Two men were sitting together on a low wall outside of Edge. One was a farmer on a break, the other was dressed for travel.

“So, this town has its collection of outsiders too, right? Even this far in Gwyan?” the traveler asked.

“Yeah, it does. Actually, used to have a few Erans that lived around here. In the woods and such,” said the farmer.

“Really? They come into town much?”

“No, they kept to themselves in the hills and forests. Some even tried to make a town of their own in one of the higher valleys. Not many of them are alive anymore, though.”

“Oh. Well, where did they come from in the first place?”

“Left behind in the war. All these mountains are like a prison. I guess they were hoping to catch a ride out of the only place dragons could enter from. Not that their people would come for them. But they held out hope.”

“They tried to make a town, but not many are alive anymore? Was mountain living too rough on ’em?”

“Well, yes, to put it one way.”

“I would have liked to see one. I wasn’t in the war. Didn’t even see the invasion, either. They holed us up in the old tunnels before the dragons reached the capital. How far is their town?”

“A solid day’s journey into the mountains. It’s more of a rat hole than a town. Well, there is one of them in Edge, actually. A boy.”

“A boy?”

“More like a young man now.”

“That…that would mean—”

“Yeah. What’s stranger is he was brought over by a Temaman.”

“Temaman? Those exist? Never seen one of those, either. You say he was brought over? He wasn’t born here?”

“Temamans exist; they aren’t myths. And there isn’t anything extraordinary about the guy.”

“I hear they’re pretty strong.”

“This guy’s short. Shorter than I am.”

“What? No!”

“Don’t believe it? We’ll go see him when he comes back into town.”

“Ah, I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“Pity. But you’ll be able to see the Eran brat, at least.”

“You sure there aren’t any others left?”

“Well, they were all—how to say it?—killed by bears, or fell off cliffs, or were caught in snowstorms.”

“All of them were killed like that?”

“That’s what people said happened, if you catch my drift. Townspeople usually got injured every time one of them died. Called the Erans bad luck. Everyone knew how they got hurt, though. The ones that got hurt were usually soldiers too, or strangers out of town. Sometimes a grudge doesn’t end with a war, ya know? An Eran seduced one of the young gals in town one time. Well, the official story goes that a snake got him. It was the same day the gal’s father and a few of his friends were injured.”

“So, what about the boy? Nobody’s… I mean, he hasn’t fallen victim to a bear, or avalanche or…whatever?”

“Well, yeah, he’s almost been done in a couple times. But that Temaman beat the flaming crowns out of who—whatever it was that tried to get him.”

“So, the stories are true about the Temamans? They can break a man in half with their bare hands?”

“Nah. They can throw a mean punch, though. He knocked out three grown men once.”

“At the same time?”

“Yep. They all came at him at the same time. Bam! They were done in seconds.”

“Huh.”

“Yep.”

“Flame the boy. He a troublemaker?”

“Nope, better than my own son if I’d have a say.”

“Well, even if he’s Eran, he didn’t have anything to do with the war.”

“Eh, it’ll catch up to him. There are young men that lost fathers too, ya know. They might have enough heart to get revenge in their own way.”

***

Leyla finished changing into a servant’s plain brown robes and headed out the door to the gardens. On her way down the path, the blacksmith from the old town near the inn stopped her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked sweetly. This had better not be some complicated theological question.

“Just a quick question. I was wondering if you’ve heard any news from the capital,” Jak said.

Like most smithies, he was strong in limb and shoulder. However, he was slimmer than most Leyla had seen. Blacksmithing was profitable, which meant they usually ate better than most. Jak didn’t have the paunch that many blacksmiths worked up over the years. He also came to the temple clean and without his apron.

“Mmm, no, there’s nothing new I can think of,” she said.

“Ah.” Jak nodded and looked thoughtfully at the ground. “I was just wondering. The king hasn’t announced an heir yet. It’s making the princes uneasy, which makes the royalty uneasy, and it just trickles on down from there. There isn’t a sense of stability.” He was starting to mumble now. “Then, the nobles start scheming, and the princes get anxious and push and shove…”

He looked up at Leyla, who was listening patiently and smiling. “Um, thank you.” He wiped his hands on the front of his trousers in an anxious gesture. He turned and walked down the path to the gate.

“Come again!” she called after him.

Before anyone else could catch her, Leyla ran lightly around the winding hedges and bushes of the side gardens where Rylen would be waiting. She rounded a bush and tripped over someone’s leg. She nimbly caught herself, but not before almost falling on her face.

“Whoops—sorry!”

Leyla looked behind her to find Rylen on his hands and knees with a pile of weeds next to him.

“You were taking forever, so I started weeding. Are you all right?”

Leyla laughed and smoothed out her robe. “Better. I was actually going to ask you to weed today.”

“Oh, then do you care to join?”

Leyla sat on the grass next to him and picked a spot with plenty of weeds. The main walkways through the gardens were well kept; however, this was an area without any paths, so weeding wasn’t as much of a priority. Most of the temple workers usually had more pressing religious matters to attend to than weeding. The only reason Leyla was weeding was because she didn’t want to do any of the other available tasks. Tasks like standing still and tending to the sanctuary, engaging in theological debate or transcribing important religious manuscripts.

Rylen had already retrieved a basket and was depositing the weeds in it. They would go in the compost pile behind the shed after they were done.

For a time, they worked in silence. They made a raw rhythm together as each pulled a weed from the root, knocked it clean of dirt, and then tossed it in the basket. The soil still held the chill of the night. Leyla could feel it on her skin when she broke up the dirt clods.

“So, when does your father come back?”

Rylen shrugged. “It’s been about a week and a half. He’s usually back by now.” Without breaking the rhythm, he glanced at Leyla and reached for another weed.

Leyla kept quiet. She’d known Rylen since she was a kid and could tell when he wanted to say something. She tugged on some weeds that were more like grass; their roots weren’t deep, but they spread wider than the others.

Rylen cleared his throat. “What is it like having a mother?”

Leyla slowly extracted the weed. If she pulled too hard, it would fly up suddenly and scatter dirt into her hair.

“Well, she nags my dad a lot. Me too, for that matter. I mean, I know she does it because she loves me, but it really bugs me sometimes.” The weed popped from the ground suddenly as the roots gave way. Leyla flinched and closed her eyes against the spray of soil.

“I wish I had a real dad.” Rylen mumbled. “Not some guardian who found me in rubble.”

Leyla sighed, set the weed aside, and ran her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s hard to describe. Like describing the taste of a food to a person who has never eaten it before. They’ll never really understand until they experience it for themselves.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in Rylen’s voice was obvious.

“Ugh.” Leyla dislodged a root from her hair. “It’s like… She made me something to eat after you and I went out to play when we were kids. She cleaned my clothes before she made me clean them myself. She taught me a lot of things, like how to do my hair up and how to dress. She punished me when I was bad. She checks up on how I’m doing every day it seems. I mean, she’s been there my whole life.” Leyla shrugged. “It’s kind of like having a friend who is in charge of you and really, really cares about you to the point that it is annoying sometimes.”

Rylen thought about it for a second. “I don’t have friends like that.” After a moment of silence he added, “I don’t have friends.”

“Hey!”

Rylen held up a finger. “I have a friend.” He grinned.

Leyla rolled her eyes. “What about Pahanna?”

Rylen smirked. “I don’t think a kid counts.”

Leyla shrugged. “You have to take what you can get, y’know?”

They moved to a new location in the small clearing and began weeding again. Rylen worked from his left to his right, clearing all the weeds from under the bushes and flowers. Leyla pulled them up at random taking the first one that was nearest her hand.

“Do you think I would have been popular if…?” Rylen looked around himself. He didn’t see anyone, but he lowered his voice and his brow furrowed. “You know, if I had grown up in Ara-Era instead of here?”

Leyla stopped weeding. “Well, you’re pretty nice, so I think so.”

Rylen saw a bit of torn weed in her hair, so he plucked it out.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“Ugh, there’s still stuff in my hair?” She stood up and leaned over, making her hair fall around her head. Then she gave her head a violent scratching with her fingers. “Ugh! I hate weeding!”

“You don’t have to weed. That’s why I’m here, right?”

Leyla threw her head back and started smoothing her hair down again.

“Well, yes, but the mother you’re so envious of put me in charge of it today. That’s what mothers are like.”

Rylen smiled, but then he grew thoughtful again. “What do you think my parents were like? Were they farmers? Maybe craftsmen?”

“Aren’t they—?”

“I was found in a wrecked village. He didn’t see my parents anywhere… They could be alive still.”

Leyla pursed her lips. She tied her hair into a loose braid, which she then tied into a bun before sitting down again. The key word Rylen had said was could. Her silent response said as much.

“You think I have any brothers? Sisters? I wonder if I would have gotten along with them.” Suddenly, his eyes sparkled, and he looked at her, weed in hand. Leyla looked at him expectantly.

“Maybe I could have been a dragon rider!”

Leyla looked down and frowned. She turned back to her task.

Something heavy fell in the pit of Rylen’s stomach. Leyla knew many people who were still hurting from the last war. People who had lost loved ones, especially because of dragons. He knew a few of the farmers who had lost sons. Saying he wanted to be a dragon rider was like saying he wanted to be their enemy, that he hated them.

Rylen returned to working. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t wish for such things.”

Leyla made a pained noise. “It’s…it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I know you wouldn’t want to be someone who…who burns villages, and…stuff. I’m sure you could have been a good dragon rider.”

He kept quiet. He knew her words were forced. To her, the Erans were nothing more than murderous enemies. They carried on in silence for some time.

They finished the plot, then moved across the gardens to another trouble area. Leyla walked ahead to make sure there was no one who would see Rylen and make a ruckus. Her main worry was nobles. They weren’t from the village, where people’s opinions of Rylen were shaped by seeing him grow up. She wouldn’t be in a position where she could protect him from them.

They settled down in another clearing. This one was by a small pond that was created by the many small streams and rivulets that ran through the gardens. There was a spring at the top of this hill that was covered over by the old temple building. Its waters fed the gardens of the nobles and the fields of the farmers.

They sat and started weeding anew.

Rylen sighed. “I’m sure I would have been accepted, at least.” He tugged on a plant. “I could have helped my parents with…well, whatever they did…I mean, are doing.”

“You’re helping your father. That’s good, right?”

“I don’t want to be an innkeeper forever.”

“Then, what do you want to do?”

He thought about the different jobs he’d helped with in the past. Smithing was hot and tiresome, but he enjoyed making something new. Hunting was an option, but it was boring at times, when nothing could be found for days on end. Shoemaking cooped you up in a room, and you always had to deal with cranky, footsore customers.

Rylen shrugged. “Not innkeeping.”

Leyla made an exasperated face. “Well, that’s not helpful.” There was that smile in her voice, though.

“Do you think I could find out what happened to them?”

Leyla looked at him. Rylen looked at her hopefully. She had gone on a lot of trips with her parents. She had even been to Acrabha and to the other side of the Arnaw River to the city of Shabik.

Shabik was like the birthplace of the Gwyanian people. Legend said that centuries ago, the halls of the Musah had fallen and they had fled the destruction. Shabik’s armies crossed the Arnaw and claimed the ruined land for itself after driving out the Musah remnants and fighting off neighboring countries. The ruins of the Musah became the country of Gwyan. Leyla raised her eyebrows in thought.

“Well, they would be in Ara-Era, right?”

Rylen nodded.

“Well, how fast do you want to get there? By foot it’ll take you nearly half a year or more.”

The light in his eyes faded. “Oh.”

“But if you take a horse it’ll be much faster. Or a boat. But you need money for both of those.”

His frown deepened. He didn’t have that much money. He only had enough to buy himself some snacks at the upcoming Sun Festival.

“Of course, the fastest way would be by airship, but that would be even more expensive. Oh—or you could stow away on one! That would risk you getting imprisoned or put into slave labor, but you could also get a free ride. But by horse you’d have to look out for bandits, and by boat there’ll always be the risk of pirates. You’d have to make your travel sack first, though. You’d need a bedroll, food, water—”

“I think I know what a mother is like now.”

Leyla smacked him with a dirt-clodded weed.

“Ow!”

“I’m not apologizing.” She knocked the rest of the soil off on his knee.

“Now, that’s just rude! I didn’t know I was insulting you.” It was his turn to brush the dirt from his hair.

“You don’t have a mother. How would you know?”

“I was thinking that you were acting…mature is all.”

“Now you’re calling me old.” She smacked him with another weed and dirt flew everywhere.

“Mature and old aren’t the same!” He smacked her back, leaving an earthy smudge on her robe.

“See! Now look what you’ve done!”

“It’s already brown! No one will notice.”

Leyla sighed and shook her head. Then she smiled and turned back to the task at hand.

“It seems I’ll be the more mature one. It only takes one to stop fighting.”

“So, you do accept that you’re old.”

Rylen turned away to resume their work, but not before Leyla whacked him with another weed.

For a time she let him mull over what she had said.

“Well,” Rylen began, “perhaps I’ll just stay here. I don’t think I could travel that far.”

“Hmmm.” Leyla brushed off her hands. “Next time we go on a trip, I’ll ask if you can come with me.” A thought occurred to her. “Why haven’t you ever gone with your dad when he goes to pick up supplies?”

Rylen shrugged. “He doesn’t let me. I think I went a couple times when I was a kid, but I don’t remember.”

“Yeah, but most everyone has at least been to the next town over at least once in their life.”

“I’ve been to the mountains…around Edge.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“He is totally being overprotective.”

“Then he wouldn’t let me go out into the woods.”

“Well…”

“He doesn’t make any sense sometimes.” Rylen sighed. “I think I should just go and live in a cabin up in the woods like all the other Erans.”

Leyla looked about and found a tulip. She plucked the top off the flower and held it between her fingers. She moved the petals like it was a mouth. “Hello, I am a flower. Are you sad? Don’t be sad. Or else I will attack you!” She bit the tip of his nose with the flower.

Rylen smiled. Perhaps he didn’t need to travel halfway across the world on the chance he would find his real family. Not if it meant he would be leaving his only friend and his only home.

***

“Dad! Look! Look how high I am!”

Hyrestl smiled. His son was at the very top of a maple tree. So near the top, in fact, that he could see the boy swaying back and forth in the wind, giggling with delight.

I hope he stays this courageous. He’ll make a fine soldier someday, perhaps even better than me.

“I see you! Now, come on down! You have to practice with your sister!”

“Okaaay.” The little boy swung back and forth a couple more times, looking down around his feet. Then, without warning, he let himself fall and caught the branch right below him. He hung there a moment, then swung his legs and dropped down to another one.

He did this until the branches got too big for him to grab; he nimbly jumped from one to another until he was on the lowest branch. With just a second of hesitation, he jumped the rest of the way to the ground and rolled to absorb the impact.

He bounced up and raised his arms, an accomplished grin spread across his face. Hyrestl ruffled his hair and picked a leaf out of it.

“I’m so proud of you. Just don’t let Mom see, okay? Now, come. Molo! Don’t run off again. I’m going to show you and your sister a new move today.”

Molo came running back, and his eyes widened. “A new move? What is it?”

“It’s a combination of how to dodge a thrust and your mother’s gripping technique.”

Molo ran ahead of him up the steps of the mountain and into the town. Hyrestl took his time, so when he finally made his way up through the town to the dojo at the top, his son was waiting impatiently in the practice yard with his sister. Molo jumped up and down and ran up to his father. The boy grabbed Hyrestl’s arm and tugged, urging him to go faster.

“Come on, Dad! Come on!”

Meanwhile, his daughter, Yasi, waited patiently until he arrived. She had already assembled two wooden practice knives and staffs.

Hyrestl picked up one of the knives. “When someone tries to stab you,” he jabbed at the air in front of him, “and you are unarmed, you must close the distance. Here, take the knife, and try to stab me.”

His daughter thrusted at him with the knife, just like he had taught her, and he dodged by pivoting and blading his body so the thrust just missed. He took the chance to grip her forearm and gently applied pressure on a specific point, making her drop the knife.

“That’s so cool!” Molo jumped up and down. “Let me try! Let me!”

Hyrestl jabbed at him, and Molo pivoted to the side, just as he had seen. He took one hand and squeezed Hyrestl’s muscled forearm.

“You’ll have to squeeze harder than that.”

Molo scrunched up his face and squeezed with both hands, and Hyrestl let go of the knife. Molo released his grip and smiled triumphantly up at him. He flicked the boy’s forehead.

“You let go of your assailant. Making your enemy drop his weapon isn’t the end of the fight. Stay on guard.”

Molo rubbed his head and scowled.

Hyrestl smiled. “Now, let’s practice that one a few more times.”

He watched as Molo and Yasi took turns being the assailant. He stepped in to correct them after they tried it a few times. Their movements were clumsy and sloppy, but he could see the potential in them. Molo was unafraid to attack, which was good, but Hyrestl would have to teach him to not be too eager in the future. Not hesitating on the battlefield was vital, but ignoring dangers had killed many good men. Yasi, on the other hand, had a knack for awareness of things around her. She wasn’t adept at attacking or defending, but Hyrestl could see her naturally moving Molo where the ground was more uneven or slicker.

The door to the dojo slid open, and the older children of the village stepped out for their daily drills.

Hyrestl led his children by the hand and made his way back down to their home. Their house wasn’t fancy; in fact, it mainly consisted of a small inn with their living quarters in the back.

The evening sun was setting, casting dark shadows between the houses. He led his children to the door and opened it.

The dream washed away from his sight like foam upon the waters of a stream. His eyes slowly opened.

He was standing just inside the doorway of another inn. Dim light stretched from a sky with the sun already set. Inside the inn were tables with one or two candles, and the tables were clean. It felt like home after a long day’s work. He heard the sounds of carts and of doors closing as neighbors closed up their trades for the night. A clean, evening breeze blew through his hair. His eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Father?”

Hyrestl squeezed his hands in a comforting gesture, only to find they didn’t hold the soft, small hands of his children anymore. His fingers grasped at air. He looked down at his sides. Yasi and Molo weren’t there.

He looked around himself, then the room. A young man was there, near the door with a rag in his hand. He was smiling but with a worried, questioning look in his eyes. It was as if Hyrestl’s arrival was pleasant, but not what the young man had expected.

Rylen.

Hyrestl’s face fell in disappointment at the realization. The glimmer of laughter left his eyes. The sun set further, the shadows deepened, and the light dimmed.

He was in Gwyan. In the town of Edge. This was the inn he had built here. The young man was his adopted son.

A deep fatigue coursed through his entire frame. His feet hurt, his throat was parched, his stomach ached. His every muscle was sore.

He took his eyes off of Rylen and swept the room with a disdainful, disgusted gaze. Then, he took slow, heavy, resigned steps to the kitchen and up the stairs.

***

Rylen stood frozen in place.

The inn felt hollow to Rylen as the sound of Hyrestl’s steps grew more distant. It felt like the town had come inside to fill the sudden void, like the inn had been swallowed up. All that remained was Rylen, and to him, Ara-Era felt more like a home than here.