(658 A.C.)
After–
After Rizen had–
He paused in the middle of scrubbing the blood from his hands and face and clothes and stared at Dad’s body. Rizen’s knife had found the side of Dad’s neck. When he yanked it back out, blood had sprayed all over him, thick and cloying, and Dad had dropped him, clutching at the wound with both hands. He had taken a single step back, slipping in the mud by the creek, and dropped bonelessly like a puppet with its strings cut, blood staining the brown mud black and creeping steadily toward the flowing water of the creek. Rizen had laid on the ground, propped up on his elbows, with his knife still clutched in his hand for several heaving breaths. He had waited for Dad to get back up, for him to attack him again. It hadn’t made any sense, and when the twitches of Dad’s body subsided and the blood all over Rizen began to dry and itch, he had finally moved. He had dropped his knife like it had burned him before realizing that he couldn’t leave it there. When the police came to investigate, if they found his knife at the crime scene, it would be a dead giveaway.
So, he had picked up his knife, stepped past Dad’s body, and hunkered down in the creek to wash all the blood on him away.
He had started with the knife, sticking it into the current and wiping away any trace of violence. Then, he had tucked the knife put into its sheath and set about scrubbing the rest of him. Now, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from Dad. He laid there, unmoving. His head was tilted to the side slightly, and though his dull eyes stared at some point past Rizen, unseeing, it felt like at any moment they would focus on him and he would get up.
But Rizen knew that he wouldn’t. His dad was dead, and Rizen had killed him.
His sight blurred with tears. They came hot and sudden, with his throat tightening so much Rizen almost thought he was being choked again. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard, but the image was burned into the forefront of his soul. His dad, laying there, blood soaking into the ground beneath him. His dad. Dad.
Rizen couldn’t remember a single good thing Dad had ever done for him. So why was he crying now that he was dead? This is what Rizen wanted, wasn’t it? This was what had to happen. Crizo could come home now, and he and Mom and Rizen could all live happily together. It had been easy enough, too. All it took was one hit to the neck. Dad hadn’t suffered like Crizo had for so many years.
Rizen started crying harder, and he hated himself for it. It came as hot and burning as his tears, a deep sense of loathing rising in his chest. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d done something good. The world was better off without Dad. He was better off without Dad.
But that was still his dad.
Rizen tore his hands from his face and began frantically trying to get all the blood off again. He couldn’t stand it. This was Dad’s blood all over him, staining him. He scrubbed at his hands over and over, running his nails under each other, trying to banish every last speck of red. No matter how much he tried, though, he still felt dirty. It all felt wrong.
Rizen rubbed at his hands until they were hot and swollen under the cool water. He clutched them to his chest, still crying. “Crizo!” he wailed. “You can come home now! Please come home, Crizo!”
There was no answer. The woods were still and silent. But of course there was no answer. Crizo was in the other town, past the edge of the woods, or maybe even farther than that by now. Rizen would have to find a way to track him down–or maybe Crizo would hear about it. A gruesome murder of a father in the little town of Greenspun? News like that was sure to spread, at least a little. And Crizo would know, because it was exactly what Rizen had suggested and Crizo had told him not to do.
Crizo had to come home. He had to. Otherwise, what would all this be for?
How else would Rizen live with all the blood he couldn’t seem to wash away?
Rustling nearby broke him from his thoughts. Rizen shot to his feet, even weighed down as he was by the water and blood soaked into his clothes, a fragile hope blooming in his chest. Could it be? “Crizo?” Rizen called, turning toward the source of the noise.
Rizen froze. There was a reason the woods had been so quiet, and Rizen was stupid not to realize it. Barely five feet away from him, standing in a tuft of underbrush, was a giant cwn annwn. It stared at Rizen with its unsettling red eyes, panting slightly.
Rizen swallowed hard, his hand shooting to his knife. He had known that there were cwn annwn in the woods, but he always thought they were farther in–he had never actually seen one except as the tamed companion of one of the hunters in town.
Cwn annwn could be vicious, Rizen knew. They could tear muscle and flesh apart with their massive teeth as easily as wet paper, their claws could slice through bone like they were parting sand. They were vicious toward the evil, and benevolent toward those they deemed to be good.
And Rizen’s hands were stained with blood.
It suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe all over again. He took two uncertain steps back, chest heaving, the hand gripping the hilt of his knife trembling despite the way he grasped it tightly. The cwn annwn prowled forward, advancing one step for each one Rizen retreated.
It stopped next to Dad’s body and sniffed at it and the blood around him. It brought its huge head up again and stared at Rizen. Its tail slowly began to wag.
...Was that a good sign or a sign that Rizen was about to die a very gruesome death?
The cwn annwn turned then, bounding to a nearby bush and fastening its teeth around one of the branches. It ripped it from the plant with a spray of leaves, and turned back to Rizen.
Rizen knew of this, too. Cwn annwn were monsters–they could cast spells, and they used branches as wands. Rizen squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for some type of blast of magic to hit and end him, but instead, his sopping wet clothes suddenly felt warm and dry, like he’d been laying in the sun. He peeked one eye open, glancing down at himself, and found nothing staining his clothes. No water, no blood.
Rizen was perfectly clean. He glanced up at the cwn annwn. The monster sat down, its tail thumping against the forest floor.
That didn’t make any sense, though. Rizen had just killed someone. His own dad at that. He was evil. Wicked. The blood would never come off his hands. So why wasn’t the cwn annwn attacking him?
Rizen glanced over his shoulder, in the direction the other town laid. If he went there now, without Dad, it would be too suspicious. He–He needed to go home, first, didn’t he? Tell Mom that Dad was dead and that...
What should he tell her? That a lone soldier had been camping out in the woods? That didn’t make a lot of sense though. Maybe a deserter that had turned to the life of a bandit? And he had attacked them, and Dad had died protecting Rizen?
Protecting him. Rizen snorted to himself. Right.
He glanced at the cwn annwn again. It continued to just sit there, the branch from the bush in its mouth and the tip of its tail still wriggling.
“Um, thank you,” Rizen said. “I need to get going now.”
He started back home. The cwn annwn got up and followed him.
Rizen stopped again. “You can’t follow me,” he told it. “I don’t know how I would explain you.”
A cwn annwn didn’t fit into the narrative Rizen was going to try to sell. He couldn’t even think of something that could include a cwn annwn and still make sense. “You need to go home,” Rizen tried again when it became clear the cwn annwn wasn’t leaving.
It let out a low whine, ears pricked up and tail falling still.
Rizen took another step forward. The cwn annwn did not follow this time. Rizen breathed out a sigh of relief and started to run, trying to make it look like he was fleeing for his life. It wasn’t very long before he burst from the edge of the forest and raced back up toward his house. “Mom!” he cried. It was just for added measure–he knew she wouldn’t even realize he was calling for her until he was banging on the door to her workshop. “Mom! It’s Dad! He’s dead!”
Rizen glanced back at the woods. The cwn annwn stood at the edge of the underbrush, watching him with those scarlet eyes, before it turned and bounded away.
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(665 A.C.)
Rizen woke to the sound of his door opening. He must have fallen asleep, and now the world outside was quickly darkening, leaving only dim light to filter through the window of his room. He propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand. “Mom? What do you–”
But it wasn’t Mom. Of course not. It was that girl, Wanily, peeking her head into the room and looking around. Rizen scowled as she let herself in fully, that massive pack of hers on her back and a smile on her face.
“Sorry to wake you,” Wanily said. She sounded sincere enough, but it only sent a sharp pang through Rizen’s rapidly growing headache. “It’s getting dark though, and I was going to try to sleep.”
Rizen said nothing. Wanily didn’t seem to mind, heading to the other bed–Crizo’s old bed–and letting her pack thump to the ground at the foot of it. She sat down on the edge of the bed and scanned the room. “You have a nice house,” she said, rocking back and forth, beams creaking and straw crinkling. Rizen sent her a withering glare and hoped the old straw and wood gave way and she fell right through. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve actually slept in a bed in a couple of years.”
“Oh, is that so?” Rizen drawled, letting himself fall back on the bed and staring up at the dark ceiling.
“Yeah,” Wanily said. She was silent for a moment, and then, “You’re not going to ask why?”
Rizen glanced at her. She was staring at him, head cocked. “I don’t care,” he said.
Wanily smiled. “Ouch.” She blew out a long breath. “So your name is Rizen, huh? Like the archipelago?”
“No,” Rizen snapped. “Why would my parents name me after some islands halfway across the world? I’m named after the weather phenomenon that occurs around thunderbirds.”
“I thought thunderbirds caused the storms?”
Rizen rolled his eyes. “The storm is still around them, isn’t it?”
Wanily shrugged and scanned the room again. “Did someone else use to stay here?” she asked, completely pivoting the conversation in a new direction. “Why do you have a spare bed?”
That made some of Rizen’s fire die. “I had an older brother,” he said softly.
“Oh.” Wanily hummed. “Is he dead?”
Rizen scowled. “No.” Even though Rizen didn’t know that for sure, and it was something that haunted the edges of most of his nightmares. “He left when I was eight.”
Wanily hummed again. “What about your dad? Where is he?”
Rizen got up. “I don’t see how the story of my life is any of your business,” he snapped. “Just go to sleep if you’re going to.” He grabbed his journal and charcoal and the coat he’d left strewn along the foot of his mattress.
“Where are you going?” Wanily asked.
“None of your business,” Rizen hissed again. “Just leave me alone.”
Rizen left the room, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Wanily’s face. She was just a stranger living with them for a few months–once she left, Rizen had already decided he would never think about her again.
Rizen stopped in the hallway, glancing under the door leading to Mom’s workshop. An uneasy, orange light flickered out from the crack–still working then. Rizen let out a slow sigh, the tension leaving his body along with his breath. He shook his head to himself and walked away.
It was cold outside. Dark. Rizen shivered the moment he stepped out of his house. He tightened his grasp on his journal and started down the path back toward town. Most people would be turning in for the night by now, but there would still be light at the tavern. Favorie would probably make him buy at least a glass of milk or something to keep a seat, but it still beat lighting the fireplace or using a candle and having to stay at home with Mom and her little stray.
It took long enough to reach the tavern that Rizen’s toes had gone a little numb by the time he stepped inside. Favorie’s tavern was one of the nicer buildings in town, made mostly from brick with wooden supports and floors. Favorie wasn’t tending the bar in the back–tonight, that fell to Kirelle, her wife. The tables and their chairs scattered around the room were mostly occupied. Seemed a lot of the people in town didn’t fancy being cooped up in their homes this evening. Rizen wondered if any of them were running from the same sort of things he was. He doubted it.
“Is that Peyra’s boy?” A voice shouted over the low hum of conversation and clacking of tankards. It was Deputy Griff, sitting off at a table to the left of Rizen with Sheriff Xyle, the both of them rosy cheeked and slightly slumped over the table. Griff was a tall man–as was Xyle, but Griff was still taller–with white hair tied back in a braid and ruggedly handsome features. Xyle, older, with a blocky face and dark eyes, had black hair splattered with white from his age, not his magical ability. Rizen hesitated in front of the door, wondering if he would be forced to make inane small talk with them before he could sequester himself in a corner and write for a while.
“What are you standing around for?” Sheriff Xyle called, slamming his tankard on the table with a resounding thunk. “Get your ass over here, Rizen!”
Rizen sighed. Small talk it was.
He didn’t bother to plaster on a smile. Rizen had to be polite and agreeable to the women in town–not the men. Still, both the sheriff and the deputy had done a lot for Rizen in the past, more than he or anyone in town would care to admit if someone came asking. So, Rizen approached their table and sat at one of the two empty chairs instead of just ignoring them.
“How have you been, you little shit?” Deputy Griff asked him, grinning. He even managed not to slur his words.
“Should you be drinking right now?” Rizen deadpanned.
Sheriff Xyle let out a hiccup before he answered, “You haven’t heard? There’s a tribune in town with a few men–told us that if there was any trouble tonight, they’d take care of it.” Xyle elbowed Griff in the ribs, grinning. “Not that there’s ever any trouble, eh?”
Rizen did not respond except to give a curt nod.
That made Xyle somber a little, the grin falling from his face. “I didn’t mean–seriously, Rizen, how have you been?”
“I don’t see how that’s your concern,” Rizen said shortly. “I just came for the light so I could do some writing.”
“And when are you going to share your little poems with us?” Griff demanded, eyes sparkling. “How are you going to become a bard without learning how to perform?”
Rizen scowled. “I don’t want to be a bard. I want to be a poet.”
“Same difference,” Griff said, waving his hand in front of his face as if he smelled something foul. “Most poets are bards, you know.”
“What makes you think I want to get up on a stage and sing and dance like some buffoon?” Rizen asked scaldingly. “I want to write things that mean something, not paltry little tunes about–fish growing legs or some other nonsense.”
“So share something that has meaning with us,” Xyle said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Have to have something in there about one of the ladies in town, eh? Some type of good, ol’ love ballad? Oh, how the stars would sing your praises if only they had a voice to speak with,” Xyle crooned, smirking. It was a line from a popular poem as of late, something about love and the stars and time itself. The last bard that came through town knew it by heart, and all the women in town had giggled and batted their eyelashes at their partners when they heard it.
“No,” Rizen said softly. “Nothing about any ladies in town.”
Xyle gave him a knowing look, and Rizen squirmed uncomfortably. Griff, however, just laughed, full-bellied. “How do you plan to score yourself a wife without trying to make our lovely ladies swoon? I mean, what other good is there for your pretty words?”
Rizen rolled his eyes. “If I read you something, will the both of you shut your traps and let me go?”
“You make it sound like we have you arrested,” Xyle said, smiling. “But yes. Share something with us, and we won’t bother you anymore. Tonight, at least.”
Rizen huffed, shaking his head and opening his journal. He thumbed through it, scanning the pages for something that wasn’t so... personal. Finally, he found one that was acceptable for sharing and cleared his throat.
Out among the reeds, there is a bed
Born from lofty seeds, a place to rest your head
For the weary traveler, it is the greatest gift
For a dreary soul, it is the only thing to lift your spirits
Out among the trees, there is a noble place
The remains of a wayward breeze, it is the last space
For the trampled heart, where there is nothing left to sift through
For those without a home, where there is nothing left to do
Rest your head, child of Amera
Know that she will remember you love if not your name
Release your soul, spawn of the gods
So that the surface of the world you will no longer stain
Rizen fell silent and looked up at Xyle and Griff, a frown already in place. They gathered in Rizen’s stomach, a mass of wriggling worms, at the thought of someone else knowing these pieces of his soul broken into words on a page. He found Xyle and Griff gaping at him.
Griff was the first one to break the silence. “Well that was fucking depressing,” he said, chuckling. “Couldn’t have done something that matched the mood? I was still hoping for something about a pretty woman.”
Xyle elbowed Griff again, but this time, judging from Griff’s grunt, it was meant to hurt. “Thank you, Rizen, that was very good,” Xyle said, too earnestly. He lifted his tankard in a salute before downing whatever was inside in three great gulps. He slapped it back down on the table with a belch. He nodded. “You’re free to go.” That one was a little mocking.
Rizen did not respond except to roll his eyes. He stood and left the table without bothering to utter a farewell. He turned to head over to the bar and buy something small so that Kirelle didn’t kick him out while he was writing, but he stopped. Sitting at the table behind Xyle and Griff’s was a group of five men, all of them sporting bright, colorful hair and all of them unfamiliar to Rizen. Most of them weren’t paying him any attention, but one of them, a man with closely cropped red hair and sharp features, watched Rizen closely as he stood.
Rizen tried to ignore him, moving to just go past their table, but the man called out, “You. Boy.”
Rizen immediately felt a swell of indignation rise through his chest, but he tamped it down. He didn’t know who this man was or what he wanted–he couldn’t afford to be so easily offended.
Rizen stopped. He was close enough to the man that he could reach out and grab Rizen if he wanted, but he merely tapped one ringed finger against the tabletop. He didn’t seem to even be drinking anything–none of them did. “You wrote that poem?”
Rizen scowled. “That was a private conversation.”
The man smirked. “It was good,” he said before returning his attention back to the others at the table. A dismissal if Rizen had ever seen one.
Rizen almost bit out something scalding to the man, but then it dawned on him. This was the tribune and his men, wasn’t it? That was why Rizen had never seen him before and why none of them had anything to drink. Rizen, after a moment of hesitation, just nodded and continued on his way.
Rizen was going to buy just a glass of milk, but after the day he had, he decided to ask Kirelle for a tankard of beer. She gave it to him for two strult, and soon enough, Rizen found himself sitting at a booth in the corner, alone, with just his journal and his charcoal and his drink. He opened the journal to a new page and sat back for a moment, thinking. When he glanced around the room, he saw the tribune watching him again. He smirked again and nodded to Rizen before standing. The men with him stood, too, and the group filed out of the tavern.
Rizen watched them go with a frown. But, well, it wasn’t any of his business what they were doing in town, and soon enough they would leave and things would go back to how they always were.
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(658 A.C.)
Sheriff Xyle sat in front of Rizen. To his right, Deputy Griff, and to his left, Rizen’s mom. They were in Rizen’s house, in the kitchen, sitting around the table. Mom had been given a handkerchief from Xyle and was quietly sniffling and using it to dab at her eyes every now and then. Rizen watched her, a deep, gaping pit in his stomach. She’d started screaming and crying the moment Rizen told her Dad was dead. She must have really loved him, Rizen thought. But what did that mean for how much she loved Rizen and Crizo?
“Rizen,” Sheriff Xyle said. He was leaning forward, elbows on the tabletop and hands clasped together. He looked troubled, but Rizen should have expected that. “What did the man who attacked you look like?”
“Um,” Rizen said. Think! He couldn’t let his story fall apart! “He–He was tall, with dark hair and, um, brown eyes, I think?” Rizen blanched as he realized he just described someone who basically looked like the sheriff. “And–And he had a beard.” Which was just like Deputy Griff. Rizen bit his lip. “That’s all I remember.”
“I’m so sorry, Rizen,” Mom said for probably the hundredth time. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
She started to quietly sob, and Rizen felt tiny and dirty, just like that moment he’d spent in the creek. He was stained, and now Mom was crying because of what he did. It was supposed to make his family happy. Crizo was supposed to come back, and they were all supposed to be happy now.
The sheriff and the deputy shared a look. Rizen watched them, terrified, certain at any moment they were going to accuse him of the exact thing he did. And then what would he do?
“Peyra,” Sheriff Xyle finally said, turning to her. “I think you should go to your room and try to calm down. So we can finish talking to Rizen.”
“Okay,” Mom choked out, nodding frantically. “I’ll be just in the other room,” she said to Rizen, tears streaming down her face. She put the handkerchief in her lap and wheeled herself down the hall. It wasn’t until after they heard the door shut that Sheriff Xyle turned back to Rizen.
Rizen tried not to squirm under his heavy gaze. “Rizen,” he said softly, slowly, “Your father... he used to hit you and Crizo, didn’t he?”
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Was this a trap? Rizen didn’t know what to do. Should he tell them the truth or a lie? What would Crizo do?
But then, it didn’t matter what Crizo would do. He wouldn’t be in this situation because he had told Rizen not to kill Dad. And anyway, he still wasn’t here.
Rizen was taking too long to answer. He didn’t like the way Sheriff Xyle was looking at him, like he knew something Rizen didn’t. Rizen swallowed hard. McLaney had said he knew what happened in Rizen’s house. If Rizen refuted it now, he’d be going against what McLaney said. He had to tell the truth. “Yes,” he said.
“And Crizo, you said he left two days ago?” Sheriff Xyle asked.
Rizen nodded.
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
Not, where did he go? Not, you only went looking for him today? They only wanted to know why Rizen didn’t go with him.
“My mom,” Rizen said softly. “I couldn’t... leave her.”
Sheriff Xyle shared another look with Deputy Griff. “I checked around the river,” Deputy Griff said. “There were footprints in the mud. Possibly from your assailant. Evidence of a fight. Does that sound about right?”
Rizen frowned. He didn’t understand what the deputy was asking him. “Yes?”
“Well, then,” Sheriff Xyle slapped his hands on the table and stood. “It sounds like we need to do some investigations around the woods, try to find this individual. But it sounds like it was a bandit or some other petty criminal that got in over his head–so it’s unlikely we’ll find anything.”
Rizen frowned. Carefully, he asked, “Is that... it?”
Sheriff Xyle peered down at him in a way that made Rizen squirm. “You’re a good kid, Rizen,” he said. “So yes, that will be it. I’ll go tell your mother that we’ll search the woods, but when we don’t find anything, the matter will be dropped, one way or another.” The sheriff sighed then, and though he wasn’t that old he suddenly seemed very frail. “Stay out of any more trouble, alright?”
Anymore trouble, he said. Like Sheriff Xyle knew Rizen had been in some lately. And maybe, Rizen realized, staring down at the table with wide eyes, he did. He wasn’t just talking about his father dying–he knew that Rizen had killed him.
Rizen whipped his head up, watching as Sheriff Xyle strode down the hall toward Mom and Dad’s room. Well, only Mom’s now. Deputy Griff cleared his throat. “I’ll tell the hunters and fishermen about Crizo. See if we can’t track him down and bring him home.”
Rizen found himself nodding before he even realized it. “Please,” he said.
Deputy Griff nodded back, and the next moment, Sheriff Xyle came back out from the hall. He bid Rizen farewell, and the two officers left his house, shutting the door behind them. That just left Rizen sitting at the table. He waited for a little while to see if Mom would come back out, but minutes passed without any sign of her. Eventually, Rizen got up and crept to her room.
The door was shut. Rizen pressed his ear up against the wood. Inside, he could hear Mom crying–soft keens followed by guttural inhales, over and over. Rizen drew back, considering. He could go inside and try to comfort her but... she was crying because of him, even if she didn’t know it. It felt wrong to go in there and tell her anything else.
Rizen backed away from the door and went to his room. Crizo’s empty bed mocked him from its place against the wall, all of Crizo’s belongings he hadn’t been able to bring with him strewn about and taunting him silently. Still better than listening to Mom crying though.
Rizen found himself looking through Crizo’s things. There was the dresser containing a few remaining articles of clothing, all holey, threadbare things that were too big for Rizen anyway. Then there was the chest at the foot of his bed. Barely half full with old toys and things Crizo had collected over the years. Nothing valuable–at least, nothing that would sell for much.
Rizen moved on to his nightstand. There was nothing on top, but Rizen opened the drawer and found it wasn’t empty. There were two books inside, both bound with brown leather, though one had something carved into its cover while the other was blank. Rizen picked up the one with a title first. Mom had taught them how to read back before she became distracted by her work, so Rizen knew that it said, Poetry for Aspiring Bards, Poets, and Mages.
Rizen frowned and thumbed through the book. It looked like it was from one of those new printing presses. It couldn’t have cost much, but Rizen still didn’t know where Crizo had managed to scrape together the money. Dad had certainly never given them anything from what goods he managed to sell in town.
Most of the poems didn’t make any sense–or maybe Rizen just didn’t understand them. But it was interesting, and Rizen found himself reading and rereading the lines and verses, trying to figure out the meaning behind them. It was almost night, but he sat by the window and strained his eyes until it became truly too dark to make out anything on the pages. Rizen put the book back in Crizo's nightstand, right where he found it. He thumbed through the other book, too, but it was blank. Rizen carefully placed that book back, too. He didn't want Crizo knowing he had snooped through his stuff when he came back.
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(665 A.C.)
When Rizen got back from the tavern, he checked first on the crack under the door of Mom's workshop. It was dark, so she must have gone to bed. Rizen sighed and went back down the hall to his room, opening and closing the door behind him.
Wanily shot up in bed, staring at Rizen with wide eyes. Had the sound of the door shutting woken her? Rizen couldn't say he felt too bad about it, but it was a little unsettling, the way she was looking at him.
“What?” he grumbled, moving toward his bed and sitting heavily on it.
“Nothing,” Wanily said as he shucked off his boots. “Welcome back.”
Rizen grunted, laying down and turning over so his back was to her and the rest of the room. He heard Wanily settle into her bed once more. Rizen sighed and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.
When he woke in the morning, he turned over to find Wanily was gone. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, but a glance at the foot of Crizo’s old bed confirmed her pack was still there. Just up and about then, not out of Rizen’s hair.
What a pity.
He grabbed his notebook and charcoal and reviewed what he wrote last night at the tavern. Nothing bad but nothing he was particularly proud of–just more of the same kind of things he always wrote about. He thought of Deputy Griff and wondered if he was right. Maybe Rizen should try writing something about a beautiful woman or a fish growing legs and strutting through town. Just anything more cheerful and creative than what he always wrote and what he always was.
Rizen sighed and set the book and charcoal back on his nightstand. He got up, changed his clothes, and went out to face the day.
He found Wanily and Mom sitting at the kitchen table, talking and eating... something. Eggs and some type of meat, but that didn't make any sense because Rizen and his mom had no meat to go around. Unless one of them went out and killed one of their chickens, which Rizen doubted.
Since Mom sat with her back to the hall, Wanily caught sight of Rizen first, smiling and waving. She must have seen the question in his expression because she said, “Good morning. One of the traps I laid yesterday caught a rabbit!”
Rizen grunted, taking his seat at the other end of the table from Mom. One of them had prepared a plate for him as well, complete with a roasted haunch from a rabbit, apparently, and scrambled eggs. Rizen frowned and picked out a shell from the eggs.
“Sorry,” Wanily said, not sounding sorry at all. “I've only ever really boiled eggs, but Peyra tried showing me how to scramble them. Thought I got all the shell out but I must have missed a couple pieces.”
Rizen felt a pang strike through his chest. Mom had never shown him how to cook eggs–that had been Crizo who had taught him, as with so many other things.
Rizen said nothing. Mom smiled at Wanily. “I think you did great, Wanily,” she said.
“Thanks,” Wanily said. “So what were you saying, Peyra?”
They started talking again, Mom excitedly launching into an explanation on part of her research, and Wanily either nodding along or interjecting questions.
Rizen listened only for a little while–it was mostly things he'd heard before. Humidity this, clouds that, winds this, sunlight that. It had never interested Rizen as much as it clearly interested Wanily, and Mom seemed just as excited to have a captive audience as she did at the chance to just talk about her research.
He sighed, picked up the fork next to his plate, and started eating without a word. If Mom wanted to favor this random child over him, well, who was he to stop her? It wasn't like Wanily was staying forever. All Mom had left was Rizen. Eventually, Wanily would leave and both Rizen and his mom would be alone together again.
Alone even amongst a crowd, too proud to ask for help, Rizen thought, chewing his eggs thoroughly in case there were more bits of shell. But what has it ever mattered what I felt? When at the end of day, I'll be by myself.
Right. Fucking depressing, as Deputy Griff put it. Maybe he should forgo writing that one down.
“Rizen?” Mom asked. Rizen looked up. The way she said it and looked at him told him it was not the first time she called him.
“Yes?” he said.
“I asked if you could go to the creek with Ruffles and get some readings. Since I didn't get them yesterday.” Mom looked at him with a crease between her brow. It made something along Rizen’s spine crawl.
“Sure,” he said. He didn't know why she couldn't just do it herself, but he would agree to get her to stop looking at him like that. She almost seemed concerned–which couldn't be right. The only thing Mom had ever really cared about was her research. And even if she was worried about Rizen, he didn't need nor want it. He had done just fine for the both of them since everything happened.
“And can you take Wanily with you?” Mom asked in a rush, like saying it faster would make him more agreeable to the idea.
Rizen smoothed out his expression when all he really wanted to do was scowl. Mom was right to ask him, though–if the request had come from Wanily herself, he would have immediately declined. But, he would still never hurt his mother if he could help it.
“Alright,” he said softly. He shot a look at Wanily. “But she stays out of my way.”
“She just wants to see what all the fuss is about,” Wanily said, splaying her hands on the table. “All this stuff about the weather is interesting! I didn't even know people researched stuff like this.”
Rizen bit back the automatic reply that people didn't tend to research stuff like this, since magic could predict the weather far more consistently than Mom had managed so far. But Mom claimed that this was the way people used to do it before the Cataclysm, and that the process had been mostly lost and so she wanted to restore it. Rizen didn't see the point as much as she did, but he would never breathe a word of that to her. He'd leave those thoughts for the inside of his journal.
“I'm sure Rizen would prefer I didn't,” Mom said, smiling slightly.
Rizen frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Mom gave him an indecipherable look, that smile never leaving her face. “Nothing. Thank you, Rizen.”
Rizen had to fight not to squirm in his seat. It felt wrong, somehow, for Mom to be thanking him. She rarely ever did. “Sure,” he said for lack of anything else. “When I'm done eating, I have some chores to tend to. Then we can go.”
“I can help,” Wanily offered. “With the chores and stuff.”
Rizen wanted to decline on principle, but he had told Mom that Wanily had to help around the house and this was a chance for that. Rizen sighed. “Alright,” he said.
While Mom and Wanily started another round of conversation, Rizen finished his meal without another word. He got up and collected the dishes from everyone, depositing them in the usual spot for cleaning later. That done, he went back to his room for his coat. When he returned to the kitchen, he motioned for Wanily to follow him.
“We'll talk more later,” Wanily said to Mom, standing and pushing her chair in.
Rizen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He opened the door for Wanily, trying to exude as much impatience as possible, not that she seemed at all bothered by his attitude. She stepped outside and waited for Rizen to follow, rocking back and forth on her feet with an air of excitement. Rizen didn’t understand what she could possibly be excited about, but as long as she kept her thoughts to herself, they wouldn’t have much of a problem.
“So what do we need to do first?” Wanily asked.
It was an innocent enough question. Rizen still sighed. “We’ll feed and water the chickens and the goat and clean out their pens,” he said, already rounding the house toward the chicken coop. “Then we’ll check on the crops and fetch the water for the day. We’ll do any washing–dishes, clothes, whatever–and then we’ll go to the creek if you really want.”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” Wanily replied, making Rizen’s skin crawl.
“I’m not doing it for you,” Rizen muttered. Then, louder, “Just do as I say, alright?”
“Alright,” Wanily agreed, too cheerfully.
Rizen grabbed a bag of ground meal and brought Wanily to the chicken coop where it became abundantly clear Wanily had never attempted menial labor in her life. She wasn’t very strong either, but Rizen handed her the bag of feed for the chickens with instructions on how to feed them and left to clean out the chicken coop itself. When he eventually returned, Wanily and all the chickens were still alive. Good enough for him.
He brought her to Missy’s pen once they were done with the chickens and showed her the usual chores he did for her everyday as well as explaining the ones he only did every so often, like milking her and cleaning her pen. Wanily listened with rapt attention. It was gratifying but also extremely unsettling.
He showed her the crops after that, explaining what he did to take care of them and what to check for with each species. He’d already laid mulch down for the winter, but he told her what it was and why it was necessary for keeping the plants from freezing. She absorbed all of this, too, with wide, earnest eyes.
He left her at the house while he went and fetched the water. He told her that it was because she wasn’t very strong and it would be faster if he just went by himself, but mostly he just didn’t want to be seen in town with her. Rizen didn’t want to explain Wanily’s presence to anyone else yet. All he would likely get in return was gushing about how noble and kind Mom was to take in a wayward girl when she and Rizen already had so little to go around. Not something he was very keen to listen to.
He got the water without much fanfare. People didn’t look twice at him, and he maneuvered through the crowd without stepping on any toes, all as per usual. When he came back, he found Wanily sitting on the ground by the door with Ruffles. The cwn annwn laid next to Wanily, his massive head resting on his front paws and his tail wagging lazily as Wanily scratched behind his ear.
Rizen whistled sharply, and Ruffles’ ears pricked up. When he caught sight of Rizen he stood, shook out his pale coat, and trotted up to Rizen, sniffing at the buckets hanging on either side of his shoulders.
At least Ruffles still liked Rizen better than Wanily.
Rizen offered Ruffles a pat on the head. It was also the reason that Rizen had been as accepting of Wanily as he had been–Ruffles hadn’t so much as made an aggressive twitch toward her. Cwn annwn were great judges of character, and if Ruffles didn’t feel at all threatened by Wanily, Rizen figured he didn’t need to either.
But that didn’t mean Rizen had to like her.
Wanily watched Ruffles follow after Rizen with a smile. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Rizen had called him away from her for no reason, much to Rizen’s chagrin. “I didn’t know cwn annwn could be kept as pets.”
“Why not?” Rizen asked, unloading the buckets of water he fetched from town. “They’re basically just dogs.”
“Magic dogs.” Wanily’s eyes shone with excitement. “Don’t you think that’s just so cool? That people keep some magical creatures as pets?”
Rizen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Yes. So cool.” Ruffles sat down next to him, nosing at his hand until he uncrossed them and started petting him. “Did you still want to go to the creek?”
“Duh,” Wanily said, climbing to her feet. “Are you finally ready?”
Rizen huffed. “Let me go get my mother’s instruments.”
Wanily frowned. “Like... a flute? How is that going to help with measuring the weather?”
Rizen gave her a flat look. Wanily remained unperturbed–if slightly confused. “I’ll be back,” he drawled, heading into the house. Ruffles started to follow, but Rizen held out a hand for him to stay, and he did so.
The kitchen and dining area were empty, not that Rizen had expected anything else. He’d have to go into Mom’s workshop to get the anemometer and barometer and whatever else for whatever other readings she needed. Rizen wouldn’t pretend to understand what she researched, but sometimes, like now, she asked him to get readings for her. That meant he had to know how to use the instruments, though not what the number and markings actually represented.
The door to Mom’s workshop was closed, so Rizen knocked on it lightly. “Mom?”
From inside, she called through the door, “Come in, Rizen.”
----------------------------------------
(658 A.C.)
They held Dad’s funeral two days later. A shallow grave was dug in Flower Lady Unnya’s tulip fields, and Rizen helped push Mom’s wheelchair all the way there. Mom wept hard but quietly, like she didn’t want to be at all, while Priestess Hana recited a few of the prayers of Amera and praised Dad’s role as a loving husband and father.
Rizen stood behind his mother, crying silently. At first he was overcome with grief, a deep ache that opened up in his chest and threatened to eat him up. His dad was gone, and it was all Rizen’s fault. It was Rizen’s fault Mom was crying like that.
The grief, harshly and hotly, burned into a rage that spread through Rizen’s body. He choked on it, his silence broken by a single sob. He hated Dad more in that moment than he ever had before. A loving father, Priestess Hana called him. But the way she said it–the way she looked at Rizen–he knew she didn’t even believe it. The only one who probably didn’t know the truth was Rizen’s own mother.
And she never would. Not if Rizen had any say in the matter. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to lose her.
Mom couldn't help and Crizo wasn't back, so it was left to Rizen to take a shovel and bury his father. Mom cried even harder as he did so, but all Rizen felt was an overwhelming peace. It was wrong, he thought, to feel this way, but this was the beast that haunted each and every one of his nightmares. And with each shovelful of dirt Rizen thrust on top of him, it felt like a cementation of the fact that he could never hurt anyone again.
But Dad had never hurt Mom.
Rizen was trembling by the time he patted the dirt down over Dad's body. It was a custom and an honor to be buried among the local flower fields. To feed the beauty of the world for a time after you have passed through it. At least Mom had that thought, that Dad would live on in the flowers she received every week.
Flowers that Rizen would have to get for her until Crizo came back.
Priestess Hana offered her condolences to the both of them before taking her leave. Mom didn't want to go after the ceremony. Rizen didn't want to stick around any longer than he had to, but he also couldn't leave Mom weeping in the middle of the flower fields. So, he stood behind her, listening to her cry and wondering if it had all been worth it.
When Crizo came back, he decided. Then he would know if it had been worth it.
----------------------------------------
(665 A.C.)
After he had fetched the necessary weather instruments, Rizen led Wanily back to the creek, Ruffles on their heels. It was a peaceful enough walk, if Rizen ignored the steady stream of chatter coming from Wanily. He wondered if she ever shut up, or if she always felt the need to share whatever was on her mind.
He wondered darkly what it would take to shut her up.
Rizen slowed when he could hear the bubbling of the creek ahead. He turned to Ruffles, who was familiar with this process by now, and lowered his head so Rizen could fasten the first instrument, a hydrometer, to the leather collar around his neck. Rizen wasn’t entirely sure how it all worked, but Mom had crafted the small instrument herself from strands of her own hair black hair to measure humidity. Something about the difference in length between when it was by the ground versus when it was up in the air was, apparently, useful to her. All Rizen really knew was that he had to use the measuring tape he had with him to record the two lengths.
That done, he attached a barometer filled with quicksilver to the other side of his collar. Again, he didn’t know exactly how it worked, but Mom knew enough about what the markings meant to know how approximately how high Ruffles was about to ascend. Ruffles would freeze the material of both the hydrometer and the barometer with a spell, and then they would take the instruments back for Mom to collect her readings.
Once Rizen had tied the necessary items to Ruffles collar, the cwn annwn bounded over to a nearby bush, sniffing around it until he gingerly picked up a small, fallen tree branch with his teeth. He turned back around to Rizen, massive head cocked and tail wagging.
“Up, boy,” Rizen said, pointing to the treetops above them.
Ruffles brought his stick up and down, waving it. A ring of light flashed around each of his paws before settling into a more tepid glow. When Ruffles took a step forward, it brought him up, like he was ascending a staircase. He trotted in a circle that way, walking up through the air with each of his paws wrapped in a hue of white light. Soon, he passed the top of the tree, and Rizen knew he would continue climbing for a good few minutes. Then, he would sit up there for about an hour, waiting for the hydrometer to work.
Which just left Rizen by the creek. Waiting.
With Wanily.
“Woah,” she said, still watching the tree tops. “He can fly? Just like that? I mean, I knew cwn annwn were magical, but I didn’t realize they were that magical.”
There was a rock nearby, not very big but enough to sit on and a good enough distance from the creek that Rizen would avoid the water and the mud. He sat on it, stretching out his legs in front of himself, and did not say anything to Wanily.
“Did you know that they’re new god creatures?” she continued, finally dragging her gaze down to look at him. “I know some new god creatures can talk. Can he talk?”
“Do you ever stop?” Rizen grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. Wanily frowned, and he relented, “I’ve never heard him say anything.”
Wanily grunted. “How does he cast magic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what about the things you tied to him? You’re telling me those are instruments?”
Rizen rolled his eyes. “Of the scientific kind. They measure... things,” Rizen finished lamely, not knowing what exactly they did measure.
“Like what?” Wanily asked, because of course she did.
“I don’t know,” Rizen snipped. “Didn’t you get to talk all about it with my mother?”
Wanily shrugged. “Well, sure, she told me some stuff. But not everything. So I thought you might be able to tell me some more.”
Rizen grunted. “No.”
Wanily shuffled her feet, kicking at the ground and looking around the woods a little. Eventually, she stepped past Rizen to stand beside the creek. Her boots sunk a fraction into the mud. “These woods seem very peaceful.”
“Wanily,” Rizen said, “can you just be quiet?”
Wanily looked hurt for a split second, but the expression was wiped away so quickly, Rizen could have imagined it. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing,” Rizen said. What didn’t Wanily understand about that?
Wanily was quiet for a moment, and Rizen thought he had finally gotten her to shut up. But then, “Oh, I know. I was reading the books in the nightstand last night. I didn’t really understand them though.”
Rizen froze. “Which nightstand?”
“Well,” Wanily said, immediately making Rizen wary, “I started with the one next to your brother’s bed, but it wasn’t very long and I couldn’t sleep so then I went through yours.”
Rizen’s nightstand. Which held all his old journals, filled with his private thoughts. His memories. His poems. Everything that was Rizen made up the inside of those pages.
Wanily continued, “The title of the first one said it was poetry. I had never read poetry before, only heard it in passing from bards. But I didn’t get the ones in your nightstand. Some of them didn’t seem like poems at all.”
Rizen stood up, something dark writhing in his chest. “That’s because they weren’t poems. They were journal entries. I wrote them.”
Wanily’s expression fell. “You seem, uh, very upset about that.”
“I’m not upset that I wrote them,” Rizen snapped. “What gave you the right to go through my stuff?”
“I–They were just books!” Wanily protested. She was looking around again, eyes darting between Rizen and the way back to the house, and even to the trees above them. “I didn’t think there was anything–”
She cut herself off suddenly, her eyes widening. She must have finally figured out what the problem was.
“The... things that are written in there,” she said, shuffling back a step. “About being stained by blood and losing a brother–your brother–and...” Her eyes darted to the ground then back up to Rizen’s face. He wasn’t sure how he looked in the moment, but he felt crazed, like an animal cornered. “Your father...”
“You asked what happened to him,” Rizen said, hands curling into fists. “Have you figured it out yet?”
Wanily shrank away from him, taking another couple steps back. Her heel hit the edge of the water, and she jumped at the splash it made.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Ruffles doesn’t attack you. But you... you killed your father.”
They were words Rizen had never heard before. Everyone knew, and yet no one had ever accused him. But he did it, and now–
“I’m not a monster,” Rizen hissed. “I didn’t do it just to kill him.”
“What difference does that make?” Wanily spat right back. “You killed someone. That’s–it’s wrong no matter what! I thought...”
Rizen glared at her as she trailed off. “What did you think, Wanily?”
She gazed up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I thought you were good despite everything you’ve been saying to me. Peyra has done nothing but rave about you, so I thought... but she doesn’t know, does she?”
Wanily glanced behind Rizen, back toward his house. Rizen sneered at her. “And that isn’t going to change. Just forget about it, Wanily.”
Wanily stared at him for a moment, just standing there, and that’s how Rizen knew what she would do before she even acted. In a flurry of motion, she tried to dart forward and around him, but Rizen was much bigger and faster than her. The moment she took a step, he was in front of her. He didn’t really think, just acted. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her tell Mom.
It would hurt her. Rizen would lose her. And then... then what?
Wanily barreled into him with a grunt. Rizen tucked one elbow down and shoved, catching Wanily in the chest. He had only intended to create some distance between them, but he didn’t take into account the wet ground. Rizen pushed, Wanily stumbled back, and she slipped on a wet stone of the stream bed, sending her splashing down into the creek itself.
She didn’t move from where she fell, just stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Chest heaving, Rizen stared down at her, hands shaking. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to hurt her, make sure she never breathed a word of this to anyone but most of all his mother. He wanted her to leave and never come back.
And he could. He could do all of that. And that made a small, small part of him feel powerful.
Is this how Dad felt all those years? When he hurt Rizen and Crizo?
Rizen stopped. What was he doing? All Wanily had tried to do was be kind to him. And in the same place he’d taken a life before, he felt good about hurting another one. All Wanily had wanted to do was–objectively–the right thing.
And Rizen–
He couldn’t let her do that. So, just like his father before him, he had turned to violence. Because no one was allowed to hurt his mother. Not even with the truth.
Amera above, Rizen had become just like him.
The thought sent Rizen staggering back. He licked his lips, glancing down at Wanily again. She had pushed herself up on her elbows and was watching Rizen warily. Like she was expecting him to keep hurting her.
It made hatred burn hot and vicious through him. At himself, mostly, but at her, too. “You won’t say anything to her,” Rizen hissed. “Do you understand?”
Wanily pushed herself to her feet. Her clothing was soaked with the water from the stream, her hair plastered to her head. “I won’t say anything to her,” she murmured.
“Everyone knows,” Rizen continued, glancing up at the trees above them. Would this be it? Would Ruffles come down and rip out Rizen’s throat with one bite? Rizen deserved it, didn’t he? But seconds passed, and Rizen forced himself to tear his gaze back down to Wanily. She looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “In town, I mean. So there’s no point trying to tell anyone else.”
“Okay,” Wanily said.
“But I won’t–” Rizen cut himself off to take a deep breath, trying to quell the shaking of his hands. “You can stay with us,” Rizen said. “If you’re desperate for somewhere to ride out the winter. You leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t tell her.”
Wanily stared at him. He thought for a long moment that she was just going to turn and run, leave all her stuff back at his house and try to spare her own skin–but she didn’t. Eventually, like she was choosing her words carefully, she asked, “Why did you do it?”
“My father was a monster,” Rizen murmured. “And I wanted my brother to come home.”
“So why not tell that to Peyra?”
Rizen looked at her sharply, but Wanily looked less afraid now, holding herself loosely. “It’ll hurt her.”
“It’s been, what? Like ten years? What would she even do about it now?”
Rizen stared at her, but Wanily only jutted out her chin further in a challenge. “Just don’t tell her,” Rizen said, his self-loathing giving way to bewilderment. “Can you do that?”
Wanily nodded and looked at her feet, still covered by the rushing water of the stream. After a moment, she asked, “Was it worth it?”
Rizen shook his head. He liked to think about that, too, and he gave her the only answer he’d ever been able to come up with. “I... don’t know.”
Wanily nodded again, like that answer made sense. “I meant what I said before. About staying with you two. I won’t cause much fuss.”
“Good,” Rizen said. He sighed, moving slowly back to the rock and sitting down on it. Without looking at her, he continued, “I’m... sorry I pushed you.”
Wanily picked her way out of the creek, leaving a healthy distance between the two of them. She stood, clothes and hair dripping, off to the other side of the little clearing they were in. She glanced up at the leaves overhead again. “Yeah, well, don’t make a habit out of it. I’ll stay out your way, and you just... let me walk away in one piece when spring comes, okay?”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Rizen insisted. Then, after realizing what he said, “I didn’t... mean to. Before.”
“Like I said,” Wanily sighed, “don’t make a habit of it.” She looked down at her clothes. “I think I’ll go back and change.”
“And don’t–”
“Don’t tell Peyra,” Wanily finished, smiling though it looked more like a grimace. “Got it.”
Rizen watched her go, that dark thing pressing against the inside of his ribcage. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or grief or hatred or some mix of all three, but all Rizen knew was that he couldn’t keep going like this. He couldn’t become like his father.
Though maybe he already was.