Give the Dark My Love(3)

I nodded silently.

“No!” Ernesta cried in overexaggerated anguish. She threw her arms around me, dramatic as always, but it was Mama’s soft farewell that broke my heart. I gently pried myself away from them as Papa turned silently back to the mule cart. He already had the reins in his hands as I climbed up to sit beside him, and before I was settled, he clucked his tongue, and our mule, Jojo, lumbered toward the road.

My hand moved nervously to my hip bag. I fingered the cloth, identifying each item by its feel through the coarse material. My pen set, a gift from Nessie. Wrapped bread, from Mama. An old alchemy book, the binding cracked. I’d found it on one of Papa’s many bookshelves. It was handwritten, part journal, part guide. My great-grandmother had died when I was less than a year old, but she’d been a potion maker for the village and kept all her notes inside this book. She passed it on to my grandmother, who’d given it to my father, who’d tucked it on a shelf and forgotten about it. I’d come across it three years ago, and soon after, I started dreaming of becoming an alchemist, using the herbs and techniques my great-grandmother detailed in order to help heal others.

There was only one main road in the north, curving around the center of Lunar Island’s top arm, with dozens of little villages blossoming along the edge. Our village was beyond the carmellina gate. When we passed the church hall, Papa touched the three-knotted cord he wore around his neck. After a moment, I did the same.

Papa made his living traveling up and down this main road, stopping in every small village to distribute books and messages. When I was little, I thought I might join his trade, eventually getting a book cart of my own. Like him, I’d journey from village to village, passing out stories for others to read and meeting new and interesting people. Nessie never wanted anything more than to stay in our village and flirt with the same people we’d gone to school with, but I knew I wanted more. I wanted something bigger. I’d told myself that just going past the carmellina gate, just following in my father’s footsteps would be enough. I’d tried to believe that.

It was Papa who told me I should read the books instead of sell them; it was he who first encouraged me to apply to Yūgen Academy, saying I’d taught myself more than that school could anyway, so I might as well show up and take the alchemical robes.

But it was Papa who now glowered at the road, disappointment evident on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I said as Jojo plodded down the road.

Papa’s eyes widened. “For what?” He turned his gaze from me quickly and clucked his tongue at the mule.

“For going,” I answered in a small voice. My scholarship would pay my way, but it wouldn’t give my father help when the cart needed unloading, or pay the butcher when Mama ran out of meat, or help Nessie with the chores I was leaving behind. The cost of an education like the one I’d get at Yūgen was far more than any scholarship could cover, and it was my family who would sacrifice for me.

Papa yanked the reins, pulling Jojo up short. The mule didn’t care; she ambled to the side of the road and started munching on a low-hanging branch of tigga leaves.

Papa turned to me. “Nedra,” he said, his voice softer and kinder than it had been all day, “I’m not mad at you for going.”

“Disappointed then,” I said, sliding my eyes away.

“I’m proud of you, my love,” he said, turning to me, the intensity of his words palpable. “I’m happy for you. I’m mad at myself.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you, and instead I made it all worse. But . . .”

“Why are you mad at yourself?”

“Because I’m selfish, Ned.” He laughed bitterly. “I want to keep you with me always. But I know I have to let you go.” He glanced back at the book cart, heavy and dusty, the wooden shelves unable to fully protect the texts from the dirt road. “You think I want this for you? You think I want you to marry a farmer or a butcher or a fisherman, that I want you to always wonder if you’ll have enough to feed your own babes?”

“You always took care of Nessie and me—” I started, but he was having none of my words.

“I got this cart from my father, and he from his.”

“I can still work with you on the book cart when I come back,” I said quickly.

“No!” The words burst from him. “I don’t want you to. That’s my point, love. You can leave.”

I watched the red-and-yellow-striped leaves Jojo hadn’t eaten yet. “I’m not going to be gone forever.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I hope you are,” Papa said, a fervent tone underlying his voice. I looked up at him, startled. “Or,” he added, a small smile peeking from behind his mustache, “not forever. But Neddie, my love, your path has always been longer than this little road. You’re meant for the city streets, for ships across the sea, for places where there are no roads. I don’t want you to take my book cart. Maybe whoever Nessie marries will, but it won’t be you. I’d never fold you up into books sold to strangers. You’re going to live your own story.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I thought—”

“Who do you think wrote the Emperor?” Papa said, and I heard the note of pride in his voice.

“You wrote the Emperor?” I laughed.