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Spring came. Here, in the east, it was an almost instant change. Back home, it had been subtle - one would first wake up with a different feeling in the air. The cold would get less harsh and snow would begin forming an icy layer on top, first melting in the day, then freezing again at night.
One morning, they opened the door, and mounds of dirt were showing above the snow. The animals were louder and eager to be let out. The otherwise gray of everything suddenly felt more alive.
“The wildflowers will bloom soon. We can go and see, if you like?” Amir asked her as they worked one morning.
“I’d love that.” She answered absentmindedly.
“You’ll see - this region is famous for its tulips. They’re the first to appear.” He continued, aware that she wasn’t fully there with him but trying to pull her back gently. “And come May, there will be whole fields of poppies. You haven’t seen the poppies yet, Val.”
“The poppies sound lovely, Amir.” She muttered as if to herself.
“It’s said when they bloom, people fall in love. In the spring.” He smiled sheepishly.
“Mhm.” She looked at him suddenly as if awake for the first time that day. “I feel deeply for you, you know. I just want you to know that. In case anything happens.”
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The evening before, she’d seen Marat throw his door shut and leave. In her gut, that feeling chilling her from the inside, there it was again. She felt herself move toward the barn even though everything in her begged against it. She waited until he was out of sight and pushed the door. It was locked. But how? There was no keyhole, no bar you could set from the outside.
She pried with her little hands until she felt the piece of wood jammed in the space under the door. He must have had a way to knock it loose when he returned because she could not. Determined, or perhaps obsessed, she took the clip from her hair and forced the sharp end through. Something scratched against something else, and the door budged. She hurried inside.
Feverishly, Val tore through his things. She’d gone through his pack; it went untouched for months. His weapons remained clean and tucked in the same spot as before. She flipped through the journal, pausing when she saw the two different handwritings. Why was one of them so awfully messy?
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
She had not thought of Erlan at all, as of late. Not until now. But this was not the time or place. She could not know if he would be gone the night or less than an hour. Either way, she had to hurry. The snow was melting recently, and his footprints would not be as visible as they had been. If she had to follow him again, she would have to do so quickly.
Nothing. She found nothing.
Had she imagined it? Was there anything to find?
She sat back, rubbing her head and trying to center herself.
Had she made all this up? Was she so desperate to figure it out that she convinced herself something was there?
Was Marat just deeply grieving his brother?
It hadn’t yet been a year, and he would not speak of it. Perhaps it had been worse than she had realized, and she ignored his pain in her selfishness.
No. She recalled the night she followed him. There was something wrong there. The anger, the lashing out. She saw him in a similar state with the Legho nearby, but it was not quite the same.
The Legho made him irritable, rash, and reactive. Now Marat was erratic and paranoid.
In frustration, she ripped the blankets off the bed. With them fell a blue iris, just like she’d seen before.
“If something feels out of place, it’s because it is.” She said quietly, picking it up and studying it.
She put things back in place the best she could, but Val held the iris for a time, considering if she should leave it there. But, this flower was fresh. He’d been intentional in picking it - wherever that was. And he would notice.
She left it under the pillow.
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“What’s going to happen?” Amir asked, concerned.
“Nothing, but it could.” She answered, knowing that not only could something happen, but it was almost a certainty in her short life. He held her gaze, but she betrayed no emotion.
“I love you, Val.” He said quietly, the bravery coming from somewhere deep within. His entire being was with her at that moment, even if hers was far away. “And if something is going on, please, let me help.”
She lowered her work, wiping her hands on her apron.
“These poppies, where do they grow?” She asked, ignoring the words that had caused his hands to tremble as he said them.
“In the fields on both sides of the road leading to the main. It’s beautiful. Many grow just beyond the farms - there, toward the other farmsteads.” He would have to figure out what her bypassing his sentiment meant at a later time…
“And tulips?”
“All across the plains, on hillsides, in the wild grasses.”
“And,” she said, her face emotionless still, “Where does the blue iris grow?”
“In the standing waters of the lake, by where the fishermen bring down their boats.”
“Thank you,” She said, forcing a smile at him, “for saying that you love me.”
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