The dregs of the morning light were the first thing that awoke Alvin. In a pile of cloth and hay, he slowly unwound the old blanket that was more like a glorified tablecloth. Waking up in the mornings was always a struggle for him, but the itching, the hay caused, makes sleeping harder than the barn floor he was lying on.
“Ahh, I’m awake, I’m awake” he yawned as the rooster began his morning screech session. Al stood unsteadily, focusing on not falling back to sleep, the day was just beginning, and sleeping in is a good way to have bad days. Shaking out his mop of black hair, he looks around the empty barn. The smell of hay and cow manure hung in the air.
The unpleasant odor is only rivaled by Alvin himself, who probably had not properly bathed in over a week. It's not that he wanted to smell like a sewage pit, but when he was sleeping in a barn, bathing became a waste of time. Though, when the flies were even staying away from you, it was time.
He grabbed a frayed leather backpack that was propped up on the nearby wall and began rummaging through the only things he owned. In the bag were three pairs of wool clothing, a week's worth of hardtack, a rusted canteen, a few short cords of rope, and a small skinning knife. Nothing of importance to others, but to Al, they were the difference between a slightly unpleasant existence to a very unpleasant death. He picked out his best of the three shirts, including the pants with the least holes. He undressed and walked toward the water trough.
There was a ball of fatty soap waiting to be used. The smell was less than pleasant, Al had something special to make it more bearable, though. With a handful of crushed lavender, he mixed it into the doughy substance, then dunked it in the trough. The putrid smell dissipated, replaced with the weak aroma that was much better than the pungent smell of grease.
On a freezing morning after the last frost of winter. Al prepared to see his parents.
Greeting the day with a slanted smile, Al emptied the trough that he was using as a makeshift bath. The small patty of soap was used to the last speck. The smell that hung around Al no longer brought death to the insects in the barn. The aroma that replaced it was slightly sweet and hid the other smells that he still permeated. His clothes were the best he owned, so the shirt with the fewest patches and pants that had ripped the least over their years of wear. Double checking that his bag had everything, nothing was missing. Leaving his bag, he walks out of the barn towards the small cottage on the hill. He’ll have to come back this way, so taking the bag was a waste of effort.
The cottage was a good hour walk from the barn, Al doesn’t usually take that long, except being sweaty was not an option. He had recently taken a bath, a rare thing. When he finally came upon the rundown cabin, the few drops of sweat were not the things making him nervous.
The cottage was small, the roof needed repair in several places, the front porch slanted slightly to the left, and more than a few stairs were rotting. The many crowns needed to fix these many problems were about to appear. Without one particular person to be taken care of, the cottage will be a better place to live.
These thoughts had floated through Alvin’s head for the past few years. The caucaghany of self-blame for being a burden for so long, never being able to help enough to actually matter.
He approached the door and after a moment of hesitation.
He opened it.
----
Al walks into the main room, ominous creaking follows each step as he watches his mother and father prepare for the day.
His father, Jerome Morrow, was a tall, gruff man with more than a few scars from hard work as a farmer, and a few from even before that. He had shorter hair than Al, never liking it long, always saying something about ‘getting caught easily’. A hard stare rarely left his face, but today it was replaced with an expression of guilt and regret as he stared at his morning porridge. Having only seen that face once before, Al stops in his tracks, barely keeping himself from remembering that day, just barely.
Back to the present, Al picked up his pace and sat across from his father. his mother finally noticed Al, she smiled at the sight of her son and began preparing another bowl of porridge in ecstatic surprise. Oh, that beautiful smile, it’s the only reason he stayed those past six years. Seeing his little sister's smiles also filled Alvin with joy, but the knowledge that this may be the last time he sees them dampened his mood.
His mother, Saria, was young, marrying his father at the age of eighteen and having Al the following winter. Light brown hair and hazel eyes, she was quite a catch for Jerome. The only drawback was that she could be empty-headed at times, such as calling a noble ugly, in their face, kind of empty-headed. But most would say it added to her charm. If you asked her if she regretted having Alvin, she would have said no.
But my father was of a different opinion.
Jerome, now staring at Al, then asks him a question that he'd been dreading. “Do you know what day it is,” he spoke in a low tone.
“Of course,” Al slapped the top of his head as if he’d actually forgotten the most important day of his life, “It's the first day of spring after the last frost.” in a matter-of-fact tone.
“You know what I mean, stop being coy.” he glaring with annoyance at the poor acting.
The thought of drawing this out as far as possible had crossed Alvin’s mind, but instead, he smiled, a smile not unlike his mother’s. A smile of pure joy widened more as he saw the anger in his father’s eyes.
“Yes, but you haven’t asked the right question,” as Al spoke, his mother looks at both of them in confusion as she came over with two bowls of mush.
“Alright Al,” squeezing his eyes preparing for what was about to occur, “five days after Veronica and Hempa were born, what did you promise me?”
Glancing quickly between his mother and father, Al waited for his mother to set down the bowls. Instead, she stood at the side of the table confused trying to remember a promise six years in the making.
Getting impatient, Al finally decided to announce the secret, “ah, yes, five days after my beautiful sisters were born, I and you made a bargain. Even Onthra would be ashamed with su-”
“OUT WITH IT” his father yelled, done with patience. Causing his mother to back up a few steps.
“Honey! Wh-”
“Alright,” Al’s voice scythes through what she was saying, “Six years ago I promised that after the last frost of my sixteenth winter, I would leave this house if I could not find an apprenticeship. Because I have not found one, I will leave and never be a burden on you ever again.”
The pregnant silence that followed held the room, and only with the cries of two toddlers did Al’s mother drop the bowls.
----
The argument started once the porridge hit the floor.
“How could you force him into a promise like that!” Mother slamming her hand on the table to emphasize just how angry she was at her husband.
“I didn’t force him into anything, the only thing I did was tell him the truth. That was enough.” Speaking in a completely calm voice.
“Well, If that’s so, then Alvin will be fine too…” she stares at the empty chair, “how long has he been gone.” Exasperated.
Jerome glances at the door to the other room, “Since the argument started” he said while taking another bite of his now-bitter breakfast.
----
Al Slowly closed the door behind him and entered a small bedroom with the bed taking up most of the room. Two glassless windows showed the morning sun finally rising. Yelling from the main room is slightly muffled, but was still quiet compared to the constant cries of his two sisters. Most of his attention went to the corner of the room where they played with the few toys his parents could afford.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Veronica, the older of the two, was lying on her back screaming bloody murder. Her blond hair disheveled and face contorted, she wasn’t the only one in the room though. Her sister Hempa, like any good sibling, was wailing along with her. With darker brown hair than Veronica, both took after their mother, thin eyebrows, and hazel eyes. Unlike Alvin, who was almost a complete copy of his father, if you excluded him being skinnier than a stick.
As Al gets closer, the Soma on her skin dissipated. Her crying suddenly stopped, she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with a concerned look.
“Ver, why are you crying?” Al spoke as he began to sit.
“Hemy stole horsy.” Veronica, sitting up, pointed accusingly toward Hempa who was clutching a lead horse. She had also stopped crying, as she was the quieter of the two. Not any less adventurous though, they both have been caught sneaking out to play with the chickens or trying to walk to the barn at the dead of night.
Even though they were sisters, they both had greed that rivaled Dragons. If they thought it was theirs, then hope you didn’t have anything to do for the next hour, because they will whine and cry til you gave it back. Of course, ignoring them was always in the cards, but the two were vindictive. Fire ants don’t suddenly appear in the hay where Al slept. Especially when there was none in sight that morning.
Hempa looked guilty, her eyes refusing to meet his. She also started to pout, like that was going to get her out of this. Al put his hand out.
“Hempa, pass me the horse, and say sorry to Ver. You know better than this”. With a huff, she handed it back without a single word.
“Hempa,” Al says in a warning tone.
“Sorry”, Finally a small voice spoke. Eyes still down in defeat.
“What will Mom and Dad do with you two.”
The loud yelling in the main room was still in full effect as this all happened. Though Al knew this was the last time he’d see his sisters in a long time. He wasn’t coming back for anything, not for the potions, not for money, not for the sisters he loved desperately. In the end, once he stepped off the property, he was alone. His sisters will gain a proper education and probably become great Magus.
He certainly couldn’t, he couldn’t even survive with the little soma he produced now.
Veronica and Hempa were playing around, he would also play with them. Tea time was a classic, acting like proper noble ladies and all. Even dancing, but the few dances Al did know were all from bars and pubs. Which meant he had no idea what he taught his little sisters on those rare occasions.
Today though, today was more somber. His sisters were smarter than they acted. They knew something was happening. Al began to stand after the argument seemed to be slowing down.
So when the yelling became fainter, Al was already pulling out something from his pocket.
“Ver, Hem, this is the last time you will be seeing your big brother for a long time. Because of that, I have two presents for you before I leave.”
Shock, Surprise was not on their faces. From the general mood of the day, they had a hint on what their parents were arguing about, and again they were not oblivious children.
But that did not prepare Alvin for the sadness in their eyes.
“Well,” he choked up a bit. “um Ver, here is an antler from my first kill and a crown, and Hem here's a… um, fang from a wolf and another crown.” while saying this Al handed them out quickly. Not really knowing what he was doing, but on a base level, he knew he had to give them something. Even if it was useless junk. For remembrance at least.
Veronica and Hempa stared at each other then back at Al, expressions changing from sadness to shock that he was actually giving them presents.
Al took this the wrong way and started to panic.
Did they like them, uhg I should have given them two crowns, maybe-
A single body impacted Al, then another. Two crying children, the knowledge that big brother wasn’t coming back finally sunk in. Maybe the last time.
Al did not weep, he had already shed all the tears for this day-long ago.
The three embraced until the main room was completely silent, then Al said his final goodbyes. Turned his back to his sisters, and went to talk with his mother.
----
Al’s mother sat at the table with her head in her hands. Jerome was nowhere in sight, probably started working in the fields after feeding the chickens.
From the way she was acting, she realized that this was the only way.
She lifted her eyes and immediately sat back, she either wasn’t expecting me to come out so soon or thought I’d jump out the window. The latter was the most likely, with our family track record, it was the obvious choice.
Al stood in silence, Saria didn’t seem to want to broach the subject. Neither did Al. In response to this, his mother pushed out a chair with her foot and beckoned him to sit. Al sat in the chair stiffly.
This did nothing to start the conversation, and the awkward silence continued. Until…
“Why did you have to make that promise?” a rasp came suddenly, cutting the tension in two.
“I had no other choice after what Jerome told me.” she looked expectantly at Al as he said this. With a light sigh, he spoke again, “with the amount of money you are paying for my potions you could raise three children, maybe four if you stretched it. It was fine before Veronica and Hempa were born. But once they were born, it had become obvious to him that taking care of the equivalent of six children and taking care of the farm wouldn’t cut it anymore. So being him, he took the cowardly way out and told me all this. I either took the deal or ran away.”
What a horrible day this was, nothing was left of the dazzling smile that Al’s mother wore just a few hours ago. The frown and the tears would have made the most hardened criminal weep. What a horrible day.
“Couldn’t you stay” she spoke knowing the futility of the situation, “please, Alvin, please stay. You’re my only son, please.”
Al shook his head, “no.”
A simple answer to a complicated question. To the very last second, though, the answer was always going to be no.
Of course, their interaction didn’t end there. Al’s mother cooked him some more porridge, so he didn’t starve when he left. Well, that was the excuse anyway. The true reason was she never really had any opportunities to prepare him something in the morning. Al was either in the city, in the woods, or in the barn. In the mornings, he went to check traps, if that didn’t work out he’d wait hours for a prey to get into knife range. That usually didn’t work out either.
She handed him his bowl and they ate in silence.
----
Al left with an extra gift, a flask of liquid soma, or soma potion for short. Nothing impressive, perfectly clear, this one was a watered-down lesser Soma potion. This was Al’s lifeline. He was born without the ability to absorb Soma out of the air, or he was just unloved by the power source of the world. Al still produced small amounts in his body, as all living things do, but the amount he made was not enough to cover the deficit. Once a week he has to drink a Soma potion. The consequences if not drunk are headaches that rivaled the worst of concussions.
This would be the last gift Al received from his mother. It was nothing to be excited about, it did cost a whole crown. The amount of soma it gave when consumed was abysmal. But like few other objects he did own, Al would cherish every last drop and keep the bottle.
He began to jog with the potion in hand. Even though he was skinny, his stamina was something he was quite proud of. Al ran the hour walk in less than twenty minutes. On his way he saw Jerome working the field, hoe in hand seemingly able to cleave more land than possible with the narrow blade. The use of Soma Techniques, Soma Skills, or whatever people call them, make those like Alvin completely and utterly useless. His father was late this year preparing the field for planting, but he still had them done in less than two days. Give or take a few acres, he was able to do what normal men did in a week with extra field hands and did it in a quarter of the time.
That was the only thing Alvin respected about his father, his incredible work ethic. Other than that, there wasn’t much to be impressed about.
In the barn, Al grabs his backpack, rolls up the nearby blanket, and then wenches a floorboard up reaching in for the small cloth bag of twenty crowns and five lanterns. This was the little money he earned from doing odd jobs. All queries from hunting and trapping were given to Jerome, this wasn’t because of the deal he made, but because Al wanted to do something to pay his family back.
Setting back down the wooden board, Al left the barn behind and walked towards the Bowood Forest. The past six years, practically every day, he set up snares and climbed a tree waiting on a branch for prey. He was horrible with a bow, even with practice, his accuracy never improved. With that, his only option was to wait for larger prey to trudge close enough so he can get a hit in. And hopefully cut an artery then follow until it bleeds out. In his six years of doing this, this tactic has only worked five times. Three were doe, one was a buck, and the last was a lone wolf. The last one was mostly luck, it was already injured and bleeding profusely. Al had only finished it off.
While he was thinking about this, the woods were enclosing around him. Multiple types of trees populated this area of the forest. From Pine to Oak to Maple to Cypress, the trees had obscured his way. If this were his first time, he’d be completely lost in seconds. But Al knew his way around by now, and in a few moments, he came upon his first snare.
The snare was empty, untriggered, without query. Whatever he called it, it was always disappointing. The good thing was, Al, set up fifteen of these. After dismantling the trap, he began to walk further into the greenery. The second, third, and fourth were also empty. The fifth was triggered, but whatever set it off wasn’t in the area anymore. The tracks that it left looked like a paw, but the tracks were shallow, and hard to see the smaller details. He hadn’t checked them recently, the preparation to leave had sucked away most of his free time.
Another and another snare were disappointedly empty. Then there was a shambling in the distance. Like something was struggling in the leaves.
Al slowly crept toward the noise, halfway to the thirteenth snare. This one was different. Shuffling and scratching were echoing through the trees, in the direction of the snare. His feet silently moved over the leaves and pine needles. Keeping himself calm, he moved into sight of the creature. It was a rabbit, rope around its stomach. Plump with a damaged coat struggling to escape. The snare had failed to strangle the small creature.
Sneaking behind the hare, Al makes sure not to step on any twigs.
Poor animal.
That was the thought as he began to reach for the half-dead rabbit. Maybe it could be called a mercy killing by now. It had torn its skin on the cord, a long and jagged cut in its abdomen.
Quickly, with trained dexterity, Al caught the rabbit. Right when his hand circled, the rabbit squealed and struggled in his grip. Doing more damage to the already destroyed area. Al hesitated, he made the mistake of looking into its eyes. Wide with fear, such grief that he froze.
It had reminded Al of his sisters.
He begins to squeeze the creature’s tiny throat. Trying to power through the cowardice regrets.
Instead, his hand moved towards the snare, almost against his will.
The snare untangled, and with one last push, the hare was out of his grasp running through the bushes.
Al sat under the trees, on a horrible day, not even able to kill a single rabbit. For the first time in years, he wept for the things that he'd lost. Sadly, only the trees were there to comfort him.