Posted in 2017-2018, Fiction

They’re Never Really Gone

By Nathan Retherford

Mother woke me up at about 8 AM to check on the garden, she had her thin green plastic gloves on, and her sun hat that frayed slightly at the edges, and she had a smile that said Have I got an adventure for you today Darcy. We went to the flowerbed right beside the front door and there was an eyestalk growing from the ground. It was Great Aunt Leontine’s (and I know it was hers because it kept searching the window for the little trays of cookies she would leave out, and my brother and I would steal, when he still lived here). I had no idea who buried her there, but Mother seemed pretty content and fed it and the veins along its side sort of convulsed in a seemingly pleased way when she did. This is probably because my uncle who lives in South Dakota planted Grandpa and last Christmas he sent us a card with a photo of a leg squirming out of the earth with the caption “Me and the Old Man, still kicking!”.

That night after everyone went to sleep I had to look out my bedroom window and Leontine’s eyestalk had grown out maybe another quarter of an inch and was peering around the front of the house in a very lumbering way. I saw the tips of her manicured fingers wriggling slightly in the dirt and I guess it really is like Mother said, that they’re never really gone.

By the next week, when I had to go back to school (it was Christmas break, and when I asked Mother why we planted Leontine in the winter she said a woman as strong as her could grow any time of the year) her hand had shot out of the ground enough to wave goodbye as I got on the school bus, and sometimes Mother would show her my homework and spelling bee awards and get those signs of positive reaffirmation and she would say Darcy Dear, I am so proud of you. And for a while, piece by piece, Leontine was there, her nose took root not too far from the window and we would let her smell the casseroles and pies and other things we made and her eye would dilate as if to say Thank you.  

But one day I came home from school and I got off of the bus and Mother was there, crying, and Father was holding the weed-eater behind him, and the whole front of the house was covered in little specks and splatters of blood. I tried to ask what happened but it was pretty clear that there was no getting Great Aunt Leontine back now, and that tomorrow they were going to come with a big backhoe and put her somewhere else. Somewhere she could Rest In Peace.

 

Posted in 2017-2018, Fiction

Late Nights

By Autumn Thrift

“I couldn’t sleep, so I called you.”

“Dude, I was asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“…What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

“Since you can’t sleep and I can’t remember my dream… Why don’t you tell me a story?”

“Oh, um, okay.”

“Hold on, let me turn my lamp off and lay back down.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’m ready.”

“Uuuhhhh…. Once upon a time there was a star on Earth. She was so beautiful, and burned so brightly but she destroyed everything she touched. It made her sad, but she learned to deal with it, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Oh, shut up. Anyway, yeah. She couldn’t help but burn up anything and everything that was near her. She tried to look at everything as best as she could from a distance, but it wasn’t enough for her. She felt isolated, miles away from everything and so, so far from anyone. A never-ending darkness surrounded her-”

“Edgy.”

“Shhh… she was alone, and it made her sad. She was stuck in space-”

“I thought you said she was on Earth?”

“Stop interrupting! She is, it just felt like she was stuck in space.”

“Oh, okay. Continue.”

“Alright, so… she was sad. And lonely. I already said that. But what she didn’t know was that there was a lonely asteroid who admired her from afar, cold and drifting, stuck in an orbit he couldn’t get out of. It was all… really, really sad. She was stuck and he was too, but he kept moving and she didn’t. She couldn’t light her own dark, and he couldn’t break his own orbit. I don’t know. This sounds bad–but don’t you dare interrupt me.

“Anyway, uh, she noticed him at some point, and she watched him as he danced around and kept moving. He was amusing. She, of course, stayed put. The lonely little star unable to have any company. Ever. Even if she stayed where she was the asteroid still watched her like before and admired her–okay, that sounds creepy, oops–and they kind of made each other happy. To know there was someone else there. They may have been on Earth but space is still vast and lonely, and that’s what was between them. Space. But there came a time where finally the asteroid made his move, and came crashing near the star. She was so happy, but so scared. She was going to burn him. The thing is, he never made it. Instead he burned while crashing to the Earth and she had to watch. She saw him streak across the sky and funnily enough he was a shooting star. She wished he’d come back, but he couldn’t. He was now just a meteor stuck on Earth, stationary and warm. She was a star who sat and waited for her time to come, and when it did she exploded beautifully, but destroyed everything in her wake. The end.”

“That was… really sad. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. Are you tired?”

“I am. Are you?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll stay longer, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Posted in Fiction

The Woman in the Japanese Hospital Bed

By Derek Frazier

The early morning shift of the Kyoto Takeda Hospital was a slow one, dotted with the occasional life or death cases. The doctors had taken to calling it “The Delivery room.” The hospital lacked the necessary equipment to deliver children, so the name stuck.

Einosuke Hada was the newest member of the Delivery, a bright young man in his late twenties who recently graduated from an American medical school (he had gone on scholarship) and acquired his position. The only sound in the common area was the clop-clop-clopping of his shoes as he paced, papers being signed, and the ringing of the receptionist’s phone.

Einosuke heard the ringing of the ambulance sirens as the vehicle parked. A split second later the doors swung open.  

A group of four emergency medical specialists pulled a gurney with a woman strapped to it down the hall towards an operating room.

“Hada-Sama,” one of the specialist exclaimed, adding the honorific to Einosuke’s last name, “give us a hand!”

The young doctor stepped quickly behind the gurney, the baggy legs of his purple scrubs fluttering as he doubled his pace.

“Status?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the emergency room doors that were growing closer and closer.

“Female in her twenties, she’s stable but her vitals are weak,” The specialist from earlier spoke.  His name tag in his left breast pocket identified him as Harada.

“Cause of injuries?” Einosuke asked, looking down at the woman before him. She wore a ripped raincoat slick with blood. Underneath Einosuke could see a well made black dress, with silver detailing working its way down from her breasts to her stomach like a spiderweb of dew. The left side of the dress had split outwards from the seams, exposing purpled flesh. Blood and scraps of fabric mixed like paint on her pale skin.

Harada’s breath came out in puffs as they rushed along the sanitized halls. Einosuke repeated the question.

“Severe blunt force trauma,” Harada said. “Witness said she threw herself in front of a truck.”

The doors to the emergency room opened with a heavy clunk, as they slammed against the light blue walls. With a grunt, Harada and Einosuke managed to lift the young woman onto the table in the center of the room.

“Left brachial and antebrachial are shattered,” Einosuke muttered to himself, looking at the signs of damage after he gently cut away the undamaged sections of coat and dress. “At least three fractured ribs and possible bruising of her left lung.”

With a sponge he began dabbing away the blood, his stomach clenched at the tender give of flesh and bone.

“Massive bruising and contusions on the left side of her face,” Harada said, pointing before leaving the room.

Einosuke lifted his head from the apron he was tying behind his back to look at an entering nurse.

“Get Doctor Hirano, and bring an oxygen mask immediately!” he exclaimed, “And notify the blood reserve downstairs that we will need a possible transfusion.”

“Of course,” the nurse said before stepping out.

Eventually, the nurse and Doctor Hirano returned. The graying doctor did her best, trying to keep up with the frantic movements of her younger counterpart.

“Her breathing’s shaky,” Einosuke said, a hint of panic seeping into his voice and clawing into his heart. The woman’s already pale skin faded into translucence.

“Let’s get her an MRI,” Doctor Hirano said, wheeling a new gurney over to the table before holding the patient’s ankles. “Slip that mask over her mouth.”

As Einosuke watched the young woman sleep in the MRI under the influence of anesthesia, he felt a lump grow in his throat.

He was just about to pray to the Buddha when Doctor Hirano made a noise in the back of her throat.

“What is it?” He asked.   

 Hirano let her gaze turn to the door of the analyzation chamber.

“She has a tako tsubo,” Hirano said.

Einosuke looked at the monitor in disbelief, blinking his eyes in hopes that he wasn’t seeing the disfigured bell shape of her heart.

However, no matter what, her heart stayed misshapen.

“Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy,” Einosuke said.

With a grumble of frustration, he ran his fingers through his straight black hair. Individuals who suffered from the ailment experienced an overflow of blood into their heart, a result of the interior tendons snapping. They died of a broken heart.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked. “I’ve never– this isn’t something I– can we do something?”

Hirano shook her head and whispered, “nothing,” before leaving the chamber to return the patient to the emergency room.

In the staff locker room, Einosuke lit an offering of incense for the large metallic statue of the Buddha that took up most of the space in his locker.

“Take her into your arms, Lord,” he begged, tears beginning to flow from his cheeks. “There is nothing I can do…look after her,– in this life and the next.”

If the mighty Buddha accepted the offering or pledge he gave no sign, he simply smiled his bronze grin, staring back at the anguished doctor.

Who said nothing.

Who heard nothing.

 

Posted in 2016-2017, Fiction, Issue #03

A Friend at the Door

By Sara Malott

To Mr. Jeff,

I wanted to tell you that I like the red shirt you were wearing today, but I wasn’t sure how. You don’t say much other that good morning or have a nice day. I was scared that maybe good morning and have a nice day are the only phrases you know. I didn’t want to confuse you. I told my mom and she just laughed a little bit. She said you could probably read a note and that you might appreciate this one. So, Mr. Jeff, I wanted to say that I really liked your red shirt.

Hello Mr. Jeff,

Today we had career day at school. My father was busy and my mom doesn’t work, so I didn’t bring anyone to school with me. Lots of dads have cool jobs. Bryce’s dad kills bugs. Alex’s dad flies planes. Everyone was kinda disappointed when I told them my dad just worked at a bank. So then I told them about you, Jeff the doorman. Lacey said your job was stupid and you probably didn’t make that much money. I think she’s stupid. Ms. K said that being a doorman is an honorable job. I think I could be a good doorman when I grow up. Maybe you could give me lessons sometime.

For Mr. Jeff

This morning when I was leaving for school, you dropped your wallet when I said hi. It looked like you were looking at something. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m not scared of people but I am scared of poison ivy and big storms. When you bent over to pick up your wallet I saw a little bit of your underpants. They were green with cards on them. I know, because me and my dad used to play cards a lot. Now he has to do his job all the time, so we don’t really play cards anymore. But my dad has a picture of me in his wallet. He tells me that he shows all his friends at his job what I look like. They tell him that I am getting very big. They tell him that I look just like him. Do you have any pictures in your wallet? You should show me them sometime if you do. Then maybe I can tell you if the pictures look like you.

@ Mr. Jeff

Today my mom taught me what an “at” symbol is. She says people use it when they are writing an email to somebody. I don’t have an email so I thought I might use it when I’m writing to you. I know it doesn’t really make sense, because at Mr. Jeff doesn’t make sense, but I wanted to use it anyway. You should really think about writing me back, because it takes a little while for me to write these.

Mr. Jeff,

We have Christmas break this week. I told my mom that we should invite you to our apartment, but she said that probably wasn’t a good idea. She said you probably wouldn’t come and then she said you probably had to spend time at your own apartment. Do you have an apartment? Do you live in a house? Do you live in a box under a bridge like the trolls my dad tells me about? You look like you might be a good troll.

Dear Mr. Jeff,

I’m sorry I called you a troll. My mom said that might hurt your feelings. We saw a really fat lady at the movie theater. She was sitting right next to us and I said, “Mom that lady is huge!” And she yelled at me for being rude. Then I said, “Mom, that lady is the opposite of skinny!” And she just rolled her eyes. So I’m sorry for calling you a troll.

P.S. Today we learned about writing letters and we learned about using P.S. We also learned about starting a letter with Dear.

Dear Mr. Jeff,

I’m having birthday party this weekend. I want you to come. We live in 6F and it’s at two o’clock on Saturday. I think you should come. You are my friend. If you don’t come, I guess it’s ok because adults have a lot of stuff to do.

Another P.S. I realize you might not know my name. It’s Simon. I’m in the fourth grade. I have Mrs. Hersch. If you’d like to know more, come to my birthday party. Thank you.

Thanks Mr. Jeff,

I’m really happy you came to my party. I had a lot of fun. Wanna go to the park next Saturday? I really like the swings. We could have a picnic. My mom always says she makes a mean PB&J. You can bring your dogs along. I could tell you liked to talk about them a lot. I wish I had a dog. Maybe you could bring yours to work with you sometime. I have so much more I want to tell you about. Let me know if you’d want to go to the park. Have a nice day!

– Simon

Posted in 2016-2017, Fiction, Issue #03

Goddess of the Moon

By Aevin Mayman

The goddess Selene was born under the sky. The morning of her birth was greeted by the shining light of the clear blue sky that was her mother’s eyes. Theia smiled down at her and Selene saw the expanse above them captured in her mother’s gaze.

As a child, Selene learned to live with a large family. Every holiday was greeted by the arrival of the remaining ten titans coming to join their siblings, her parents, for food. She grew up with booming laughs and communal songs that shook the foundations of her home. Even before learning how to speak, she laughed along with them and sang as loud as her little lungs would let her.  Most of her songs went out of tune, but no one ever cared.

Her days were filled with visits from her grandmother, Gaia. They would take long strolls through the thick forests of her home — the trees always lush and glowing from the sky’s clear light. Many days were spent entirely like this, with her grandmother showing Selene the details of the world around them. In the end, Selene ended up paying more attention to butterflies than things such as the variations in tree bark, but Gaia simply laughed off the distractions and let her play. Having the mother of the Earth as her grandmother gave Selene a deep appreciation for all things under the sky. Gaia would bring forth Selene’s chiming bell laughter with brilliant flowers that grew under her fingertips and the songs that she sang with the birds.

On a day such as this, Selene was walking a forest path with Gaia. With her grandmother’s help, the young Selene named every bird she saw. She trilled along with the chickadees, cawed with the crows. She was so preoccupied with the orchestra of bird song around her that the golden flash from above nearly startled her off the path. She turned her gaze to the sky – the clear blue sky that had once held only her mother’s eyes – and saw a streak of light far above her.

“Grandmother,” she said softly, voice hushed with awe. “What is that?”

Gaia smiled up at the sky and wrapped her arm around Selene. “That, my dear, is your brother. He now rides the Chariot of the Sun, and will journey across the sky with it everyday, and rest every night.” Around her, the broad-leaved plants and blossoming flowers all seemed to glow with this new light. They turned towards the sky where Helios now rode, their faces soaking in all the light he gave them.

Selene pulled on Gaia’s skirt and smiled up at her with a toothy grin. “One day, I want to be in the sky, too! Can I be like my brother?” She asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Gaia smiled warmly down at the small goddess, placing a gentle hand on her hair. “Some day, my child,” she said kindly. “Someday.”

An evening fell many years later, after Helios had returned from his day-long ride and had long been asleep. Selene sat awake in her bed, staring out into the darkness of the world around her. She had been uncomfortable all night and, no matter how hard she tried, could not fall asleep. She huffed a sigh and flopped back down onto her bed. She traced lazy patterns on her ceiling in the darkness and tried once again to calm her mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, a glimmer of light caught Selene’s attention and she bolted upright in her bed. Another faint light shone through the trees for a heartbeat and she leapt out of bed, creeping out into the night. The only guide she had was the wavering ball of light that bobbed distantly before her. The goddess mumbled soft curses under her breath as she tripped over darkness-hidden tree roots, her nightgown tangling in the thick undergrowth.

The light seemed to be glowing brighter, but only slightly. It moved faster away from her as she followed it, and soon she was running through the forest, avoiding brambles and jumping over logs more out of reflexes than sight. When she finally broke out of the thick woods, her legs were scratched and tired, her nightgown torn from tearing through thickets. She burst into a clearing with heaving breaths and leaned against a tree for support. When she raised her head, her breathing caught in her throat. In the center of the clearing stood a gleaming white horse, its long mane glimmering with starlight. She took a careful step forward and the horse kneeled before her, inviting her onto its back.

Selene moved into the clearing and slowly mounted the creature. As soon as both of her feet had left the ground, the horse leapt into the air. She squeaked in surprise and curled her fingers into the horse’s mane, leaning into its neck as it galloped upwards. The stars seemed to swirl around her, getting closer and closer until they brushed through her hair, around her head. The stars began to coalesce around her, forming glittering shapes around her. One by one, the sheets of starlight formed themselves into a chariot around her. The horse beneath her was slowly replaced by the seat of the starlight chariot. The horse moved to the front of the chariot and silver reins formed in her hands. Selene let out a joyous laugh and threw her head back.  The crown of stars gathered at her forehead, casting her face in a rich glow of light.

Far below, Gaia stood by Selene’s mother Theia and the two watched Selene’s chariot form in the sky. Gaia wrapped an arm around her daughter and smiled, gazing up at the goddess of the night. She had finally, after all of these days, made it to the sky.

Posted in 2016-2017, Fiction, Issue #03

Normalcy

By Aevin Mayman

It wasn’t rainy. It wasn’t the slate-clouded funeral written about in overly-dramatic teen romance novels, a black understory of parasol trunks and supporting wire vines. It was sunny, a spring day. The cherry trees were just past full bloom, their pinks undertoned by suggestions of green. Each gust of wind carried with it a plume of petals. The drifting leaflets spiraled around black dress pants, embroidering the somberness with a distant reminiscence of joy.

Ashtyn stood against a nearby dogwood, absentmindedly peeling strips of bark from its trunk. The approach of footsteps drew his gaze.

Tyler waved and stopped next to Ashtyn. “Hey,” he said.

Ashtyn offered a small smile in return and went back to peeling at the trunk.

“How are you holding up?” Tyler asked, stepping closer.

Ashtyn shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, gazing out over the uniform gravestones, verdant undergrowth framing them like unkempt dragon scales. “I’m alright.” He answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

Tyler frowned at him. “Just alright?”

Ashtyn sighed, kicking at the dirt. “Barely, but, yeah.”

Tyler shook his head, turning his back to Ashtyn to face the memorial gathering. He crossed his arms, jamming them forcefully against each other and shaking his head. “It’s just not fair,” he muttered. “It’s not.”

Ashtyn stood still for a few moments before sliding down to the ground. He dropped his head in his hands. “How am I even supposed to be upset?” He asked, voice quavering. “No one I’ve ever known has died before, much less–” He broke off and swallowed thickly. “Much less done what he’s done.” He fell into silence, raising his head to his knees to stare blindly at the grass before him.

Tyler sat next to him and leaned back against the tree. “You know,” Tyler began softly. “I didn’t cry when I got the news.”

Ashtyn turned his head to face Tyler, head tilted curiously.

Tyler smiled wryly and shook his head. “I didn’t cry, and then I didn’t for almost week. I was just…angry.”

Tyler held up a placating hand at Ashtyn’s indignant expression.

“Not angry at him for dying, no, I’m not that mean. I was just angry because it wasn’t– it isn’t goddamn fair that he has to die.” Tyler’s voice cracked at the end and he heaved a humorless chuckle, hanging his head between his knees.

Ashtyn linked arms with Tyler, leaning against his shoulder. They sat that way for a while before Ashtyn broke the silence. “I don’t think I cried either,” Ashtyn murmured. “I think I was just numb.” He tightened his grip on Tyler’s arm before continuing. “I couldn’t think of anything else. I made a sort of make-shift altar, but, that was it.” Ashtyn shook his head, gazing down to the ground. “I just… I just needed to do something. Anything. I just needed a goal to get to. I didn’t have anything to move forward on. No ambition or hope, no anything.”

Tyler pulled Ashtyn to standing and wrapped him in a hug. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

After a few moments the two separated and wandered over to a nearby bridge, arms still linked. They leaned against the railing, the ornately twisted metal cool against their forearms.

“How can we just…” Tyler trailed off, bending to pick up a stone from the ground and turning it over in his fingers. “How can we just go about our life? Alex is– he’s gone and we all just have to do nothing and… and sit here.” He threw the stone to the water below and went silent, staring at the quickly disappearing ripples.

The spring sounds filled the quiet between them; the cheerful trills of birds and gentle hum of June beetles paying no heed to the bleakness invading the field around them. The gurgling of the stream below twisted up around them in the wind, teasing the echoes of splashes from the water’s surface.

“You’re right,” Ashtyn said, gazing out over the water. “We can’t just… we can’t just sit here like nothing’s happened and go on with our lives.” Ashtyn explained. “He’s been through so much pain. We have to do something for him. Honor his memory — I don’t know, something cliché like that.” He straightened up and brushed off the front of his shirt.

Tyler stood and turned to face Ashtyn. Tyler shrugged and hugged his arms close to his body. “I mean, yeah, but, how? Alex is dead, Ashtyn, we can’t just go and ask him–”

“Then we figure something out,” Ashtyn interrupted. “We- we make a memorial fund, donate to charity, fund the Trevor Project, I don’t know. But we’re gonna do something. We have to do something, okay?” Ashtyn held Tyler by the arms until he nodded, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “We’re gonna do something,” he smiled. “For Alex.”
Ashtyn let out a breath, eyes wet. “For Alex.”

Posted in 2016-2017, Fiction, Issue #02

The Color of Kings

By Aevin Mayman

Two men stood on the heather-covered hilltop, gazing into the breaking dawn.

The battle chieftain rested with one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other hand fingering the silver band, a pendant, around his neck.

“What do you see, Tellu?” He asked, turning his head to look at the man to his right.

Tellu gazed out upon the valley below, dark hair waving lightly in the morning wind. “I see a kingdom, Ffindán. I see your kingdom.”

Ffindán scoffed lightly, crossing his arms over his chest. The spiraling crow tattooed on his arm seemed to soar as the muscles flexed, the blue inked wings a deep royal color in the dissipating darkness. “That is quite a bard-like thing to say, Tellu.” He said.

Tellu chuckled. “Well, I am a bard, so…”

Ffindán laughed along side him for a moment, then the two fell silent once again.

“I see the time between times,” Tellu began quietly. “I see the first dawn of the fair season of Moffar breaking upon the land.” He stopped and turned to Ffindán. “The land with you as its leader.”

Ffindán gave him a hard stare, but Tellu held his ground.

“As you said, Ffindán, I am a bard. It is my duty to know these things. As your closest friend it is my duty to show you the truth. And as chief bard of the clan of Gofaddain it is my duty to choose its new king.” Tellu put a hand on Ffindán’s shoulder. “And you are that king, brother.”

Ffindán shook his head slowly, the pendant glinting softly as the sun rose. “Tellu, I know you mean well, but I cannot be king.” Ffindán gestured to the settlement sprawling in the valley below. “These people have just lost their king. They need someone strong to lead them. I am afraid I am not that man. I can be a leader, but I cannot be a king.” He sighed as he finished, turning to walk down the hill. “I am going with the next hunting party, Tellu. I wish you well,” Ffindán said and made to leave.

“Ffindán, wait!” Tellu cried, running after the chieftain. He caught Ffindán by the arm and turned him around.

Ffindán grunted and tried to pull away, but Tellu held tight to him. “Honestly, Tellu,” Ffindán said. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish with–“

“By Airmid’s hand, Ffindán,” Tellu cried, staring the stubborn battle chief straight in the eyes. “Listen to me! I am the Chief of Songs, the Teller of Stories. I am the bard of Gofaddain, your bard. I have been your friend since you entered this clan. Trust me and listen!” He tightened his grip on Ffindán’s shoulders.

Ffindán froze at the chief bard’s hold and gasped, eyes going unfocused. He stood that way for a couple heartbeats before going limp, stumbling slightly.

Tellu steadied him.

“What–” Ffindán swallowed thickly and began again. “What was that, Tellu?”

“That was the A Bheith,” Tellu answered, still holding Ffindán by the shoulders. “What is to be. I have given you a vision of what is to come,” Tellu explained. “Did you see it?”

Ffindán nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I did. I saw the kingdom below this hill. I saw my kingdom.” He turned away from Tellu to face the open sky. His dusky red hair caught the rising sun and erupted in a fiery brilliance. “I saw the people smiling up at me, thanking me for leading them well.” He turned his head to the bard. “What does this mean, Tellu?” He asked quietly.

Tellu met his gaze. “You know exactly what this means, Ffindán.” Ffindán looked back to the valley. “It means you are meant to lead them.”

A flash of light caught Tellu’s attention and he looked down. “Ffindán,” he brought the chieftain’s attention to him softly. “Your pendant.”

Ffindán removed the band from his neck and held it in front of him.

The ornate metal was lit with the rising sun of dawn, transforming the silver it was fabricated from.

“It is gold.” Ffindán breathed.

Tellu smiled. “Yes, it is. A king’s color, is it not?”

Ffindán placed the pendant around his neck and gazed out upon the settlement below, the town just beginning to move as people woke. Dogs began to bark, roosters started their morning cries, children’s voices graced the morning wind.

“You certainly do fill your place as bard,” Ffindán said lightly.

Tellu snorted and turned to walk down the hill. “I certainly hope so, brother.”

Tellu disappeared into the treeline, leaving Ffindán standing on atop the hill’s crest, pendant glowing the color of kings.