Chapter 28: Black Butterfly Part 2

A whistling shriek powered in the absence of other sounds. Hot vapour rose fervently, steaming the windows that equaled the algid temperature that smothered it. I carefully began pouring the boiled water into the cup, where at the bottom the herbal remedy rested. The cup gradually filled in a spiralling vortex which maintained for a while longer as I added a teaspoon of sugar and whirled it around. I then turned my attention to the massive pot of stew that was looking awfully vacant, only residues left at the bottom. Unfortunately, it would have to suffice. It just barely filled a small wooden bowl, and I sliced a complementary slice of grained bread next to it.

 

Our situation was worse than it could have ever been. Shortages of food and money. Aldir’s venture was supposed to bring back both of those things, but it seems an unprecedented incident had exacerbated our chances.

What do we do now? Aldir can’t go back out, mother is slowly but surely losing all her magic and her physical condition whittles away. It seems I’m the only hope for our family left. But how do I break it to them? They might reject the idea and Aldir may attempt to take my place even in his inadequate state. Well for now, I should just bring this to Aldir and wait till he wakes up to make a call.

 

I shuffled from the ledge in the kitchen and turned to meet my worried mother and the slumbering Aldir, spread out on the table with a thick blanket wrapped around him. I set aside the stew and the tea on a foot rest near one of the chairs and patiently awaited his awakening. A few restless minutes later, faint movements began twitching from Aldir’s intact hand and his eyelids lethargically tore away, leaving his perturbed navy eyes to scatter around each corner as they tried perceiving the radiant light. Then raspy groans emerged from his mouth and he shot up alertly, only to witness two pairs of scarlet eyes breathing at him.

 

My mother jumped to him, enveloping my father in a snug grasp before wailing on him, her nose snuffled and snot swelled from her nostrils. My father looked on, surprised to find himself back at home, his gaze locking with mine as I shot him a genial smile which he gladly reciprocated. He then tried hugging my mother back, only to realise only one arm reached to snuggle around her. An indistinct spark seemed to emanate, before fading into the snaps of his memory previous to arriving here.

 

The ocean in his eyes, for the first time sensed empty. Nothing but dreary dirt scattered where the ocean used to rest. Devoid of any shimmer or emotion, his blank stare liberated a feeling of uncertainty and sadness.

 

“Welcome back, father. I’m glad you came back alive, at least.” I spoke, glancing at his swathed stump. He glimpsed at me and smiled compassionately, grinning.

 

“It’s good to be back, Eli. But say, you wouldn’t know where my arm is, would you?” He casually joked, a small chuckle coming from his weakened body. I responded with the usual, serious tone.

 

“You seemed to have lost it on the way, father. It wasn’t in your proximity when you collapsed on our door.”

 

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He looked apologetically after hearing the last part. “Is the door okay?” He cautiously asked.

 

“It’s in a better state than you, that’s for certain.”

 

“I see. Sorry for the trouble and thank you for taking care of me, Elias Ashburn.” He looked at me and then grabbed the cup of tea my mother passed him, after she ripped away from her choking hold she restrained him in. It was strange hearing my full name spoken. They often referred to me as Eli and I don’t think even once, they had used my last name alongside the first. A detachting feeling sprung in my mind. A discrepancy between who I was and who I’m trying to be.

 

“I’ll give you some time to rest up and eat. Then you can tell us what you remember and our next course of action. I’ll be waiting, father.” With those parting words, I left for the exit, sliding on my fur coat and grabbing the axe at the front door. We were low on wood to throw onto the fireplace.

 

Will they have enough food for the next three or so days, I thought to myself, vigorously clattering the axe downwards at the wood I swiftly chopped. Chips of wood would fly into the frosty, hurling wind being propelled with the flakes that almost seemingly would never reach the floor, a breath always keeping them afloat the fallen sea rising in seven or eight inches of ivory.

 

We have enough food that can be preserved for another week or so, but past that we won’t be able to retain the pace we’re going at. Plus, we’ll need the extra food for father who’s recovering and for mother who’s looking worse by the day. Her crux is almost thawed in a lacklustre black coating that weakens her relationship to mana and disables her ability to make contact with it. This is the biggest dilemma we have been in since I have been born into this family. Why are all these things happening now? Or at least being revealed? Father losing his arm meaning he can’t hunt for the time being if ever at all, and mothers weakening condition. I tried to slip some especially potent restorative mana into her drinks and food, yet nothing is subsiding the effects chaining her down and gradually killing her. By my estimation, she may only have another two years to live.

 

Winter had never been our friend, yet the foe that we would fight off had finally set his plan in motion. The reaper has come to collect our debts with his frosted manacles chained around our necks and his infamous black scythe, covered in glacier, tickling at our throats.

 

“Whatever will I do?” I muttered, as the snow-storm brewed and gathered in the distance, soon to hit us with even detrimental conditions than the ones we’ve partially conquered. Winter had at last, bared its fangs into our exposed nape.

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