Under the Willow
Photo by Cedrik Wesche
Under the Willow is a short-story set in the world of Katelyn’s upcoming novel, “Kings and Kingdoms.”
In a time of uncertainty and war, Under the Willow follows Igor, a Heridian slave who works in the palace of the Asurian King. His tale is only one of the thousands of Heridians that refuse to let go of hope; hope of a new future, a land without borders… hope of freedom.
This day came every year and yet it always found a way to sneak up on him. Igor scrambled for his packs, grumbling and cursing as the contents spilled out. Once tightly bound, he slung the two bags over his shoulder and bolted down the corridor.
“Late again?” Garrison jumped to the side, their sleeves briefly brushing as Igor passed.
Igor scoffed. Running backwards he said, “late? Me? Garrison, please, I was born a frantic runner.” As he turned he plowed into Suri, one of the Prince’s maids. Buckets of dirtied water launched into the air. Before Igor could make out what had happened, the two of them were drenched.
“You’ve got the frantic part right,” Garrison belted out in laughter.
Suri slipped off her shoe and struck Igor across the head. Her neatly tied hair had fallen and clung to the sides of her face. Her dress was soiled and the floors were now pools of filth. Igor flinched, using his arms as a shield from her rightful wrath.
“Suri wait,” he pleaded.
“You crazy—” she struggled with her words and quickly switched from the familiar language of the king to her native, Drowan tongue. Igor was partially glad he couldn’t understand her. He feared she was cursing him, and he felt it best that he didn’t know which of those curses had been bestowed on him
“You will clean this up! Every drop,” she ordered.
“What is that smell?” Garrison covered his nose, muffling his laughter.
Suri swatted away Igor’s hand. He sighed when he saw the state of his clothes. He didn’t have time to change, let alone help. Garrison chuckled then stepped forward. He was one of the King’s servants, bound to the inner walls of the west-wing of the palace.
“Ah, give the kid a break. I’ll help. Igor has a date with a very special someone,” he raised his brows and nudged him with his elbow. Igor blushed.
“You expect to let him go without lifting finger?” Suri scoffed, “we always clean up his messes.” She clicked her tongue and muttered a few more words in Drowan then said, “get out of here before I change my mind.” Suri wrinkled her nose, “you best hope this date can’t smell.”
Igor lowered his torso and thanked her to the point of annoyance. She waved him free and he continued to run. Further down the hall was a large door that led into the stables. Horses whinnied, working stable hands yelled and waved their fists as Igor dashed by the stalls. When he reached the outer walls of the palace grounds he shielded his eyes from the sun. It was quickly fading behind the buildings.
He dug around the two soaked packs and then sighed, all of the food had grown soggy, the blanket smelled like a pit of pigs, and a couple of dishes he’d brought were chipped. To the side of the main gate was a loose bit of stone. A few nudges and it was easy enough to beak through. The guards didn’t pay him any mind, and if they did, they never said a word. He shifted through the hole in the wall then looked towards the setting sun.
Igor scrunched his nose, he really did smell bad. He blew aside a stray strand of hair. There was no time to go all the way to Jhirya’s. His shop was clear on the other side of town. Igor tucked his hands in his pockets. Besides, he didn’t have a single coin to his name. There was one place he could go to get good food, and unlike Jhirya, they might take a trade instead of coin.
Nearby, a woman was folding clothes, the sun had done its job and now it was time for her to put the dried garments away. Igor bit his lip, the last time he’d stolen he’d spent a week in the pillory. The Prince wouldn’t be so kind to him a second time. He lowered his head and turned away. But the further he walked, and the longer he dwelled in his stench the stronger the temptation was.
When he came across an empty yard with a full clothes line, Igor shifted the packs on his shoulder. It’ll only take a moment, he thought. Grumbling and dragging his feet, Igor succumbed to the need of new clothes. He sifted through his limited choices and picked what looked would fit best. After he made his choice, he grabbed the clothes and ran as fast as he could when he heard the shuffling of feet.
Times were hard for many outside of the palace walls. The war had only increased the taxes on the King’s people. Many were forced to leave their homes out in the fields. The inner city became over run with people trying to find jobs and affordable places to live. If his meeting under the willow wasn’t so important he probably would have gone as he was. So, instead, he vowed to return the clothes and thanked them in silence, hoping that when confronted they’d show him mercy.
Igor wove through the tents of the homeless, and avoided the streets with the guards. A Heridian slave that strayed too far from their master was as good as free property for another. There were many tales of runaways that only ended up in chains behind the rows of a galley ship. The sailors of the galleys were cruel masters always looking for free labor, and given the right motivation, the King’s guard would often turn a blind eye.
He ducked into a nearby merchant’s tent. Igor lowered his hat and greeted the old man with a friendly smile.
“Igor!” The old man dried his hands and walked around the counter as best he could. His joints were stiff, his skin permanently brazen and wrinkled from years of work under the sun. “If it’s Bran you’re looking for, you’re out of luck, just missed ‘im. The King’s new tax laws are really a strain. Work’s hard to come by these days. We take what jobs we can.”
Igor shook his head then sighed. He placed the soggy bags atop the counter and withdrew the only thing of value from his pocket. “It’s our anniversary, and this was our dinner.”
Pike grabbed his glasses and then took out the slop of a mess from inside the bags. “How in the blazes did you end up in this predicament?” He pinched his nose and pursed his lips, hiding a sliver of a smile.
“The Prince has me running errands left and right. I never know what time of day it is, I barley have time to breathe, and now I’m going to miss our anniversary because I ran over the maid in the corridor of the palace.” Igor fiddled with the ring he carried in his pockets for the last three years. It was simple, no grand design, not a single jewel or diamond around the band, it was silver, cheaply made, wound together like the roots of a willow tree. “It’s not much, but I was hoping—
Pike smiled softly and raised his hand, “say no more.” In a brief moment, the old man hobbled to the shelves of food along the back of the tent. He muttered to himself while sorting through baked goods and freshly harvested crops. Pike turned apples as if he were looking for treasure in a box of grain. When he was satisfied he stuffed it into a new bag, along with a few loaves of bread and a bowl of cooked rice.
“This ring is not worth half of that,” Igor scrambled to search his pockets again. “I have nothing more to give.”
“My boy, you and Leana have done more than enough to cover what’s in this bag. If it weren’t for you, Bran,” he paused, tears in his eyes. “Let’s just say life is worth more than a bag full of food. It is the least we can do.”
Igor closed his fingers around the ring then tucked it back into his pocket. He was grateful for the help, though none of it would excuse his tardiness. He bowed in respect, thanking him for his kindness.
“The next time the Prince gives me the evening off, I’ll take Bran to the lake to go fishing.”
Pike’s wrinkles outlined his face, pulling up towards his eyes when he smiled, “I’ll tell him you stopped by. Oh, Igor,” he said, catching Igor in the entryway of the tent. “Take care of yourself. It’s only rumors, but there’s trouble brewing. More and more Heridians are being taken to the Etheri. I fear for you, how long before the King sends his own slaves to war?”
“Lachlan is an arrogant fool, but as prince of Asur he would never allow it. So long as he holds the King’s ear, we will be safe.” Igor shrugged, “besides, I don’t know they’d know their pants from their shirts if someone wasn’t there to dress them.” Pike laughed at that and Igor waved him goodbye. Pike and his grandson Bran were not Heridian, however that didn’t mean they didn’t experience the effects of war.
Igor lost track of the sun behind the buildings, the shadows loomed over the alleys and the day was quickly shifting to night. He slung his packs over his shoulder and ran through every known short cut he could. Towards the west of the city was a lake that stretched through Asur for miles. Beside the lake was a hillside that overlooked the waters and was perfectly shaded by a willow tree. It was where Igor had first met Leana. He slid to a stop to catch his breath. The sunset was still visible.
As he climbed the hill a cool breeze drug the branches of the willow across his head. The leaves greeted him with pleasure, singing a soft song of whispered rustling with each movement. The pink hues from the sunset reflected off the waters and the waves brushed against the sand.
Igor clasped his hands and bowed to the tree then lowered his packs. Inside the other pack the blanket was still damp, but it would do for now. He set the chipped dishes side by side and then pulled out a picture. He was grateful for the glass frame that kept it safe from his encounter with Suri. He ran his finger over the surface then placed it carefully near the dishes. The candles he’d brought were a bit wet, but the wicks were still good. He set them beside the picture and lit them with a lighter given to him by the Prince.
Slowly, he brought out the ring. Igor pressed it against his lips then set it in front of the picture. It was the last possession he had of Leana, everything else was either stolen or sold. Igor closed his eyes and lowered his head.
The legend of the willow was one of strength and resilience. The roots would grow until it reached a water source that would sustain the tree. The branches hung in rows, symbolizing the beauty that came with its will to survive. It was said that even if a willow were alone, the roots would always find their way home. Some even believed that the roots were the veins of the earth, the life force that carried the blood from one land to the next.
Igor wasn’t sure if they were true. But if there was any way he could be with her one last time, he wanted to try. So there he sat, each year on this very special day, he’d climb to the top of the hill, prepare her favorite meal, and watch the sunset below the cover the willow.
He sat in silence while dividing the food between the two plates. The day he mustered up enough courage to propose to her was the day she contracted black blood. It was a disease that was near incurable without the proper means to a healer. Nobles could pay handsomely, Asurians could find them on the black market. But Heridians? A Heridian that contracted the sickness was as good as dead. Slavers would often send them to the shipyard to work until they died. Others would think of them as merciful masters and end their lives for them. Leana was a maid in the courts of the King’s ward. A servant in the palace that could no longer work, was a waste of the King’s resources; especially in a time of war. Igor pleaded for him to use his healers, even the Prince offered an alternative, but the King had sent the last of his healers to the Etheri. And so he did what any privileged man would do, he sold her as if she were no more than a useless steed. Igor spent months trying to find her, he’d been arrested for attempting escape on multiple occasions.
He wept, his head cradled in his hands. If he’d been stronger, faster, wealthier. If his blood ran that of his King. If he’d never been born into the family of slaves, he could have saved her.
A year after her leave, a letter of her death was returned to the palace. She’d died in the fields, working as many others before her had done. Igor remembered it all. He remembered his anger and his grief, the smell of the rain, and the coldness of the mail carrier. This was the life he’d be given and despite the brokenness he felt, all he could think about was the day he met her.
She was frantic about a bird that had fallen from its nest. Igor was working along the shoreline when he heard her yelling at him to help. No matter how many times he tried to explain that the bird was going to die, she refused to give up. She demanded that it be returned to its nest, which happened to be near the top of the willow. So, he climbed.
After she was sure it was safe, she calmed and they exchanged their names. Each night they would run from the palace and hide under the willow to check on the bird. It wasn’t long before the bird recovered and found its wings. Still, they continued to meet and in their meetings they would make plans to give what they could to the poor. He never understood why she was so desperate to help a broken world until her light was gone.
Igor watched the sun disappear behind the distant mountains. The moon indicated it was time for him to go back. As he blew out the candle another breeze kissed the side of his cheek, drying a fallen tear. He gathered his belongings and ventured back into the city. One day he would see her again. Free of illness, free of chains and laws, they would be together. Until then, he would continue to help those in need, restore her light, and join her on this special day to watch the sun set under the comfort the willow.