Mo

Sol was cold. His head felt like it should be hurting, but instead all he felt was a foggy sensation that wrapped around his mind and made it hard to think. He lay there paralyzed in the rustling grass.

Slowly, the memory of him cutting himself and fearing his death slowly came back to him. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was black, and in that moment, he wasn’t sure if he was dead. The grass gently licking the sides of his face told him he wasn’t. He lay there, eyes open, staring into the darkness and listened to the sounds of rustling leaves.

Sol heard his name. Mo’s bellowing voice echoed through the woods, calling for him. He groaned and sat up, not wanting to look as helpless as he felt. His arm was covered in a layer of dried blood. In vain, he tried to rub some of it away, but made no quick progress. He heard thudding footsteps of boots on dirt, and Mo called out again, “Sol, are you out here?” Shadows were cast across the clearing as Mo walked up the path, his footsteps urgent.

Sol reached out around him, trying to find something to pull himself up with. His body was weak, and even the act of lifting his arms felt like an impossible task. He felt the cold iron of the brazier and used it to wrench himself upwards. He had to exert himself, and no sooner was he vertical, than dizziness ran into his head, and he half leaned, half fell onto the brazier.

Mo had apparently heard him get up, because he hustled into the clearing, and brought with him a flickering yellow candlelight, which emanated from his lantern and made it possible to make out some of the details of the clearing around him.

“Hey now,” Mo stood next to Sol and put his hand on his shoulder. Sol didn’t bear to look at him. “What’s going on, why are you still out here?” He lifted the lantern up to see better and gave Sol a once over. He firmly but carefully pulled on Sol’s shoulder so that he would face him.

Sol glanced down and saw the gruesome amount of dried blood that was caked in layers onto his arm. It had also soaked into his shirt, staining it and making it stiff and uncomfortable. Any hopes of hiding what had happened would have been futile, so all he did was avoid Mo’s gaze.

“Jesus Christ…” Mo muttered and took Sol’s bloody arm into his hand, searching for the wound. He peeled back the loosely wrapped bandage that Sol had secured around his arm and held the lantern close to get a good view. Sol could feel its warmth, and it made him aware of how cold the night was. Somewhat to his surprise, his skin had healed, just like it had when he had scraped his hand the day before. “What the hell happened Sol?” Mo asked bluntly, but at a low volume.

Sol was still feeling dizzy, and it took him a few moments before he could compose himself. When he finally found some words, they came together dumbly. “I guess I cut myself,” he said. He felt stupid for downplaying something so obviously severe, but he couldn’t help it. Admitting how stupid he had been didn’t seem like an option.

Of course, Mo saw through it immediately. The evidence was right in front of him after all. Seeming to make up for Sol’s lack of respect for the severity of the situation, Mo’s next words came out even more pressed. “You did a hell of a lot more than cut yourself. For God’s sake man, you could have died out here! This much blood ain’t a superficial wound Sol. What they hell were you doing?” He sounded bewildered and upset, and even though Sol agreed with Mo’s sentiment and fully realized his foolishness, he couldn’t help but close off.

After letting another couple of moments pass, letting the crickets of the night fill the silence, Sol responded quietly, “I was finishing the clearing before Sam got back, I was using the sickle.”

“Why didn’t you just wait for Sam to get back? She was going to get back tonight.”

“I just… I don’t know…” Of course, Sol had plenty of reasons. He wanted to do Sam a favor. He wanted to make her life easier. He wanted to show that he was capable. All those reasons sounded pathetic considering how he managed to mess up the simple task. Sol risked a glance up at Mo and saw him staring back. His brown eyes looked particularly warm and caring tonight under the candlelight of the lantern. He looked genuinely concerned behind a beard that normally gave Mo a gruff look that made Sol feel uneasy.

Seeing the genuine compassion in Mo’s eyes, Sol found it easier to be vulnerable, and opened up a little. “I just… I wanted to help. I’ve felt useless since Sam guided me out of the woods.” Sol said, once again avoiding Mo’s gaze by staring down at his arm. “I’m old enough to be a Man, but I keep proving to everyone that I’m just a kid.” Even to myself, Sol thought sadly.

“I don’t think you’re a kid,” Mo stated matter-of-factly.

“But you call me ‘kid’ all the time?” Sol said, genuinely confused.

“Of course I do! You’re only what, 20 years old? I’d give a lot to be that age again.”

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Sol looked up, and for the first time, paid attention to the grey hairs that streaked through Mo’s black mane, and the wrinkles that spread from the corners of his eyes and disappeared to hide behind his beard.

“But only a child would do the things I do or make the mistakes I make. So many accidents...”

“Nonsense,” Mo said while he straitened and walked over to the blood-soaked sickle that was lying on the ground and picked it up. “Sure, you make mistakes all the time. Even stupid, life-threatening ones. That doesn’t make you any less of a man, Sol.” He picked up the leather sheath from its spot on the shelf in front of the brazier and safely covered the blade. “I can see you have pride. You want to take care of yourself and the people around you. That’s a good instinct to have, Sol. You just have a lot to learn, that’s all. Hell, the only thing you remember is your name, that’s got to be completely confusing. Take some time for yourself and learn.”

“I shouldn’t need to learn,” Sol said indignantly. “I should have been learning this stuff my entire life, how to be a man, but instead all I can remember is the past few days, and it feels like all my instincts are all wrong.”

“Trust me Sol, I know what it’s like to feel like you missed out on your childhood, like you missed out on learning to be a man. But being a man isn’t about knowing how to get every situation right, or how to not make a fool of yourself, or even how to work a blade without killing yourself. It’s in here.” Mo shaved his finger into Sol’s chest. “You’ve grown up without growing up. I’ve been there once. It’s hard, but you’ll find your way.”

Sol wasn’t sure what else to say except, “Thank you.” He didn’t exactly feel better, but Mo was the mannest man he’d met, and if he was telling him to not be so hard on himself, it would be foolish to not listen. So, he tried.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Mo said while reaching for Sol’s hand to pull him up.

Mo led them out of the clearing with the lantern swinging from its handle in his right hand and the sickle tucked under the same arm while he used his left hand to animate what he was saying. “And one other thing Sol, for God’s sake, let Sam take care of your arm when she gets back to make sure you did that spell right. With the amount of blood on you I’m surprised I didn’t find you cold.”

“I will,” Sol promised. He wasn’t sure why Mo didn’t ‘find him cold’. Now that he was able to process what happened a little better and the fog surrounding his brain was beginning to fade, he knew the spell shouldn’t have worked. The paste had been applied (albeit poorly), but he had never managed to grind up the quartz. He shoved it to the back of his mind, he wasn’t sure what had happened, or what he did, but clearly it had been enough to save his life. Then Sol finally processed the words Mo had said and asked, “Wait, is Sam not back yet? How late is it? I thought she said she would be back tonight.”

“Hold your horses, kid. Er... Sol,” he said, and gave Sol an apologetic look. “I got word from Lucious, another townsfolk who returned tonight, that he got stopped by Sam on his way out of Mosel. She asked him to relay a message to us that she would be back tomorrow night. Lucious didn’t have any more to say about it. Regardless, it sounds like she’s doing just fine.

That news both relieved and troubled Sol. On the one hand, it was calming to hear that she was doing just fine. But on the other, he was anxious to ask Sam about his wound, why it healed the way it did, and why the gem hurt him to touch and exploded in his hands. More than that though, he was scared to sleep alone in that room tonight.

Mo interrupted his worries. “You had good instinct to help Sam out and cut the grass before she got back. How’s about we come out here tomorrow and I show you how to work the sickle without cutting your arm off this time?” he offered.

Sol was excited about the prospect, and immediately agreed. They walked back to the inn, and Sol kept close behind Mo and his lantern that illuminated the pitch-black night.

~

Sol closed the door behind him and the performative smile slowly wicked away from his face. The sound of clinking glasses and cheering townspeople echoed through the hall and up under the crack of his door. He took off the jacket Mo had given him to cover up his bloodstains as he navigated his way through the bustling bar area downstairs.

On any other day Sol would have been delighted to become acquainted with all the returning townspeople downstairs, but his arm was crusted with blood and was bothering him sensorily. He just wanted to be in the quiet of his room. So, he hung the jacket on the back of Sam’s chair and went into the bathroom to wash himself off. He took a quick shower, dried himself off, and put on a fresh set of clothes before trying to settle in.

The quietness of the room combined with the rumbling bustle of downstairs activities filled the room with an almost electric uncomfortable energy that made it hard to relax.

Sol pulled a chair next to the window outside and cracked it to let in some cool fresh air and hear the ambient noise from outside. Unlike the other nights, a few houses lined down the street had flickering lights illuminating their windows. The stars weren’t visible tonight, that was a luxury only granted on the days that Sam performed the dispersion rituals.

Sol had trouble calming himself and went to Sam’s bookshelf to look at anything that could occupy his mind. He was particularly interested in the novels, and tried to seek one out that he could enjoy. There weren’t many, but each one’s spine had been worked and they were all clearly well loved. He picked up one that looked like a perfect escape from reality and sat with it on his blankets on the floor.

It was a fantasy romance novel about a magical cook and his misadventures caring for a kingdom's kitchen. It was perfect. Not only did he find it easy to fall into the story, but Sam had also put annotations in the margins of what she thought might happen next, or analyzing particular traits of the characters. He stayed captivated until his eyelids were trying to force themselves shut. He allowed himself to close the book and stretched his arm to carefully set it on the night stand above his head. He could hear that the commotion downstairs had finally settled down. Finally feeling confident he could get some rest, he pulled the blanket over his head and fell asleep.