Chapter 2: It's Never Goodbye

Miko:

I had given up on getting better. A version of my life where my body operated the same as my brother’s, as a normal person should, had been eviscerated for a couple of years. Hope is dangerous; even a sliver of it can destroy a person, but today, today it feels different. Something in this map and in those formless words is calling me. They feel peculiar. Everything we have tried has had different levels of reason or logic in how it could affect me positively, but this isn’t logical; it involves things that defy natural reason. There’s an unknown variable that makes it hard to predict and understand, which simultaneously scares me and excites me at the same time. 

Even still, it’s hard to determine if how I feel is for Maleki, or for me. Of course, I want to get better, but I only want to do so because Maleki serves as a constant reminder of what I am capable of. I’ve started to be comfortable with my limitations. I don’t think I could keep up with my older brother even if my limbs worked right; I mean, He’s been taller than me at every age. How am I supposed to even try to keep up? I hate being weak, but what I hate more is keeping Maleki restricted. He shouldn’t have to chase these dead ends with me; I’m just holding him back. 

But my stupid brother won’t give up, won’t let me give up, that is. He always has to be the older brother, and he says it’s his “duty,” as if he owes me. I can’t understand it. I don’t deserve this, but I also don’t not deservethis. Life is random; someone has to draw the short straws, and I know someone somewhere has it worse off than me. 

I have a place to sleep, food, and family. I have this damned illness, but I don’t need for much, nor want for that matter. Everything I’ve wanted has been given to me, minus the use of my limbs occasionally. I can still move, and some days are worse than others, but it’s usually one or the other. That’s what Maleki, the incredulous optimist, wants me to focus on — just the positives.

We didn’t talk much on the way back to the house. Maleki is always on high alert when we walk through the woods like this, but I didn’t need to hear his thoughts to know their contents. He was thinking about everything to come, preparing himself mentally so he could have the upper hand. His brain was probably calculating every intersection of the upcoming conversation with our grandparents and how he would explain why a twelve-year-old and ten-year-old need to venture off into the world. He does this often, just drifting off into space with his thoughts as if no one is around him. I used to think he wasn’t aware in that state of thought, but any movement in the trees or in front of him will catch his eyes. I think our father is largely responsible for embedding that alertness in him, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of paranoia. 

First dark started to consume the green-orange sky as we approached the house. Our grandparents were likely taking their nap, so Maleki and I would need to wait until after dinner, which would be a couple of hours after second light. Despite my desire to sleep as long as possible, I’ve never been able to sleep during the five-hour span between first dark and second light. I prefer to spend the time alone in Grandpa’s study, where his mounds of books sit collecting dust. I don’t usually have a goal in mind when looking for something to read; I just grab the first interesting thing that I can find. Today, however, is different. Unlike Maleki, I don’t want to imagine what comes next. I want to see it — and luckily for me, I remember seeing a map of Quavoris in one of these old books that might be able to help us understand what we are getting into. 

Flipping through books is quite frustrating when you have fingers that are about as useful as gluing sausage links to yourself, but years of practice and the determination not to be reliant on others have forced me to find new ways to operate things on my own. In this case, I’ve actually become proficient in using my toes and feet to flip the pages and open the spine. Of course, it feels about as stupid as it looks, but it’s better than bothering Maleki to open every page for me. Thankfully, the parchment paper on most of these books is super thick, making it easier to manipulate, though it would be much easier to do if my toes had joints like my fingers. Why couldn’t I have been born with some kind of weird but useful illness like that — instead, I’m stuck with this stupid one.

The piles of books were large and covered an extensive amount of topics and fields of interest, but a majority of them had to do with the family trade, such as ‘Arms and Armours’ and ‘Metallic Craftsmanship.’ Most of these were pretty in-depth and useless since we weren’t interested in smithing like Grandpa. Some books talked about weather patterns, kingdoms, and livestock. I had read most of them already, but I was sure I had read a few that mentioned Quavoris specifically.

The bookshelves beside the piles were crudely sorted, so I had to pick through them until I found the correct title. After searching for a few minutes, I found a few interesting diagrams before getting to what I was looking for. One chart was in a book about weather, showing the torrential patterns that bombarded the coasts, and theorized that the Astral Ring above our world might affect it. Another book had a map of the claimed land and showed the six kingdoms and their territories. After this, I found what I was looking for — Quavoris in all its glory. Quavoris isn’t the most minor kingdom, but its land is the most significant economic factor. The book showed trade routes in and out of the kingdom, but we were looking for the path that intersected with the inner territory.

Grandpa was a landholder in the outer zone of the innermost kingdom, presumably gained from his efforts during the war. Maleki and I like to theorize if this was the case or what he did, but it’s not uncommon around here. According to our parents, most of the families around us had relatives or parents who retired from service to the king and his armies.

The trade route closest to us that would take us right to Quavoris was around a two-day journey. The path would take us through the southwest side of Quavoris’ land, so the trip should be smooth south of their famous woods.

Their standings were always neutral with the other kingdoms, even during war, so their borders were always open for travelers. The book showed some of their important exports, but most of it was strong hide and materials only found in their woods. 

Surprisingly, Quavoris was inset from the sea by a much more considerable distance than I had expected. After reading some of the entries further, it appeared that the storms that come in from the sea are much more dangerous than the other coasts and restrict most travel by sea.

By the time I had finished reading through most of the descriptions in the book, I began to hear movement throughout the house as everyone started to prepare for the second sun. Our grandparents had retired before we were born to farm this plot of land, so most of the harvest was small and only intended to be food on their plates, but there was still a small amount of upkeep required to make sure the harvests were healthy and consistent.

Maleki returned to the fields to finish where he left off, and I followed Grandmother Kecila to her garden, where she would prune the leaves and stems of her flowers and perform a light plucking of the fruit and vegetables for our meal tonight. Her garden was a small plot next to the house that was easy to maneuver through, and only a few taller vines grew on arched trellis throughout, so everything was within reach for us. With my arms being limp today, I was fairly useless, though I had learned to pick the weeds from the garden using my big toe and curling with a tensed twist of my foot. More than that, I enjoyed talking to our grandmother and listening to her stories. Today, I sat next to her on blackened soil that was equal parts ash and mulch. Her grayish-brown hair was cut low and didn’t even reach her shoulders. Every movement seemed slow at first glance, but I knew that wasn’t the case. She moved with precision and steadiness. Her nimble hands moved between the leaves of her favourite rose bush, trimming away the weight that formed as it grew. 

“Grandmother, why do you have to prune these obsidian roses? None of these other plants need this level of care, and they actually bear fruit.”

Her hands returned out of the bush, and she answered me with the same care and precision that she had with her favoured roses. “You see, Miko, the obsidian roses do not grow properly without my intervention. They do not bloom this way in the wild. The intervention of our species with theirs has caused these plants to require us in order to grow properly, else they will be crushed under their own weight and will block the very light they need for the flowers to bloom.”

“So, we changed this plant to suit our needs?”

“Yes, it is rather selfish, I suppose. They do not grow so beautifully without us, nor do they require it. They possess no awareness to know any better, and these petals are not required to bloom in order for the plant to produce seedlings. In fact, it’s quite the opposite; now that I’ve let the buds flower, the plant will no longer grow properly or produce new additional buds.”

“So, how did you get this one? Was it wild?”

“No, this one was from my home in the capital. I brought it here and regrew it by plucking all the blooms and retrieving their seeds. This is common for women to do when they marry. These obsidian roses were a gift from my mother. When I was your age, I helped her prune the leaves and stems. Many families pick a plant when they first marry and see the health of the plant as a mirror for the health of the family. Taking care of these obsidian roses is my duty to your grandfather and represents my commitment to the nurturing of our family as a whole. My role is to guide the flowers in the right direction so that they may bloom brightly and beautifully. You boys are my obsidian roses.”

She pinched my cheeks with both hands and gave me a kiss on the forehead. Her fingertips muddied my cheeks slightly, but I didn’t have the arms to sweep away the flecks of dirt or her gristly attack. Her soft footsteps left the edge of the garden, and I sat digesting her words. All of her obsidian roses’ buds bloomed so beautifully, except one. The petals grew misshapen and off-coloured, as if the plant’s stem was infected. I had seen her cut away at it before, hoping it would regrow properly, but it never did. I’ve tried telling her it’s not her fault and that the corrupted bud is just a coincidence, but my comfort never soothes her sadness. Instead, my words seem to have the opposite effect. She sees my comfort as a burden that a child should not bear and our maturity as a failure of her own. I don’t understand why she fears us becoming too adult-like, as if we sacrificed our childhood and she was personally responsible for it. Are there any children more coddled and loved than my brother and me? Surely not.

I sat outside and enjoyed the garden and watched Maleki work up a sweat while he worked the fields. A thought intruded into my head that I tried to push away, but it had already rooted itself too deep. “Why wasn’t it Maleki that was sick? Why was it just me? Why are you sitting here, unable to move in any significant way, while your brother walks so freely?” They were selfish thoughts devoid of logic or reason, but they still broke through my stoic outlook on life all the same. In my heart, I was glad it was me and not him, but part of me, the part without a voice, did wonder why it was me who was born with the illness and not him.

Those thoughts fleeted away as dinner was called for. I raced Maleki inside, not that he knew it was a race and I had a huge head start, but a win every now and made me feel better.

Grandmother was still setting the table when I walked into the room. The table sat six, with Grandpa on the short side, Grandmother at his right, and Maleki’s seat at his left. I found my seat next to Grandmother and swung the heel of my foot behind one of the chair’s back legs so I could sit down and use my shoulder to even it out. When the last plate was set at the table, Grandmother Kecila sat beside me and spoke softly with a warm smile, “I tried to pick items that would be easier for you to eat today.”

Maleki joked across the table slyly, “I could feed you if you’d like.”

“Let me have some dignity,” I responded with the attitude of a royal.

I then dropped my head onto my plate and ate much like a pig. It was not at all proper and was probably even more of a loss of dignity, but everyone already does so much for me. I can at least feed myself. My plate was covered in slices of meat and smaller fruits from the bushes in the garden, so they were easier to grab and eat without having to manage smaller pieces.

In our family, it is uncommon to carry on a conversation at dinner. The house’s unspoken rule is to finish your food before talking. It’s always been this way, which I guess we continued by watching our parents and grandparents interact. Maleki and I followed this impatiently until everyone’s plates were mostly cleaned, as conversation often carried over cleaning the table and our dinnerware.

I couldn’t partake in the cleaning since, you know, my arms were utterly useless, but Maleki took my plate and joined himself near the tub where Grandma was cleaning the cookware. She smiled at his attempt to help. “I can handle these, or are you ready to tell us what’s on your minds?”

Maleki’s eyes met mine with a face of betrayal. He must’ve thought I told her something already. I shook my head to deny his visual accusation before speaking to her, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She laughed and set one of her dishes down so she could turn around and look us both in the eyes. “I’ve been doing this much longer than you both, and I know when something’s amiss.” She looked over at Grandpa Thaumus, who had one leg crossed high above the other with a cup of tea and a book from his collection. He had his thin pair of glasses that sat low on his cheekbone while his head was raised high to read the words that filled the pages of a book he never let me read named “Geo-Farming.”

He looked up from his book, feeling the looming eyes of his wife. 

Grandmother continued to speak, “You both know we are here for you and support whatever it is you need. So, what is it you two have planned?”

Maleki looked at me and smiled. They really did understand us and cared for us more than anyone had been able to. Their love had been more than enough to keep us going. I kept it straightforward to avoid the assumptions we had made. “We need to go to Quavoris.”

Grandpa Thaumas raised a long-haired eyebrow and spoke with confusion, “What’s there?”

“A person,” Maleki responded.

“A guide,” I added unsurely. We think there is someone in Quavoris who can lead us to a place capable of healing me.”

Our Grandparents’ eyes met and lingered as if they were having a conversation of their own that did not require words. Grandmother spoke apprehensively, “I presume your Grandfather’s old friend gave you this brave idea?”

I responded quickly with a prepared response, “Yes, he gave us an old parchment that had a map and a riddle. We believe we can solve it, and I have a plan.”

Maleki looked at me dissapointedly with his arms crossed, and I corrected myself. “We. We have a plan.”

Grandpa spoke with even more apprehension, “William is a great man, but he’s always been very imaginative. Boys, I don’t want you chasing a hopeful story. I remember what happened with dear Theresa, and our hearts poured out for them….” He paused before finishing and looked to our grandmother for confidence, “…but not everything can be fixed. Blades can be reforged, and amour can be bent back into shape, but people — we aren’t as malleable — aren’t as fixable. It takes courage to know what we can and can’t change.”

Maleki responded first after the silence. “All we have left are our hopes. Potions, medicine, and healers. We tried it all…

The tension had risen considerably and was noticeable by Grandmother Kecila’s expression. She responded after the silence that was left between Grandpa and Maleki. “We do care about you both, but we do worry. There’s so much out there that you have yet to experience; reading in a book is one thing, but you haven’t had the exposure other kids have, and Quavoris is a different, far-away place for two boys who haven’t ever left their family homestead.

Maleki was less abrupt this time but still held firm to his beliefs, “The luxury of hoping this will pass or be cured by chance has long since passed. We have to do this….” He rubbed his forearm against his eyes to wipe away the tears before they started. “I can’t continue to watch him wither away.”

Grandma pulled him in close. His light brown hair that peaked up was all that was visible as he stopped himself from crying into her arms.

A tear fell from her eyes, “I know, son, but this isn’t your journey alone.” She looked at me and spoke again, “Miko, there are always risks, and we won’t be there to help you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

I thought for a moment and considered what she was saying. I remembered what it was like to be able to play with Maleki like a normal kid, but I was getting left behind, and I couldn’t keep up much longer with this pace. I wanted to get better. I needed to. “I need this. Whether we find a cure or not, I need to know we tried.”

“Well, then, we trust and believe in you both, but it’s only natural for us to worry. The world out there, there aren’t many prepared for it, but I had hoped we could change that for you. Selfish desires, I suppose.” She snapped her fingers in a moment of realization, “Thaumy, I think it’s about time you give the boys their heirlooms.” Her wink traveled into Grandpa’s expression as if he, too, had the realization.

“We can’t be there with you, but we can give you something to help ease the journey,” Grandpa said as his expression lightened up.

We followed Grandpa Thaumus outside and headed to his shop. The sun was setting, which shone onto the Astral Rings with a brilliant hue and provided enough light to see around without a torch.

Grandpa led us to the back of the shop in a room where he stored his materials and tools. He flipped open a wooden box and pulled out two bags fitted as packs to be carried for travel. “There’s one for each of you. These used to belong to Kecila and me, but we don’t travel too far anymore, so they’re not of much use to us at this point.”

Grandpa continued after pulling out a brown leather cloth wrapped around a circular shape. “Be careful with this one; these aren’t like your wooden toys.” He moved as if to hand it to me before realizing that my arms weren’t working, and then laced them on the bench next to us. Then, he reached into a second chest and grabbed a pole from the middle of its length, which then extended from the bottom. It was now easily as tall as him, and he had an entire foot above our shoulders.

He spun it downwards so that the object was horizontal with his body and Maleki’s. My older brother just stared intently.

“It’s yours,” Grandpa said.

Maleki’s hand reached out and grabbed between Grandpa’s, and the weight of it shifted downwards, allowing the leather cloth on the top to slide off, revealing a semi-crescent blade that glimmered a beautiful white.

“A scythe?” Maleki asked.

Grandpa smiled and let out a short laugh. “Yes, but none like the ones we use for the harvest and upkeep.”

He was right. The shape was slightly askew rather than perfectly straight, and no grip protruded down the middle of the shaft like an ordinary one. There was also another small shape on the other side of the crescent that looked more like the blade of an axe. 

“I never planned to give you these so early, but I would feel better if you had them with you out there.” He looked at us both once before continuing, “I can’t tell you how to wield them, but if you respect them as you would a steed, they will protect you.”

I let Maleki inspect his gift, and then he sat his to the side to help me with mine. I waited for him to set the pack near my feet, and watched as he pulled the cloth away from the disc. Two circular disks appeared that were hanging from a thick black thread. The thread was attached to the fabric and then to a black brace that gripped around the disk. I presumed this was a safety mechanism since the disc appeared to be very sharp. You wouldn’t want to slice open your hand or foot just trying to get it out. I had never seen anything like this before, even in drawings from books on combat. This weapon was unique, but I had no idea what to do with it.

I spoke out loud for the first time, “Grandpa Thaumus, I thought you made armour for the King’s armies.”

His eyes focused away from us as if he was seeing something we couldn’t. “I did. I made armour for kings and weapons to destroy them.”