Avarro walked on a mountain path near a mighty river called the Tumblewater. His head roared like the rushing stream as he strode the rocky but well-traveled path. His eyes were vacant, his face stoic as he trod. Inwardly, he swam above the murky depths of memory.
He thought of his father, Daine, once the treasured son of a prominent noble, now slowly dying as he tilled and sowed in fields that bore no fruit. He recalled their last conversation, two days prior, in an orchard near the village of Theitas.
“You must go, Avarro,” said Daine, as they tended a row of rotted nut trees. “There’s nothing for you here.
“Look up and around you,” he said, gesturing at the trees above him, their leaves crisp and curled despite the fact that it was the growing season. “This land is dying, it has been for a long time. Once, I thought it could be saved. Your mother and I did.”
He looked out over the dry trees, an inconsolable sadness falling over his face. It was rare to see his father so vulnerable but not unheard of and these moments were always in the forest. “Maybe if she were here,” he began, his voice cracking. “Maybe if she were here, we could. Her and I and you, Avarro. You.”
Avarro had been listening quietly, watching his father with respectful distance. His eyes had been closed while he spoke before but he opened them and looked at Avarro as he said, “But she’s gone now. We don’t know where she is, we don’t know where any of those fucking Imps are, and our land is now dying or dead as a result.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said after a moment, “I’m sorry.” Imp was a derogatory term used for the Imperions, magic folk from the ancient lands, the fae, of whom Avarro’s mother and he were descended.
“My point is, son, that there’s no future for you here. I don’t see a future for myself and many men like me anywhere but this is not a place for youth. There are other lands, richer and more fruitful, where you could build something, build a family, build a future.”
He sighed and wiped tears away from his dirty face. “You have so much of your mother in you, son. She was a traveler, a benevolent wanderer, and her spirit resides in you also. As does mine, of course, but I was born in these lands and my soul is tethered to this place. This forest will remain a part of you always but your destiny lies beyond. If your fate lies in the hearts of civilization or in the deepest wilds, I can’t say. But either way, the path leads away from here.”
Avarro simply stared. “Where will I go?” he asked bluntly.
His father looked down. “North. There is a ship called Sundancer, helmed by a man named Delvitt Torover, chartered for you in the ruined city of Evergreen. It won’t be a luxurious voyage but with him, you will find passage into the city of Carongai.”
“Father…” Carongai was a human city and its citizens were unwelcoming of those with fae blood.
“I know the risks,” he said sharply, a fierce burning in his eyes. “You are my son, I have expended every resource at my disposal to ensure your safety. This is it. This is the only way.”
He looked down once more, becoming sullen again. “Please. Your mother is out there. You must not waste here with me, away from her. One day perhaps, you both will return and we can begin anew. You are capable, I know this to be true. But you will not, you cannot, reap the experience, the knowledge, the wisdom you must while you dwell here. You are my greatest treasure, your mother’s too. And now, you must leave.”
He obeyed. Bidding a stiff goodbye to his father, Avarro left the valley and began to follow the river north to the coast.
Anthony Bringaze 