Arch Reems sighed as he walked through the door of his little house. The door squealed loudly on its hinges. It was only one of the many things Arch hadn't gotten to fixing yet. The stove was too small to hold much more than one small log at a time, and many of the house's small windows were shattered and broken to shards. The sofa was small and lumpy, and covered with dust and hair from the people and animals that had sat on it in times past. There were loose boards and nails on the floor, and you had to watch your step to avoid falling over. The ceiling was too low for Arch to stand up straight in, so he always had to crouch. The dining room table had a missing leg, and was useless for eating on.
The stairs screeched loudly and Arch smiled as his little boy came running into his waiting arms.
Ike embraced his father tightly, as if he hadn't seen him for years. Then he released him as he looked up at his father with big eyes and said, "Pa! You've been gone for hours! Did you get that new cloth to patch up your trousers?" His energetic son looked about, as if looking for the hidden fabric.
"No, Ike, I didn't," Arch replied. He looked into his pride and joy's big, cow-like brown eyes, and saw them hold disappointment. Ike was obviously disappointed that his father would be cold again this coming winter. It was getting cold already, and Arch could his son could hear him shivering at night.
"Why not?" Ike wanted to know.
"I gave the money away," Arch said.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because she needed it more," Arch said simply.
"Who's 'she'?"
"A girl I met at the market," Arch told him. "She's about your age."
"But why'd you give her your money, Pa?" Ike persisted. "You worked for that gold for four months!"
"Calm down, Ike," Arch said gently. Ike did, and he blew a piece of his untidy brown hair out of his eyes so he could look his pa in the face. "She's the daughter of Daxtor Myrna."
Ike had heard his father talk about Myrna in a bitter tone sometimes when he came back from a hard day in the fields or business in town. He knew that he was a mean old drunk, but he hadn't heard of his daughter. Her life must have been awful, living with a jerk like that.
"I didn't know he had a girl," Ike said.
"I didn't either," Arch admitted. "Until today, at least."
"But why did you give her your coin, Pa?"
"She ran away from home," Arch said sadly, remembering the poor little girl. "Finally had enough of her father, I suppose. Anyway, she needed the money if she was ever going to survive in the world."
"You mean she was living on the streets?" Ike asked with wide eyes.
Arch nodded sadly. "No one should be condemned to that fate."
Ike agreed. Even if his dad would be cold during the winter, a little girl his age, who would have had no place to stay or any shelter from the cold, would have some money to buy herself a blanket. She could maybe even buy a decent meal with what his father had given her.
"What was her name?" Ike wondered out loud.
"Zia," Arch said. "Beautiful girl. Most peculiar eyes though."
"Pic-mule-clear?" Ike tried to say. "What does that mean, and why did her eyes had pic-mule-clear in them?"
Arch laughed lightly. "Peculiar. It means rather strange or odd. Her eyes were the strangest color I've ever seen in my life."
"What color were they?"
"Gold."
"Gold? Like the color of the coin you gave her?"
"Exactly, but her eyes were shinier. It was as if she had two miniature suns in her skull." Arch seemed lost in his thoughts for a while, until he shook himself out of it. "Enough chit-chat. I'm starving." He clapped his hands and set off to making him and his son a small meal of their daily thin slice of stale bread, one fried egg, and a cold glass of water.
Arch helped himself to a warm cup of tea after he had gotten Ike tucked in into the bedroom they shared upstairs. He sat at the three-legged table, the warm beverage keeping his hands warm through the clay of the mug. Most grown men would have preferred coffee, but Arch found the taste rather bitter and very unhealthy. He preferred tea. It was sweet, flavorful, and warm.
No matter how hard he tried, Arch couldn't get the picture of Zia out of his head. It was like scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the floor. No matter how much effort he put into it, he just couldn't get it to go away. He felt guilty that he had not insisted that she stay the night with him and Ike, but he reminded himself that he was not her father and had no authority over her.
Arch tipped back his mug and took a deep, long drink. When he finished, he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his calloused hand.
There was a soft knock on the wooden door, and Arch rose out his seat and pulled open the door. Standing out in the dark was the tall figure of a man. The man wore a thick leather coat, and his head sported a mop of dark hair.
"Godwin," Arch greeted.
The man smile and nodded. "Good evening, Arch. Can I come in?"
Arch stepped aside to admit the man entrance and he offered to take his coat.
"Don't worry, Arch," Godwin said. "I won't stay long. I just wanted to talk to you."
"I know what you're going to ask me, and the answer is no," Arch replied simply.
"Oh, come on, Reems, don't be like that," Godwin said. "You don't know-"
"You want me to take over for you," Arch replied simply, as if he had heard it that very same afternoon.
Godwin spread his hands. "Well, you are the best candidate."
"I've told you, I'm not interested," Arch replied sharply. "I don't feel right even being part of the group. Being the leader is something else entirely."
"Come on, Arch. It's not like we do anything bad-"
"Stealing from the innocent people of Otar isn't anything bad?" Arch had to force himself to keep his voice quiet so he wouldn't wake Ike. His son knew about his dealings with Godwin and his band, but he didn't want his son to know how awful he really was.
"We help the poor of Otar," Godwin replied evenly. If Arch had been trying to unhinge him, it hadn't worked. "We steal from the rich and greedy and give it to the people who need it most. It's all about perspective, Arch." Arch glared at him, but Godwin was cool and calm. "It's the best way to make sure things are balanced out. Think about it, Arch! We take things from people who have too much and give it to those who have too little. What we do is something good, and I think Serina would agree with me."
Godwin had hit a nerve. Arch's head shot up, and his eyes were angry and dangerous. "Don't you dare assume that she would ever support anything like this!" The mention of his dead wife had erased any thought of stealth from his mind, and he started to shout. "Don't you dare use her as just another pawn in your little game!"
"Calm down, Arch," Godwin tried, alarmed at his friend's sudden out-burst. "I didn't mean to-"
"Oh, we both know perfectly well that you had every intention-"
"Arch, I'm sorry," Godwin said. "I should not have mentioned her. Forgive me."
Arch grunted in reply.
An awkward silence fell over them. It was broken by Godwin.
"You are right, Arch. What we do is not ideal, but it's the best way most of us have for providing for families. Consider my offer, will you? You really are the best candidate, and my first choice." Godwin put his hand on Arch's shoulder. "You will think about it, won't you?"
"I can't stop thinking about it if you don't let me," Arch grumbled.
Godwin smiled. "That's the spirit." And with that, he took his leave, closing the door behind him.
Arch sat on the poor couch with his elbows on his knees and his hands in his face. He wasn't crying, but any on-lookers would have thought he was. His body was shaking with rakes of anger, and his breathing was heavy and came in short, cropped clips.
Arch took a deep, shaky breath, then lifted his head from his hands. He looked over at his mantel, where stood a small wooden box. The box itself didn't look like much, just a plain, wooden box made out of the branches of an elm tree. It had a hole to insert a key, but the box, like everything else in his house, was broken, and no longer shut like it was supposed to, rendering the lock useless.
Just like me, Arch thought miserably. He stood and retrieved the box, then opened it on his lap once he had regained his seat. He flicked it open, and it swung open on clean hinges. He put his hand in blindly and pulled out the first item. It was a leather cord, wrapped around itself so it never seemed to begin or end. A Gordian Knot.
Arch smiled at the memory of this item.
Arch and Serina sat in a small, but tidy house. They had just been married, and Serina was laughing and smiling, looking like a brilliant sunbeam with her long, silky brown hair and her big brown eyes. They were sitting at the newly-made table and were laughing joyously. Serina was trying to teach Arch how to sew, and she couldn't help but give a shout of laughter every time her husband poked himself with the sewing needle.
"I'm no good at this!" Arch said after the umpteenth time he stabbed himself.
His wife put on a stern face and said, "Arch Reems, if I were to die, and our children needed their clothes mended or hemmed, who would help the poor little dears if you didn't know how to sew properly?"
She made him practice day after day after day, until he finally got it down and could successfully hem a pair of breeches, or patch up an old tunic. That day, Arch presented his wife with a gift. It was a thin leather cord that snaked and wrapped around itself- the knot of eternity.
"To remind you that I will forever be grateful to you- even when you make me prick and poke myself half to death."
His beloved wife laughed at his words and accepted his gift and planted a soft, sweet kiss on his cheek.
Arch's eyes started to mist and he put the knot back into the box and pulled out another item. It was a broken locket. It had been a gift to Serina for their first anniversary. He remembered the huge smile that had lit her face when she pulled it out of the wrapping that her husband had presented her with.
He pulled out another. It was a wooden ball. It was no bigger than a small stone. He had spent months forming it and sanding it so it was smoother than silk. It didn't really have any special reason to it. He had just made it. But what made it special was that he had made it for her.
He heard the creak of the stairs and his head shot up. Ike stood there, his hair a mess, and his cheeks red. He blinked a few times and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. When his eyes lay on the box on his father's lap, he said, "Mama?"
Arch's eyes smarted and he held his arms open and his son ran into them. He held his son tight, and when he pulled away and started to say, "Ike-" but his words were cut short as he heard a scream pierce the calm of the cold night. The scream was blood-chilling, and it sent a shiver down Arch's back. If all the misery and pain had been forced out of the mouth of a human, it would have sounded exactly like the sound that Arch Reems and his son heard from their small, untidy house. By the pitch of the sound, Arch guessed it was a small girl.
Who could be making such an unearthly noise? he thought. He had heard bobcats sound like screaming women and had heard foxes yip like crying children, but never before had he heard something so ear-shattering at this.
Then it hit him.
"Zia." He stood and called to his son to stay where he was and to lock the door behind him. He grabbed his cloak, and threw it around his shoulders as he followed the sound of the girl's yelps and screams that cut through the dark night.