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A Long Way From Home

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My fingers dig into the earth and little zaps of electricity run through the tips of my nails to my wrists. With one deep breath that rattles my diaphragm, I can tell the flowers are going to sprout well this summer. The marigolds are going to stretch particularly tall and proud, their sunny color chasing away any lingering traces of winter. 

“That should do it.” I pack away my tools and the rest of the seeds into my wicker basket and nestle it by the side of my shed. I remember when Ama built this shed for me when I was about five. After too many nights sneaking away to watch the nymphs and pixies build houses out of the brickerbrack I set out for them, she decided giving me some sort of shelter would be safer and better than me running out of the house to squat in the grass. After about 12 years years of use, it’s lopsided thanks to the elements, and the chipped. Some of the floors are overtaken by moss and intruding vines. Every time I attempt to clean it, it’s an absolute mess within a month or so. And hence, it’s more of a figurehead than a proper shed. I store more things beneath its overhanging eaves than inside of it. 

After I waddle my way out of the garden and close the white, wooden gate, Eileen hops over to my bare feet and takes a nip at my toes. I click my tongue and kick my foot out, sure that I’ll miss her (which I do) and she’ll scurry back to give me space (which she does).

“I just fed you, you gremlin,” I say to her. “You’re not even hungry. Just greedy.”

She scrunches her nose at me and her long, oreo-colored ears flop in defiance. I roll my eyes and continue on my way, walking opposite of the house and toward the wood. I say a silent prayer Eileen doesn’t get at my grass. Just inside the very edge of the wood after weaving through a small thicket of trees, there is a pond. It’s wide and considerably shallow, but it’s the only body of water for miles unmolested by Elora’s whims. She says it’s too small, is barely a proper medium at all, and simply doesn’t “suit her”. And true, the leaves overhanging from the branches stitch closely enough to create a sort of canopy that shields the sun away and most of the woodland creatures tend to keep away from it. It’s somewhat of an abandoned piece of nature. However, all the more reason why I can’t stay away. It’s quiet, secluded, and allows me space away from the always crowded Willowbrook. 

Believe me, I love my family in a way even I find inconceivably fierce. But, after days upon days of dealing with Pond’s incessant rambling, Jacoby’s acute rage spells, and Elora’s overgrown ego, I just need a break. Somewhere I can relax without someone barging in. Somewhere where-

“Naomi!”

Before I can even finish the thought, Elora’s panicked voice has me whipping around. My sister looks so deeply troubled in a way I’ve never seen before. Her dark, brown eyes are rimmed in red and look puffy, like after a fresh cry. Her brown skin usually has such a shine to it. It seems uncharacteristically sallow. Her long, black braids hang loosely past her waist. Elora almost always has her braids in a neat bun or tied back in a ponytail. To her, unstyled hair is “unseemly and juvenile”. And worst of all, she apparently ran, by the look of her hammering chest, all of the way from the house to my little pond, a total of about three miles, barefoot.

“Naomi, please,” Elora’s voice is raspy and uncontrolled. “You must come. Ama...Ama, she is-”

“Explain later,” I tell her and take her hand, guiding her back through the thicket. We make the trek home quicker than I ever thought possible. Usually, I can’t keep myself from stopping to fiddle with the flowers and vegetation along the way. My mind can’t be bothered to think of anything else but the fact that something is the matter with Ama. I want so badly to badger Elora with questions. I think better of it. She seems barely able to hold her own weight. 

We reach the house just as Pond comes stumbling out of the back door, ginger curls matted and even angrier than usual. His terrorized frown quivers when he sees us, green eyes full of worry. Even his freckles look to be in disarray. In this bizarre moment, my brain chooses now to remind me how much Pond resembles Eileen. Like a skittish, spooked bunny. Twitching nose and pupils blown wide and round. 

“Naomi, a recipe...there has to be a recipe for this, right?” Pond is pointing in all directions, even more frantic and frazzled than Elora; who, by this point, has gone from making an uproar to blank and unresponsive, face frozen in almost tears.

“A recipe for what?” I ask him, moving closer as fast as I can while supporting most of Elora’s weight. “Pond, what’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth to speak and I shake my head. “You know what? I’ll see for myself. Can you take her, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Pond takes Elora from me and as soon as she’s out of my arms I’m rushing through the back door, past the kitchen, and up the stairs. The door to Ama’s room is wide open and light floods out of it. When I reach the doorframe, my stomach clenches. The stench of vomit makes my throat tight. I have to keep myself from running away. Inside of the room, Jacoby is kneeling beside Ama’s bedside, holding her chubby, hard-knuckled fingers in his, eyes closed and lips moving silently. Praying. To who? I’m not sure. Jacoby doesn’t believe in a higher power. Where would the faithless place his faith?

The light is coming from Jacoby. When he’s focusing his magic, he glows. It’s running through his body. His olive skin is luminescent. His flowing, jet black hair which was obviously once pulled into a ponytail is now mostly loosened, the ribbon barely hanging on near the ends. I almost wheel backward. If it isn’t because of the smell, then it’s because I don’t want to disturb him. But, I need to know what’s happened. I need to know why Ama, who was exuberant and full of life just this morning, is lying on her bed, limp.

“Jake.” I move further into the room, trying my best to step around the papers loitering the floor. Kneeling next to him, I turn, gaze falling to his undone ponytail. It’s stupid the way it commands my attention. But, I pull out the ribbon as Jacoby continues to pray and set to fixing it. I pull his thick, black waves to the nape of his neck, smoothing the sides with one hand, and tie the ribbon in place. The red of the silk is a startling contrast.

Maybe it wasn’t as stupid a task as I thought. Once the ribbon is in securely, Jacoby finally opens his tawny colored-eyes, and looks over at me, hand still intertwined with Ama’s limp one. 

“Nao,” He says, breathlessly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She was making breakfast and then she just collapsed. We carried her upstairs. Pond went crazy--ripping through Ama’s drawers, trying to find some recipe to bring her back. But, how are we supposed to heal something we can’t diagnose?”

“She was perfectly fine and just...collapsed? Out of nowhere?” I ask, incredulous. 

“Just dropped right there.” He confirms with a nod. My eyes swing from Jacoby’s contorted facial expression to Ama. Her coarse, lavender curls are pulled into a sloppy bun, nothing fashionable, just something to get them away from her perspiring forehead. Her eyelids twitch. Ot, at least, I think they do. Maybe I’m going crazy. Except, I know I’m not because they twitch again before fluttering open. Cloudy and barely focused but open.

“Ama!” Jacoby gasps beside me and straightens up, gripping her hand tighter. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve had my scarf caught in the wheels of a carriage and been drug through the town,” she says with a fatigued smile. “Is it just me or does it smell like old lady in here?”

“Ama, this isn’t the time for your jests!” Jacoby huffs in frantic anger.

“My love, it also isn’t the time to be acting like I’m already dead.” Even while surely in pain and extreme discomfort, Ama can’t keep a serious face...to save her life. “It doesn’t leave me much to hope for.”

Jacoby’s shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he takes. “I’m sorry. I just--what happened?”

“Naomi, dear.” Ama’s violet eyes turn to me. Her arm tremors as she exerts the little force she has left in her to point in the direction of a cabinet to the side of her bedroom door. It seems to be one of the few spared from Pond’s raid. She’s a heavy-set woman with a will to match. It’s difficult to see her lying down, barely manifesting the energy to do something so simple as point. “In that cupboard there is a red journal. Bring it to me, angel.”

I nod and stand. 

Before I realize it my knees are back on the wood and I’m tipping to one side, barely saved from knocking my skull on the floor by Jacoby’s strong arm. The world spins in fuzzy shapes beyond my eyes and I jerk forward, forehead pressed into the soft cloth of Ama’s blanket. 

“Close your eyes and breathe, my sweet.” Ama runs her fingers down my back. I obey quietly, letting my eyes fall shut and counting my breaths. I hear her say, “Jacoby, love. Can you grab me my journal?”

“Of course.” His presence disappears from my side. For some reason, the hollow thump of his footsteps on the wood echoes in my brain, encompassing my mind in deafening sound. The cabinet doors creak. And then the rustle of papers. More footsteps. I jolt when a burning hand on my neck replaces the one on my back. I startle even more at the faraway sound of the kitchen’s back door swinging open and then slamming shut. Even more footsteps and frenzied conversation.

Lovely. Nothing better for a headache than the twins being riled up. Elora’s voice starts off loud before a string of coughs quiet her. I look up at Ama, still queasy but better than a moment ago. Her face betrays her. She can longer put on a brave expression for us. Veins in her neck pulse against the frail, translucent skin as she struggles to sit up against the headboard with Jacoby’s help. As Ama settles herself, Elora comes to kneel next to me and Pond follows.

“The Faeyri have a much longer lifespan than some of our Creature kin,” Ama says in between breaths, thumbing the red journal in her hands. “Longer, but not infinite. There is a spell we use that calls the spirits of mortality. If presented with an offering that pleases them, they may spare us a few extra years when our time of...retirement is nigh.”

“What kind of offering?” Jacoby asks.

“Spirits can sometimes hold a physical form,” says Ama. “But, belonging to the astral realm, physical forms can’t last long. Sometimes spirits take physical forms to deal with the living. And although difficult, if harmed while in physical form spirits “bleed” smoke. The spirit is cut off from the astral realm, cursed to wander among the living, and the smoke is coveted. It’s precious, and worth more than any form of currency. The largest repository of spirit smoke is heavily guarded within the walls of the Brae Kingdom. With the numbers of spirit violence rising as of late, I’d say the only sure way to get them to come is to offer them the smoke of their lost brethren. It’s a perilous journey. Damn near a fool’s mission to pick spirit smoke off of the Brae.”

“Is there any other way?” Pond asks.

“Maybe we can trick the spirits.” Elora suggests. Huh. She must be much more out of sorts than I’d originally assumed. For a girl such as Elora who not only follows the rules to fine degree of accuracy, but also wrote them herself, to propose such an idea.

Ama lets out a laugh more bitter than I’d ever heard her make. It turns into a cough. One cough follows another and soon she’s having a fit. My chest twists at the sight. Elora’s fingers pinch into my side and I’m so distracted I don’t shoo her off. She probably needs something solid and tangible to grab onto to make sure she’s not dreaming. Ama, sturdy and more fit than any Creature her age, can barely support her own weight. It looks unnatural, to say the least.

Once Ama has finished and wiped the beads of saliva from the corner of , she sets herself up straight again, looking on Elora with soft, bemused eyes. “Tricking the spirits? The last time someone tried to trick the spirits and inevitably failed, he got stuck pushing a rock up a hill for eternity. My best bet is giving them the greatest offering I can conjure and beg for mercy. I’ve lived my life. I raised intelligent and self-sufficient children. My time is here, love. You’ll all get on without me.”

“I can’t believe you’d say that!” Elora fingers are still twisted in my side. That’s how I know she’s shaking as she says this, voice gone high and strained. “I don’t care how dangerous you say it is. I’m going. Even if I’m going by myself.”

As ill-timed the thought is, I can’t help but snort internally. Elora, the spoiled, proper princess she is, wouldn’t last a week on a journey like that. And say by some divine miracle she makes it to the gates of the Brae kingdom. How would she get in? How could she possibly convince guards to let her through? Ah, yes, I’m here to steal some of your finest sacred smoke. So, if you could just let me in that’d be delightful. The image is morbidly comedic. 

‘Even if I go by myself’ is obviously our cue to chime in. 

“You wouldn’t go by yourself.” I peel Elora’s fingers out of my side. “I’m going too, even if just to keep you from getting beheaded.”

“I knew it!” Elora squeals and attaches herself to my side once again, at which I grimace.

“And I suppose I should go as well.” Jacoby sighs and shrugs. “To keep you from beheading her.”

Pond looks between us and Ama, pupils trembling. “Someone should be tasked with staying with Ama, right? To make sure her condition doesn’t worsen.”

“Oh no.” Jacoby marches over to Pond and clamps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re coming with, little brother. One of the village ladies can watch over Ama. If you get killed or kidnapped because we left you alone, it will be going directly onto my conscious. Can’t have that.”

Attention back on the journal Ama is holding, I ask, “What is that book for? Is that where the spell is?”

“This thing?” Ama appraises it with a mysterious smile, before holding it in my direction. I take it. “It’s empty. If my children are going to journey into the Brae kingdom, I’d like a record of it.”

“Homework?” I sneer at the book, holding it out to my siblings. They all shake their heads, keeping their hands close to their bodies. Rolling my eyes, I huff. “Fine. I’ll record.”

“We should pack,” Jacoby says, looking around at all of us. Could we be having the same exact thought? What have we gotten ourselves into? We each give Ama a kiss before returning to our own rooms to ready for the journey. As soon as Elora and I get back to our room, we set to packing. Elora is pilfering through her dressing drawer and mulling over her options aloud. I tune her out, deciding to focus on my own thoughts.

What should criminals pack in their traveling bags? Perhaps some delicately cut fruit? Or fine pottery to spruce up our holding cell should we be caught? I think about such rancid things as I fold clothes atop my bed and tuck them in my burlap sack. I have time to do nothing but think as I’m preparing to leave my childhood home. 

When I was a tiny three-year old, my parents were murdered by men with strange symbols embroidered on their robes. The men must have deemed it unnecessary to kill me as well. A small thing left in the woods with no parents or any obvious resources, I would be handled soon enough. If not drug off by some animal, I’d be taken out by starvation or the elements. I was already as good as dealt with.

That’s when a large woman with a head of unruly lavender coils pulled into a high bun and striking eyes to match came stalking into the forest clearing where I’d been abandoned. She attempted to get words out of me. I refused to speak with her for 3 months. 

One day she brought home a boy, not much older than myself. He had long black hair that grew almost as quickly as my nails. He had command over light energy. Jacoby.

Next came Pond with his brown freckles, red afro, and skittish mannerisms. When he wasn’t hiding from his own shadow, he called to the forest creatures.

And last strutted in Elora, with her overflowing presence, regal attitude, and ability to manipulate bodies of water. Her, I detested for months because she was as arrogant as they came. But, I found a way to make peace with her ego after some time.

My brothers, sister, and I have to find some way to sneak into the Brae kingdom, steal from the treasury, and make it back to Ama. Alive. 

Easy.

Lastly I tuck the red journal into my sack and tie it. This is the last time I’ll see my bed in a long while...if ever again. The final time I’ll be able to run my fingers along the thick stitches in my quilt. The one Ama made for me when I was a child. The morning after she brought this quilt to my bed, I spoke to her for the first time.

━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Beginning our journey with an argument is so typical that it hurts to think of what the rest of the way will be like. I sit on the side of the dirt road we’ve been walking down, next to Pond. My brother and I share some almonds as we watch our siblings fight.

“Well, we need to find some other way to get there.” Elora is puffing her chest out and waving her hands. Maybe to make herself bigger in front of Jacoby who towers above her. “I already have blisters on my feet. And my shoes are gonna get holes in them!”

Jacoby has gone red in the face out of anger. “Perhaps if you’d worn something practical, your delicate foot could take the wear on them. You brought those silly shoes on a journey and have the gall to be upset with me? Why can’t you think things through, Lora?! We’re on a quest to save Ama and you chose to dress as if a concession of performers might roll on by and pick you to join their troupe.”

“Oh, and if we actually make it to Brae, you think the guards are gonna just let you in? Dressed like a bear?” Elora rolls her eyes and fans her face with a dainty hand. “Somebody has to be dressed like they have a home to go back to.”

Listless in this sweltering heat, I don’t have the energy to care about her blanket insult. Jacoby and Elora bicker on like this for several minutes. I have half a mind to step in, when I hear something in the distance and stand. Pond gives me a strange look and might be fixing himself to ask what the matter is when I wave and shush him. Knowing very well I hear something, but not being able to make out what exactly, I shush my siblings more aggressively. Elora makes a noise in protest, but I give her a severe look. She pouts but goes silent. Then, we’re all listening. And the look I share with Jacoby tells me he hears it as well. 

Clopping of horses hooves is difficult to hear in the dirt. But not impossible to a trained ear. We all huddle off to the side of the road, squeezing next to each behind the cluster of trees that line it. And just as we’re settled in obscurity, a horse-drawn carriage breaches the horizon. It draws closer. 

The man holding the reigns urges the horses to a stop. He is smartly dressed in bright colors. He dismounts and walks around to the back of the carriage, unsheathing a knife from the holder at his side and pulling the door open. Out he drags a beautiful woman by her hair, as yellow as the sun and curly as I’ve ever seen. The dress she's wearing is extravagant, something only royalty can afford to wear. It is a deep blue with soft-looking rouche. 

Everything after that happens too fast to process. The smartly dressed man shoves the woman into the trees on the opposite side of the road to us. He drags her deeper and deeper until we can no longer see them. Pond shivers next to me. It isn’t from cold. 

I believe we’ve just witnessed a kidnap.