Ache

It took a while for Jorlin to remember why her heart ached when she awoke the following morning. It felt like she spent an hour lying numbly in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The dull roar of chatter coming from the floor below told her that it was nearly noon. Her working shift was drawing near, so she groggily sat up and then made herself presentable.

“Ready to take over?” her father asked when she walked up to him as he poured drinks for the soldiers and farmers.

“I need to go talk to Asher’s mother.” Her voice sounded like a croak.

“Huh?” her father asked, raising his eyebrows and leaning closer.

“I… I need to take care of something first,” she replied a little louder.

“How long?”

“An hour,” she answered, desperate to go outside and get some fresh air before she had to do what she was dreading.

“Alright,” he said, sliding a mug over the counter.

Jorlin trudged over to the door and went outside. It was cold for an autumn day, but she didn’t notice the chill in the air as she took off at a jog towards the rest of town. A few farmers passed by, but she kept her gaze on the path. In order to catch her breath, Jorlin slowed to a walk for the last stretch of the half mile separating her house from Auld Town. Asher’s old house seemed intimidating as she sluggishly strolled up to the door. His mother would be home; in fact she could hear her footsteps coming from inside. His house smelled like him, and yet again she felt haunted by the absence of his presence. It took an unusual amount of strength for her to knock on the door. When his mother swung the door open, Jorlin could see heavy bags under her eyes. His mother’s blond hair, streaked with gray, was pulled up into a tight bun, and stray strands fell over her troubled face. Her expression brightened when she saw who was standing on the threshold.

“Ah, Jorlin. Good morning isn’t it?” she said, wiping the flour off her hands on the apron tied around her dress.

Jorlin struggled to say something, but no words came out. She looked at the ground and wrung her hands.

“What’s wrong?” his mother asked tenderly. She paused a moment before asking, “Is this about my son?”

Jorlin looked up, biting her lip so the tears wouldn’t return. She simply nodded, then answered, “Yes,” quietly.

“What happened?” When Jorlin didn’t answer, she pleaded, “Great God what happened?”

“I… Yesterday, when I was walking home with him from the corn field, a patrol showed up and-…”

“No…” her small face twisted and she sniffed. “No.”

Jorlin finished, “And they took him away for the draft. He-…” Her voice caught. “He refused to lie to them about… his age.”

His mother buried her face in her hands and wailed. Jorlin never would have expected such a sound to come out of her. She turned her face away in shame of revealing the news to her.

“I’m sorry,” the small lady choked. “Just...”

She retreated back into the house and let the door slam shut in Jorlin’s face. She stepped away, and realized that a tear was running down her cheek. Angry at herself, she wiped it off her face and started back home, still feeling disoriented. What was she to do now? Nothing made sense.

After numbly going back to the tavern, she took over the bar for her father and used her pent-up rage to scour the countertops. The work helped to take her mind off of the bitterness festering in her heart. It was easy enough for her to keep any thoughts from entering her brain as she methodically got through the day.

It was night. The wind carried the faint scent of pine needles and crushed soil. In the forest that bordered the village, Jorlin sat on the moss-covered log in the small clearing in the woods where she and Asher had sparred the other day, the sharp shhing of the whetstone gliding over the naked blade that lay on her lap. This was her favorite spot in the forest.

The corners of her mouth curled slightly as she remembered Asher teaching her about fighting. Her smile faded quickly.

Shhhing. The whetstone felt rough and cool in her hand as it slid over the edges of the blade. She ran her thumb along the edge of the metal; crimson blood beaded on her thumb. She laid the stone on the ground nearby, and sheathed the sword, letting it fall onto the forest floor next to the log she was sitting on. The sword was the one she and Asher shared; they kept it hidden inside the log when they weren’t practicing with it.

A cold, gentle breeze rattled the dying leaves and gave Jorlin gooseflesh on her arms. For a long while, she stared at the jagged patches of moonlight, broken by the branches of the forest which fell on the ground like shards of glass. She didn’t feel right. The thought of spending the rest of her life like this made her eyes burn.

Am I going mad? she thought wearily, rubbing her face with her hands, blocking out the world for a few seconds.

Jorlin felt that if she didn’t somehow find Asher again, she might actually go mad, but it would be near to impossible to rescue him. But if somehow she could, then maybe it would be

worth the cost. Since she was even more tired than usual, Jorlin stood up wearily, her body feeling drained. She drowsily stood up and stashed the sword and whetstone in the hollow of the log, then slowly made her way to the edge of the woods, leaves and twigs crunching and snapping under her sore feet.

With her arms hanging loosely by her sides, Jorlin exited the forest and came upon the faded path that led to her house. She stared at the ground as she walked and tried her best to keep her mind emotionless. It was surprising to see a light up ahead, considering how late it was. When she looked up, she saw a hooded figure holding a lantern approaching from the opposite direction. She could tell it was a man, and as he drew closer she could see that he had a quiver and bow slung over his shoulder. He wore big boots and a leather hunting jacket. Jorlin knew that jacket; it belonged to a tavern frequent named Tholan. She had known him since they were children, and she knew that he was a hunter and trapper who lived near the center of town. He sold the meat and hides of the animals he trapped for a living.

“Jorlin, what ho!” he called out when he got close enough for the light of the lantern to reach her face.

All of her previous feelings were swept away, and she responded, “Tholan, it’s been awhile!”

They both stopped in the road, and Tholan took off his hood, the former shadows obscuring his face fleeing. He had a bit above shoulder length black hair and stubble along his jaw.

“Well, it’s good to see you alive and well,” he remarked.

She tried to smile, but failed miserably. A moment of quiet followed, and he shifted his weight to his other foot awkwardly.

“I’m guessing you heard about Asher,” Jorlin observed, noting the absence of Tholan’s ever-present half-smile.

He nodded, then muttered, “Aye. He’s more honorable than I am.”

“Don’t say that,” Jorlin said.

“I’m twenty-four. I’ve avoided Slater ever since this war started, which makes me even more of a coward,” he sighed, his mouth a hard line.

“Slater?” she asked.

“He’s the general that usually patrols around here. He’s the one that took Asher,” Tholan answered absentmindedly.

Slater, her mind echoed. Even his name sounded revolting.

“How have you been?” Tholan asked. After a pause, he added, “How have you really been?”

Jorlin shrugged, dropping her eyes. “I’ll live,” she muttered. When she looked back up at him he appeared to be concerned. Eager for a change of subject, she asked, “Why haven’t I seen you at the tavern lately?”

He scratched at his obscurely shaped nose and answered, “I’ve been busy hunting. I want to earn enough now so I can get by in the winter.”

“Well, you should stop by. It’s not like I have anything to do, and it’s nice to have something to keep my mind off things.”

He gave a slight smile, his crystal blue eyes squinting faintly. “Alright.” After a pause, he said, “I should walk you home,” and turned so he was facing the same direction as she.

Jorlin normally would have protested, but she was too tired to argue, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. She crossed her arms as a frosty wind picked up and blew across the path, making her shiver. Tholan took no notice of the sudden chill; she could tell by his glazed eyes that his mind was elsewhere.

“Why are you out this late?” she asked suddenly.

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied, his voice emotionless.

“I asked you first.”

He shrugged. “Can’t sleep. Plus patrols aren’t as frequent at night. Your turn.”

“I can’t sleep either,” she answered.

They were a bit over halfway to her house when Tholan said, “Look, if you ever need anything, anything at all, just ask me, okay?”

“I can take care of myself well enough,” Jorlin replied a bit harsher than she intended.

“I’ve taken it upon myself to look after you, since Asher’s gone,” he insisted.

“I don’t need looking after. I never have. You have enough things to worry about.”
Tholan gave an exasperated sigh. “Just remember what I said if you ever need anything.”

“Okay,” she replied dryly.

They said nothing for the rest of the way to the tavern, and when they stopped before the door Jorlin said, “Farewell.”

He bowed his head slightly, then took off at a trot for the cover of the woods, and disappeared into the shadows.

Jorlin silently crept up the stairs after going inside, mindful not to wake her parents. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit her pillow.