“S'pose she was only yellin’ cause she was worried ‘bout me” Aona sighed.
“Still hurts though.”
“Yeah, still hurts.”
Aona gazed out over the soft. swaying grass fields, waving in the breeze like hair underwater. The hazy white sun sunk below the horizon, retreating from the deepening violet sky. The fields stretched on for miles, shifting from velvet grass, to golden wheat, to feathered maize. Eventually the rows of heavenly fields shifted to orchards, till the vines became trees and the trees became mountains. It flowed into the distance like a river, so far, they could almost see the curve of the planet below them.
Thin plumes of smoke twisted from nearby houses, up into the evening sky, carrying the scent of fresh bread and simmering honey up to the roof on which they perched. Aona tucked a tuft of wheat behind their ear and shut their eyes, lying back on the blanket that clung to the roof tiles.
“Herald Loden said the funniest thing the other morning” chimed Loch, stretching out to gaze up into the deep purple expanse. “He said that an Augur needn’t fear lies for when he speaks, they become truth.’ Loch chuckled to himself. ‘What an odd thought, don’t you think?”
Aona frowned, fluttering their eyes open. “Sounds mighty self-righteous to me.”
Loch shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on his robes. “I suppose. I could believe many a thing he’s said to be untruthful, though I haven’t the proof to refute him.”
They fell again to silence as their conversation was spoken by the world around them. The warm harvest breeze blew through the grass like a wood wind, and the far off thunk of an axe into tree trunks mingled with distant whistling. A tune and rhythm carried on the wind.
“We till the ground and far below,
Through beating heat and freezing snow
For when the sun and soil meet
We take our tools back home.”
Aona hummed the tune, whisked away by the night air.
“I haven’t heard that one before,’ said Loch.
“Dad used to sing it,’ they started, ‘when he worked in the mines.’ They frowned. ‘I don’t remember the rest anymore.”
They strained and sat up, curling their arms around their legs, chin on their knees. They shivered as the breeze bristled the back of their neck, where their hair was pulled up in a bun. They pressed their forehead into their knees, shutting their eyes tight.
“Mum caught me whistling the other day and told me off,’ said Loch, ‘while I was making tea.”
“For whistlin’?” Aona said.
“Yeah, she said that the town folks’ songs fill my head with nonsense and that I need to focus on my studies.” He sighed.
“That’s a loada rubbish,’ Aona booed. ‘Whistlen’ hasn’t even got words. It’s just music, and music ain’t nonsense.”
“That’s what I told her,’ Loch replied, ‘I said, Mother, Herald Loden teaches me compositions every third rotation and he said that the classical melodies free my mind for more clear foretelling, but she pointed her finger at me and said that no composer wrote whistling tunes and if I were to be heard whistling again, I’d have to eat my homework for dinner, and face Herald Loden without my papers.”
He lifted his hands to cover his face and let out a heavy sigh. “Sometimes I find her awfully regretful.’
Aora laughed, turning to bump Loch with their elbow. “I’d be careful, regret will earn you at least a half-term essay for supper.”
Loch snickered, peaking at them through his fingers. “Maybe they’ll allow me an excursion form for dessert.” Aora laughed and rested their head in their hands, looking at Loch, who despite looking up at the sky, seemed downcast.
“That sounds awful Loch. I wish I could do your lines for you. “
“You really don’t,’ he said, ‘last week I had to translate all of Shishkov’s teachings into Malforv and back. My hand was so cramped it turned purple.”
Aona shook their head. “Can’t you run away?”
Loch tucked in his legs and sat up, cross-legged. “Oh if only. I couldn’t even form the thought. However exciting augury is it has the downside of maliciously perceptive professors.’ He sighed. ‘If I so much as packed a sock Loden would be knocking on my door.”
Aona shuffled back to sit in line with Loch. They pressed their forehead to his shoulders and embraced him. He lifted an arm and placed it on theirs. And they sat quietly.
“Hey,’ Loch whispered, ‘look, shooting star.”
Keeping their head on his shoulder, Aona twisted to look up at the sky. Like a school of fish, pinpoints of crystal light danced across violet space. They fell like gentle rain in early spring, watering the fields below.
“Make a wish,’ Aona smiled.
Loch fell quiet for a moment, till his breath slowed and he tightened his grip on their arm.
“I… I wish you would leave.”
Aona sat up, smile fading as they looked at his stony face.
“I’m sorry, you? What?”
He took their hands, furrowing his brow and looking them in the eyes.
“I’m serious, Aona. Leave. Pack up your books, take your watercolours and hike to the hills.”
Aona shuffled back, studying his face.
“What’re you talking about?”
Loch’s face was twisted with worry and it seemed to take all his effort to bring words to his lips.
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” he started before faltering and dropping his eyes.
“Loch,’ Aona said, craning to recapture his gaze, ‘What did you see?”
He paused, lifting his head to the stars once more, and releasing a jagged breath.
“They don’t care about you, Aona,’ he said, colour ebbing from his face, ‘about you, your family, about the merchants or the healers or the elements. They will let you all burn to keep themselves warm.”
He breathed heavily as the words flowed into the night. He lowered his head to meet their eye.
“When the sun fades and you turn to them for guidance, they will feed you lies until you starve. Our world will be stripped to sand and glass and they will be its facilitators.”
Tears began to roll down his cheeks and heat flowed through his hands.
“The Augurs?” Aona murmured.
Loch nodded, only slightly.
“We have foreseen something terrible Aona, but they call it mighty. The dying of all that makes us prosper and a lichdom to preserve what’s left.’ He swallowed and whispered, ‘they have seen what is to come and haven’t told a soul.”
He held Aona’s gaze and let the world slip away.
“Please,’ he rasped, ‘I can’t let them hurt you.”
They sat in the fading purple light, till at last, the sun dipped below the horizon and they were left alone. The whistling in the distance had ceased and somewhere, far off, another fire had been lit.
As the roof tiles of the farmhouse grew cold under the starlight, Aona twisted the corners of their blanket into a knot, swung it over their shoulder, and pushed their hand into Loch’s.
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Cover Image by Vincentiu Solomon
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