Short Stories

Burn

~3,600 words

Jonas walked slowly into the small hut and found a frail figure lying on the bed, covered in a thick blanket. His grandmother peeled her eyes open and turned to watch as he walked to her, taking a seat on the short wooden stool that waited at her bedside.

"You've called me last, Arra?" He bowed his head respectfully at the head of his family and clan.

"My youngest grandson. What I have to say is for your ears only and the rest of our incessant family  wouldn't leave until they'd had their turn!" She lifted her body off the bed and gave him a glare, not leaning back until wracking coughs forced Jonas to push her back gently.

"Arra," He chided.

"Ach, I love the fools but they've been waiting for me to die and pass on the mantle for years. They never once asked why I wouldn't die, the idiots." She gave him a wry smile and lifted her hand to her forelock.

A brilliant red feather was braided into the hair that framed the right side of her face. Jonas had never seen it dry out, fade, or even bend. He'd been fascinated with that feather the entirety of his twenty years and yet no one knew where it came from. It'd been a game between he and his cousins to come up with the most outlandish stories but it was forbidden in the family to ask.

"Will you finally tell me, Arra, where you got the feather?" He reached out, trying not to cry as he watched her eyes dip closed. Grabbing her right hand and not letting go.

"Yes, Jonas, I do believe I will." She let out a soft sigh. "This may well be my last story, boy, so take heed. When I am done, you shall have keeping of this feather and the box under my bed." A cough interrupted her words. "It has the name of the new Arra or Arru." She winked, not giving anything away until the last.

Taking a deep breath, she began to tell the last tale she would ever speak. Her words were steady, there was no break or pause to cough or think. The words flowed like water from her lips as necessary to life as breath itself and Jonas let himself sink into the world she spun like silk.

***

Shading her eyes to look at the sky, Rasya noted the sun was almost to it's highest point.

"Can't we stop for lunch, Uncle?" She whined, putting down her knitting with freezing hands, pulling a face at the man sitting beside her in the wooden cart.

He didn't even deign to look over at her. "We mustn't be late Rasya, Arru Gentran will pass soon and it is our duty as his family to be at his side."

Her woolen skirts bunched in her fists. "And then we're off to market which is another three days on this cart from Grandfather Gentran's house! I'm sick of this already." Her melodramatic words echoed along the empty road.

First frost had come the week before and had yet to break. White pieces of the clouds floated down among them occasionally, the trees standing as twigs now that their leaves had left them. The road was lined with tall trunks and not much else, leading to an unearthly atmosphere.

"This place is not friendly," She mumbled, subsiding and pulling on her gloves once more, the knitting returned to its bag.

"No place is friendly when you're alone. That's why I've got you!" Her uncle nudged her with his shoulder. With a smile he tapped the reins and sent their old cart horse into a slow trot. "We shall stop when we come to a place to pull over. Should anyone else be travelling this road we would not like to be in their way."

With a small smile, Rasya folded her hands and waited as patiently as a girl of seven and ten could. She turned, pulling out the basket placed behind their seat and peaking at what her mother had packed early that morning.