In Times To Come

There was a large ruckus from the other end of the hall. A door flung open violently and a torrent of footsteps stampeded toward my room. All I could do was stare dumbly at the pile in front of me. My door flew inward, the breeze making some of the ash flutter in the air. The footsteps stopped abruptly under the doorframe.

I turned my head and looked at Zarek. He had a very determined look about him. I could almost sense a bit of panic swirling in the air. I had never seen him make such an expression.

I watched as his own eyes studied me. He glanced over at the pile that sat on my window sill. He straightened up and regained some composure. He walked over to the window as I backed away, giving him more space in my cramped room. I noticed that he was completely dressed; his sword hanging from around his waist. He cupped his hand under the sill and brushed the ash into his palm. Opening the window wider, he let them be carried off by the frosty, morning wind.

"Is everything alright?" My mother burst into the room, not even trying to hide her anxiousness.

"Cynthia," said Zarek with his deep voice. His suddenly cool demeanor was frightening.

She looked at him; her eyes grew wide and her arms hung limply at her side. She stood motionless for a moment. She started at the sound of my voice.

"Now its my turn to ask," I said warily. "What is it?" They didn't even acknowledge my question.

"I'll get the stuff," she said before rushing out my door and down the stairs. I heard the window shut behind me.

Zarek walked to the hallway. "Stay there," he commanded.

It wasn't long before my mother's hurried footfalls brought her back into my room. She held in her arms what looked, to me, to be clothing of some sort and a pair of shears-the kind we used to cut the wool from the sheep. She sat the bundle on my dresser and took the shears in her hands.

"Come here," her voice choked and I could tell she was holding back a flood of emotions.

"What are you doing?" I eyed the tool.

"We're cutting your hair," she said simply. She stepped forward, not waiting for my response. I recoiled back from her.

"No way!" I shouted. Cut my hair? That was insane! Did she want me to be an outcast for the rest of my life? For a woman to cut her hair was like her asking to live alone for the rest of eternity.

"It will be much safer," she said softly. "Anything will help now..." her voice trailed off. A desperate smile spread slowly across her face. I could tell that she hated to do this as much as I hated it being done.

I winced as the first strands of hair hit the cold floor. The sound of the shears hacking through my brown locks was deafening to my ears. My stomach turned as I felt her take the last long piece into her trembling hands.

"Wait!" I cried out. I untied the silver bow from my waist and grabbed the shears. It was then a simple task of cutting the ribbon short. I handed them both to her. "A keepsake," I whispered. She nodded sullenly and tied it onto that last strand. I could see the ribbon drop to the floor.

She bent down to pick up my lock of hair and set it gently in my hands. Ignoring the massive pile of brown below us, she picked up the bundle and came back to my side. It took only a few minutes to strip and put on the coarse clothes she handed me.

The shirt was an ugly brown and hung loose around my arms. The pants were made of the same material-thick and itchy-but they were a darker brown and consisted of two layers of fabric instead of just one. I pulled on my own tan boots. My mother threw a cloak the same color as my pants over my shoulders and tied its string around my neck. She stood back and looked me over. I could see the tears glisten from the corner of her eyes. She bent down and kissed me on the cheek. As she withdrew, she pulled a hood from my back over my head.

She led the way down the stairs. Zarek was at the door waiting for us. He had a light pack slung over his left shoulder. The chest I had seen the other day was open on the floor, empty.

"I knew you couldn't be mine alone forever," chuckled my mother sadly. "Be safe, precious."

"W-wait!" I stammered. "I'm not going anywhere!"

"You have to," she pleaded. "You must run!"

"From what?" I asked hotly.

"I'll tell you on the way," said Zarek as he opened the door and stepped out. "The longer we stay here, the more danger you are putting her in." He nodded behind me.

The tears stained my face and I tried to look past them at my mother. I was putting her in danger?

"Don't worry about me," she said encouragingly. "I'll be just fine. Promise me you'll meet me again. One year from now, we'll go to that harvest festival you've always wanted to see. Alright?" I nodded weakly as she shoved me out the door and down the stairs.

Two horses stood nervously in the yard. Zarek helped me into the saddle and then did the same. I reached down and took my mother's hands.

"One year," I said. We parted only when my horse began to follow Zarek's down the dusty road. I watched the tears stream down her face as she stroked the piece of hair I'd slipped between her fingers.