Aryn
Wet, gasping coughs woke him. He uncurled his body from the fetal position he had fallen asleep in, shuddering when his feet hit the frozen ground. Reaching blindly around for his slippers proved fruitless- snow had fallen in from the many holes in the roof, covering everything in a layer of fresh white powder. Sighing in resignation, he stepped into the snow to begin the hunt for the source of the coughing. It would be his mother, no doubt, who collapsed somewhere next to a bed of her own bile. He swallowed the tears that threatened to fall at just the thought, breathing deeply and reminding himself that he needed to be calm if he was going to help her.
When he did find her, curled up next to the pile of clothes and furs she called a bed, she was bent over with a stained rag pressed against her face to catch the rotted gunk that came with every cough. The heat of her fever was radiating off her in a wave. He could feel it as he made his way closer. While it was true she had lasted longer than most infected with The Sick, there was no doubt her time was almost done.
She stopped. Her body rolled up and out of the crouch, each movement slow and painful; he could hear her bones straining from the effort. His heart broke as he watched her. He knew, ultimately, this was his fault. Unable to contain the tears anymore, he felt them start to trickle out from the corners of his eyes. From shame or despair he couldn’t tell anymore, the two tended to go hand in hand nowadays. He remembered how she used to be, back when her voice worked, when she was strong enough to hold him, when she didn’t need help with the simplest tasks.
“I will not die surrounded by a pile of my own blood and bile,” she had said to him. Her strong arms would be wrapped around him, clutching him to her chest, protecting him as she always did. “I will live for many more years. I will see you take your vows and give your life to someone that you love.”
“Boys do not love, Mama,” he had replied back, crying against her shoulder. He cried a lot when he was younger.
“You aren’t like other boys, Aryn,” she had replied, clutching him tighter. “You are better.”
She was always saying things like to make him feel better and less guilty over the fate he caused her. His mother would remind him that his feelings were a gift. They would make his life experiences worth so much more worthwhile and the world would be more beautiful when you could feel. It just made Aryn feel like a freak.
He shook himself out of his memories. His mother had spotted him now, her bony arm reaching out for him the best it could.
“Ar, Ar,” she coughed out. It was the closest she could get to his name with The Sick attacking her vocal chords. He crossed a few feet to her and lifted her up, intending to carry her back to the bed. She stopped him by pointing to the paper on the small table with a smile.
“Yes, Mama, that’s my list,” he sighed in response. His mother didn’t point anymore, just kept looking at him with a wide smile and hopeful eyes. “Courts are tomorrow, so we need to get some more rest. It’ll be a long day.”
She shook her head and pointed to the list again before pointing to his heart.
“I’ll try and fall in love with one of them.” This seemed to satisfy her. She smiled again and pointed to the bedroom, indicating that’s where she wanted to go. He carried her back to bed, trying to not let the thoughts of tomorrow creep into his head. Thoughts on how he only had four names on his list, how none of them would even show up for him, and how the small bit of hope she carried for him would leave her when he disappointed her again.
**********
There were fifty-six girls of age in their village. Fifty-six. A dozen of them would be given to the Sisterhood, some would have had been pre-matched by their parents, deals made long before any of them were of age.
Not that it mattered. None of them would choose him anyway. He wasn’t built for protection; his body was nothing but limbs and bones. His dark coloring made him unsuitable to the girls of the village who held pride in their pale skin and brightly colored eyes. They wanted to vow themselves to Winter men and bear Winter children; strong, muscular mountain folk who could survive the harsh climates. Skinny little Summer boys like him weren’t built for the mountain weather. Despite having spent over half his life in this village, he would always be considered an outsider.
Next to their names, all the girls he would be meeting with had an hour they would be arriving. None of them would be meeting with him until the late afternoon, long after they had already met with many other boys. At least with only four names the afternoon would pass quickly. He tucked his list away and started his daily work.
He sat at the edge of the fishing hole outside their drying hut while he waited for his first potential name to arrive. The drying hut was far more appealing then the mound of ice and mud they used as a home; at least here he could show he had some value. He and his Mother were the only fishers in the village. There was a hunter too, but he wouldn’t come down from his cave often enough, forcing the villagers to send young boys up there once a fortnight if they wanted something other than fish.
He sat there, bundled up in far more layers than considered acceptable for a young Winter man, grateful for the tradition of the Courts that allowed him to stay out of the beady eyes of the other Villagers during this nerve wracking ceremony. Tradition stated that the women would go to the men.
Dia, named for her Grandmother, was expected to arrive at the fourth hour of the sun. Aryn tried not to get nervous as the hour approached and tried not to feel disappointed when the hour passed with no sign of Dia.
The next name on his list, Vera, named for the 5th Queen, was supposed to arrive during the fifth hour. It too passed without her arrival.
The sixth hour, designated to Kait, named for The Mother, also passed without event.
Despite knowing the last girl wouldn’t show up either, Aryn still waited. He needed time to calm his breath and heart before having to break the news to his mother. He knew she would just smile at him and love him until her last day (which would be any one of them now) but the shame he always carried over his Father’s abandonment was now intensified. Not only did he cause his mother to have The Sick, but now he couldn’t even give her something happy to die with. She’d have to live her final moments secretly ashamed that her son was doomed to be a Wanderer, forced to document everyone else’s lives and never truly live his own. The tears were hot against his skin, sliding down for a moment before freezing against his cheeks. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Thank the King no one had actually showed. The rumors about his abnormality may be true but no one had every actually seen-
“Fascinating,” a high, clear voice said. Aryn jolted up, bringing his hand to cheeks in an attempt to hide the very obvious default. “I have never seen a boy cry before. I didn’t even think your kind could.”
The girl standing before him looked like every other Winter girl; pale skin, dark hair, bright eyes and so very short. He was fairly certain three of her could stand foot to shoulder and he’d still be taller. The round face gave her a bit of uniqueness among the high cheeked and pointed nosed masses, but all in all she was very plain. The type you take one look at and forget the moment you turn your head.
“You frightened me,” Aryn stammered out. He really needed to work on his nerves. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“You weren’t?” Her face became concerned and Aryn couldn’t help but take note of how much of the expression was just in her eyes. “I should be on your list. I made a special request and threatened to never perform for the Atrium if they refused.”
“Must be nice to have that kind of power.”
“It does come in handy,” she informed him. His awkward attempt at relieving the tension seemed lost on her; rather; she just didn’t care. The sounds of the nature around them filled the space of their short conversation. The wind whistled around them, various animals in the distance called out into the night, all the while the two continued to stare at each other. Her neck was stretched out so she could see his face clearly, nothing but fascination and curiosity in her eyes. He had made himself shorter, accidentally, by pulling into himself under her scrutiny. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she backed away and nodded.
“Yes, I think you’ll do. Eyl,” she stated, thrusting her hand for him, “named for my sister.”
Aryn blinked several times before sense came to him. He dropped to one knee and grabbed her hand, kissing it clumsily.
“Aryn,” he replied, “named for my uncle.” He released her hand and stood, noticing she was alone. “Your chaperone?”
“I thought our meeting would be more comfortable for you with the judgment of a stranger.”
“That was kind, thank you.”
“I wouldn’t call it kind. I understand your affliction and didn’t want any outbursts or irrational moments from you.”
“That is not-“
“Is that your fishing shack?” Eyl interrupted, pointing behind him. “Let’s go in there for the rest of our conversation. I am performing tomorrow and would prefer not to scream over the wind.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she headed for the shack.
Inside was quieter, even though the cracked walls couldn’t do much to hide them from the cold. Eyl perched herself on a barrel of salt while once again watching Aryn with that look.
“I am not sure what to say,” he cringed at the way his Summer accent was more pronounced now that the wind couldn’t mask it. “I do not interact with many people beyond trading for fish.”
“No,” she said in agreement. “I can’t imagine that you would. Is that why weren’t expecting anyone?”
He hesitated before responding. Eyl seemed genuinely curious about him. There was no anger or hate in her tone. After taking a moment he came to the conclusion that since his fate was sealed to be a Wanderer, there was no harm in having at least one open and decent conversation in his life.
“That is part of the reason,” he began as he sat on the salt barrel next to her. “It is mostly due to the fact I resigned myself to the fate of a Wanderer a long time ago. I was hopeful when we first came here, after we left the Summer Isles. I thought I could change, finally be normal here. I attended all the classes and even went to the ones they hold for the younger boys to ensure I wasn’t missing anything. However, my mother continued to get worse. Her condition affected me and nothing stuck. A lot of the elders blamed her. They said she should have abandoned me and let me learn to be on my own. It would have been a better alternative to have me fend for myself and die somewhere alone than try and continue our lives the way they are. I had to make a choice.”
“Choose between a life with your mother or an attempt to assimilate.”
Aryn nodded in confirmation before continuing his story.
“My mother is dying because of me. Father left her because of my affliction. I couldn’t abandon her.”
“You’re a good son.”
“I am a guilty son.”
The conversation fell. Eyl didn’t ask anymore about his past, for which he was grateful. Confessing his history had brought tears to his eyes again and he prayed a thank you to the King for Eyl’s lack of comment on the way his voice cracked at the mention of his father.
After a few moments Eyl stood and headed for the door. Aryn knew tradition called for him to walk her back to her Chaperone, wherever she had deposited him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Eyl paused at the door, turning to him one last time. “Performers aren’t given a choice in our trade. It’s the same as being promised to the Sisters. My destiny was chosen for me. One of the few freedoms we have and I didn’t even get to enjoy it.”
Her confession sparked Aryn’s interest. No one ever complained about being a performer. It was comparable to being royalty.
“Yet you said you had resigned yourself to the life of a Wanderer a long time ago, yet you are just now old enough for Courts, but not to pick our trades,” she continued, “How can one so young be ready for such a lonely and troublesome life?”
“My mother used to say that it’s not the years of our life that determine our age,” he explained, standing to his full height and meeting Eyl at the door. “It’s how we live them.”
“And how have you lived?”
“Lonely and troubled,” he smiled.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Eyl’s face. He hadn’t even realized until now that had been wearing the same neutral expression, save for her eyes the entire time they had been talking.
“I’ve enjoyed this time with you, Aryn, named for your uncle.”
“As have I, Eyl, named for your sister.” He repeated the same greeting ritual as earlier before she open the door to leave. She waved goodbye and headed back into the woods that lead to the main village.
****************
Aryn was hopeful. He knew his emotions were what made him a freak to the world but at this moment he didn’t care. He knew he was still unworthy and he still wouldn’t be vowed, but his conversation with Eyl had elated him. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell his mother. She would be just as thrilled as he was to find out there were still decent people in the world. She had always told him to take pride in his affliction. She would constantly remind him that the fact that he feels meant he could see the world for the beauty that it truly was. It made every experience worth remembering and every moment that much more important. He had never believed her, seeing as most of his memories involved pain or watching his mother slowly rot away.
He made his way back the their humble hut, shoving his shoulder into the door with all of his weight behind it- the hinges had a habit of icing over in the night- and walked into silence.
“Mama?” he called out, stepping cautiously into his home. There was a chill in the air, but not the kind from the wind or weather. It was foreboding. A sense of danger filled him, his instincts not to go any further. Something was wrong.
“M-m-mama?” Out of all the emotions that came with his affliction, fear was the worst. It was the hardest one to handle because fear is layered. It’s not just being scared; it was being scared on top of being worried with a dash of paranoia and dread. It was the most complex emotion he had ever felt. It caused his pulse to race, his throat to close up, his breathing to stagger, all at the same time. He swallowed down the lump that had begun to form and continued into the house. He attempted to call out again, the words choking him on their way out. Step by step he walked further into their home. She wasn’t in the shared area or the kitchen. She wasn’t in the corner they used to relieve themselves, or out in the pathetic garden she insisted on having. That left Aryn with only one more place to look.
His room.
There were no coughing noises in the house. The unmistakable sound of someone retching up their insides was missing. Small barks of indistinguishable sounds that passed for her speech were not heard. Aryn reached the curtain that blocked his room from the rest of the world and inhaled- only to immediately start gagging. The stench wafting out from his quarters was so foul, so rancid, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t noticed before.
He didn’t need to go any further to know what would be waiting for him on the other side.
The tears he had been holding back came out in full force. His panicked breaths staggering out, only to pause long enough for an anguished scream to be released as he fell to his knees, pounding the snow and dirt that littered their floor with his fists.
His body shook with the efforts of his grief. His voice failing with each scream ripped from his body. He didn’t need to enter his room to know. He knew what that smell was. He knew if had mustered up the strength for one more step he would come upon his mother, horribly contorted from the violent waves of sick that had taken over her, surrounded by nothing except her own blood and bile. It would have been hours for her body to finally breakdown, hours of being alone and dying and in more than anyone could imagine.
He didn’t need to take one more step to know his mother was dead.
