Outside, the cold air of the night pricked at my bare arms as I held the lantern. Peanut stood, head hung low as my mother and Fern hastily worked to strap our things onto her back. Closing my eyes, I reached to her. Nothing. No banter. No spark of life or joy. Just, nothing. Was this really what she felt or did our magical connection mirror my emotions back to me?

  I should be helping Fern and my mother. Yet, I couldn't find the will within me to leave this spot on the path in front of our cabin. With my free hand, I inched the thick mantle higher onto my shoulder only to feel it slip back into the crevice of my elbow. I wish I had taken the time to fasten it properly, but it's too late now.

  Little master dumb.

  I shook my head. Of course. Thank you Peanut. My mother and Fern stood beside the mare whispering between themselves. I watched curiously, glancing occasionally at Peanut.

  No.

  I sighed. The silence of the night was broken only by me and the sound of the wind starting to whisper through the tops of the tall pine trees. The branches of the trees softly caressed its neighbors. Even in the flickering of the small flame of the lantern, the darkness of the forest was imposing. Fern and I will be venturing into that darkness.

  I looked down into the burning light of the lantern, squeezing my eyes tightly shut, a sharp stabbing irritating them. A slight breeze sent a shiver through me as Fern rushed past, cursing and mumbling under his breath. I turned and watched him disappear into the cabin. Born in a barn, I guess. The soft light from the fire inside illuminated the rocky path I stood on.

  Soft crunching on the path interrupted my thoughts. My mother slowly strolled toward me, her steps even and graceful. I never noticed it before, but my mother walked like a noblewoman. After many years in the forest, her muscles never forgot her upbringing. It pained me to imagine myself walking next to her with the grace of a newborn calf.

  Seeing her makes me resent the fact that I’m leaving with Fern. How did they expect to hide me amongst the others of House Ilja? It will be like hiding a lame pony in a barn full of pedigree horses. I would never belong there.

  My mother gently lifted the lantern from my hand and bent down to set it on the ground beside us. With a small smile, she tied the strings of the wool mantle gently across my collarbone and tugged on its edges until they fell straight along my sides. The protection from the wind instantly warmed my numb arms. I looked down at her hands rubbing together as she blew into them.

  I recoiled as she took my cheeks in her icy hands and pulled my head down towards her. Her oddly warm lips kissed my forehead before she ran her fingers through my hair, teasing out a few of the tangles.

  “Please take care of yourself, my child.” I looked into sad eyes. Her thumb tickled the short, uneven growth of the hairs I didn't bother to shave.

  “My life has been filled with the grief of the many things I was never able to control,” she said. “But, my years in poverty with you were worth more than all the riches of Saint Caldzand.”

  I tried to gently rub the tears on her cheeks away, but she grabbed my wrists and held them firmly between us.

  “Can you answer one question before you go?” She asked softly. “I want an honest answer. I need to know.” Her fingers dug into my wrists as she gripped them harder. Small cuts burned where her sharp nails tore my skin. I bit my lip, daring not to yelp.

  I didn’t need to answer her. The fire in her eyes told me enough. I don't have a choice.

  “My son,” a slow, sinking feeling crept into my chest. “Have you had another vision since that first one, months ago?” She's been thinking about this for a while. But why? Why does she ask this now as she prepares to send me away?

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  Her question tore at my guilty conscience like a dull knife rendering the tough meat of a stag. She has the right to know. More than I have the right to keep it to myself. I took a deep breath.

  “No, mother.”

  “Why?” She let go of my wrists. I quickly crossed my arms under the mantle, hiding my sore wrists.

  “I... I don't,” I turned away. “Mother, I don't want to. It hurts. It's stressful and frankly, it took you away from me.”

  Her shoulders sagged as she wiped her nose, hiding how she sharply inhaled through an increasingly stuffy nose. The light behind us twinkled in the tears clinging to her cheeks.

  “Well, that’s too bad. At least the last secret between us is finally out before you leave.”

  I failed her as a son. She didn't say those words out loud, but I felt it in the tone of her voice. My mother didn't look at me, nor did she turn to walk away. Me neither. Both of us stuck where we stood from the weight of the air hanging between us.

  Fern dashed back outside carrying two bows and a quiver. Peanut shifted her weight as Fern tied them to the horse's heavily loaded back. One last check of the straps, a ritual Fern always does. We'll be leaving soon. But, I can't leave, not like this.

  “Come on, time for you to go.” My mother took one step toward Peanut and Fern.

  No. Swiftly, I grabbed my mother's wrist with my icy hands. I felt her recoil from the sudden chill. “Mother.” She stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. I ignored her angry glare.

  “I might have sworn never to use the ancient magic, but the time I spent with you learning how to control it was the greatest gift you could ever give me.” I hoped to see a slight smile on her face, but nothing. I dropped my hands to my side.

  “Deep down, I knew that you don’t use it, but I needed to hear it from you. It’s okay, child. Don’t worry about it.”

  Don't deny who you are for your mother’s sake. The words rang in my mind. Alemania knew. I didn't want to do this, but deep down, I need my mother to know it will be alright.

  “No, mother. It’s not okay.”

  I quickly grabbed her wrist and let the vision consume my consciousness.

  ──── ? ────

  “Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid, stupid boy!” My mother's voice pounded in my ears as I came out of the vision. I looked up to the faint outline of my mother's face, her sun-kissed skin tainted with black flecks.

  “Fern! The saints, stupid boy. Fern!”

  The throbbing behind my eyes prevented me from keeping them open for long. I squeezed them shut, willing the pain away. If only my mother would stop yelling. I opened my mouth but it lacked the energy to form words.

  “Of all the times. Fern! Of all the times he chooses now. Fern!” She gripped my shoulders tighter pushing my head against her chest. I listened to her racing heartbeat.

  “Here, boy.” My mother helped me up while Fern pushed a mug into my freezing hands. The aromatic sweetness of yellow-flower tea filled my nose. He brewed it extra strong.

  The headache soon dulled enough that I could stand up while leaning against my mother. With each sip of the tea, I felt my energy fighting to return.

  “What did you see, my child?” My mother's voice was once again soft and gentle.

  “Not much.” I laughed, instantly regretting it as a pain shot through my head. This vision wasn't nearly as visceral and detailed as the first one those many months ago. “When I called upon the magic, it seemed hesitant to respond.”

  “That's your own damn fault.” She pulled me closer to her and laid her head on my shoulder. “Now, what did you see?”

  “You and a man in ragged black silks. Your light blue dress was filled with blood. The man, he slept on your lap. At least, I hope he was sleeping.”

  “My love,” my mother whimpered as she pulled me into a hug, burying her face into my shirt. “At least I know I'll hold him again.” For her sake, I hope I saw him. I don't even remember what his name was.

  The clopping of hooves steadily grew louder. Fern's muscular arms pulled my mother and I close to him. The silent minutes ticked by. My heart dropped when Fern let us go.

  My mother thrust a small bundle into my numb hands. “Don’t forget to use this once in a while,” she teased me with a playful smirk. Slowly, I unwrapped the tattered, wool cloth until it revealed a wooden handle with light blue embellishments.

  “Your comb.” I rubbed the smooth handle. “Thank you mother. I love you so much. I'll miss you.” I felt her hand gently rub my shoulder.

  “My son, you have a long journey ahead of you. Take care of yourself.” She gently pushed me toward Peanut and Fern. “Now, go make me proud. I'll see you again. That's a promise.”

  “Goodbye,” I whimpered, turning back to look at her.

  “Let's go, lad. Don't make it harder on her.”

  Fern and I set off. One, two, three, I counted each step taking me further away from the cabin and my mother. My eyes watered as I briefly stopped and turned to face her.

  “Go on,” her soft voice encouraged. “I'll always love you, my son.” In her hand at her side she held the small light blue cloth from her wooden chest.

  I didn't stop waving until the light of the lantern flickered out in the distance. Only then did I allow my tears to roll down my cheeks, unsure if I'd ever see her again.