The Exiles

2. There was a boy

"Once upon a time, in a world we left far behind, there was a legend—" Granny had only just begun when Mawsie interrupted.

"—What you mean a world we left behind, Granny?"

Granny Silver-tongued eyed the young boy while all his siblings groaned and rolled their eyes except Amer, who was far too mature and forgave the child.

"Not again!" Vanylla even cried. "Why can't you just stay quiet and listen, like the rest of us?"

Her brief outburst made Mama smile.

"It's just a question," he said.

"Yes, it's always just a question for you!" she retorted. "That's how you start."

"Now, now, children," said Rita, pulling Mawsie into her lap as she settled on the floor beside Nessa for story time. "Amer, sweetie, check on the cake, please." She wrapped her arms around Mawsie, nuzzling her cheek against his, whispering, "Interrupt Granny one more time and I can't save you from Vanylla. She'll chase you around the room again till you can't breathe. So shush. It's Nessa's night, remember?"

Mawsie threw Nessa a look. His sister smiled and leaned against Mother. The heat of the furnace had turned her cheeks rosy, and she looked healthier than she had minutes earlier.

"Please, begin, Granny!" Vanylla urged, side-eyeing Mawsie. A warning look. She was ready to chase him if it came to.

Ursa, finally done with washing dishes, took a seat on the floor with the young ones. Attin too threw the wet dish towel over the cast-iron wall of the furnace-oven to dry and mosied on to join the half-moon gathered around Granny. Amer busied himself with the cake, poking at it with a fork, for he knew the tale Granny was about to tell. He'd heard it many times as a lad, all before it turned into a nightmare. A nightmare, he still remembered, but one Ursa only vaguely found rang a bell. It did not yet trigger any memory—for she's only been all but three.

"Mama, another five minutes for the cake," Amer called from the other side, rousing interest in all of them. "Ursa can take it out. Do you need me to do anything else here? For I thought, I should take father his dinner, and I want to check on the horses in the stable before the snow comes tonight," the stable where he worked as a helping hand.

"We're good, dear." Mama half-smiled at him knowingly, for she too wished she could avoid the story Granny was about to tell. Though it brought joy for many, to her—to them—it brought pain long ago felt and perhaps a pain that was forthcoming. "Wear the good jacket, darling. It's chilly out already."

"Yes, mama." With that, Amer left the welcomed warmth of his humble home with their dad's second-best jacket—a hand-me-down—and stepped out into the cold tundra of the open fields, heading toward the dim glow on the horizon. The village of Elselvier. He preferred the cold nipping at him than the tears that were bound to sting when memories crawled back to the fore, reminding him of Oria. A sister the young ones didn't know of, didn't know they lost once upon a time... in the world they left far behind.

Oria, too, had been Nessa's age when she had shown the sign. The sign of death.

A shiver coursed through poor Amer's back as he bundled himself in the giant jacket and crunched the ground beneath his feet as fast as he could. The walk could do him good.

Meanwhile, back in the cottage, Granny smiled at the rest of them, one by one, as she leaned back in her chair, and slowly rocked herself. Her eyes glimmered with fire again. "Once upon a time, in a world far from here, and a time yet to come, there was a legend of a boy, a boy who had the oddest job of all. They called him the Ferry Boy, a young lad no older than Attin or Ursa—"