singedsun

wipweek

“So. I’m sort of new? In town?” she began, voice lilting as she searched for the right question. “And kind of on my own for a little while. I’ve been wondering about the future. I need to make a decision about something and I’m not sure.. what to do.”

“You’re looking for a nudge in the right direction?” Silar asked.

Bethany shrugged almost apologetic. “Yes.” She met Silar’s gaze, brow knit in worry. “Is that- do you do that?”

She gave Bethany a toothy grin. “If you like.” Fortune-telling was only one of many of Silar’s talents, but it was the one immediately in question. With a nod she indicated the tools on the table. “I can use any, or all of these. Do you know anything about them?”

“The cards, I’ve heard that people use them- but that’s a Diamondback deck, not-”

She chuckled. “I use whatever I can lay my hands on. Diamondback is as much a gamble as any other part of life.” Tilting her head she added, “Seemed appropriate.”

wipweek

Three.

Mother lays them down for a nap and they struggle against sleep, against silence. They have beds next to each other, with interchangeable and very often exchanged pillows and blankets in the same faded blue color they both love. She quiets first, like most days and its not long before they both find solace in blanketed caverns of comfort. It doesn't matter which of them gets to sleep first, or last. It doesn't matter if they find their rest in beds or on the floor, covered or uncovered, warm or cold. Eventually they're only a tangled mess of chubby limbs, dark hair and soft breaths.

Five.

On their birthday Carver gets a wooden sword from their father. Bethany gets a tiny, metal one on a silver chain, from their mother. It's the first time they've ever had different gifts and this pleases them in a way they don't have words for. Bethany clutches her small version of Carver's practice sword in her hands while he brandishes it at their sister, who already knows all the moves to make. She runs her fingers along the rough molded metal as though it's wood grain.

Five and one day.

Carver falls under the swing of Marian's sword, and Bethany calls out his name. It's only a scratch on his cheek but Bethany's knees are in the dirt at his side and her fingertips glow, magic drifting from them. The jagged line of broken skin on her brother's arm disappears. Then she's pulled roughly away, her fingers examined and Carver forgotten by all but her as she's rushed indoors.

wipweek

There is only one path, and one wood. Mother says to stay on the path like there’s another option, like the woods are not already dark and foggy and strange enough to keep us away. Saying it’s so doesn’t make the path anymore appealing, or the woods anymore frightening.

We each nod and say ‘yes mother’ like it’s the first time she’s told us. When Robin sets out in the morning with a basket and her tiny red raincoat, she bobs her head and grins, showing the gap where her front tooth fell out. Mother trusts her, young as she is, as she trusts all of us. The path to Grandmother’s is wide and straight.

And there is only one path, and one wood.

When I was just a little older than Robin is now, our Father left. The apartment we live in has always been tiny compared to the places my friends live: each of us except for Mother and Robin taking turns sleeping on the couch or the floor. I thought after Father left, it would feel bigger but it didn’t, just darker and more empty. There’s isn’t even a hole where he was, or a space that we moved to fill and when I think of him, the rest just feels like shadow. If there is a reason for the shadows where a father should’ve been, Mother keeps it to herself.

Just down the path from the apartment is Grandmother’s cottage and even though she is old and often sick, she refuses to leave it. She and Mother don’t speak anymore, and neither of them has ever told us why, though we’ve all asked many times. Each day, Mother reminds us about the path and sends one of us down it to check on Grandmother in her place. Mother says the things we take to Grandmother - food and medicine, clean clothes when she needs them - are words enough for them both. And each day, Grandmother thanks us quietly and tells us to give Mother a kiss when we return. Unlike Mother, she never mentions the path, never tells us to stay on it, never asks how we arrive or how we’ll return.

Sometimes, when it’s my turn to take the basket, the dust from the path gets on my boots and I wonder what it’ll be like when Grandmother is gone. Will Mother be sick too, will I never go back to my studies and always be walking the path with my sisters even if no one is at the other end. I was the one that told Grandmother when Mother got sick too. I came home to help Mother to keep her illness from the girls. But, Grandmother knows. And still, neither will be the first to speak to the other.

It’s up to us to bear the weight of the path between them.