The prince had kept his promise, and Zen found himself on the next patrol back home. He was accompanied by three soldiers he hadn’t met before; they all rode on horseback in silence. Though the trip wasn’t particularly long, his lower body was aching from the constant rattling of his limbs against the saddle. He had never ridden a horse before arriving at the capital, and he was still woefully inadequate at it. If the horse sensed his discomfort, it paid him no heed.

Owing to the events of the past weeks, this stop would be more than a routine visit. They were to scour the village and surrounding area for anything of magical substance. Zen was surprised that he was being entrusted with such a task, but he suspected they would closely watch his every move. He was relieved that he truly didn’t know of anything incriminating. If we did have magical knowledge hidden somewhere, why wouldn’t it have been put to use already? Used to help bring us out of our misery?

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the village. A wind- and rain-battered wooden sign greeted them: Welcome to Bafan. Zen felt oddly nervous. He hadn’t expected to see home again so soon. He wondered if he’d get the chance to see his parents, even if to give them only a brief embrace. If only he weren’t at the mercy of his companions’ kindness.

They stopped at the fore of the village and tied their horses to some trees. Zen slipped to the back of the group, his fingers twiddling at his sides. The leading officer greeted the villagers nearby and turned to give orders to his patrol. Two were to search the buildings, and two were to search the surrounding woods.

The officer glanced at Zen. “You’ll search the buildings in the front half of the village. I know you’re from here. I trust you won’t let your biases impede your duties or your...connections stall you for too long.”

Zen dipped his head. “I will not, sir.”

The group split up, and Zen entered the first house. It would be a while before he would reach his parents’ house, so he worked quietly and dutifully, only stopping momentarily to greet whomever lived or worked in each building. He didn’t really know what he was looking for; after all, he had never seen anything used in magical practices. He supposed it would be really obvious. If not, then how would any of them know what to look for? Maybe this is just an act of intimidation. If I don’t know what a manuscript or whatever looks like, I doubt these other soldiers do either. At the very least, if I end up missing something, it’s not actually my fault. Not that the higher-ups would see it that way.

At last, he reached the doorstep of his home. His hand hesitated on the door handle, but with an exhale, he pushed it open. When no one welcomed him in, he closed it quietly behind him and made his way to the kitchen. As he expected, his mother was too focused on her task at hand—chopping an array of vegetables to put into a simmering stock—to hear Zen enter.

“Mother,” he said gently, announcing his presence from the open doorway.

She whisked around, almost dropping the knife in her hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed, eyes bright. Realizing the dangers of being surprised while holding a weapon, she carefully put the knife down on the counter and rushed forward to embrace her son.

Zen had grown a few inches in the half-year or so he’d been gone, and his chin now comfortably rested on top of her head. He reached his arms around her and squeezed.

“Mother, I’m just here for a little while. I’m on patrol.”

“Patrol? How exciting! What for?” She stepped back and moved to pinch his cheeks, but he swatted her hand away.

“Ah, just sweeping the village for contraband,” he replied nonchalantly. He figured the news of the execution may not have reached the village yet; he didn’t want to be the one to bear such a grim tale.

“Oh! Well, how is it up there? How are Ayue and the girls? Have you learned much?”

“It’s fine. I’d rather be here. They’re fine.” He paused, itching to change the topic. “Where’s Father?”

“He’s working in the quarry. I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him today. I’ll let him know you were here and that you’re well, of course.” She smiled, unable to resist hugging him again. “Would you like to see how well my garden is doing? The soil has been so good to us this year.”

“I would, but I shouldn’t idle any longer. I’ll just skim through the house so the boss doesn’t suspect me of anything, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, that’s right.” The slight pain in her voice made Zen’s stomach clench, but he threw her an unsuspecting smile as he walked into the bedroom.

He kicked open a few drawers, not willing to rummage through their contents and disrupt his mother’s meticulous organizing. He’d seen it all before, of course, but he hoped to linger in this familiar atmosphere for just a bit longer under the guise of working.

Sitting at the top of one drawer, a small toy drew his attention. He bent down to pick it up. It was a clay rattler, filled with small beads that rolled around inside as it shifted in his hands. The blue paint had long been chipped. This isn’t mine. Where have I seen this before?

—

Zen was being pulled along by his father, his small legs barely able to keep up with their hurried pace. He couldn’t see his father’s face, but the grip on his arm was so firm—to the point of being painful—that Zen could feel his anxiety. He didn’t understand what was happening and couldn’t help but feel bewildered. He’d spent hours in a bumpy cart pulled by two hideous donkeys, and his parents had ignored all his complaints, choosing instead to fret over the crying baby in their arms. So what? All he does is cry.

Then, they’d arrived at another village. In truth, it was a city, much larger than Bafan. Buildings of stone and wood crowded together along cobbled streets, and the smell of animals and flowering vegetables that Zen was accustomed to was absent. Zen wanted to explore, to run down those streets and hear the sound of his leather shoes against stone; he had never been somewhere so mesmerizing. But his parents had other ideas, his wrist locked in his father’s hand as if he were held prisoner.

Passersby barely spared the family a glance, though they couldn’t help peek over their shoulders at these strangers clad in southern-style peasant clothing, grief and confusion written across their faces. Zen was too young to recognize the city folk's wariness.

“We’re here,” his father said. They were standing in front of a small stone building, a clean wooden sign out front. “Stay here, Zen.”

Zen pouted and watched his parents walk inside, his mother cradling an ever-crying child in her trembling arms. He pressed himself to one of the windows in order to make out their conversation. He watched as a well-dressed man stepped out to greet them. He nodded respectfully to each one before speaking.

“What seems to be the matter?” His voice was soothing, Zen thought. He wondered why he was made to stand out in the street instead.

He heard his mother say something, but her back was turned and her words were muffled. He saw her hold out the baby. The man didn’t reach out, though, only inspecting the child from afar.

“What did your village doctor say?” the man asked.

Zen’s father shook his head. Zen only caught the back end of his reply, “...to come here.”

“I’m afraid my services are a bit costly. You see, there is an illness going around these parts. I have many patients today.” As if to prove his point, a young woman peered out impatiently from further inside the building.

Zen’s father reached into his coat to hand something to the man. The man furrowed his brows slightly. This time he was the one to shake his head. “That will not do.”

When his mother let out a desperate shriek, Zen was so startled that he fell backwards. His elbows bore the brunt of the impact. By the time he stood up, mouth quivering, his parents had been ushered out of the building. His father’s eyes had glazed over. He was completely unreadable. His mother was choking back sobs, shouting something back at the two people standing in the doorway. Begging, “please help, please, have mercy.”

Zen tugged on his father’s sleeve. “What’s wrong?”

He was ignored. His father grabbed his wife’s arm, saying in a low, measured voice, “Let’s go.” She tried to slap him away with her free hand, but her blow was weak and she grabbed onto him instead.

“How could they refuse? Is it because we’re-”

“Enough. We must leave.”

Before being pulled away, Zen looked back at the doorway. “Good riddance,” he heard someone mutter under their breath.

He was too bewildered to speak on the way home. His father sat stone-still to his side, offering neither explanation to his son nor comfort to his wife. Tears streamed down her face as she looked down at the child she held in one arm. Her other hand clutched onto a small blue rattle, the beads inside tinkling with every jolt of the cart.

—

His brother had died only days later from some unknown sickness. His parents never mentioned him once the funeral was held. He had come to his own bitter conclusions. Once, when a young Zen had been particularly contending with the isolation that comes with being an only child, he’d tugged on his mother’s dress and asked when he could have another sibling. She’d just sighed and swatted his hand away, avoiding the pointed stare her husband had directed her way.

“Don’t concern yourself with such matters,” his father had chastised. He’d grown even more distant than Zen was accustomed to. Especially towards his wife. Not that they’d been an affectionate couple in the first place.

Zen stuffed the rattler back into the drawer and rushed to finish his duties. He couldn’t shake the pangs of loneliness that had begun to ache throughout him like an old wound. He threw only a quick “goodbye, Mother, love you” over his shoulder as he left.

—

The sun had long since set, and the moon was but a sliver in the sky as it inched towards midnight. Zen stood outside of a building on the edge of the residential area in the capital. It was the first time he had broken curfew on his own. Luckily, the first person in the block he’d approached had given him accurate directions. The man had barely looked up from his pipe when speaking.

Zen took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He could see that there was a light inside, and he could hear someone’s soft voice pause at the sound. After a few moments, the door cracked open.

“Hello?”

Zen clasped his hands behind his back. “Um, hello. Ah, is this the orphanage?”

The door opened a little wider. “Yes, why?” A girl in her teens was peering at him with wide brown eyes. Choppy dark hair framed her round face.

“Er, this is a little hard to explain. Did you recently get a new infant? From Goat’s Song? I, uh, went there on patrol before...everything happened.”

“Mm, we did. You saw her before?”

Zen was shifting from leg to leg nervously. “Yeah. I guess I just wanted...to check in on her. I hope I’m not intruding.”

The girl’s expression softened. “Not at all.” She opened the door for him. “You’re welcome inside. I’m Farrah.”

“Zen.” He stepped inside the house. The first room—normally a reception room—had been turned into a bedroom. There were two cradles with infants, and two mats that served as beds. One was empty, while the other had two young girls fast asleep.

“She’s over here,” Farrah whispered, gesturing to one of the cribs. “Her name is Yara.”

Zen walked over to the side of the cradle, while Farrah settled down on the empty mat. He looked down at the wrinkled face of the sleeping infant. For a moment, he felt like he had been transported to the previous decade, standing on his tip-toes to survey the new addition to his home. He snapped out of it and shot a glance at Farrah, who was watching him shyly.

“You work here?” he asked.

“Mm, I’ve taken over for my mother. She’s ill and can’t work anymore.” She smiled softly. “There are even more in the bedroom. They’re an absolute handful!”

Zen chuckled. Judging by her dark, puffy eyes, that was an understatement. “Are most of these kids from Tanac?”

“All but the two babes.”

“Ah. And Yara...how is she holding up?”

Farrah sighed. A tinge of sadness in her voice, she responded, “The poor thing. I don’t know what happened to her before they brought her here. She cries more than she sleeps. I’m blessed to have this moment of peace, really.”

So not everyone knows the whole story. Zen decided telling her wouldn’t be of any help, even if it might help to deflect any of her suspicions regarding his motives for visiting. Though he knew the matter had been out of his hands, he couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. I brought up to the prince that sorcery may have been involved. What if I hadn’t said anything? Would everything still have happened the same? But he couldn’t explain this to her. He didn’t want to burden her, not when she was still free from the disquieting feelings his knowledge had brought him.

“Who are you, anyway? You’re not from here, are you?” Farrah piped up.

“Oh, I’m a trainee. I’m from the south.” He flinched, fully expecting her to react with disdain. Instead, she just “ohh”ed and blinked up at him. “I’m from a village called Bafan.”

“Haven’t heard of it. Is it nice there?” Before he could respond, she continued, “I’m sorry—I’m being rude. Please, sit down!” She patted the mat beside her.

He obliged, leaning back on his palms. “It’s okay. It’s pretty small, nothing like this.”

“I’ve never left Tanac,” she said, voice filled with awe. “I think I should like the farmland. The city is so overwhelming at times.”

The two exchanged more small talk for a while, until Zen felt guilty for disrupting what could be her best chance at sleep. But he’d found her easy to talk to, simple and accepting of the duty she had inherited. Something about her was refreshingly gentle.

“Is night time usually so peaceful?” he asked, standing up to be on his way.

“No, not always. Sometimes these babes struggle to sleep through the night.” Farrah also stood, smoothing her skirts down before going to open the door for him.

“I...I don’t mean to be a bother, but would my presence be a help at all, if I came at night sometimes?” Zen was blurting out before he’d had time to consider his words. “I could help, and you could get more rest?”

“Now, why would you want to do that?” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. He was about to stammer an embarrassed reply, but she waved him away. “You’re free to come anytime. Don’t be getting in trouble, though.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Thanks.” He crept down into the abandoned city streets and made his way back to the palace.