The Exiles

34. Parted

"Mama?" Mawsie turned left, and he turned right, but no Mama was in sight. In fact, he narrowed his beautiful amber eyes, squinting at the familiar surroundings. "Mama?" he called out again, blinking like a lost puppy at the patched house sitting under a thatched roof. Its lopsided chimney blowing white smoke against the sunset sky yet to be dusted with glimmering, glinting stars. The curtains on the two small windows fluttered in the wind as if waving him hello. "Mama, where are you?"

When Mama didn't reply, he eyed the house, standing against the empty fields where yellow mustard seeds swayed gently in the warm, southerly breeze. If Mawsie knew much about the weather, he'd have recognised the signs as heralding summer, unlike the late winter it had been since their departure.

"Mama?" He trudged ahead, down the familiar trodden dirt path towards the wonky door. If Mama was going to be anywhere, it was inside, preparing their dinner. Mawsie's stomach rumbled, and he licked his lips, aching to eat one of Mama's warm pies. "I hope that's what she is making." He eyed the white smoke coming out of the twisted chimney and smiled, quickening his steps until he was skipping across the path towards home.

Home. How he had missed it! Now that Nessie was better, he hoped they'd return home. Even though he had to share his cot with Attin, he missed it. He missed Granny's stories by the hearth, sipping cocoa that was far too much milk and not enough cocoa. He wondered if the Cerulean world had any cocoa, not that he recalled having one vaguely familiar. Though the drink called the Ado was delicious, some kind of sweet concoction from a fruit that looked like coconuts and one that looked like giant cherries.

Hmm... the thought of food and drinks made him ever more hungry, and Mawsie ran for the door. "MAMA!"

***

Rita stared at the courtyard below from the great hall, feeling sick to her stomach. Covered in Ovek's blood still, she refused to remove herself to her chambers, those old, grand chambers she shared with her husband a lifetime ago, where she could clean up and get comfortable. When she had arrived with Nessa on her horse, she'd felt like a walking dead. Guilt weighed down on her chest like a mammoth beast, and she'd been unable to meet Ursa's eyes, or visit Attin in the infirmary. She inquired as to his health and was glad that he was on the mends, though Ursa complained that telling him to stay put might be a task on itself as soon as some strength returned to him. Rita didn't doubt that. Of all her children, Attin had always been so restless, so keen for adventure... and what adventure he had... she thought painfully.

"Please, don't tell him about—" She couldn't even bring herself to say 'your father'. Instead, she'd squeezed Ursa's shoulder and walked away, locking herself into the frigid grand hall. It had the best view of the road into Chymer, and here she wished to stay, to stare into the faraway horizon, hoping and praying for a miracle or two.

"I hope you made it, Amer," she mumbled to the dark night outside. "Goddess forgive me... I didn't mean to..." In the quiet of that hall, she cried, she fell to her knees and she cried, begging for Ovek's life to be spared. "Take me... take me instead... I beg you..."

She didn't know how long she stayed like this. For all she knew, it was an eternity before someone brought her back to life, and how she hated them for it, for all the guilt and the self-loathing crushed her like water from a dam.

***

Amer had ridden through the night, never stopping, not even for a breath. He'd held tight to the thread that pulled Papa along like some macabre balloon for Hallow's Eve parades the villagers would put on Earth. Papa floated in a cocoon of golden wisps, a meter above the ground. He almost looked to be sleeping if it was not for the cloak of crimson he wore, and the ghastly white of his skin.