imagined fiction in my head. welcome to my fiction writing blog.

The warmth of the sun enveloped him in a warm embrace while the cool spring breeze beckoned Jorran to slip into sweet slumber. But with all the attempts of the soft chirping birds and the subdued rustling of the greening trees watching over him, the young man was barely able to lay still. Both excitement and fear warred inside of him. Desperate to make time pass, he had earlier set himself to do all the chores he could think of only to find very little to do as his mother and little sister had apparently done their utmost best to wake earlier and prove to him that he was not necessary in their lives. All the stores were full, wood was even chopped, and breakfast lay waiting for him even before the fog of sleep left his eyes.

Jorran grunted at the memory of an awkward breakfast. Delicious, but awkward. Oh, and, yes, memorable. Why? Well, with his mother’s swinging between fussing and crying, and the home-cooked meal he most likely will not see for a long time, according to his older brother Estin -

Jorran spurted upright, coughing, blowing his nose, and wiping stinging tears from his eyes and water on his numb face with his sleeve. He looked up to find the very picture of a younger version of his mother, with the same hazel eyes, dirty blond hair, and the stern, scolding frown they would get when he was in trouble.

“There would have been more,” she said, her big curls bouncing on her shoulders as she put her fists on her waist. A small wooden pail hung on her left wrist. Evidence of Jorran’s current discomfort. He stared at it with the promise of murder as if it would understand while Viyah continued, “but it’s kindof hard to carry the bigger pail up the ladder. Wouldn’t want to have had to fix a collapsed roof by myself after you’d left,” she gestured at the small, thatched roof at their feet. “It’s quite awkward wearing skirts. And I daresay, mother will have a fit if she saw me in trousers.”

Jorran watched as her sister kept chattering down the ladder. Something about the local boys and embarrassment. He shook his head in chagrin. With how her mouth ran, his sister had entirely neglected to explain his sodden hair. Likely, Estin had arrived. That, or he would have to endure another round of sobs and tears from his mother. Or both. He grimaced at the thought of no escape while he rose to take one last look at his surroundings.

In a small clearing surrounded by mostly evergreens and dotted by a few others starting to come alive again after a long winter, their small cottage home lay in a quiet and private place away from the nearby village. Warsholl was a small village their mom liked to avoid unless necessary because of its inhabitants’ chatty tendencies. With not much else going on in a place far from the rest of civilization, a single mother with three children was a favorite on most villagers’ lips. Jorran frowned at the thought of leaving his mother and sister to the mercy of those gossips, but by herself, Carialla had raised three children with her sanity intact. Whenever her children had commented about people’s whispers, she just shrugged them off as unimportant and reminded them that all they needed was each other.

Jorran climbed down the ladder and thought he could not stay even if he wanted to. He was of age and the dark mountains looming in the north were calling.

“Jorry!” Jorran was crushed by his older brother’s larger form and the less massive of the two struggled to catch his breath. Estin laughed heartily has he held his brother at arms length, inspecting his brother’s growth since he had last seen him. “Well, you’ll do for now.” He grinned as he slapped his brother’s back and chuckled some more when Jorran had to catch his balance. Estin was five years older than Jorran and had always been protective of him for some reason. Sometimes it seemed more than he was protective of even their mother or Viyah. Though, admittedly, when Viyah was provoked, her temper and indignation could cow a king. “Well, mother, Viyah,” he turned to the two sitting by the hearth. His mother sobbing in Viyah’s arms, while Viyah looked to be losing her patience. “We’d best be on our way. It was a miracle my Captain did not reject my request to travel. I would not chance another.”

Carialla stood up suddenly, forcing muttered oaths out of Viyah as she tried to regain her balance. “Estin, you must stay the night! It’s been years since I’ve even seen you!” She attempted to pull Estin further into the house, but the boy she knew had grown up. She could not move him as she used to with his added height and bulk since he left.

Estin sighed, “mother, I had planned to arrive days sooner so that I may surprise you and spend time with you, but as it is, the weather up north has not given up the cold and travel was slow. I expect the weather to have changed very little. If we leave now, I would still be yelled at for my lateness, but if I leave any later I would probably face more serious punishment.”

Carialla looked like she would throw another crying fit, and Viyah who stood beside her looked like she would also throw her own albeit for a different reason. But by some miracle, both did neither. “Mother,” Viyah steeled herself, “you should know by now how things are…” She got a disapproving frown in return, but otherwise no protest.

The two brothers were able to leave soon after hugs, kisses, and farewells. Viyah had given both brothers fierce hugs and promises of their well-being without them. Their mother, in turn, behaved better than she had at first. The whole ordeal seemed to go by in a blur and suddenly Jorran was on his horse beside his brother’s, looking back at the small cottage in the distance. As they entered the trees, their home disappeared along with the clearing.

“Well,” Jorran was first to speak. His brother seemed to be in a dark mood since they left, so he felt the need to bring more light into their travel. “That went better than I feared.” He smiled lopsidedly. “I thought she would have started crying again and you would have given in to one night’s stay.”

Estin turned to him, frowning. “Mother will be fine as she has always been. Viyah is headstrong. They will fare well enough without a man in the house.” He looked up at the forest canopy, the birds singing songs to each other, cheerful that spring had arrived. The horses plodding underneath them seemed to follow along with their music for a second. When he looked back down, Estin’s exhausted and haunted look gave Jorran chills. Certainly, this was not the boy that left them years ago, but this was also not the man that greeted him only moments ago. He seemed out of place in the forest where creatures were celebrating the coming of spring.

“Jorran,” he said, looking at his brother with a grave expression, “it is customary to take weapons away from volunteers when they are escorted for service as oftentimes they are far from being volunteers. But travel has not only been slow but dangerous. Here,” he unbuckled his own short blade from his waist and handed it to Jorran. “I had hoped to teach you in its use but time has not been on our side.”

Jorran unsheathed the blade. It was straight and plain, but it was heavy and solid in his hands and his brother had not been lax in its care nor had it been neglected of use. “Tell me,” he said simply, his grin had vanished at his brother’s change in demeanor.

Estin sighed wearily. “To say the least, winter has been long and it grows longer and colder each year and each year, the hungry and desperate grow in numbers. The crown has been keeping its attention to itself, or so I heard, and we are left to fend for ourselves among the people.”

Jorran frowned as he buckled the sword and sheath to his belt. “We’ve known this for a time, Estin. Before spring, the Constables announced curfew and suggested women not travel alone.”

Estin shook his head. “No, that is the least of our troubles. Especially up north, something strange is happening. Further up north, even the birds choose not to sing. Nor do the Sleepers lay quietly in slumber as they should once the cold has settled.” He was looking ahead towards their destination. “Jorran,” he looked back at his brother once more. “Do you know why were are called the Watch? We are not the King’s Soldiers, nor are we the Constables. We were not meant to fight enemies invading the King’s lands, nor are we meant to keep the peace between his people. Until recently, we had weapons mainly to catch our meal for the day and we interacted with the people only to help those who have lost their way. We are called the Watch precisely because that was what we were meant to do – to watch and to report. But now… Now we are different.”