White clouds rolled along the afternoon sky. Silver wisps floated freely, changing every shape and size, while larger billows moved at their own leisure. Young Tristan lied on the cold grass, the morning dew still clinging to the blades. His bright blue eyes followed the white forms, waiting for them to transform; maybe he would see a fierce lion shaking its wild mane in the sky, or perhaps a wild bear letting out a mighty roar. With his hands clasped behind his head, he rocked his feet side to side in anticipation.
This was how he spent most days, looking to the sky for inspiration. His older brothers were off playing without him, as they often did. Though only three and four years younger than the two, they treated him as if he were a spoiled toddler. They felt he did not put in his fair share of the work on the family farm and resented that their mother was quick to defend him. Tristan was only nine years old, still getting the feel of the labors that come with keeping up a farm. He didn’t think it was fair that they consistently teamed up against him, though he knew it came from a place of frustration and tried his best to ignore them.
But none of that mattered today. It was Saturday and he was free to relax in the sun, even if it was on his own. Of course, he could be working on projects, such as fixing the rocking chair he had promised his mother he would repair over a month ago. The left side rail was beginning to splinter, making it unsafe to sit on anymore. Tristan had already carved out a replacement rail, but had yet to actually replace it, much to his mother’s discontent. However, the clouds were out in full bloom today, and they were the one thing that never failed to make him happy. A tortoise had appeared from the dense mass of white, stepping along the blue sky and bringing a toothy smile to Tristan’s face.
Rustling footsteps interrupted his daydreaming. Tristan sat up to find his eldest brother, Sacha, walking up to him. He called to him, waving him over like he had a secret to tell him. Tristan was hesitant, but followed his older brother anyway. Sacha led him to the old shack that sat on the edge of the farm. Nikolai, the middle child, was waiting by the doorway of the shack. That old shack had been there for generations, supposedly built by Tristan’s great-great-grandfather. It opened to a wooden staircase that led to an underground room where his ancestors lived before his late grandfather built the house they live in now. The underground room had since been abandoned, used only for storage. But Tristan never went down there; it was darker than night and he swears he could hear things moving. It terrified him.
Nikolai waved him closer with a wicked grin on his face. Tristan had a sense of dread come over him and considered fleeing, but Sacha pressed his fist against his back, pushing him forward.
“There’s a golden rabbit, come look!” said Nikolai. Tristan didn’t trust him, what would a rabbit be doing in that creepy old shed, but Sacha continued to nudge him forward until he stood in the open doorway. His eyes opened up wide, watching the staircase fade into the black of the underground, immediately thinking up the worst of his nightmares crawling around down there. Tristan took a step back, but his brothers grabbed hold of him and tossed him into the shed, where he stumbled down the old rickety staircase and into the void. Sacha and Nikolai slammed the heavy wooden door shut and locked it in place from the outside. Tristen scampered up the steps and banged on the old wooden door, screaming and pleading to his brothers to let him out, but the two laughed as they headed off. With all hope abandoned, Tristan crawled into a ball on the top step and buried his face between his knees. Tears fought their way out of his tightly shut lids, his only defense against the things that lingered in that dark place.
He was left in there for six hours before Nikolai would let him out. The heavy door creaked open as the locking mechanism was loosened. With all his strength faded, Tristan gently pushed the door open to find no one on the other side. The bright blue sky had turned a deeper blue as the sun made its way down. Tristan returned home to find his brothers joking around at the dinner table. His father, Evgeni, sat at the head of the table in silence, having returned from another long day at work. His mother called Tristan to sit down and eat as she served them small helpings of steamed potatoes and green beans. He sat down, not having the strength to tell his mother what his brothers had done. He watched them, laughing and unbothered.
“This is it?” asked Sacha, poking at his food.
“It’s all we have right now. Eat.” their mother, Irina, said. Sacha then looked at his father’s plate, which held only slightly more food than the rest of them.
“Dad should have more.” he argued. His father didn’t react. He simply sat there with his head hung low, defeated from his labor. The man at the end of the table was a stranger compared to the father that used to play with him years ago.
“Enough.” said his mother.
“Why should he have any?” said Nikolai, glaring over at Tristan. “It’s not like he does anything.”
Tristan furrowed his brow as his brothers bad-mouthed him until their father finally spoke.
“Shut up and eat your food.” His command came out as a whisper, but effective nonetheless. He picked up his fork and tiredly began eating his portion. The older brothers followed suit but continued to stare daggers at their younger brother. Tristan tried to ignore them, but they had gotten to him. He felt guilty as he picked at his food in silence.
After dinner, the boys went off to their rooms, preparing themselves for bed. Evgeni washed his plate while Irina stored the clean ones away. They did this in silence, Irina watching her husband’s frail movements.
“I can prepare less for myself-“ she started, but he cut her off by holding up his hand. “The boys are right, Evgeni. You need to eat, I don’t need much anyway.”
Evgeni finished cleaning the plate and placed his hands against the sink. His head dropped lower before letting out a faint grumble.
“They’ll be here in the morning.”
Irina looked at the creases forming on her tired husband’s face. There had to be another way, they just haven’t figured it out. She left him in the kitchen alone and went to bed.
The next morning, Tristan woke up to a quiet house. His parents were most likely sleeping in, and his brothers were always the first ones out of the house on their days off. He hated to ponder on what they said the night before, but he found himself thinking about his role in the house. He got out of bed and found his mother’s old rocking chair in one of the empty rooms. The rail he had carved sat next to it, right where he left it weeks ago. He felt he needed to do something that would validate his presence there, and so he got to work. He carefully positioned the chair on its side to remove the damaged rail. The replacement rail still needed some work, and so he got to carving out notches for the rail to attach properly. Tristan was completely focused on his work, undistracted by anything happening outside of that room. He managed to snap the new rail on and sat the chair upright again. Carefully, he tested the chair, sitting on it slowly until all of his weight was on it. He began to rock the chair back and forth, and a great feeling of accomplishment flushed over him. He stood up off the chair and knelt down to inspect his work once more when Sacha stepped into the doorway and knocked firmly on the door.
“They want you outside.” he said, emotionless.
“Look!” said Tristan, demonstrating the newly repaired chair with a big smile on his face. “I fixed it.”
Sacha did not respond. The look on his face was different, as if he pitied him. Tristan got up and followed him outside where his parents stood, along with Nikolai and a huddle of strange men. His father beckoned him forward with a stern hand. Tristan slowly made his way to him, where he met a tall man dressed in exquisite purple garments. Behind him stood three guardsmen, armed with longswords.
“This is the one?” asked the strange man, his voice like a hiss. Evgeni nodded and nudged his son forward, just like Sacha did. The man inspected his arms, hair, teeth, like livestock. He then nodded to one of the guards, who placed a small sack into Evgeni’s hand. It rattled as it met his palm, coins of silver cradled in soft velvet cloth and tied with golden string. One of the other guards grabbed Tristan by the arm and pulled at him to come with them. Tristan could hardly believe this was happening. He turned to his parents and cried out for them, but they had already started walking back into the house. Tristan wailed for his mother, trying to fight loose from the man. His mother’s head motioned to turn around, but was stopped by his father’s hand. Tristan watched them enter the house one by one, with Sacha being the last. Their eyes met, he had the same look on his face as he had before; pity. He closed the door behind him.
The guard lifted the boy into the carriage, and they all climbed in after him. The guard continued to restrain Tristan until the man in purple garments knocked his knuckles against the top of his head.
“Enough! We won’t have you crying out in the fields.” he ordered. He then tapped the side of the carriage and the horses began to pull them off. Tristan watched as his home grew smaller in the distance, a home he would never see again.
Comments (0)
See all