Broken World
Brown, black, and grey were the only colors I knew. And red. People still bled red.
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We’d walked until our feet bled that day. Only then, when the thin soles, stained red, finally gave way, did Ferris let us stop. I dropped to the ground next to Niam in a small clearing on the edge of the trail. The brown grass crunched under me when I wiggled out of my pack. I couldn’t imagine the sharp, crunchy blades ever being soft enough to run across barefoot. Or whatever color green was. But Ferris insisted it was true, and would whisper about how it used to be when there were so many colors in the world. Brown, black, and grey were the only colors I knew. And red. People still bled red. Ferris said it had all changed the day Niam and I were born.
Beside me, Niam yelped. He’d tried to take off his shoes, but the soles had stuck to the sores. I held his hands still. Tears filled his eyes, and I knew he couldn’t manage the pain. Digging into the small pack hanging from my belt, I found the willow bark. “Chew.”
He hitched but did as he was told.
Only half past morning, the grey sky shone brightly. We’d started before dawn, using the dimness to pass through the Tenter’s land unseen. Ferris said we’d get there before night, wherever it was he was taking us.
“Is there a stream on your map, Ferris?” I asked.
He stopped his pacing long enough to glance in my direction. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Can you check? We need to clean our feet.”
“We don’t have time for that, Nyla. Don’t you understand? We have to get there today. If we don’t find it, then this never ends.”
“We aren’t going anywhere if we can’t walk.”
Niam whimpered, rocking himself back and forth.
“I can carry him,” Ferris said and stepped toward Niam.
“You can carry him to a stream, or I won’t move from this spot.”
“But both of you have to be there. It won’t end unless you’re both there!”
“Then take us to a stream. Let me clean and treat our feet, then you can carry him and I’ll walk wherever you want me to.”
Ferris hesitated, but he knew how stubborn I could be. And how protective I was of Niam. No one understood him like I did.
“Fine,” he said, pulling the map from his pocket. “There’s a small stream just off the path a short way ahead.” He picked Niam up easily, placing him on his back. “Hold on tight to my shoulders. Ok?”
Niam, eyes shut tight, still leaked tears.
“He’ll be ok,” I said when I saw him grip Ferris’ shoulders. I grabbed my pack and slowly got to my feet. Ferris was already ahead on the trail, so he didn’t see me stumble when the grass stabbed the open wounds. After a few steps, I found spots on the sides of my feet that hurt less than the rest. I still lagged, but I never lost sight of them.
I heard the gurgle and sputter of the stream before Ferris stepped off the trail, and I imagined relief in the cool waters. Just as they reached the bank, I caught up with them. There was a wide, sandy spot at the edge of the water. Even though the water moved fast, the stream was not much wider than Ferris was tall and didn’t come higher than my knees.
Ferris put Niam down on the sand. “Be quick.”
I pulled him the rest of the way so that his feet were in the water. Even though we were the same age, he’d always been small. When the chilly water numbed my throbbing feet, I slogged off the remains of my shoe. The water had done its job, washing away the dirt and blood that had stuck the leather to my feet. Tossing the shoe back towards my pack on the bank, I saw Ferris pacing on the sand. I wished then, that I understood him as well as I did Niam. My brothers were so different. Though Niam never spoke, he shared everything with me. Perhaps being born together created that bond, one I could never find with Ferris. He was trying to fix something, something he thought we’d broken. He never said what it was, but I thought it had something to do with why our parents had died. But it always seemed to me he was broken and not the world.
My other shoe slid off with no effort. When I tried to clean my wounds, I couldn’t find any. Next to me, Niam smiled, playing with the water. I hurried to look at his feet and found no sign of wounds through the holes in the wet leather. Still took them off gingerly, but his feet were completely healed, just like mine. I ran to my pack, grabbed my water sack and began filling it. No herb or remedy I’d learned about ever healed this fast. The water was… magical.
“Did you know?” I said to Ferris. “Did you know the stream here had healing waters? Why didn’t you bring us here right away?”
“I didn’t know. The map says nothing about it.” He studied the map again, as if looking at it harder would reveal hidden information.
“Mark it now. I’ll have to come back with a larger sac. No, a barrel! Imagine how many people this can help,” I said, finally having found a reason to be glad he’d dragged me on the journey.
A splash caused me to turn back to the stream. Niam was halfway across and had slipped on a rock.
“Niam!” I started to yell, but Ferris grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth with his hand.
“Shhh,” he said, taking one hand off me to point across the stream.
On the far bank sat a brown fox, watching Niam. My instinct was to run and save him, but I held still as Niam took his tiny steps. It wasn’t Ferris’ trembling arms that stopped me, though. It was the fox. Something about the way it watched Niam felt so kind, patient, welcoming. Expecting. I felt I knew it the way I knew Niam.
“He came to us,” Ferris whispered.
When I tried to ask what he meant, he shushed me again, and his grip on my arm tightened.
Once he made it across, Niam knelt in front of the fox. They talked. That’s the only way I can explain it. Neither Ferris nor I could hear anything but the occasional whimper, whine, or snort. Suddenly, the fox stood, lowered his head, and raised its tail into the air. Niam copied, a sheer sense of joy emanating from his body. The fox leapt forward, brushing against Niam’s shoulders, then bounded into the forest. Niam followed without even a look back.
Ferris released me, and I rushed after them. The short path from the river ended in a pine wood. The fallen needles created a carpet, only broken by shrubs where the canopy let enough light in. I hurried after the pair as they darted back and forth, tackling one another, then running ahead only to be caught again. Niam was nimble and prone to bursts of energy, but I had never seen him act the way he did now. I almost guessed the truth then.
Their play led to a clearing, surrounded by shrubs and a tall tree at one end where the land dropped away, revealing the mountains farther north. I found them sitting at the base of the tree, breathing hard. Niam looked at me, his face peaceful and content. I’d never seen him so at peace. As I approached, the fox blinked, then lay down across Niam, who wrapped himself around the fox.
Ferris stumbled out of the woods. The fox lifted its head to watch him as he neared. Ferris kept his distance, but he dropped to his knees and hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
The fox whimpered and lowered his head back onto Niam. I understood then. Ferris was the one who broke the world, before we were born. But we shared his burden, and we were all needed to fix it. Ferris knew the truth of what had happened, and understood the magic and mystery of how to set things right. My twin had the spirit of the fox. In some way, he’d always been the fox. I’d been born a healer and was chosen to study remedies earlier than anyone before me. There was no potion or salve that could heal this pain, though. For the world to be made whole, I needed to let my brother go, let his spirit return to its proper place. I knelt next to them, both resting with their eyes closed, drifting off to sleep. I wrapped my arms around them, imagining all my love for Niam flowing through me, knowing they were one and the same and always had been. Warmth spread into my body, and something shifted between my arms. I closed my eyes as a light, brighter than any I’d ever seen, radiated outwards from us.
When I could see, I found myself hugging a white fox. Its eyes sparkled with familiarity, while its body emitted a faint glow of pure white light. It nuzzled my neck, then pulled away to sit under the tree. Around me, the world transformed. It burst full of colors I’d only known through Ferris’ tales. I matched the color names to what he’d always said they should be. Leaves above me were vibrant shades of green. Flowers on the shrubs were shades of purple and blue. A deep blue sky met the dark green of the northern mountains topped with white. Yellow birds darted from branch to branch, and a swarm of orange and white butterflies flew out of the shrubs and into the valley. Behind me, Ferris wept. I embraced him as the tears swept away the pain and shame he’d never shared with me.
The fox came to him then and pushed its head between us.
“Thank you,” Ferris said. The fox bumped him with his nose, then nuzzled my face. It pulled away and headed for the edge of the clearing. It looked back at us, then dove into the shrubbery. Ferris and I made our way home, playfully running through green fields where the grass tickled our feet and legs. Every once in a while, we spotted a glow nearby. When we reached the Tenter’s land, Ferris stopped.
“We should wait for dark,” Ferris said, looking around from his perch at the top of a hill. “I can see some of them on the road.”
I peered where he was looking and saw them, too. Tall and muscular, the Tenters attacked anyone they found on their land. It was said that to see one of them scowl at you was enough to freeze you with fear. There’s no escape. But I didn’t see any scowls on the group traveling below. They moved with grace, almost a reverence, with every step. I was about to comment on the change when the white fox, Niam, pushed his way between Ferris and me. He paused near our heads, his gaze fixed on the Tenters.
Then he ran to them.
I heard them exclaim as Niam got near them, an exhale of relief so loud it seemed to shake the ground. They dropped to their knees, bowing to the ground.
Niam sat before them, then let out a raspy howl, followed by yaps. The Tenters stood, held out their staves—not their usual spears—and banged them on the ground. Niam yapped two more times, weaved in and out of the small group, then bounded again into the forest.
A cheer rose from them, followed by a round of hugs and smiles.
I stood up.
Ferris tried to pull me back down, but it was too late. They’d seen me.
My brother stumbled down the hill behind me, begging me to stop.
I couldn’t.
These people were familiar now, just like the fox. We were all tied to it, somehow. They embraced me. One of them, an older woman, kissed my forehead, tears in her eyes. I saw Ferris being held tight, then passed to another, his face stuck between amazement and terror.
We dined with them that night, hearing their tales of spirits—good and evil—and the connection we all have to the land and all that lives there. As I drifted off to sleep, the sky twinkled with stars brighter than I’d ever seen. Across from me, Ferris rested, a slight smile on his lips.
What had he done? What magic had he invoked that broke the world? And why? Why was I still here?
The questions burned in my mind, but they would wait for tomorrow, a new day in an unbroken world.
Author Notes:
I wrote the first version of this story quite a few years ago now. It is based on a visual prompt my daughter drew below:
Sorry the image is so small but I couldn’t find the original in my files. Anyway, that magical-looking white fox in a colorful land sparked what became “Broken World”. Since it is a fox, I knew there had to be children and playfulness. I’ve seen baby foxes in the wild and they are the definition of playful. So I could have gone with an entirely light-hearted story and it would have worked. But there was something in the image, a stillness that spoke to me of a seriousness. Do you feel it?
What do you think could have broken the world? And will Nyla ever find out?
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