From The Beginning...
When I was a boy, I swore our names would be written in the stars. We would traverse the heavens, our love warping endlessly through space and time. For centuries, boys and girls would look to the skies and see our two figures, circling the earth like shooting stars.
How foolish I was. It was a time before I knew the story of our lives, a time before I realized that the brightest stars were the ones destined to burn out.
The air was warm and muggy the morning the harvest began. It was easily the most exciting day of my life, as I would finally be allowed to work the fields. After all the years I spent watching my father from afar, it would finally be me who got the opportunity to pick up the work; to prove myself.
Gathering my newly made winnowing basket and flail, I sped out of our cruck house, almost knocking into my father, who strolled a few paces ahead of me. He carried the scythe, as I wasn’t strong enough to wield the metal blade properly. His strut was purposeful, as if he had no time to waste. I tried to copy his confident strides, and I believed they worked. I felt like I was keeping pace with him, at least.
When we arrived at the edge of the fields, I paused to take in my surroundings. I had never journeyed this far from our house. Sure, I had been on small trips to the well to get water, and we went to the manor’s church every Sunday, but now I was venturing into the unknown, a place I had never been before.
My father, however, was not as enthusiastic as I. It was just another day of work for him. That was fair enough, I supposed, but I wasn’t going to let it put a damper on my mood. We began by doing what my father called reaping the field. It involved using the heavy scythe, which I had trouble using at first, but eventually took a few good swings.
“Good job son!” My dad muttered, trying to be encouraging even though I couldn’t do the job nearly as fast as he could. My dad was always like that. Even if I let him down, he was always proud of me, always supported me.
“Thanks dad!” I responded, and kept making my swings, trying to use all of my arm muscles at once.
As the day went on, I became hot and tired. I never knew farming was such a vigorous task. I had seen my father come in hot and sweaty on many days, but I never knew what it felt like personally to be so wholly exhausted. I hoped I would build up stamina. At least my scythe arcs were improving, if only a little.
My dad eventually took over the reaping. I figured he didn’t want to fall too far behind on work, as I knew he would have much more grain in the basket if it was just him. I promised myself I would become better at farm work. I wouldn’t let him down.
As my dad kept hacking away at the field, I became a little bored. My attention was diverted. Across the field, I saw other men working across the fields, some were in groups, laughing away, while others were solemnly picking out grain. I’d much rather be with a friend or two, I thought, as it would be so depressing to work alone. I wonder, before I came along, if my dad worked with anyone.
That was when I noticed a flash across the field. Well, not a flash, per se. It was more like a beam of sunlight reflected off of something and into my eye. When I looked closer, I noticed it was coming from someone’s hair; a boy’s. I supposed I had never really met another boy on the manor, as my father always kept me busy and secluded. We went to public places, where I saw other boys and girls my age, but none of them were as interesting as the boy in front of me.
I stared into the back of his head, hoping if I gazed hard enough, he would turn around. He did not. He simply kept swinging his own scythe in perfect arcs. It was honestly unfair. He was only a bit taller than me, his muscles weren’t any more developed than mine. How was he so good at it?
The boy still didn’t look at me. I returned to watching my father work, a bit frustrated that I was falling behind my new-found peer.
It wasn’t until later that day when I finally caught his attention. The sun hung low in the sky at that point, and no longer was his hair aggressively shining in my face. My father had hacked away so much grain that it was now tumbling out of the winnowing basket I was carrying. Somehow, the boy’s party, consisting of him and his father, and our party had walked towards each other throughout the day. I could now see the boy much clearer.
He seemed a bit disheveled from the day, his face was red and his silver hair was messily thrown about. His eyes however, were the most startling shade of green. They contrasted beautifully with the orange hue surrounding the farm. His face was thin and bony, but in a good way. His nose was sharp, but still relatively small to his face, and he had small freckles, which was surprising, given his hair and eye color. There was something about him that made me want to look at him forever.
He noticed me staring pretty quickly. When he first noticed me, he quickly looked away, towards his father, who was busy hacking away the wheat. Then, he turned back to me, and grinned. I liked his smile. I waved to him, also giving a small smile of my own.
Our interaction was short lived, however, as the boy’s father quickly beckoned him back over to their similarly overflowing winnowing basket with the motion of his hand. I wasn’t sure how he knew his son had diverted his attention, as the father never looked up from arcing through the wheat.
By the time the day was over, I had all but forgotten about my new acquaintance, as I was so, so tired. My father had made me try to slice through the wheat a few dozen more times, but I didn’t feel like I was getting any better at it. It wasn’t until we were walking back down the paved road to the village homes that I noticed a third pair of shoes stepped in line with us.
“Hello.” The boy with the silver hair spoke. It wasn’t with much emotion, but just stated as a matter-of-fact.
“Hello.” I responded, unsure of what else to say.
We stepped in silence for a few paces, with me looking at my dad for a quick second, who looked back at me in confusion, before I finally said something else. “I like your hair.” I reached a hand out, to emphasize my point.
“Thanks.” He smiled. I could tell his hair was something he was proud of, “It normally gets shiner in the winter, but it's alright in the summertime too, I suppose.” He said it in such a nonchalant way that I almost giggled.
“How can your hair get even shiner in the winter? It already seems so bright.” I was quite astonished at the little hairs on this boy’s head, they seemed to be doing a lot of work.
“I dunno.” He cocked his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders. “I think it’s like snow. You know how in the winter it always shines so brightly? Well, I think the sun gets tricked into thinking my hair is snow. And then it makes it extra sparkly.”
I laughed a little. It was funny to think that the boy’s hair tricked the sun.
And then I saw a symbol inscribed on his flail, which was very dull compared to his hair. It was curvy, and resembled an animal I think my dad once described to me.
“Hey, what’s that on your flail?” I questioned, not wanting to sound dumb, but also not wanting to guess what the symbol was wrong.
“Oh, this?” He pointed to the curved animal, “It’s called a serpent. They’re supposed to be slithery creatures that shed skin and have pointed tongues. I’ve never seen one before, but my parents like them, so I suppose I do too.”
I thought on that. “Hmm,” I replied, “that’s kinda gross that they shed their own skin. I wouldn’t like that.”
It was his turn to laugh now, “Yeah, I suppose something you also wouldn’t like is that they’re venomous, meaning if they bite you, you can die.”
“Woah!” Was he joking? I didn’t know that was a thing. “Are you serious? Sounds scary.”
“Yeah, but if you’re nice to them it doesn’t really matter.”
“I suppose. Where do you think we could meet one of these… serpents, you said?” I wasn’t really sure what came over me at that moment, but I had to see one of these things. Besides sounding wicked cool, they also sounded like frightening creatures, which was really the fun in it to me. I loved doing things that scared me. They always turned out to be new, exhilarating experiences.
“You want to meet one?!” He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, his face a mix of excited and surprised.
“Well, I think we have to, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but they're kinda scary, don’t you think?”
I stared into his green eyes, letting him know I wasn’t the least bit afraid. “I think being scared is what makes it fun.
“I suppose you’re right,” he seemed to ponder that thought. “I knew I liked you. We’ll have to find one, one day. I dunno how, but somehow.”
We were almost back to my house before the boy spoke again, “Hey, what’s your name?”
I answered him pretty quickly, “Godric, what’s yours?”
“Godric. That’s a wicked name.”
I smiled. I liked that he liked my name. So much so, that I couldn’t help myself retort, “Huh, nice to meet you, ‘Godric. That’s a wicked name.’” I knew the joke was corny, but like I said, I really couldn’t help myself.
“Nooo, silly,” the boy was really laughing now, “You’re Godric. My name is Salazar, but you can call me Sal. And I would ask you for your last name, but you know I’d just steal your joke.”
We giggled all the way to our homes.