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IT was not so very long before his father’s men showed up at Greyson’s door, the same day he happened to run out of medicine for his mother. “You have returned,” he said, looking around for his father. He did not find it odd that his father’s men were the ones who had come to his door, not his father. Grief, you see, can make a man blind as well as foolish for a time. Greyson had been so consumed with caring for his mother that he had not given another thought to what the king had said of his father, though his nights were filled with nightmares.
The front man, a large bulky man his father called Miller, dropped to a knee. “We are sorry,” he said, and that was all, but it was enough. Oh, yes. It was enough.
Greyson stood before him, his throat growing dry. “What is it?” he said, though he very well knew, for a son always knows.
“Your father,” said another man, the one his father had always called Green. “He did not come back with us.”
“So he did desert the king?” Greyson whispered.
The men stared him, their faces twisted in confusion. And then Miller said, “No. Your father would never desert.” And Greyson felt hope rise in him again. His father was not a deserter. He could ask the king to help his mother. He could go back. It was within his rights, as long as his father worked for the king.
But his hope did not last so very long, for Green said, “There was a volcano. Ashvale is a land of fire mountains, you will recall.”
“But fire mountains are not dangerous,” Greyson said, for there had never been danger before. “They are merely mountains with holes cut all the way through them.”
The men looked at one another. “This one was dangerous,” Green said. “This one spit fire from its bowels.”
They told the story in pieces.
“We tried to get everyone safely out,” one man said.
“But your father returned for those who could not walk,” another man said.
“He was a brave man,” still another said.
“He saved many, many people,” Green said. “But he did not make it out himself.”
They stood there while Greyson wept, trying to understand what they were telling him, trying to figure out what this might mean for him and his mother, trying to reconcile the long, searing ache that began in his chest and spread all the way to his toes and the tips of his fingers. He took a step back from the doorway. All the men fell to their knees. They bowed.
“We are yours to command,” they said with one voice.
Miller raised his eyes to look at Greyson. “You are very like your father,” he said. “Good and kind and brave. We would be honored if you would lead us.”
“But I am not even yet a man,” Greyson said. “I am only seventeen.”
“It matters not,” Miller said. “We knew your father. We know you will follow in his footsteps.”
“But I do not want to lead an army,” Greyson said. He had his mother to care for, after all. How would he keep her alive if he were gone from her bedside?
How would he keep her alive if he did not do what it was the men were asking? He would have no medicine, and she would surely die without that.
“Your mother is very sick,” Green said. “We heard the talk on the way in to town. She will die without medicine. And the only way you can get medicine...” He let his voice trail off, for he knew the boy already knew.
“Is to work for the king,” Greyson said. He could scarcely breathe, though the door was open and the air was crisp and fresh. Yes. He would have to work for the king. He had no other choice. He could not let his mother die.
The men stood. “We are on our way to the king,” Green said. He held out his hand for Greyson to shake. Greyson hesitated before taking it. “We will inform him of your plans.” Greyson could only nod, his entire body lost to numbness. He did not feel Green’s hand. He did not feel his feet on the ground of his family’s cottage. He did not feel the heart thumping in his chest.
The men left, and Greyson moved to close his door. He did not see Cora until she spoke. “So a captain,” she said.
His throat felt tight, for this was something he never wanted to be. But love will do curious things to a man’s ideals. “Yes,” he said.
“You will work for that horrible man,” Cora said. She looked at him with those sharp eyes that could cut all the way through him.
“I must,” he said. She must understand. There was nothing more he could do for his mother but lead these men in their army.
“There are other ways,” Cora said. She tilted her head, as if challenging him.
“No,” Greyson said. “There are none.”
“If you could see,” Cora said.
Greyson shook his head. “I do not see another way,” he said. “Tell me, please, if there is another way.”
Cora moved to him in a whisper. She put her hand on his arm. “Magic,” she said. Her eyes flashed. He felt their jolt in the pit of his stomach.
“There is no magic to fix sickness,” he said.
Her eyes flickered again. “But there is,” she said. “When you find someone whose magic is strong enough.”
“But no one has ever lived with strong enough magic to cure sickness,” Greyson said.
Cora did not answer. She merely took a step back.
“There is no time to waste on silly stories,” Greyson said. “This is the only way. It is the only way to save my mother.”
“I see,” Cora said. She took another step back, dissolving into shadow.
“I will still see you,” Greyson said.
“What does it matter, boy?” Cora said. Her voice was angry, cruel once more. “You are nothing to me.”
He could not see her any longer. He stepped outside the door of his cottage.
“Cora,” he said.
“Do not speak to me,” she said. “You are nothing to me.”
He moved ever forward, but she was gone, disappeared into the darkness so quickly he did not even see her retreat. Overhead, a blackbird screeched, letting loose the saddest cry the world had ever heard.