by Sam Ferguson
Jonathan held up his hands and backed away, but he couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from his face.
“Besides,” Jason continued, “Annabell grew up while we were gone, and she is really quite lovely.” Jason sighed again and stuffed the wool into his pocket. “Come, let’s go tell Grandfather that the lamb was killed.”
“So,” Jonathan began, “you still haven’t explained the sheep.” He pointed to the pocket. “What will that prove to Mortimer?”
Jason sighed again and shrugged. “I thought if we could expand the farm, then maybe we could show Mortimer that I am just as good a businessman as he is. You’re right about the town, they all love me for what I did, but Mortimer only cares about things. If it isn’t tangible, then it has no value to him. I don’t want to marry Annabell without something more to offer. I can’t have Mortimer lording over us all the time. Imagine how suffocating that would be.”
“So live with us,” Jonathan said. “I’m sure Pa would help you build a cabin of your own on our lands.”
Jason shook his head. “I already offered that to Annabell. She likes the idea, but Mortimer won’t have it. He says that unless I can pay him back the money he wasted on me, I have to live with them and work it off.”
Jonathan had never seen Jason look so defeated before. Even when Jonathan had found him in the Warrens, captured by the swamp trolls and facing near-certain death, Jason had never lost his confident grin. Now, there was a sagging frown on Jason’s face and, worse than that, a dull look about his eyes.
“That’s no way to start a marriage,” Jason said. “If we begin our lives like that, then nothing I will ever do in the future will be good enough for Mortimer, or anyone else in the family. Even Bryce, Annabell’s older brother is angry with me. He says I should have taken guard duty at Fort Sym like he did.”
Jonathan nodded. “Bryce is just jealous because he now looks like a coward compared to you.”
Jason nodded. “I know it, but that doesn’t ease the tension.”
“We should get back to Pa,” Jonathan put in. “Unless you want to stop for a quick game of centers.”
Jason smirked and looked around. “All right, if you think you can challenge me this time.”
Jonathan watched as Jason picked out a sizeable oak tree and then fired three arrows. One bit into the tree high up on the trunk, about ten feet from the ground. The second struck it at six feet up, and the third was only two feet from the ground.
“Can’t you group your shots any better than that?” Jonathan teased.
“If I group them closer, you might hit one by mistake and claim the points,” Jason shot back. “Go on, hit ‘em if you can.”
Jonathan had been practicing nearly every day since they returned a year ago. Today was the day he was finally going to win. He pulled the first arrow back on the string. The tension was felt in his fingers, arm, and back as he drew the arrow back until it just touched the corner of his mouth. A moment before he let it fly, he called out his target. “Arrow in the middle.”
The arrow flew through the air and struck the middle arrow perfectly, shattering Jason’s arrow entirely.
“Bottom,” Jonathan called out as he nocked another arrow and let it fly. The second missile struck its target as well. Jonathan then drew his third and final shot. He let it loose and two seconds later it exploded into the back of Jason’s arrow.
Jonathan lowered his bow and looked back to Jason, wearing an obscenely large grin.
Jason’s eyes went wide. He glanced from the tree back to Jonathan and then to the tree once more.
“Go on, see if you can match it,” Jonathan called out.
Jason shook his head and tossed his bow to the ground. He started walking away, leaving Jonathan standing alone near the stump.
“Hey, Jason, don’t be a sore loser!” Jonathan called after him. His brother didn’t turn around. He walked away quietly, head down and shoulders slumped. Jonathan’s mirth faded, replaced by a slight fear in his chest that he had not only failed to cheer his brother up, but he had in fact driven Jason’s grief further into his heart. Jonathan slipped his bow over his shoulder, grabbed Jason’s bow, and then ran off to catch up with his brother.
“Hold up,” Jonathan said again as he neared Jason.
“Go on, rub it in a bit more,” Jason said. This time he had recovered enough to force a grin, but Jonathan knew better than to believe it.
“Could you see what grabbed the lamb?” Jonathan asked, deciding it was best to change the subject entirely.
“The tracks were hard to decipher,” Jason said. “Something big, but I can’t be sure what it was. This bit of wool was the only thing left, and the ground was too compact for tracks except in the exact spot where the lamb was caught, and those were mostly claw marks in the dirt.”
Jonathan could see that Jason was frustrated by this topic as well. Normally Jason was easily able to decipher tracks, even partial prints, but not this time. Jonathan decided to switch topics again. “Pa was right about Annabell though,” he said with a grin.
Jason smiled, genuinely this time, and nodded his agreement. He didn’t say anything, but that was all right. Jonathan could see that he had set his brother’s mind on a better path now.
“When is the wedding again?” Jonathan asked.
Jason shook his head. “Two days after the fall festival. You know that already.” Jason reached out and set his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.
Jonathan looked back at his brother curiously. “You do?”
Jason nodded. “Thanks,” he offered. He stopped the two of them then and took his bow back from Jonathan. He took in a deep breath of forest air and then grinned slyly. “Bet I beat you back to the house.”
“We’re at least two miles away,” Jonathan said. “I am not running that far back.”
Jason shrugged. “Fine, but I say the last one there has to sleep outside with the sheep tonight.”
“I am not…” Jonathan’s words trailed off as Jason tore away, sprinting as fast as he could. “Icadion’s beard,” Jonathan cursed. The young man ran off after his brother, but he knew even before he started that he would never catch up to him. His feet carried him nimbly over a fallen log, around a copse of young trees and over the ground as quick as a deer, but he was falling behind his older brother with every passing second. Jonathan had slowed to a mild jog by the time he passed old Nebok’s farm, and was walking before he reached the turn off that led to his cabin.
Jason was nowhere in sight, likely already inside and eating his supper.
Jonathan let his feet drift slowly over the dirt road leading up to his home. The sun had already begun to set, darkening the path and casting a long shadow over the front of the house. Not so long ago Jonathan would have seen light coming from the windows, but not now. Pa had never managed to fix the shutters correctly after the glass windows had been sold off to Mortimer. Now the windows were covered with loose fitting boards that only allowed slivers of light through. A year ago, Jonathan would have thought that Mortimer would simply give the glass panes back; after all, they had been Pa’s pride and joy, a sign of his affection for Memaw, but that never happened.
A lot of things hadn’t panned out the way Jonathan had expected. Oh, there had been celebrations and feasts at the end of the war, but after a couple of months things went back to normal. Jonathan wondered what it might be like if he relocated to another town that had been more intimately aware of the war and the devastation it caused. Perhaps if he had settled in Wendyn, a town pulled into the growing borders of the swamps that made up the Murkle Quags from which all of the residents had been forced to flee, then maybe he would have been received better.
Here in Holstead, he was a hero of sorts, but still a farmer. A year ago he had slain a troll king and helped kill a giant troll that would have surely destroyed any city it had attacked, but now he was just a Haymaker boy.
He still longed for adventure, though.
Not even the dangers he had faced down in the Murkle Quags could beat that itch out of him that he had to travel and experience new thing. He craved adventure, and frankly felt lost without it. It was almost as if he had already hit the pinnacle of excitement that he could expect in his life, and he wasn’t even twenty yet. As a farmer, that was most certainly true. What adventures would ever come to Holstead? No, he needed to find a way out. That much was confirmed when Miken, a scholar of the Order of Anorit came through Holstead about six months prior.
The man had more tales of adventure than anyone Jonathan had ever heard of, and he wasn’t even a soldier! He was a traveling scholar. His whole life he visited new places and recorded important events along the way. He had even traded a book about the elven lands to the north to Jonathan in exchange for Jonathan’s permission to write about his adventures. He smiled as he thought about that for a moment. A traveling scholar had come to see him and get his story.
He reached back to his pocket and pulled the small book out that Miken had given him. Jonathan must have read it a hundred times by now from cover to cover. It wasn’t an overly thick book, but it detailed the main attractions in each of the major elven cities to the north. As he opened the book now, he imagined traveling north with Miranda to visit the cities. They had talked about going together before… though they had fallen out of touch as of late. Still, he liked to fantasize about going north one day, and visiting the cities he had read so much about over the last several months.
He would have left long ago if not for Pa and Memaw. No matter how much he missed the adventure beyond the village, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon them again without good reason.
In their nightly prayers, Pa and Memaw still thanked the gods for the return of their grandsons.
How he could leave them?
They were the only two who really knew what it was Jonathan and Jason had done.
He stopped then and bent down to a night-bell, a purple and blue flower that bloomed only at dusk, and picked it. He put the blossom to his nose and smelled the sweet, rose-like fragrance. The color of the petals reminded him of Miranda. She had worn a dress that was similar in color to the flower, a deep blue fabric that had hugged her curves and accentuated her raven-black hair.
As he thought of her, it was almost as if he could see her standing on the porch, leaning over the front rail and watching him as he returned to the house. He smiled then, thinking how wonderful that would be. Despite their promise to remain in touch, they had lost contact with each other over the last year since his return. She was somewhere in Lehemat, and he was stuck on his family’s farm. He knew then where he would go if he had the chance. He would go and find the girl who still somehow managed to maintain her spell over him.
He sniffed the flower again and then tucked it into a small, empty pouch on his belt so he could give it to Memaw. She always appreciated flowers, especially night-bells.
When he looked back up to the porch after sealing the pouch, he swore he could still see Miranda standing there, staring at him intently. He cocked his head to the side.
Someone was there.
It can’t be. Jonathan started walking again, his feet pulling him along the path a little too quickly as he nearly stumbled over a rock he failed to notice.
“You lived through the Warrens to fall over a rock?” Miranda called out as she walked down the steps toward him.
It is her!
Jonathan’s heart skipped once and his throat went dry. It was as if his brain forgot how to send the proper signals to his limbs. He gave a half-wave and stepped out awkwardly at the same time.
“Hi,” Jonathan said.
“That’s all you have to say?” Miranda quipped as she walked toward him, the soft light of dusk playing upon her long hair and beautiful face as she approached him.
He agreed that he should say something more, something poignant, something amusing… but nothing else came but a stupid grin that pulled at the left corner of his mouth.
“It’s good to see you,” Miranda said. She crossed the remaining distance between them, leaned in and went up on her front foot to give Jonathan a hug. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she squeezed him close for a second. He hugged her as well, his arms going around her lower back.
“It’s good to see you as well,” he said once his mind was able to reengage enough to form a coherent sentence. “What are you doing here?”
Miranda backed away, letting her hands slide down Jonathan’s arms and then back to her sides.
“It’s my father,” she said. “He’s missing.”
“Raven is missing?” Jonathan echoed. His mind raced through the possibilities. Maybe the trolls had resurfaced. Perhaps there was a new troll king. If so, then they would likely want revenge.
Miranda clasped her hands in front of her waist and shook her head. “He left several months ago. He said he had some things he needed to look into, but he should have been back by now.”
“What about the others?” Jonathan asked. “Surely Captain Ziegler wouldn’t leave him behind somewhere.”
“My father didn’t tell the others. He went alone, and told me not to tell anyone about it.”
“Where did he go?” Jonathan asked. “Jason and I can help you.”
Miranda nodded. “That’s why I’m here,” she said matter-of-factly. “I knew you would.”
Jonathan nodded and stepped in to embrace her once more. Miranda almost seemed to pull away at first, but then she leaned into his chest and stood still and silent. She didn’t cry, but Jonathan knew her well enough to know that she was tougher than most, and very capable of keeping her wits about her even in the most dire of circumstances. Slowly, Jonathan slid his left hand down to retrieve the night-bell. Miranda could use the gesture now more than Memaw. His fingers spread the pouch open and then pushed inside gently, fishing for the delicate flower. He just managed to grab it and pull it out of the pouch when he heard the knob on the door turn.
The door to the cabin opened and a flood of yellow light poured out around the shadowy figure of another man. He was taller than Jason by a bit, but Jonathan didn’t recognize the form and his face was hidden in shadows thanks to the light from behind.
“Miranda, can you come back in?” the man called out.
Miranda stiffened and pulled away from Jonathan. “We should go inside,” she said.
“Who is that?” Jonathan asked. “Is it a new member of the Ghosts?”
Miranda shook her head. “His name is Ruben Faelwyn. He is my fiancé.”
Jonathan felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He watched Miranda turn around quickly and make her way back up to the porch. She reached out her hand and Ruben took it as the two of them entered the house. They left the door open behind them, obviously intending for Jonathan to follow them, but his feet wouldn’t move. He stood there, replaying in his mind the day that Miranda had taken his hand in hers. Now she was not only with someone else, but engaged to be married.
He likely would have stood outside for the remainder of the night, hoping that Miranda would disappear somehow, if not for Jason sticking his head out the door and shouting at him.
“Are you coming or not?” Jason called out.
Jonathan shook his head. Maybe he could make an excuse to go into town—no, it was already fast becoming dark. His mind thought of the sheep. After all, he had lost the race to Jason. He should go and be with the sheep. He looked down to the ground, fumbling for something to say.
“Come on,” Jason said. Jonathan had been so stunned that he hadn’t even noticed Jason’s approach. Jason put an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and started pulling him along toward the porch. “Buck up, buttercup,” Jason said. It was a saying that Memaw had often said to them while growing up, though this wound stung a bit more than the usual skinned knee or sliver that had plagued Jonathan’s youth.
Jonathan tossed the night-bell a step in front of him and then let his left foot fall onto it, crushing it in
to the ground.
“What was that?” Jason asked.
Jonathan shrugged. “Nothing important,” he said.
Jason squeezed Jonathan’s shoulders once and then gave him a gentle shove up the stairs and into the doorway.
Aside from Miranda and Ruben, Jonathan saw three others in the front room with Pa and Memaw. Captain Ziegler, standing closest to the doorway, was the first to greet Jonathan. The three scars on his right cheek stretched as he smiled and held out his thick hand.
“Good to see you again,” Ziegler said. Jonathan looked down and took the proffered hand in his and gave it a shake. As he did so, he noticed the many skull tattoos on Ziegler’s arm. There was one for each human soldier that had fought under Ziegler’s command and died in the Murkle Quags. Jonathan knew that the tattoos stretched up the arm, and down Captain Ziegler’s torso as well. The wars with the trolls in the Murkle Quags had been the deadliest conflict ever to reach their realm. Jonathan glanced back to Miranda, and then wondered if there would soon be another black tattoo in memory of Raven.
Bull, a bald, heavily muscled man rushed in and wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s waist, catching Jonathan’s left arm and pinning it in the hug as he lifted the boy up and squeezed him. “Oh, it is good to see you again!” Bull said. He shook Jonathan to each side, grunting and laughing before setting Jonathan back down on the floor.
“Hello, Bull,” Jonathan said. The young man then looked up and saw Moose, a mountain of a man standing seven feet tall, with shoulders wider than the doorway and harrier than the animal that was his namesake, holding up the back wall of the room with a sour look on his face. “Well met, Moose,” Jonathan greeted.
Moose waved flippantly and then folded his meaty arms across his barrel-like chest.
Captain Ziegler leaned in and whispered to Jonathan, “Don’t worry about him. He’s happy to see you too, it’s just that your grandmother scolded him for trying to smoke in the house not more than two minutes ago.”
Jonathan’s mouth fell open and he glanced to Memaw. No one, ever, had even asked Moose to stop smoking in their presence, let alone scolded him for it.
