The Exiles

10. Crack and tumble

With her long and heavy tweed skirt bunched up in her fist, Mrs Silvertongue burst into the cottage like a wrecking ball. She slammed her shoulder into the weak wooden planks of the door, sending it slamming against the weaker straw and clay walls that shook and cracked. Ah, another repair now staring them in the eyes, but it would have to wait, perhaps forever.

"Goodness, Rita. What in the world is the matter with you, rushing in here in that manner?" Granny turned from the hearth where she was kindling a fire for her daily soup. "Do you mean to scare your children into losing their appetite?"

"Not now, mother!" Rita rushed about the cottage, pulling sheets off the beds, spouting orders. "Ursa, quick, pack anything and everything you can of the little ones. Food, clothes, anything that isn't bolted to the floor—"

"Rita!" Mr Silvertongue ran in after his wife, his hair a disheveled mess, and his garments even messier. It seemed Ovek Silvertongue took a tumble in the forest somewhere behind his wife. Pieces of twigs and forest debris stuck out from his head of curly hair as dark as mahogany. Grass and mud-stained his entire front. One knee even blooming red beneath his pants.

"Mawsie, Vanylla, go fetch as much water as you can from the well. Help Pa feed the animals and then water them before we leave... can't have them dying on our accounts." She continued rushing about, reaching high in the shelves above her bed that her husband had fashioned for her when he'd built the house from scratch with the older boys' help. She pulled out cured meats and pickled vegetables, saying, "Make sure we grab all the eggs from the chook pens too... Who knows how long Attin's been gone? I could barely sense his weaves—"

"Rita!" Ovek spun her around desperately as she reached for pickled onions. The jar slipped out of her hand as she did. She let out a gasp. So did the children. Ovek, however, spun a weave. Thin golden threads spurting from his fingers caught the jar before it hit the floor, hovering. His attention was on his wife despite it. He held her by her shoulders and peered down at her with all the love he had to give. "Take a breath, my darling. Don't rush so headily into abandoning everything we've built here."

"But we have to go back now! Attin could wander about a world he no longer remembers. He could be—" She could not finish that sentence. "He needs us. His weave led him to another world"— her voice dropped to a whisper so no child in the room could hear it. "He disappeared at the very place we stepped in."

She could see her husband swallow, perhaps in fear. "I know."

"Then you know what they will do to him if they discover who he is." Rita's eyes begged her husband. "He's gone back home."

Ovek squeezed his wife's shoulder direly, shaking his head. "Something was not quite right with the energy there... it didn't feel like home."

Rita's eyes went wild. "You promised."

"Aye. I did, and it shall be done. We are going home come what may, but we can't leave yet. Not without Amer."

"Amer." Rita Silvertongue had almost forgotten her eldest in her state of panic. She looked about the cottage, at Granny standing there staring at them with a severe look on her face. She glanced at the faces of her children standing about, rapt in the drama between their parents. Yup, Ovek was right. Amer was not before her. "He doesn't finish for quite some time." Her heart ached at the possibility of waiting hours for her son to return, and the time Attin would have to deal with ugly things on his own.

As if he could read her mind, Ovek took a step back, weaving his hand to grab the jar and return it to his wife. Then he flourished his fingers again, practiced and smooth his movements were and before them, a key appeared. Ancient and intricate. Glowing—as if in importance. He plucked it out of thin air, grabbed Rita's free hand, and placed it in her palm. "You go ahead, with Ma and the children. I shall fetch Amer and follow shortly."