Beneath the Burning Stars

   Ewyn awoke suddenly as her bedroom door creaked. Thin, watery light leaked in through the window curtain. Who could be—?

   “Wyn?” Her brother padded to her bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders. 

   “Mmmhm?”

   “I’m going to the Cliffs to see the sunrise. I thought you might want to go with me.”

   “Too early,” she mumbled.

   “Don’t worry about it then.”

   As he turned to go, Ewyn propped herself up on one arm, blinking. “Wait.”

   Ras paused.

   “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.”

   When they got to the Cliffs, Ras sat, pulling Ewyn down beside him. She hugged her legs and stared at the sky. It had been too long since she had made time to watch the sun arrive. It had also been too long since she had shared her feelings with someone. She tried to gather the courage to speak.

   “It was me,” Ras said, not looking at her.

   Ewyn clenched her jaw. If he had just given her a minute, she might’ve— Never mind now.

   “Wyn, it was me, wasn’t it?”

   “Was what you?” she asked.

   “Dad had to sell the horses because I was gone, didn’t he?”

   She looked at him. “Look, what happened wasn’t your fault, so there’s no use in bringing it up.”

   “I just want to know.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” Ewyn said. “What’s done is done and there’s no changing it. The only thing that matters is now.”

   “You’re bitter about it, aren’t you?”

   How could he still read her so well? It was maddening. Apparently, two years hadn’t changed her as much as she thought it had.

   “Please, Wyn,” said Ras, “don’t bottle up your feelings. It isn’t healthy.”

   Why did everything he said always make her feel so contrary? She wasn’t bottling; she just dealt with things differently. “I’m healthy enough, thank you.”

   Ras shook his head but didn’t say anything.

   Ewyn felt terrible. Why couldn’t she control her tongue? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. She blinked back angry tears, the words refusing to leave her lips. Ras didn’t deserve to feel guilty for what had happened to them in his absence. Why did he insist on owning what wasn’t his to own?

   She rested her chin on her knees. Ras, she would say some time, We missed you terribly, and I can’t express how much having you back means to me. It was hard, losing you, but we made it—

   Oh, who was she kidding? Yes, they had made it, but barely. Having Ras back would never compensate for the loneliness and stress his absence had caused. What could she say to him then? She needed to tell someone of the many nights she had cried herself to sleep, of the deprivation, of the loneliness. But not him, and not now. Tears prickled her eyelids, but she blinked them back, her mouth opening of its own accord. “Ra—”

   “I missed you,” said Ras.

   “Did you?” The minute Ewyn spoke, she regretted it. 

   Ras swallowed. “Of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you—”

   “But it wasn’t your fault. Yes, I know.”

   “Wyn, please.”

   “Look, I get it. You’re the hero here. The one who comes home and expects everyone to gush over him and then go back to life like everything is normal. Well, it’s not. It’s not normal. You’re different and I’m different, and—”

   “Please, let me—”

   “No. This time you’re going to let me finish.”

   Ras made a hopeless gesture and shrugged.

   “Don’t give me that martyr look.” Ewyn no longer had any thoughts about holding anything back. The words came out in a flood, two years’ worth of thoughts and feelings. “You have no idea what we’ve gone through. You didn’t have to go to bed hungry night after night. You weren’t here when Ula had to skip school because it was winter, and we couldn’t afford shoes for her. You didn’t have to watch Dad struggle with depression because he couldn’t support us. You didn’t—”

   “Wyn, stop.”

   Ewyn bit her lip. Where had all that even come from? All that angst and anger and... bitterness.

   Ras looked at her, deadly calm. “You have no idea what I went through.”

   It was true. She didn’t know. Whose fault was that, though? For two months she had tried to give him his space, tried not to burden him with what she had gone through. And still he had never shared about his two years in captivity. Oh, he had talked plenty, but he had never shared deeply about his feelings and emotions.

   “That’s because you never told me,” she said.

   “I’m sorry,” said Ras.

   “You could tell me now.”

   Ras looked at the sun. “Maybe some time, but not now. I need to go to work.”

   Ewyn straightened up guiltily. How had it gotten late so fast? Her life these days was never slow, and she had no time to be dawdling in front of spent sunrises. “Are you going to be helping Dad with that table?”

   “Actually, no,” Ras said. “I have a new job as of yesterday.”

   Ewyn tensed. Had he even consulted with their father? He was needed at home. Dad couldn’t handle the carpentry shop alone. “Why?” she asked. “We need you.”

   Ras sighed. “I’ll discuss this with you some time, I promise. But right now I really do need to go.”

   “Of course,” said Ewyn, “one of the Seven Rules—always put your job ahead of your family. That’s the most important thing in life.”

   “Wyn—”

   She sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Just go. I’m very comfortable conversating with myself. I’ve had plenty of practice, you know.”

   He got up and left without even a goodbye.

   Ewyn closed her eyes. When would she ever be able to control her tongue?

   Two weeks later, Ewyn stumbled groggily into the dark kitchen and sank into a chair at the table. “Getting up so early shouldn’t be ethical,” she said to her mother.

   Her mother laughed and set a bowl down in front of Ewyn. “Are you sure you can handle this yourself?”

   Ewyn blew on her porridge as she stirred it. “I’ve been to Corrinton with you plenty of times.”

   “Do you have the list?”

   Ewyn patted her pocket. “Right here.”

   Her mother sighed. “I wish you would wait until Ras can go with you. I don’t want you getting robbed or anything.”

   “I’ll be fine,” Ewyn said. “And I wouldn’t want to tear Ras away from his new job.” Apparently, he was enjoying it, because the promised discussion had never come.

   “I would just feel better if he would be with you.”

   Yes, and have her perfect son keep an eye on her not so perfect daughter. Ewyn understood perfectly. “Don’t worry, Mom,” she said. “I know how to be safe.”  

   For two hours she walked the streets of Corrinton, wandering into shop after shop. When she had completed her list, she allowed herself a brief detour past the wharf.

   Ever since she could remember, ships had fascinated her. Something about the creak of a wooden deck and the skill it took to take what the wind gave you and turn it to your advantage drew her. Steel hulls and steam power were just coming into vogue, but Ewyn was old school and proud of it.

   She and Ras had drawn up the plans for their sailboat together, their only instructions Ewyn’s book on shipbuilding. Ewyn was afraid the boat wouldn’t even float, but the Dream of Ione had sailed like a charm. Now she wandered if would even float anymore. She hadn’t taken it out on the water since Ras had been captured. 

   It had been her mistake, her hand on the tiller when the boom had swung around and swept him into the ocean. By the time she had reversed directions, there was nothing she could do but watch Dervan pirates pluck Ras out of the water, tearing out her heart in the process. 

   They used to be so close, but now they had different goals, different experiences, different lives. Was it reasonable for her to expect their relationship to be the same as it used to be? It seemed like they hardly saw each other any more. Ras’s job was demanding, and when he wasn’t redeeming old books, he was helping Dad in the shop. They hadn’t had a one-on-one conversation since that early morning on the Cliffs.

   Ewyn winced. That conversation still bothered her. She had spilled guts she was hardly aware she had, and they weren’t pretty, either. Yes, honesty in relationships was necessary, but so was tact, of which she had none. She loved Ras to death, but knew he hadn’t been able to see that past her scathing words.

   Apologize. The word had been in her head since Ras had walked off on her at the Cliffs. Why had she pushed the thought away? Ras meant more to her than her pride. 

   She was heading home past the huge warehouse of Waren & Waren when she saw Ras. He entered a small building beside it, and she sidled up to the door just in time to hear the last word of his question.

   “...prices?”

   “Where would you like to go?” asked the clerk.

   “Muiden.”

   Ewyn tensed and slipped away from the door. Muiden was in Derva, where Ras had just sailed from two months ago. Why would he want to go back? Was he planning to sail away without even telling them? Or wait to tell them until he had a ticket and it was too late for them to stop him?

   The walk home had never felt so long. 

   After dumping her purchases on the kitchen table, she ran panting into the shop. Grabbing a bowl her father had just finishing lathing, she began sanding it furiously. 

   Her father looked up with a smile. “Where have you been?”

   “Corrinton. I saw Ras there.”

   Her father finished the contour of the platter he was working on and paused to blow wood chips off its semi-smooth surface. “Oh?”

  “He was at the wharf buying passage to Derva. Apparently we’re not good enough for him.”

   “Wyn.” Her father raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure he was buying passage?”

   “Positive. I saw him with my own eyes. What’s he thinking?”

   Her father rubbed a finger over the platter’s rough surface. “Just give him some space. He’s dealing with some hard things right now.”

   Ewyn shook her head and closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. “That’s all I’ve been doing, and it isn’t working. We’ve haven’t really talked at all since he’s been home.” She paused with her fingers on her temples. “Except for one time, and that was a disaster.”

   Her father set the platter aside and took the bowl from her hand. “Tell me about it.”

   “Ugh.” Ewyn sighed, cracked her neck, and rubbed her tight shoulders. “I’m an ogre. End of story.”

   Her father waited.

   “Seriously,” she said. “I bawled him out for something he had absolutely no control of. Any relationship we might have had is ruined now.”

   “Have you ever shared with him what we went through here when he was gone?”

   “No,” said Ewyn. “He doesn’t deserve to carry that burden. I told—Dad!” She caught his crutch as it fell and reached out to steady him as he lurched to a stool, a hand on his lame leg.

   Her father rubbed his leg. “I’ll be fine if I sit for while.”

   Ewyn propped the crutch beside him and drew up another stool. “What can I do? I don’t want to lose Ras again.”

   “You got angry with him, didn’t you?” her father said.

   Ewyn looked away. Was she really that predictable? 

   “I have three pieces of advice for you.”

   “Please,” said Ewyn.

   Her father reached out and turned her face toward him. “First, apologize.”

   Ewyn nodded.

   “Second, talk to him. Tell him how you felt when he was taken from us, what you went through in his absence, and how you feel now.”

   Ewyn bit her lip.

   “Last of all, ask him about Derva.”

   “What if he doesn’t want to listen?” Ewyn said. “He’s been so busy.”

   “Trust him, Wyn,” said her father. “I think he’ll do the right thing.”

   Ewyn hardly slept that night and woke hours before dawn. Throwing a blanket over her shoulders, she slipped out into the spring chill. She didn’t notice that her favorite place on the Cliffs was occupied until it was too late to get away unnoticed. 

   Plopping down beside Ras, she drew up her knees. She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, but this might be her best chance.

   “I’m sorry,” she said.

   “For what?”

   “For blowing up at you last time we talked.”

   When he didn’t answer, a sick feeling rose up in Ewyn’s stomach. She’d ruined everything.

   “Thank you,” Ras said finally.

   Ewyn couldn’t see well enough, but it sounded like he was fighting tears. Ugh, she hated it when men cried.

   “Before I continue,” she said. “I need to get two things off my mind.”

   “Sure.”

   “First, why did you book passage back to Derva without telling us? Are we really so bad?”

   “I—” Ras said, but Ewyn ignored him and continued.

   “Second, I know you hate carpentry, but Dad really needs you. It feels like you’re using the book binding shop as an excuse to spend as much time away from us as possible.”

   “May I answer now?” Ras said.

   Ewyn winced. Was he afraid that she would go crazy again? “Please,” she said.

   “First of all, I did not book passage, I only checked prices. Second, I’ve been doing exactly that, using book binding as a time to think and pray and work through some things. Dad approved it, but I apologize for not letting you know.”

   Ewyn blinked. Cool spring breezes always made her eyes water. “Don’t hide from me again,” she said. “I need you.”

   “I’ll try,” said Ras. “But I don’t think you want to know everything. It’s not pretty by any means.”

   “You think my thoughts are always pretty? I can handle it.”

   “Are you sure you really want to know?” Ras said. “You never asked.”

   “I didn’t want to pry.” Ewyn propped her chin in her hands and stared at the star-studded horizon. “And I was scared. I didn’t want to hear how you were hurt.”

   “Well, next time please ask. I don’t mind you prying.”

   So, he wanted to tell her. He just needed assurance that she really wanted to know. Scooting over, she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. It was just like old times, only there was one more thing she needed to know before he started in on the grand story of his life. 

   “Why do you want to go back to Derva?”

   “It’s a long story.”

   “I don’t care.”

   Ras sighed. “Those people need Fionntan. They’re lost, Wyn. Someone needs to tell them.”

   “Does it have to be you?”

   “Who else?” he said gently.

   The ache started in Ewyn’s heart and moved throughout her whole body, until she felt sure she would never be normal again. This was the very thing she had tried to protect herself from. Why did caring have to be so painful? “Tell me about Derva,” she said.

   “Only if you promise me one thing,” said Ras.

   “What?”

   “That you’ll share next, when you’re ready.”

   How had she forgotten? Sorry, Dad.

   The horizon glowed beneath the burning stars, and the ache felt somehow more right. What was life without pain, without growing? 

   “I promise.”