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The Final Hero: Chapter 6

“One Look Back” 

SAI LEFT HIS MOTHER TO WHITTLE, FINDING IT TOO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE. The most he had been able to eke out was “I love you” and an assurance that he was going to keep trying.

But walking back into the house, he realized there was more to say. More that he had to say, to set things right. And Hanako had given him the perfect idea.

He plucked a paper from Hanako’s needlessly tall stack on the table and took it to his room. He had a quill there and took to writing a letter of his own, but this one wouldn’t travel far.

Sai spent what felt like hours on the thing, worrying over the phrasing, and repeating again and again in it that he would be okay. This was something he had to do and something that Dad was calling him to do. He apologized for not telling her earlier, and that this was the only way he could ensure that he could escape Rakuken. By the time he finished it, the dappled sun stretched for the horizon. It would be time soon. He deposited the letter beneath one of his mother’s projects and hoped it would not be long before she moved it.

Hanako had long finished writing her letter; she had dozed off on the table, snoring quietly. He stroked her hair and took the sealed letter. “Dad” was scribbled in neat handwriting on the front. Sai grinned. He slipped it into his bag and replaced it with the wooden, carved windpipes he had made for her on the hilltop three days ago.

Sai leaned next to his sister’s ear and whispered, “Goodbye. I love you.”

Hanako stirred, but did not wake.

 

As she had said, Theo was nowhere to be found. It’s for the best, thought Sai as he sat, anxious, in his room. Theo would figure him out. He had barely evaded Mirai’s prying eyes; if Theo took too long a look at him, he’d figure out exactly where he was planning to go and when. Sai assured himself that Theo was busy and gathered up the last thing he needed for his trip: a sack of money.

Eleven jins and six gabs. It was half of his savings. Sai was grateful that he hadn’t converted his twenty jins into a fela, a shiny gold coin emblazoned with the steam caverns of the mountains. He stuffed the coins into a small bren-skin pouch and strung it to his belt. A shiver danced through his hands and arms as he closed the pouch and stood upright.

That was all he needed. He had said his goodbyes—as best he could, to those that would listen—and had packed all he needed. He hadn’t found Theo, but that was okay. Distance would do them good.

He trusted his mother’s letter would take care of things with Lev. His friend would by soon enough, and Mom could tell him everything. If Sai tried to tell Lev in person, it wouldn’t go down well. Lev would blab to Rane, then to his dad, and it would probably get back around to Mirai before their mother even had a chance to explain. Lev would forgive Sai once he thought about it.

Mom was soundly asleep, her door pulled tight. He tucked a sleepy Hanako into her bed, and Mirai was still awake, working something by candlelight in her bedroom. It was the perfect time.

He hesitated at the door. It would be spans before he saw this place again. Sai tried to etch every corner and curve into his memory, breathing in the scent of home, and felt the old sturdy floor through his boots. He stood there for longer than he had expected, hand on the doorknob, trembling at the thought of leaving it all behind. Eventually, he took one more lungful of air, pulled his hunting cloak over his head, and stepped outside.

It was quiet. Very little light penetrated the Tree during the day. During the night, there were several moons to guide him. Only five of the eleven were visible tonight, all in different phases of round and crescent. The closest moon, the Watcher, was full tonight. Sai stared at it through shifting leaves, catching only glimpses of its soft blue curves. The sun strengthened him, encouraged him. The light from the moons was of an entirely different quality. Something about them made him want to go back inside. Staring up at the dark sky, feeling the night breeze wash over him, Sai felt wet on his cheeks.

He was crying.

Sai sniffled, pulled his cloak tight to wipe his tears, and left the protection of the porch. His travel bag over his left shoulder and the mystery box over his right. The hunting bow was slapping his thigh as he walked; adjusting it didn’t help. He would move it when he had time. For now, Sai had a mission: escape from Rakuken.

He set his shoulders, rolled his neck, and reached for the box on his back. The white thread appeared with a little focus. This was part of his father’s invitation, so he would have to trust it. He breathed in, breathed out, and started following the ethereal thread’s path.

It led him first off his home tower, then across the creaking bridge. Sai stopped in the middle to glance back one last time at his home. Lev’s house stood near the bridge, not a light within. Forgive me, friend. I’ll bring something back for you and Rena.

The white thread continued past the agriculture pillars and onto the one connected to the Windy Mountain, which he and Dad had crossed just two days ago. Sai watched for the patrol guards; even during the night, this was the one safe way in or out of Rakuken. By Reza Tharon’s rule, it had to be guarded at all hours of the day and night. One guard stood at the gate, but Sai had prepared for that. There were no lanterns patrolling the outer perimeter.

The last thing he had grabbed at home was from his father’s study: two pitons and forty feet of rope. Sai approached the ledge, gentle beams of moonlight outlining the point where land ended and open air began. There, he wedged both pitons in a crag. He cinched the rope beneath the piton’s hooked head, hammered the metal pin into the rock, and pulled the rope tight, then dropped the free end of the rope over the ledge.

Rope uncoiled freely into the night air. Sai wondered idly how he would recover it. By the time the rope hit the ground, he decided he could—and so would—not. Now came the tricky part.

The guard at the gate rested his head against the archway leading out of  Rakuken. Still no lights in the forest. He was clear.

Sai approached the craggy ledge on hands and knees. He pulled on the rope once, twice. Still tight, he assured himself. You and Mirai talked about this enough times. It will work. He swallowed, feeling lightheaded. He wasn’t even off the plateau yet. If I fall, it’s forty feet. People survive those. Usually. Lev survived it. A moment of silence as Sai set his feet on the ledge and tugged on the rope one more time. He can summon the wind. Doesn’t exactly count.

If he sat here all night worrying over whether he could get down, he never would. Better to do it… he thought, and dropped. It was only a couple of feet, but it felt like ten. He pulled tight on the rope, feet set against the side of the pillar, and felt his lifeline taught in his hands.

It held! He slipped down, all the strain on his hands and shoulders, and found he could lower himself a few feet at a time. His palms burned at the friction, but soon enough, he lowered himself far down so that he could drop. Sai lowered himself to the bottom, just to be safe. When his feet hit the ground, his tight chest shoved out a breath.

Still no lights dancing in the forest. He could make it. He would make it. Sai grinned, pulled his bags close so they wouldn’t jangle, and started toward the perimeter of the hunting grounds.

Further in, golden light from guards’ lanterns poked through the trees. Sai stayed far away from the beams and walked slowly, keeping his head low. His heart beat madly in his chest. Sai pressed a hand against his cloak, sure that the rapid, intense beats would draw the guards.

But he crossed the draped forest without drawing any attention. One more line of trees, and he would have traveled further than ever before. Sai approached one, placed a hand on the weather-smoothed alester bark, and stared at the shadowy form of Rakuken behind him. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye Hanako, and Mirai. And Theo. I’ll be back.

The night air was cold in his throat. He took in a lungful of the crisp stuff regardless, breathing deeply in, then out.

A figure stepped from the shadows. Sai stuttered back and scrambled for the knife at his belt. Upon a second, frenzied look, the angles and ridges of the face made the figure’s identity obvious: Theo.

Moonlight reflected off the sharpened edge of the Wargrave halberd planted firmly by his side. An unlit lantern hung from his belt. His expression was like the blade of a razor: thin, flat, and all edges. “What are you doing out here?” Sai hissed. “Is this where you’ve been all day?”

Theo stared at the box over Sai’s shoulder. His voice was low and grave. “I can’t let you leave with that.”

Sai grasped the leather strap of the box. “You don’t even know what’s inside it.” You can’t stop me, Theo, he responded in his mind.

Theo jarred his halberd from the earth and, hefting it in one hand, circled Sai. “How could you not?” Sai opened his mouth; he didn’t have a retort. All he had was shame. Had his brother figured it out before him without even inspecting the box? Sai clutched it close to his side. Theo’s eyes lingered on it. He paused mid-stride. “You can’t feel them?”

“What? This is mine. Dad entrusted it to me.”

Theo took the halberd in both hands. “Sometimes, even Dad makes mistakes.”

He jabbed the polearm at Sai’s stomach. Sai narrowly dodged back, bending at the waist to pull his body away. He slipped on a root, caught himself with a firmly placed foot, then stumbled back as the halberd came at him from the opposite direction. Sai took three steps back and splayed his fingers.

“What are you doing?!” His voice rose over the quiet din of the forest, making lights stir between the trees. One of them approached.

Theo cast a look behind him. “Taking what’s rightfully mine.”

Sai turned on one heel and ran. He heard the thundering of footsteps behind him—or was that his heart?—but he kept running. He may be loaded down with bags, but Theo had a duty to stay in the forest. Go much further, and he would betray that duty on his first assignment.

Sai ran with all the strength and speed in his legs. His brother wasn’t one for giving up easily. Tonight, neither would Sai. He pumped his arms, his legs, and ran until his chest burned and he wanted to collapse. Then he kept running.

He didn’t check whether Theo was behind him. But neither did he feel a tug on his bags nor blood dripping from a cut on his legs or arms. He just kept running.

Sprinting through black trees, stumbling over stumps and roots getting in the way, further and further down the mountain, Sai ran. He knew it would take a while to reach the bottom; he didn’t think about that. He only thought about running and staying ahead of Theo.

Gnarled roots snagged his feet and knees, and he crashed to the ground, heaving, shaking, chest rapidly rising and falling. Sai pushed himself up by his elbows, scooted away, and for the first time all night looked behind him.

No one was there.

That was Chapter 6, the last chapter of The Final Hero that I'll post on here! Sai is safely out of Rakuken, but things between him and Theo haven't been worse. If you enjoyed these chapters, I hope you'll keep an eye out for the full book!

Thank you so much for reading! Please, feel free to check out the short stories around; there are even some set in the world of Hearth! I'll post a Welcome to Hearth page soon enough to give some insight about the world as a whole.

Cheers!

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Witness for the Dead: Story Snippet

The Necromancer of Sariklend kept a heart in his bag.

He clutched it close to his side, hurrying along with his head down so as to not draw too many stares. The passersby on the cobbled road to the queen’s palace couldn’t see the heart, of course, but the necromancer was sure they could tell from the way they stared.

It was deep in his bag, next to inert reagents and stacks of paper scribbled from top to bottom with notes. All of it was thrown together in a moment’s notice when the necromancer heard the news from his sentry crow. He had dropped everything: his plans, his experiments, and even his dinner simmering in a pot over a pile of embers.

When he was needed by the queen, he arrived, worked, and left. That was what was expected of him: to stay out of the way until needed. He had locked up his small cabin seven miles from town on the fringes of the forest and made for the queen’s sprawling city.

The streets were crowded today, and all the people he passed were so caught up in their own devices that many failed to notice him rushing by. Those who did not gave the characteristic sneer or gasp.

The necromancer was allowed entry through the Kantic Wall—the towering bastion separating the city Commons from the Ridvael, where the queen lived—via a paper stamped with the old queen’s wax seal. The guard at the Wall cocked an eyebrow, then let him through with a grunt.

The new queen was different and harsh, some said, but at least it didn’t appear she had gone back on her predecessor’s agreement. For that, he was grateful. The last queen, her sister, had died in a hunting accident two years ago. There had been no body for the necromancer to attempt to revive.

He had stayed away from the city since then. Until now.

He followed the thin road—whose cobblestones had been replaced with marble tiles on this side of the Wall—all the way up to the queen’s palace. Two guards were posted on either side of the double oak doors, each with halberds couched in the crook of their arms, standing at vigilant attention. Their shoulder sashes revealed that they had served in two Ages: Faryan’s and that of her deceased sister, Rethona.

That brought a smile to the necromancer’s face as he approached. It was not mirrored by the guards as they crossed halberds over his path. “Halt, stranger! What business have you here?”

He stopped mid-stride, hesitated, then held up the wax-stamped paper clutched in his hand. “I’m here on business for Queen Faryan.”

The guard on the right—mustached and thick-necked—spared only a cursory glance at the paper before returning his critical stare to the necromancer. “The High Lady does not associate with those such as yourself. Be gone from here.”

The necromancer gave them a cockeyed stare. “Would it be better if I took the skull of my shoulder? It’s mostly for show, anyways.” Give people what they’re expecting on the outside, and they fail to notice the smaller ways you don’t match. “Could you at least ask her?”

Metal squealed as the oak doors parted, making way for a tight-belted and full-stomached merchant. The man bumbled through with his arms full of books and papers, many of which were stamped with a large red seal. Slowly, dramatically, the man’s eyes widened as he took in the necromancer’s hood, his staff with the crow’s head, and his long, thin fingers. The merchant gaped, choked on an unhealthy gulp of air, then buried his face in his papers and hurried along.

The guards closed the door after him, then the shorter of the two—bald and sharp-nosed—responded, “Perhaps I can alert the High Lady Faryan to your presence. But know that she does not take kindly to scoundrels wasting her time.”

The necromancer sighed. “I can assure you, I have no intent of wasting her time. My business is strictly waste-less.” He paused, glancing between the pair. The joke was lost on them. “Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

The guard simply nodded to his compatriot, snatched the wax-sealed paper from the necromancer’s hand, and slipped through the squeaky doors. After ten minutes of excruciating silence, the necromancer opened his mouth to ask when the guard might return.

He was cut off before he had a chance to speak. “Requests made of the queen will be answered by the beginning of the next regal day; no sooner and no later,” said the guard in rote monotone.

The necromancer deflated and placed a hand on his bag. “It’s already evening, and my cabin is too far away to return by nightfall.” The guard stared at him and proceeded to offer no helpful suggestions, only rude ones.

So the necromancer made his way down the winding marble road and up to the Wall before remembering he did not have his paper anymore. The warden there could not ensure that he would be let back in, so that left the necromancer with only one option:

Purchase stay at an inn in the Ridvael, where the citizens were rich and the inns were just as expensive. His coin pouch was light, and he had had enough of this city already, but the necromancer turned round and set off in search of the most run-down inn within the Walls.

That was a small snippet of Witness for the Dead! The third draft is complete, so I'm sending it out to some beta readers to get their thoughts on it. Once it's through the initial rounds, I'll put more on here.

Cheers!

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The Final Hero: Chapter 5

“A Man Named”

SAI, HIS SIBLINGS, AND HIS MOM WERE ALL AWAKE as the sun crested the horizon. They gathered on a pillar several bridges away from theirs, standing in a crowd encircling Theo. Sai’s younger brother stood at the center, face turned toward the sky, with his eyes closed.

A tall, willowy man—Oran, his name was—stood beside Theo with a long alester branch, broken at the base but still flowering at the tip. A faint howling whistled from the spidery leaves still clinging to the twig. The officiant held it aloft in one hand as his long, brown and grey robes flapped in the wind. He read from a thick, weathered book in his other hand.

“This day marks two revolutions of Theo Varion’s apprenticeship amongst our many paths, and he will from this point on dedicate himself to one. He has proven his mettle by walking each path diligently, as our forefathers did before and as our descendants will do after us. With Theo’s choice, he will join the many and bind himself to their fate. He will become one of us, one of the chosen.”

Oran turned to Theo, swept threads of gray hair from his face, and rested the branch on Theo’s left shoulder. He whispered some words to him, smiled wryly, and turned to the crowd. “As one of the chosen, he will take a new True Name, casting off the one of his childhood and taking on a new mantle, one of a man. Who will come forth to name him?”

Sai’s heart skipped only a beat before Theo straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “My father has already given me a new Name. I choose to accept it now, and bind it in wood.”

A shout came from the crowd. It was Tharon. “He can’t—” spluttered the reza, stepping forward, then hesitated when he realized all eyes were on him. “You…he can’t, can he? Kai—it doesn’t work that way!”

Oran stared at Tharon in alarm, then swiveled back to Theo. The officiant collected himself. “It is not unheard of, my reza, for a Name to be set in place beforehand. Eager parents have come to me years in advance, intent on solidifying the name as soon as they see it blossom in their child. I see no harm in allowing this.”

Tharon bristled but straightened his coat and nodded. “Fine.”

The officiator continued the ceremony and brought his ear close to Theo. “What Name did he give you, boy?”

Theo spoke it too quietly for anyone to hear. Oran leaned back with a brow raised. “Your father chose well.” Then he raised his voice to a shout, proclaiming his next words over the crowd. “Theo Varion, you step into a new season with your True Name—a man’s Name—and join the Chosen of Rakuken with all of your ancestors.” Oran lifted the branch, crossed it over Theo’s head, and laid it to rest on Theo’s opposite shoulder.

The crowd cheered. Sai’s sisters and mother raised their hands and clapped, while Sai was less enthusiastic. Theo, out of the full crowd, was staring at Sai; Sai stared back and nodded. His brother didn’t react.

When the cheering died down, Oran gestured to the five people who stepped up from the crowd, all bearing an item. Lev’s father, on the left, held a gilded bag like Sai’s for Advancement, and beside him, another held a blank leather-bound book for Academics. A woman on the right held a flapping green banner for Leadership, and further to the right, a man carried an iron-shod bow for Stewarding. The final figure, standing in the middle of the five, was a young woman with jet black hair dressed in iron-shod leather armor. Jal planted a long steel halberd before herself and grinned, representing Defense, and by extension, the Wargraves.

There was a small moment where Sai doubted if he had predicted correctly. He wondered if Theo might step toward the path of Academics and become the scholar he had always admired. But instead, Theo met Jal’s eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed the pole of the halberd right above Jal’s hand. “I claim my place in the Wargraves.”

Jal beamed and raised both the halberd and her voice. “We accept Theo Varion into our ranks!”

The crowd sent up another cheer as Jal let him take the weapon. Theo tested the balance, then gave a crisp salute with halberd crossed in front of him. Jal saluted back, fist over her heart, and grinned furiously. “It is good of you to join us,” she said to Theo.

Sai stopped watching then. Jealousy bit at the fringes in Sai’s heart, seeing Theo hold the halberd. Seeing his brother succeed where Sai had failed. It wasn’t that he disliked his position in the ranks of Advancement, but his heart had yearned for the Wargraves. Still did, if he were honest. They were their protectors, and it was what Kai had chosen when he was their age.

Before he started leaving Rakuken, of course.

Feeling foolish, he slipped a hand back to touch the box over his shoulder and pulled the red threads into view again. Most did not point ahead of him this time; they curved to either side, away from the circle, away from Theo. Like they were trying to run away from this whole situation. Sai frowned and searched for the little white thread. He found it snaking through the crowd, off the ceremonial dais they stood on, then down to the bridge leading off the pillar. No matter where he was, it always led off Rakuken and onto the mountain. He squinted but couldn’t see where it went after that.

Standing there, listening to congratulations lift from the crowd at Theo’s success, one piece of the solution dawned on Sai. Everything about this box, its composition, its strange relic-like abilities, and even the white thread all screamed at him to leave Rakuken. He wouldn’t find answers here. He couldn’t find answers here. Kai’s words came back to him then: There are some things you cannot accomplish in comfort. Sai stared at the white thread as a cold shiver danced in his legs. Dad said that the time will come when I have to leave. He saw Theo holding the halberd, newly inducted into the Wargraves, who protected Rakuken from all threats posed to their isolation.

He can protect them now. Dad knew that he was going to make it into the Wargraves. He even prepared a Name for him. I only needed to wait a little bit. Then… Something akin to excitement bounded in, sending a shiver up Sai’s arms. Dad wants me to follow him. I need…to leave home and follow him across the sea. Sai stared at the ground, shocked, as the crowd dispersed around him. Dad always leaves for the Alliance. Maybe it’s my turn.

“The future is never as far away as we think,” he had said.

Hanako and Mirai congratulated Theo, examined his new weapon, and greeted Jal, who had stayed behind to talk with them. Mom hugged Theo, pulling him close and whispering a quiet congratulations, and then there were only the two of them. Selene spoke to Jal, the two of them grinning and casting glances at Theo while Mirai and Hanako spoke in frantic whispers about Mirai’s apprenticeships, which were soon to begin.

Theo stood on his own, supporting himself with the halberd, and looked coldly at Sai. Breathe in, breathe out, Sai reminded himself. He couldn’t place the feelings raging through his chest; were they anger? Excitement? Confusion?

“I knew you’d make it in, Theo,” Sai said, after a time.

Theo just looked at him. Sai tried to find something else to say, but he could not. So he stared holes into the ground, sighed, then looked at Theo’s halberd. Theo held it close to him, couched comfortably in the crook of his elbow, and scowled. “If that is all, I must report for my initiate crest.” He jerked his head at Jal. She said a quick goodbye to Mom and followed after him.

Sai didn’t watch them leave. His mother, on the other hand, followed the other pair with her eyes until they were out of sight. “I know it’s hard to talk to him right now. He’s angry; so are you. But time heals many things, and if you keep reaching out to him—keep showing that you are willing to put your anger aside—you give him everything he needs to put his down, too.”

What was there to say? Sai rubbed his arm and nodded. “Okay.” He will do a much better job than I did. He can protect the family now. I…am not needed. Sai straightened his shoulders and tried to convince himself that, if he was right, an offer to join his dad on a trip across the ocean was a greater honor than joining the Wargraves.

He had a hard time at it.

 

The first thing Sai did when he got home was start packing. Since the ceremony, a nervous fervor had come over him any time he thought about the box or Rakuken. There were so many things to prepare, people to say goodbye to, and paths to consider that he could hardly think of anything else.

He set the box in his room and took up the bag given to him when he joined the path of Advancement after his own Naming Ceremony. It stung a little, holding it rather than a halberd, but Sai couldn’t change the past. He could only forge the future. He stuffed his whittling knife, several small pieces of wood, and his windpipes into the bag from his room. After a moment’s consideration, he also strung his aging hunting bow to the side of the bag along with ten arrows, lashed to the bag with Mirai’s broken bowstring, which he found in his pocket. He rolled the thing between his fingers before continuing, gathering his flint and steel and a bedroll. The bag was already getting full, but he wasn’t done yet.

Kai’s study was on the far end of the house. It was a small room furnished with a writing desk, bookshelf, and weapons stand holding daggers, polearms, and their father’s 100-pound draw longbow. Large maps sprawled the mahogany walls, detailing the layout of Rakuken first in sharp detail, kept up to date with fresh black ink marked by his father’s hand. The other maps showed the larger Windy Mountain, then all of East Tiereth and some of the West. Sai knew these well enough, remembering his father marking out the borders of their world with his finger, then showing Sai the matching places on the mountain from up on his shoulders on one of the taller pillars in Rakuken.

He smiled at the memory. But Sai’s focus was not on these; he could follow a straight line down the mountain and to the ship port at the base. Eastern and western travel was not as simple as Treeward or Rootward—with those, your heading was obvious—but he assumed the Windy Mountain would not be too difficult.

Instead, Sai dug at the nails keeping a smaller, older map in place: one of Carlen. After the ceremony, he followed the white thread until it leaped from the mountain and traveled east. It seemed to provide the straightest path to its destination, so that must mean that his father, also, had traveled east.

Rarely did he know where Kai went exactly, but Sai had heard stories of the flat, sprawling Carlen and its countless rivers. He wasn’t sure how he’d get there, exactly, but it was the first country past East Tiereth, and he knew his father had gone there before.

Nails shimmied out under his scrabbling fingers, and soon he had the whole map laid diagonally on the desk and tried to roll it up. How he would fit the rolled-up map into his bag without crushing it was beyond him, but this was his best shot at navigating the foreign country, in case it came to that.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Sai froze, keenly aware of how rash all his actions might seem. Frantic, he swept the half-rolled map from the table, dumped it into his father’s reading chair, and stood in front of it pretending to stare at bookshelves.

Mirai entered and slowed upon seeing Sai. “Hey,” she said quietly. There was a droop to her shoulders and a weight in her voice. She glanced slowly around the room. “I hate that he’s gone, too.”

Sai nodded and kept his eyes on the bookshelves. Panic mixed with a very real longing in his chest. That’s why I have to follow him, he thought. I can’t stay here anymore.

Mirai strode to one of the bookshelves and ran her finger across meticulously dusted books. “But it’s like you said, last time.” A smile crept onto her face. “We just have to keep walking. Mom’s here. Hanako is here. Dad’s not, but so what? We have our own lives. Tomorrow won’t wait forever.”

Sai’s shoulders dropped. He wanted to blurt out everything and tell Mirai his plan. But he knew she’d try and stop him. Or worse, ask to go with him. Instead, he leaned back against Kai’s desk and sighed. “That’s all we can do,” he responded. “And if things change, we change with them.” Mirai grinned; that was one of her phrases.

“Yeah.” She plucked a book from the shelf, inspected the cover—it was about the Stewardship path and each member’s duties—and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks.”

Before she left, Sai called out to her. “We should go hunting soon. Lev wants to replace all the windmill central shafts in the northern district with a new design, but I should have some time after the Skylit Waters.” He did mental gymnastics and hoped his trip wouldn’t take that long—the festival was nearly five span away. “Let’s go, before it gets too cold.”

Mirai smiled back at him. “It’s a deal. No skewering this time?”

The ground fell from under Sai for just a moment, then he recovered and nodded. “Right.”

Mirai left. Sai exhaled and rested both hands flat on the desk. Then, slower this time, he took to the map and stuffed it into his bag.

 

He waited until the kitchen was empty to gather a bundle of dried strips of bren meat, two loaves of hearty, flour & molasses Rakuken bread, four stalks of dense yalken for chewing on the road, a small sack of whiteberries, and a skin of water. Sai filled it with a short trip to the well just down the road and returned to find Hanako pacing around the entryway. She perked up when he came inside. “Have you seen Theo?”

Sai shook his head and took a nervous sip from his water skin. “Did you check the training room?”

“Yeah. He’s not in the back, either. I wanted to give him his book, the one we got for him yesterday. But I haven’t been able to find him.”

“He’s around here somewhere,” said Sai, walking into the kitchen. “Probably out with Jal celebrating his new path.”

Hanako folded her arms and pouted. “I don’t like her. She and Theo spend too much time together.” Her violet eyes narrowed.

“He’s excited. I would be, too. You’ll see when you choose your path.”

The comment didn’t seem to faze Hanako as she slipped into one of the chairs by the dining room table. She craned her neck over the table and scrutinized a paper strewn out before her. It looked like a letter of some sort. “What’s that?” Sai asked, approaching the table.

“A letter to Dad,” she said plainly, then stuck out her tongue in concentration and kept writing. “I’m going to send it on a boat so Dad can read it.”

Sai placed a hand on the back of her chair and smiled down at it. When he tried to read what it said, she covered it with her arm and scowled in a way that was not at all intimidating, though she no doubt meant it as so. “Don’t! It’s a secret.”

Sai laughed. “I can deliver it to the Trade district, if you want.” I have enough space in my bag. That letter would never reach Dad on its own.

Hanako’s face lit up, and she eagerly returned to working on the letter. “Okay!”

Sai sought out his mother. She was on the back patio where Mirai had been two days before, whittling away at a long walking stick. Sai paused at the threshold, looking at it, wondering in shock whether she had already figured out that he was leaving and planned to give it to him.

But when she stopped and smiled up at him, he saw no recognition in her eyes. “Come, sit beside me.”

Sai carefully walked up and sat down. Of all the people in their family, even including Theo’s sharp wit and Mirai’s keen eyes, his mother was the most likely to notice that something was amiss. He fidgeted with his bag, knowing that within were the tools he was going to use to leave home.

His mom was slowly, slowly carving strips from the stick, taking care of each bend and stripe to ensure it was perfect. Theo had inherited some of her perfectionism, but his mother still reigned superior. After a stretch of silence, she said, “How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” was his immediate response.

Selene smiled and turned the stick in her hands, approaching it from another angle. “Scared of the future, not your brother, I hope.”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“You’re on your way. All of you are. And the stumbles are beautiful, because they make us who we are.”

Sai crossed his hands in his lap. He didn’t know how to do this, how to say this. Even now, his mind warred within him over whether he should tell his mother or not. He knew that if he told her, she would stop him. So he couldn’t.

But so much of him wanted to tell her and ask for her advice. He found a different way.

“I feel like I’m stuck, Mom. Like…everyone else is growing and I’m not. What…how else am I supposed to learn, then to try something new?”

“New things are good. They teach us more about ourselves and the world. But don’t leave the good things behind in pursuit of something new.” She put down the walking staff and wrapped her arms around Sai. “Keep going. Keep walking. Your pursuit is just as worthy as your brother’s.”

Sai held her back and began to sob.

And that was chapter 5! I actually ended up splitting chapter 5 into two, so the last chapter you'll get on here is chapter 6, where Sai makes his final preparations to leave Rakuken and follow his father to the Alliance. Of all of Part 1, chapter 6 has one of my favorite moments in it. You can read it here!

From then on, you'll get short stories, snippets from other Hearth stories (I have a full book written several thousand years prior to The Final Hero!), and perhaps some articles.

Thank you for reading!

, ,

Better to be Done (Short Story / Prologue)

LEVORIAN SLIPPED THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW. The small latch keeping it locked had proved fruitless when it popped under a little pressure from his pick. He placed a toe on the marble tile of the Hold, then followed with the rest of his foot.

He waited the space of a breath, then closed the window behind him. It took a few silent strides to cross the small sitting room. Levorian chose this room for a reason: there was only one door.

All the bedrooms in this Hold were all on the second floor, but tripping a second story window invited more risk than he was willing to take. By starting in the seating room, he could get a measure of the place and make a hasty exit if he must.

He pressed his back against the wall next to the single oak door leading from the room and listened. A single moon was high in the sky—nearly full, the last time he checked. Nights like these were not good for sneaking into a place, but little could be done for that; he was already in.

The Hold was quiet.

Levorian stayed pressed against the wall another twenty breaths to give any curious listeners time to return to their dreams. He turned the door handle and pushed slowly. The room beyond was dark and quiet; he walked inside on the balls of his feet.

A large dark stairwell took up the center of the foyer. Two doors stood to either side of it, a pair of doors were opposite it, and a final one was tucked into the corner across from Levorian. He left his door ajar.

He spent twenty breaths at each door, listening. It was a patient business, but no hard thing was done without a little waiting. As he listened at the third door, counting his breaths, he was keenly aware of the beat of his heart. In such a large, quiet room, it was the only noise. Levorian closed his eyes and expelled it from his peripheral. No distractions.

With the final door checked, he faced the stairwell. The steps were made of solid cherry wood and bowed in the center. A thick red stair runner draped over the full flight, dark with use and age.

Levorian turned his ears to the stairs and applied pressure at the corner of each step. When he was sure of a solid foothold, he took one step up. It took ten minutes to climb to the top. He did so silently.

Corridors extended to either side at the end of the stairs. He turned left. The master bedroom was to the right, but he had no business there.

There were four doors in this hallway and a fifth around a corner. He listened to each with due diligence. Behind the fourth door was the quiet, patterned breathing of someone swathed in dreams. Levorian was about to move on after counting twenty, but he observed that his breaths had fallen in time with the sleeper’s. He crouched for a moment longer, then left.

The door around the corner waited for him. He crept over to it and listened. Behind this door was labored, uneven breathing. In the thirty-five breaths Levorian spent listening, the sound caught three times. He waited for a fourth, then removed a small bottle from the pouch at his waist.

He screwed a spout on the end and applied oil to the door’s handle. The bottle he returned to his pouch, then he wiped his hands on the white cloth wrap covering his torso and legs.

He grasped the handle, applied pressure up and toward the door’s hinges, and twisted slowly. The handle revolved silently, then stopped. He crept the door open inch after inch until there was enough space for him to slip through.

The man in the bed did not stir.

He lay uncovered, a blanket all bunched up at the foot of his bed. One of his arms lay over his stomach, while the other was over his forehead, covering his eyes from the beam of moonlight that cut in from a window above him.

Levorian stopped, hand still on the door, watching. But the man was not awake. Levorian took his hand away and crept in.

A small table crowded with mugs, towels, and a dish of water stood on the left of the bed. There was a chair to the right, positioned so that it could watch over the man.

Levorian studied the him for five breaths then removed two items from the pouch at his waist: a white folded cloth and a dagger. The cloth he unfolded and draped over his left hand, the dagger he held in his right. Its steel blade shone silver in the moonlight. He stood over the man and watched his chest labor up, then down.

Better to be done with it.

In one motion, Levorian muffled the man’s mouth with the cloth and thrust the knife into his chest. There was pressure as it hit the skin, then a pop as it punctured through.

The man jolted as the dagger struck true. His eyes snapped open and found Levorian’s face. He didn’t scream. The momentary horror on his face gave way for something else as his eyes fell over Levorian’s white wrappings and dark skin.

He reached out a hand—as most men do to toss off their assassin—but did not clutch Levorian’s arm. He held it cupped toward Levorian’s face.

Levorian pulled away from the dying man. The cloth slipped, and the man uttered three words through chapped lips: “I forgive you.” He gasped as his chest fruitlessly pumped blood, fruitlessly drew breath. Then his head slumped against the pillow.

A tear sparkled in the moonlight as it rolled down his cheek.

Levorian stood a foot from the bed and lost count of his breaths. A pool of red soaked through the man’s shirt. Levorian slid his dagger cleanly back into its sheath and picked up the cloth from where it had fallen. At the door, he almost turned and looked back at the bed.

Levorian was sure he did not know this man, but as he folded the cloth and returned it to his pouch, he wondered if he should have.

That was the prologue from a spinoff book in the world of Hearth that I wrote for NaNoWriMo back in 2020! In the original book, I didn't have a prologue, and the writing was much worse. This prologue I wrote in 2023 on a whim. I'm happy with how it came out.

For reference, this all takes place in Lothrame, which is in Eldenguard. In the coming weeks, you'll know much more about these places and Hearth in general!

If you'd like to read the first chapter of the book this is a spinoff from, you can find it here!