Page 5 of Into the Heartless Wood
“If you would rather, you can attend Saeth University in the fall,” Father continues. “I’ve put money aside for it.” His forehead creases, and I know he’s thinking of my mother—they met at the university. She was a cellist, and he an astronomer, and they used to tease each other that they would have to live on love, since their professions would take them nowhere.
My throat tightens. “Father, I’m not going to leave you.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder as he rises. “You are young yet. There is plenty of time to think beyond the confines of this house and the sky. Just promise me you’ll consider it—you don’t have to make a decision immediately.”
I get up too, dousing the lamp and following him from the observatory.
“I’ll consider it,” I tell him. I don’t mean it. I may only be seventeen, but all I’ve ever wanted is the sky.
Chapter Three
OWEN
IT’S ONLY WHENICRAWL INTO BED THATIREALIZEIFORGOT TOtell Father about my errand—his unexpected plans for my future drove it right out of my mind. I wake early enough to catch him before he leaves for Brennan’s Farm, trying not to see his red eyes, the grief that hangs on him like a physical thing. I didn’t sleep more than a handful of hours after leaving the observatory; he looks like he might not have slept at all.
“I’m going to Saeth University today.”
Surprise sparks in his face. “That time of year already?”
I nod. Every year, my father files an abbreviated record of his annual star charts in the university library. Astronomers all across the continent do the same, scientists pooling our knowledge, collecting it for future generations. I went by myself last year, by train, and the three years before that, my mother went with merchants traveling along the old road across the plains.
“I’m to take the nine o’ clock train from the village.” I think about what the king’s man told me yesterday, and wonder if Father knows the wood has grown around the tracks. “It will be perfectly safe,” I lie. “I’ll spend the night in Saeth and be back tomorrow evening. I’ve arranged for Awela to stay with Efa till then. I’m taking her the moment she wakes up.”
Father scratches at the stubble on his jaw. “Perhaps we don’t need to file the charts this year.”
“I’ll only be gone a day, Father.”
He frowns. “I’ve heard the wood has—”
“The train is perfectly safe,” I repeat hastily. “And fast. I promise I’ll be all right—I’ll send you a telegram the moment I arrive, so you won’t have to worry.”
“Very well.” He sighs. “But I’ll worry anyway. Don’t open the window on the train. And take my knife.” He nods at the decorative box on the shelf above the stove in the living room, where his hunting knife has resided for as long as I can remember. I don’t think he’s ever used it.
Then he’s out the door in a rush and I put my bara brith in the oven and brew tea, obediently adding the hunting knife to my pack. The star charts I’m taking to the library are ready, bundled together in a waterproof cylinder and fitted with a leather strap to make it easy to carry.
Awela toddles into the kitchen just as I’m about to go and wake her. She gobbles down a thick slice of bara brith, and gulps milk and porridge as if I never actually feed her. Then I’m bundling her into my arms and slinging my pack and the star chart case over my shoulder. We start on the path to Blodyn Village.
It would be vastly easier if we had a horse, or even a donkey—Awela grows enormously heavy after only a short walk. But animals don’t like being so close to the Gwydden’s Wood. We had a goat for a while, when Awela was a baby—her milk dried up, and she jumped the fence and was never seen again. Even chickens don’t last at our house; they stop laying after a week or two, then molt all their feathers and die off one by one. We gave up keeping animals altogether, and get our milk and eggs and meat from Brennan’s Farm now.
At least the garden grows, so we’re never short on fruits and vegetables. Sometimes I swear plants growfasterin our garden than they really ought to, as though they pull some kind of invigorating magic from the soil that feeds the Gwydden’s trees.
What I really want is a bicycle. I don’t travel long distances often enough to reallyneedone, and I couldn’t ride one with Awela, but I want one all the same. The newfangled contraptions are all the rage in Breindal City, according to Father’s newspapers, and there are a few in our village now, too.
It’s faster to carry Awela than to let her walk, even if my arm muscles are screaming by the time Brennan’s Farm comes into view. I leave her with Efa, Brennan’s wife, and then trudge into the village alone, waving at my father, who’s hard at work in the fields and probably doesn’t even see me.
The air smells fresher and the sun burns hotter the farther I trudge away from the wood. Dust swirls beneath my feet, and I’ve grown quite hot by the time I arrive at the village train station. It really doesn’t warrant the wordstation,being more of a small wooden platform sandwiched between the telegraph relay station and the inn, which is where you purchase your ticket.
I step inside the squat stone building. It’s dim and cool, a welcome relief from the sun. I wait for my eyes to adjust before stepping up to the counter. A dark-eyed girl stands behind it, polishing glasses with a rag, her long hair tied back at the nape of her neck with a bright ribbon. Her cream blouse has puffy sleeves with cuffs tight at her wrists, and her high-waisted skirt has buttons running all down the front of it. The sight of her makes my face warm. There aren’t many young women in Blodyn Village, but Mairwen Griffith is by far the prettiest. Smartest, too. She’s a poet, and has had several pieces published in the Breindal City newspaper. Someday I’m going to work up the nerve to talk to her. Properly. About astronomy or music or books. Maybe marry her—I haven’t quite figured out all the details yet.
“Morning, Owen. What can I do for you?” She smiles at me, and for a moment I lose the power of speech.
“Uh … ticket,” I remember. “For the nine o’ clock train to Saeth.”
“Barely made it,” says Mairwen, glancing at the small clock on the wall behind her. She pulls out a paper ticket from the till and writes in my name.
I hand over the fare. For a moment I don’t move, just stand there awkwardly, trying to think of something clever to say.
She smiles at me again, her eyes bright and laughing. “Better hurry, Owen Merrick. You’ll miss your train.”