A Man's World

Don’t forget the medicine. The thought inserted itself, quick and quiet, to the forefront of Orion’s mental list as he set off down the footpath between home and the village. He buried one hand inside the pocket of his tunic to assure himself that, even though he’d just left the house, the money was still there. He fingered the rough cloth and then the cool pieces of metal that clinked when they moved against each other. The solid yet fleeting sound of a pouch full of coppers.

It was only a mile and a half walk to the village market, but today the narrow, empty path seemed to stretch much farther than that. A faint breeze was blowing; it was just strong enough to coax the tall prairie grasses to wave at each other across the path and to rustle the feathered wings on Orion’s back, but not nearly crisp enough to penetrate his worn, hand-woven tunic. The breath of the breeze, the call of a songbird, and the thuds of his boots were the only sounds to break the stillness of the morning. Then up ahead, Orion heard the familiar, indistinct swell of voices occasionally complemented by a strain of music or disrupted by the squawk of an animal. He caught that first hint of market scent in the breeze: a pungent mix of foods and bodies that overpowered the subtle green scent of the path-side grasses. The shift in his senses made Orion’s head swim for a moment, but he shook it doggedly and kept walking. There was nothing to get uneasy about; he’d taken part in the village market his whole life. But he didn’t think he’d ever get used to going alone.

Over half a millennium had passed since the monumental creation of the Elvenworld – when magical beings had left the earthworld and its encroaching human population far behind them. Now the elves had civilizations of their own with government courts and bordered countries, yet as far as Orion was concerned, this village may as well have been the extent of the world. The village was called Meadowmere, but hardly anyone who lived within ten miles of the valley in which it was nestled bothered to refer to it by name. Ties to the land ran deep like roots connecting generations of neighbors in a tightknit community set amidst the sprawling expanse of undisturbed nature. Twice a moon these neighbors drew to the village’s heart for market. Each gathering was an occasion to sell, spend, and trade all that had been grown, crafted, and saved since the one before.

The village itself was a cluster of buildings made from wooden slats or a mixture of hardened soil and clay. Many of the former had been painted in cheery colors while many of the latter were overgrown with flowers and shrubs, yet no two buildings were alike. The houses were situated throughout the valley in loosely patterned lanes, but the tradeshops were collected in a rough ring around the central commons -- two acres of lush, open grass available to all the villagers for everything from grazing livestock to public gatherings.

Today being a market day, the commons was already thrumming with activity as Orion slipped inside the village. All around there were greetings of “Good morning!” and “Fine fare!” being shouted by everyone to everyone else; there was a cacophony of sellers all calling out the descriptions and prices of their wares; there were farmers’ carts piled high with food; tradeshops and stalls displaying goods; couples dancing and children twirling circles round a trio of musicians playing a merry tune on stringed instruments; a small herd of goats grazing and bleating; the smells of sizzling meat and fresh fruit pastries; the colorful flashes of patterned fabrics and elvish wings; the sounds of laughter, haggling, and the squalling of an infant; the press of bodies on all sides.

“Mornin’ all! I’ve got candles for sale here: bee or burrowmite wax for only fifteen coppers each!” called out a gray-bearded man, his wiry frame stooped under the weight of a tray piled high with candles that he wore with a strap over his neck.

Orion swerved deeper into the crowd before the candle maker had a chance to single him out. He couldn’t afford to be haggled into buying anything from market that wasn’t on his list. He kept his head down and his eyes open, mentally reviewing their food stores back home. They always had a steady supply of eggs from the coop-full of anquoras; he could restock on mushrooms and roots himself the next time he made the trek out to the woods; and they could stand to wait on sugar if they gathered enough of the grass with the sweet paste inside its stalks that grew beside the house. But they needed fruits and vegetables – their garden patch was empty as they waited for the soil to replenish itself between plantings. Hopefully some of the other villagers were on a different harvest rotation and had grown enough spare produce to sell at market today. They needed grain too – the last of the wheat he’d bought last moon had just yesterday been baked into a half-loaf of bread that would be reduced to crumbs by this evening.

And the medicine. Orion shoved the thought to the back of his mind where his anxiety had lately made a habit of pressing unneeded reminders against his temples like the throbbing of a headache. He wanted to check the money again, but he resisted the urge by closing his callused fingers into fists at his sides and then dropping them open again.

“Hey there, you’re Nora’s boy, am I right?”

Orion looked up and found his own face staring right back at him: a pair of brown eyes grounded in a simple, slightly square-shaped face that had a forehead overhung with the uneven ends of close-cropped hair the color of muddy hay. This head sat atop a short, stocky torso with a pair of golden-feathered eagle’s wings at its back and gawky arms and legs like beanstalks that had sprouted overnight in an effort to outstrip the rest of a growing garden.

Orion watched himself flinch at the inexplicable sight before he realized it was just his reflection in a full-length mirror. Katirina – the village’s glassworker – had her tradeshop’s doors opened wide to display her wares and was peering out at him from her work table. Her thin eyebrows rose expectantly.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I mean yes ma’am, I am.”

“Your grandmother not here again?”

“No ma’am, not today.”

“Hmm.” The glassworker pursed her lips and hunkered back over her work station. There was a fist-size lump of clouded glass set before her; her fingers caressed the smooth material and slowly, very slowly, it molded itself to her coaxing touch. Orion had no idea what the finished product would be, only that with hours of patience and an artistic eye Katirina’s enchantments would craft all of the village’s glassware.

“I was going to ask her for a new shawl.” She shrugged a shoulder that was draped in very a familiarly patterned fabric now marred by scorch marks. “Caught it in the furnace like a clumsy fool. A waste of such good work. Tell her I’d like to do business with her so she’ll come next market, will you boy? I’d hate to have to see all her customers settle for someone else’s work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Katrinia was one of Gran’s best customers. Gran would set up her cart of woven clothes and fabrics at a different spot in the commons from one week to the next, (“People are creatures of habit,” she had taught him. “All one has to do is move one's place to make passerby notice what they always overlooked") but her favorite spot was right next to Katirina’s shop. As a child helping his gran fold and package fabrics for the customers, he had listened to the two women swap countless no-nonsense business remarks or artistic opinions on their crafts. Now Orion felt he should tell Katirina that Gran hadn’t produced so much as a pair of stockings in the last week, but he would feel like a traitor to say that out loud and the glassworker was lost in concentration over her lump-in-progress anyway.

He continued on to the center of the commons where most of the food was sold. He paid for enough fruits and vegetables to fill the satchel he’d brought with him – feeling each item over for rottenness and bargaining the vendors down to manageable but fair prices just as he’d been learning from Gran since childhood. He wasn’t able to get the wheat though; Grayers was the only farmer whose fields were in harvest at the moment, and Orion knew full well that without any competition the man would have no incentive to lower his prices. Orion clutched his satchel strap tight as his eyes roved across the laughing, milling crowd. He couldn’t go home without grain . . . .

“Hey, Orion – Orion look at me!” A little girl flew past his head with a flutter of gauzy purple wings that shimmered in the sunlight.

“Hello, Amethyst . . . .” The village had its own bakery of course, but its fresh crusty loaves would easily cost them twice as much as it would to make their own at home.

“Notice anything different?” she asked him in a sing-song voice. She was a tiny thing, barely past her fourth year, and was now bobbing up and down in front of Orion as she struggled to keep a few feet above the ground.

“Different?” Perhaps he could afford the bakery . . . just this once – no, that wouldn’t leave him enough for the medicine.

“I’m flying!” she squealed. “Mommy said my wings weren’t strong enough yet but I’m doing it! I’m gonna fly everywhere now!” She cocked her head, her freckles scrunching together in a pout. “Orion, why aren’t you listening?” She poked him in the forehead.

Orion started. “What was that for?”

Amethyst giggled. “I’m taller than you now.” She reached out to poke him again, lost her balance, and tumbled towards the ground before Orion caught her up in his arms.

“Amethyst!” The sound of her mother’s sharp and harried tongue reached them from several yards away where she was ladling out stew to a gaggle of hungry customers. “How many times am I going to have to tell you not to use your magic unless I’m there to supervise you? You could have hurt him. Would you like some lunch, Orion? Only five coppers a bowl.”

Amethyst was squirming in his arms like a bundle of elbows. He put her down as carefully as he could without getting jabbed and led her over to her mother. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m all right. I’ve got purchases to make.”

Amethyst’s mother glanced around the market. “Was your grandmother not able to come to market again today?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you sure you can’t take a bowlful? You needn't bother paying for it.” Her wide smile didn’t quite match the tight, worried wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “A growing boy like you needs his food.” They were right next to the cauldron now. The smell of the hot, savory stew tingled against Orion’s nostrils and gnawed at his stomach. For a moment it even made him forget his list.

“Hey,” piped up a boy who was sprawled out in the grass nearby. “I’m growing too. Do I get a free lunch?”

Amethyst put her fists on her hips. “No, silly.”

“Why not?”

“Because Orion’s poor and his grandmother’s sick,” said Amethyst. “Can I go pet the goats, Mommy?”

“No, you can stay right here where I can see you.” Her mother tugged Amethyst back to the cauldron. “I’m sorry, Orion. We’ve been learning about tact, haven’t we, Amethyst?”

Amethyst didn’t answer her; she was busy sticking her tongue out at the other boy.

Orion didn’t reply either. He was fighting back the urge to cringe or look around to see if anyone else was hearing this. Of course they were. Everyone came to market. He stared at his shoes to escape the tactful, sideways glances – his shoes that cramped his toes because he had outgrown them last year.

“Is your grandmother feeling unwell again?” Amethyst’s mother was continuing. “You know I don’t mean to pry, I hope, but it’s nearly five moons now since she’s come to market consistently. We’re all beginning to worry that . . . . Goodness knows you’ve lost enough.” Her hand went to her neck, covering the blotches of dark scars there. Fifteen years ago an outbreak of fatal blackboil had swept through the village. Fortunately, an antidote had been developed quickly enough that only two people had died. Orion’s mother and father.

He stepped back. “My gran will be fine. It’s not a serious illness, and she always comes around.” As long as I can get the medicine. “Thank you for asking,” he forced out then retreated before she could offer him her stew again. (“If you get anything out of this life it should be because you’ve earned it,” Gran had taught him. “As long as I draw breath I have no reason to accept another person’s charity, and I certainly won’t take their pity.”) Diving back into the crowd, he purchased a sack of livestock feed. It was coarse and it was bland, but it was grain. It was also cheap enough that he still had just enough money left to buy the one thing he’d really come for.

The apothecarium was owned by a man named Crillup. His wings may have been covered in a scaly, reptilian membrane, but even as a young child Orion had always thought the man looked more like a frog. He had moist eyes that seemed to protrude from his face, a rounded back with very little neck, and sticky fingers wherever money was in question. The inside of his shop was cool and dark with shelves of bottled wares neatly lining the walls behind the front counter.

Crillup was at the counter when Orion entered the shop, listening intently to a customer describe some ailment affecting his swine herd. Orion walked to the other end of the counter to wait his turn and tried to catch the eye contact of a young man hunched over a table in the back. “Hey, Birch.”

The other boy’s head popped up just long enough to register Orion’s presence and nod once before dropping back to his work. He was slicing open tiny green pods and picking out their seeds to weigh on a scale.

Orion remembered market days from years past when he, Birch, and a couple other boys their age would run loose about the commons, sharing treats and swapping stories. Now they were all fourteen – the age when a boy had to start thinking like a man – and each of Orion’s friends had taken up an apprenticeship in a trade of their choosing. A potioneer in an apothecarium would never have been Orion’s first pick as it had been Birch’s, but now he found himself envying every plink of a seed landing in that scale. Plink – He could do that. Plink – There was so much he could do if he could only afford to be taught. Plink – An apprenticeship was an investment, a rite of passage; it gave a boy work, skill, the ability to provide for himself and others. Plink, plink, plink! Orion hitched his bags higher on his shoulder and trudged up behind the other customer, impatient to leave the village.

“That doesn’t sound right to me,” the customer said with an uneasy shift of his weight. He was a burly man dressed in coarse clothes and a pair of sturdy boots that were scuffed by years’ worth of dried mud. He was a stranger to Meadowmere: Orion had never seen him before. “Couldn’t do any better, could you?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t.” Crillup may have been blocked from Orion’s view by the stranger’s large frame, but there was no mistaking those smooth, moist tones. “This stimulant requires duraroot powder, you see, and that’s a hard ingredient to come by in these parts.”

The stranger scratched his head of gray-blond hair. “Duraroots, eh? We eat those up in stews all the time down in Stonebrook.”

“Ah, well I’m afraid that’s not true of Meadowmere. I haven’t received a fresh supply of duraroot in, oh, over a fortnight. I really can’t offer anything lower than ten gold.”

Ten gold?! Orion knew it was rude to interject in another person’s bargain, but he couldn’t help craning his neck around to see the miniscule bottle of liquid that Crillup had his long fingers laced around while the stranger dug into his pocket for the money.

“Excuse me, sir,” Orion apologized to the stranger, cutting in line between him and the counter: “Crillup, what happened to the two pounds of duraroot I brought here last week?”

Crillup’s lips puckered inward at the sight of Orion as if he’d just been forced to bite down on a lemon. “I asked for three pounds and the ones you brought me were small and stringy. I had to throw most of them out.”

I did my best, but the wood sprites have been digging most of the edible roots up; it took me hours to find as many as I did. The words were there, swelling against the roof of his mouth, but Orion knew how pointless it would be to complain. Scavenging ingredients for Crillup like an errand boy was the only thing that allowed Orion to get discounts on medicine.

“I’ll get you more by the day after tomorrow,” was what he said instead. He turned around to get back in line but stopped when he saw the ten pieces of gold gleaming in the stranger’s hand. “I would hold on to the money if I was you, sir. Everyone in the village knows duraroots grow out in the woods not six miles northwest. He would never ask that much from someone who lives here.”

“Watch yourself, boy,” Crillup hissed in his ear. “You’ve got nerve insinuating I’m a dishonest businessman!”

“Are you?” The stranger had close-set, earth-colored eyes dwarfed by a blunt nose and round cheeks. He scratched himself in that uneasy way again, this time down his sideburns to his scruffily bearded chin.

“Of course not, my dear sir.” There was a plaintive whine at the edge of Crillup’s voice. “I assure you I have too much respect for my customers to resort to such low schemes!”

“That may be, but I think I’ll wait until I get home to find a remedy for my herd. It was more of a side errand anyway.” The man held out a hand to Orion that was bigger than Crillup’s face. “Name’s Hutchson.”

Orion hadn’t expected to receive this gesture of attention from a stranger, but he responded with a firm grip nonetheless. “Orion, sir. Son of Orion.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Orion. It takes guts for a boy to stand up for what’s fair against his master.”

Orion’s face flushed right up to the pointed tips of his ears. “He’s not actually my master, sir, and I’m not even an apprentice.”

Hutchson’s scruffy brows rose into his weathered forehead. A rumble of surprise sounded in his throat and he nodded ponderously. Orion’s arm was beginning to ache; the man was still shaking his hand. “It was good to meet you, boy.” He turned and lumbered slowly out the store.

“No, wait, good sir!” Crillup cried out. “I see no reason why we can’t reach a bargain. I’ll give you twice as much of this stimulant for the price of ten . . . for eight – no, five!”

The apothecarium door swung shut with a creak of its hinges, leaving a silence in its wake interrupted only by a faint plink.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Crillup murmured; his voice crawled down the back of Orion’s neck.

The medicine. In a moment Hutchson was forgotten and Orion was turning to face the apothecary. “I came for some more of that tonic for fever and fatigue – ”

“I know which tonic you want.” Crillup cut him off with a flick of his fingers. “It’s all you ever come in here for. I meant what are you doing taking a stranger’s side over mine?”

Orion shrugged his shoulders into his ears and blinked at the counter. “I was just trying to be fair, sir . . . .”

“Bargaining’s not about fair; it’s about making a living. If a gullible stranger walks into my shop then why shouldn’t I get what I can out of him? You think I just rake in the profits and horde them away? I go out into that market to spend my hard-earned coin on the things I need, same as you.” His throat bobbed in and out as he harrumphed. “I would have thought someone like your gran would be teaching you to stay out of other people’s business. It’s not very fair of her send her brat in here to meddle with my life when she’d likely bite my head off if I ever stepped in to help her again.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Orion growled. “And she didn’t send me here.”

“So it’s your idea to keep buying these tonics for her? Well you’re wasting your time, kid. I’d bet good money she doesn’t even take them.”

Orion swallowed to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “She does,” he said to the counter.

“Hmmph. Wouldn’t be surprised if she just pours it out when you’re not looking.” Crillup pulled up a flask of murky red syrup from under the counter and a tiny phial from a pocket at his waist. He held them both at eye level as he let the tonic ooze into the phial. “I’ve seen her when she’s managed to come to market between her relapses; I don’t think she’s that sick. Or at least she wouldn’t be if she didn’t work herself so hard trying to put food in your mouth. The village all flocked to her side when she took you under her wings; at her age she should think about taking her neighbors up on their offers of help.”

“We don’t need charity.” Orion pulled out the depleted money pouch, but Crillup kept his fingers curled around the phial of tonic.

“That woman has more pride in her than the rest of this town put together. It’s not the town’s fault that your parents were the first to get hit by the boils and left your gran with you before you were even out of your cradle. And in spite of what everyone thinks, it’s certainly not my wife’s fault that she developed her antidote soon enough to spare the rest of us but too late for your parents. My Lucretia put everything she had into providing medicines for those people out there; this here is one of her formulas.” He opened his palm long enough to gaze at the tonic then clutched it even tighter. “Your grandmother would spit into this as soon as take it.”

Orion’s jaw was clenched. “She’s a good person.” Even if she holds a grudge. “Just let me buy the tonic and I’ll leave.”

Crillup’s bulbous eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “There, you see? None of you – not a single elf in this thankless town – cares about my Lucretia’s life-work! What if I cut everyone off from this shop instead of keeping business up in her memory? Maybe then you wouldn’t be so quick to take everything she did here for granted.” He shoved the phial back into its pocket. “You tell Nora that if she wants my wife’s medicine she can come in here and ask me for it herself!”

“No, Crillup – sir – please, I have the money!” The stone edge of the counter dug into Orion’s ribcage as he held the pouch out to the apothecary. Crillup had never denied him business before as long as Orion could pay for it.

Crillup snatched the pouch right out of his open hand. “Get out of my shop, boy.”

“The medicine – ”

“I said get out.”

Orion ignored the way the hair on the back of his neck was tingling on end and the way his heart began to beat faster. “Can I have my grandmother’s money back first?”

Crillup fingered the pouch with nimble, sticky hands. “There’s not that much in here, is there? Hardly enough to do business with. And yet you’ve cost me business today by turning away one of my customers.” Crillup slipped the pouch of coppers beside the phial of tonic where they left a bulge in the pocket at his waist. “Let’s call it even, shall we?”

Orion’s gut seized and he couldn’t ignore his heartbeat now: it was hammering against his chest so hard it hurt. “Give it back! It’s not yours!”

“It is now, and who can say otherwise?” Crillup spread wide his empty palms and smiled around at the equally empty store.

“Birch . . . .” But Orion’s boyhood friend hunched his shoulders higher and stared at his work with glazed eyes; even his seeds were silent now as he placed them into the bowl one by one.

“Birch works for me, boy, and he understands how a man’s world works. It’s a place where you make bargains and take whatever you can get out of it. It certainly isn’t fair.” Crillup’s eyelids were hooded over his bulbous eyes; his breath coated the air with garlic and mint. “Now, get out.”

Orion didn’t budge from the counter, partially defiant, partially paralyzed. This was wrong. He wouldn’t leave without the medicine. He couldn’t. But soon Crillup stopped facing him down and went back to business, moving among the shelves to inspect and organize his potions. The weight of passing minutes pressed down on Orion until his shoulders caved inward and he retreated from the shop, trying his best to keep his chin lifted as he placed one boyish foot in front of the other. He didn’t stop until he had passed through the market and out of the village. As soon as the whole of it was out of sight behind him he drove the heels of his hands into his forehead and groaned aloud. Every muscle tensed, burning with unspent anger.

The path home seemed to have grown longer since he’d taken it this morning; the farther he trudged down it the more reluctant his steps became. By the time the house came into view – a cozily rounded building carved from a single mound of white, mottled stone – the usually welcoming sight only shamed him. Orion’s thoughts were so entangled trying to picture how he would explain the news to Gran that he didn’t notice the horse tethered outside their door until he almost walked into the animal. Through the open window he heard the rumble of a deep voice.

All that happened at market was forgotten in a jolt of unease, and Orion burst through the door. “Gran, who’s – ”

“Well, there’s the young man himself!” The burly stranger from the apothecary – Hutchson – was seated at their table. “Hello again, Orion.”

Orion didn’t move from the door but looked to his grandmother who was sitting across from this stranger and serving him tea. Her long white hair had been thrown into a very messy imitation of her usual braided bun, and Orion picked up at once on the taut edges of her smile. “Do you two . . . know each other?” he asked.

Hutchson shook his head. “No, I haven’t had the honor. I only just met your grandmother a few minutes ago after getting directions to this house from market. I came to make an offer to her.”

“The house isn’t for sale,” Orion said. Gran had received multiple offers over the years for their acres of farmland that were gradually becoming overgrown by the prairie. She turned them all down.

“This isn’t about the house, Orion.” Gran set the teapot down on the table but kept her wrinkled hands clamped around its ceramic surface. “And as to your offer, I don’t think – ”

“What’s the offer for then?”

“Don’t interrupt, Orion. It was just a small matter of business, but as I was about to tell Mr. Hutchson, I don’t – ”

“Let the boy speak, ma’am. He’s got the right to hear what concerns him after all.” The stranger didn’t notice the sharp intake of breath that flared Gran’s nostrils.

But Orion did. “Hear what?”

Hutchson pushed back his chair and leaned forward, forearms on knees, to look up at Orion. “I own a good forty acres or so of land out near Stonebrook, about a day’s ride west o’ here. We grow wheat there and keep a large herd of pigs, but recently I’ve found myself short a hand. I’ve been coming ‘round to the different villages in these parts hoping to find a man willing to work for me, and now I figure I’d like to offer the job to you.”

“A job?” Not even an apprenticeship but actual work. And he was only fourteen! “With pay?”

Hutchson slapped his thigh with a hearty chuckle. “Gets right down to business! I like how you think, son.” The last word, thrown out so casually, landed hollow and heavy on Orion’s ears. Son was a word rarely directed to him and whenever it was, it was wrong – only his parents had the right to call him their son, but he could never remember what it had sounded like in their voices. His only memories of them were their gravestones at the edge of the prairie.

“Of course I’d pay you,” Hutchson was continuing. “It wouldn’t be much of course but I’d see to it that you get a fair share of our profits. I’ll throw in all your meals too and a place to sleep somewhere, one of the cellars probably. How’s that sound to you?”

Orion was too stunned to know how it sounded. “Why me? I mean thank you, sir,” he added, tripping over his own tongue. “No one’s ever offered me anything like this, but I would have thought . . . someone older . . . I don’t have the experience.”

“To be honest with you, boy, I’ve been a little down on my luck. Seems all the men with age and experience round here are established in their own lines of work. I wasn’t looking for young ‘uns.” Hutchson rubbed the back of his neck. “Truth is I wouldn’t be looking for an extra hand at all if my youngest son hadn’t just up and left for one of the cities. He’s about your age; says he’d rather find someone to teach him to be a musician than care for hogs like his old man.”

Gran’s expression softened. “I’m sorry for the loss to your family. That must have come as an unexpected blow.”

Hutchson shrugged his shoulders, small eyes blinking. “I don’t pretend to understand most young folk. But what your boy did today – putting in his word for a stranger against a greedy shopkeeper like that – you don’t see that kind of honest responsibility from strangers very often, Orion. ‘Specially not from ones at your age. I’m sure I could find someone else for the job if I kept looking, but somehow it felt only right to give you an offer. I could use a man like you.”

A man. Orion dropped his gaze and fidgeted with the strap of his satchel even as a rush of pride swelled in his chest. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled.

“How are you taking all this, ma’am – do you think you’d be willing to entrust me with your boy?”

Orion’s thoughts – buoyant and spinning with possibility – plummeted to the floor of his gut with the weight of reality. He should have realized it form the first: the only way to get to this farm was for him to leave home. Leave Gran . . . .

Gran set her broad shoulders wide against the back of her chair, her lips parting, but then she raised her cup with both hands and took a long sip of tea. “You said it yourself,” she answered in a small, clear voice. “Orion is nearly a man now . . . quite old enough to make his own decisions about the future.”

His decision was already made. Orion got as far as opening his mouth to speak before Gran caught the motion and deliberately finished: “After he’s had adequate time to think over your proposal.”

Hutchson dipped his head, not unlike a shaggy old dog happy to please its master. “Of course, ma’am. Only reasonable. I’m figuring on staying in your village tonight anyway; might as well ask around for any other interested young lads. Think it over tonight, Orion, and if you’re set to take me up on the job come find me in the village first thing tomorrow and you can ride to Stonebrook with me.”

The man stood to shake Orion’s hand for the second time that day, and for the second time that minute Orion tried to respond to his offer. A flash in Gran’s gaze silenced him and then Hutchson was gone, the plodding sound of his horse’s hooves quickly fading back down the path.

“You didn’t have to leave him waiting. I was going to tell him he’s better off hiring someone else.”

“I know.”

Orion frowned. “Then why . . .?”

“I would have refused him myself, but as long as he’s put the offer to you personally we should take the time to think it through – No.” Gran set her cup down against the table with a dull clink. “You must think this through for yourself. I told him you should be allowed to make your own decision, and I meant it. I will not always be here to guide you.”

Gran didn’t talk like this. Something tightened around Orion’s windpipe. You were supposed to get the medicine. “It’s all right, Gran. I’m not leaving you.”

Gran nodded, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her hands ran through the blanket gathered over her lap, smoothing it over and over. “Good. You shouldn’t have to go with this man; he’s a complete stranger to us after all. Just because he lost his boy doesn’t mean he can come in here and take mine.”

“I would never run off from home like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Orion,” she soothed him. “You’ve always been such a good boy. Too good. If I’m the only thing keeping you here then you're caring too much.” Her chin crumpled as she set it firmly. “Or perhaps I’ve been holding onto you too tight.”

Orion steadied his back against the doorframe. “You want me to go?”

“Of course not! If I had my way, I’d keep you under my roof for the rest of our lives, but we have to be realistic. This man is offering you work and money . . . the things I should have provided for you here at Meadowmere.”

“No – Gran, it’s not your fault.” She had provided for him. Ever since he could remember, she'd always saved away a little portion of every profit she ever made, each little portion adding up to enough money to afford the apprenticeship contract he should have chosen this year. Instead they’d been living off of these reserves during Gran’s recent bouts of illness. Orion hadn’t complained as the funds for his future had dwindled with each relapse; it was never really his money anyway. He’d only done his best to spend it at market wisely so that it would last as long as possible. Today he’d lost the last of her savings to a bit of grain, a satchel of produce, and a set of snatching fingers. “The money’s gone, Gran.” He set his bags down on the table before her. Somehow his shoulders felt even heavier without their weight. And I didn’t even get the medicine.

“That’s all right. I’ll be better by next market and earn some more then,” Gran stated staunchly. She inspected his purchases. “Is this all it bought? That last pouch must have had at least eighty coppers in it. Was that shopkeeper Hutchson mentioned giving everyone trouble with prices today? Was it Warrace? He likes to remind us all that he grows the best potatoes in the village.”

“No. No, it wasn’t Warrace.”

Gran flicked the satchel flap closed. “We’ll have to take what we get and make due I suppose.” She formed a smile then, the kind that had used to make Orion believe that everything was going to be all right. Now he only noticed how flushed and hollow her cheeks had become since those times. “That Hutchson spoke very highly of you, Orion. How exactly did you meet him today?”

Orion dropped his gaze to the wooden grain of the table. But he didn’t lie. “He was ahead of me in line at the apothecarium. Crillup was trying to overcharge him.”

“The apothecarium? I told you not to step foot inside that man’s shop again! What were you doing there?”

Orion winced. “There was enough coin left; I made sure of it. I thought if I could just get you a bit of that tonic you’d heal faster and be able to get back to your loom like you wanted.”

“I don’t need Crillup’s drugs in me to get better. Your parents might still be alive if it weren’t for him and his wife. She was too worried that your father and mother weren’t strong enough to wait for her to perfect her antidote, so she gave them what she’d got and it made them worse! Then just last year another of her experimental concoctions killed her when its acid fumes burned her alive. If Crillup had more sense than he does greed, he’d close that shop down. I’m not putting my life in his hands or anyone else’s! I doubt that tonic I had you return would have done me a bit of good.”

“But, Gran, it did! It makes you better every time – ” Orion’s honest, traitorous tongue tripped over itself and stuck to the floor of his mouth.

His grandmother’s eyes went wide. There was a dreadful pause. “Orion. What have you done?”

He swallowed. “I didn’t return that first phial like you told me to. I poured it into your tea and it made you better, so whenever you’ve had a relapse I’ve bought you another phial . . . .” Except for today.

“And you never told me?! All this time . . . Orion.” One hand was pressed against her heaving chest, the other steadying herself against the table. “Crillup’s prices will bleed you dry, and then he’ll try to sell your own blood back to you for more than it’s worth! No wonder the money has gone so quickly . . . .”

“Gran, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up, I promise. I’ll take up Hutchson’s job and – ”

“No. You’re not ready for that responsibility yet. I can see that now. You’re still so young . . . .”

“I’m fourteen now. I’ve only got three years left before I’m the only man in the village without a farm or a trade to my name.”

“I know, Orion. I know it’s my idleness that has taken away the savings for your apprenticeship contract, and I’m sorry. You know how much I wanted to afford one for you. But hiring yourself out as a farmhand won’t establish you in a profitable trade either. It’s hard, cheap labor, and even though you work the land all year you won’t inherit it or even get much money from it because it’s not your land.”

“Some work’s better than no work, isn’t it? When else could I be given an opportunity like this?”

“That man was not the first farmer to come in here and ask me to give you up to him; I’m sure he won’t be the last.”

Orion stepped back from the table. “Other people have offered me work? When?”

“Ever since you were old enough that it wouldn’t look like child labor. They see you don’t have a father figure to work you and guide you here at home, so they assume I’ll be willing to bargain away your services for a bit of extra coin.”

“And you turned them all down?” Why hadn’t she told him? He could have been bringing her an income all this time . . . .

“Yes, I turned them down. I won’t have people taking advantage of our circumstances. I would have turned Hutchson down too except he asked you directly and I thought maybe this time we needed to weigh our options a bit differently what with the money gone – at least until my health improves . . . it hasn’t been what it used to be . . . .” Her gaze trailed off with her voice. Then the blanket fell from her knees as she stood erect and began to gather up the empty tea things. “I’ll dust off my loom today and get back to work. Goodness knows I’ve rested enough this morning sending you off to market without me.”

“I don’t mind really. I want to help,” he mumbled. If only he’d actually done something of use.

Gran had picked up the family teapot and was holding it close to her thinned frame as she looked around at the old stone walls. “I raised your father in this house. When he was reaching manhood, some of his friends left Meadowmere, hoping to find a different work or life somewhere out in the world. Some meant to come back, but they never did. If you uproot a plant it will simply put its roots down someplace else. My son kept his roots here but I didn’t get to see them grow old and strong.” She nodded firmly even as her voice began to tremble. “I’ve earned the right to see this house become yours and watch you grow to manhood under its roof.”

Orion’s whole body was heavy, anchored to the familiar floor he’d played on as a carefree child. “I’ll take these to the cellar,” he said, picking up his bags again.

He'd barely turned away when something shattered against the tabletop. Somehow the teapot had slipped from Gran's nimble, careful fingers. Her back curved over until she was bent nearly in half. Coughs wracked his grandmother’s body, wet and choking.

Orion rushed to her side. “Gran!”

She braced herself against the table and shook her head as if to say she was fine, but she couldn’t speak and the coughing wouldn’t stop. Orion didn’t know what he should do. His shock had frozen his ability to think, so his body took over. His arm went around her shoulders and he began to lead her towards her room. Gran’s complete lack of resistance scared him worse than anything, the way her heaving body leaned into his for support. Half-assisting, half-carrying her, Orion was able to get his grandmother propped up in bed. There was a small pitcher of water on her bedside table. He poured her a glass and pressed it into her hands, watched her lift it to her lips and slowly, slowly drink it down to calm her system.

He was pulling the blanket up and around her nearly to her chin – the feather-soft fabric she’d made herself and dyed in beautiful, swirling shades of blue – when she finally opened her eyes again. “Dear boy. Don’t look so worried over me.”

“Gran? Please, you need the medicine.” Don’t forget the medicine.

“Nonsense,” she muttered hoarsely. “I’ll get over this bout in a day or two, medicine or no medicine. I’m just tired.”

“What can I do then?”

She cupped his face with her hand; her skin was hot and dry like the knot in his chest. “Nothing. Just stay with me, Orion. I need my boy here.”

Orion sat outside that night, unable to sleep. He needed the fresh air more than he needed the rest. His hands were planted against the earth, his wings were pressed against the walls of home just beneath Gran’s bedroom window, and his eyes were closed so that he could be sure to listen for the slightest sound from inside. His panic hadn’t left him; it was still there, restless and ready to surface again the moment he heard another cough.

Gran had never had an attack like that before. It wouldn’t have left her weak and bedridden for the rest of the day – it might not have happened at all – if he had brought her the medicine. Crillup had said she wouldn’t have become so weak if she hadn’t always pushed herself to take care of Orion. What if that was true? Gran had raised him, taught him, provided for him. What had Orion ever done for her except let her money get stolen? And now she was sick and only getting worse. Just like his parents. There was no way he could have been expected to help them. But he needed Gran and he needed to help her.

I could go work for Hutchson at Stonebrook. I could take care of myself so she won’t have to worry or work so hard. He could be a man. Orion squared his shoulders and almost stood up, but instead he pulled his knees to his chest and let the sound of Gran’s quiet breathing steady his own. She had told him not to leave her. He had already disobeyed her by continuing to pay for the medicine. How could he hurt her again by abandoning her at a time like this? But what good was he to her if he stayed? What if the only way he could truly be a good son was by not following her instructions? Orion’s stomach churned. His fists clenched the blades of grass that were smooth yet sharp against his palms. “You should be allowed to make your own decision,” she’d told him. “You must think this through for yourself.”

How do I do that?

Gran’s room was blanketed in pre-dawn shadow when Orion eased his way round her door. He put the note beside the water pitcher; clumsy words on a scrap of parchment that completely failed to voice last night’s storm of emotions that had left him this morning feeling battered yet strangely calm. I’ve taken time to think it over for myself. I love you. Will send money and medicine from Stonebrook.

Orion tightened the strap of his satchel and turned to leave the bedroom, but his gaze caught on her shadowed face. It was wrinkled and tanned. Restful and unaware. Overwhelmed by the sight, he bent over and pressed his lips against her forehead. Orion didn’t know if the gesture marked him as manly or childish; he only knew that as he walked from the room his heart was choking his throat.

The front door of the house closed behind him with that familiar clack of its latch. The sky to the east was already budding with color as Orion again set off down the path. By the time the sun rose on the village he would already be there, ready to leave his boyhood world behind.