Domund, Theryn’s older brother, stood at the back of the wagon, leaning his back and elbows against it, while Silla lay at the front, across the perch, and under the canopy’s shade. Theryn could see her slender legs sway back and forth from the side.
She wasn’t their real mother, just a young woman Brevon met on the road and decided to marry. She didn’t look half bad and loved children, while he had an income. It was a match made in Heaven.
Theryn’s real mother died at his birth, and for a while, he had blamed himself for it. One of the reasons, he supposed, he liked the book so much was that in it, he found an alternative explanation for his mother’s death, one that didn’t hold him accountable.
The secret lay in the Second Precept: Polarity. Life and death were tied together as exact opposites; it seemed only right then that if one person was born, another should have to die, and only fitting that the one who would die was the one giving birth. And so, considering this, Theryn rationalized that it was natural for a woman to die while giving birth, and the real puzzle was why it didn’t happen every time. Indeed, sometimes a child would be born without either of their parents dying, and that—Theryn concluded—was a real crime against the cosmos. It was like humans were cheating the universe. It wasn’t fair, and as he thought about it more, he remembered that dogs and cats gave birth in litters. None of it seemed right. He wondered if the wizard could explain it, he should have asked when he had the chance.
Domund noticed Theryn approaching and snorted. “Ha! I knew you’d fail!”
“I didn’t fail!” Theryn said, coming to stand before his brother. He was three years younger and one foot shorter. “I passed the test, and he agreed to make me his apprentice!”
Domund frowned at that, and Silla sprang up to her feet.
“Really, Theryn? That’s great news!” She said, then looked around. “Where’s your father?”
“Um… well, he said he’d be down soon, but, um… I don’t think I’ll be the wizard’s apprentice after all.”
“What? Why not?” She thought for a moment, guessing the answer. “Did your father ruin things again by bargaining too much?” She frowned, placing her hands on her hips.
“No, well… not exactly. The wizard, he… he didn’t just want me as his apprentice, he wanted me as his son. He tried to buy me.”
“Buy you?” Domund laughed, “For what, 60 Crowns?”
“More like sixty thousand!”
“Wait a moment, the wizard tried to buy you?” Silla said. “That’s absurd!”
“He is clearly lying,” Domund scoffed. “Sixty thousand? For a wimp like you? Yeah, right.”
Silla sighed with relief, “You shouldn’t joke about things like that, Theryn.”
“I am not lying! I heard them argue, the wizard offered sixty thousand, and father said no!”
“Then, why isn’t he with you?” Domund challenged.
Theryn opened his mouth to give an answer, then realized he didn’t have one. Why did his father stay behind?
He smiled at me, Theryn thought, he told me to go outside, and that he would come down right after. He wouldn’t have done that if he was going to—
Then, it dawned on him. His father never refused the last offer that was made to him, not explicitly, not outright. Theryn gulped and turned to look at the tower. Silla and Domund did the same.
It was a few long minutes before the tower’s doors opened, and Brevon passed through the archway, carrying a large chest before him with great effort.
Theryn’s face darkened.
Silla put her arms around him from behind and over his shoulders. “It’s fine,” she said, but her voice trembled with uncertainty. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Domund!” Brevon yelled, his face red and huffing as he descended the stairs leading to the tower’s door. “Don’t just stand there, you oaf! Come help me!”
Domund lingered, his mind still processing what his eyes were seeing.
Brevon went down a step too fast, and as his weight shifted, he tripped, falling to his knees, dropping the chest from his hands. It crashed to the ground, its top unlatching, and gold coins spilled out on the stone steps, dirt trail, and green grass. “Damn it, Domund! Get over here, right now!”
The boy shook, as if waking from a trance, and ran to help his father.
Silla’s fingers tightened into fists over Theryn’s chest, crumpling his shirt into wrinkles. “I knew your father wasn’t a good man when I married him,” she said mournfully, as Brevon began gathering the scattered coins back into the chest, piece by piece. “And Gods know, I am no angel either,” She continued, as Domun caught up with his father, and the two finished collecting the gold, then latched the lid shut. “But I always believed there were limits, lines we wouldn’t cross… that some things…” She choked. “That some things were sacred.”
Brevon and Domund carried the chest, holding it between them, slanted to the left as Domund was shorter and reasonably weaker than his father. “Come on, son! Really put your back into it, we don’t have long.” They wobbled down the trail at a rapid pace and increased their efforts as they reached the wagon, raising the chest to load it onto the cart.
Silla left Theryn, moving with purpose, and pushed Brevon to the side of the wagon, so they were hidden behind it. “What the Hell are you doing?” Is all Theryn heard her say, before the two lowered their voices, arguing in hushed whispers.
“You are welcome to stay if it bothers you so much, we are leaving!” Brevon yelled, ending the discussion, and reappeared from behind the wagon. He found the two boys staring at him expectedly. “Go on, get in,” he nodded to the side, indicating the wagon.
Domund glanced at his brother, then mounted the back of the cart and got inside. Theryn balled his hands into fists.
He wasn’t going to let them abandon him; he wasn’t going to be left behind.
With that resolve, he moved to board the vehicle, holding on to his book with one arm.
“Not you,” Brevon blocked him.
“But—”
“Got a problem?” Brevon snarled, “Take it up with your father.” He threw his arm at Talador, who Theryn was surprised to find standing right beside them. You’d think a man as tall as he was, wearing a long blue robe and a pointy blue hat, and holding a large staff etched in arcane runes, would have more of a presence, but he didn’t. He was still, and silent, and watching.
“He is not my father,” Theryn stomped his foot. “You are my father!”
“Not anymore,” Brevon reached into his jacket and drew out a scroll. “And I got the papers to prove it.” He returned the document to his inner pocket and shoved past Theryn to get to the perch at the front of the wagon.
Theryn felt a chill pass through him. They were abandoning him, leaving him behind, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it—but there had to be, there had to be something!
He threw down his book and lunged at Brevon’s leg, clinging to it tightly, as strongly as his slender arms could manage. “No!” He yelled. “Just because it says so on a stupid piece of paper doesn’t make it true!”
“Let go of me, boy, you are wasting our time,” Brevon tried to pry him off, but Theryn held on. The trader clicked his tongue.
One million, he had demanded after Theryn left. If you want him, then the price is one million Crowns!
As I already explained, Mr. Fendrick, Talador responded, a splash of amusement in his blue eyes. It is not him that I am purchasing, it is your fatherhood, and let us be honest, his lips curled into a devious smile. You are not THAT good a father.
Brevon’s nostrils flared at the memory. “Enough!” Frustrated and furious, he grabbed the boy’s hair and pulled, peeling him off and thrashing him to the ground.
Theryn fell on his back and remained down, lying at the wagon’s shade, curling up, whimpering, and weeping.
“Brevon!” Silla sent the man a smoldering glare and crouched down beside the boy.
He grunted in response. The boy was making it harder than it needed to be. The deal was already made, there was no changing it, and there was no reason to. This was, by all accounts, a good deal. Talador could give Theryn a better future than Brevon ever could have, and with the money they received, the Fendricks would be set for life; they could buy land, maybe even become nobles… Lord and Lady Fendrick.
And little Theryn… Well, he would get to read books as much as he wanted, on whatever topic he wished, and learn magic, to one day become a full-fledged wizard in his own right. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, filled with bittersweet tears and joyful goodbyes. Instead, it was this… violence, and pain, and fury.
And whose fault is that? Brevon thought to himself guiltily. But what else could he do? Admit to his son that he was a bad father? Explain to him that it was all for the best? No. He was too proud for the former, and as for the latter, though his son could be extremely logical at times, he doubted even he could accept such a cold answer.
“Say your goodbyes, woman,” he tried to sound tough, but his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “We have places to be,” he added, and climbed to sit on the wagon’s perch.
Theryn cried into her lap, crumpling her hay colored dress, staining it with snot and tears. He knew he would have to let her go soon, but until then, he held on to her as tightly as he could. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and caressed his back, “You are going to be alright,” she told him. “I promise, everything is going to be—”
“Mrs. Fendrick,” Talador said gently. “If I may,” he reached his long, slim-fingered hand to help her up.
She refused his help, getting up on her own, and Theryn rose with her. She intended to send her smoldering glare at the wizard next—he was just as much at fault as Brevon was, proposing a ridiculous trade like that—but when she met his intense, piercing eyes, she hesitated.
“Everything has a price…” he started. “But some things… are priceless,” Talador lowered his head and tipped his hat. “I should consider it my great luck that you were not his birth mother, otherwise…” he let the sentence hang, and Silla wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that. “At the risk of being even more inappropriate than I already am, allow me to say to you just this, Mrs. Fendrick.” Talador raised his head and looked at her squarely. “You deserve better.”
Silla pursed her lips. “People rarely get what they deserve,” she responded coldly.
The wizard opened his mouth to contradict her, but thought better of it. She was wrong, of course—people always got what they deserved. There was no escaping it; it was one of the Five Precepts, one of the laws of the cosmos, but there was no point in arguing.
“If you believe anything, Mrs. Fendrick, believe that I’ll take good care of him,” Talador said solemnly. “He is my son, in every way that matters.”
Silla rubbed Theryn’s back, and slowly, he let go of her dress.
“Silla!” Brevon yelled. “Let’s get moving!”
The woman cursed under her breath and shook her head. “I need to go, Theryn.”
The boy nodded, and she bent down to kiss his head, then… she left.
The wagon started moving, its back wheels slicing through the discarded book, crushing its spine, and sending the old pages flying in the wind.
“No—” Theryn began to protest, but Talador laid a gentle hand over his shoulder.
“Let it go,” he said calmly.
As Theryn sniffed and wiped away tears on his sleeve, he spotted Domund sitting at the back of the wagon. His brother locked eyes with him and gave him an awkward wave goodbye. They didn’t get along very well, constantly fighting, and Theryn, being younger, received more blows than he had given. But it wasn’t all bad; there were some good memories.
Like the time they had stolen apples from Mr. Glent’s shop at the market. He had spotted them and even chased them down a long way, but they were quick and small and managed to lose him in the alleyways. Thankfully, they had their faces covered, and he hadn’t recognized them; so later, when they heard him complain to their father about the couple of rascals who stole from him, it had taken all of their willpower not to burst out laughing. They were never found out, and those apples were some of the sweetest that Theryn had ever tasted. It was Theryn and Domund’s little secret, and they’d both take it to their graves, because despite all of their disputes and disagreements, their teasing and fighting, their lies and betrayals, they were, first and foremost, brothers… used to be… used to be brothers.
“Let it go.”
The pages of the book flew far in the wind, and the wagon got further and further away. Theryn kept hoping that they’d stop. That they’d turn back and get him, and throw away the gold, and tell him that they were wrong, and that they loved him, and that they didn’t mean it. But the wagon kept moving, further and further. Until it disappeared beyond the hill.
“Let it go.”
Theryn burst into tears again. They had abandoned him; they really did leave him behind.
“Yes, they have left you,” Talador said. “But no, you haven’t been abandoned, for you are not alone,” he drew the boy in, and Theryn cried into the wizard’s robe. “You are my son and my apprentice, Theryn ec Talador, and my tower will be your home, for as long as you live.”