The walk home was somehow longer than the walk to Safehaven. Maybe it was Kal’s mood. He’d been angry and determined earlier. Now he felt exhausted and defeated. Empty.

What had the confrontation gained him? Nothing. What had he thought it would gain him? He didn’t have an answer for that. There had just been an overwhelming, gnawing need to get some kind of justice that had finally been triggered by his mother’s morning tears.

It was dusk, and night was coming quickly. There were no lampposts out here in the country, let alone service mages to light them. If he didn’t hustle, he’d be walking in the dark, only the light of the Two Moons to guide his way.

He’d thought mostly about his mother and father on the way home. How he had somehow failed them both. But his mind also drifted back to the Godknight himself. Had there been something different about him? While he had still projected the same aura of power, respect, and authority, today he had seemed somehow… lesser. The stories said he was thousands of years old and hadn’t changed his appearance in all that time. Yet today, he had seemed… old.

Kal rounded a bend on the dirt path he’d been traveling, and the edge of the family farm- his home- came into view. It looked awful. Just a beat away to the south was the Cupella’s farm. The last time he’d been by there- he had never had the heart to speak with them since his father’s banishment- the farm had been lush, green, and full of energy and life. Cows in the pasture, corn stalks rising, their beautiful garden of vegetables growing nice and strong.

The Eremor farm was dying. The parched dirt was covered in the decaying remains of the long-dead ferkle plants. Thin branches of nothing blew in the breeze, bent and fragile to the touch. Soon he’d have to start clearing it all out, plant something that made sense. But for now, every day was a struggle just to make ends meet. Survive. Other than the garden- the only thing doing reasonably well, as that was where his mother dedicated the most of her time- they had the chickens, a pair of goats, and a single cow, a thinning old lady named Butter. He supposed one of these days they were going to have to put her down. She had long ago stopped providing milk, making her meat the most valuable potential contribution.

But Kal loved the old thing. They were supposed to be just livestock, he knew, and he’d never had any issues with eating animal meat before. But they’d had so many more back in the day. And as their numbers dwindled, Kal had spent more and more time sitting with Butter, brushing her, walking with her. Some days, she’d even lie down next to him. He’d rest his head on her side and look up at the sky, dreaming of a better world. A better life.

“Kalvin?”

His name carried across the empty field between him and his mother, ripping him from his thoughts. He looked up and grimaced. She had broken out into a sprint towards him, calling out his name in a desperate tone of voice.

Shit, he thought. He hadn’t told her he was leaving the farm that morning or where he was going. She must have been worried sick. He felt immediate regret and remorse. She’d been through so much. How dare he put her through any more. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not giving her even more to worry about.

He waved meekly and trotted towards her, forcing a smile in a vain attempt to calm her. “Hey, Mom,” he called. She slowed down into a fast walk, staring at him as they drew closer. When they were face to face, he opened his mouth to apologize, hoping to get a chance to explain.

“Sorry, Mom, I—”

She slapped him across the face. Hard.

He put his hand to his cheek and looked at her in shock. He instantly felt like a child again. A small child who had messed up and made his mother mad. It made him feel small and ashamed.

She was shaking where she stood, glaring at him with eyes alight with rage. Shaking, looking nothing like the still relatively young, middle-aged woman she was. Instead, looking thin, frail, her hair graying prematurely. Her entire essence aging way too soon.

With a suddenness that knocked Kal off-balance, she threw her arms around him and pulled him in close, sobbing. She pulled him towards her and squeezed with heartbreaking desperation. Kal felt tears streaming down his face, his shame only growing. He hugged her back, held her strong, repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Where were you?” she asked, pulling back away. She seemed to be making an effort to be stern with him, the adult, the parent, and he the child. Instead, her voice quivered, and her head shook back and forth involuntarily.

“I went to Safehaven,” he told her.

“Safehaven? Why—”

Her eyes grew wide. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

Kal lowered his head. He had no response or defense.

Every emotion imaginable flashed across her face as she grabbed him by the arms and squeezed with an anguish that hurt his heart. “What did you do? What did you do?”

“I needed to talk to him, Mom,” Kal said, a little more defensively than he’d intended. “He can’t just arbitrarily decide—”

“Yes, he can ‘arbitrarily decide.’ He can ‘arbitrarily decide’ any damn thing he wants! You know who he is, what he is. The things he can do. How could you take that chance?”

“He wasn’t going to hurt me, Mom. That’s not what he does.”

“Hurt you? What about hurting me? Did you ever once even think about me?”

“Of course, I do, Mom. All I do—”

“Because if you thought of me, you never would have gone there in the first place. What would have happened if he’d sent you down river?”

He’d thought that might be a possibility, of course. But despite how angry he felt at the Godknight, he also knew it was unlikely. The Godknight was noble, trustworthy, and good. This wasn’t just propaganda. It was the truth. He didn’t send people down river just for pissing him off.

Still, there’s only so much he or anyone would tolerate. What if he had sent people down river for lesser reasons? And the stories never got out? The Elders covering for him?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“He didn’t, Mom. He wouldn’t.”

She fumed, hands on hips. Kal understood his answer hadn’t satisfied her one bit.

“And what if he had?” Kal asked, shifting his tone to something approaching accusatory. “How do we know it’s as bad outside of Brightholme as they say? Maybe it’s better. Maybe I could even find Dad.”

“I came from ‘outside,’ remember? Your father and I left ‘outside’ for here.” She poked him in the chest, hard. “For you.”

Neither parent talked much about their time before being granted admission to Brightholme, only ever stressing how much better things were here than anywhere out “there.”

“But have you ever been ‘down river?’” Kal asked. “Do you even know where they end up? Where any of them end up?”

She sighed heavily, some of the anger, worry, and emotion starting to drain away. She asked Kal, with surprising patience, “What makes you think they survive the trip at all? You’ve seen Old Mother a thousand times. You really think the little wooden boat they put them in is enough to protect them?”

Kal’s anger rose back up. “So he’s a murderer? That’s what you’re saying?”

She put her head in her hand and shook it. She was tiring fast. “No. I don’t think he’s a murderer,” she said softly.

“And they’re not just little wooden boats, right? They’re reinforced and have a roof. I’ve seen them. You’ve seen them.” The family farm was only a mile from the Roaring Mother, and Kal spent much of his free time down by the banks. On occasion, he’d seen the crafts, large enough to comfortably hold one—and only one—person race down the river and disappear quickly out of sight. He often wondered who was in them and what they’d done to deserve their banishment.

And where they were going.

His mother shrugged and turned away, pacing slightly.

When the Godknight decided someone had broken the “Live in Peace” rule, families were allowed to say goodbye to their loved ones before they were sent down river. But nobody was allowed to witness the process. Up until his own father had been banished and sent down river—something he had never even considered as a possibility—Kal had never questioned whether the banished person deserved their fate. Of course they did. The Godknight was a hero, after all. His decisions were always just.

His mother turned back to Kal and walked the couple of steps so they were face to face once again. “Kalvin. I can’t lose you, too. I just can’t.” She embraced him, held him close.

“You won’t, Mom. I prom—”

She broke the embrace and turned her back to him, walking back toward the house. “I didn’t make dinner,” she called back, so softly he barely heard her. “You’ll have to fend for yourself tonight.” She didn’t turn back, just kept walking until he saw her disappear into the house. All her energy spent.

***

It was deep into the night when Kal made his way down to Old Mother. His mother had barely spoken to him the rest of the night, not even to say goodnight. Still, while his trips to the river were common, he hadn’t wanted to chance having her wake up and find him missing. So he had left a note, quick and to the point.

The sky was cloudless and bright, with both moons, Yuchin and Da, full and shining brightly. He looked up at them as he had a thousand nights before, marveling at the sight of Yuchin, in particular. About a quarter of it was missing, a giant chunk gone, as if some giant thing had bitten it off. He’d heard rumors there might be real giants “out there,” but Kal almost could not comprehend just how giant something would have to be to actually take a bite out of a moon. There was more than likely a more logical, simpler explanation for what had happened up there. And it probably involved the Godknight in some way.

He walked among the rocks, getting closer to the river than he probably should have. He found his spot, one of many, and sat down. His legs dangled over the edge of the flat surface, his feet inches above the raging water. Water splashed up and around him, soaking his lower legs in a matter of seconds.

It would take so little to be swept away.

It wasn’t that he had a death wish or had any real desire to be expelled and sent down her angry throat. But he did want to know what was down there. Not just there… everywhere. He looked across the river to the dry land on the other side. It was long, flat, and grassy, leading into rows of hills of varying sizes and heights. Yuchin and Da were low enough in the sky tonight to give them an eerie glow along their peaks, casting dark shadows that stretched across the darker ground.

Brightholme was surrounded on three sides by mountains, with the Roaring Mother taking up its westernmost border. Friends of his were obsessed with those mountains. They wanted to climb them, explore them. But they had no real desire to see what was on the other side, a concept that baffled Kal. As idyllic as Brightholme was, with everyone living in peace and most having everything they needed, Kal couldn’t help but wonder what the outside world was like.

In school, they had been taught almost nothing about the world outside of Brightholme, only a consistent reminder of how dangerous and ugly it was. Kal had asked questions. Lots of them. Eventually, his teachers had all shut him down, telling him he was asking too many questions whose answers didn’t matter. But they mattered to Kal. He’d always wanted to know what was out there.

Maybe needed to know.

Of course, Kal had wondered about what was over the mountains, like everyone probably had. But what he really wanted to know was what was across the river and over those hills. He’d been looking over there since he was a child, the same spot, those same hills. Sometimes he’d see some animals grazing or walking about. Buffalo, cow, an occasional wild horse. But nothing really interesting, nothing very exciting.

Brightholme was nice. It was fine. Safe. Even with the family’s struggles, Kal at least knew they were safe. With the Godknight looking out for them, Brightholme had never been attacked by outside forces. There were rumors that some had tried in the country’s early days, but the Godknight had sent a strong enough message to stay away that they had never tried again.

It just wasn’t enough. Not for Kal. He wanted to run over those hills, to explore the whole world beyond them. To make discoveries. Find adventure. Maybe find people with lives totally unlike his in Brightholme. Dangerous, interesting lives.

There was Brightholme. There were the mountains. There was the Roaring Mother.

And there was the frontier.

Over those hills.

That’s how he thought of it, the “out there.” The frontier. The endless, unexplored, wide-open frontier.

Kal laid back on the rock and closed his eyes. His ruminations were pointless. There was no way to cross the river or climb the mountains. He could ask to leave through the mountain pass, of course. That option was always available to anyone who wanted to go. But few ever did, and those that did never came back. Just like those that were sent down river, never to be seen or heard from again.

And he just couldn’t do that to his mother. He had a farm to tend to, his mother to take care of. She had been a capable enough woman once, but her husband being sent away had broken something inside her. She only seemed to be getting worse. He knew he could never leave her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.

So he was stuck. On this rock, on this farm. In this safe, bland country. Safe from harm. Safe from excitement. Safe from meaning, safe from purpose. Safe from passion and safe from hope.

He wished he could leave. He wished he could explore the frontier and find adventure.

He wished for something more.

He wished he could leave Brightholme behind. Forever.

It was a wish he would soon regret.