The Brilliant, Lovely Things

Embla hummed an old song as she sat by the hearth. She was glad for the warmth. Particularly so late in winter, when the wind howled and tore at the house mercilessly. Embla had hated winter as a child. They way it broke things. The way it seemed to bring the world closer to death. The way it crept in, slowly, banishing warmth and growth. Nowadays, practically nothing grew, even in spring. Nothing except people.

Mateo slept soundly in her arms. His breath whistled with each fall of his tiny chest. She smiled, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“He’s already making music,” Asher whispered, his deep voice filled with awe.

Elma looked up at him, into his soft, tear-filled green eyes. He didn’t seem to notice her gaze, as he was watching Mateo. In the three months since Mateo had been born, he hadn’t lost this sense of awe. Neither of them had. It was the same feeling they’d felt when Fidan was born three years earlier. The warmth they carried in their hearts for both children.

The warmth that grew into fear whenever hateful glances were cast Embla’s way. The fear that had caused her to stop taking Fidan out to the market. The fear that kept them in her mother’s house in the dead forest, whenever the wrong rumors were heard. The fear that had settled into a bone-deep weariness, and stolen far too many smiles.

The fire crackled, and the air smelled of smoke. Oak smoke. Asher had fed the fire just minutes before. Embla turned her eyes back to the infant in her arms, memorizing the details of his face. Mapping out every detail with the care of a Hemelkian cartographer.

Two Years Later

Embla sat cross-legged on the floor, weaving Fidan’s curly brown hair into twin braids. Her hands worked almost of their own accord, falling into a familiar rhythm. The braids would sweep up and around her little grey horns and down the back of her head. She tied off the first braid with a shiny blue ribbon she’d bought in market just last week, then got to work on the second one. Embla finished swiftly, tying off the second braid, and released the restless five-year-old.

Fidan twirled, her skirt swishing around her, “Mum, can I play outside?”

Anywhere else, Embla might have said no. But her mother’s house was safe. Secluded.

So, she nodded, laughing a little, “Of course you can.”

They exited the house, Embla closing the door behind them a little bit harder than intended. She winced before looking out at the dead forest.

The branches of the trees were barren, almost skeletal, their leaves littering the ground. Orange, and red, and brown. Even though it was late spring, there was no green in sight. And it was quiet. So quiet. As if the world was holding its breath. At times, Embla could forget about the stagnant state of the world as she sat in her chair by the fire, sipping tea Asher had made her. As she braided her daughter’s hair. As she watched her mother play games with Mateo. Games she’d played in her childhood. But every time Embla went outside, the emptiness of the world hit her. Hard.

Fidan broke the emptiness as she burst into a run before cartwheeling and tumbling to the ground. She giggled as the dirt formed a a little cloud of dust around her. Embla would have to clean that dress later.

Fidan smiled brightly, in that way only young children seemed to. Entirely free of care or the burden of weariness that was so present in the faces and stature of the market-goers. In her smile there was no fear of the Followers of Eleo, or the uncertain future, only pure, unbridled joy. Not the bridled joy Embla felt as she watched her daughter. Fidan’s emerald green eyes sparkled in the springtime sunlight.

They were her father’s eyes. Asher’s eyes.

Embla smiled wearily. She was always weary these days. It was visible on her face. Drawn in careful lines, barely noticeable, telling the story of every time she’d nearly run out of food. Every time Asher had come home later than usual. Which was more often these days. He had seemed distracted lately. Head in the clouds. Forgetting things he never would have forgotten otherwise. Sometimes, Embla saw him staring in the direction of the Old Road, as if he was searching for something. She hadn’t brought it up.

“Butterflies flutter by hmmhmm…”

Fidan sang as she tumbled around, lapsing in and out of the song as she remembered the lyrics. Embla joined her.

“Like silk scarves in the wind. The stars upon their wings. Butterflies flutter by, the brilliant, lovely things.”

Three Years Later

Asher had always been curious. He was constantly asking questions, whether consciously or not. It was one of the many reasons why Elma had married him, on that summer’s day that seemed so long ago, and also as if it were yesterday. In the end, this curiosity was why he left.

The night he left, Embla woke earlier than normal. Something had shaken her from her sleep. A door, closing, a little bit too hard. Despite her sleep-muddled state, she ran to the door, prepared to find a burglar in her home. The room was empty. The fire had turned to charcoal and ash. There was the sound of footsteps outside. Asher’s axe lay near the door.

Embla picked it up, the weight comforting in her hands. Mateo and Fidan were presumably still asleep in their beds. And Embla realized she hadn’t seen Asher. Fear chilled her heart. What if something had happened to him? Her hands shook. She steadied them.

Embla reached for the door handle, turning it. The latch clicked, and the door creaked open slowly. She stepped outside, axe raised. Then, the axe fell from her hands to the the ground. A cloaked figure stood not too far off, staring at her with his green eyes. Asher.

A pack sat on his shoulders. A large one. One no doubt needed for travel.

“Asher, what are you doing?” Her voice climbed higher than normal, tighter.

Really, she didn’t need to ask the question to know the answer.

“We talked about this already, I’m leaving.”

Really, they hadn’t talked about it. He had. Late at night when the children were asleep. When they were both tired. He’d told her how desperately he wanted to travel to his homeland. Down the Old Road no less. To find answers for why the world had died. No matter how many times he’d mentioned this, Embla hadn’t taken it seriously.

“We didn’t finish talking. We didn’t agree.”

“I need to go,” he insisted.

In his eyes, she saw that what he said was true. Maybe not right, but true. There was something desperate in his gaze.

“It’s not safe right now.” she argued, “What if you die?”

Asher closed the distance between them, taking her hand in his, “You don’t need to worry about me. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, Em.”

Embla’s brow furrowed, “You can’t be sure of that. Don’t you know how dangerous that road is?”

“It doesn’t get worse than the streets of Ciud Peligro.”

She watched him. Asher swallowed.

“I need to know, Em,” he squeezed her hand, and his voice broke as he spoke, “I love you. I love Fidan. I love Mateo. More than anything in this world. More than you know. But things aren’t right. And I need to know why.”

There was an intensity in his voice that Embla had never heard before, and she knew he meant every word. That he was set on his course.

“Then we can all go,” Embla argued.

His eyes widened, “No.”

The word came sharp. Cutting through Embla like an axe.

“Why not?” she questioned.

“You’ll die if you come. You know that.”

Asher’s tone was certain, “I’m going to the Old Temple. If you go they’ll kill you, Em. They’d kill the our kids too. Just like they’d kill any Marked person. That’s not a guess, it’s the truth.”

He wasn’t wrong, no matter how much Embla wished he was. Her hand strayed to the curved horns which grew from her head, adorned with ribbons and charms. The horns she’d inherited from her mother, and passed down to her children. The Old Road would be a death sentence to her.

But not to Asher.

She inhaled, a sob building in her chest. Asher pulled her into an embrace. His arms were strong, and warm.

“I’ll be back, Em, before you know it.”

Then, he disappeared into the dead forest.

One Year Later

Once a year, every year since she was an infant, Embla’s mother took her stargazing. They would stay up late into the night in early autumn, pointing out the constellations to each other. Her mother had told her their stories. How the Weaver loved the Soldier so much that she weaved them together eternally in starlight. How the Serpent was slaughtered. And many more. She’d memorized these stories, keeping each one close to her heart.

Now, Embla and her mother shared this tradition with Fidan and Mateo. She listened as her mother shared the stories, occasionally chiming in. Her mother had always been quite the spinner of tales. She was a master of pacing and tone, and knew how to make stories feel tangible. Because of her, the children stared at the sky with a familiar look of awe. One which reminded Embla of–she shook her head. Now was not the time.

They fell asleep in the fallen leaves, underneath the ceiling of stars. It was peaceful. Calm. And, in the wonder of the night, wrapped in familiar stories and her love for her children, Embla’s world didn’t feel quite so empty. Tomorrow, they would make the journey home, but, for now, they slept. After all, they had come here, to this particular clearing, many times before. This place was safe. Secluded.

Embla was startled awake by a scream. Then, there was a gunshot.

She bolted to her feet, heart racing. Leaves crunched under her feet. Her mother lay dead on the ground, blood and brains spilling from her head. Her mother, who had been telling stories to her just last night. Her mother, who had never let her down. Her mother. Dead.

Standing over her body was a man. He wore traveler's clothes of simple make. His jaw was lined with stubble. In his hand was a gun.

Embla looked around. Mateo was nowhere to be seen. Fidan stood to her left, frozen.

Embla moved towards her, raising her hands, “Please don’t hurt us, ple–”

Her plea was cut short by a gunshot.

Fidan fell to the ground with an almost silent cry. Embla rushed to her side. The sparkle of her eyes dulled. They were her father’s eyes. Asher’s eyes.

No.

Embla cradled Fidan’s lifeless body in her arms. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed Fidan’s hair from her face, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. A goodbye.

Her life was punctuated by a gunshot.