Chapter 8 Faron #2
He froze. There, by the door, a familiar young man stood nervously scanning the commons. Faron set his jaw and waved goodbye, not bothering to finish his sentence. He crossed the room, careful to keep his expression perfectly neutral. The young man, however, beamed with delight.
“Faron!”
“What are you doing here, Bartholomew?” he asked.
“Bart,” he replied. “Bart’s fine, and I’m here to find you.”
Faron put his hand on the young man’s shoulder as if the two were good friends and then guided him to the door.
A snap of his fingers, and Iris followed, careful to keep at his heels.
She’d learned quickly that the closer she kept to Faron inside human towns, the less likely anyone would accost her.
Once outside, Faron led Bart around the corner, away from the entrance, so they could talk in private. The day was late, the stars starting to peek out from behind the blue-black curtain. He tried to keep his frustration in check. This conversation, he knew exactly where it was headed.
“You’re far from home,” he said once they were alone. “Why?”
Bart crossed his arms, suddenly nervous. He must have anticipated a much different reaction to his arrival.
“I came after you because… because you did something to my pa, didn’t you?”
Faron debated lying. He was good at it, when necessary, even if he disliked the habit.
“I did a good deed,” he said, deciding Bart’s mind was already made up and arguing would accomplish nothing. Better to appeal to his sense of honor. “And I would appreciate it if you told no one and let me continue with my life.”
Bart nodded, his mouth twitching and twisting between worry and a youthful grin.
“Of course,” he said. “Right. I will. But I thought… I just thought I should find you and thank you. It didn’t seem right, you stealing off like a thief. Like you did something wrong.”
Faron clasped the young man’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I appreciate it,” he said. He turned for the tavern entrance. “Now return home, before your family worries for you.”
“Actually… I’m not going back home.”
Faron froze.
Don’t get involved. Leave it be, Faron. Leave it be.
Except he had to know, and of course he would get involved if he must. Bart was young and idealistic, which meant he was also capable of being very, very stupid.
“Why is that?” he asked, turning back around.
Bart stood up taller and puffed out his chest.
“I’m going to join Princess Isabelle’s army.”
Yup. Very, very stupid.
“War may be coming, but that doesn’t mean you should seek it out,” he said. “It’s a hard business, and even those who survive in the flesh often die in the heart and mind.”
Bart’s confusion was plainly evident.
“I don’t… I thought you’d support me. I thought you were already with her.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
Bart’s face flushed. “What you did to Pa, that was a miracle from Leliel. And they say Princess Isabelle performs miracles, too.”
Faron fought down a groan. A connection he’d not anticipated, but one that made sense in hindsight. The people did not know of radiance. They knew only the goddess, and lately, the blasphemous Church of Stars.
“Listen to me, and listen well,” he said, putting his hands on Bart’s shoulders.
He let a bit of radiance shine in his eyes, just a hint of starlight within the silver.
“Return home. Return to your family. When war comes, lie low, and avoid recruiters. Live your lives. You need not be swept up into the bloody river that is soon to flood Kaus. Whatever riches and glory you think you’d earn, know that instead you would suffer marches, exhaustion, hunger, lice, chills, untended fevers, and the rot of flesh. Do you understand me, Bart?”
The young man’s posture slumped. Though he tried to hide it, his lips quivered from barely held back tears.
“Will you avoid this war, too?” he asked. “Will you also go into hiding?”
Faron hugged the young man, and he again decided the truth would fare better than a lie.
“I shall do what I must, as I always have throughout my life. Farewell, Bartholomew.”
He left him there and returned inside to the tavern keeper.
“I must sadly travel on,” Faron told him. “Do not fret. The stars will keep me good company.”
The tavern keeper reached underneath a counter for where he stored the paid coin, but Faron waved him off.
“Keep it,” he said. “It was worth it for the meal alone.”
When Faron exited, he saw no sign of Bart.
He sighed with relief. Hopefully that meant the young man was headed home.
War was coming, and thousands of lives would be lost. Faron held no illusions as to that.
But the young man’s family were poor folk on the edges of the world, forgotten and ignored by lords, kings, and queens.
They need not bleed for those who barely knew they existed.
At least, that’s what Faron told himself to ease the guilt growing in his breast.
War. Yet again, he would engulf Kaus in war.
Faron trudged east, following the road through Arbertown.
At its end, he spotted a squat little structure, newly built compared to the surrounding homes.
The light of dozens of candles shone through its windows.
A middle-aged man with graying hair stood before its open door.
Yellow and black stripes crossed his shirt, and he held a familiar staff, a jar of insects swinging from its top.
The fireflies within lit up as brightly as the candles.
“Pleasant nights, stranger,” the shepherd called out to Faron. “Would you be willing to sit for a while and listen to the wisdom of our Father? Perhaps there are burdens within you to cast aside, or wounds that my prayers may relieve you of?”
Faron’s returned grin was all teeth.
“Not tonight,” he said. He continued onward, past the end of the road to the rolling green beyond. The shepherd realized his destination and called out.
“Wait, stranger, that way lie the faerie hills. It isn’t safe.”
“Nowhere ever is,” Faron called back, and continued onward, Iris bounding at his side.