premature.
“Then it’s decided. You two need to leave
immediately. Tonight.”
“Can’t we wait a few days to tend to her foot?”
her father asked.
“No, it must be tonight. There were too many eyes
on us when I reacted with Ty’s Pact. You know how they look at me, Orval. The
lingering fear and resentment… they will talk. It must be tonight.
Classic, Tyrissa thought. With the aurora
at a weak, fading hazel, a nighttime departure would be a under cloak of
darkness. Perhaps her mother had an unintentional flair for poetic adventure
after all.
“Liran, ready your mare and wagon. Orval, help Ty
pack up. I’ll gather some food for the trip to the caravan,” Iri said,
standing, “and bring in the boys for their good-byes. We’ll tell them that your
injuries need the attention of a physic in Tavleorn and that you’ll be away for
a week or so.”
“They aren’t so naïve as that mother. What
happens after a week when I don’t come back?”
“Then you’ll be away on the caravan and we can
tell them the truth. Come, on your feet. We’ve much to do tonight.”
Iri dealt out their tasks with a stoutness
Tyrissa had never seen before. Her mother’s bearing, the solid, unflinching
look on her face and the crisp way she spoke were such radical departures from
the distant, private woman she grew up under. It was as if Iri Jorensen became
someone else. Or perhaps, someone she used to be.
Outside, the early morning hours crept by.
Tyrissa managed to catch a few hours of sleep while they all prepared for her
and Liran’s departure. Soon she would leave all that she knew for a world she’d
only read and dreamed about. However, she had enough time to leave a parting
gift.
Tyrissa sat on her bed. Tales from Across the
North lay on her lap with a small, blank sheet of paper atop it. On the
floor next to her feet sat a pack, filled with clothing and a handful of useful
possessions for the journey. She had only read about half of Tales thus
far, and it would be the one little luxury she would bring along.
She addressed the note to her father and wrote:
Take the left branch of the trail that starts
near the Grossen’s. Follow it northwest for an hour. After the rotting wooden
bridge there is an overgrown trail that splits off due north. Look for a pine
with my initials carved in the bark. Follow that trail for another half-hour.
You’ll come to a hill. The steeloak is at the top. You can’t miss it.
Oster has a terrible memory when it comes to
the forest, but should be of some help.
With Love,
Tyrissa.
She capped the pen and folded the note in half.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Tyrissa looked up to see her mother standing
in the doorway. She wore the same outfit from before, and still looked like a
completely different person. For two reasons.
“Are you ready?”
Tyrissa stood the folded note on the nightstand
and took a long look around her bedroom, lingering on the row of epics and
adventure stories on the shelf. She had fantasized about this, the moment right
before setting off on some grand, world spanning adventure. Such dreams never
included this sense of melancholy.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Iri walked in and took a seat at the far end of
the bed, keeping a noticeable distance between them.
“Tyrissa, I realize I perhaps haven’t been as
kind or open with you as a mother should. I’ve been cold at times, distant, and
I’m sorry.”
“I understand, mother,” she lifted the Tales book in one hand, before letting it fall to the bedspread. “Heroes are shaped
by their pasts.”
Iri reached over and picked up the book, turning
it over in her hands. “Sometimes you get what you want in unexpected ways,” she
said. “I don’t have to tell you that I love you dearly. Just… I will never be
ashamed of you, or the path your life follows, Pact or no.”
Tyrissa said nothing, slide closer to her mother
and took her hands in her own. Iri flinched at the touch
“Then it’s decided. You two need to leave
immediately. Tonight.”
“Can’t we wait a few days to tend to her foot?”
her father asked.
“No, it must be tonight. There were too many eyes
on us when I reacted with Ty’s Pact. You know how they look at me, Orval. The
lingering fear and resentment… they will talk. It must be tonight.
Classic, Tyrissa thought. With the aurora
at a weak, fading hazel, a nighttime departure would be a under cloak of
darkness. Perhaps her mother had an unintentional flair for poetic adventure
after all.
“Liran, ready your mare and wagon. Orval, help Ty
pack up. I’ll gather some food for the trip to the caravan,” Iri said,
standing, “and bring in the boys for their good-byes. We’ll tell them that your
injuries need the attention of a physic in Tavleorn and that you’ll be away for
a week or so.”
“They aren’t so naïve as that mother. What
happens after a week when I don’t come back?”
“Then you’ll be away on the caravan and we can
tell them the truth. Come, on your feet. We’ve much to do tonight.”
Iri dealt out their tasks with a stoutness
Tyrissa had never seen before. Her mother’s bearing, the solid, unflinching
look on her face and the crisp way she spoke were such radical departures from
the distant, private woman she grew up under. It was as if Iri Jorensen became
someone else. Or perhaps, someone she used to be.
Outside, the early morning hours crept by.
Tyrissa managed to catch a few hours of sleep while they all prepared for her
and Liran’s departure. Soon she would leave all that she knew for a world she’d
only read and dreamed about. However, she had enough time to leave a parting
gift.
Tyrissa sat on her bed. Tales from Across the
North lay on her lap with a small, blank sheet of paper atop it. On the
floor next to her feet sat a pack, filled with clothing and a handful of useful
possessions for the journey. She had only read about half of Tales thus
far, and it would be the one little luxury she would bring along.
She addressed the note to her father and wrote:
Take the left branch of the trail that starts
near the Grossen’s. Follow it northwest for an hour. After the rotting wooden
bridge there is an overgrown trail that splits off due north. Look for a pine
with my initials carved in the bark. Follow that trail for another half-hour.
You’ll come to a hill. The steeloak is at the top. You can’t miss it.
Oster has a terrible memory when it comes to
the forest, but should be of some help.
With Love,
Tyrissa.
She capped the pen and folded the note in half.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Tyrissa looked up to see her mother standing
in the doorway. She wore the same outfit from before, and still looked like a
completely different person. For two reasons.
“Are you ready?”
Tyrissa stood the folded note on the nightstand
and took a long look around her bedroom, lingering on the row of epics and
adventure stories on the shelf. She had fantasized about this, the moment right
before setting off on some grand, world spanning adventure. Such dreams never
included this sense of melancholy.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Iri walked in and took a seat at the far end of
the bed, keeping a noticeable distance between them.
“Tyrissa, I realize I perhaps haven’t been as
kind or open with you as a mother should. I’ve been cold at times, distant, and
I’m sorry.”
“I understand, mother,” she lifted the Tales book in one hand, before letting it fall to the bedspread. “Heroes are shaped
by their pasts.”
Iri reached over and picked up the book, turning
it over in her hands. “Sometimes you get what you want in unexpected ways,” she
said. “I don’t have to tell you that I love you dearly. Just… I will never be
ashamed of you, or the path your life follows, Pact or no.”
Tyrissa said nothing, slide closer to her mother
and took her hands in her own. Iri flinched at the touch
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