. Several outfits hung from a hook on the wall, coated with a thick layer of dust. Owl picked up a large conch shell on the dresser and held it to her ear, listening to the low, steady hum. She set it back down and smiled. Trav smiled back—beamed at her.

  “You look so happy.”

  “Are you nervous for your naming ceremony?”

  “It hasn’t really sunk in yet. None of this has. But I feel good.” Trav’s smile shrank, as though he were trying to convince himself of it and it wasn’t working. “But I can’t believe what Elder Redcloud did.”

  Owl inhaled the spicy aroma of the room. She sat on the bed next to him, wanting to bring up her own reservations but knowing it wasn’t the time.

  Trav shook his head slowly, staring at a woven reed rug on the floor. “Redcloud encouraged me to go. Told me I’d done all I could for my mother, and that it was my time. Time to take care of myself for once.” He sucked in a breath. “I spent three years—more than three years—wondering what I did wrong. Ashamed to go back. …And everyone here knew what happened and had no way to tell me.”

  He scooted back on the bed and pulled Owl into his arms. His blue eyes held pain, but he smiled. “But I got you out of the deal.”

  She smiled back. “And I got you.”

  I hope it’s enough.

  15 ~ Ceremony ~

  Owl sat nervously at one of many long, log-hewn tables in a courtyard, sandwiched between two of Trav’s cousins. If she remembered correctly, their names were Mothwing and Brokenbranch, but there were so many, it was hard to keep them all straight.

  Quietbird stood at an elevated podium in front of the tables. A bizarre tapestry hung as a backdrop—a landscape of smoking city ruins, junked cars, and a sickly orange sky. There may have been some corpses woven into the scene too, but it was hard to tell from a distance.

  Despite the island’s general opinion of Trav, people crowded the tables. It was probably considered rude not to attend someone’s naming ceremony, even if you didn’t particularly like them.

  Mothwing pointed to a stern man leaning against a tree, his muscular arms folded. “Look—Darksky is here.”

  “Who’s that?” Owl whispered.

  “Son of Mossflower’s father.”

  Owl blinked at the man in surprise. His face, though the color of obsidian, definitely bore a resemblance to Trav’s. Unlike Trav’s soft, kind eyes, this man’s eyes were hard, black, and cold.

  “He never talks to us,” Brokenbranch said. “Pretends he doesn’t even know us. I can’t believe he came today.”

  Quietbird cleared his throat and looked across the crowd. He wore a headdress made of fanning leaves, fronds, and red flowers, and spiral earrings hung from his lobes.

  “Thank you all for coming today. Naming ceremonies are always wonderful, but as I’m sure you all know, this one is particularly special for me. Two years and nine months ago we held a different kind of ceremony—a departure ceremony. It was for my cousin, Son of Mossflower, who had not returned from his naming quest. I lost a part of myself that day, believing that I would never see him again. But now he has come back with over three years’ worth of experiences and memories from the Mainland—enough of an achievement for a thousand visions. I’m pretty sure that also makes him Nis’ most seasoned traveler.

  “Son of Mossflower has a bigger heart than anyone I know. He is kind. Patient. But he is not weak. He has put up with much adversity in his life—” Quietbird swallowed and looked into the podium.

  Trav’s father somehow looked even more disgruntled than before.

  “And I am honored to be the one to give him his name. But before I have him come out, I also want to mention that he did not come back to Nis alone. We have a lovely lady here from the Mainland named Owl Melonvine. She’s very nice. Please make her feel welcome. And please do not poke her with sticks—I’m looking at you, Son of Pinkdawn.” Quietbird grinned and pointed a finger at a small boy in the front row. People laughed politely, but all Owl heard was contempt.

  “Please welcome Son of Mossflower back to Nis!”

  With that cue, Trav appeared from behind the tapestry. The crowd applauded. Owl grinned, clapping loudly, as Trav stepped up to the podium with a shy smile on his face. Small purple flowers studded his braid, and a light-blue sheath bedecked with bead necklaces hung from his broad shoulders. Quietbird hugged him, and they faced the audience. Many attendees smiled politely, but some looked genuinely happy, clapping vigorously. Trav’s cousins seated next to her whistled, cheered, and pounded their hands on the table.

  Trav sat on a stool in front of the podium, and Quietbird patted his shoulder. “The mother normally completes this next part, but as Mossflower is sadly no longer with us, I have Son of Mossflower’s cousin, Bushberry, to do the honors.”

  A tall, slender woman stood up from the front table, holding several shiny objects. She gave Trav a small smile and walked behind him. Bushberry bent down for a moment, and when she rose, she was holding Trav’s severed braid in her hand.

  Owl’s mouth fell open. “She cut off his hair!”

  Brokenbranch laughed. “He didn’t tell you that would happen?”


  “No!” The braid looked like a dismembered appendage—a part of Trav that needed to go back where it came from. Would making love be quite as much fun now?

  “Well, Bushberry’s not done yet.”

  Bushberry handed the braid to Trav, and he smiled and set it in his lap. She then took a pair of electric shears and ran them along Trav’s head. Locks of his blond hair fell about him until his whole head was bare. Owl put a hand over her mouth.

  “With the shedding of your hair comes the shedding of your nameless life. You have been born anew. I now christen you: Roadtraveler,” Quietbird said.

  A grin overtook Trav’s face.

  Owl laughed with surprise and joy, clapping her hands along with the rest of the crowd. Roadtraveler. Trav. She pushed herself up from the table as Quietbird said, “Now feel free to partake of the food and be sure to give Roadtraveler your congratulations.”

  Owl ran up the aisle and threw her arms around Trav. She kissed him hard and didn’t care who was looking.

  Trav laughed. “You’re going to get hair all over yourself.”

  “I don’t care. I’m so happy for you. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.” He grinned and squeezed her tightly. “Let me go get cleaned off and then I’ll sit down with you.”

  Trav walked through the crowd, pausing for the occasional hug and handshake. He came back after a few minutes in a new sheath outfit, this one orange. Quietbird intercepted him, hugging him tightly. His other cousins crowded around, congratulating him and rubbing his bald head. He eventually sat down next to Owl, and joy filled her heart, pushing out everything else.

  Quietbird’s wife, Seasalt, brought them plates of food and they ate and laughed with the other guests as Quietbird told childhood stories about his times playing with Trav. Trav recounted some stories of his Mainland experiences, and Owl chipped in as he relayed their encounter with trashdogs.

  Once the crowd around them thinned out a little, Owl said, “Trav, did you see your dad?”