Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

His father walked into the room, his signature pipe in hand. “Karina, what’s all the-Brice?”

“He’s come home to us, Geoffrey.” She dragged her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “At long last, our son is home.”

“I can’t believe it. Come here and let me get a look at you.”

Brice obliged, and Geoffrey grasped him by the shoulders. “Looks like you came back in one piece.”

“Yes, Da. The knights took good care of me. Thank you for putting up the money. I can repay it, and then some.”

“Nonsense. Any father with the means would have done the same. A Warren’s place isn’t on the battlefield, never has been.” Geoffrey smiled and pulled Brice toward the living room. “Come, sit a while. Tell me all about your travels.”

And Brice obliged.

Marac watched Brice tread the road until he disappeared from view, then said, “See you tomorrow, Lae. I’d better get home, too.”

“You’ll leave it at that?” Laedron asked.

“Leave… what?”

“Brice? The sudden change of heart?”

“I’d never tell him, but I was scared, Lae.”

“You?”

Marac nodded, then stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, and I would’ve defended him to the death… but…”

“But?”

“It helped. It’s not easy to stop being a big brother.”

“You replaced Naettan with Brice? I should’ve known.”

Marac grinned. “I shouldn’t have, but it seemed to come so natural. I didn’t even know I was doing it until the ride to Morcaine. When Meklan made me apologize, I thought about how my father had done the same thing when I went too hard on Naettan. Then, it clicked.” He snapped his fingers.

“No worries. We made it back home. That’s all that matters.”

“All except Mikal.”

Laedron closed his eyes. “I wonder if they’ve told his family.”

Marac shrugged. “If not, we’ll have to.”

“We’ll go together tomorrow. Let them have one more day of peace.”

Nodding, Marac started down the road.

“On the morrow, then. You’d better be there,” Laedron said before Marac got out of earshot.

Marac waved over his shoulder without stopping. Heading through the village, he caught sight of Calvert’s stall and figured that it couldn’t hurt to stop by for a quick drink. Why wait? A glass of honeysuckle cider would do wonders right now. He walked over and climbed onto a stool.

Calvert served the man who sat on the other side of the counter, then turned. When he saw Marac, his eyes grew wide. “Marac Reven?”

“The one and the same.”

“It’s not every day that true, genuine heroes visit my little establishment,” Calvert said, grabbing a pint-sized mug. “What would you like?”

“Honeysuckle cider. It seems like it’s been ages since I’ve had the stuff.”

“Couldn’t find any on your travels? It doesn’t surprise me. A closely guarded secret, it is.” Calvert paused, his eyes shifty as if he’d remembered something, but he said nothing. Instead, he fetched Marac’s drink and served it.

Finding Calvert’s demeanor strange, Marac asked, “Anything new going on?”

“No, nothing. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Just the one drink.” He pulled out a silver coin. “Then I’ll be off.”

“That one’s on the house.”

“Surely?”

“Least I can do to thank you for all that you’ve done. Enjoy.”

He nodded. “Always do. Thanks.” He sipped from the stein, trying his best to ignore the sickening aroma of the nearby fish stall. Just like old times. When he finished, he stood and walked off toward the edge of town and his family’s home. His mind wandered as he went, all of the memories and good feelings of homecoming back to him with each passing step.

First, a stop at the mill to see Da, then onto the house. I hope Ma has something fixed for supper. He followed the road, and when he finally spotted the mill’s sails turning in the breeze, he raced up the hill. Pushing the door open, he peered inside. “Da? I’m home. Da?” He entered, took a long look around, and decided that Bordric must not have been there because it was quiet and dark. Maybe he’s at the house. Yes, he must be; it’s too late for him to be still up here tending things.

After securing the door, he jogged toward the house a hundred yards away. Inside, he saw his little brother, Naettan, sitting on a sofa. “Nate!” He rushed over and hugged Naettan.

The boy sat in silence, barely looking up at Marac.

“Nate?” He crouched next to his brother. “Where is Da? Have you seen Ma?”

Receiving no answer, he walked down the hallway. “Da! Ma!”

“Marac?” His mother opened the door of her bedroom. “Is that you?”

“Ma, yes. Finally, someone answers me.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “What wrong with Nate? Where’s Da?”

“Come with me, Marac.” She took his hand, trying to lead him into the room with her.

“Where’s Da? Ma, is everything all right?” He hadn’t noticed before, but he saw tears running down her cheek. “What’s happened?”

She closed the door after pulling him into the room. “Have a seat, Marac.”

“Where’s Da?” he asked again, having a seat on the edge of the bed. Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Where in the hells… Nate’s silent. Ma’s crying. “Ma, where is he?”

“Your father has passed, Marac, while you were away.”

Passed. Passed? Passed… He tried to force a breath, his face and neck growing hot, his muscles tense, and his hands trembling. Dead? No, I won’t believe that. “He was fine before I left. He can’t be. Not Da, not now. Impossible.”

“We buried him last week, Marac.” She sobbed and sat next to him. “It was an accident.”

“How?” He shook his head and shot up from the bed. “He was strong as an ox. Two of them.”

She followed him into the hall, then to the living room. “An inquest was held by the magistrate, and he determined that Bordric passed from a fall. He’d complained to me about the sails getting stuck, and he went up there to fix-”

“Dead?”

She sighed, bowed her head, and pointed toward the kitchen window. Marac walked over and peered out. He noticed a new stone at the top of the next hill in the family cemetery, a stone that hadn’t been there when he left. Then, he turned to look at the dining table, the evening meal prepared and the places set, but where his father usually sat, he didn’t see dishes or a napkin. He’s gone? Da’s gone…

Like an arrow, the pain shot through his heart, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Why him? Creator, why has this come to pass?If I had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened. I would have helped him with that damned mill. His vision cloudy from tears, his throat sore, and his body shaking, he couldn’t do anything. We should’ve come home when we were done with Gustav. Why did we have to stay gone so long? A week might have made a difference. We’ve saved so many, but I couldn’t save my own father! He was paralyzed, powerless to do anything but cry. Emotions overtaking him, he fell to his side and rolled into a ball. All the opportunities you had to claim me, and you take him? Creator, why are you punishing me? Why did you take him instead of me?

He lay there for some time, and the sun hung low on the horizon by the time he stopped crying. Ma came over-apparently waiting until he’d calmed down-and touched him on the shoulder, but he reeled away.

“Your brother and I are still living, Marac. We need your love, too.”