She's been gone for a week now.

  Each word beat in my head as I trudged back toward the market fighting back tears. Even without my guidance, my feet found their way to the front of my mother's tent. The door shut tight. She's busy and I don't want to sit alone. With a sigh, I turned and walked down the eerie quiet market road. The only noise I can hear is the braying donkey arguing with its merchant owner.

  Across from Fern's tent, the weaver's intense snoring loomed over the market. He stood arms crossed over his chest glancing over the road to the slumbering merchant. His face taut like a bulldog with his pouting lip and slight underbite.

  “Hey, there's my boy!” Fern perked up, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Why the long face, lad?”

  “Hera’s gone. Mother sent me away. I don't want to be alone,” I shrugged. “I don't know what else to do. Can I help you?"

  “Sadly not, lad. I’d love your help but I wouldn’t know what you could do for me.” He pointed to a three legged stool in the back corner of his tent. “Have a seat. That stool isn’t much but it beats sitting on the ground at your mother’s place.”

  Fern nudged me gently toward the stool and I dropped myself down upon it. The old legs creaked under my weight. With my head in my hands I scanned the empty market road. “Where is everybody?”

  Fern chuckled, his broad shoulders subtly raising each time he breathed in.

  “Ah lad, your legs be a tad long for that stool. It’s a wonder how much taller you are than other lads your age.” I looked at the awkward way my legs spread out in front of me. “Probably at the harvest festival. Didn't you see it in the square?”

  I shook my head. When I left the bakery, I didn't look up from the road. I missed the festival completely.

  The minutes ticked on as I listened to the birds whistle through the trees. I missed the sound of children playing, laugher and the merchants yelling. The quiet market was unsettling. I can't stand it anymore.

  “Hey, Fern.” I poked his arm and he looked down only moving his head, the rest of him as still as a statue. “Can I ask you something a bit personal? It’s alright if you say no.”

  His smile crept off his face as he slowly turned back to stare out at the empty road. “Of course, my boy.” I doubted if he meant it with his low and somber voice.

  I looked at the ground, shuffling my feet back and forth in the dirt. Do I ask it? It's been bothering me for quite sometime now and there's nobody here. I took a deep breath.

  “Fern, you mentioned a while back that you know more about my mother than you let on”. Fern shuffled his weight between his feet. He nodded.

  “Did you know my father too?”

  Fern put his hand on my shoulder. The weight pressing down as he sharply inhaled. I shouldn't have asked, but since Fern’s come into my life, I've began to think more often about the man that abandoned my mother and I.

  “I didn’t know him, personally.”

  “Oh.” I could've figured that much. Mother never told me anything about him, naturally she wouldn't tell Fern.

  “But lad,” He rubbed my shoulder gently. “That doesn't mean I don't know who he his.” A small smile crept back across his face. “He made your mother so happy. I wish I could've met him.”

  Absentmindedly I rubbed the hand on my shoulder as I’ve seen my mother do countless times. “Well, if he made my mother so happy, why did he abandon us then?”

  “Boy, you need to understand that your father didn’t abandon you and your mother. If their houses had allowed it, the two would be happily married. Has your mother mentioned anything about her past?’ He looked at me, his eyes betraying the same grief and sadness I’d seen in my mother’s eyes that day long ago.

  “No. She refuses to answer my questions.”

  These past few months I've been thinking more about how different my mother is from other peasants. Her elaborate comb she keeps hidden. My weird vision of her in that light blue dress. I needed to ask Fern if I wanted any chance of getting any answers.

  “Why would my mother abandon the comfort of a noble’s life for a life of peasant? That’s what I don’t get.”

  Fern sat down next to me on the hard dirt. He crossed his arms and stared toward Berta, deep in thought.

  The eerie silence between us hung like a heavy fog. I fidgeted with my fingers. She's a noblewoman. She has to be.

  “She left for you.”

  “What?”

  Fern looked away. “I found her in the stable trying to saddle a horse, sobbing over and over ‘they'll kill him.’ When she noticed me, she begged me to help her go into hiding.” He shook his head. “I was a servant for her family. I couldn't let her go alone. You see, she was with child.”

  “Why didn’t my father go with her?”

  Fern wiped a tear away with the back of his hand. “He couldn't. He had to stay in the capital."

  I wanted to ask more. Does my father even know about me? Or was he killed? But the somber, mournful tone of the village church bell ringing cut our conversation tragically short.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “Let’s go, lad. Someone important comes to the village. There’s no other reason why the church bell would ring.

  ──── ? ────

  My mother and Fern walked together at a steady pace on the road from the market to the village square. There was none of the playful pushing, funny looks or jests that I was used to seeing being passed between them. I trudged on behind them trying to match my steps to the chime of the bell. It was slow and I wasn’t really walking, more like an uncoordinated hopping. It helped to distract me from the creeping unease that slowly took over the village.

  “Of all the times to start acting like a child, you choose this one.” My mother scolded me as she glanced over her shoulder. “Stop that nonsense and get up here.” I quickly caught back up as she and Fern opened a gap to let me in between them.

  The road quickly filled with other villagers, walking briskly toward the square. Everyone whispered curious speculations between themselves as to why the church bell would ring. I caught small snippets of their conversations. Word from the capital and name dropping various nobles were the hot topics of the excited conversation.

  A large crowd had already gathered in the village square. The usually peaceful empty square turned into a cacophony of loud voices shouting, dogs barking and children crying. As a free-range market boy I was used to noise and the busy villagers scurrying about. But this crowd was a lot, even for me.

  Fern, my mother and I found a relatively quiet spot in the far back corner of the square under a maple tree. I dug at the ground with my toe annoyed that we were there amongst the crowd.

  “Why do we care so much about which pompous noble comes to visit us now?” I didn't look up from the groove I was carving in the dirt with my boot.

  Fern smacked me lightly on the arm. “Knock that off, you’ll ruin your boot. It’s not just any noble, boy. They don’t ring the bell for every noble that finds his way here.” When I thought about it. He was right. Nobles came and went often from the village. Some nobles even found their way to my mother. But, no church bells.

  The sound of a horn echoed its way through the packed streets of the village. I noticed the crowd closest to the eastern road all look toward the approaching nobles. They quickly bowed their heads, their hands held behind their backs.

  “Shit, that’s not good.” Fern also noticed the strange behavior of the other villagers. “What do we do?” He turned to look at my mother, his eyes wide with nervousness. My mother remained surprisingly calm despite everything and Fern’s nervous fidgeting.

  “Nothing. We keep to the back of the crowd like we are now.” She bowed her head. “Lucky we are peasants so we keep our heads down regardless.”

  My mother said more but I found myself in awe of what approached the village square. The first horses of the procession came around the corner, black as the new moon. The men that rode the horses were dressed in pure white tunics. Their black hair finely combed and tied back. A start contrast to their outfits.

  The banners they carried were the same bright aqua as the saddle blankets. My eyes traced the lines of the house crest embroidered with a black thread, dark against the light aqua.

  The front half of the animal in the crest was a rearing ram with an intimidating expression. A single horn curled softly around its laid back ear. Instead of two hind legs and a ram’s tail, the figure had a long fish tail that curled once around in a circle before ending in a flowing fin.

  Behind the banner carriers sat two men on two pure white horses with fancier bridles and saddles than the other two. Their saddle blankets had the same aqua color but these were elaborately embroidered with golden threads. Both men wore shirts made of oddly familiar black silks.

  The men themselves looked identical with the exception of the circlets they wore above their brows. One was a simple silver circlet, the other thicker and adorned with aqua colored jewels. They both had light colored hair that shined in the sunlight. Behind them many servants followed in the entourage. I noticed one slip away and disappear down the road.

  A closed fist punched me hard in the ribs. I doubled over as my breath slowly left my body.

  “Head down, now!” My mother barked the comman while keeping her voice down. “What the hell are you doing?! I told you we need the crowd to hide you. And here’s you trying to have a damn staring contest. You trying to get us killed?” She kept her head down but her eyes glared at me, furious with anger.

  “Listen to everything your mother says boy.” It was Fern. I don't think I've ever heard the man talk this softly.

  My mother side eyed Fern, then looked back at me only moving her eyes. “I’d feel better if you just closed your eyes during this whole ordeal my child.” I did but not without rolling them first. I knew better than to question a demand from my mother, no matter how strange.

  It annoyed me not being able to see even a little of the events unfolding in front of me. The church bell stopped its monotonous ringing and the murmuring of the crowd stopped with it. A horse impatiently stomped its hoof. The procession must have stopped.

  I thought I heard the sound of a scroll unrolling. A man's voice echoed through the village square, loud and clear.

  “Loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Saint Caldzand, on the behalf of his royal majesty, King Augundornis Ramseas, the first of his name and on behalf of his brother Prince Arnameaus Ramseas, both of whom stand before you, I bring news of events at the capital. Permission to continue your majesty.”

  I couldn't contain my excitement. I shifted my weight between my feet hoping my mother wouldn't notice. I couldn’t stand still. Oh. Hera won't believe what she's missing, when I tell her.

  The royal family has never graced this village with their presence. That punch in the ribs was worth getting a glimpse of them. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of it all.

  “We regret to inform you of the tragic passing of his royal majesty, King Arkonolai. His first born, then Prince Augundornis, has been officially crowned King of Saint Caldzand.” He finished his address with a whole hearted triumphant shout of long live the king. The villagers chanted it back with the same fervor.

  “Damn it. Can I open my eyes now?” I snapped frustrated. “I won’t look up I promise.” I added that hoping that would convince my mother to let me. Why am I even asking permission? I'm not a child.

  “Fine. But keep your head down,” she whispered before turning to Fern. “He’s on his crowning tour. I wonder why they even bothered with Zelheim. Let's hope they don't change anything else.”

  Fern nodded. “Three weeks of lying low then if they don't.”

  Those two spoke in riddles, deliberately leaving me outside. But I dared not to express my anger at my current situation. My mother won't tell me anything anyway and I don't fancy being punched again.

  Once the royal procession left the town square and the crowd began to thin, we made our way back to the market. My mother decided it would be best if he headed home early. The three of us packed the boxes of charms from Fern into the horse cart before moving onto my mother’s tent. We worked in complete silence.

  My mother ducked into her tent to pack her tarps and blankets. Fern and I begun on the stakes and strings. A few moments later my mother reemerged from the tent with a scroll barely larger than her hand. The heavy aqua wax seal weighed it down.

  I gently grabbed the scroll out of her shaking hands. I didn’t need to read it aloud. Her trembling showed that she read and understood what the words meant. I looked down and read the small message written in flowy, neat handwriting.

  — He knows, my Margie, our secret is out.—

  -Yours forever, Meaus-