Author's Preface
Solana: A bit of background before we go back to Mr. Lightfoot. This story came to my attention when an old journal from an ancestor of mine resurfaced. While it was nearly two thousand years ago, in the interest of full transparency it’s important for me to note that I am a distant descendant of Reggius Sarfiel whom you will be meeting in this episode.
Merkra: She thinks she needs to make a distinction so you don’t think we sugarcoated anything with him. He might be your great-great-great-gramps or whatever, but we don’t have any connection to the guy outside your genes.
Solana: Still, this is a professional show. I want to make sure everything is out in the open. Go ahead with Fletcher.
Merkra: Sure. Like my beautiful, paragon of integrity, wife was saying, Fletcher Sterling Lightfoot hits the road on a trip to visit an old friend. Now I’ve had a lot of friends and there have not been a lot of them that I’ve had this kind of tension with. You know that romantic tension where you are moments from yelling at them and then ripping their clothes off?
It was a three-day ride from Raven’s Crest to Kelenek. Crossing the threshold of the little town felt like riding into a painting. Rolling hills in the background dotted with snow-dusted conifers, signs hung over doors indicating they were shops but didn’t make it obvious exactly what was sold in them, and the scent of bread sweetened the crisp winter air.
Yet the small town charm rang hollow. The streets were too quiet, even for a town this size. The laughter in the schoolyard felt distant and thin. Fletcher couldn’t shake the sense the place was holding its breath.
“Excuse me.” Fletcher raised a hand as he approached a young woman outside what he assumed was a bakery judging by the smell. “I’m looking for an old friend of mine, Reggius Sarfiel. Do you know where I can find him?”
The smile on her face faded, and she looked down at the ground. “Doctor Sarfiel is just up the road. House with the second-story balcony.” The color had drained from her face as she looked back up at him.
“Are you alright, miss?” He wasn’t expecting to be recognized out this far, but that was certainly not the reaction he’d grown accustom to when speaking with people.
“Yes, just…” She paused a bit too long for his liking. “Give the good doctor my best, please,” she stammered before hurrying back into the building.
As odd as the interaction had been, the house she’d mentioned was blatantly obvious. He hitched his horse on a crossbeam of the white picket fence before stepping through the gate. On either side of the footpath, empty planters held the whisper of snowfall from previous days. Where he’d expected eons old carvings on the handrails leading up the steps to the oak front door, he found two massive hog heads mounted to the walls on either side.
His knuckles rapped against the door as memory of their first meeting flooded back to him. A young, lecherous Halfling with a tendency to bite off more than he could chew seven ales in took a chance and flirted with a gorgeous doctor from across the sea. The fact that Reggius showed him the slightest interest was a miracle. He was brilliant. Magnetic. Beautiful.
It took an uncomfortably long time for the door to creak open, and when it did, the smell hit him first. Fletcher’s heart sank. Reggius Sarfiel, the brilliant Elf he’d last seen radiant with life and laughter, stood shrunken in his doorway. His sharp features hollowed, and once glistening silver hair dulled to ash. The years hadn’t just passed; they’d whittled the man to the bone.
“Fletcher?” His voice cracked with wear, but his smile was wide and bright, almost boyish.
“It’s wonderful to see you, old friend.” Fletch stepped up, ignoring the stench, and embraced him. Bony arms locked around his shoulders with surprising strength.
“Praise the Phoenix,” Reggius whispered, squeezing tight. “Its wonderful to see you.”
“You too, Reg.” Fletcher pulled back, scanning him with worry. “Look at the state of you. Invite me in. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
The home had the bones of a place once cared for by someone with a meticulous hand. Though much like his friend, time and neglect had thrown a veil over it. Lace curtains with frayed edges and moth-eaten holes framed windows with a thin film of oil and dirt. Wood furniture, purposely placed to make your flow naturally through the house, had tears in the cushions and hadn’t seen polish in Gods only knew how long.
“Where are your children, Reg?” Fletcher asked after plopping the older man onto his toilet and coming back with a basin of water. “Somebody should be out here helping take care of you.”
“I don’t need minding.” Reggius scoffed as he tried and failed to snatch the cloth from Fletch’s hand. “I’m perfectly capable.”
Fletcher gave him a flat look, arching his eyebrow slightly, before reaching up to scrub at his face. Once he’d successfully stripped the man, set his clothing aside to be burnt at a later date, and scrubbed him down, the echo of the man he’d known could finally be seen.
Reggius was late in life, sure, but an Elf didn’t age this drastically in such a short amount of time for no reason. Perhaps it was a little narcissistic to think, but the stress of their affair was the likely culprit. A better man would have been ashamed of that, but in those months they’d shared he’d never been so seen or accepted by anyone. Losing that comfort left a void in Fletcher that he’d spend the rest of his life trying to fill.
“These people are working you ragged,” Fletcher whispered as he scrubbed behind his ears.
“Oh, I’m just getting old.” Reggius grunted and cracked open one of his eyes to look him over. “Time isn’t as friendly to all of us as it seems it has been to you.”
Fletcher rolled his eyes and motioned for him to stand. “Turn around. Let me get your back, then I’m gonna make you some food. Put some meat on your bones.”
After scrubbing the man down and spritzing him with a little perfume from his bag, Reggius went upstairs to change and Fletcher to the kitchen to start some food.
Fletcher was not a superb cook. If he were honest, he wasn’t even adequate. He did remember as a child pulling a chair up to an old wood stove to help his mother. The pantry was slim, but he was able to pull together a couple of potatoes, cured pork, garlic, flour, and various seasonings. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a stool being pulled back from the island in the kitchen and smiled brightly.
“There he is.” Fletcher wiped his hand on his trousers as he turned to take a better look at him. Washed and in a fresh linen shirt and pants, he almost looked like the Reggius Sarfiel of old. “You clean up well.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere here.” Though his dark freckled cheeks flushed a berry color.
“No? If I recall correctly, it’s worked before.” Fletcher winked at him and turned to finish preparing the stew. “Do you have any cream?”
“I believe so..” Reggius left the room, returning a minute later with a glass bottle and setting it beside him. Long, thin fingers slid along Fletcher’s shoulders as Reggius returned to his seat and made Fletcher’s stomach do a little flip.
“I don’t want to sound as if I don’t appreciate seeing you,” Reggius said, grunting as he eased himself onto the stool. “But what brought you to Etos?”
“I’ve been trying to get out here for years. Ever since your letter about Elliana.” He hung his head a moment. “I’m sure her time in the Fields was brief.”
Reggius didn’t reply. When Fletcher looked back, he was staring into his palms with a gentle tremor in his shoulders. He lowered the heat and moved over to his friend’s side, hopping up on the stool beside him to place a hand on his elbow, feeling perhaps for the first time in his life at a loss for words. Rather than open his mouth and say something stupid, he sat beside Reggius and did his best to comfort him.
The tears slow and finally stopped. Fletcher smiled up at him as Reggius sat his hand on his and squeezed gently. Misty blue eyes met his, and Fletch’s breath caught in his lungs. For a lingering moment, he almost leaned in. Almost erased the years between them by bringing his lips to his. Instead, he kneaded his forearm with his fingertips before turning back to the stove, leaving unspoken words hanging thick in the air.
“Oh, the little lady at the bakery down the road told me to send you her best. She seemed a little spooked.” Fletcher said as he started a roux.
“Yes, I imagine I’ll be getting a lot of that in the near future.” Reggius leaned forward on his elbows. “It’s been a rotten few days.”
“What happened?”
Reggius sighed and shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”
Fletcher walked over to the island again with two cups of coffee in hand, sliding one over to Reggius. “Got about an hour until the stew’s finished. If you’d prefer, I can badger you until you tell me, anyway.”
Reggius let out a breath like he was trying to laugh but couldn’t manage it. “You can be a real pain at times.”
Sipping his coffee, Fletcher gave a slight shrug. “The best of us tend to be. Out with it.”
Reggius took a sputtering breath and wrung his hands together. “We lost the Barron’s wife in childbirth a few days ago…”
“That’s terrible.” Fletch went to reach across the counter space but hesitated, bringing his hand back to the mug.
“That’s not all.” Reggius’ head fell forward to stare into his lap. “The child was Deviltouched.”
Fletcher grimaced at the term. Referring to the Gifted as Deviltouched was disgusting, but that was an argument for another time. “What does that matter?”
Reggius looked up at him, confused at first, then a sad realization crossed his face. “Of course you don’t know…” he muttered, shaking his head. “The crown came shortly after the birth to collect it. They do for all Deviltouched children.”
“It’s not an it, Reggius. It’s a child, and stop calling them Deviltouched. The term is disgusting.” Fletcher’s shoulders squared to him, face screwed up as if he’d been insulted. “What do you mean, collected?”
“The king commands we hand over all children born De…Gifted.” Reggius caught himself and dug his fingers through his hair.
Fletcher stared at him for a long time, mouth halfway open. “And people are just…okay with that?”
“No one is okay with it!” Reggius slammed a fist on the counter, eyes welling again.
The outburst caused Fletcher to jump, but despite the sudden scare, a piece of his heart soared at the resurgence. “Then why is it allowed to continue?” Fletcher knew he was poking an already agitated gorlock, but he judged it worth the risk.
The spark of the old, passionate Reggius faded as quickly as it flared. The elder Elf hung his head again. “There are fights that are worth losing, Fletcher…and there are fights that aren’t. There are no doubt injustices, but overall people in this country live good lives.”
“Good lives?” Fletcher laughed. He hadn’t meant to, but the thought was utterly ridiculous. “You’ve just described a fucking nightmare to me. I don’t even have children, and I’m outraged. What if it were your kids?” He stared at the shadow of the man he’d loved through narrowed eyes.
“I am old and tired.” Reggius looked up at him, tears leaving gentle tracks along his cheeks. “And even if I weren’t, I am a coward.”
“The Reggius Sarfiel I know isn’t a coward.”
“The Reggius Sarfiel you knew died years ago.” His reply was instant and heartbreaking. The fire had died, leaving only hollow ash in its place. “And giving that child away took the only piece of him that was left.”
Fletcher swallowed hard. His anger faltered as he watched the man breakdown before him. He seemed so small. So frail.
“I can’t do it anymore, Fletcher.” He whispered, wiping at still leaking eyes. “Every time I close my eyes I see it… There was so much blood.” He took in a sharp breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Then the girl. Those violet eyes stare at me each time I close my eyes. She’s haunting me.”
“Of course it is.” Fletcher reached out to try to take his hand, but hesitated. “You went through something traumatic. You need to stop trying to take care of everyone else and go talk to someone. A professional.”
“I’m the only doctor in this town.”
“Then leave. Go to Raven’s Crest. Go see your children. Go get help.” Fletcher said, voice turning to a plea.
“I can’t leave these people. They’re my family.” He turned his head to the window, looking out over the snowy road through distant eyes. “I’m not just a doctor to them. They come to me for advice, I helped raise their children, they helped me when Elliana passed.”
“These people can’t help you, Reg.” Fletcher finally closed the distance, stealing one of his hands. “You need someone to help you work through this.”
His eyes locked with Fletcher’s for a moment before looking down at their hands with an empty smile. “I need you.” He whispered.
“I’m not a doctor, Reg. I’m more than happy to talk to you, but you know as well as I do I’d likely just make it worse.” Fletcher squeezed his hand gently.
“No.” His smile faded, the knot in his throat bobbing. “You’re the only person that can help me. You can make me forget.”
Fletcher pulled his hand away as if he’d been handed something disgusting. He’d not been prepared for that request. He stared into the misty blue eyes, looking for something. Maybe regret for even suggesting such a thing. Nothing but fear and agony. Reggius was the only person alive on this earth he’d ever told about his gift, and now he was asking him to do something unthinkable.
“Reg, I understand.” Fletcher shook his head. “It must have been an awful thing to go through, but that’s not a good idea.”
“Than you do not understand!” Reggius snapped, face tightening. “I delivered a perfectly healthy baby girl at the expense of her mother’s life. Maybe she would have had a hard time as a kid, with the horns and all, but she would have been raised a noblewoman!”
“Horns?” Fletcher tried to cut in, but Reggius wasn’t done.
“I ripped a daughter from her father’s hands and handed her to a lunatic in bright yellow pants! He’s a good man. A fair and just man. And I have…” He choked on a sob, coughed a few times, then wiped at his eyes. When he finally looked back up at Fletcher, the frustration had left, swept up in a torrent of grief. “I have ruined that family.”
Fletch was silent for a moment. Every instinct screamed this was an awful idea. Reggius sitting in his house wasting away wasn’t going to help anyone, though. Maybe… maybe some memories were too heavy for one person to carry alone. Perhaps this once, forgetting would be kinder.
“There is no telling what else I could erase in there. If I mess something up, you could lose everything.”
“Please.” Reggius reached out this time, clutching his hand in a tight grip. “Help me…”
“There are other ways to heal, Reg.” Fletcher bit hard on the inside of his cheek.
The hand that gripped his shook in distress. “Look at m-me.” His voice broke as a sob caught in his through. “I am breaking. These people need me. If have to live with this any longer…”
Fletcher searched his face for a long time, memorizing the lines. He finally sighed deeply and stood, walking over to where he’d left his bag by the door to retrieve his lute.
“Tell me what you want to forget.” He said solemnly as he strummed.
“All of it.” Relief fell over Reggius’ face. “I can not have a trace of it in my mind, or it will eat away at me.”
Fletcher nodded. “You have to relive it one more time. Tell me the story.”
Reggius took a deep breath and leaned forward. The retelling was far more in depth than he needed, but it was important for Reggius to go through it again. Mostly for the magic, but he had a fleeting hope that it would change his mind. When the bloody tale was done, Reggius sat a leather-bound journal at his side.
“Have that filed somewhere? Perhaps someone will find a use for it someday.”
Fletcher nodded, still strumming at the strings. “Close your eyes, keep the story in your mind.” The flame sprite that accompanied him when he played emerged, invisible to all but himself. Rather than its normal energetic bouncing, it caressed the cheeks and throat of his friend. Fletch took a long slow breath, then sang.
“Give me the weight you can’t carry alone,
The blood on your hands, the horrors shown,
I’ll open my chest, let the memories through,
And stitch up the wounds they’ve carved into you,
I’ll be the grave where sorrows are laid,
The shadow that swallows the fear and the shame,
If peace has this price, let it tear me apart,
I’ll carry your ghosts in the cage of my heart”
He repeated the verse a couple times before he opened his eyes again, looking up at Reg sitting across from him. Still breathing, that was good. Fletcher stood, reaching out and setting his hand on his cheek.
“Reggius?” he whispered.
The vibrant eyes opened slowly and met his gaze. Peace. A wide but tired smile took residence between the wrinkles. It was a light that he hadn’t seen in a quarter century, and it made his heart soar.
“Hello, have we met?”