THE JOURNEY BACK to Delta was as long and gloomy as he’d feared it would be. After one day, his limbs had grown stiff and numb. His throat and hands rasped by the dry, crisp air, and though the road was the very same one he’d come from, he felt a strong distrust towards it. Overlooking the pain, sitting on the mare’s back had gradually grown easier on him. This was a good, as well as bad thing. The less he thought about how to ride, the more inevitable it became thinking about how he’d explain what had happened. Gradually, it forced him into an even deeper realization of the many mistakes he’d made over the years. Despite being alert about travelers, animals and cliffs along the way, all he heard were the whispers of rough winds rushing through his ears. During the evenings their accusations grew louder – making it clear that there had been a great many things he should have done very differently. If he’d only thought wiser thoughts sooner, he could have been home long ago. But he hadn’t. He’d been standing still, like a broken, spineless tree.
It became increasingly clear to him how far he’d gone from his grandfather’s expectations, and so, instead of stopping in Hoshonto for supplies, he made the decision to surpass every town on his way. Prevailing himself from good food and proper shelter might not make him any less of a failure as far as his writing and morals were concerned, but at the very least it would make him slightly more of an adventurer. Even if just for a few days, he told himself, he would need to act bravely. Then, once home, he’d somehow find a way to make it up to him. He couldn’t think of a single thing that would, and so the temptation to tell him a so-called half-truth, became quite unshakable. At first, the idea seemed nothing but dishonest and unvirtuous, but as it entered his mind a third time, he realized it would be better than a lie. Besides, he was not only thinking about himself – the complete story would likely make his grandfather remorseful for having sent him into danger. And so, it was possible half the story or less, would be the preferable one for both their sakes.
With this in mind, he rode an entire day and a whole night. During the second day, he allowed himself to sleep for a few hours during the daytime – though he was only half asleep on top of Indra’s back – who was intelligent enough to follow the path ahead. On the third day, he felt so tired he could not even think to worry. He simply laid down on the ground and slept so deeply, he’d almost forgotten who and where he was when he awoke. On the fourth day, he finally started to recognize the Deltan forest in its fresh, green, spring coat. It was only there, he finally felt nothing could harm them, and the mild winds confirmed this as they blew through his thick, dark hair, for the first time in four years. They embraced his face with a light tingling he remembered all too well, and though not speaking in words, he felt assured he could finally rest safely.
The morning after they galloped all the way home, and he had never felt so relieved as when seeing their house. It looked just the same as it always had, the bright, peach-colored roses had bloomed around the entrance in a perfectly wild, half-circle. The sun was going down in a similar color behind the low trees in the west, painting a worthy background to the perfect haven. It felt as if his heart would outgrow his chest, overwhelmed and joyous over a sight he’d been dreaming of for years. His excitement was then partly disrupted, as he came to the grim realization that he was yet to decide on a final version of his story. In truth, he had no better idea about what he would say, and which ways he would say it, than four days prior.
Despite the complications this might bring about, he couldn’t keep himself from running towards the house after binding Indra to a nearby tree. Knocking on their small, red door, he hoped he wouldn’t be asked too many questions just yet. As his knuckles touched it, he felt his heart beating through his chest – almost drumming in his ears as if he’d been in the middle of a dream. For a moment he worried he’d wake up on the side of some faraway road – but he didn’t. He was wide awake, staring at the door – their door – thinking it rather strange to be feeling so nervous to see the only person he really knew. When his grandfather finally opened, he did so slowly. First, peeking out between the thin crack of the door, as if expecting him to be an intruder. A few short moments later, his eyes widened, and he almost looked startled by the sight of him. Isaiah smiled, his blue eyes tearing up as Theodore embraced him with all his force. It was not a very strong force, for he was not a large man, but it was all he needed – all he’d been waiting for, for all these years.
“You came back!”
“Of course I did. Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
“And I you. How many years…?” he asked, holding Isaiah’s face between his hands.
“Four – four, long years!” Now, neither of them could stop the tears from running down their cheeks. Neither of them tried, as it seemed the first time any of them had felt a reason to cry out of joy.
“Only four? Oh, I feel it must have been twenty at least.” Isaiah laughed. In a way, it’d almost felt like a lifetime to him. His grandfather seemed smaller, but he realized it was he who’d grown taller.
“Are you well?” He asked.
“Me? Oh yes, do not worry about that. Come, come. I just happened to finish making your favorite dish.” Theodore said, immensely revealed to have his boy back. Seemingly unwounded and perhaps finally having outgrown his heated temperaments. As he followed him over the thresholds of their home, Isaiah could smell it – his special apple pie, with too much of everything.
*
Though having worried he might bombard him with questions, his grandfather sat rather silently across from him as they ate. It was not so strange, unlike himself, he hadn’t been preparing for his arrival, and with so much time passing between them, knowing where to start was quite naturally a difficult thing.
“Is it good?” he asked him.
“Oh, yes.” Isaiah thought it had a slightly more sour taste than usual, but he could certainly not complain, for it was much better than anything he’d eaten since leaving the fortress.
“The apples have not been the best this year. There hasn’t been quite enough rain…”
“It’s very good.” He assured him. “Can I go out in the garden?” Other than his grandfather, it had beyond any doubt been what he’d missed the most.
“Well, certainly! You do whatever you want – this is your home.”
“Whatever I want” Isaiah thought. It was something he’d need to get used to, and he reflected upon this as he walked out. To his relief, it looked just the same. Except from a few more additions of orchids and petunias, nothing he was unfamiliar with had been seeded. At the right end, the Sterculia alata, standing as high and mighty as ever, greeting him with the subtle waves of its lively leaves. It was not that he’d doubted his grandfather would keep everything together without him, but he’d feared he might get an idea of changing things. Regardless of what people thought, a plant could be moved, and though not always a good idea, it was sometimes necessary. Even in peaceful places like these – plants changed. They died or grew too large and needed to be cut. He saw his sunflower was gone, and he couldn’t see his purple iris either. “I’ll have to ask him about that,” he thought and just then, he felt the first drops of rain falling on the top of his head.
“I’ve kept it blooming quite nicely while you were gone.” Theodore was standing on their back porch, and the sight of him made Isaiah feel at ease again.
“You certainly have. The garden looks beautiful.”
“I wanted to ask you…did you by any chance meet Nicholas on your journey? I’ve been wanting to speak with him for so long, but couldn’t dare to cross that malicious river and no couriers have paid me any visits.”
“Is he someone who’s visited here before?” Theodore got a muddled look over his face.
“Well, of course. Your memory must have gotten bad, for you used to ride with him all the time when you were younger.” Isaiah looked at him confused, as he’d never ridden with anyone but Tzelem.
“I’m not sure that I know who you’re talking about…”
“Well,” Theodore sighed, crossing his arms. “Perhaps it is better that you’ve forgotten – hopefully he has too. I didn’t handle things too well with him…I’ve been wanting to apologize.” Isaiah assumed it had to be one of his old friends.
“What does he look like?”
“Honest eyes, a large head, and a grin that would be a king worthy.” He chuckled. “Wide shoulders too, but maybe not anymore. It’s been… a long time.”
“I don’t believe I saw him. But anyone would forgive you for anything – you’re the kindest man in the world.” He smiled, but instead of returning the gesture, his grandfather started laughing loudly, as if he’d made some inappropriate joke.
“Oh, stop mocking me. Don’t you know it is rude to tease an old man?” He said, then entered the house, heading towards the stairs to his office at a fast pace. Isaiah followed him inside, and Theodore turned around, looking almost baffled by the sight of him.
“I wanted to ask about the iris and…”
“I have some work to do. Make yourself at home, and perhaps tell me when you’re leaving again.” “Leaving?” Isaiah thought. He’d just gotten there and had no plan on leaving ever again. The disinterest in his homecoming suddenly started to feel more like an insult than a relief, and he suddenly sensed he had to be the forgiver of the two. Luckily It was an easy task, for he was ridiculously happy to be back. Surely, he thought, they just needed some time to get used to their old ways again. It would be overwhelming for anyone that had spent four years in solitude, suddenly having his fully-grown grandson back home. “Time,” he thought, time was all they needed and despite of the fact there had never been any clock in their home, it now seemed to be as present there as anywhere else.
The next day Isaiah got back into his old routine. He began his morning by harvesting the fruits and berries in season. He then walked around inspecting the plants and making sure they were all in good health. Noticing some species that he’d almost forgotten about, he reread the botany book to refresh his memory. To his relief, his grandfather’s strange mood had passed and throughout the day, he wouldn’t stop praising him for how helpful he was – how wonderful it was to have him home again. During the afternoon, he once again withdrew to his office. Isaiah suspected he’d found some new study he was indulging himself in, and so he felt himself being drawn to the woods – amazed by the Deltan beauty and silence, that he’d taken ever so slightly for granted before. Now he saw, or rather he felt, just how differently the air filled him there. As he walked the known paths, he collected four kinds of mushrooms, and as they sat down together to have supper, it almost felt as if they’d at last celebrated the promised last bit of his fourteenth birthday. That night he slept like a child in its mother’s womb. Safe, warm and worry-free underneath his old, soft sheets.