Six Years Late

A ball rolled down the road, stopping at Yohan’s feet. With a wide grin, he kicked it back, and soon enough he was playing amongst the giddy children who were still outside his home. His neighbors gave him puzzled looks, having well remembered his gloomy state just earlier – now, he was bouncier than a puppy.

Back to his usual self.

“He slips past the opponents, he runs, he throws, then… gets it!” he cheered as he shot the ball into a barrel, the designated “base.”

“Nu-uh! That’s cheating!” one of the kids protested.

“You need to get the ball in twice for it to count!”

Feigning arrogance, he said, “Well, it surely isn’t my fault you’re all less than five feet…”

“Mister Yohan!” they cried.

“Alright, alright, I’ll play by the rules!”

For longer than intended. He was out there until the children were called in for dinner. But even as the sky grew darker and the sun disappeared behind the hills, Yohan was still bright. Turning on his heels, he continued on his way along the street – rather than heading inside, where he should’ve been preparing for his journey with Roe.

There was still something he needed to do.

As he went on, carriages ahead approached his direction. He felt the hairs of his neck rise, a departure from his renewed happy-go-luckiness – but seeing what the carriages held, he was comforted, yet also… Confused. There weren’t any Reapers as he thought. Sacks and chests of fresh produce flooded the wagon, which was traveling further into Visea instead of outward. With their climate and rich soil, especially in the summer season, there was never a need for such imports.

But noticing how exhausted the driver looked, Yohan thought that maybe he was too drowsy to realize where he was going.

“Excuse me, sir,” he called, “Have you been turned around?”

“I sure wish,” the man said after a yawn. “Got all the way to the post, only for it to be empty. Not a Flier in sight.”

“Odd… I guess the other tribes are starting to slack as well.”

“Nope, that ain’t why. They left a message, and apparently, the Visean Elders have called off shipments to Showyth.”

Yohan was so stunned that he could’ve lost balance. “What? How could they do that? The Weavers will starve without our help!”

“Beats me. Poor guys… Wonder how they’ll fare.”

The man tugged on the horse’s reigns, then gone he was, leaving Yohan in his shock. He tried, but he couldn’t come up with an explanation – why abandon one of the tribes? And of all tribes, the Weavers, watchers of the Nexus. Seemed like the worst thing possible to do.

Yohan flexed his hands. A powerful Mender he was, but not capable of everything. Healing was primarily designed for more outer afflictions, not conditions like starvation. His talents could help some, but not much. He sighed. In his mission to save as many as possible, there’d still be people out of reach. Inevitably.

And as he walked into his destination, a cemetery, he was reminded of those he could help, yet didn’t.

Most underground had the blessing of fulfilled lives, long years carved into their headstones. The air had the earthy scent of herbs, one of the reasons for their longevity, and commonly left behind by loved ones. But every now and then, there would be a grave belonging to those less fortunate – in its far east side, was the smallest.

“Luka Flynn,” it read. Only seven years old when he passed, and the first time Yohan visited since… Then. What he believed to be his greatest failure. He sat in the grass and stared at the name pensively, as he remembered.

It was a terribly stormy night in Arenard, with wind and lightning so severe a Flier had to have been nuts to be in the sky. Yet that’s what happened, an underestimation of the weather leading to a father and son caught in the chaos above. The boy, Luka, was blown out of the safety of his dad’s clutches – the result was an injured heap on the ground.

That’s what was told to Yohan when he received Luka as a patient. He was still astonished by how that Flier traveled all the way from Arenard to Visea in a single flight, and even after so long, he still admired his tenacity.

But when he sought the High Weaver’s approval…

He heard the father was so traumatized he couldn’t take his body back home. It was the first – and only – incident where Yohan had to deny a child’s life. A haunting memory that, when it reared its ugly head, threatened to steal his sanity.

“I’m very sorry, kiddo,” Yohan murmured. “If I could go back, knowing what’d happen in the future… I think – know – I would’ve made a different decision.”

He sat up, wiping the dirt off his pants. “But with the time I have left, I’m going to make sure nobody under my care meets your fate. That’s the best I can do to make it up to you – no, to everyone… I can only hope it’ll be enough.”

A gentle breeze whisked by, making Yohan chuckle. Silly as it was, he felt as if that was the child speaking to him. He could’ve said, “I hate you,” but in Yohan’s mind of positivity and delusions, Luka was totally cheering him on from the afterlife. At least it encouraged him, sending a calming warmth through his body – just what he needed for what awaited him after dawn.

“Maybe I could even apologize to your daddy one day,” he said as he left the grave behind. “Yeah – that’d be a good thing. Flynn, Flynn… I’ll need to find a Flynn somewhere.”

But little did Yohan know, it would actually be the last thing he needed, yet ignorance was bliss. Until eventually, that same ignorance would get him into deep trouble.