Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Fyn clenched his basket full of herbs tight against his chest.

He blinked, the sky right in front of him. The cool grass brushed his cheeks while the soil was warm against his back. Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground, a tiny bit groggy. How had he not noticed that he had fallen down? Shakily, he stood up, brushing dirt from his knees and elbows.

Like a mantra, he kept repeating the nursery rhyme, One for sorrow.

Crouching down, he picked up the herbs that had fallen from his basket when he had fallen down. Strangely, he couldn’t remember how he fell. There didn’t seem to be rocks blocking his path or could have caused him to trip. Neither was there strong winds that could have made him unsteady. It was truly strange, yet some part of his brain was telling him that everything was completely normal.

“That’s all of it,” He muttered to himself as he chucked the very last herb into his basket. The herb looked funny, had he always been collecting these? It wasn’t the typical herb he got from his foraging, in fact, the herb seemed to glow, and his eyes stayed on it. For a moment, Fyn stayed in his position, staring at the strange herb that seemed to shine against the light. Quick as lightning, the glow disappears and when Fyn blinked, the herb turned into the normal ones that he had foraged for as long as he could remember. “Strange.”

Sighing, he looked at his basket again, a frown crossing his features. Winter was near, which meant that crops would soon disappear as well. Not that he made much to begin with. During spring, his crops had been abundant, the river was just behind his house, which meant that he could easily fish for food.

Or at least, that was how it was at first.

Now, there were more corpses instead of fishes by the river-

Fyn froze.

Grabbing the basket from the ground, he stands, turning his head sideways to the river that was located just behind his hut. The body of water was clear, the sound of the current flowing against rocks and discarded branches seemingly becoming a music to his ears. The scent of morning dew and fresh water seemed to bring him back to reality.

Had it always been this way?

Yes, a voice that was all too familiar sounded in his head, Always had been.

Pinching his arm didn’t seem to shake the odd feeling that was bubbling in the middle of his stomach. With a deep breath, Fyn tore his eyes away from the river and clutched his basket full of herbs tight against his chest. There was some ringing in his ears, but try as he might, he couldn’t find out the reason for the noise.

“Fyn!”

He stopped in his tracks.

Right in front of him stood an all too familiar face. Brown curly hair, plump red cheeks, loving brown eyes. Fyn could remember her even if she were to be mixed in a crowd of a thousand people. She had a basket full of herbs perched on her hips, her other hand on her hips. There was a teasing smirk on her face. It made the worry lines disappear and made her look younger. Fyn couldn’t help but take a step back as he stared at her.

His lips trembled when he spoke, “Ma?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She teased him, closing the distance between the two of them. She was a few inches shorter, in a way that she had to stand on her tiptoes to brush the loose hair that seemed to have fallen in front of Fyn’s eyes as he took a step back. “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.”

Fyn blinked, “You’re… here.”

His mother chuckled, the sound of her laughter echoing. “Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Another voice asked. Fyn didn’t need to turn around to know just who was speaking behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know that it was probably a man. A man with shaggy brown hair, a full face of beard, wrinkles on their forehead, a glint in their black eyes. “I told you to ask me before eating those herbs, Fyn.”

At a loss for words, Fyn turned his head around.

Behind him, staring at him with that same black eyes, was his father.

“Pa,” Fyn sputtered, his heart beating erratically against his chest. “Why are you...here?”

His parents looked at him like he had grown another head. Slowly, his mother placed her basket down on the ground, the same time his father let go of his fishing rod. They both took a step towards him, worried expressions on their faces. Fyn felt his knees give up under him, and he tripped on air, falling down on his bottom as he stared at the two faces that he can’t even figure out why he remembers.

They look older. That was one thing.

But Fyn knew they had disappeared when he was young.

He couldn’t even remember their faces anymore.

And yet as he stayed there on the ground, staring up at the worried expression on their faces, he couldn’t help but feel tears drip from his face. He couldn’t remember their faces anymore, but he was sure this was them. They were there, right in front of him.

It was his mother who moved first. She kneeled next to him, brushing his tears away. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

“You’re here,” Fyn repeated. “With me again.”

“Again?” His father asked, chuckling at him as he ruffled his hair. Fyn leaned his head against the warmth of his father’s hand, feeling like a little child again. “You’re not getting rid of us until tomorrow, son.”

Fyn wiped his tears with the back of his hand, sniffing like a child. He was almost embarrassed until he realized what his father just said, “Tomorrow?”

His father smiled at him, “Don’t tell me you’re already getting cold feet, son.”

Fyn didn’t understand what his father was trying to say.

“What?” He asked. His mother extended her arm in his direction, and Fyn gladly took hold of it, savoring the warmth. In fact, it seemed like her mother was burning up with fever. She was too hot. Furrowing his brows, Fyn was about to ask why that was when he felt sweat drip from his forehead down to his chin. “Why is it so hot?”

“Hot?” His father asked, looking at him oddly. “It’s been raining the past few days, son. What do you mean?”

Fyn stared. And he continued to stare until the words dawn on him.

It’s been raining the past few days, son.

“Impossible,” Fyn muttered, “The drought-”

“Drought?” His mother cut him off, pulling him to a standing position. “Are you sure you’re alright, sweetheart? Just yesterday you were praying and wishing that it wouldn’t rain for tomorrow.”

Again, Fyn noted, his parents were talking about something happening ‘tomorrow.’

“Impossible,” Fyn repeated, “I don’t remember the last time it rained. That’s why we had offerings, because there were droughts, diseases and-”

Fyn stopped, his eyes widening.

Quickly, he ran towards his hut, climbing up the ladder that was leaning against the wall. Climbing up towards his chimney. He could hear his parents calling him, could hear their worried screams as he scrambled to climb, almost falling in the process. Sweat formed in the middle of his back and he couldn’t understand just why it was so hot.

When he reached the very top, he felt a choked sob escape him.

There was no forest.

“Where’s the forest?” He asked shakily, his eyes locked on the clearing. “Where’s Kavan?”

This was wrong.

Everything was wrong.

“Sweetheart,” His mother huffed, “Could you get down? You’re scaring me.”

For a moment, Fyn felt as if his mother sounded odd. Reluctantly, he took a deep breath, calming himself down. As careful as he could, he climbed down the ladder, stopping a few feet away from his parents. They both had odd, worried expressions on their faces. Fyn can’t help but feel that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

“Where’s the forest?” He asked again.

“Forest?” His father asked, pressing his lips together. “What forest, son?”

Fyn grit his teeth, pointing towards where the forest should be. Something like anger bubbled inside of him, anger mixed with confusion. Nothing was making sense! “The forest! Why is it gone? Why is it-”

He couldn’t even finish what he wanted to say.

The land where the forest should be was barren. There were no trees, no forest animals, nothing. What was left was makeshift fences that guarded herds of cows and sheep, scarecrows that guarded a variety of crops and in the far distance, near a mountain that had a cave at the very top was burned down grass, and when Fyn narrowed his eyes, there was nothing but ash.

“The forest is gone,” Fyn repeated. “Why is it gone?”

His father furrowed his brows in worry, slowly taking a step towards him. With a sigh, his father placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing him to offer him comfort, “Son, the forest has been gone since you were born, don’t you remember that?”

“What?” Fyn breathed, his heart hammering, sweat forming on the back of his neck. “I was just there.”

His mother looked at his father, “Is this about tomorrow, son?”

“Tomorrow?” Fyn asked, already feeling angry. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

None of this was making any sense.

“Your wedding,” His father said, almost knocking the breath out of him. “You proposed to Hana, don’t you remember that?”

Fyn felt his soul leave his body, “Hana?”

He didn’t even bother hiding the curl of disgust on his face. Why would he propose to Hana? That made little sense! Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he roughly wiped the sweat that formed on his forehead and the nape of his neck. He was sweating so much, his head was aching, and his parents looked at him like he was crazy.

Maybe he was.

His parents were gone.

Who were these people in front of him?

“Kavan,” Fyn repeated, “Where is he?”

“Son,” His father asked, “Who’s Kavan?”

Fyn’s lips trembled as he tried coming up with an answer to what his parents just asked. Running his hand through his hair, he tugged at his roots. He had an answer to that question, he knew it. And yet, his mind was coming up blank. He knew who Kavan was! Kavan was…

Nothing. There was nothing in his head.

That was wrong.

Kavan wasn’t nothing.

Kavan was everything to him.

“This is wrong,” Fyn repeated, shaking his head. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

His parents were missing.

Which meant these were not his parents.

Almost immediately, everything turned silent. Confused, Fyn lifted his head, just in time to see his parents looking at him with a blank expression on their faces. Their eyes were blank, almost empty, as they stared straight at him.

“Are you saying you would rather have us disappear, son?” His father asked, no emotion in his voice.

His mother took a step towards him, “You would rather have that demon than your parents, sweetheart?”

Fyn opened his mouth, ready to stop his mother from calling Kavan that wretched name. Strangely, storm clouds started forming on top of them, lightning rumbling in the distance. Fyn grit his teeth, his fists clenching at his side. “Do not-”

A pain so intense and severe erupted from his side and he crumpled to the floor, clutching the side of his stomach.

The scene changes.

He was back on the ground, his father standing on top of him, his foot on his chest preventing him to stand up. Another surge of pain erupts and Fyn choked out a sob as tears streamed down his face. His father was no longer holding a fishing rod, instead a makeshift large wooden bow, an arrow pulled on the string, directed towards him.

“Demon’s whore,” His father hissed, except it wasn’t his father anymore. Much like how it happened with Hana long ago. He watched as his face seemed to melt as he smiled mischievously down at him. He could only look up and watch as his once loving smile turned demonic and made shivers run up his spine. “You would give up your parents for someone who couldn’t even save you.”

“I don’t need him to save me!” Fyn screamed, anger rushing into him. “I can protect myself!”

Wind started swirling around them, carrying black specks of charcoal and fire, changing the scenery. Fyn blinked as the scene changed once more. He was no longer by his hut, instead, he was back in the forest. Everything was burning, the ground hot to the touch. Sweat formed everywhere and before he knew it, he was writhing in pain once more.

“Demon’s whore,” He heard again, the voice undecipherable. “You’ll give everything up for a demon?”

Fyn closed his eyes, the pain becoming too much, too unbearable.

He could feel something wet spreading on his torso, a metallic smell wafting through the air.

Was that blood? His blood?

Fyn shook his head. He was giving nothing up.

He had nothing before Kavan. His parents were gone. The people he was with moments ago were not his parents. Kavan didn’t ask for anything. Kavan only gave him things, without even expecting anything in return.

“Shut up,” Fyn screamed, “Shut up!”

Softly, Fyn closed his eyes as he watched the form that pretended to be his father, shot the arrow straight to him. And as darkness consumed him when the pain became unbearable, he could almost hear a soft howl echo through the air. The howl was sad and full of pain, that it almost made him tear up. It sort of reminded him of someone crying.

But then why would someone cry for someone like him?