by Kara Timmins
“Do you hear that?”
Neasa listened. “No.”
“No rustling in the distance.”
Neasa looked over her shoulder at the darkness they had left behind. “I guess we’re on our own now.” She smiled.
Eloy looked back too and raised a hand in thanks. He wondered if their chaperons were watching. They continued on, the sunlight taking up more space around them with every step.
“It won’t be long now,” Neasa said at midday.
“Critiko will be happy to see you,” Eloy said.
“He won’t be when I start talking.”
“Are you going to tell him right away?” Eloy asked.
“I can’t imagine doing anything else. Despite how much I would love to crawl into my own bed and sleep for a few days, I don’t think I could knowing what I have to do.”
“I’ll stay close if you need me,” Eloy said.
“Thank you,” Neasa said. “I don’t think I can thank you enough for helping me get to the Seer, even if I didn’t go about it in the best way.”
“True, but I see now that I probably would’ve done it the same if I were in your position.”
“You sure about that?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I think I understand it.”
Neasa straightened as she walked, as if something had been lifted from her. But guilt was only one of her burdens, and Eloy knew the weight of responsibility was only going to get heavier the closer they got to Valia.
15
They reached Valia with enough sunlight for Eloy to be struck again by the brilliance of the stilted homes. The vines hugged the pillars, as if accepting the structure as a part of its natural growth.
Critiko didn’t see them approach at first. He had his hands buried in the soft black soil on either side of a neat row of leafy dark green plants. The setting sun darkened his crouched form, surrounding him in honey-colored light. Eloy almost turned around. He didn’t want to bring storm and chaos to this peaceful and focused man.
But Critiko looked up and saw them. Free of any self-consciousness, he ran to Neasa and lifted her off the ground.
“You were gone for so long,” Critiko said, putting two soil-speckled hands on either side of her face. “Every day felt like torture. I kept thinking, what would I do if you didn’t come back? I couldn’t do it again.”
He didn’t look at Eloy until he was done talking, and when he did, the look was quick before it shifted to the ground. The shame in his glance cut at Eloy.
“It’s okay,” Eloy said. “I know. I don’t fault you.”
Critiko looked up and put two heavy hands on Eloy’s shoulders. “You’re a good man.”
Something must have shown through Eloy’s face—too much pity maybe—causing concern to grip Critiko’s features.
Critiko looked at Neasa. “What happened? What did you see?”
“We should go inside,” she said.
“Should I go get Gwyn?” Critiko asked.
“Please,” Neasa said, “let’s go inside so we can speak in private.”
Eloy could see Neasa bracing herself for what was about to happen as father and daughter walked up the stairs and into Critiko’s house.
“I’ll be right out here,” Eloy said to Neasa.
“Thank you.” Neasa closed the door.
They weren’t behind the closed doors long before Critiko’s agonized howl filled the gentle millings of Valia.
“It’s not true,” Critiko cried. “I don’t believe you.”
Eloy assumed that the lull in sound meant that Neasa was assuring Critiko that her information was factual, that what actually happened to his son was much worse than he ever imagined. Another guttural cry came from the house, an animalistic howl as Critiko processed emotions that cut deeper than words could soothe. The door flew open and cracked against the wood stacked by the house. Critiko’s face was tipping from red into a shade of purple. He stomped down the stairway, Neasa behind him with her fingers pressed against her mouth. Critiko grabbed one of the tools leaning against a support post and walked past Eloy.
“Critiko . . . ” he started, but Critiko couldn’t hear anything.
Eloy adopted a long stride to keep up with Critiko and his determined pace. Neasa caught up as they rounded a corner that led down a path away from the houses. Eloy almost asked where Critiko was heading, but the metal tipped shovel he carried let Eloy draw his own conclusions.
The burial plot would have been peaceful were it not for the raging man kicking and digging at one of the grassy mounds. Neasa and Eloy stood side by side, watching a few strides away. The skin around her eyes were puffy, but she wasn’t crying. She hunched forward, her arms crossed over her chest. Eloy dropped his bag to the ground.
“Should we stop him?” Eloy asked.
“No,” Neasa said.
“Should we help him?” Eloy asked.
“No.”
Eloy and Neasa watched as Critiko shoveled the dirt of his brother’s grave until long after the sunset. The burial ground was set off from the town, and if anyone from Valia saw Critiko in his fury, no one bothered him. Eloy could hear the hum of joyous evening sounds in the distance, but the scene in front of him made it feel all the more distant.
Finally, illuminated only by lamplight, Critiko’s shovel hit something with a soft thud—wood. The smell of earth and decay hit Eloy, and he tried to steel himself for the events that were about to happen. In the hours of effort, Critiko never slowed his digging, and reaching the end of his work after he hit the lid of the coffin only seemed to increase his strength. The wood that held Silvus’s body was weak and crumbling, and a ligament-connected bony arm flopped out of a hole in the side as Critiko hoisted it onto level ground. Critiko tried to pull himself out of the hole of the grave but faltered and fell backward. Eloy moved to help, but Neasa grabbed his arm.
“Let him do this,” she said. “You can’t help him.”
Critiko got himself out of the jagged hole on his second jump. He still didn’t seem to see Neasa and Eloy standing by as he pulled the crumbling coffin down the path away from the town. Eloy put his bag back on, and they followed behind as Critiko made his way toward the river that ran thick and churning at the end of the path. Critiko didn’t hesitate when he reached the bank of the rough waters before he heaved Silvus’s body into the river. The current grabbed the offering and took it into its depths, the man’s body lost to the rocks and silt.
Critiko stood looking down into the froth, panting against the long hours of physical exertion. He crumbled and sat down hard. The water at the bank moved around Critiko as it would a stone. Eloy watched as Critiko’s huffed breaths turned into sobs. Eloy tried to keep the face of pity that he knew he wore from showing when Critiko finally looked up at him. The hunched man looked into the faces of both of his onlookers before getting up and moving back toward his house in a slow shuffle.
“We should make sure he goes back home,” Neasa said.
Eloy nodded and started back down the path.
Neasa and Eloy both sighed as Critiko made the slow ascent up his stairs and closed his door behind him.
“Are you okay?” Eloy asked.
“No,” Neasa said with a shaky sigh.
“No. Of course you’re not. Do you think he’ll come back out?”
“I doubt it. That amount of work would put a man half his age down for the rest of the night.”
“We should get you back to your house so you can get some sleep too,” Eloy said.
“Ah,” she said. “My own bed. The thought of it is almost comforting despite all of this. You can stay if you want.”
“Thank you. I didn’t want to assume.”
“You’re forever exempt from subtle formalities,” she said. “You’re welcome in our homes forever, my friend.”
16
The joyous hum of sound in Valia was untouched by the catastrophe that had happened to Neasa and her family. The noises of the town seemed to calm her as they walked back to her house. When they finally made it back, Eloy expected the air to be stale from neglect, but the shutters were open and fresh food was on the little table. Eloy picked up a shiny new piece of fruit and gave it a sad smile. Even when he didn’t know if his daughter would be coming home, Critiko prepared everything as if she would. He must have been there every day she was away.
“Do you mind?” Eloy asked as he held up the fruit.
“He left enough for both of us,” Neasa said. “Help yourself. I’ll prepare something more filling and a lot warmer.”
The food tasted better than anything Eloy ever remembered having, even though the meal was just a few vegetables and herbs. He slumped into the bed opposite from Neasa’s, the same one he had used before they had gone out into the dark forest, but any self-consciousness he felt the last time was nonexistent now. He had been wrong about her a few times since knocking on her door, but everything she had done, she had done for her family, and that was something Eloy could understand.
17
A knock at the door woke Eloy. It was morning. He could tell he had been asleep for a long time by the cloud-filtered sun in the room and the dull ache in his head that came from too much sleep, the kind of discomfort that always seemed to accompany indulgence. Neasa seemed to have slept in the same state of heavy restoration because she was slow to answer the consistent drumming of the knuckles at the door.
“Can I come in?” The voice was unmistakably Critiko’s.
Neasa opened the door. “Of course. You look . . . tired.”
“I slept,” Critiko said, “but I didn’t sleep well.”
“To be expected,” Neasa said.
Critiko moved to the table and sat in a chair with gentle, protective movements.
“Are you okay?” Neasa asked. “Your body, I mean.”
“Nothing that won’t fix itself,” Critiko said. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
He looked at both Eloy and Neasa in turn.
Eloy looked at the wood floor and shook his head, hoping it would be enough to convey that no apology was necessary, saving him from having to speak.
“It’s nothing I can’t understand,” Neasa said.
“I shouldn’t have let it take over me like that,” Critiko said. “I don’t regret it. That thing of a man doesn’t deserve any claim of land, let alone having his name remembered above it, but I shouldn’t have done it like that. I just . . . didn’t expect you to say that. How could I have missed it? I was supposed to keep evils away from my children, not put them in its arms.”
“No one knew,” Neasa said. “You can’t put that on yourself.”
“I should have known.” Critiko’s throat constricted with emotion.
“Now we know,” Neasa said.
“Now we know,” Critiko repeated. “But it’s not done yet. There is one more thing we have to do. I was hoping you would help me with it.” Critiko looked at Eloy. “Both of you.”
“Of course,” Neasa said. “Eloy, I know we’ve asked so much of you already, but if you could, it’ll be easier with you to get my brother and bring him home.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Eloy said.
18
Eloy and Neasa showered and ate a light meal before walking the path leading in the opposite direction of the burial plots. Gwyn was waiting outside the house with a somber expression, obviously informed of Chrysander’s fate. Eloy let himself fall away from Neasa and Critiko to walk with Gwyn.
“It’s good to see that you both made it out okay,” Gwyn said. “Quite a few people in town were worried about what would happen if Neasa never came home. We were all prepared for the news to be bad regarding Chrys, but no one could have imagined this. I grew up with Silvus just as much as I did Critiko, and I never saw anything in him that would’ve made me think he was capable of doing something like this.”
“The Seer said Silvus always had it in him,” Eloy said as they walked. “I can’t imagine how Critiko is feeling right now.”
“The Seer . . . what was it like?” Gwyn asked.
“I’ll tell you as much as I can about everything we saw,” Eloy said, “but now wouldn’t be the right time.”
“Of course,” Gwyn said. “Of course it wouldn’t. You’re absolutely right. I’m just so excited to hear all about it. You were gone for weeks. That’s a lot of time to see many things.”
“I look forward to telling you and showing you the things we collected,” Eloy said.
“I’m looking forward to it too.” Gwyn smiled.
Eloy and Gwyn followed Neasa and Critiko down the path until the long, thick blades of grass overtook the trail. Upon closer inspection, Eloy could see why. The overgrowth wasn’t consistent in the field ahead, and as they walked closer, he could see the patches gave way to holes deep enough that he couldn’t see the bottom.
“Be careful where you step,” Critiko called back. “Try to stay away from the edges. The ground can be weak and fall out underneath you, and it’s not a fall you or your bones want to take.”
They moved around holes of various sizes until they came to one closer to the trees. Snaking vines wrapped around the edge of the hole with thin-petaled purple flowers shaking in the weak breeze.
“This has to be it,” Neasa said, her voice rough.
Critiko took the pack off his back, dropped down to one knee, opened the bag, and pulled out its contents. Critiko’s mouth twisted against the sadness that threatened to break out again. He pulled out some rope and a lantern, one that looked more substantial than the shell ones Eloy and Neasa had used in the dark forest.
“We can wrap the rope around the tree,” Critiko said. “I’ll lower myself down into the hole. After I find him, I’ll have you three help pull me out.”
Neasa, Gwyn, and Eloy looked at each other.
“Critiko,” Eloy said. “I understand this is something you need to do, but please think about letting me go down instead.”
“Oh, no,” Critiko said. “I couldn’t ask that you to do that. This is my responsibility.”
“Dad.” Neasa put a hand on his arm. “Please let Eloy do this. He’s younger and can handle a fall better than you can.”
“I guess that’s true,” Eloy said. “I don’t mean any offense, but I think I can get him out of there faster.”
Critiko gripped the rope and looked down into the hole. “If you think it’ll be faster, I guess I can’t argue with that.” Critiko handed over the rope that he had already started looping and tying into a harness.
Eloy finished the knots Critiko had started and put his legs through the loops. Neasa and Gwyn secured the rest of the constraints around Eloy, and he made his way to the flower-lined edge of the hole and lowered himself down.
The lantern was heavier than the one he was used to, but it cast a stronger light. It threw enough illumination that he could see the bottom soon after going into the hole. Sharp rocks crowded the cavern floor, and there didn’t seem to be anything that didn’t belong. Eloy worried about telling Critiko his son wasn’t there. If the Seer had been wrong about that, she could have been wrong about all of it. When Eloy felt his feet touch the bottom, he saw that the cave continued down in a gentle slope . . . and he saw the stark white of bone.
“I found him,” Eloy called up.
The sound of Critiko’s cry ricocheted off the tunnel walls and surrounded Eloy at the bottom.
Chrysander’s bones were still inside his clothes, tattered from years of being exposed to the nature of the cave. The jawbone hung to the side as his skull leaned against a large rock. A piece at the front of his head had a crack in it like fractured slate. Eloy dropped down to a knee at Chrysander’s side. The clothes looked small. Young man�
�s clothes. Had Eloy worn clothes this small when he had arrived at the Bowl? He must have. But Chrysander never got the chance to stretch out and grow through the same twenty-four years that Eloy got. Being with Chrysander evoked a feeling Eloy hadn’t expected; he felt selfish. He had wanted to find the Seer to learn what he had to do to find what was promised to him while Neasa went to find someone who didn’t have a chance to live to see adulthood. Eloy thought back to how angry he had been at Neasa that she had lied to him, and now it felt so petulant in the presence of such loss. Eloy laid the fabric Critiko had given him out next to the bones before carefully moving them to be bundled up. Eloy held the bundle against his chest protectively.
The trip to the surface was much slower as he tried to keep a firm and careful grip on Chrysander. When Eloy pulled himself out, it felt as if he had emerged from a tomb. Critiko held out his arms for the bundle as if he were reaching for a newborn baby, and he cradled it in a similar way before pulling back a corner of the fabric to reveal the white dome of the skull. Critiko’s hand looked thick and large against the top of his son’s head.
“I have you now,” Critiko whispered. “I’ll put you next to your mother, right where you belong.”
19
It seemed as if the whole town of Valia came out when Neasa and Critiko put Chrysander to rest. Critiko dug a plot on the opposite end of the burial ground from where Silvus had been buried. The ones who were old enough to remember Chrysander talked about their memories of a young man who was quick to make a joke and even faster to laugh when one was told. A man who looked to be around Eloy’s age—a man who held a small child of his own—reminisced about exploring the edges of the forest with Chrys.
“We knew we weren’t allowed,” the man said. “Both our moms yelled like pond larks when they saw us over there. We weren’t paying good attention, and sure enough, we managed to stumble into a mossed-over fertilizer pit. Chrys’s mom made us wash off under the house even though the sun had gone down. Never been so cold in my life.” The man laughed with everyone else, but his smile crumbled away as he looked at Critiko. The man held his wiggling child to his chest and had a look of empathy Eloy didn’t have the experience to understand.
