The ranch was covered with snow. Some goats were romping in the main yard. The beetles and spiders were all huddled together in the main barn. It was quiet and calm, and Reg had the feeling that he and Barkle were mist-twists coming in from the darkness, filthy from the road, and bearing tragedy. If they turned away now, everything would remain beautiful and happy.
When Reg opened the main ranch house door, he had thought that his father Adrian would be furious at him -- he’d run away from his duties to do something horribly dangerous and idiotic -- but he only saw relief on his father’s face. Before his father could say anything, Reg blurted out the news, “Mum, Jeb, and Auntie Bel aren’t holed up anywhere for the winter. They’re dead. I’m so sorry.”
His father’s face turned pale. His father turned to Barkle, who nodded and added, “mist and ash, I wish it weren’t so. I’m sorry, sir.”
Adrian kept his face stoic, but his voice wavered when he asked, “what happened?”
Barkle nudged Reg, and Reg answered, “the branch they were on fell. Maybe it happened during the last mist storm? We’re sure they fell.”
He didn’t say anything about the rot or that it was a primary that had fallen. He desperately wanted to tell his dad the full truth about what had happened to the three lost shepherds, but Barkle’s continued pleaded warnings that “it’s important that everyone at the ranch doesn’t worry and know that everything is under control” had convinced Reg that he couldn’t tell his father the truth, especially while Barkle was under some sort of geas and listening to what he was saying.
The next few days were a blur.
Reg’s father blew the dinner horn, three short blasts, to call people to the ranch house and deliver the news. Adrian’s eyes stayed dry and his voice steady as he told the family and hands what had happened. Adrian kept his composure as he comforted Daphne, who kept insisting that it wasn’t real, but Reg heard him weeping in his office later that day.
The funeral was simple. They didn’t have bodies to inter in the garden with the rest of the ancestors. Sister Gulda came from Willowbend’s Grove and said some anodyne words about how the deceased’s spirits lived on in the rest of them. As the members of the ranch house went to drop handfuls of soil next to the three new wooden plaques, Martha sang a haunting dirge in some old human language.
At the gathering afterwards, people started to tell stories. Reg’s father told a story about how Jemma had gone out into a mist storm to rescue a lost goat and had come back with the goat and two skinned invisi-snakes. Barkle told stories about Jeb’s first season out shepherding and how proud Jeb had been when things had started to click for him. Nadia told a story about Auntie Bel and how Bel had taken her to Ithilia to the worst sort of dive bar because “it’s important for a lass to hold her liquor” and taught her drinking games and how to watch herself in the city. The stories kept coming.
Hearing the stories, it was a bit strange for Reg to realize that he’d never fully known his mother. She’d always been a calm, loving presence in his life, and he’d never thought that she’d be the kind of person to set up a 40 meter swing off of a branch, challenge a noble to a duel because he’d insulted her spider’s looks (Barkle’s interjected, “it was a ground-touched ugly spider too! The ponce weren’t wrong ‘bout that.”), or spend a year while she was young traveling to the upper canopy of the Tree, visiting wild branches as she went. He started crying again as the stories kept coming: he wished they were still around and that he’d had a chance to know them all better. He wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes.
The story-telling went late into the evening. More than the funeral, hearing and sharing stories helped folks feel as if they’d put the departed to rest.
The rest of the winter went slowly. There was always work to do on the ranch, but as the weather got colder and colder, they spent more and more time inside with only brief trips outside to check on the animals and shovel feed. Folks spent a lot of time inside working on small projects. Barkle helped Reg make a short spear. After the mist-storm, Reg wanted to have something more than just a sling for trips to the wild branches. Martha worked on a small harp. Reg’s father Adrian spent his time sewing. Everyone had something to kill time.
It felt like it took spring forever to come. The winter was dark and cold. Ice and snow outside kept everyone inside and as the days got shorter, so did tempers; it was hard being cooped up with folks all winter long. Reg took advantage of every opportunity he could to get out of the house. Better to be outside far away from the arguments, even if it was frigid. And he could always curl up with the spiders, who were happy to welcome another warm body into their pile.
But spring did finally come. And with it, Reg saw the scroll that’d change the course of his life.
Reg and Martha had headed into Willowbend to pick up supplies for the farm: moss-flour, salt, and other small odds and ends. They’d left the spiders back at the ranch: it was still cold enough that it seemed cruel to bring them, but Reg and Martha gloried in the change of weather and the chance to get away from the ranch.
Growing up, Willowbend had always seemed huge and cosmopolitan. Its shop-lined main pathway always felt bustling on market days when folks from the surrounding smaller villages and farms came into town to buy necessities, sell their crops and animals, and swap gossip.
After seeing Ithilia, Willowbend felt small. Its small stalls were tiny and you could walk from one end of Willowbend to the other in about 3 minutes.
Before shopping, Reg dragged Martha to visit his old school to say “hi” to Mrs. Moonleaf, one of his old teachers. The small school building where Reg and his siblings had learned their letters had redone its playground. It looked much safer than it had when Reg was a child: they’d taken down the low tightrope that they’d played Lord of the Branch on and replaced it with a low wall with large climbing holds and removed all of the more extreme swooping branches from the throwball field.
Mrs. Moonleaf and two other teachers were busy tidying class grottos for the start of the school year, but she lit up when she saw Reg. “Reginald! It’s good to see you. Could you and your young friend come help me with these stools? They get heavier every year.”
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Mrs. Moonleaf was one of only three elves in the village and she’d been the teacher at the Willowbend school for as long as anyone could remember. Her white hair was always tied back in a severe bun that made her elven ears stand out and always wore simple, dark dresses. She’d been Reg’s favorite teacher in school: he’d hated reading until she shown him scrolls on spider husbandry and tales of adventures on the wild branches, and she’d been the coach for the circle dueling team.
Reg and Martha helped Mrs. Moonleaf move the last of the stools out of storage and set up the classroom. Martha gave Reg a glare when Mrs. Moonleaf wasn’t looking, and he shrugged -- he was glad they’d stopped by despite that. Mrs. Moonleaf had been old in his grandmother’s time, and now she felt positively ancient. Martha mouthed, “you owe me” to Reg and then struggled back into the closet to grab another set of stools.
Mrs. Moonleaf had heard of the deceased shepherding crew, and she offered her condolences and asked about how Daphne, Reg’s younger sister, was holding up. Reg mumbled through a non-answer: he hadn’t paid much attention to Daphne over the winter. Daphne had at least stopped insisting that they’d be back soon.
Reg heard about how Daphne was doing in class -- “Unlike some other Olverspiels I’ve had, she pays attention in class and writes beautifully. I’m amazed that for someone so graceful in the circle, your writing is even less legible than your grandmother’s.”; about how the circle dueling team was doing -- “Mr. Greenspun has taken it over and the team is doing marvelously.”; and about the playground changes -- “We’ll see if it’s good for the children. I’ve always thought that a few broken bones is healthy for a child’s development, and the school is close to Druid Whiteberry and his daughter.”
After finishing setting up the classroom, Reg and Martha begged off to keep exploring the town. Martha dragged Reg to a few stalls to look for good harp strings. Harp strings were boring, but it was a good excuse to wander through the market and see familiar faces.
They wandered by the center of town, where a small auditorium had been shaped into the trunk for local performances and town meetings. The announcement pole had a few postings up, so while Martha was bartering with Arthur Prodda for some strings, Reg headed down to check out the postings. Most were boring -- Old Man Henry was hiring some new hands, Oddball Annie’s Bar had a bard coming in a half moon, a hunting party was looking for a sharpshooter, and Jake Twig had written an advertisement for a wife in handwriting that was even worse than Reg’s. But there was an announcement from the conclave, its words burned into a white-oak slab that was resting at the bottom of the announcement pole:
In accordance with Conclavic Decree number three-thousand one-hundred sixty-two, the Thornbound Order hereby relaxes all restrictions on enlistment in the Achivian Guard. All denizens of the Eternal Tree in good standing before the Heart shall have the same chance to join the ranks of the brave Guards who maintain our Tree’s safety. Potential recruits should come to the Achivian Guard Headquarters on the Fifteenth Day of Erwa’s Moon. May the Tree shelter all in its Holy Boughs.
Reg read it a few times to be sure he was reading it right: they were really going to allow non-elves to join the Achivian Guard? That was huge . The only thing that could possibly be bigger than that would be allowing a non-elf to sit in a Conclave seat: the Achivian Guard had been elf-only for the entirety of the Tree’s history.
The whole time Martha and Reg were wrapping up the shopping and heading back to the ranch, he was thinking about the proclamation. The Achivian Guard was open to non-elves. He could join. He could be one of the guards who stood against the Mist. He could figure out why Barkle couldn’t talk about the rot. And he could figure out what had happened to the East Starswallow Branch and make sure it never happened to anyone else on the ranch. By the time they arrived back at the ranch, he was sure: he was going to join the Achivian Guard.
Reg’s father took the news much better than expected.
Reg had spent hours practicing the conversation. He’d pictured his father yelling and forbidding his departure and how Reg would gently point out that he was an adult now by the laws of the Tree. He’d pictured his father breaking down in tears and begging him not to leave to be lost like his mother and brother and Reg explaining that that was exactly why he had to go -- he could be part of the group that was actually doing something to make things better. He’d pictured his father refusing to talk to him at all. He’d pictured conversation after conversation, but he hadn’t pictured the conversation that actually happened.
Reg had tracked his father down in his office and said, words tumbling over each-other enough that he had to start over again and slow down, “Da, the guard. I’m, did you hear? They’re taking elves. Non-elves. They’re taking non-elves. I’m going to be an elf. Wait, sorry. Let me start over. The guard, they’re opening up to non-elves. I’ve got to go. I know you won’t want me to, but I think I have to. I love the ranch and that’s why I want to go be part of the people who are protecting it.”
Rather than raging or crying or any of the other reactions that Reg had pictured, Reg’s father just sighed. “I heard about the proclamation and was worried that you might join. You truly are your mother’s son. They’ll be lucky to have you.” He then got up and enfolded Reg in a huge hug.
After Adrian let Reg go, Reg had trouble finding words. He’d been sure that there’d be more to the conversation than this and was a bit flat-footed at his father’s sad acceptance. “Da, do you think Ma would be happy with me doing it?”
Adrian smiled a little at that, “she’d be so proud of you. If she was here, I’d have to convince her not to join herself. When we were younger, she’d always joke about getting her eyes and ears illusioned and joining the guard herself. She wanted the adventure and to see every part of the Tree and the below that she possibly could. You have so much of her in you. You have to promise me that you’ll be careful.”
Reg nodded, “I promise. I’ll be as careful as I can. Will the farm be OK missing so many herders?”
Adrian waved him off, “oh, we’ll make do. It’ll be busy, but we’ll be able to hire some help. We’ve had busier seasons before. We’d love to have you here if you decide that you could wait a year to join, but I don’t reckon that that’s something you’d want to do.”
Reg shook his head.
Adrian grunted, “figured. Well, if we have you for another week, we could certainly use the help rousting the spiders and mucking out the beetle wallow.”
Reg’s sisters took it worse. Nadia and Reg got into a screaming match that could be heard on every corner of the ranch. Daphne refused to talk to Reg at all and ran away anytime he came close. At supper, she wouldn’t look at him and wouldn’t respond to anything he said.
Martha’s reaction was a punch to the shoulder and her telling him that she was looking forward to visiting him in Ithilia, “remember, you still owe me a play in Ithilia.”
Barkle’s reaction was spitting and then saying, “You’re a mist-touched idiot, Reg. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing if I were younger though. You taking Ankie with you?”
Reg shook his head, “I don’t think I can. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to -- she might get hurt. Could you run her?”
Barkle nodded, “I’ll take her out. She always was more use than you anyways. Anyways, you be careful about ‘round those poncy elves. Rot and canker, they might be more a problem for you than the mist.”
The hardest part of the leavetaking was hugging Ankie goodbye. That was when his departure really hit him. He was going to go away from the ranch to a place where he didn’t know anyone to fight monsters in the mist. Ankie didn’t know what was going on, but she curled up in his lap while he stroked her abdomen and promised her and himself that he’d be back soon to visit.