(658 A.C.)
The window was open, leaving the tattered curtains to gently sway in a late summer breeze. It was dark outside, and the rustling flap of pixie wings sounded somewhere in the distance. Rizen stood in the doorway, staring at that open window, hands clenched at his side to stop them from shaking. Slowly, his gaze slid over to his older brother, sitting on his bed, as he often did after a fight with their dad. The moonlight caught his blonde fluff of hair and turned it silver, and the breeze teased his threadbare clothes, loose on his gangly frame.
This wasn't like the other times. Crizo wasn't silently stewing, arms crossed and kicking at the wooden floor. He wasn't gingerly prodding his new bruises or trying to staunch the bleeding of a split lip or brow. He was just sitting there, his canvas bag cradled in his lap, lips drawn into a tight line.
Crizo looked up when Rizen opened the door, but he didn't offer a reassuring smile like he usually did after a fight. He didn't do anything, anything at all. Just stared at Rizen with wide eyes.
Rizen glanced back down the hall, but his dad was gone, probably off to the tavern again. His mom was in her workshop, no doubt about that. It was just them.
Rizen bit his lip and gripped the hem of his sleep shirt, turning back to Crizo. His brother was staring at the open window now, his hands gripping the fabric of his bag.
"What are you doing?" Rizen asked, twisting his hands in his shirt.
Crizo was silent except for a long, slow breath. He didn't tear his gaze from the window.
"Crizo?" Rizen gulped. He waited, but there was still no reply. Rizen wasn’t stupid. There was a puzzle here, the pieces laid out plainly, but Rizen didn’t want to look at the picture they formed. "You're–you're scaring me."
Crizo sighed. In one smooth movement, he was on his feet, bag slung over his shoulder. When he finally looked at Rizen again, his dark eyes glistened in the moonlight filtering through the window.
"I'm leaving, flix," Crizo said. He finally smiled, but it looked all wrong, stretched to thin and too taunt like a string about to fray. Rizen took a step back, and Crizo let it slip away. He nodded to the window. "Wanna come with me?"
"Where are you going?" Rizen asked, padding into the room until he was just within his brother's reach. Puzzle pieces, strewn about, but Rizen didn’t want to put them together.
Crizo cocked his head at him, brow furrowed. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a bemused smile, looking a little more like himself for it. “Where do you think?”
Rizen twisted his hands further into his shirt and tried desperately not to sniffle. Crizo never cared when he cried except to wrap an arm around him, sometimes, let his tears stain the shoulder of his shirt without a word of insult or comfort. Mom–when she was around–would pet his head and murmur sweet little nothings and pull him into her arms until his tears subsided. It was only with their dad that he had to hide his tears, but right now didn’t feel like the time for them.
When Rizen failed and tears began to fall, Crizo’s expression shuttered, the smile racing from his face and something as hard as stone entering his eyes. He walked over to the window, gripping the sill with one hand.“I’m leaving. You can come with me or you can stay, but I can’t deal with this anymore. I can’t deal with him anymore.”
Rizen knew. He always hid away in their room when their dad was out and about, stomping around the house and slamming cupboard doors. Sometimes, he would sit in the corner of their mom’s workshop–not touching anything, never touching anything so she didn’t kick him out–and just imagine a life, different from this one, where it was just him and Crizo and their mom. All of the people he loved most in the world.
And now one of them wanted to leave. All because of their dad.
Rizen understood, he thought. He knew he was little and Crizo took the brunt of everything and didn’t let Rizen see much of it if he could, but Rizen still knew it was bad. He could see all the bruises along Crizo’s torso whenever he changed his shirt. He could hear the shouting, even if he hid in their room or their mom’s workshop. He could hear Crizo crying at night, sometimes, when he thought Rizen was already asleep, but Rizen was always too petrified to say anything about it. Crizo didn’t want him to know. Crizo protected him from the worst of it.
Crizo was leaving.
“What...” Rizen trailed off. He twisted his hands, the fabric rough on his skin. He ducked his head and peeked up at Crizo, puzzle pieces slotting together in his head. Crizo was leaving. Because of their dad. But it could just be them. Rizen could make his dreams come true–he could make it just their mom and Crizo and him. “What if he was gone?”
Crizo’s expression turned pained. It was so different from what Rizen was used to seeing on his face, all the wry smiles when Rizen did something that annoyed him and the cheeky grins when they were actually having fun together. The look fit better on the boy that cried himself to sleep at night, and it made Rizen freeze up, just like always.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Crizo said softly. “I won’t ask you to do that. That man can take a lot from us, but don’t let him take that from you. You hear me, Rizen? You’re just a kid.” Crizo’s gaze was sad, and Rizen wished he knew how to make it better. “You don’t let him make a murderer of you.
“We can just leave.” Crizo extended a hand, the other still gripping the windowsill, ready to vault over the edge and into the far reaches of the night. “You and me, against the world.” Crizo smiled, shaky, but more like himself than anything Rizen had seen from him tonight. “It’ll be an adventure. We can leave all of this behind us.”
Rizen frowned. "What about mom?"
Crizo scowled, dropping his hand back to his side. "What about her?"
"We can't leave her behind."
"Why not? What does she ever do for us?"
Hugged them and kissed them and told them she loved them. Cooked them food, sometimes, and their dad wasn't so himself whenever she was around. Their mom was, well, their mom. Why would they ever leave her behind?
Rizen didn't know how to put all of those feelings into words. Instead, he just murmured, "We just can't."
Crizo snorted, and turned back to the window. "You stick with me, or you stay with Mom, Rizen."
Rizen didn't move. He was frozen again, unable to respond, feet stuck to the floor like they were glued there. He didn't want to leave their mom. He didn't want to stay with their dad. He didn't want to lose Crizo. He didn't understand why they couldn't just all go together.
But he was little and stupid most of the time. He knew he didn't understand how the world worked yet. He wanted things to be fair and make sense, but if living with their dad had taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever fair.
Rizen couldn't ask Crizo to stay. If he left, Dad couldn't ever hit Crizo again. Crizo wouldn't have to hurt anymore. Rizen couldn't ask him to give that up–even if he wanted to.
Rizen sniffled again and rubbed at his teary eyes. He couldn't ask Crizo to stay, but it didn't seem fair that Rizen was being asked to leave. But then, Rizen knew that was just how life was.
Crizo was giving him the choice. His brother, or his mother?
He wanted to go with Crizo, he did. But he didn't think he could ever leave his mom.
Rizen rubbed his eyes and shook his head furiously, unable to repress a small, anguished hiccup of a sob from escaping him. "I can't leave Mom," he cried. "I–I can't..."
Crizo, without turning around, gave a stiff nod. He didn't say anything, and for a long moment, he didn't do anything either. But then, a stronger breeze swirled through the open window, rustling the curtains and playing with Crizo's hair, and that seemed to break him from whatever had taken over him. He vaulted over the sill of the window, landing outside with a soft crunch from the grass underfoot.
Finally, Crizo turned around, a wide smile on his face. Rizen only cried harder seeing it. He knew, deep down, that he would never see that smile again.
"Goodbye, little flix," Crizo said, as warm as the summer night surrounding them. "Stay strong, okay?"
Rizen couldn't help it. As Crizo turned and began to walk away, he cried harder. "Don't leave!" he wailed, running to the window and gripping it hard enough to make his knuckles ache. "Don't leave, Crizo!"
Crizo didn't look back. Rizen kept crying and shouting as he walked up the hill beyond their plot of land before finally disappearing beyond the swell of land. Rizen's lip gave a harsh wobble, and he couldn't help the great heaving cries that tore from his mouth. He dropped to the ground, huddling beneath the open window, and pretended that things were different. That Crizo would appear at the window with a smile and laugh at his bad prank. That their mom would emerge from her study to investigate the wails of her youngest son and comfort him until his tears stopped.
But he knew neither of those things would happen. Their mom never noticed them unless they were right in front of them. Crizo hadn't even looked back.
Rizen knew he would never forget the image of Crizo's back disappearing beyond the top of the hill or the last smile he'd flashed at him, so big but so sad for it. It would haunt Rizen for the rest of his life. He was sure of it.
He fell asleep there, curled into a ball beneath the window, face wet from tears and snot, dreaming that he would wake up and Crizo would be there, smiling at him with his typical guarded joy, the only type Rizen had in his life.
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(665 A.C.)
Rizen stood in line for flowers, like he had every Thursday for the last seven years. He was the last man in the family, and it was Lirenden custom for the man in the family to give all the women in their household flowers at least once a week. Luckily, for Rizen that was just Mom, and she didn’t come out of her workshop often enough to appreciate flowers more than once a week. Rizen wasn’t even sure she would care if he didn’t get her any at all, but better safe than sorry. Everyone in town would know if he decided not to, and that was enough to make him get some for her.
The townspeople turned a blind eye to a lot of the things Rizen did, but he was sure disrespecting a woman wasn’t on that list.
Rizen sighed, shivering under his coat. His breath billowed in front of him in a white cloud. He let his thoughts wander, trying his best to distract himself from the cold of the oncoming winter. There was a tree next to Unnya’s flower shop, a great, towering evergreen. What could he do with that?
What does it mean to be a tree, with roots burrowed so deep? Rizen mused. Able to see above everything, but if trouble should come, unable to flee. Trapped in place by the whims of fate, for a tree can only ever be a tree.
That was decent. Rizen would have to write that down when he returned home.
“Next!” Unnya called. Rizen sighed and stepped up to the window she had propped open. The flowers were inside, away from the biting cold, and to help preserve them, Unnya kept her customers outside. It wasn’t like people would stop coming to her because of the tactic–she was the only florist in town, and men needed to buy flowers.
“Rizen,” Unnya greeted, leaning on her elbows and sticking her long neck out the window. She was an older lady, but Rizen knew her hair was silver from her magical ability, not her age. She knew a few spells to help with her trade, or so she said. Deputy Griff told Rizen–after a few too many drinks one night–it was for help in the bedroom. “Let me guess–whatever’s cheapest.”
Rizen scowled. “Don’t say it like that,” he said. “I don’t get the dregs because I want to.”
Unnya grunted. She turned to look over her shoulder. “Get me something small for Rizen!” she shouted. Rizen knew that her daughter and son were inside the shop, putting the bouquets together while Unnya took the orders. “How is your mother these days?” Unnya asked, returning her attention to Rizen.
He shrugged. “She loves to work,” he responded blandly.
Unnya gave him a strange look. Rizen wasn’t sure how to decipher it, but it didn’t matter because she was quick to shake her head, the expression turning to a grimace. Rizen was saved from whatever she was about to say by a hand reaching out from the edge of the window, tapping Unnya on the shoulder. If Rizen had to guess, it was Greyk, Unnya’s son, the rest of him remaining just out of view.
A pity. Rizen would have loved to see him before he had to return home. It was a small thing but...
Unnya took a bundle of three purple crocuses tied together with a white ribbon from Greyk, still hidden, and reached out of the window to hand them to Rizen. “Fifteen strult.”
“What? It was twelve last week. And, you know, the week before, and every other week I’ve ever come to you.”
“Yeah, well, we need soldiers, soldiers need to eat, and to eat they need farmland. A tribune came by and graciously suggested that I sell some of my land back to the officials, so I have less space for flowers right now. But you and every other boy in town comes to me every week for flowers.” Unnya spread her hands in a supplicating gesture. “What am I to do?”
Rizen’s mouth went dry. “Unnya, I can’t afford fifteen strult.”
“And so the reason I raised my prices,” Unnya said. “I’m sorry, Rizen, but you’re not the only one in town who can’t afford fifteen. But if I don’t have enough flowers to go around...”
Supply and demand. Of course. Rizen shook his head. “Alright, fine. How much for just one?”
Unnya gaped at him, clearly scandalized. “You’d get your mother only one flower?”
“Well, I have a feeling it’s that or no flowers.” Rizen offered her a tight-lipped smile. “How much?”
Unnya undid the ribbon on the pathetic excuse for a bouquet, plucking a single crocus from the bunch. “Eight.”
Well. At least he saved four strult, he thought bitterly as he walked away, one flower in hand. They hadn’t even let him take the ribbon.
It wasn’t a long walk back to his house, but then, it wasn't a long walk to anywhere in town. Still, Rizen’s house was on the outskirts of their little piece of civilization, enough that it was almost ten minutes from the next closest building. The plot of land his house sat on was also occupied by a chicken coop further to the right with a small pen for their goat next to that, and a small piece of land to the right currently occupied with fledgling carrots, cabbage, and radishes. The house itself was small, rundown, with wooden walls of peeling white paint and a shingled roof bleached pale by the sun. The front door squeaked harshly when Rizen opened it and stepped inside.
The interior of his house had been largely the same as long as Rizen had been alive. Walking in, he found himself in the kitchen with its myriads of cupboards and utensils hanging on the left wall and small table with four chairs in the middle of the space. To the right, a hearth and fireplace for cooking and heating. It was out now, as Rizen hadn’t gone to chop firewood in a while, and he was trying to conserve what he could. Mom hadn’t complained about the cold yet, so it couldn’t be that bad.
Not that she ever noticed much of anything anyway. And Rizen hated chopping firewood.
In the middle of the table was last week’s bundle of flowers, brown and shriveled by now, and Rizen took them out and replaced them with the single crocus.
“Mom?” he called. “I’m back from Unnya’s!”
He waited a long moment, but there was no response. In her workshop, then.
He sat heavily at the table and just stared at the crocus for a long moment. His gaze fell to the dead ones in his hand, resting on the table. Unbidden, his thoughts began to spin away from him.
The flower holds its beauty in petals so bright, he thought. But it cannot escape the strike of time, no matter how it tries, for a flower can only ever be a flower. So what makes you think you have any power, to change what fate decides?
Rizen sighed, banishing the verses from his mind. A tree can only be a tree, and a flower can only be a flower, and Rizen can only be Rizen, trapped in this place, in this life.
----------------------------------------
(658 A.C.)
Dad didn't hit him. When Rizen next saw him, he asked where that sniveling little dratsnatch was, and Rizen told him Crizo left. Dad got mad, sure, turned an angry red and stomped around the house shouting obscenities, sometimes at Rizen, but he didn't strike him. Rizen knew it wasn't because Dad liked him more than Crizo–he had hit him many times before. So why not now?
When Rizen curled in his bed that night, staring at the empty one against the other wall, he thought maybe he could put that puzzle together. Crizo was bigger and stronger than Rizen. He had a younger brother to protect. Crizo always fought back. Rizen never had. Maybe Dad liked the fight.
Rizen didn't see Mom until the next day when she emerged from her study raving about some breakthrough she'd made in her research. Dad, as always, was calm–happy even–when she was around. He made her breakfast and helped her into the chair at the table so he could do some maintenance on her wooden wheelchair while she ate. In between each bite of porridge, she babbled on about moisture in the air–at least, that's what Rizen was pretty sure she was talking about. It wasn't until she was done with her meal that she glanced first at Rizen, sitting to her right at the table, then to the left, where Crizo's usual seat sat empty.
"Where's Crizo?" she asked.
Dad only grunted. Rizen pushed his porridge around in its little clay bowl and didn't look at her or the chair or anything else. "He left."
"Oh." Mom furrowed her brow. "When will he be back?"
Dad was silent, so Rizen was the one that answered again. "He's not. Coming back."
Mom stared at him owlishly. "Why not? When did he leave? Can I catch up to him? David, bring over my wheelchair, I'll go get him."
Rizen clenched his spoon so hard he was surprised it didn't snap in half. "He left over a day ago." Rizen bit his tongue, to stop himself from adding, And I didn't go with him to stay with you.
"Why?" she cried, proving she really didn't notice the things that happened in her own house. But she loved them, didn't she? She must–she wouldn't be so ready to chase after Crizo otherwise.
Rizen glanced at Dad. He was very pointedly staring at him while he snapped off a potential splinter from the arm of his mom's wheelchair. Rizen gulped and peeked up at his mom. "He just didn't want to be here anymore."
Mom's face fell. "Was it me?" she asked him, her voice as broken as shattered glass.
Rizen couldn't tell her the truth–that it wasn't but it also was. It would hurt her too badly, he thought, and Dad tolerated some things, but hurting Mom was absolutely not one of them. "No," Rizen said. "He–He wanted to go see the world. He wanted an adventure."
"He'll get himself killed, is what he'll do," Mom hissed. "David, you need to go after him. Bring him back home."
Rizen froze again. Dad grunted. "The kid wants to get outta here, who are we to stop him?"
Mom looked appalled. "He's fifteen. If a wild creature doesn't find him, a criminal will. And if not a criminal, then a soldier. No, he needs to come home where it's safe."
Rizen bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't.
His dad wheeled her chair over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I'll go look for him, see if I can't bring him back," he said softly.
Rizen felt like a slurry of ice was poured down his back. Their dad couldn't go after Crizo. If he found him, Crizo was dead. Dad would say someone else had done it, and his mom would believe him because she didn't know the truth.
"I'll go with him," Rizen said, before he had even realized it.
His dad looked at him sharply. "You need to stay here," he said, a warning to his tone. "Your mother will need looking after."
Mom frowned. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, Rizen is only eight, and I'm his mother. I should be taking care of him." Her gaze flicked to him. "You'll only slow your father down, Rizen," she said gently.
"No! I'll keep up! If–if we find him, I can help convince him to come back!"
Mom's brow rose in surprise. “And what makes you think that?”
Rizen didn’t know how to put all his thoughts into words again. That Crizo loved him best out of everyone in their family and that Rizen would promise to be stronger so that Crizo didn’t have to fight so hard or hurt so much. Rizen would do anything to keep his brother and his mother by his side. Anything.
Rizen couldn’t tell her any of that, though, and he wouldn’t be able to say it well even if he tried. Instead, he felt tears prickling in his eyes once again, and he stubbornly scrubbed at his face. “I can–I know I can.”
Dad was somewhere behind him–he knew because Mom looked up, seemingly to share a look with him. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line, and Rizen was sure she was about to insist he stay when she finally said, “Alright, Rizen. You can go with your father. But only as far as the river. If Crizo has gotten any farther, you come back home and let your dad handle the rest, alright?”
Rizen wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave Dad alone to find Crizo. “Okay,” he said anyway.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
When he turned around, Dad loomed over him, shoving a large, sheathed knife from the wall into his belt. His expression was hard, but relatively mild for all that. Rizen gulped anyway and kept his head down as he reached for his own little paring knife. Crizo had given it to him for his last birthday. He was the only one that had even mentioned the occasion.
“Let’s go, then,” Dad said, turning and opening the door to their little house. Rizen hooked his knife to his belt and scrambled after him.
It was pleasant enough for summer in Lirende, the early morning making the humidity refreshing instead of suffocating. Still, the sun peeked above the tops of the trees in the east, its yellow rays promising a more cloying heat in the afternoon. Rizen didn't know what was going to happen, but he hoped he would be back before it got too hot. He hated how it felt to be sweaty all over.
Their little cottage was at the edge of the town. They passed by the chicken coops, the hens clucking in a soft choir. Rizen had fed them before breakfast, just as he had milked and watered Missy, their goat, and checked on their small plot of crops. Farming had always been more of Crizo's duty since he didn't like the way the animals smelled and Rizen didn't like the way dirt smeared across his hands and stained his clothes, but, well, Crizo wasn't here anymore. Rizen had at least watched him enough times to have some idea of what he was doing. He hoped.
But it wouldn't matter soon. Cause either they would find Crizo and–
Or they wouldn't find Crizo, and to get him to come back, Rizen would–
There was only one way to fix this, wasn't there? But... Crizo had told him not to. But what else could Rizen do? Crizo told him not to let Dad take this away from him, but he'd already taken so much. Crizo spoke like anything about this was fair at all.
Dad made no effort to slow his pace for Rizen, not that he expected him to. He didn’t glance back once at Rizen, either, though Rizen couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from his dad's hulking figure. People did double-takes as they passed by, and Rizen tried hard not to meet any of their eyes. It was a rare occurrence for Rizen to come into town–that mostly just fell to Dad. And the both of them together? Rizen had only ever come into town with Crizo before, and his mom exactly once back when Crizo and Dad got really sick one summer and needed medicine.
The eyes of the people in town were sad, if Rizen had to put a word to it. Did they know what had happened? Or did they know what Rizen planned to do?
Rizen’s knife hung heavy at his belt, like a lead fishing weight. He tried not to think about it, hurrying to keep up with Dad.
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(665 A.C.)
Rizen woke early the next morning, as he usually did. He roused slowly, blinking his eyes open and stretching his limbs until they shook. He sighed, relaxing again, and stared across the room at the bed against the far wall that had been empty for so long. Sighing, Rizen eventually tore his gaze away and went for the journal on his nightstand. He sat up and opened it, grabbing the piece of charcoal that had been next to it and scanning the page.
There were the poems from yesterday and the day before, as well as what he could remember from his dream the night before last. There wasn’t room on the page for another entry, so he flipped to the next and, tapping his piece of charcoal against the edge of the page, thought for a moment. He didn’t really remember much from his dream last night, but it all just seemed like garbled memories anyway.
Sighing again, he put his charcoal against the page and started writing. What is the merit of a hand stained with blood? Does it spread red to all that is touched? He paused and stared at the two lines. He became suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to tear the page out and rip it to shreds, but Rizen merely closed his journal and set it and the charcoal back on his nightstand. He swung his legs off his bed and went to get dressed for the day.
When he left his room, he found Mom sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and bread. There was another plate prepared and resting at the other end of the table, where Rizen’s father had once sat. Now, it was where Rizen sat every morning and every night.
When Mom heard his footsteps approaching, she craned her neck around to offer him a smile. Nodding to the front door, she said, “I think Ruffles wants in.”
Rizen grunted and went to open the door before he sat down and enjoyed his breakfast. He heard a light scratch against the wood of the door on his way over, and when he pulled the door open, he found Ruffles lying on his side on the dirt path leading to the door, one white paw lazily outstretched, prepared to scratch at the door again. The massive cwn annwn scrambled to his four paws when he saw Rizen, tongue lolling out of his mouth and red tail wagging. He resembled a dog, mostly, or maybe more accurately a wolf due to his size. Most of his body was white as snow, except for his tail and ears, as red as a rose. His eyes, too, were completely black except for their scarlet iris.
Rizen stepped aside for him, and Ruffles bounded into the house, immediately moving to sniff at Rizen’s plate.
“No,” Rizen snapped, pushing his muzzle away from his food and sitting down. Ruffles huffed and sat down next to him, tall enough that he could rest his head on the table and look up at Rizen with wide eyes. “And no. Begging won’t get you anything either.”
Ruffles huffed again and pulled his head back up, watching as Rizen began to eat. Rizen ignored him.
“How are you today, Rizen?” Mom asked. Her voice was sweet as syrup, but all it did was grate against Rizen’s already soured mood.
And why was he in a bad mood, anyway? Because he dreamed of the past last night? Because that stupid crocus sat between him and Mom, mocking him with the money he’d spent on it and the way Mom hadn’t so much as glanced at it? Because every time he tried to write anything, it was miserable and underwhelming and yet laced with everything he had to give?
Maybe he was just a miserable and underwhelming person.
“Peachy,” he said instead of any of that–not because he didn’t have the words, but because even after all this time, he would never do something to hurt his mother.
Mom smiled at him even as her brow furrowed. “What did you do yesterday?”
Rizen shrugged. “Chores.”
“I see,” she said lightly. Her gaze fell down to her plate as she picked at her eggs with her fork. “And, um, what do you plan on doing today?”
“Chores.” Just as he had done everyday. He was the only one left to do them, after all. But maybe he could get some more writing in before the light died, even if the nearing winter shortened the days. He supposed he could always get out the candles or light the fireplace, but Mom already went through too many candles during the winter with her late hours working and Rizen didn’t want to chop more firewood than necessary.
“Oh.” Mom took a bite of her bread, chewing and swallowing before she continued, “I was actually thinking of taking Ruffles to the creek today and trying to get some readings.”
Rizen glanced at Ruffles. He had one ear up and one ear flopped down, gazing up at Rizen and panting slightly. Rizen shrugged again. “Do what you want with him. He’s not mine.”
Mom’s pleasant smile turned quizzical. “He followed you home and hasn’t left since.”
“And?”
Mom grimaced. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Finally, she said, “Nevermind. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
“Alright,” Rizen said and focused back on his meal.
Mom rolled her wheelchair over to the door and whistled. “Come on, Ruffles,” she called. Ruffles let out a low whine, and Rizen finally caved, picking up a small bit of egg and flicking it his way. Ruffles caught it from the air, teeth smacking together loudly. When he was done chewing, he leaned forward and gave Rizen’s hand a tentative lick before bounding away.
Mom managed to open the door, and Rizen listened to the clack of Ruffles’ claws on the wooden floor as he went back outside. Rizen waited to hear the clatter of Mom’s wheelchair against the planks as well, but it didn’t immediately sound. Instead, she spoke again. “I won’t be long.”
“I got it,” Rizen said without turning around, about as short as he ever risked being with her.
That got her to start rolling away without another word. A moment later and the door closed behind her with a rusty squeal, leaving Rizen alone in the kitchen with what was left of his breakfast. He carefully pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table so he could bury his face in his hands. He gave himself exactly ten seconds before he reached forward to finish his meal.
When he was done, he took his plate and fork as well as Mom’s and put them in the bucket for washing later. With that done, he went outside to see to the chickens first. They kept their ground meal in small sacks in a barrel along the side of the house. Rizen fetched one and went to the chicken coop, murmuring softly to the chickens and listening to them chirp in return as he spread the seed out for them. Once that was done, he went to Missy’s pen, petting the old goat for a moment before giving her breakfast for the day. She needed more water, too–Rizen would have to get enough for her as well as himself and Mom, when he fetched some from the well in town later.
Once he was done tending to Missy, he went to check on the crops. It was cold enough that the soil was still damp from the day before, so at least Rizen didn’t need to account for them when getting water, too–probably would have made him take several trips into town if he had. He checked the small field for any weeds, but as he’d done the same thing yesterday, there weren’t any to pluck away today. It was too cold for most bugs, too, so Rizen mostly just walked up and down the length of the field, inspecting it with a critical eye, and when he was satisfied, he went back inside to fetch the buckets for water.
A roundtrip to the well and back took just under an hour, and with the act of actually filling the buckets he would take back to his house, that became an entire hour. By the time Rizen got back, Mom would probably be home, too–not that Rizen expected to see anymore of her today. She’d probably just spend the rest of the day cooped up in her workshop doing... whatever she did all day in there. It had been years since Rizen had sat in on her work, and back when he had, he had mostly been interested in just not being somewhere else in the house.
Rizen started the trek to the well, a wooden rod slung across his shoulders and two empty buckets hanging on either end. He tried not to let his thoughts wander as he walked. Amera knew he didn’t need to be in an even worse mood when Mom came back.
It wasn’t a rare occurrence for Rizen to go to town anymore–hadn’t been since everything happened–and people no longer gave him a second-glance when they saw him. And yet, he still wasn’t just another face in the crowd. When people saw them, their expressions shuttered and they quickly looked away.
How does one escape their past? How long do sins truly last? Rizen thought, watching his feet as he walked. Where is the escape? How does one leave a place with no name?
All he had to do was not get bogged down in his thoughts, and Rizen had already failed. At least it wasn’t much farther to the well, and then he could go home and clean and maybe do some writing and then cook dinner and go to bed. Just like he basically did everyday.
There was no one else getting water from the well, though that wasn’t to say that there was no one around. The well was situated in the center square of town, where the stalls of local vendors stood and the people selling their goods shouted and waved, trying to flag customers down. Rizen sidestepped them and the other bustiling townspoeple with a practiced ease, even with the buckets swinging near his shoulders, and set the bar down on top of the stone base of the well. He paused to roll his shoulders then set about drawing up water from the well. He gripped the rope and heaved, hand over hand, until the bucket of the well was within reach. He filled his buckets and dropped the well’s back down, repeating the process until he had two buckets full of water. Then, he hooked them back to the bar, laid the bar across his shoulders, and started the trek back home.
No one bothered him. Not a single call of his name or second glance in his direction. It wasn’t different from any other day, so Rizen wasn’t sure why it stood out to him today.
He passed McLaney’s homestead, the last other property before his house. He kicked up dust with every step of his boots against the ground. Around him, the chill of the near winter left the surrounding fields barren of everything but grass. Farther east, past the pastures of his town, were the nearby woods. Not too far into there was the creek Mom was visiting. He watched for any movement along the edge of the trees, but all he could make out was the occasional bird flitting between the leaves.
When Rizen reached his home, he set the buckets down by the door and leaned the bar against the barrel with the grains. He took one of the bucket’s to Missy’s enclosure, filling her water trough, and left the bucket next to the bar to air out. He picked up the other and opened the front door to head inside.
Rizen stopped in the doorway. Sitting at the table, in the seat he sat in when he was younger, was a girl. Long blonde hair, skinny, and when she turned to look at him, he couldn’t help but note the hollowness of her cheeks. Her clothes, too, were threadbare and dirty, covered in dust and other muck, and her boots looked one step from falling apart completely. Despite all that, however, her golden eyes were warm and bright, like the sun itself.
Rizen scowled. “Who the fuck are you?”
The girl kicked her legs back and forth, the toes of her boots scuffing lightly on the wooden floor. “Wanily. Who are you?”
“No, no,” Rizen said, drawing himself up to his full height–which was, admittedly, not very tall. “You broke into my house. I’ll be asking the questions around here.”
“No,” Wanily said. “This is Peyra’s house.”
How did this random child know Mom? Rizen had certainly never seen her around town before. “You know my mother’s name but not that she has a son?” Rizen drawled, crossing his arms.
Wanily crossed them right back. “She didn’t mention you when I met her.”
Which stung but wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Rizen wasn’t about to let Wanily know that, though. “And how did you meet her? Where is she?”
Wanily shrugged. “Dunno where she went, just said she was going to do some work. And anyway, I met her by the river with this big, mag–ah, wolf thing. A cwn annwn?”
Rizen grunted. He finally stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him. “And where is he?”
Wanily shrugged again. “Went off into the woods. Peyra didn’t seem worried about it.”
“Why did she bring you back here anyway?” Rizen asked, unable to make his voice anything but scalding. She barely even gave Rizen the time of day, and now Mom was bringing home random children?
Wanily remained unfazed by his tone. She blinked up at him with those big, golden eyes. “I think she felt bad for me,” she said. “I told her that I was out there on my own and kinda hungry and she told me I was welcome to stay at her house until the winter passed.”
“What?” Rizen hissed. “No. You can’t stay here through the winter–we barely have enough–”
“Rizen?” A voice–Mom’s voice– called from down the hall leading to her workshop and the bedrooms. “Are you back?”
Rizen took a deep, deep breath. “Yes,” he called back, never taking his eyes off Wanily. “I think you have some explaining to do, Mother.”
----------------------------------------
(658 A.C.)
Dad stopped and talked with one of the guards at the other end of town, the ones keeping watch at the path that led to the main road. They told him no one had seen Crizo leave. Rizen wasn’t sure if that was the truth–and if it wasn’t, he was glad for it. He didn’t know how much the people in town actually knew about what happened in his house–hopefully not much–but maybe they were trying to help protect Crizo, too.
Dad turned on his heel and started marching back through town. Rizen scrambled to follow, waving goodbye to the guards. They waved back, but they looked sad.
Dad didn’t say anything to Rizen as he walked. It took Rizen over a minute to work up the courage to ask, “Are we going back home?”
“No,” Dad snapped over his shoulder.
Rizen shrank back, faltering mid-stride, not that Dad slowed down for him at all. Rizen rushed to catch back up with him, breathing hard. “Then where are we going? The guards said they didn’t see him.”
“There’s another town on the other side of the woods,” Dad said, without turning this time, so that Rizen could barely hear him above the bustling town around them. “If that little fucker didn’t go down the main road, he must have tried his luck going through the woods.” Dad grunted. “Who knows, maybe some monster or wild beast did find him and eat him.”
Rizen’s eyes burned, but he knew better than to show any evidence of tears around Dad. He ducked his head and hurried to keep pace with him without another word.
They closed most of the distance back to their house, stopping when they reached McLaney’s homestead. Dad walked up to the door of the ranch and banged on it until McLaney himself opened the door.
“Figured you’d come by eventually,” McLaney drawled. The man was short, with pale green hair and round spectacles that made his eyes look twice as big. He had moved here from Telldor, the country to the south, and his light skin and accent was evidence enough of that. “‘Ere about your son, aintcha?” He glanced past Dad, toward Rizen. “Well, your other one.”
“Did you see him?” Dad asked. Rizen couldn’t help but notice the way his hands flexed, like they wanted to form into fists, when he talked about Crizo.
“Sure did.” McLaney crossed his arms. “‘Course, don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“He’s my son,” Dad hissed, drawing himself up. Rizen took a step away from him, gaze flicking between Dad and McLaney. What should he do if Dad started swinging? Rizen couldn’t–McLaney had always been kind to him. “Why wouldn’t it be my business?”
McLaney shrugged. “You're my neighbor, Malvin. Ask me for some grain for your clucks and I might be inclined to give you some. But I know what happens in your house, with your boys, and I can’t say I want to much help you find someone who don’t want to be found.”
Dad did clench his hands into two meaty fists then. “You–” he started, bellowing so loudly the birds in the tree behind McLaney’s ranch took off with short squawks.
“Good day, Malvin,” McLaney interrupted calmly before slamming the door in Dad’s face.
Rizen took another step back. Dad took in several great, deep breaths before glaring at Rizen over his shoulder. Rizen cringed away, dropping his gaze to his feet.
“We’re going to the woods,” Dad hissed. “McLaney can keep his fucking mouth shut, but it doesn’t take a genius to know if Crizo came by here then he must have gone there.”
If it took a genius, Rizen was sure Dad wouldn’t have ever figured it out. He wisely chose not to say that.
“And I better not hear another word from you,” Dad added, glowering at Rizen. Rizen opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it, offering a nod instead.
Dad grunted and started back toward their house, but it wasn’t long before he was veering off the road, toward the woods. Rizen followed him silently, trying his best to keep even his steps quiet. He didn’t want to give Dad any excuses–not that he ever needed them before.
Rizen had been in the woods plenty with Crizo before. They used to play all the time between the trees, pretending they were bandits or guards or great mages like the ones from the stories of the bards that came through town. The woods had always been a safe place, away from everything that happened in their house. Sure, deeper in there could be different monsters or wild animals, but Rizen had never so much as seen one in all the times he had been inside.
But monsters weren’t just magical creatures, Rizen thought, watching his dad’s back as he followed him into the one place he had always associated with peace.
The litter of the forest crunched underfoot as they picked their way forward. For once, the closeness of the trees felt suffocating instead of comforting. Rizen scanned the space between trunks over and over, looking for any hint of Crizo. He couldn’t let Dad find him first.
They continued like that for several long minutes, Dad prowling through the underbrush like a beast on the hunt and Rizen struggling to keep his steps half as quiet while keeping up with him. It was around the same time that Rizen caught the sound of the bubbling of the creek that Dad stopped and knelt. Rizen cautiously picked his way forward until he stood just behind him. He lifted himself up to his tiptoes and looked over Dad’s shoulder at whatever he had found.
The creek cut a shallow trough through the forest floor, merrily flowing down toward the larger river two miles away. Dad knelt at the edge of the creek, a hungry smile on his face, as he gazed down at the clear impression of a footprint pressed into the mud. It was the perfect size and shape for one of Crizo’s boots. The way the toes were pointed made it clear Crizo had crossed the creek and continued on through the forest toward the other town.
Rizen swallowed hard. Dad muttered a smug, “Got you.”
Dad stood, and Rizen nearly tripped trying to scurry back. Dad glanced at him, a sneer twisting his face. “You should get home, boy.”
Rizen clutched at the hem of his shirt. “Mom said I could go as far as the river.”
Dad furrowed his brow. “Are you stupid?” He motioned to the creek behind him. “We’re there.”
“That’s not a river,” Rizen said slowly, trying to pick his words as carefully as possible. Dad was calm enough right now, but Rizen knew anything could set him off. “The river is back that way.” Rizen pointed vaguely in the direction of the main entrance of town.
“I know where the fucking river is,” Dad snapped. Rizen shrunk back. “But Crizo didn’t go that way, did he? He went this way.” He gestured emphatically behind him.
Rizen glanced in that direction, toward the stillness of the woods that led, eventually, to a town. “What are you going to do when you find him?” Rizen blurted out, gripping the hem of his shirt hard.
Dad gave him a look. He didn’t ask if Rizen was stupid again–not with his mouth, anyway. “I’ll take care of him,” Dad said. “Go home.”
But that place wasn’t home, Rizen thought desperately. Not without Crizo.
Dad turned away, hands clenched into fists. Rizen’s hand crept to his belt. His breathing picked up. He stared at Dad’s back, curling his fingers around the hilt of his knife.
Crizo had gone to the other town. Dad knew that. Rizen knew that. If Dad found him, Crizo was dead. Rizen knew that, too.
There was only one option left. Rizen just... had to be strong enough to do it.
Dad started to turn, probably to ask Rizen what he was still doing there. There wasn’t a second to waste. It was either do or–or Crizo would die. Rizen yanked his knife out and charged forward, knife overhead. He would only get one chance. Dad was taller than him–if Rizen wanted to aim for his heart, he had to hold his knife high.
Dad turned. Rizen struck.
Dad was faster.
He lashed out, catching Rizen in the chest with his forearm. Rizen’s blow barely glanced off Dad’s chest, slicing a shallow, red line from his collarbone down just an inch. Rizen stumbled back with a wheeze. His foot caught on something–a root probably–and Rizen found himself sprawled on the ground, staring up at the blue sky trying to sneak past the canopy of the forest. His hands scrabbled in the dirt, searching for his knife, but it didn’t matter. Dad was on him before his fingers found it, a sneer on his face as his hand snapped out. He gripped Rizen around the neck and lifted as easily as picking up a pebble.
“You trying to kill me? Huh?” Dad shouted, face red and eyes crazed. “Trying to be a hero for your pathetic brother?”
Rizen clawed at Dad’s hand, fighting to breathe around his crushing grip. “Cri..zo...” he choked out, tears springing to the corner of his eyes. Crizo had always protected him from Dad. He–He would come out of the woods any second now. He would stop Dad. Then Rizen would kill Dad, and they’d go home and tell Mom that–it didn’t matter what they told Mom. She would believe whatever they said, and then they would live happily ever after.
Crizo would come. He always protected Rizen.
The world was growing dark around the edges. Rizen’s chest burned, and though he kicked and clawed and struggled, he could feel himself growing weaker. The only clear thing he could make out was Dad’s face, a sadistic glee splitting it in a smile. His sight blurred, and Rizen thought for a terrifying second that he was dying before he realized it was because his tears were making everything murky.
Crizo wasn’t coming. For once, Rizen had to protect himself.
Rizen gritted his teeth. He swung his legs up, wrapping them around Dad’s arm and getting just enough leverage to chomp down on his hand. Blood filled his mouth, and Dad howled in pain. He dropped Rizen like he was hot metal, hand snapping back. Rizen hit the ground hard, but the pain buzzed in the back of his mind, tiny compared to the relief he felt as he took great, heaving breaths. Dad started for him again, and Rizen’s gaze snagged on his knife, just a few inches away.
Dad grabbed him by the shoulder, his other hand pulled back in a fist. Rizen’s hand found his knife. Dad brought his fist down. Rizen brought the knife up.
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(665 A.C.)
Mom found a girl in the woods. Said girl traveled with a pack bigger than her entire body, and still managed somehow to go hungry. It would be winter soon, and then food would be even scarcer, and Rizen, she couldn’t just leave her there.
Rizen listened to all of this with barely a twitch of his eyebrow. He should get a fucking award for his patience at this point.
“We don’t have that much food,” Rizen said for probably the seventeenth time since he and Mom had started talking. He’d sent Wanily to sit outside while he discussed things with his mother. He sat at one end of the table in the kitchen, and Mom sat at the other. “Mom, I can’t take care of her and you.”
“You don’t have to take care of me,” Mom said.
Rizen ran a hand through his hair. That was always a sore spot for her, and Rizen tried to avoid it most of the time. That didn’t make it any less true at this moment. “You can’t do some of the chores around the house,” Rizen said, keeping a chokehold on his emotions. If he didn’t, he was sure he’d start shouting. “It’s just the truth. It’s fine. But I didn’t plant enough crops for another person, and we only have so many chickens. Missy doesn’t even produce much milk anymore.”
“Rizen,” Mom started, looking at her hands clasped on top of the table then back up at him. “She wants to learn magic.”
A weight, like a lump of cold metal, curdled in the bottom of Rizen’s stomach. “So does basically every other child. What makes her special?”
“Rizen.” Mom gave him an imploring look.
She didn’t say it. She never brought either of them up anymore, not since Rizen shut down each of those conversations as quickly as possible.
Crizo had wanted to learn magic.
Rizen pushed himself away from the table, crossing his arms and looking away sharply. “Do whatever you want,” he hissed. “Just keep her far away from me.”
Mom frowned. “Don’t be like that, Rizen.”
Rizen laughed, completely devoid of mirth. “And what should I be like?”
“I was hoping she could stay in your room,” Mom said slowly, instead of acknowledging that.
In the empty bed. Crizo’s bed.
Rizen bit down the immediate refusal that tried to snap its way past his lips. It wasn’t like Crizo was using it. “Whatever,” Rizen reiterated. “But she has to help around the house.”
“Of course.”
Rizen huffed, uncrossing his arms and standing. “Alright,” he snapped. Then, quieter, “Alright.”
“Thank you, Rizen,” Mom said. She wheeled herself away from the table, clattering over the planks of the floor, and over to the front door. She knocked against it, calling, “Wanily? You can come back in.”
The door was open in an instant, and Rizen was sure Wanily spent the whole time with her ear up against it, listening. It’s what he would have done. She practically skipped inside, a large smile on her face.
“I can stay?” she asked Mom. Mom nodded, and her grin stretched even further. “Thank you so much, Peyra. I’ll pull my weight, I promise. I won’t eat much and I won’t make much fuss–I just really need a place inside to stay.” She glanced at Rizen, her smile diminishing. “Something wrong?”
Rizen did his best to wipe away the scowl that had crept onto his face. He wasn’t sure how successful he was. “Are you stupid?” he asked. Wasn’t it obvious?
“Rizen!” Mom scolded. She touched a hand to Wanily’s. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s–”
“Eh, probably,” Wanily answered him, shrugging. It only made Rizen’s temper flare, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. She continued, apparently oblivious, “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“You want to know what’s wrong? You’re here,” Rizen snapped. Mom gasped, but Rizen didn’t particularly care if he was being disrespectful–and to a girl at that. He turned on his heel and marched back to his room, slamming the door behind him.
It didn’t matter if he was acting like a child. How dare she? Mom barely even gave a fuck about what Rizen did day in and day out, and he was the one making sure she had enough to eat and drink and a pot to piss in. And now she wanted to bring some random girl into their home? All because she reminded her of the child she’d lost? That she lost because of her inaction, even if she didn’t know that.
Rizen’s gaze blurred with tears, and he stubbornly scrubbed them away. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Mom could care more about random children than her own flesh and blood and it would never matter because Rizen would always be here, taking care of her. He’d already lost his brother. He’d killed his father. He couldn’t walk away from his mother, too.
He sat down heavily on his bed, reaching for his journal and flipping it open.
The last thing he’d written stared back up at him, taunting him. What is the merit of a hand stained with blood? Does it spread red to all that is touched?
Rizen picked up his charcoal and, after a moment’s hesitation, pressed it against the page.
What is the purpose living a life that is not your own? How does a heart beat when all that’s left is stone?