Chapter Six: The Farewell

 

Rodriguez sat back in his chair. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and shadows cast by a flickering candle played across his face. He did not say anything for several minutes.

Kyosti remained silent as well. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t told Rodriguez where he was going, only that the queen was sending him south.

“Winter is coming, and they say it’ll be a bad one,” Rodriguez said finally. “It’s not safe down south.”

Kyosti shrugged and stood. They were crowded in his tiny chambers by the docks, containing only a bed squashed in one corner, a bucket, a chest, and a table with two chairs. Oh, and the plants. Kyosti’s pay from the military wasn’t large, but he used a good portion of it every month buying fertilizer for the various plants around his room and extra fresh water for them to drink. The one window and door were both open to the night breeze. The heavy smell of brine and fish flowed from the sea, which was barely two streets away. Raucous laughter from the bar next door contrasted sharply with the somber air in Kyosti’s quarters.

“You don’t have to tell me what it’s like down south,” Kyosti pointed out, pouring himself another drink from the pitcher on the chest. “I grew up there.”

He took a seat again and took a long drink. Rodriguez watched him. “Are the rumors true?” he asked suddenly.

Kyosti didn’t look at him. He didn’t have to ask what Rodriguez was referring to. “Yes, it’s true, so stop worrying so much.”

Rodriguez huffed. “Stop worrying? You can still freeze to death. Will they let you back into the legion when you come back?”

Kyosti shrugged again, leaning back in his chair to check on an orchid that he had painstakingly grown from a seed. “Nobody has said, and since I’m leaving tomorrow morning, I don’t suppose I’ll get to ask.”

He closed his eyes. “I . . . never thought I would have to go south again. Honestly, I hoped I would never have to leave Chithoobra again. This life here, with the legion, has just been perfect for me.”

Rodriguez leaned forward. “What’s wrong with the south? You’re always saying that you can’t ever go back, but why? What happened there?”

Kyosti shook his head and stood up. Northerners just never understood, no matter how many times he tried to explain. “There’s nothing there for me, Roddy. Nothing but the ghosts of the dead.”

Rodriguez raised a hand, hesitated, and placed it awkwardly on Kyosti’s shoulder. Kyosti raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth.

“Don’t make jokes,” Rodriguez admonished quickly. “You’re leaving. Maybe forever. Plenty people go south towards the ice and don’t come back.”

“I can deal with the ice,” Kyosti said. “I was born on that ice. Born and bred in the Icefields. What I worry about--”

He stopped. Rodriguez waited, but Kyosti did not elaborate.

“Good luck, Romalidan.”

Kyosti shuddered. A phantom chill had raced through him, like the deep chills that used to chase into his bones on the cold winter nights on the ice. His mother used to tell him as she held him close near that fire that the shudders meant he was alive.

“Don’t wish me luck, Roddy,” he muttered. “Luck has done nothing for me.”

Softly, he started to cry. Rodriguez twisted in his seat, eyes wide. “Romalidan! What is it? Oh no, don’t cry….it’ll be alright.”

Awkwardly, he patted Kyosti’s arm again, but Kyosti grabbed his arm. “Roddy, you have to promise me---” He sobbed harder. “You have to promise me---to take care of my plants!”

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Photo by John Wiesenfeld on Unsplash